"What
do you know about General Minerals, Sam?"
"You
thinking of hiring on with them? Better read the fine print in your contract
before you sign. Sneakiest bunch this side of a burglar's convention."
"They
own a chunk of rock known as 2645-P. Do you suppose we could find it?"
"Oh,
you're buying it, hey? Sure, we can find it.
You
damn sure want to look it over good if General Minerals is selling."
Back
aboard the skiff, Mancziewicz flipped the pages of the chart book, consulted a
table. "Yep, she's not too far off. Let's go see what GM's trying to
unload."
-
The
skiff hovered two miles from the giant boulder known as 2645-P. Retief and
Mancziewicz looked it over at high magnification. "It don't look like
much, Retief," Sam said. "Let's go down and take a closer look."
The
boat dropped rapidly toward the scarred surface of the tiny world, a floating
mountain, glaring black and white in the spotlight of the sun. Sam frowned at
his instrument panel.
"That's
funny. My ion counter is revving up. Looks like a drive trail, not more than an
hour or two old. Somebody's been here."
The
boat grounded. Retief and Sam got out. The stony surface was littered with rock
fragments varying in size from pebbles to great slabs twenty feet long, tumbled
in a loose bed of dust and sand. Retief pushed off gently, drifted up to a
vantage point atop an upended wedge of rock. Sam joined him.
"This
is all igneous stuff," he said. "Not likely we'll find much here that
would pay the freight to Syrtis—unless maybe you lucked onto some Bodean
artifacts. They bring plenty."
He
flipped a binocular in place as he talked, scanned the riven landscape.
"Hey!" he said. "Over there!"
Retief
followed Sam's pointing glove. He studied the dark patch against a smooth
expanse of eroded rock.
"A
friend of mine came across a chunk of the old planetary surface two years
ago," Sam said thoughtfully. "Had a tunnel in it that'd been used as
a storage depot by the Bodeans. Took out over two ton of hardware. Course,
nobody's discovered how the stuff works yet, but it brings top prices."
"Looks
like water erosion," Retief said.
"Yep.
This could be another piece of surface, all right. Could be a cave over there.
The Bodeans liked caves, too. Must have been some war—but then, if it hadn't
been, they wouldn't have tucked so much stuff away underground where it could
weather the planetary breakup."
They
descended, crossed the jumbled rocks with light, thirty-foot leaps.
"It's
a cave, all right," Sam said, stooping to peer into the five-foot bore.
Retief followed him inside.
"Let's
get some light in here." Mancziewicz flipped on a beam. It glinted back
from dull polished surfaces of Bodean synthetic. Sam's low whistle sounded in
Retief's headset.
"That's
funny," Retief said.
"Funny,
hell! It's hilarious. General Minerals trying to sell off a worthless rock to a
tenderfoot—and it's loaded with Bodean artifacts. No telling how much is here:
the tunnel seems to go quite a ways back."
"That's
not what I mean. Do you notice your suit warming up?"
"Huh?
Yeah, now that you mention it."
Retief
rapped with a gauntleted hand on the satiny black curve of the nearest Bodean
artifact. It clunked dully through the suit. "That's not metal," he said.
"It's plastic."
"There's
something fishy here," Sam said. "This erosion; it looks more like a
heat beam."
"Sam,"
Retief said, turning, "it appears to me somebody has gone to a great deal
of trouble to give a false impression here."
Sam
snorted. "I told you they were a crafty bunch." He started out of the
cave, then paused, went to one knee to study the floor. "But maybe they
outsmarted themselves. Look here!"
Retief
looked. Sam's beam reflected from a fused surface of milky white, shot through with
dirty yellow. He snapped a pointed instrument in place on his gauntlet, dug at
one of the yellow streaks. It furrowed under the gouge, a particle adhering to
the instrument. With his left hand, Mancziewicz opened a pouch clipped to his
belt, carefully deposited the sample in a small orifice on the device in the
pouch. He flipped a key, squinted at a dial.
"Atomic
weight 197.2," he said. Retief turned down the audio volume on his headset
as Sam's laughter rang in his helmet.
"Those
clowns were out to stick you, Retief," he gasped, still chuckling.
"They salted the rock with a cave full of Bodean artifacts—"
"Fake
Bodean artifacts," Retief put in.
"They
planed off the rock so it would look like an old beach, and then cut this cave
with beamers. And they were boring through practically solid gold!"
"As
good as that?"
Mancziewicz
flashed the light around. "This stuff will assay out at a thousand credits
a ton, easy. If the vein doesn't run to five thousand tons, the beers are on
me." He snapped off the light. "Let's get moving, Retief. You want to
sew this deal up before they get around to taking another look at it."
Back
in the boat, Retief and Mancziewicz opened their helmets. "This calls for
a drink," Sam said, extracting a pressure flask from the map case.
"This rock's worth as much as mine, maybe more. You hit it lucky, Retief.
