VI
The asteroid, Pallas, was a chunk of rich core material, twohundred-some miles in its greatest dimension. It had a mottled, pinkishshine, partly from untarnished lead, osmium, considerable uranium, someiron, nickel, silver, copper. The metals were alloyed, here; almostpure, there. There was even a little rock. But thirty-five percent ofPallas' roughly spherical mass was said to be gold.
Gold is not rare at the cores of the worlds, to which most of the heavyelements must inevitably sink, during the molten stage of planetarydevelopments. On Earth it must be the same, though who could dig threethousand miles into a zone of such heat and pressure? But the asteroidworld had exploded. Pallas was an exposed and cooled piece of its heart.
Pallas had a day of twenty-four hours because men, working with greation jets angling toward the stars, had adjusted its natural rate ofrotation for their own convenience to match the terrestrial. A greaterchange was Pallastown.
Frank Nelsen and Miguel Ramos made the considerable journey to itwithout further incident. Because he was tense with hurry, Nelsen'simpressions were superficial: Something like Serene, but bigger and morefantastic. A man weighed only a few ounces, here. Spidery guidancetowers could loom impossibly high. There were great storage bins for rawmetal brought in from all over the Belt. There were rows of water tanks.As on the Moon, the water came mostly from gypsum rock or occasionallyfrom soil frost, both found on nearby crustal asteroids. Beyond therefineries bulged the domes of the city itself, housing factories,gardens, recreation centers, and sections that got considerably lost anddivergent trying to imitate the apartment house areas of Earth.
Frank Nelsen's wonder was hurried and dulled.
Gimp Hines and David Lester were waiting inside the stellene receptiondome when Nelsen and Ramos landed lightly at the port on their own feet,with no more braking assistance than their own shoulder-ionics.
Greetings were curiously breathless yet casual, but without anybackslapping.
"We'd about given you two up," Gimp said. "But an hour ago Joe Kuzakbeamed me, and said you'd be along with some museum stuff... Les liveshere, now, working with the new Archeological Institute."
"Hi-hi--good to see you guys," Ramos said.
"Likewise. Hello, Les," Frank put in.
While Frank was gripping David Lester's limp, diffident hand, whichseemed almost to apologize for his having come so far from home, Gimpteased a little. "So you latched onto Art Kuzak, too. Or was it theother way around?"
Frank's smile was lopsided. "I didn't analyze motives. Art's a prettygood guy. I suppose we just wanted to help Joe and him out. Or maybe itwas instinct. Anyhow, what's wrong with latching onto--or being latchedonto by--somebody whom you feel will get himself and you ahead, and makeyou both a buck?"
"Check. Not a darn thing," Gimp laughed. "Now let's go to my hotel andhave a look at what you brought in. Did you really examine it, yet?"
"Some--on the way. Not very much," Ramos said. "There's a camera."
In the privacy of Gimp's quarters, the bundles were opened; thecontents, some of them dried and gruesome, all of them rather wonderful,were exposed.
David Lester and Gimp Hines were both quietly avid. Lester knew the mostabout these things, but Gimp's hands, on the strange camera, were moreskillful. The cautious scrutiny of dials and controls marked withcryptic numerals and symbols, and the probing of detail parts and theirfunctions, took about an hour.
"What do you think, Les?" Gimp asked.
"I'm not an expert, yet," Lester answered. "But as far as I know, thisis the first undamaged camera that has yet been found. That makes itunique. Of course by now, hoppers are bringing in quite a lot ofartifacts from surface-asteroids. But there's not much in the way of newprinciple for our camera manufacturers to buy. Lens systems, shutters,shock mountings, self-developing, integral viewing, projecting and sonicfeatures, all turn out to be similar to ours. It's usually that way withother devices, too. It's as if all their history, and ours, wereparallel."
"Well, dammit--let's see what the thing can show!" Ramos gruffed.
In the darkened room, the device threw a rectangle of light on the wall.Then there was shape, motion, and color, kept crystallized from sixtymillion years before. A cloud, pinked by sunrise, floating high in athin, expanded atmosphere. Did clouds everywhere in the universe alwayslook much the same? Wolfish, glinting darts, vanishing away. Then amountainside covered with spiny growths that, from a distance, seemedhalf cactus and half pine. A road, a field, a dull-hued cylinderpointing upward. Shapes of soft, bluish grey, topped like rounded roofs,unfolding out of a chink, and swaying off in a kind of run--with littleclinkings of equipment, for there were sounds, too. Two eyelike organsprojecting upward, the pupils clear and watchful. A tendril with aridged, dark hide, waving what might have been a large, blue flower,which was attached to the end of a metal tube by means of a bit of fibretied in a granny knot. A sunburst of white fire in the distance...
It could have gone on, perhaps for many hours. Reality, with everydetail sharp. Parallels with Earthly life. Maybe even sentiment wasthere, if you only knew how it was shown. But in the differences you gotlost, as if in a vivid dream that you couldn't fully understand. Thoughwhat was pictured here was certainly from the last beautiful days of acompeting planet.
Frank Nelsen's mouth often hung open with fascination. But his ownrealities kept intruding. They prodded him.
"I hate to break this off," he said. "But a lot of asteroid-hoppers areout at the post, waiting for Ramos and me to bring stuff back. It's along ride through a troubled region. There's plenty to get arrangedbeforehand... So first, what do we do to realize some quick funds out ofthese relics?"
Hines terminated the pictured sequence. "Frank--Ramos--I'd keep thiscamera," he said urgently. "It's a little bit special, at least. Historyis here, to be investigated. Offers--bids--could come up. Okay--I'mtalking about dough, again. Still, who wants to detach himself, rightaway, from something pretty marvelous, by selling it? I'd dump most ofthe other things. Getting a loan--the hock-shop approach--is no good...Am I telling it right, Les?"
