"Well, in that case, you know I'm an honest man--always seeking good
business--both for a little profit and--to give others a helping hand."
"Get to the point!" Brace snapped.
Gartland's face lost its smile and became hard. His eyes gleamed
brightly and Brace half expected him to hiss like a snake. "I--I--came
to discuss your cargo. Now, you realize that it's a dead loss to you.
In fact, it will be hard to get off your hands."
Gartland waited, but Brace didn't speak, didn't move.
"I'll be frank with you," Gartland continued. "I had my eye on that
item and you--sort of beat me to it. Actually though, you've taken a
lot of risk, gone to a lot of work, and that's something I'm willing to
pay for."
* * * * *
Brace still studied him, meditating. Out here, he knew there were
places where a woman, almost any woman would bring a fair price, if
you dealt in that sort of thing.
"You see, you'll be saving yourself a lot of trouble--and me too."
Gartland hesitated, eyeing Brace. "The price is a hundred units."
Brace sniffed.
"Or shall we say a hundred fifty units. That's the most I can go.
And you realize, of course, that I'm throwing in a certain amount
of protection. Besides, what else can you do with the--ah--cargo?"
Gartland waited for an answer, then shrugging, he rose. "My men may
be getting a little nervous, Captain." He looked at Brace again,
speculatively. "Think it over. I'll have one of my ships contact you in
space."
Gartland paused and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. Taking an
elaborate stylus, he scribbled a note on it. "Just give this to the man
who contacts you and he'll take care of everything."
Brace took it and motioned toward the companionway. He had no intention
of admitting anything. Gartland turned and walked ahead. Silently, they
entered the port and the inner door swung closed.
The outer portal opened on the sandy waste, brightly lit, chilling. The
vast crescent of Jupiter lay on the horizon ahead, reflecting brilliant
light across the glistening sand. The sun, like a giant star, lay close
near the horizon, forty five degrees from the half illumined bulk of
Jupiter. The huge planet, however, radiated warmth, while the sun
seemed cool and distant and somehow removed.
Gartland stepped onto the sand, his feet making the weird and wispy
crunches characteristic of Titan, and Brace touched a button and
re-entered his ship.
"Did you throw the scum out?" Barrows asked.
Brace looked up. The tall mate was standing impassively beside the
port. Brace grunted.
"I suppose he wanted to buy 'er," Barrows said, "but from what I've
heard, it's taking more than a chance to deal with him."
Brace walked up the companionway toward the mess room.
"Well, it's none of my business," Barrows growled, following him,
"except that he talks. Any deal you make with him--"
Brace scowled. "I didn't make any deal. One of his ships is supposed to
meet us."
Barrows snorted. "I say, chuck her out! It's a cleaner way to die,
anyway."
"Shut up!" Brace barked. He tucked the folded paper in his pocket and
entered the mess room. Why should he care, he wondered. The Gorgon III
was only a tramp. The men on it were space-rats. And the waste port
had taken many a body and expelled it with an explosive poof of air
into the velvet tranquility of space. He'd watched unemotionally as a
spotlight had followed many lifeless hulks of men, sometimes moving
straight like an arrow, other times rotating or turning slowly, end
over end. Some day, he might do it himself; begin that long, gradual
fall toward the sun, or perhaps his body would answer to the cosmic law
of the planets, his lifelessness immortalized in a great circle about
the sun.
* * * * *
Brace looked at the food laid before him and stirred it with a fork.
The weight of the food on his fork was slight and he pictured the
lightness of the girl's fragile form. With only one hand, he could
place her in that chute and close the door to the port. In his mind,
he pulled the release lever, heard the dull thump of escaping air, saw
her wheeling away, pinioned in the glare of light, spinning around and
around like a ballet dancer, just as he had seen her spin around and
around on the stage.
She wouldn't resist. She would accept death. But she'd go spinning,
pirouetting into the lordly sun, or perhaps the sun would be pleased by
her dance and would bid her dance forever around it.
Abruptly, Brace's big paw smashed his cup on the table and it
shattered. The men looked at him curiously, watched him rise, the
broken handle still in his clenched fingers, brown droplets of coffee
sinking into his tunic. Then he turned and walked out of the mess room.
He hesitated before the door of his cabin. His fingers relaxed and the
broken handle fell to the deck. The hand which rested on the knob came
away and he rapped on the door with his knuckles.
"Come in," she called.
He opened the door, stepped into the room and straightened himself, his
face perhaps being more ferocious in his attempt to cover his disturbed
mind. Idly, he noted the tray of untouched food. She was still sitting
on the edge of the bunk, her face pale and drawn.
"Everything all right?" Brace asked evenly.
She nodded.
"We'll be blasting off soon," he said. "Better stay in the bunk." He
turned, opened a small door and drew out a one piece uniform. Without
looking at her, he picked up a pair of boots, a cap, and took his log
book from a drawer. "I'll leave you my cabin," he murmured.
She didn't answer.
Brace thumbed through his log, unseeing. There was no sound in the room
for a long time except his heavy breathing and the swishing of the
leaves of the log. Finally he looked up and said, "I'm not doing this
because I want to." The words seemed empty and hollow. "Kid, these are
the breaks!" He wished desperately she wouldn't look at him that way.
He hesitated, then said, "If you had your choice--that is--you could
die, quick and clean--or--well--you could live--but not so clean--"
She stared at him blankly for a moment. "I--I--guess we all have to die
sometime. It's much better to die quickly, instantly--than--to drag it
out. Nobody wants to die--but when you have to--maybe it's not so bad."
"Yeah, I knew you'd want it that way." Brace turned and opened the
door. "You're a nice kid," he murmured. "Wish I'd never seen you."
* * * * *
In the control room, Brace waited by his acceleration chair until
the pilot and the mate entered. The signal man closed and dogged the
entrance, then settled into his chair. He threw some switches and
droned into a microphone, "Gorgon III, Clearance No. 13749. Out of
Titan, Sullivan City to Mars. Cargo as inspected."
There was a short pause, then a mechanical voice said, "Clearance,
Gorgon III. Luck."
Brace cinched the webbing tighter across his chest and nodded.
"Raise 1.8 G's," Barrows ordered.
Immediately, the ship jarred and Brace sank into his chair. The
sustained roar from the jets thundered through the ship, making the
panels and bulkheads rattle.