"On the other hand," Yoritomo continued, "if you were to challenge Mr.
Stanton, would that show courage on your part, Colonel?"
"Not really. Foolhardiness, stupidity or insanity--but not courage."
"Ah, then," said Yoritomo with a beaming smile, "neither of you can
prove you have guts enough to fight the other. Can you?"
Mannheim smiled grimly and said nothing. But Stanton was thinking the
whole thing out very carefully. "Just a second," he said. "That depends
on the circumstances. If Colonel Mannheim, say, knew that forcing me to
shoot him would save the life of someone more important than
himself--or, perhaps, the lives of a great many people--what then?"
Yoritomo bowed his head in a quick nod. "Exactly. That is what I meant
by viewpoint. Whether the Nipe has courage or patience or any other
human feeling depends on two things: his own abilities and exactly how
much information he has. A man can perform any action without fear if he
knows that it will not hurt him--or if he does _not_ know that it
_will_."
Stanton thought that over in silence.
The image of the Nipe was no longer moving. He had settled down into his
"sleeping position"--unmoving, although the baleful violet eyes were
still open. "Cut that off," Colonel Mannheim said to the operator.
"There's not much to learn from the rest of that tape."
As the image blanked out, Stanton said, "Have you actually managed to
build any of the devices he's constructed, Colonel?"
"Some," said Colonel Mannheim. "We have specialists all over the world
studying those tapes. We have the advantage of being able to watch every
step the Nipe makes, and we know the materials he's been using to work
with. But, even so, the scientists are baffled by many of them. Can you
imagine the time James Clerk Maxwell would have had trying to build a
modern television set from tapes like this?"
"I can imagine," Stanton said.
"You can see, then, why we're depending on you," Mannheim said.
Stanton merely nodded. The knowledge that he was actually a focal point
in human history, that the whole future of the human race depended to a
tremendous extent on him, was a realization that weighed heavily and, at
the same time, was immensely bracing.
"And now," the colonel said, "I'll turn you over to Dr. Yoritomo. He'll
be able to give you a great deal more information than I can."
_[8]_
The girl moved with the peculiar gliding walk so characteristic of a
person walking under low-gravity conditions, and the ease and grace with
which she did it showed that she was no stranger to low-gee. To the
three men from Earth who followed her a few paces behind, the gee-pull
seemed so low as to be almost nonexistent, although it was actually a
shade over one quarter of that of Earth, the highest gravitational pull
of any planetoid in the Belt. Their faint feeling of nausea was due
simply to their lack of experience with _really_ low gravity--the
largest planetoid in the Belt had a surface gravity that was only one
eighth of the pull they were now experiencing, and only one
thirty-second of the Earth gravity they were used to.
The planetoid they were on--or rather, _in_--was known throughout the
Belt simply as Threadneedle Street, and was nowhere near as large as
Ceres. What accounted for the relatively high gravity pull of this tiny
body was its spin. Moving in its orbit, out beyond the orbit of Mars, it
turned fairly rapidly on its axis--rapidly enough to overcome the feeble
gravitational field of its mass. It was a solid, roughly spherical mass
of nickel-iron, nearly two thirds of a mile in diameter and, like the
other inhabited planetoids of the Belt, honeycombed with corridors and
rooms cut out of the living metal itself. But the corridors and rooms
were oriented differently from those of the other planetoids;
Threadneedle Street made one complete rotation about its axis in
something less than a minute and a half, and the resulting centrifugal
force reversed the normal "up" and "down", so that the center of the
planetoid was overhead to anyone walking inside it. It was that fact
which added to the queasiness of the three men from Earth who were
following the girl down the corridor. They knew that only a few floors
beneath them yawned the mighty nothingness of infinite space.
The girl, totally unconcerned with thoughts of that vast emptiness,
stopped before a door that led off the corridor and opened it. "Mr.
Martin," she said, "these are the gentlemen who have an appointment with
you. Mr. Gerrol. Mr. Vandenbosch. Mr. Nguma." She called off each name
as the man bearing it walked awkwardly through the door. "Gentlemen,"
she finished, "this is Mr. Stanley Martin." Then she left, discreetly
closing the door.
The young man behind the desk in the metal-walled office stood up
smiling as the three men entered, offered his hand to each, and shook
hands warmly. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, gesturing toward three
solidly built chairs that had been anchored magnetically to the
nickel-iron floor of the room.
"Well," he said genially when the three had seated themselves, "how was
the trip out?"
He watched them closely, without appearing to do so, as they made their
polite responses to his question. He was acquainted with them only
through correspondence; now was his first chance to evaluate them in
person.