Lester nodded. "More of the same will be brought in. Prices will drop.Archeological Survey has a buying service for museums back home. I'vebeen working for them for a month. I don't claim to love them entirely,but they'll give you the safest break. You should get enough, for yourpurposes, without the camera. With a load like this, you can see DocLinford, the boss, any time."
"Right now, then," Frank said.
"Hey, you impolite slobs!" Ramos laughed. "When do you consult me,co-discoverer and -owner? Awright, skip it--you're the Wizards of Oz.I'll just grab out a few items for my Ma and the kids, and maybe a girlor two I'll meet someplace. You guys might as well do the same."
He took some squares of fabric, silken-soft, though spun from fibre ofcolored glass. And some wheeled devices, which might have been toys.Lester and Hines picked up only token pieces of the fabric. Frank took athree inch golden ring that glinted with mineral. Except that it lookeddecorative, he had no idea of its original purpose.
The broken, fine-boned mummy and the other items were appraised andbought in a large room across the city. It was already cluttered withqueer fossils and objects. The numbers printed on the two equal checks,and on the cash in their hands, still looked slightly mythical to Nelsenand Ramos, to whom a thousand dollars had seemed a fortune.
Later, at the U.S.S.F. headquarters, he was prepared to argue grimly.Words were in his mind: A vital matter of supply... Without an escort,we'll still have to try to get through, alone. You have been informed,therefore, if anything happens, you will be responsible...
He didn't have to say anything like this. They knew. Maybe an oldbitterness had made him misjudge the U.S.S.F. A young colonel smiledtiredly.
"This has been happening," he said. "We have limited facilities for thispurpose. The U.N.S.F. even less. However, an escort is due in, now. Wecan move out again, with you, in seven hours."
"Thank you, sir," Nelsen responded.<
br />
Gimp Hines had the better part of the supplies to be purchased alreadylined up at the warehouses.
Nelsen counted the money he had left. "Figuring losses and gains, I haveno idea how much I owe J. John--if anything," he laughed. "So I'll makeit a grand--build up my ego... But we owe old Paul more than dough."
"All right, I'm another idiot--I'll mail J. John a similar draft," Ramosgruffed. "Paul's a problem. He can use money, but he never lived for it.And you can't buy a friend. We'll have to rig something."
"Yeah--we will," Gimp said. "Couple of times I forgot J. John. But Ilost my shirt on those loads that were lifted off you boneheads. TheKuzaks reimbursed me for half. Do you two want to cover the other half?Aw--forget it! Who's got time to figure all this? That old coot dopedhimself out a nice catch-dollar scheme, making us promise. Or was it aleg pull on a highly elusive proposition, where big sums and thevastness of space seem to match? Hell--I'm getting mixed up again..."
Dave Lester had wandered off embarrassedly, there in the warehouse. Butnow he returned, clearing his throat for attention.
"Fellas," he said. "Helen and I want you to come out to our apartment,now, for dinner."
"Shucks, that's swell, Les," Ramos responded, suddenly curious.
"Here, also," Nelsen enthused.
"Sure," Gimp said. But his smile thinned.
In this gravity, going to Lester's place was a floating glide ratherthan a walk. Along a covered causeway, into a huge dome, up a wall withhandholds, onto a wispy balcony. Nelsen and Ramos brought liquor androses.
Much of what followed was painful and familiar--in a fantastic setting.Two young people, recently married, struggling with problems that theyhadn't been able to plan for very well.
While his wife was out of earshot, Lester put his hand on the back of achair constructed entirely of fine golden wire--later it developed thathe had made it, do-it-yourself fashion, to be economical--and seemedmore intent on holding it down than to rest his hand.
"Gimp... Frank..." he began nervously. "You helped Helen and me to getmarried and get set up out here. The Archeological Institute paid ourway to Pallastown. But there were other expenses... Her--myfather-in-law, died by his own hand while still awaiting trial...Everything he owned is still tied up... Now, well--you know humanbiology... I hope you can wait a little longer for us to begin payingback your loan..."
Nelsen had a vagrant thought about how money now had to stand on its owncommercial value, rather than rely on the ancient witchcraft of a goldstandard. Then he almost suspected that Lester was being devious andclever. But he knew the guy too well.
"Cripes, Les!" he burst out almost angrily. "How about your services,just now, as an archeological consultant? If you won't consider that wemight have meant to make you a gift. Pretty soon you'll have uscompletely confused!"
"What a topic for an evening of fun," Gimp complained. "Hey, Helen--canI mix the drinks?"
"Yes--of course, Mr. Hines. I'll get you the things," she said withapology in her eyes and voice, as if fussy celebrities had descended onher small, unsettled, and poor household.
"On the Moon you were a swell cook, Helen," Frank reminded her.
She flashed a small smile. "It was different, there. Things weighedsomething, and stayed in place. Here--just breathe hard and you have akitchen accident. Besides, I had a garden. We'd like one here, butthere's no room... And in the market..."
"Shucks--it's new here to us, too," Ramos soothed. "Riding an Archer inspace, at zero-G, is different from this..."
Things were a bit less strained, after that, through the skimpy meal,with its special devices, unique to the asteroids and their tinygravity. Clamps to fasten plates to tables and victuals to plates.Drinking vessels that were half-squeeze bottles. Such equipment was nowavailable in what might once have been called a dime store--but withanother price-level.
The visitors made a game of being awkward and inept, together. It wasbalm for Helen's sensitivity.
"Somebody's got to keep the camera for us, Mex," Frank Nelsen saidpresently.
"Yeah--I know. Les'll do it for us," Ramos answered. "He's the best,there. He can run through all the pictures--make copies with an ordinarycamera... See if he can market them. Twenty percent ought to be aboutright for his cut."
Lester tried to interrupt, but Frank got ahead of him. "We owe Gimp forthose loads we lost. Got to cut him into this, as a consultant. You'llbe around Pallastown for a while, helping out with this end of theTwin's enterprises, won't you, Gimp?"
