Authors: Mike Jurist
"Which was very sweet of you," murmured Sally, "considering that the said Mr. Dale bad already wangled a general release out of you."
"Don't interrupt, child," snapped her father. He returned to his grievance—the torn, fluttering spacegram in his hand. "Yet what do you think he had the didgosted effrontery to reply?"
"I have a faint idea; but tell me, anyway."
"He says—confound him—he doesn't want a job. With me, or with anyone else. He's doing quite well on his own; and he expects to do even better. However, if I'd be willing to associate with him as an equal partner in some ventures be has in mind, he might consider me."
Old Simeon paused for breath. His blue eyes glared with baleful incongruity in the mild-mannered frame of his visage. "Me!" he choked. "Me, Simeon Kenton, being offered an equal partnership by a babe in arms, a puling young whelp!" His very beard seemed to quiver and grow electric at the enormity of the thought.
Then suddenly he stopped and grinned. It was an impish, waggish grin. "Not at least," he amended, "until I've licked him and taken him down a peg or two."
"That might take a long time," Sally pointed out. "He won the first round over you, and he might just as well take the second and the third. I think, dad, his proposition isn't such a bad idea at that."
"Not a bad idea?" yelled Simeon. "It's a superlatively atrocious idea! Har-rumph! I grant you he knows law, but he's still a young snipperwhipper. Just because he took advantage of some obscure sections of a coff-eaten mode—I mean a mode-eaten coff—oh, ding it, you know what I mean—to steal my hard-earned money from me is no reason for this new fond-counded impudence of his. Partner! Bah! And bah again!"
"And triple bah!" agreed Sally. "Nevertheless, suppose this same impudent young man decides to take his proposition, whatever it is, to Jericho Foote? You know Jericho. He'll very likely take him up on it, just to annoy you."
"That rubbled-dyed Venusian swamp snake!" said Simeon incredulously.
"He
take up with Kerry Dale? Impossible! Dale is too—"
"Sensible?" Sally finished for him. "That's what I've been saying right along. But if you turned him down—"
Her father calmed suddenly. "You love him, don't you?"
"Yes," she said. Being her father's daughter she never evaded an issue. "And I expect to marry him some day, whether he knows it now or not."
Looking at her, old Simeon could well believe it. No young man could long resist his slim, calm-eyed young daughter. He went to her and kissed her. His voice softened. "He's got the right stuff in him, Sally, in spite of his whangdoodled brashness. But his head's liable to grow too big for him if he gets what he wants too easily. Let him fight the hard way for success; the way I did. Let him fight me, if necessary; it will do him good. And I'll fight him back, tooth and nail. If he wins through, I want him to win on his own, and not because his future father-in-law made the way easy."
Sally nodded thoughtfully. Then a gay smile made a sunburst of her countenance. "All right, dad. Go ahead and get in your dirtiest licks. But don't mind if I root for the other side."
"I won't." He flicked the telecaster into life. He scowled at the communications operator. "Take a spacegram," he roared. "Addressed to Kerry Dale, Planets, Ceres. 'Your impudent proposition doesn't even merit turning down. My own proposition withdrawn. Sent merely out of pity. Wash my hands of you. Expect presently to wash my hands
with
you. Kenton.'
"There, that will hold him. Now we'll see what stuff he's made of." He turned grinning toward his daughter. But Sally was no longer there. She had slipped silently out of his office.
A frown replaced the grin. The bluster died. No longer was he master of men; only an anxious parent. He shook his head; screwed up his face in thought.
He returned to the telecaster, and connected with the Earth-Mars Navigation offices. The clerk recognized him. "Good morning, Mr. Kenton," he said obsequiously. "What may we do for you?"
"When's the next ship leaving for Planets?"
"This evening, sir, at 9:45. The
Erebus
blasts off from Cradle No. 4, sir."
"Good. Make one reservation for me. Under the name of John Carter. I don't want my presence on board known." "Of course. We'll be most happy to take care of it for you.
You wish Suite A, naturally, sir. It's the very best—"
But he was talking to a blank screen.
