Cudyk said, "We have been chosen to ask you some questions about your
previous statement."
"Ask away," said Rack, leaning back in his chair. Before him was a
glass of the dark, smoky liquor Ferguson imported for his special use.
He was smoking a tremendously long, black Russian cigarette.
Cudyk took the list from Paz and read the first question. "What is the
status of New Earth as to housing, utilities and so on?"
"Housing and utilities are adequate for the present population," said
Rack indifferently. "More units will be built as needed."
Paz scribbled in his notebook. Cudyk read, "Will every new colonist be
expected to serve as a member of New Earth's fighting forces?"
Rack said, "Every man will work where he's needed. Common sense ought
to tell you that middle-aged men with pot bellies and no military
training won't be asked to man battleships."
"What is the size of New Earth's navy?"
"Next question."
"Will new colonists be allowed to retain their personal fortunes?"
Rack stared at him coldly. "The man who asked that," he said, "had
better stay in the Quarter. If by his personal fortune he means
Galactic currency, he can use it to stuff rat-holes. Any personal
property of value to the community, and in excess of the owner's
minimum needs, will be commandeered and dispensed for the good of the
community."
"Will new colonists be under military dis--"
"Look out!" said De Grasse suddenly. He lurched to his feet, upsetting
his chair.
Someone stumbled against Paz, who fell heavily across Cudyk's legs,
bringing him down. Someone else shouted. From the floor, Cudyk saw
Burgess standing quietly with a tiny nickeled revolver in his hand.
"Please don't move, Mr. Ferguson," said Burgess. "I don't trust you.
All of you, stand still, please."
Cudyk carefully got his legs under him and slowly stood up. The men on
the other side of the table were still sitting or standing where they
had been a moment before. De Grasse stood in an attitude of frozen
protest, one big hand flat against his trousers pocket. He looked
comically like a man who has left the house without his keys.
They must have taken his gun away, Cudyk thought, after that affair
yesterday.
Monk and the aged Spider were sitting tensely, trying to watch Rack and
Burgess at the same time. Rack, as always, was inhumanly calm. Ferguson
looked frightened. The gunman, Vic Smalley, had straightened away from
the wall; he looked alert and unworried.
"Captain Rack," said Burgess, "you killed that man Harkway."
Rack said nothing.
"I did it," De Grasse said hoarsely. "If you have to shoot somebody,
shoot me."
Burgess turned slightly. Rack, without seeming to hurry, picked up
the glass in front of him and half rose to fling the black liquor at
Burgess' face.
The gun went off. Burgess stumbled back a step and then toppled over,
with a knife-handle sprouting magically between neck and shoulder.
De Grasse came hurtling across the table top, dived onto Burgess'
prostrate body and came up with the gun. Not more than two seconds had
gone by since Rack lifted the glass.
The delegates were moving away, leaving a clear space around De Grasse
and Burgess. Cudyk heard some of them clattering down the stairs.
Rack was leaning over the table, supporting himself with one hand,
while the other rested at his waist. His attitude, together with his
frozen expression, suggested that he was merely bending over to
examine Burgess' body. But in the next moment he turned slightly,
lifted the hand that was pressed to his side, and looked at the dark
stain that was spreading over his shirt.
De Grasse stood up. Cudyk went to Burgess and knelt beside him.
The man was conscious and moving feebly. "Lie still," said Cudyk.
Someone pushed his shoulder roughly, and he looked up to see De
Grasse transferring the revolver from his left hand to his right. The
youngster's lips were compressed. "Get out of the way," he said harshly.
"No," said Rack. "Leave him alone." He sat down carefully. After a
moment De Grasse went around the table and joined him.
Cudyk lifted Burgess' jacket carefully. There was not much bleeding,
and he did not think the wound was dangerous. Burgess said weakly, "Did
I kill him, Laszlo?"
"No," said Cudyk. "No one was killed."
Burgess turned his head away.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and Moskowitz came into the room,
followed by Lee Far and two men with a stretcher. Moskowitz glanced
at Burgess and at Rack, then knelt beside Burgess without a word. He
pulled out the knife expertly, pressing a wad of bandage around the
wound.
"I'll take that," said Spider, bending over with his grey hand
outstretched.
Moskowitz dropped the knife on the floor and went on bandaging Burgess.
Spider picked it up, glared at the doctor and went back around the
table.
Cudyk waited until Moskowitz had finished with Burgess and started
probing for the bullet in Rack's side. Following the stretcher bearers
down the stairs, he went out into the clear morning sunlight.
* * * * *
There was never any end to it. The Quarter was like a tight
gravitational system, with many small bodies swinging around each other
in eccentric orbits, and the whole shrinking in upon itself as time
went on, so that it grew more and more certain that one collision would
engender half a dozen more.
And in the mind, too, each event went on forever. Cudyk remembered
Burgess, in the stretcher as he was being carried home, weeping
silently because he had failed to kill the man who had murdered his
daughter's lover. And he remembered Rack, sitting silent and weary as
he waited for Moskowitz to attend to him: sitting without anger for the
man who had shot him, sitting with patience, filled with his own inner
strength.
And De Grasse, tortured soul, who had once more shown himself willing
to sacrifice himself to any loyalty he felt.
Even Monk, even Spider, lived not for himself but for Rack.
There were all the traditional virtues, dripping their traditional
gore: nobility, self-sacrifice, patience, even generosity. By any test
except the test of results, Rack was a great man and Burgess another.
And the test of results was a two-edged razor: for by that test, Cudyk
himself was a total failure, a nonentity.