Hines grinned. "Probably. Glad you slobs got memories. Glad to be ofassistance, anytime. Les is no louse--he'll help old friends. I'll bringhim the camera, out of the safe at my hotel, as soon as we leavehere..."
Lester smiled doubtfully, and then happily. That was how they worked thefabulous generosity of spacemen in the chips on him.
Nelsen, Ramos and Hines escaped soon after that.
"Three hours left. I guess you guys want to get lost--separately," Gimpchuckled. "I'll say so long at the launching catapults, later. I've gotsome tough guards, fresh from the Moon, who will go along with you. Artand Joe need them..."
Frank Nelsen wandered alone in the recreation area. He heardmusic--_Fire Streak_, _Queen of Serene_... He searched faces, lookingfor an ugly one with shovel teeth. He thought, with an achy wistfulness,of a small hero-worshipping girl named Jennie Harper, at Serene.
He found no one he had ever seen before. In a joint he watched a girlwith almost no clothes, do an incredible number of spinning somersaultsin mid-air. He thought he ought to find himself a friend--then decidedperversely, to hell with it.
He thought of the trouble on Earth, of Ceres, of Tiflin and Igor, ofFanshaw, the latest leader of the Asteroid Belt toughs--the JollyLads--that you heard about. He thought about how terribly vulnerable toattack Pallastown seemed, even with its encirclement of outriding guardstations. He thought of Paul Hendricks, Two-and-Two Baines, CharlieReynolds, Otto Kramer, Mitch Storey, and Miss Rosalie Parks who was hisold Latin teacher.
He thought of trying to beam some of them. But hell, they all seemed solong-lost, and he wasn't in the mood, now. He even thought about how itwas, trying to give yourself a dry shave with a worn-out razor, insidean Archer. He thought that sometime, surely, perhaps soon, the BigVacuum would finish him.
He wound up with a simple sentimental impulse, full of nostalgia andtenderness for things that seemed to stay steady and put. The way hefelt was half-hearted apology for human moods in which murder would havebeen easy. He even had a strange envy for David Lester.
Into the synthetic cellulose lining of a small carton bought at asouvenir shop, he placed the sixty million-year old golden band with itsodd arabesques and its glinting chips of mineral. Regardless of itsmysterious intentional function, it could be a bracelet. To him, justthen, it was only a trinket that he had picked up.
Before he wrapped and addressed the package, he put a note inside:
"Hi, Nance Codiss! Thinking about you and all the neighbors. This mightreach you by Christmas. Remember me? Frank Nelsen."
Postage was two hundred dollars, which seemed a trifle. And he didn'tquite realize how like a king's ransom a gift like this would seem inJarviston, Minnesota.
On leaving the post office, he promptly forgot the whole matter, ashard, practical concerns took hold of him, again.
At the loading quays, special catapults hurled the gigantic bales ofsupplies clear of Pallas. To the Kuzaks, this shipment would now haveseemed small, but it was much larger than the loads Ramos and Nelsen hadhandled before. Gimp and Lester saw them off. Then they were in space,with extra ionics pushing the bales. The guard of six new men wasposted. Nelsen wasn't sure that they'd be any good, or whether he couldtrust them all, but they looked eagerly alert. Riding a mile off was theSpace Force patrol bubb.
All through the long journey--beam calls ahead were avoided for addedsafety--Nelsen kept wondering if he'd find the post in ruins, with whatwas left of Art and Joe drifting and drying. But nothing like
thathappened yet, and the shipment was brought through. Business with theasteroid-hoppers was started at once.
When there was a lull, Art Kuzak talked expansively in his office bubb:
"Good work, Frank. Same to you, Ramos--except that I know you're itchingwith your own ideas, and probably won't be around long. Which is youraffair... Never mind what anybody says about Venus, or any other place.The Belt, with its history, its metals, and its possibilities, is thebest part of the solar system. Keep your defenses up, your line ofcommunication covered, and you can't help but make money. There are newposts to set up, help to recruit and bring out, stellene plants andother factories to construct. There'll be garden bubbs, repairshops--everything. Time, work, and a little luck will do it. Youlistening, Frank?"
Nelsen got a bit cagy with Art, again. "Okay, Art--you seem like aformal fella. Mex and I joined up and helped out pretty much as informalcompany members. But as long as we've put in our dough, let's make itofficial, in writing and signed. The KRNH Enterprises--_K_uzak, _R_amos,_N_elsen and _H_ines. The 'H' could also stand for Hendricks--PaulHendricks."
"I _like_ it that way, you suspicious slob," Art Kuzak chuckled.
So another phase began for Nelsen. Offices bored him. Amassing money,per se, meant little to him, except as a success symbol that came out ofthe life he had known. He figured that a man ought to be a success, evena rough-and-tumble romantic like Ramos, or Joe Kuzak. Or himself, withboth distance and home engrained confusingly into his nature.
One thing that Nelsen was, was conscientious. He could choose and stickto a purpose for even longer than it seemed right for him.
Mostly, now, during the long grind of expansion, he was afield.Disturbances on Earth quieted for a while, as had always happened, sofar. The Belt responded with relative peace. Tovie Ceres, the BigAsteroid, which, like the others, should have been open to all nations,but wasn't, kept mostly to its own affairs. There were only the constantdangers, natural, human, and a combination. There was always a job--aconvoy to meet, a load of supplies to rush to a distant point, JollyLads to scare off. Reckless Ramos might be with Nelsen, or Joe Kuzak whousually operated separately, or a few guards, or severalasteroid-hoppers, most of whom were tough and steady and good friends toknow. Often enough, Nelsen was alone.
At first, KRNH just handled the usual supplies. But when factory andhydroponic equipment began to arrive, Joe Kuzak and Frank Nelsen mightbe out establishing a new post. There'd be green help, bubbing out fromthe Moon, to break in. Nelsen would see new faces that still seemedfamiliar, because they were like those of the old Bunch, as it had been.Grim, scared young men, full of wonder. But the thin stream of theadventurous was thickening, as more opportunities opened. Occasionallythere was a young couple. _Oh, no_, you thought. Then--_well, maybe_.That is, if somebody didn't crack up, or get lymph node swellings thatwouldn't reduce, and if you didn't have to try to play nursemaid.
