"I had dinner on the rocket," said Leila.
"Cup of tea, then?" said Gedner. Leila nodded, grateful for a
distraction. Paige had already moved toward what was evidently the
kitchen door, methodically removing his gloves as he went. Presently he
came back with a tray and a single steaming cup.
Gedner slid off the edge of the table and turned to Paige. "We'd
better flame that strip before it cools off entirely," he said
matter-of-factly, and, to Leila, with a gesture at the still-helmeted
figure bending over the desk, "Doc Chaikoski here can entertain you
while we're busy."
The one indicated looked up quickly, and, though his face was obscured
by the reflection of light in his helmet, his very posture, even in the
grotesque space suit, spoke of taut hatred as he glanced toward Gedner.
The latter took no notice, but turned away to join Paige, who had
silently opened a chest in the far end of the room and was dragging
out two heavy portable electron torches.
The two men snapped their faceplates shut and went out through the
airlock. Leila sat quite still for a little while, glancing nervously
from the crouching, silent Woolly against the wall to the equally
silent man. At last she exclaimed in exasperation, "Won't you take that
thing off your head? Two gargoyles in a room this size are too many!"
The other spoke for the first time. "It won't help much," he said in
a toneless voice, but he removed the helmet, set it carelessly on the
desk-top, and, turning, began to unzip his vacuum suit. The girl saw
a pale, thin, youthful face, shockingly marred by a huge, angry scar
which cut diagonally across the cheek, ruined the bridge of the nose,
and disappeared under an unkempt shock of dun-colored hair. A terrific
blow, perhaps from a hot fragment of metal, must have left that mark.
"My name isn't Doc." There was increasing bitterness in his voice.
"It's Leo. It's just that it amuses _him_ to call me that, because I
happen to be a petrologist."
"Oh," said Leila. She watched him cross the room and toss his space
suit onto a hanger, return and sprawl limply in the chair behind the
desk. Then she remembered that she was a reporter with the biggest
story of her life to get. "Perhaps you can tell me something of what I
need to know," she suggested.
Leo Chaikoski stared fixedly at the tangle of papers. "What do you
mean?"
"Well ..." she hesitated. "Something about the general setup here, to
begin with."
"Setup? It's simple enough. Paul Gedner gives the orders to the
Woollies and to the rest of us--officially, he's only the Woolly boss,
but--well, you seem to know him."
"Yes," said Leila.
"I have a degree from North American Geological, so whenever the
Woollies have worked out a jade site, I go out and kick over a couple
of rocks to uncover a new one. It's not a job--the surface supply will
outlast the market. Paige keeps the accounts and production records and
makes out requisitions once in a while and spends the rest of his time
with a book and a bottle. Chandler--was--our maintenance man for the
mechanical equipment. And the Woollies dig the jade and load it when
the rocket comes, and Saturn Colonial pays our salaries."
But Leila seized on the mention of the dead man. She said, "I'm here to
get the facts on Chandler's death, you know."
* * * * *
His head snapped up; the girl fancied she saw alarm flash into his
eyes. Then he looked down again. "You'd better ask the others. They
were both there when it happened; I wasn't."
"But you must know how it happened."
"Chandler was out at the diggings, inspecting a drill, when one of the
Woollies on the job attacked him. There wasn't any provocation, nor any
warning. Paul killed the Woolly with that gun he carries, but Chandler
was done for."
There was a guarded look in the scarred face, and Leila was not
satisfied. She remembered her training in interviewing--the
you-approach.
"What do _you_ think made that Woolly run amok?" she demanded
pointblank.
Leo rose to his feet with a jerk, as if the abrupt question had carried
a physical impact. He said in a savage voice, "I don't think, I--" He
bit off the last word and fell silent, the great scar growing more
apparent as his face paled. His eyes strayed fearfully toward the outer
door; then he looked back at the girl and advancing toward her, lowered
his voice. "Listen, I'll tell you. But you mustn't let _him_ see that
you know.... Paul killed Chandler."
Leila sat open-mouthed. But there was no need for her to say anything;
the words came now from Leo Chaikoski in a jerky torrent.
"You've seen how it is. _He_ controls the Woollies, like he dominates
everything else around him. The rest of us know the technique, too--but
we can't do anything with them. He's _strong_. He made the Woolly kill
Chandler--and he could kill Paige or me the same way--or you. Yes, he
could kill you, too, if he wanted to. He has us all in his hands." The
young man's voice had sunk lower and lower, and a thread of mortal
terror ran through it.