Barnabas Nguma, a very tall man whose dark brown skin and eyes made a
sharp contrast with the white of the mass of tiny, crisp curls on his
head, smiled when he spoke, but there were lines of worry etched around
his eyes. "Pleasant enough, Mr. Martin. I'm afraid that steady one-gee
acceleration has left me unprepared for this low gravity."
"Well," said Stefan Vandenbosch, "it really isn't so bad, once you get
used to it. As long as it's steady, I don't mind it." He was a rather
chubby man of average height, with blond hair that was beginning to gray
at the temples and pale blue eyes that gave his face an expression of
almost childlike innocence.
Arthur Gerrol, the third man, was almost as light-complexioned as
Vandenbosch. His thinning hair was light brown, and his eyes were a deep
gray-blue, and the lines in his hard, blocky face gave him a look of
grim determination. "I agree, Stefan. It isn't the low gravity _per se_.
It's the doggone surges. We went from one gee to zero when the ship came
in for a landing at the pole of Threadneedle Street. Then, as we came
back down here, the gravity kept going up, and that ... what do you call
it? Coriolis force? Yeah, that's it. It made my head feel as though the
whole room was spinning." Then, realizing what he'd said, he laughed
sharply.
The man behind the desk laughed with him. "Yes, it is a bit
disconcerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull to make a man
feel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's one of the reasons why
Threadneedle Street was picked. As the financial center of the Belt, we
have a great many visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a lot
easier to get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at the
others and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London help you?"
He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making it awkward
for them to bring up the subject they had on their minds.
It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, Mr. Martin, we
have come to put our case before you in person. It is not Lloyd's we
want--it is you."
"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. Nguma?"
"Exactly. We feel--"
The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, do you have any
further information?" He looked as though such news would be welcome but
that it would not change his mind in the least.
"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know whether our
little bits and dribbles of information are worth anything."
The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. "I see," he said
softly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, Mr. Nguma?"
Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, sir! You are
acknowledged as the greatest detective in the Solar System--bar none. We
need you, Mr. Martin! _Earth_ needs you! That inhuman monster has been
killing and robbing for ten years! Men, women, and children have been
slaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've _got_ to help
us find that God-awful thing!"
Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned forward earnestly
and said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent businessmen who have been
robbed. We also represent hundreds and hundreds of people who have had
friends and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr.
Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror of a
superhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and goods lost--it's
a matter of _lives_ lost. Human lives, Mr. Martin."
"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," Vandenbosch broke
in. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, more will die. Who knows how
long a beast like that may live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!"
He waved a hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for another
century--maybe more--killing, killing, killing."
The detective looked at them for a moment in silence. These three men
represented more than just a group of businessmen who had grown uneasy
about the Government's ability to catch the Nipe; they represented more
than a few hundred or even a few thousand people who had been directly
affected by the monster's depredations. They represented the growing
feeling of unrest that was making itself known all over Earth. It was
even making itself felt out here in the Belt, although the Nipe had not,
in the past decade, shown any desire to leave Earth. Why hadn't the
beast been found? Why couldn't it be killed? Why were its raids always
so fantastically successful?
For every toothmark that inhuman thing had left on a human bone, it had
left a thousand on human minds--marks of a fear that was more than a
fear. It was a deep-seated terror of the unknown.
The number of people killed in ordinary accidents in a single week was
greater than the total number killed by the Nipe in the last decade, but
nowhere were men banding together to put a stop to that sort of death.
Accidental death was a known factor, almost a friend; the Nipe was stark
horror.
The detective said: "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but what I said in my last
letter still goes. I can't take the job. I will not go to Earth."
Every one of the three men could sense the determination in his voice,
the utter finality of his words. There was no mistaking the iron-hard
will of the man. They knew that nothing could shake him--nothing, at
least, that they could do.
But they couldn't admit defeat. No matter how futile they knew it to be,
they still had to try.
Nguma took a billfold from his jacket pocket, opened it, and took out an
engraved sheet of paper with an embossed seal in one corner. He put it
on the desk in front of the detective.
"Would you look at that, Mr. Martin?" he asked.
The detective picked it up and looked at it. The expression on his face
did not change. "Two hundred and fifty thousand," he said, in a voice
that showed only polite interest. "A cool quarter of a million. That's a
lot of money, Mr. Nguma."
"It is," said Nguma. "As you can see, that sum has just been deposited
here, in the Belt branch of the Bank of England. It will be transferred
to your account immediately, as soon as you agree to come to Earth to
find and kill the Nipe."