Now and then Nelsen was in Pallastown--for business, for relief, for abit of hell-raising; to see Gimp and the David Lesters. Pretty soonthere was an heir in the Lester household. Red, healthy, and male.Cripes--Out Here, too? Okay--josh the parents along. The most wonderfulboy in the solar system! Otherwise, matters, there, were much betterthan before. The camera was in a museum in Washington. The pictures ithad contained were on TV, back home. Just another anti-war film, maybe.But impressive, and _different_. The earnings didn't change Nelsen'slife much, nor Gimp's, nor Ramos'. But it sure helped the Lesters.
David Lester had resigned from Archeological Survey. He was gettingactually sharp. He was doing independent research, and was setting uphis own business in Belt antiques.
Frank Nelsen had another reason for coming to Pallastown. Afield, youavoided beam communication, nowadays, whenever you could. Someone mighttrace your beam to its source, and jump you for whatever you had. ButGimp Hines could tell Nelsen about the absent Bunch members and the oldfriends, while they both sat in the little KRNH office in Town.
"... Paul Hendricks is still the same, Frank. New bunch around him...Too bad we can't call him, now--because the Earth is on the far side ofthe sun. Mitch Storey just vanished into the Martian thickets, duringone of his jaunts. Almost a year ago, now... I didn't see him when Istopped over on Mars, but he was back at the Station once, after that.Take it easy, Frank. They've looked with helicopters, and even on theground; you couldn't do any more. I'll keep in touch, to see if anythingturns up..."
After a minute, Nelsen relaxed, slightly. "Two-and-Two? I guess he'sokay--with Charlie Reynolds looking after him?"
"Peculiar about Charlie," Gimp answered, looking awed and puzzled. "Gotthe news from old J. John, his granddad, when he acknowledged thereceipt of our latest draft, by letter. Hold your hat. Charlie gothimself killed... I'll dig the letter out of the file."
Nelsen sat up very straight. "Never mind," he said. "Just tell me more.Anything can happen."
"Our most promising member," Gimp mused. "He didn't get much. The VenusExpedition had to move some heavy equipment to the top of a mountain, tomake some electrostatic tests before a storm. Charlie had just climbeddown from the helicopter. A common old lightning bolt hit him. Somebodyplayed _Fire Streak_ on the bagpipes--inside a sealed tent--while theyburied him. Otherwise, he didn't even get a proper spaceman's funeral.Venus' escape velocity is almost as high as Earth's. Boosting a corpseup into orbit, just for atmospheric cremation, would have been too muchof a waste for the Expedition's rigid economy."
Nelsen had never really been very close to Charlie Reynolds, though hehad liked the flamboyant Good Guy. Now, it was all a long ways back,besides. Nelsen didn't feel exactly grief. Just an almost mysticalbitterness, a shock and an uncertainty, as if he could depend onnothing.
"So what about Two-and-Two?" he growled, remembering how he used toavoid any responsibility for the big, good-hearted lug; but now he feltsurer about himself, and things seemed different.
"I guess the Expedition medic had to straighten him out withdevil-killers," Hines answered. "He bubbed all the way back to Earth,alone, to see J. John about Charlie. I beamed him, there, before theEarth hid behind the sun. He was still pretty shaken up. Funny,too--Charlie's opportunity-laden Venus has turned out to be a bust, fortwo centuries, at least, unless new methods, which aren't in sight, yet,turn up. Sure--at staggering expense, and with efforts on the order offantasy, reaction motors could be set up around its equator, to make itspin as fast as the Earth. Specially developed green algae have alreadybeen seeded all over the planet. They're rugged, they spread fast. Butit will take the algae about two hundred years to split the carbondioxide and give the atmosphere a breathable amount of free oxygen, tosay nothing of cracking the poisonous formaldehyde."
"Two-and-Two's back in Jarviston, then?" Nelsen demanded.
"No--not anymore--just gimme breath," Hines went on. "He and Charlie hadfigured another destination of opportunity--Mercury, the planet nearestthe sun, everlasting frozen night on one side, eternal, zinc-meltingsunshine on the other. But there's the fringe zone between the two--theTwilight Zone. If you can live under stellene, you've got a better placethere than Mars might have been. Colonists are going there, to quit theEarth, to get away from it all. Two-and-Two was about to leave forMercury, when I last spoke to him. By now he's probably almost there.And even under the most favorable conditions, Mercury is hard tobeam--too much solar magnetic interference."
"That poor sap," Nelsen gruffed.
"It probably isn't that bad, anymore," Hines commented. "Sometime Imight go to Mercury, myself--when I get good and sick of sitting on mytail, here--when I always was a man of action! Mercury does havepossibilities--plenty of solar power, certainly; plenty of frozenatmosphere on the dark face. Interesting, Frank... Oh, hell, Iforgot--there's a letter here for you. And a package. Just arrived...I'll scram, now. Got to go down to the quays. Hold the fort, here, willyou?"
Gimp Hines grinned as he left.
Nelsen was glad to be alone. The lonesomeness of the Big Vacuum wasgetting grimed into him.
When he saw the return name and address on thepackage, and the two hundred-ten dollar postage sticker, he thought,_Cripes--that poor kid--what did I start?_ Then the awful wave ofnostalgia for Jarviston, Minnesota, hit him, as he fumbled to open themicrofilmed letter capsule, and put it in the viewer.
