couldn't believe it. She probablywouldn't notice him any more than now. There was nothing he could doto impress her. He had thought Mona had poise, but now he saw that hermanner was just an inadequate carbon copy of a completely spontaneousoriginal. The woman, Sheila, managed to be poised, aloof, and yetfriendly to everyone, simultaneously warm and unattainable.
He desired to be bitingly rude. That, at least, would make her admitthat he existed. She was smiling at that ridiculous little fat managain.
He drained his glass and, completely unnoticed, left the party. Nobodywould miss him, he was sure.
Outside in the corridor, Roy Pierce, his assistant, was engaged inconversation with two young men and two girls.
"There he is now," he heard Pierce say.
And one of the young men came toward him laughing.
"Is it true that this lunatic cannot go and make up with the lady ofhis heart because she has had him banned? If we all try to smuggle himin--"
And one of the girls, a really gorgeous blonde, called, "He was justtelling us about that time you were in space with the pirates afteryou and they had stolen the big focusing mirror from the first Beltfoundry furnace. I'm sure you can tell it better--you tell it."
He was surrounded by the five then. "Go ahead," they were urging,laughing, "Go ahead!" "It didn't really happen did it?"
This accusation was made by the pretty blonde. He looked at her halfindignantly. "I don't know how he tells it but it happened." And hebegan to tell what had happened.
The two girls and the two young men listened, adding occasionalstartled interjections and admiring laughter.
Pierce inserted an occasional question and Bryce became aware that inanswering them he was guided to stress and amplify points that madeclearer the danger and comedy. Later he became aware that he was halfconsciously following the clues of Pierce's expression for the rightstress and mood of the telling, now off-hand and smiling in tellingwhat he had done, now heavily dramatic mimicking and burlesquing thetones and threats of the outlaws, now ironic and bitterly indifferentin passing over damage and deaths--as a wryly lifted eyebrow in thedark young face listening, and a faint imperceptible shrug made himsee what had happened from a different angle than he had seen it then.Pierce apparently had something he needed, a good story sense.Following him must be something he had learned unconsciously lastnight, but it worked. He could see how well it worked in theexpressions of his audience.
Someone leaving the party had stopped to listen, standing behind hisright shoulder. When he finished, amid the exclamations and sighs ofhis listeners a cool, familiar voice drawled.
"That's quite a story. I picked up something about that at the newfoundry on reef five, but it was already an old yarn then." She stoodbefore him, still smooth and poised and lovely, offering her hand."I'm glad to hear it from the horse's mouth. Aren't you Bryce Carter?We were introduced in there, I think, but the name didn't click."
It was Sheila Wesley.
That evening was something to remember.
First they were a private party at a nightclub, then at a smallrestaurant. Tom, Betty, who was the pretty blonde, Ralph and thepretty brunette whose name was Marsha, Pierce, himself and Sheila. Thetalk ranged wildly over a multitude of subjects, breaking sometimesinto collective fantasies of nonsense like a hat full of fireworksthat left them laughing helplessly, sometimes shifting to philosophyand mutual confidences. Every so often Pierce brought the subjectaround to something that struck home to Bryce and he found himselfholding forth with unexpected passion and eloquence, and he wassurprised to see that the others were keenly interested.
Pierce rarely said more than an occasional cheerful remark, but in themore subtle plays of conversation Bryce found himself still halfconsciously consulting the cues of his expression to find what his ownreaction should be, to find the right word and the right attitude thatpleased the table and urged them all on to greater and more fantasticheights of talk. It was obvious that Pierce never had any difficultyunderstanding anyone. He had an instinct that Bryce lacked, and Brycewillingly surrendered to superior skill and followed his silent lead.
Sheila he discovered, besides being a member of one of the topdiplomatic families, had worked for a short while as a consultant atthe Belt plastic manufactory when it was being set up, and had takento space life. She shared his enthusiasm about the future of theAsteroid Belts.
