Retief's feet sank ankle deep into the powdery surface that glinted
like snow in the glare of the distant sun.
"It's funny stuff," Sam's voice sounded in his ear. "Under a gee
of gravity, you'd sink out of sight. The stuff cuts diamond like
butter--but temperature changes break it down into a powder. A lot of
it's used just like this, as an industrial abrasive. Easy to load, too.
Just drop a suction line, put on ambient pressure and start pumping."
"And this whole rock is made of the same material?"
"Sure is. We ran plenty of test bores and a full schedule of soundings.
I've got the reports back aboard _Gertie_--that's our lighter."
"And you've already loaded a cargo here?"
"Yep. We're running out of capital fast. I need to get that cargo to
port in a hurry--before the outfit goes into involuntary bankruptcy.
With this, that'd be a crime."
"What do you know about General Minerals, Sam?"
"You thinking of hiring on with them? Better read the fine print in
your contract before you sign. Sneakiest bunch this side of a burglar's
convention."
"They own a chunk of rock known as 2645-P. Do you suppose we could find
it?"
"Oh, you're buying it, hey? Sure, we can find it. You damn sure want to
look it over good if General Minerals is selling."
Back aboard the skiff, Mancziewicz flipped the pages of the chart book,
consulted a table. "Yep, she's not too far off. Let's go see what GM's
trying to unload."
* * * * *
The skiff hovered two miles from the giant boulder known as 2645-P.
Retief and Mancziewicz looked it over at high magnification. "It don't
look like much, Retief," Sam said. "Let's go down and take a closer
look."
The boat dropped rapidly toward the scarred surface of the tiny world,
a floating mountain, glaring black and white in the spotlight of the
sun. Sam frowned at his instrument panel.
"That's funny. My ion counter is revving up. Looks like a drive trail,
not more than an hour or two old. Somebody's been here."
The boat grounded. Retief and Sam got out. The stony surface was
littered with rock fragments varying in size from pebbles to great
slabs twenty feet long, tumbled in a loose bed of dust and sand. Retief
pushed off gently, drifted up to a vantage point atop an upended wedge
of rock. Sam joined him.
"This is all igneous stuff," he said. "Not likely we'll find much here
that would pay the freight to Syrtis--unless maybe you lucked onto some
Bodean artifacts. They bring plenty."
He flipped a binocular in place as he talked, scanned the riven
landscape. "Hey!" he said. "Over there!"
Retief followed Sam's pointing glove. He studied the dark patch against
a smooth expanse of eroded rock.
"A friend of mine came across a chunk of the old planetary surface two
years ago," Sam said thoughtfully. "Had a tunnel in it that'd been used
as a storage depot by the Bodeans. Took out over two ton of hardware.
Course, nobody's discovered how the stuff works yet, but it brings top
prices."
"Looks like water erosion," Retief said.
"Yep. This could be another piece of surface, all right. Could be a
cave over there. The Bodeans liked caves, too. Must have been some
war--but then, if it hadn't been, they wouldn't have tucked so much
stuff away underground where it could weather the planetary breakup."
They descended, crossed the jumbled rocks with light, thirty-foot leaps.
"It's a cave, all right," Sam said, stooping to peer into the five-foot
bore. Retief followed him inside.
"Let's get some light in here." Mancziewicz flipped on a beam. It
glinted back from dull polished surfaces of Bodean synthetic. Sam's low
whistle sounded in Retief's headset.
"That's funny," Retief said.
"Funny, hell! It's hilarious. General Minerals trying to sell off a
worthless rock to a tenderfoot--and it's loaded with Bodean artifacts.
No telling how much is here; the tunnel seems to go quite a ways back."
"That's not what I mean. Do you notice your suit warming up?"
"Huh? Yeah, now that you mention it."
Retief rapped with a gauntleted hand on the satiny black curve of the
nearest Bodean artifact. It clunked dully through the suit "That's not
metal," he said. "It's plastic."
"There's something fishy here," Sam said. "This erosion; it looks more
like a heat beam."
"Sam," Retief said, turning, "it appears to me somebody has gone to a
great deal of trouble to give a false impression here."
* * * * *
Sam snorted. "I told you they were a crafty bunch." He started out of
the cave, then paused, went to one knee to study the floor. "But maybe
they outsmarted themselves. Look here!"
Retief looked. Sam's beam reflected from a fused surface of milky
white, shot through with dirty yellow. He snapped a pointed instrument
in place on his gauntlet, dug at one of the yellow streaks. It furrowed
under the gouge, a particle adhering to the instrument. With his
left hand, Mancziewicz opened a pouch clipped to his belt, carefully
deposited the sample in a small orifice on the device in the pouch. He
flipped a key, squinted at a dial.