"Hello, Frank--it has to be that, doesn't it, and not Mr. Nelsen, sinceyou've sent me this miraculous bracelet--which I don't dare wear verymuch, since I don't want to lose an arm to some international--or eveninterstellar--jewel thief! It makes me feel like the Queen ofSomething--certainly not Serene, since it implies calmness and repose,which I certainly don't feel--no offense to our Miss Sands, whom Iadmire enormously. In a very small way I am repaying to you in kind--anitem which I made, myself, and which I know that some spacemen useinside their Archers. You see, we are all informed in details. Paul,Otto, Chippie Potter and his dog, and other characters whom you won'tremember, send their best greetings. Oh, I've got Stardust fever, too,but I'll yield to my folks' wishes and wait, and learn a profession thatwill be of some use Out There. May you wear what I'm sending in goodhealth, safety and fortune. Send no more staggering gifts, please--Icouldn't stand it--but please do write. Tell me how it really is in theBelt. You simply don't realize how much--"
Nance Codiss' missive rattled along, and the scrawled words got to belike small, happy bells inside Nelsen's skull. His crooked grin cameout; he unpacked the sweater--creylon wool, very warm, bright red, a bitcrude in workmanship here and there--but imagine a girl bothering, thesedays! He donned the garment and decided it fit fine.
Then he tried to write a letter:
"Hi, Nance! I've just put it on--first time--beautiful! It'll stay rightwith me. Thanks. Talk about being staggered..."
There he bogged down, some, wondering how much she had changed,wondering just what he ought to say to her, and who these charactersthat he wouldn't remember, might be. Cripes, how old was she, now?Seventeen? He ended up taking her at her word. He described Pallastownrather heavy-handedly, and bought some microfilm postcards to go alongwith his missive, as soon as he went out to mail it.
But a few hours later, from deep in space, he looked back at the Town,shining in the distance, and in the blue mood of thinking about CharlieReynolds, Mitch Storey, and Two-and-Two, he wondered how much longer it,or Nance, or anything else, could last. Then he glanced down at thebright sweater, and chuckled...
Unexpectedly, Ramos remained an active member of KRNH Enterprises forover a year. But the end had to come. "I told Art I'd let my dough ride,Frank," he said to Nelsen in the lounge of Post One. "I'll only drawenough earnings to build me a real, deep-space bubb, nuclear-propelled,and with certain extra gadgets. A few guys have tried to follow theunmanned, instrumented rockets, out to the system of Saturn. Nobody gotback, yet. I think I know what they figured wrong. The instrumentsshowed--well, skip it... I'm going into Town to prepare. It'll takequite a while, so I'll have some fun, too."
Ramos' eyes twinkled with a secret triumph--before the fact.
"You don't argue a fighting rooster out of fighting," Nelsen laughed."Besides, it wouldn't be Destiny--or any fun--to succeed. So accept thecomplimentary comparison--if it fits--which maybe it doesn't, youegotistical bonehead. Good luck--_buena suerte, amigo_. I'll look you upin Town, if I get a chance..."
Nelsen was always busy to the gills. Progress was so smooth for anothercouple of years, that the hunch of Big Trouble building up, became agnawing certainty in his nerves.
Of course there were always the Jolly Lads to watch out for--the extremeindividualists, space-twisted and wild. Robbing and murdering could seemeasier than digging. Take your loot into Pallastown--who knew you hadn'tgrubbed it, yourself? Sell it. Get the stink blown off you--forget someterrible things that had happened to you. Have yourself a time. StrikeOut again. Repeat...
Nelsen knew that, through the months, he had killed defensively at leasttwice. Once, with a long-range homing bullet--weapons sanctioned bypious and cautious international agreement, were more lethal, now, tomatch the weapons of the predatory. Once by splitting a helmet with arifle barrel. When he was out alone, exploring a new post site on asmall asteroid, a starved Tovie runaway had jumped him. Maybe he shouldregret the end of that incident.
Trips to Pallastown were increasingly infrequent. But there was one timewhen he almost had come specially to see Ramos' new bubb, still underwraps, supposedly. Well--that erratic character had it out on a longtest run. Damn him! As usual, time was crowding Nelsen. He had to getback on the job. He had just a couple of hours left.
He wrote a letter to Nance Codiss, answering one of hers--funny, he'dnever yet tried to contact her vocally. Being busy, being cautious aboutusing a beam--these were good reasons. Now there was hardly enough sparetime to reach twice across the light-minutes. Maybe the real truth wasthat men got strangely shy in the silences of the Belt.
"Dear Nance: You seem to be making fine headway in your new courses. Allthe good words, for that..."
There were plenty of good words, but he didn't put many of them down. Hedidn't know if the impulse to write _Darling_, was just his ownloneliness, which any girl with a kind word would have filled. He didn'tknow her, or that part of himself, very well. He kept remembering her asshe had been. Then he'd realize that memory wasn't a stable thing tohang onto. Everything changed--how well he had learned that! She wasolder, now, intelligent, and at school again, studying some kind ofmedical laboratory technology. Certainly she had become moresophisticated and elusive--her gay letters were just a superficial partof what she must be. And certainly there were dates and boyfriends, andall the usual phases of getting out of step with a mere recollection,like himself. Nelsen had some achy emotions. Should he ask for herpicture? Should he send one of himself?
He just scribbled on, ramblingly, as usual. Yep, in a new Archer Seven,you could undo a few clamps, pull a foot up out of a boot, and actuallychange your socks... Inconsequential nonsense like that. He ended bytelling her not to worry about any knicknacks he might send--that theycame easy, out here. He microposted the letter, and mailed a square ofsoft glass-silk of many colors.
Then he pronounced a few cuss words, laughed at himself for getting soserious, shrugged, and with the casualness of hopper with his pocketsloaded, moved toward the rec area, which was some distance off.
It was night over this part of rapidly growing Pallastown. Moving alonga lighted causeway, he saw the man with the shovel teeth. Glory, had_he_ managed to survive so long? His mere presence, here, seemed like asignal of the end of peace. Nelsen and Ramos used to practiceclose-contact tactics at zero-G, in space. So Nelsen didn't even waitfor the man to notice him. He leaped, and sped like an arrow, thuddinginto the guy's stomach with both of his boot heels. Shovel Teeth washurled fifty yards backward, Nelsen hurtling with him all the way.Unless Nelsen wanted to kill him, there wasn't any more to do. Partialrevenge.