"That's why he can murder us and never be caught." Leo's scarred face
twisted with impotent rage. "I'd kill him ... but he always has the
gun ... and the Woollies. If I had a gun, I could do it...." He grasped
pleadingly at the girl's limp hand on the arm of her chair. "Do you
happen to have a gun?"
"No," said Leila curtly. Her blue eyes stared into space, past Leo
and his fear; her mind raced, envisaging the widening ripples of
consequence that were even now spreading throughout the whole System
from the death of a mechanic. If that death had been murder--had the
killer acted without considering those consequences?
Leo's abject terror gave the weight of truth to his accusation--a
weird indictment, but no more preposterous than the simple fact that
a Woolly had killed a man. But there was still something missing, the
fundamental--
"Why?" said Leila suddenly, almost to herself. "I don't doubt that
Paul's capable of murder. But it would have to be for profit."
"The motive?" Leo hesitated, then, "Oh, that's simple. _He_ sabotaged
the radio. Chandler was going to fix it ... he wasn't afraid. So Paul
made the Woolly kill him."
Now Leila too glanced apprehensively at the door. She exclaimed, "But
this makes less and less sense. Why should Paul Gedner want the radio
out of commission?"
Leo was silent, avoiding her penetrating gaze; at last he said
sullenly, "Chandler wanted to send a message."
Leila's hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "What message?" she
persisted fiercely.
"Why shouldn't I tell you what he's doing?" Leo wondered dully. "He's
going to kill me, anyway, because I know, and then he'll kill you
too--" His words were choked off in a gasp; he sprang back, crashing
bruisingly into the desk, and cowered against it. Into a deathly
silence came the grating of the inner airlock door. It opened, and
Gedner came in, followed by Paige burdened with the two glazing
torches. Gedner's eyes traveled from the girl to Leo and back again,
and his grin flashed as he lifted off his helmet.
"Having a nice chat?" he inquired softly.
* * * * *
Nobody answered; in the intolerable silence, Gedner crossed to the
desk, picked up a package of cigarettes and inhaled one into life as
he began removing his vacuum suit. Leo Chaikoski sidled away from him,
slumped into a chair in the corner, and sat staring into space.
"I hope you've found time to admire Big Bill," said Gedner lightly,
gesturing at the giant creature, which had not moved or shifted its red
gaze from Leila for a moment. "Quite a man, isn't he? You always liked
the big, husky type, didn't you, darling?"
"Wouldn't it be better," said Leila in a carefully governed voice, "to
leave that beast outside? After--what happened, I mean."
"Big Bill's all right. All the Woollies are all right; you just have to
know how to get along with them."
The girl shuddered inwardly; it no longer occurred to her to doubt what
Leo had told her. Another silence fell; it was broken by Paige, who,
having hung up his outer garments, had stood for a time, glancing about
uncertainly, and at last looked elaborately at his watch, moved toward
the inner door, and announced, "I'm going to bed."
"Go easy on the nightcap," advised Gedner. He looped his pistol belt
carefully over the back of a chair, with the gun hanging on the
outside, then sat down on the edge of the desk and drew contentedly on
his cigarette. "Our bedtimes are various," he told Leila. "No proper
night or day here, and damn little system. The Company doesn't worry as
long as we get out the jade."
"The Company's worried now," said Leila, uncomfortably, feeling
Gedner's probing gaze upon her. "They're sending a commission to
investigate Phoebe."
"A commission!" mocked Gedner. There was silence again for a space, and
an infinitesimal change crept into his hard, smiling face; Leila strove
in vain to read it. Only at the last moment did she become aware of the
pale shadow looming beside her.
She looked up into the scarlet eyes of the monster, and screamed
uncontrollably. Shaggy white arms went round her and lifted her into
the air; she could feel the muscles bulging like plastic iron against
her, pressing her to the furry body that was almost painfully hot.
Leila went wild for a few seconds, striking at the white mask of Big
Bill's face, struggling uselessly; then she made herself lie still.
"Your idea of a joke ..." she choked.
"Quite a man, isn't he?" chuckled Gedner. He made an unconcerned
gesture, and Big Bill bent to deposit Leila with care in her place in
the armchair again. The Woolly backed away to huddle as before against
the naked wall, his mighty three-fingered hands resting on the floor.
Leo Chaikoski had come to his feet, his scarred face distorted, hands
clenched at his sides. He made an inarticulate sound; Gedner turned and
looked at him for a long moment, then asked softly, "Don't you think
it's your bedtime too, Doc?"