It was an unprecedented evening. At the close of it he had four newfriends, and had discovered that "Tom" was Thomas Mayernick, one ofthe attorneys of the Spaceways Commission, and one of the men whom hehad gone to the dinner to meet.
And Sheila, tall and slender and beautiful, pressed his hand as thegroup parted, and said in her wonderful voice, "I want to see youagain Bryce," she smiled. "I eat at the technicians' end of town, youknow. I'll be with a Group at Geiger's Counter, tomorrow lunch. If youbear the company of slide rule artists we'd be glad to see you anytime."
He stood for a moment, oddly surprised.
"Say thank you to the lady." Pierce smiled. And to Sheila, "Youshouldn't startle people like that, Ma'm. His heart's weak."
"I just dropped dead," Bryce said, finding words. "You aren't leadingme on? You'll be there?"
"On my honor," she smiled. "Good night, Bryce." She was used to suchtributes. Half mocking as they were, she knew how much they werebasically sincere, and accepted their tribute to her beauty as amatter of course. What a wife to have and introduce as his wife toother men, and see the look in their eyes.
He remembered suddenly that he had not once mentioned that he was aDirector of UT. Somehow the conversation had never been led to asubject where he could have said it. He made a mental note to tell hernext time. It seemed strange that he had been with five people so manyhours without informing them that he was a Director of UT. He had donethe same thing last night, now he remembered. But they had seemed tolike him without it.
He let himself into his hotel room and turned on the light, but thefirst sidewise glimpse of himself in the mirror was disturbing. Hesolved that problem by the remarkably simple expedient of turning thelight out again, and undressed in the dark, grinning foolishly.
VI
Approaching the scientists' and technicians' row along the subsurfacearcades, the expensive restaurants grew fewer and were replaced byGerman-type beer halls, schools with courses advertised in theirposted schedules whose titles were completely unintelligible to him,and second hand bookstalls selling battered technical books andjournals whose titles were undecipherable in any tongue Bryce couldthink of. The lunch hour crowds were beginning to pour out into thearcades from elevators and tube trains in a rush to get first place intheir favorite eating places.
Pierce half turned as if his eyes caught on the expression of a facebehind them.
"Carter! There you are, you bastard!" The voice came from behind him,thick with rage, but more than that was the insult. It meantchallenge. This was nothing in which Pierce could defend him!
Bryce wheeled, left hand automatically plucking out his magnomatic,wondering if the attacker would be the honorable kind of duelist whowould hold fire long enough for him to get his gun out.
Miraculously it seemed to be happening. He already had his sightshalfway on to the speaker when he recognized him, a gross heavy figurehe had seen a hundred times. Mr. Beldman of the Board of Directors.What was he doing on the Moon?
Beldman stood with his fists on his hips and his legs spraddled,sneering at Bryce. "That's right," he said, heavily sarcastic, "startshootin' when you're surrounded by innocent spectators; when you knowI can't draw on you. That's the way of a crook." The husky base voiceechoed from the walls. Behind him to the bend of the corridor peoplewere scattering hastily out of the firing line.
_Crook_ was the central word. Somehow Beldman had found out that Brycewas responsible for the corruption of UT, and he was dealing with thematter in the most direct way that it could be dealt with, for a deathin a private duel would be laid to a quarrel and not investigated.
How had he found out? Bryce forced down the question as he stifflyreholstered his magnomatic. There was no use thinking of that untilthe question of surviving the next five minutes was settled. He stoodwith his hands empty, feeling curiously empty inside, oddly missingthe white rage and love of murder that usually carried him throughsuch things.
It seemed too good a day to spoil. He would rather have continued hisway to lunch with Sheila, and let the man live--or let himself live.This would be no duel for a little bloodletting. Beldman's purpose wasto kill. And Beldman himself, knowing what he knew, had to die. "Doyou understand what you have said, sir?" Bryce used the formal wordsof the dueling countries.
"You're damn well right I do!"
"Are you prepared to take the consequences,