"Atomic weight 197.2," he said. Retief turned down the audio volume on
his headset as Sam's laughter rang in his helmet.
"Those clowns were out to stick you, Retief," he gasped, still
chuckling. "They salted the rock with a cave full of Bodean artifacts--"
"Fake Bodean artifacts," Retief put in.
"They planed off the rock so it would look like an old beach, and then
cut this cave with beamers. And they were boring through practically
solid gold!"
"As good as that?"
Mancziewicz flashed the light around. "This stuff will assay out at a
thousand credits a ton, easy. If the vein doesn't run to five thousand
tons, the beers are on me." He snapped off the light. "Let's get
moving, Retief. You want to sew this deal up before they get around to
taking another look at it."
Back in the boat, Retief and Mancziewicz opened their helmets. "This
calls for a drink," Sam said, extracting a pressure flask from the map
case. "This rock's worth as much as mine, maybe more. You hit it lucky,
Retief. Congratulations." He thrust out a hand.
"I'm afraid you've jumped to a couple of conclusions, Sam," Retief
said. "I'm not out here to buy mining properties."
"You're not--then why--but man! Even if you didn't figure on
buying...." He trailed off as Retief shook his head, unzipped his suit
to reach to an inside pocket, take out a packet of folded papers.
"In my capacity as Terrestrial Vice-Consul, I'm serving you with an
injunction restraining you from further exploitation of the body known
as 95739-A." He handed a paper across to Sam. "I also have here an
Order impounding the vessel _Gravel Gertie II_."
Sam took the papers silently, sat looking at them. He looked up at
Retief. "Funny. When you beat me at Drift and then threw the game so
you wouldn't show me up in front of the boys, I figured you for a
right guy. I've been spilling my heart out to you like you were my old
grandma. An old-timer in the game like me." He dropped a hand, brought
it up with a Browning 2mm pointed at Retief's chest.
"I could shoot you and dump you here with a slab over you, toss these
papers in the John and hightail it with the load...."
"That wouldn't do you much good in the long run, Sam. Besides you're
not a criminal or an idiot."
* * * * *
Sam chewed his lip. "My claim is on file in the Consulate, legal and
proper. Maybe by now the grant's gone through."
"Other people have their eye on your rock, Sam. Ever meet a fellow
called Leatherwell?"
"General Minerals, huh? They haven't got a leg to stand on."
"The last time I saw your claim, it was still lying in the pending
file. Just a bundle of paper until it's validated by the Consul. If
Leatherwell contests it ... well, his lawyers are on annual retainer.
How long could you keep the suit going, Sam?"
Mancziewicz closed his helmet with a decisive snap, motioned to Retief
to do the same. He opened the hatch, sat with the gun on Retief.
"Get out, paper-pusher." His voice sounded thin in the headphones.
"You'll get lonesome, maybe, but your suit will keep you alive a few
days. I'll tip somebody off before you lose too much weight. I'm going
back and see if I can't stir up a little action at the Consulate."
Retief climbed out, walked off fifty yards. He watched as the skiff
kicked off in a quickly dispersed cloud of dust, dwindled rapidly away
to a bright speck that was lost against the stars. Then he extracted
the locator beacon from the pocket of his suit and thumbed the control.
Twenty minutes later, aboard Navy FP-VO-6, Retief pulled off his
helmet. "Fast work, Henry. I've got a couple of calls to make. Put me
through to your HQ, will you? I want a word with Commander Hayle."
The young naval officer raised the HQ, handed the mike to Retief.
"Vice-Consul Retief here, Commander. I'd like you to intercept a skiff,
bound from my present position toward Ceres. There's a Mr. Mancziewicz
aboard. He's armed, but not dangerous. Collect him and see that he's
delivered to the Consulate at 0900 Greenwich tomorrow.
"Next item: The Consulate has impounded an ore-carrier, _Gravel Gertie
II_. It's in a parking orbit ten miles off Ceres. I want it taken in
tow." Retief gave detailed instruction. Then he asked for a connection
through the Navy switchboard to the Consulate. Magnan's voice answered.
"Retief speaking, Mr. Consul. I have some news that I think will
interest you--"
"Where are you, Retief? What's wrong with the screen? Have you served
the injunction?"
"I'm aboard the Navy patrol vessel. I've been out looking over the
situation, and I've made a surprising discovery. I don't think we're
going to have any trouble with the Sam's people; they've looked over
the body--2645-P--and it seems General Minerals has slipped up. There
appears to be a highly valuable deposit there."