He wasn't worried about anybody except the guy's Jolly Lad henchmen.There was nobody close by. Now he did a quick fade, sure that nobody hadseen who he was, during the entire episode. No use to call thecops--there were too many uncertainties about the setup in wild,polyglot Pallastown. Nelsen moved on to the rec area.
He didn't go into a garishly splendid place, named _The Second Stop_.Thus, he didn't see its owner, whose identity he had already heardabout, of course. Not that he wouldn't have liked to. But there wasn'tany time to get involved in a long chat with a woman... Nor did he seethe tall, skinny, horse-faced comic, known only as Igor, go throughslapstick acrobatics that once would have been impossible...
By a round-about route he proceeded to the catapults, where Gimp Hineswas waiting for him. They had been conversing just a short while ago.
"Did you drop in on Eileen?" Gimp asked right away.
"No. There'll be other occasions," Nelsen laughed. "Someday, if we live,she'll own all the joints in the solar system."
"Uh-huh--I'd bet on it... By the way, there's a grapevine yarn around.Somebody kicked Fanshaw--the Jolly Lad big-shot--in the
belly. You,perhaps?"
"Don't listen to gossip," Nelsen said primly. "Are you serious aboutgoing to Mercury?"
"Of course. There are people to take over my office duties. I'll be onmy way in a couple of weeks. I think you'd like to come along, Frank."
Nelsen felt an urge that was like a crying for freedom.
"Sure I would. But I'm bound to the wheel. Cripes, though--watchyourself, fella. Don't _you_ get into a mess!"
"Hell--you're the mess specialist, Frank. Fanshaw isn't here for fun.And there's been that new trouble at home..."
A Tovie bubb, loaded with people, and a Stateside bubb, both in orbitaround the Earth, had collided. No survivors. But there was plenty ofblaming and counter-blaming. Another dangerous incident. Glory--with allthe massed destructive power there was, could luck really last forever?
Frank Nelsen got back to Post One, okay. But later, riding in to PostThree, just in an Archer Six, with a couple of guards for company, hepicked up a long-lost voice, falsely sweet, then savage at the end:
"I'm a Jinx, aren't I, Frankie? A vulture. Nice and cavalier, you are. Ibet you hoped I was dead. Okay--Sucker...!"
Tiflin didn't even answer when Nelsen tried to beam him.
Nelsen was able to save Post Three. The guards and most of the personnelwere experienced and tough. They drove the Jolly Lads back and deflectedsome chunks of aimed and accelerated asteroid chips, with new defenserockets.
Joe Kuzak, at Post Seven, wasn't so lucky, though Frank had tipped himoff. Half of the post was scattered and pirated. Six fellas and the wifeof one of them--a Bunch from Baltimore--were just drying shreds thatdrifted in the wreckage. Big Joe, though he had a rocket chip throughhis chest, had been able to beat off the attackers, with the help of afew asteroid-hoppers and his novice crew which turned out to be morerugged than some people might have expected.
Frank got to them just as it was over--except for the cursing, themasculine tears of grief and rage, the promises of revenge. Luckily,none of the women had been captured.
Joe Kuzak, full of new antibiotics and coagulants, was still up andaround. "So we knocked off a few of them, Frank," he said ruefully inhis office bubb. "Several were in Tovie armor. Runaways, or agents?They're crowding us, boy. Hell, what a junk heap this post is going tobe, to sort out..."
"Get to it," Nelsen commented.
"You've got something in mind?"
"Uh-huh. Coming in, I heard somebody address somebody else as Fan.Fanshaw, that would be. And I kind of remembered his voice, as hecracked out orders. He was with this group. I'm going after him."
"Good night...! I'll send some of my crowd along."
"Nope, Joe. They'd spot two or more guys. One, they won't even believein. This is a lone-wolf deal. Besides, it's personal... Shucks--I don'teven think there's a risk..."
There, he knew he exaggerated--especially as, huddled up to resemble asmall asteroid-fragment, he followed the retreating specks. His onlyweapon was a rapid-fire launcher, using small rockets loaded only withchemical explosive. He felt a tingle all through him. Scare, all right.
Ahead, as he expected, he saw three stolen bubbs blossom out. There'd bea real pirates' party, like he'd seen, once. They'd have a lookoutposted, of course. But the enormity of the Belt made them cocky. Whocould ever really police very much of it? One other advantage was thatJolly Lads were untidy. Around the distant bubbs floated a haze ofjettisoned refuse. Boxes, wrappings, shreds of stellene. Nelsen hadfigured on that.
Decelerating, he draped a sheet of synthetic cellulose that he'd broughtalong, loosely over his armored shape. Then he drifted unobtrusivelyclose. At a half-mile distance, he peered through the telescope sight ofhis launcher. The bubbs were close together. The lookout floated free.Him, he got first, with a careful, homing shot.
Immediately he fired a burst into each bubb, saw them collapse aroundtheir human contents. The men inside were like cats in limp bags, theexits of which could no longer be found. Calmly he picked the biggestlumps of struggling forms, and fired again and again, until there was nomore motion left except an even rotation.
He soon located Fanshaw. His unarmored body was bloated and drying, hismouth gaped, his shovel teeth were exposed to the stars and the distant,naked sun. Nelsen had to think back to six dead young men and a girl, tokeep from feeling lousy. Had Fanshaw been just another guy invading aregion that was too big and terrible for humans?
With something like dread, Nelsen looked for Tiflin, too. But, ofcourse, that worthy wasn't around.
Nelsen picked up some space-fitness cards. Quite a few nations wererepresented. Joe would have to turn in the cards to the respectiveauthorities. Noting its drift course, Nelsen left the wreckage, andhurried back to Post Seven, before other Jolly Lads could catch up andavenge their pals.
