Oliver Meek tried to explain it carefully, but it was hard when people
were so insistent. Hard, too, to collect his thoughts so early in the
day.
He sat on the edge of the bed, white hair tousled, his night shirt
wrinkled, his bony legs sticking out beneath it.
"But I'm not a gun fighter," he declared. "I'm just on a holiday. I
never shot at a man before in all my life. I can't imagine what came
over me."
The Rev. Harold Brown brushed his argument aside.
"Don't you see, sir," he insisted, "what you can do for us? These
hoodlums will respect you. You can clean up the town for us. Blacky
Hoffman and his mob run the place. They make decent government and
decent living impossible. They levy protection tribute on every
businessman, they rob and cheat the miners and prospectors who come
here, they maintain vice conditions...."
"All you have to do," said Andrew Smith brightly, "is run Blacky and
his gang out of town."
"But," protested Meek, "you don't understand."
"Five years ago," the Rev. Brown went on, disregarding him, "I would
have hesitated to pit force against force. It is not my way nor the way
of the church ... but for five years I've tried to bring the gospel to
this place, have worked for better conditions and each year I see them
steadily getting worse."
"This could be a swell place," enthused Smith, "if we could get rid of
the undesirables. Fine opportunities. Capital would come in. Decent
people could settle. We could have some civic improvements. Maybe a
Rotary club."
Meek wiggled his toes despairingly.
"You would earn the eternal gratitude of Asteroid City," urged the Rev.
Brown. "We've tried it before but it never worked."
"They always killed our man," Smith explained, "or he got scared, or
they bought him off."
"We never had a man like you before," the Rev. Brown declared. "Luke
Blaine is a notorious gunman. No one, ever before, has been able to
beat him to...."
"There must be some mistake," insisted Meek. "I'm just a bookkeeper. I
don't know a thing...."
"We'd swear you in as marshal," said Smith. "The office is vacant now.
Has been for three months or more. We can't find anyone to take it."
"But I'm not staying long," protested Meek. "I'm leaving pretty soon. I
just want to try to get a look at the Asteroid Prowler and scout around
to see if I can't find some old rocks I read about once."
The two visitors stared open mouthed at him. Meek brightened. "You've
heard about those old rocks, maybe. Some funny inscriptions on them.
Fellow who found them thought they had been made recently, probably
just before Earthmen first came here. But no one can read them. Maybe
some other race ... from somewhere far away."
"But it won't take you long," pleaded Smith. "We got warrants for all
of them. All you got to do is serve them."
"Look," said Meek in desperation, "you have got me wrong. It must have
been an accident, shooting that gun out of Mr. Blaine's hand."
Meek felt dull anger stirring within him. What right did these people
have of insisting that he help them with their troubles? What did they
think he was? A desperado or space runner? Another gangster? Just
because he'd been lucky at the Silver Moon.
"By gosh," he declared flatly, "I just won't do it!"
They looked pained, rose reluctantly.
"I suppose we shouldn't have expected that you would," said the
Reverend Brown bitingly.
* * * * *
The Silver Moon was quiet. The bartender was languidly wiping the top
of the bar. A Venusian boy was as languidly sweeping out. The dancing
girls were gone, the music was silent.
Stiffy and Oliver Meek were among the few customers.
Stiffy gulped a drink and blew fiercely through his whiskers.
"Oliver," he said, "you sure are a ring-tailed bearcat with them guns
of yours. I wonder, would you tell me how you do it?"
"Look here, Mr. Grant," said Meek. "I wish you'd quit talking about
what I did. It was just an accident, anyhow. What I'm mainly interested
in is this Asteroid Prowler you were telling me about. Is there any
chance I might find him if I went out and looked?"
Stiffy choked, almost purple with astonishment.
"Good gravy," he said, "now you want to go out and tangle with the
Prowler!"
"Not tangle with him," Meek declared. "Just look at him."
"Mister," Stiffy warned, "the best way to look at that thing is with a
telescope. A good, powerful telescope."
The swinging doors swung open and a man walked in.
The newcomer walked directly toward the table occupied by Stiffy and
Meek. He halted beside it, black beard jutting fearsomely, eyes bleakly
cold.
"I'm Blacky Hoffman," he said. "I suppose you're Meek." He disregarded
Stiffy.
Meek stood up and held out his hand.
"Glad to know you, Mr. Hoffman," he said.
Blacky took the proffered hand in some surprise.
"Seems I should know you, Meek, but I don't. Should have heard of you
at some time or other. A man like you would get talked about."
Meek shook his head. "I don't think you ever have. I never did anything
to get talked about."
"Sit down," said Hoffman and it sounded like a command.
"I got to be going," Stiffy piped, already halfway to the door.
Hoffman poured out a drink and shoved the bottle at Meek. Meek gritted
his teeth and poured a short one.
"No use beating around the bush," said Blacky. "We may as well get down
to cases. I guess we understand one another."
Oliver Meek didn't know what the other meant, but he had to say
something.
"I guess we do," he agreed.
"All right, then," said Hoffman. "I've built up a sweet little racket
here and I don't like fellows butting in."
Meek essayed to down his liquor, succeeded, gasped for breath.
"But I could use a man like you," said Hoffman. "Luke tells me you are
handy with the blasters."
"I practice sometimes," Meek admitted.
A smile twitched Hoffman's bearded lips. "We have the town just where
we want it. The officials can't do a thing. Scared to. Marshals always
eat rock or skip town. Maybe you would like to throw in with us. Not
much to do, easy pickings."
"I'm sorry," said Meek, "but I can't do that."
"Listen, Meek," warned Hoffman, "you're either with us or you aren't.
We don't like chiselers here. We know what to do with guys who try to
muscle in. I don't know who you are or where you come from, but I'm
telling you this ... straight. If you don't come in, all right ... but
if you stick around after tonight I can't promise you protection."
Meek was silent, mulling the threat.
"You mean," he finally asked, "that you're ordering me out if I don't
join your gang?"