"Oh? What sort of deposit?"
"Mr. Mancziewicz mentioned collapsed crystal metal," Retief said.
"Well, most interesting." Magnan's voice sounded thoughtful.
"Just thought you'd like to know. This should simplify the meeting in
the morning.
"Yes," Magnan said. "Yes, indeed. I think this makes everything very
simple...."
* * * * *
At 0845 Greenwich, Retief stepped into the outer office of the Consular
suite.
"... fantastic configuration," Leatherwell's bass voice rumbled,
"covering literally acres. My xenogeologists are somewhat confused by
the formations. They had only a few hours to examine the site; but it's
clear from the extent of the surface indications that we have a very
rich find here. Very rich indeed. Beside it, 95739-A dwindles into
insignificance. Very fast thinking on your part, Mr. Consul, to bring
the matter to my attention."
"Not at all, Mr. Leatherwell. After all--"
"Our tentative theory is that the basic crystal fragment encountered
the core material at some time, and gathered it in. Since we had been
working on--that is, had landed to take samples on the other side of
the body, this anomalous deposit escaped our attention completely."
Retief stepped into the room.
"Good morning, gentlemen. Has Mr. Mancziewicz arrived?"
"Mr. Mancziewicz is under restraint by the Navy. I've had a call that
he'd be escorted here."
"Arrested, eh?" Leatherwell nodded. "I told you these people were an
irresponsible group. In a way it seems a pity to waste a piece of
property like 95739-A on them."
"I understood General Minerals was claiming that rock," Retief said,
looking surprised.
Leatherwell and Magnan exchanged glances. "Ah, GM has decided to drop
all claim to the body," Leatherwell said. "As always, we wish to
encourage enterprise on the part of the small operators. Let them keep
the property. After all GM has other deposits well worth exploiting."
He smiled complacently.
"What about 2645-P? You've offered it to the Sam's group."
"That offer is naturally withdrawn!" Leatherwell snapped.
"I don't see how you can withdraw the offer," Retief said. "It's been
officially recorded. It's a Bona Fide contract, binding on General
Minerals, subject to--"
"Out of the goodness of our corporate heart," Leatherwell roared,
"we've offered to relinquish our legitimate, rightful claim to asteroid
2645-P. And you have the infernal gall to spout legal technicalities! I
have half a mind to withdraw my offer to withdraw!"
"Actually," Magnan put in, eyeing a corner of the room, "I'm not at all
sure I could turn up the record of the offer of 2645-P. I noted it down
on a bit of scratch paper--"
"That's all right," Retief said, "I had my pocket recorder going. I
sealed the record and deposited it in the Consular archives."
There was a clatter of feet outside. Miss Gumble appeared on the desk
screen. "There are a number of persons here--" she began.
* * * * *
The door banged open. Sam Mancziewicz stepped into the room, a sailor
tugging at each arm. He shook them loose, stared around the room. His
eyes lighted on Retief. "How did you get here...?"
"Look here, Monkeywits or whatever your name is," Leatherwell began,
popping out of his chair.
Mancziewicz whirled, seized the stout executive by the shirt front and
lifted him onto his tiptoes. "You double-barrelled copper-bottomed
oak-lined son-of-a--"
"Don't spoil him, Sam," Retief said casually. "He's here to sign off
all rights--if any--to 95739-A. It's all yours--if you want it."
Sam glared into Leatherwell's eyes. "That right?" he grated.
Leatherwell bobbed his head, his chins compressed into bulging folds.
"However," Retief went on, "I wasn't at all sure you'd still be
agreeable, since he's made your company a binding offer of 2645-P in
return for clear title to 95739-A."
Mancziewicz looked across at Retief with narrowed eyes. He released
Leatherwell, who slumped into his chair. Magnan darted around his desk
to minister to the magnate. Behind them, Retief closed one eye in a
broad wink at Mancziewicz.
"... still, if Mr. Leatherwell will agree, in addition to guaranteeing
your title to 95739-A, to purchase your output at four credits a ton,
FOB his collection station--"
Mancziewicz looked at Leatherwell. Leatherwell hesitated, then nodded.
"Agreed," he croaked.
"... and to open his commissary and postal facilities to all
prospectors operating in the belt...."
Leatherwell swallowed, eyes bulging, glanced at Mancziewicz's face. He
nodded. "Agreed."
"... then I think I'd sign an agreement releasing him from his offer."
Mancziewicz looked at Magnan.
"You're the Terrestrial Consul-General," he said. "Is that the straight
goods?"