The detective looked up from his inspection of the certificate. He had
known that the three men had made a visit to the Bank's offices, and he
had been fairly sure of their purpose when he had received the
information. He had not known the sum would be quite so large.
"A quarter of a million, just to take the job?" he asked. "And what if I
don't catch him?"
"We have faith in you, Mr. Martin," Nguma said. "We know your
reputation. We know what you've done in the past. The Government police
haven't been able to do anything. They're completely baffled, and have
been for ten years. They will continue to be so. This alien's mind is
too devilishly sharp for the kind of men in Government service. We know
that when you take this job the finest brain in the Solar System will be
searching for that horror. If you can't find him ..." He spread his
hands in a gesture that was partly a dismissal of all hope and partly an
appeal to the man whose services he wanted so desperately.
The detective put the certificate down on the desk top and pushed it
toward Nguma. "That's very flattering, sir. Really. And I wish there
were some more diplomatic way of saying no--but that's all I can say."
"There will be a like sum deposited to your account as soon as you
either kill or capture the Nipe, or, discovering his hideout, enable the
Government officials to kill or capture him," said Nguma.
"That's half a million in all," Gerrol put in. "We've worked hard to
raise that money, Mr. Martin. It should be enough."
The detective kept his temper under icy control, allowing just enough of
his anger to show to make his point. "Mr. Gerrol ... it is not a
question of money. Your offer is more than generous."
"It's our final offer," Gerrol said flatly.
"I hope it is, Mr. Gerrol," the detective said coldly. "I sincerely hope
it is. For the past six months, you and your organization have been
trying to get me to take this job. I appreciate the sincerity of your
efforts, believe me. And, as I said, I am honored and flattered that you
should think so highly of me. On the other hand, your method of going
about it is hardly flattering. I turned down your first offer of twenty
thousand six months ago. Since then, you have been going up and up and
up until you have finally reached twenty-five times the original
amount. You seem to think I have been holding out for more money. I have
attempted to disabuse you of that notion, but you would not read what I
put down in my communications, evidently. If I had wanted more money
than you offered at first, I would have said so. I would have quoted you
a price. I did not. I gave you an unqualified refusal. I give it to you
still. _No._ Flatly, absolutely, and finally ... _no_."
Nguma was the only one of the three who could find his tongue
immediately. "I should think," he said somewhat acidly, "that you would
consider it your duty to--"
The detective cut him off. "My duty, Mr. Nguma, is, at this moment, to
my employers. I am a paid investigator for Lloyd's of London, Belt
branch. I draw a salary that is more than adequate for my needs and
almost adequate for my taste in the little luxuries of life. I am, for
the time being at least, satisfied with my work. So are my employers.
Until one or the other of us becomes dissatisfied, the situation will
remain as it is. I will not accept any outside work of any kind except
at the instructions of, or with the permission of, my employers. I have
neither. I want neither at this time. That is all, gentlemen. Good day."
"But the money ..." Nguma said.
"The money should be withdrawn from the bank and returned to Earth. I
suggest you return it to the people who have donated it to your
organization. If that is impossible, I suggest you donate it to the
Government officials who are working so hard to do the job you want
done. I assure you, they are much more capable than I of dealing with
the Nipe. Good day, Mr. Nguma, Mr. Vandenbosch, Mr. Gerrol."
They looked hurt, bewildered, and angry. Only Mr. Barnabas Nguma looked
as if he might have some slight understanding of what had happened. He
was the only one who spoke. "Good day, Mr. Martin. I am sorry we have
disturbed you. Thank you for your valuable time," he said with dignity.
And then the three men walked out the door, closing it behind them.
The detective sat behind his desk, looking at the door, almost as if he
could see the men beyond it as they moved down the corridor. Several
minutes later, when his secretary opened the door again, he was still
staring thoughtfully at it. She thought he was staring at her.
"Something the matter, Mr. Martin?" she asked.
"What? Oh. No, no. Nothing, Helen; nothing. Just wool-gathering. Did you
see our visitors out all right?"
She glided in and closed the door behind her. "Well, none of them fell
and broke a leg, if that's what you mean. But that Mr. Gerrol looked as
though he might break a blood vessel. I take it you turned them down
again?"
"Yes. For the last time, I think. It's a shame they had to travel out
here, all that distance, to be turned down. They looked on me as their
great white hope. They couldn't really believe I would turn them down.
Couldn't let themselves believe it, I guess. They're scared,
Helen--bright green scared."
"I know. But if it weren't for the fact that I have certain pretensions
to being a lady, I would have booted that Gerrol into orbit without a
spacesuit."
"Oh?"
"He implied," Helen said angrily, "that you were a coward. That you were
afraid to face the Nipe."