"Fanshaw's groups will fight it out for a new leader, Joe," he said."That should keep them busy, for a while..."
Succeeding months were quieter. But the Tovies had lost no advantage.They had Ceres, the biggest of the asteroids, and their colonies weremoving in on more and more others that were still untouched, closingthem, against all agreements, to any competition.
The new Archer Seven which Nelsen presently acquired, had a miniature TVscreen set in its collar. Afield, he was able to pick up propagandabroadcasts from Ceres. They showed neat, orderly quarters, good food,good facilities, everything done by command and plan. He wondered glumlyif that was better for men who were pitted against space. The rigiddiscipline sheltered them. They didn't have to think in a medium thatmight be too huge for their brains and emotions. Maybe it was morepractical than rough-and-tumble individualism. He had a bitter pictureof the whole solar system without a free mind in its whole extent--thatis, if another gigantic blowup didn't happen first...
Nelsen didn't see Ramos' new bubb, nor did he see him leave for Saturnand its moons. The guy had avoided him, and gone secretive. But over ayear later, the news reached Nelsen at Post Eight. A man named MiguelRamos had got back, more dead than alive, after a successful venture,alone, to the immediate vicinity of the Ringed Planet. His vehicle wasriddled. He was in a Pallastown hospital.
Frank Nelsen delegated his duties, and went to see Ramos. The guy seemedhardly more than half-conscious. He had no hands left. His legs were offat the knee. Frostbite. Only the new antibiotics he had taken along, hadkept the gangrene from killing him. There was a light safety belt acrosshis bed. But somehow he knew Nelsen. And his achievement seemed like amechanical record fixed in his mind.
"Hi, Frank," he whispered hurriedly. "I figured it right. Out there,near Saturn, clusters of particles of frozen methane gas are floatingfree like tiny meteors. The instrumented rockets didn't run into them,and they were too light to show clearly on radar. But a bubb with a manin it is lots bigger, and can be hit and made like a sieve. That's whathappened to those who went first. Their Archers were pierced too. I hadmine specially armored, with a heavy helmet and body plating... Theparticles just got my gloves and my legs. Cripes, I got pictures--rightfrom the rim of the Rings! And lots of data..."
Ramos showed the shadow of a reckless grin of triumph. Then he passedout.
Later, Nelsen saw the photographs, and the refrigerated box with theclear, plastic sides. Inside it was what looked like dirty, granularsnow--frozen water. Which was all it was. Unless the fact that it wasalso the substance of Saturn's Rings made a difference.
Saturn--another of the great, cold, largely gaseous planets, where itwould perhaps always be utterly futile for a man to try to land...Ramos, the little Mex who chased the girls. Ramos, the hero, thehistorical figure, now...
Cursing under his breath, Nelsen wandered vaguely to _The Second Stop_.There, he saw what probably every spaceman had dreamed of. Lucette ofParis swimming nude in a gigantic dewdrop--possible where gravity wasalmost nil. Music played. Beams of colored light swung majestically,with prismatic effects through the great, flattened, shimmering ovoid ofwater, while Lucette's motions completed a beautiful legend...
Two f
igures moved past Nelsen in the darkened interior. The first onewas tall and lean. Then he saw the profile of a lean face with a bentnose, heard a mockingly apologetic "Oh-oh..." and didn't quite realizethat this was Tiflin, the harbinger of misfortune, before it was toolate to collar him. Nelsen followed as soon as he could push his wayfrom the packed house. But pursuit was hopeless in the crowded causewayoutside.
A few minutes later, he was in Eileen Sands' apartment. It was not hisfirst visit. Eileen seldom danced or sang, anymore, herself. She wasdifferent, now. She wore an evening dress--soft blue, tasteful. Here,she was the cool, poised owner, the lady.
"Tiflin hasn't been around here for a long time, Frank," she was saying."You know that his buddy entertained for me for a while. I have aninterested nature, but Tiflin never gave me anything but wisecracks.There are lots of Tovies around--there's even a center for runaways. Idon't ask questions of customers usually. And technically, all I canrequire of a comic is talent. This Igor had a certain kind. What is thedifficulty now?"
Frank Nelsen looked at Eileen almost wearily for a second. "Just thatTiflin is somehow involved with most of the bad luck that I've ever hadout here," he said, grimly. "And if Pallastown were destroyed, everybodybut the Tovies might as well go home from the Belt. The timing seems tome to be about right. They'd risk it, feeling we're too scared to strikeback at home. The Jolly Lads--who are international--could be encouragedto do the job for them."
Sudden hollows showed in Eileen's cheeks. "What are you going to do?"she asked.
"Nothing much for me to do," he answered. "I only happened to notice,while I was coming in to Pallas, that all the guard stations, extendingway out, were quietly very alert. But is that enough? Well, if theycan't cope with an attack, what good am I? We're vulnerable, here. Iguess we just sit tight and wait."
She smiled faintly. "All right--let's. Sit, relax, converse. Stop beingthe Important Personage for a while, Frank."
"Look who's talking. Okay--what do you know that's new to tell?"
"A few things. I keep track of most everybody."
He took her slender hand, brown in his angular fist, that was pale fromhis space gloves. "Gimp, first," he said.
"Still on Mercury, with Two-and-Two. Two-and-Two was a bricklayer, agood beginning for a construction man. That seems to be paying off, ascolonists move in. Gimp is setting up solar power stations."
"Encouraging information, for once. Here's a hard one--Jig Hollis. Thereal intelligent man who stayed home. I've envied him for years."
"Hmmm--yes, Frank. Intelligent, maybe--but he never quite believed it,himself. His wife stayed with him, even after he turned real sour andreckless. One night he hit a big oak tree with his car. Now, he is justas dead as if he had crashed into the sun at fifty miles per second. Hecouldn't take knowing that he was scared to do what he wanted."