Congratulations." He thrust out a hand.
"I'm
afraid you've jumped to a couple of conclusions, Sam," Retief said.
"I'm not out here to buy mining properties."
"You're
not—then why—but man! Even if you didn't figure on buying ..."He trailed
off as Retief shook his head, unzipped his suit to reach to an inside pocket,
take out a packet of folded papers.
"In
my capacity as Terrestrial Vice-Consul, I'm serving you with an injunction
restraining you from further exploitation of the body known as 95739-A."
He handed a paper across to Sam. "I also have here an Order impounding the
vessel
Gravel Gertie II."
Sam took the papers silently, sat
looking at them. He looked up at Retief. "Funny. When you beat me at Drift
and then threw the game so you wouldn't show me up in front of the boys, I
figured you for a right guy. I've been spilling my heart out to you like you
were my old grandma. An old-timer in the game like me." He dropped a hand,
brought it up with a Browning 2mm pointed at Retief's chest.
"I
could shoot you and dump you here with a slab over you, toss these papers in
the John and hightail it with the load ..."
"That
wouldn't do you much good in the long run, Sam. Besides you're not a criminal
or an idiot."
Sam
chewed his lip. "My claim is on file in the Consulate, legal and proper.
Maybe by now the grant's gone through."
"Other
people have their eye on your rock, Sam. Ever meet a fellow called
Leatherwell?"
"General
Minerals, huh? They haven't got a leg to stand on."
"The
last time I saw your claim, it was still lying in the pending file. Just a
bundle of paper until it's validated by the Consul. If Leatherwell contests it
... well, his lawyers are on annual retainer. How long could you keep the suit
going, Sam?"
Mancziewicz
closed his helmet with a decisive snap, motioned to Retief to do the same. He
opened the hatch, sat with the gun on Retief.
"Get
out, paper-pusher." His voice sounded thin in the headphones. "You'll
get lonesome, maybe, but your suit will keep you alive a few days. I'll tip
somebody off before you lose too much weight. I'm going back and see if I can't
stir up a little action at the Consulate."
Retief
climbed out, walked off fifty yards. He watched as the skiff kicked off in a
quickly dispersed cloud of dust, dwindled rapidly away to a bright speck that
was lost against the stars. Then he extracted the locator beacon from the
pocket of his suit and thumbed the control.
Twenty
minutes later, aboard Navy FP-VO-6, Retief pulled off his helmet. "Fast
work, Henry. I've got a couple of calls to make. Put me through to your HQ,
will you? I want a word with Commander Hayle."
The
young naval officer raised the HQ, handed the mike to Retief.
"Vice-Consul
Retief here, Commander. I'd like you to intercept a skiff, bound from my
present position toward Ceres. There's a Mr. Mancziewicz aboard. He's armed,
but not dangerous. Collect him and see that he's delivered to the Consulate at
0900 Greenwich tomorrow.
"Next
item: The Consulate has impounded an ore-carrier,
Gravel Gertie II.
It's
in a parking orbit ten miles off Ceres. I want it taken in tow." Retief
gave detailed instruction. Then he asked for a connection through the Navy
switchboard to the Consulate. Magnan's voice answered.
"Retief
speaking, Mr. Consul. I have some news that I think will interest you—"
"Where
are you, Retief? What's wrong with the screen? Have you served the
injunction?"
"I'm
aboard the Navy patrol vessel. I've been out looking over the situation, and
I've made a surprising discovery. I don't think we're going to have any trouble
with the Sam's people; they've looked over the body—2645-P—and it seems General
Minerals has slipped up. There appears to be a highly valuable deposit
there."
"Oh?
What sort of deposit?"
"Mr.
Mancziewicz mentioned collapsed crystal metal," Retief said.
"Well,
most interesting." Magnan's voice sounded thoughtful.
"Just
thought you'd like to know. This should simplify the meeting in the
morning."
"Yes,"
Magnan said. "Yes, indeed. I think this makes everything very simple
..."
-
At
0845 Greenwich, Retief stepped into the outer office of the Consular suite.
"...
fantastic configuration," Leatherwell's bass voice rumbled, "covering
literally acres. My xeno-geologists are somewhat confused by the formations.
They had only a few hours to examine the site; but it's clear from the extent
of the surface indications that we have a very rich find here. Very rich
indeed. Beside it, 95739-A dwindles into insignificance. Very fast thinking on
your part, Mr. Consul, to bring the matter to my attention."
"Not
at all, Mr. Leatherwell. After all—"
"Our
tentative theory is that the basic crystal fragment encountered the core
material at some time, and gathered it in. Since we had been working on—that
is, had landed to take samples on the other side of the body, this anomalous
deposit escaped our attention completely."
Retief
stepped into the room.
"Good
morning, gentlemen. Has Mr. Mancziewicz arrived?"
"Mr.
Mancziewicz is under restraint by the Navy. I've had a call that he'd be
escorted here."