The policeman echoed the snort. "Roper is dangerous. You may have
forgotten how tricky and ruthless he can be. Sounds to me like hunting
a tiger with a butterfly net."
Torry smiled viciously. "Even that can be done ... if the net is big
enough and strong enough. I'm counting on a curious twist in Roper's
mind. I'm a challenge to him--the one man so far he failed to swindle
or corrupt. He pulled a fast one about Rose, but he knows I wasn't
there to fight back. It galls him. And if he knows I'm here, alive, and
looking for him, maybe he'll find me and try to wipe out the one flaw
in his record."
Grannar shot a glance of grudging admiration, but shook his head. "At
the moment, I wouldn't count on it. He'll be busy and we'll see to it
that he is. But if you want to go looking for him, maybe I can help
you."
"Do you know where he is?"
"No, but I can give you some hints where to look."
"Why?" Torry was baffled.
"Two reasons. Maybe more, but two will do. I'm a cop, so I hate men
like Roper. If he's on Mars I'll get him sooner or later because I'm
a good cop. And it's my job. I hate crooks, so I'll kill him or catch
him and send him to Phobos for keeps. The second reason is that I hate
Mars. It's a tough world--what government there is is corrupt and
vicious. Offend the wrong people or stir things up, and you're out
without your pension. You can even get hurt. I want out while I'm still
ahead, with enough money to go back to Earth and live decently. And so
far I haven't that kind of money."
"I don't see the connection," protested Torry.
Grannar's bushy eyebrows crawled up and down like caterpillars.
"There's big money in this Roper business. There has to be for anyone
to take the risk of arranging a breakout from Phobos that costs plenty."
"Roper must have something pretty good this time to attract help like
that. What is it?"
Grannar shrugged. "I don't know. My guess is transuranics--the heavy
metals beyond uranium in the atomic table; the stuff that powers
planets. Without it our whole economy breaks down, and we can't even
afford to make air for places like Mars. But you've mined it yourself.
You know how rare and valuable it is."
"I know," said Torry. "You think Roper has a new source?"
"Maybe that, and maybe he's discovered or stolen a cheaper way to
process or transport it."
"It figures," admitted Torry. "Roper was always interested in
transuranics, and always looking for a squeeze play like that. He'd be
able to make his own terms, wouldn't he? Including squaring the charges
against him?"
"Just about any terms he dictated," grated the detective.
"Why tell me this?"
Grannar's eyes narrowed. "You want Roper for your own good reasons.
I want him for mine. My hands are tied but yours are not. If you want
him, go after him. I'll help, short of risking my job. I'm offering to
make a deal with you. It occurs to me that a couple of smart men could
make a real killing by knowing the right time to buy a few shares of
stock in transuranics. A man like me might even make enough to retire
to Earth, comfortably."
"You're beginning to make sense," said Torry. "What makes you so sure
I'll cut you in for a slice?"
Grannar laughed harshly. "My nuisance value, for one thing. My
usefulness for another. I'm an honest cop. But there's nothing in the
rule book that says I can't pick up valuable information on the side
while I'm doing my job. And nothing that says I can't put pressure on
you to help me do it. Besides, why should you balk at doing me a favor
when you're doing yourself one at the same time?"
"I'm still listening."
"New to Mars, aren't you?"
"New enough. I've been here before, but a long time ago and not for
long then. Why?"
"Do you know anything about the local set-up, the governments?"
"Not much. It's a kind of anarchy, I think. The big companies and even
the labor racketeers have private armies like the old goon squads.
Legal government is just a front for feudal gangs, with the police
sitting politely on the lid. Lobbies and pressure groups are the real
bosses. Is that right?"
* * * * *
Grannar whistled his aimless Martian tune. "You said it. I didn't. Not
out loud. I never even think it in a room that might have microphones
or scanners. Mars is interesting, beautiful, with shreds and tatters
of an old, picturesque culture clinging to ivy-patterns to the new,
modern, cosmopolitan, industrial set-up. It says that in the books and
travel ads. Out here in the clean and lifeless air of a worn-out planet
I can have the precarious luxury of hating it. I want out, and you're
going to help me get out."
"Why stay anyhow?"
"Because I'm a cop and it's the only job I know. And bad as it is,
it's better than nothing. You've heard the yarn of the brash young
rookie in Earth's Sahara City, the guy famous for arresting the police
commissioner's daughter. I'm that cop. I hung a ticket on her for
traffic violation. It turned out she was drunk and speeding away from
an accident that killed somebody. The mess was too ugly to hush up, so
she went to prison and I went to the sticks for keeps. I resigned and
came here. So I learned to keep my mouth shut, do as I was told, and
never to move an inch out of line with the people who count."
"You're breaking my heart," Torry said bitterly. "Go on."
"Roper's not alone in this. Somebody with money and political influence
arranged that escape, probably picked him up off the wreck. Before he
went to Phobos he was mixed up with Trans-Uranic Miners Union, and also
with a Martian pressure group headed by old Sen Bas, the importer.
He may still be. I want no trouble with either. With you it doesn't
matter. Maybe you'll dig up a lot of interesting facts before you get
yourself killed."
"Get to the point."
"Spacefreight. Two large boxes consigned to Roper and Holden, his
partner. Still unopened, held in the unclaimed spacefreight warehouse.
Charges are high and Roper was broke. He tried to get money from
Trans-U and the Martians, but neither was buying a pig in a poke. Not
then. Maybe they are now. He must have convinced his backers, somehow.
But they can't get the space crates either unless I say so. Roper and
his pal tried robbery to raise money and landed on Phobos. I put the
crates under police seal."
"Why weren't they condemned and opened?"
"Too much red tape and money. The transport company can sell the stuff
legally for charges, but only at public auction, unopened, and bids
start at charges plus storage. Are you interested?"