She smiled. "Never mind. You can see Mr. Gramenger in about five
minutes."
"Thank you. Perhaps we can share dinner this evening."
"Well--"
"I have no money, you understand."
Her mouth fell open. She burst into laughter, and then clapped her hand
over her mouth when she saw he was dead serious. She said quickly, "All
right. I'll take you to dinner. I guess we poor fish have to stick
together."
"Thank you," he said. "We can go to the Milo Club. In return for the
favor, I can promise you that before Thanksgiving you will receive
three large Plymouth Rock chickens of unusual tenderness and flavor."
He picked up a magazine and read while waiting.
Gramenger, when he saw Harvey, leaned back in his chair scrubbing a
meaty chin. He remarked he was pleased to meet Harvey, but he couldn't
place the name, and did not understand how Harvey had got into the
office without a prior appointment. Harvey said these details did
not matter, but that what did matter was that he was here to make a
financial settlement with the firm rather than, later on, to bring suit
against the firm for a sum of one million dollars.
Gramenger's eyebrows went up. He smiled faintly, letting his glance
rove over Harvey's stained leather space jacket and spotted denims.
"I'm sure I'd like to hear your story," he said. "I may as well inform
you, however, that any claims against the company must be laid before
the legal department."
Harvey stood at the desk looking down.
"I'm an abrupt man, sir," he said. "I do things quickly, and then
they're over. I have no liking for red tape or legal maneuvers. If my
business is not settled before I leave this office within the next
hour, you may expect to go to court and lose much more than the meager
damages settlement I am asking."
"Damages for what?" Gramenger frowned irritably. His chair came down
with a bang. "If you think you can pull a fast one with the firm of
Gramenger & Lewis--"
Harvey broke in. He told Gramenger about his planet Plymouth. He showed
his papers of ownership. He described the orbit. He showed where the
planet would intersect the plane of the ecliptic in one week, seven
hours, twenty-eight minutes, and some seconds. He showed the official
seal from the Claims Office proving that this was so.
"Your liner _Hermes_," he said, "will intersect the orbit of the planet
Plymouth some 17,000 miles from Plymouth. The atomic wash from the
_Hermes'_ drivers will infect space for 100,000 miles around; this is
standard knowledge and has been proved in court. Legal precedent has
also established that nucleonic, gravitonic, or positronic infection
of planetary farmlands constitutes a serious misdemeanor for which
damages, both punitive and otherwise, may be sought."
Gramenger grinned. "Let me see those papers." He looked them over,
chuckling. Once he looked up.
* * * * *
"Planetary farmlands, huh? And this planet is a hunk of rock out in
space. Frozen. Only 483 miles in diameter. No atmosphere." He scooped
up the interoffice 'phone. "Phil!" he said. "Get up here. I want you to
prove something to a loco joking yokel I've got up here in the office."
He hung up. "That's my lawyer," he said, leaning back and folding his
hands over his capacious stomach. "Too bad. Maybe you'll learn a lesson
from this."
"May I ask what your birthday is?" Harvey asked.
Gramenger told him. Harvey's jaw came out. "Cancer. Yes, I can see we
will have to fight this out."
The lawyer came in. He smiled a little when Gramenger explained. He
looked at the papers. He shook a sleek head. He handed the papers to
Harvey.
"You don't stand a chance, man. Have you looked into the definition of
what constitutes planetary farmlands?"
"What is the definition?" said Harvey.
"Planetary farmlands, legally and simply, are the natural surface or
portions of the surface of a planet of any size which could support
vegetative growths of any kind. Your mistake here is that this
planetoid, and every other such a body that has been discovered, _does
not have a soil surface_. Ergo, it cannot support plant life."
"If it _did_ have a soil surface," Harvey said.
The lawyer looked at him whimsically. "It couldn't," he said, in what
was meant as a kindly tone. "These odd-sized bodies that wander through
space have invariably been discovered to be crystallized, meteoric,
inorganic materials from top to bottom."
"But if it _did_ have soil, natural, original surface soil."
The lawyer spread his hands, shrugging. "It can't be. But if it were,
naturally, the company would--"
"Change the _Hermes'_ trajectory?" Harvey said.
Gramenger glared. "Gramenger & Lewis has changed neither a schedule nor
a trajectory in its career as the oldest shipping concern in the Solar
System," he snapped.
"Well," said Harvey, "what _would_ you do if it were proved that
Plymouth has a natural soil surface?" He took a flat paper bag out of
his pocket and emptied a pile of dirt onto Gramenger's desk.
The lawyer and Gramenger looked at the pile of dirt. Both men grew a
little pale.
The lawyer licked his lips. "If you show that that dirt comes from
Plymouth," he said, "Gramenger & Lewis will stand the expense of
transforming the planetoid into a free-mover."
"This means," said Harvey, "that you would be forced to install
gravitic machinery under Plymouth's surface, including plus and minus
grids and controls that would make it possible to move the planetoid
out of the _Hermes'_ way."
"Yes...."
"You would also install atmosphere-making machinery."
"If the claimant asked for it, it would be a simple matter."
"You would also provide a transmutator as an adjunct to the
atmosphere-machine so that water could be provided?"
Gramenger was being very silent and small behind the desk.
Unconsciously, he nodded his head. The lawyer, his amiable manner
somewhat shattered, nodded slowly. "These and other things could be
done and would be done in a hurry."
"Also," persisted Harvey, "there would be an inconsequential cash
settlement of perhaps ten thousand code credits?"
The lawyer was silent. He looked at Gramenger. Gramenger said slowly,
"That is a small matter, and would be agreed to. But there is a large
matter, and that is to prove that this soil comes from Plymouth. For my
money, it's still a hunk of rock--"
Harvey stopped him. He explained briefly his experience in discovering
asteroid juncture faults for the Asteroid Association. He explained
that once, according to theory and great evidence, a large planet
existed between Mars and Jupiter. The planet exploded, forming the
asteroid belt, and throwing out large, errant chunks of itself which
moved in various peculiar orbits about the Sun.
"Plymouth is such a chunk, and," added Harvey complacently, "I will
undoubtedly be paid one thousand credits from the Asteroid Association
later on when I show that Plymouth comes from that shattered planet's
surface. And I will prove also, for the first time, that that shattered
planet contained a surface soil on which vegetable life was rampant.
Plymouth is such a proof."
Gramenger writhed and sweated. He pointed to the pile of dirt. "But you
haven't proved--"