The
Erebus
was the luxury liner of the spaceways. One thousand feet long it was, its hardened
dural
hull gleaming like silver in the powerful floodlights. Its equipment was the last word and its appointments luxurious. It carried first-class passengers only and express packages of small bulk but high value.
The usual crowd of loungers, friends and relatives gathered on the brightly illuminated rocket field to see the
Erebus
off. The last warning signal had been given. The visitors trooped down the gangplank over the open struts of the cradle in which the mighty ship pointed its nose slantingly toward the stars.
People waved outside. The passengers stood within the observation deck, securely quartzed in, waving back.
Then the protective shields whirred into place, cutting off sight for the blast-off. The field crew moved toward the gangplank, ready to swing it away.
A small aerocab shot like a bat out of hell across the field, thrust out landing gear and scattered the crowd headlong before its slithering stop. The car hadn't come to a halt before the cabby had flung to the ground, snatched at a single lightweight bag with one hand and swung at the door with the other. But his passenger, a girl with wind-blown locks and hasty traveling costume, had already sprung lightly out.
"Yell for them to hold it," she cried impatiently. "Don't worry about me."
The crowd growled, resentful of the narrow escape. "Who the hell does she think she is?" squeaked a burly roustabout. "Almost running us down like we were—"
"Hold the ship!" bellowed the cabby. "Miss Kenton's coming on board."
The ground crew had the gangplank swinging wide. The foreman jumped at the name as if he had been blasted. He bellowed in turn. The long steel slant jerked, moved back into place. The growls of the crowd gave way to straining of necks, excited comments. The roustabout stopped in midflight, gulped and retreated hastily into the protective anonymity of his fellows.
But Sally was too used to gapings and respectful murmurs to pay any attention. She was running with lithe swiftness toward the ship; the cabby puffing behind her.
"We didn't know," apologized the foreman.
She favored him with a quick smile. "Neither did I," she told him and vanished into the reopened port.
The foreman was dazzled. The girl had gone, but the smile remained with him, to be treasured and brought out again and again for inspection. He even foolishly boasted of it to his stout, work-roughened wife that night while swallowing a midnight meal. And regretted it for days thereafter. For his wife had a jealous heart and a blistering tongue; and she brooked no rivals.
The harried and obsequious purser was having a rough time of it.
"If we had only known you were taking passage," lie wailed, "I would without question have reserved Suite A for you, Miss Kenton. But you see—"
Sally stamped a trim, determined foot. She pretended indignation. "I don't see. Why, pray, may I not have Suite A?"
"It's already occupied. It was reserved only this morning. By a Mr. John Carter."
"And who the devil is this Mr. Carter that he rates the only decent suite on board this ship?"
The purser thought unhappily of the really luxurious quarters he had shown this imperious young lady and which she had turned down. He didn't realize that under her indignant-seeming exterior she was enjoying herself hugely. Unknown to old Simeon, she had returned to his private office while he was packing, and found the telautotyped plate of her father's reservation under the name of Carter. It took her ten seconds then to make up her mind to board the same ship to Ceres; it took her rather more time to throw a sufficiency of clothes together in a bag.
"I don't know who he is," confessed the purser, "but he seems a most irascible old man. Almost blasted me out of the room when I stopped in very courteously to ask him if he required anything."
Sally smiled at this unflattering description of her father; hastily shifted the smile to a frozen stare.
"Then get him out. Give him another room—five other rooms, for all I care. I want Suite A."
The purser was desolate. "I'd be glad to do anything in my power; but you haven't seen this man. He'd bite my head off if I asked him anything like that. And, after all, the Space Code says specifically—"
"Bother the Space Code! If you're so frightened of this fellow
,
I'll speak to him myself. Take me to him."
The automatic elevator dropped them to Deck 3; the moving catwalk sped them toward Suite A. The purser surreptitiously mopped his brow. These rich dames, who thought they owned the Universe!
His discreet buzz was answered by a blast from the annunciator.
"Come in!"
The annunciator distorted the voice; but it couldn't mask the impatient rasp to it. The purser shut his eyes and muttered a hasty prayer. There'd be sparks flying when these two met. He
wished himself anywhere else but at this particular spot.
The door whirred open; and they stepped in.