"Hell!" Nelsen said flatly.
"Now who else should I gossip about?" Eileen questioned. "Oh, yes--HarvDiamond, hero of our lost youth, who got space fatigue. Well, herecovered and returned to active duty in the U.S.S.F. Which perhapsleaves me with just my own love life to confess." She smiled lightly."Once there was a kid named Frankie Nelsen, who turned out to be a veryconscientious jerk. Since then, there have been scads of rugged,romantic characters on all sides... You're going to ask about MiguelRamos."
She paused, looked unhappy and tired. "The celebrity," she said. "Mashedup. But he'll recover--this time. I've seen him--sent him flowers, satbeside him. But what do you do with a clown like that? Lock him in thecloset or look at him through a telescope? Goodbye--hello--goodbye. Akid with gaudy banners flying, if he lives to be forty--which he neverwill. They'll be giving him artificial hands and feet, and he'll betrying for Pluto. A friend. I guess I'm proud. That's all. Anything elseyou want to know?"
"Yeah. There was a cute little girl at Serene."
"Jennie Harper. She married one of those singing Moon prospectors.Somebody murdered them both--way out on Far Side."
Frank Nelsen's mouth twisted. "That's enough, pal," he said. "I bettergo do my sitting tight someplace else. Keep your Archer handy. Thanks,and see you..."
Within forty minutes David Lester was showing him some pictures that ahopper had brought in from a vault in a surface-asteroid.
On the screen, great, mottled shapes moved through a lush forest.Thousands of tiny, flitting bat-like creatures--miniature pterodactylsof the terrestrial Age of Reptiles--hovered over a swamp, where millionsof insects hung like motes in the light of the low sun. A much largerpterodactyl, far above, glided gracefully over a cliff, and out to sea,its long, beaked head turning watchfully.
"Hey!" Nelsen said mildly, as his jaded mind responded.
Lester nodded. "_They_ were on Earth, too--as the Martians must havebeen--exploring and taking pictures, during the Cretaceous Period. Oh,but there's a perhaps even better sequence! Like the Martians, they hada world-wrecking missile, which they were building in space. Spherical.About six miles in diameter, I calculate. Shall I show you?"
"No... I think I'll toddle over to the offices, Les. Keep wearing thoseArchers, people. Glad the kid likes to play in his..."
Nelsen had donned his own Seven, with the helmet fastened across hischest by a strap. At the KRNH office, there was a letter, which luckilyhadn't been sent out to Post Eight. The tone was more serious than thatof any that Nance Codiss had sent before.
"Dear Frank: I'm actually coming your way. I'll be stopping to work atthe Survey Station Hospital on Mars for two months en route..."
He read that far when he heard the sirens and saw the flashes ofdefending batteries that were trying to ward off missiles fromPallastown. He latched his helmet in place. He was headed for theunderground galleries when the first impacts came. He saw four domesvanish in flashes of fire. Then he didn't run anymore. He had his smallrocket launcher, from the office. If they ever came close enough... Butof course they'd stay thousands of miles off. He got to the nearestfallen dome as fast as he could. Everybody had been in armor, but therewere over a hundred dead. Emergency and rescue crews were operatingefficiently.
He glanced around for indications. No explosive, chemical or nuclear,had yet been used. But there was the old Jolly Lad trick: Accelerate achunk of asteroid-material to a speed of several miles per second bygrasping it with your gloved hands, while the shoulder-ionic of yourarmor was at full power. Start at a great distance, aim your missilewith your body, let it go... Impact would be sheer, blastingincandescence. A few hundred chunks of raw metal could finishPallastown... Were these just crazy, wild slobs whooping it up, or realcrud provided with a purpose and reward? Either way, here was theeternal danger to any Belt settlement.
Nelsen could have tried to reach an escape-exit into open space, but hehelped with the injured while he waited for more impacts to come. Therewas another series of deflecting flashes from the defense batteries. Twomore domes vanished... Then--somehow--nothing more. Evidently some ofthe attackers had been only half hearted, _this time_. Reprieve...
Almost four hundred people were dead. It could have been the whole Town.Then spreading disaster. All Nelsen's friends were okay. The Postscalled in--okay, too. Nelsen waited three days. He wanted to helpdefend, if the attack was renewed. But now the U.N.S.F. wasconcentrating in the vicinity. For a while, things would be quiet, OutHere. Just the same, he felt kind of fed up. He felt as if the end ofeverything he knew had crept inevitably a little closer.
He beamed Mars--the Survey Station. He contacted Nance. He had knownthat she should have arrived already. He was relieved. He knew what theregion between here and there could be like when there was trouble.
"It's me--Frank Nelsen--Nance," he said into his helmet-phone, as hestood beyond the outskirts of the Town, on the barren, glitteringsurface of Pallas. "I'm still wearing the sweater. Stay where you are.I've never been on Mars, either. But I'll be there, soon..."
His old uncertainties about talking to her evaporated now that he wasdoing it.
"For Pete's sake--Frank!" h
e heard her laugh happily, still soundinglike the neighbor kid. "Gosh, it's good to hear you!"
He left for Post One, soon after that. Nowadays, it was almost aminiature of the ever more magnificent--if insecure--Pallastown. He keptthinking angrily of Art Kuzak, getting a little overstuffed, it seemed.The hunkie kid, the ex-football player who had become a big commercialand industrial baron of the Belt. Easy living. Cuties around. And poortwin Joe--just another stooge...
Nelsen went into the office, his fists clenched overdramatically. "I'mtaking a leave, Art--maybe a long one," he said.
Art Kuzak stared at him. "You damned, independent bums--you, too,Nelsen!" he began to growl. But when he saw Nelsen's jaw harden, he gotthe point, and grinned, instead. "Okay, Frank. Nobody's indispensible. Imight do the same when you come back--who knows...?"
Frank Nelsen joined a KRNH bubb convoy--Earthbound, but also passingfairly close to Mars--within a few hours.