It
was
a beautiful suite; there was no question of that. The walls were photomuraled on receptive metal to give the effect of smiling fields back dropped by snow-capped mountains. The ceiling appeared an open sky in which glowed innumerable worlds. Couches nestled around a central bath of artificial flame. Open doors disclosed twin bedrooms and a bathing pool filled with activated waters.
A man's back bent away from them. He was seeking a book in the recessed shelves.
"Can't I get peace and quiet even out in space?" he grumbled. "What the devil do you want now?"
"I want this suite," said Sally in a throaty, altered voice. "And I want it in a hurry. I'll give you exactly five minutes to pack and get out."
The purser was horrified. "Now please—" he started in protest.
But the man had jerked erect and pivoted on them. He was furious. His wispy white hair bristled with electric anger. "Give
me
five minutes! Why, you impertinent—"
His jaw dropped ludicrously. "Sally!" he shouted. "In the name of all the blink-eyed comets, what are you doing here?"
She kissed him. "Suppose I ask you the same question? You know you're subject to vertigo."
The purser's eyes goggled. Simeon Kenton! Old Fireball himself! Father and daughter. He fled before this strange, incomprehensible pair could turn on him.
"Don't be silly," old Simeon said indignantly. "You can't have vertigo in space. Everything's up."
Sally shook her finger at him. "No evasions, please."
He cleared his throat. "Har-rumph! I'm going to Planets. A business deal, my dear. Something that came up suddenly."
"A business deal?" she echoed meaningly. "Now confess!"
"Yes, a business deal!" he returned heatedly. "And furthermore—" He stopped short. He glared. "Never mind about me.
What the ding-ding about you?"
She patted his cheek. "I'm on the same business deal that you are, most reverend parent. Only I bet I thought of it first."
Then the humor of it struck them simultaneously, and they laughed until the tears came and their voices were weak.
"We're both dadgusted fools!" cried Simeon. "Only I'm the older one. Very well, I'll talk to that uppity snipperwhapper. But first I'm going to take all his ill-gotten gains away from him. He needs taking down a peg; otherwise you'll find there'll be no living with him."
"I still bet on him, dad. I have an idea he won't be so easy to take down."
"That remains to be seen," Simeon said grimly. "The first time he just caught me off guard."
Sally pressed the buzzer. The purser appeared, haggard, defeated.
"Move my bag in here," she ordered. "Into the bedchamber next to the pool."
"Y-yes, Miss Kenton. Y-yes, Mr. Kenton. I didn't know—"
"And why didn't you know?" yelled Simeon. But the purser had fled again.
CHAPTER 5
THEY DIDN'T find Kerry Dale at Planets. In
the twelve days of their journey to that roaring boom town on the edge of the Asteroid Belt the bird had flown the coop. Flustered officials scurried to bring the mighty Simeon Kenton information.
"Young Kerry Dale? Yes, sir, he blasted off four Earth-days before. In what? Why . . . uh . . . seems like the young fellow bought himself an old tramp freighter and fitted it out for salvage operations. Incorporated himself, in fact, under the laws of Ceres. Mighty flexible and generous, our corporation laws, sir. Nothing like those of Earth and Mars. Initial fees nominal, Sir, and the taxes practically nothing."
The official permitted himself a respectful wink. "We don't believe in pestering business. Nothing paternal about us—ha, ha. If Mr. Kenton would care to look into the advantages of transferring his affairs to Ceres, we'd be most happy to discuss—"
"Stop your infernal chattering" roared Simeon. "I don't give a tail-ringed hoot about your silly laws. I'm asking simple questions and I want simple answers."
"Y-yes, sir," stammered the frightened official. Old Fireball certainly lived up to his reputation.
"Where did he go to?"
The records came out tremblingly. A long nose buried itself m the documents, lifted. "N-no destination, sir. Just cruising through the Asteroid Belt. Under the articles of incorporation, Space Salvage, Inc. does not have to file the port of call of its vessel at the time of blasting off. Hm-m-m! A very peculiar charter, sir. There are lots of clauses in it I've never seen before. We're pretty free and easy about those things, but not
that
much. I'm surprised our law experts passed it."