by E. C. Tubb
He didn’t answer, but I knew that I’d hit the target. Consolidated had a billion credits worth of equipment out in the Belt, all of it essential if they were to remain in business. A billion credits worth of plant and machines, refineries and shipyards, stores and power plants. All very expensive, and all very vulnerable.
A few thermite bombs set off at the right places would slow down production. A few more would wreck essential equipment and necessitate expensive replacements. Big as it was, Consolidated operated on a relatively small margin of profit. In other words, they were sitting ducks for the protection racket.
And they were beginning to get worried.
“It’s the taste of money,” I said. “At first the smart boys were content to gyp small-time prospectors like me. Then they got bigger, or wiser, or maybe bought more protection. Perhaps they got recruits from the Inner Worlds. Perhaps anything, but they’ve taken a look round and seen that the Company can’t afford sabotage. How much are they asking, Harry?”
“Too much,” he said quietly. “No matter how little it is, it’s still too much. You can’t buy off a blackmailer, and that’s all they are. Once we pay then we’ll have to keep on paying.”
I laughed.
Harry wasn’t annoyed or ashamed, or anything like that. Instead, he went and got a couple of coffee bulbs and, when I’d finished my laughter, he handed me one. I took it and stuck the nipple in my mouth. It was good coffee, laced with real brandy and sweetened with real sugar. I enjoyed it.
“I’m not going to talk to you about ideals,” said Harry patiently. “I’m not even going to say anything about loyalty or decency, or building for the future. I’m just going to talk about money.” He sucked at his coffee and licked his lips.
“If Consolidated is held to ransom, you, and those like you, are going to suffer. The company is out to make money, never forget that, and if it doesn’t make a profit it goes into liquidation. So any tribute we pay must be found without cutting our profit margin to a suicidal point. Normally, the customers would pay, but as we aren’t the only firm selling minerals we’ve got to keep our price at a competitive level. Can you tell me how we can economise?”
“Sure,” I said bitterly. “You cut the price of raw materials.”
“That’s right. But if we cut it too much you go out of business. It would cost more to hire our own prospectors, so inevitably we’d lose in the long run. Consolidated would cut its losses and abandon the Belt. You’d have nowhere to peddle your claims, and the only people to get anything out of it would be a dirty little bunch of criminals. They’d be the bosses because they’d have the money, and you’d dance to their tune and like it. Does the prospect make you happy?”
“No one is going to push me around,” I said. “I’m a free agent.”
He said a word which, from a younger man, would have earned him a busted nose. The word itself didn’t hurt so much; it was the way in which he said it.
“You’re as free as my Aunt Fanny,” he said. “You’ve got to pay for every breath you take, every mouthful of food and drink of water, the clothes you wear, the fuel for this ship, the charges for the thermite gun. Free? Man, you’re so loaded with financial chains that you can hardly move. Push you around? Hell, you don’t need pushing. You move to the tip of a finger. Once Consolidated is out of the Belt and prices hit the ceiling you’ll work for a bowl of slops and like it.”
“You’re talking too much,” I warned. “Pipe down.”
“Sure I’m talking too much. I’m telling you the truth and you don’t like it. You don’t want to know what’s happening. You don’t want to know that a gang of mobsters are taking over this decant because you and those like you haven’t the guts to stand up against them. You…” He stopped, just in time, and when he continued his voice was back to its old calm.
“Okay, Jim, you don’t have to sock me. I’m an old man, and I’ve seen this happen before. They tried it on Mars and they almost got away with it on Venus. Wherever the law relaxes a little, and men are too busy to worry about what happens to their neighbours, you get the smart boys who try to cash in. Why not? At least they can work together for their mutual good. If the pigeons want to be plucked, then why have pity for them? Let the criminals take over. Let justice be sold to the man with the folding money and the right friends. Who the hell cares about the future? Skim the Belt and retire to Earth with the loot. Get wise, Jim. Being honest gets you nowhere. Buy a gun and kill a few friends and cut yourself a slice of cake.”
“Cut it out,” I snapped. “You don’t have to try so hard. I’m wise to you and your company. If you’re so clever then why don’t you clean up the mess yourselves?”
“How? Why? What’s the company got to do with it? Damn it, Jim, haven’t I told you that a commercial organisation has to work with things as they are, not as they should be? What’s it to us if you rock-rats let yourselves be robbed? Do you want Consolidated to wet-nurse you? And if we tried it, you know what would happen? The company isn’t loved, Jim, and the first time we tried anything outside the law we’d be screamed down as dictators, money-grabbers, power-mad exploiters. Let a hint of that reach Earth and we’re done for. Business is a rat-race, Jim, and there are a dozen competitors after our blood. Knock us out and that restricts the supply of minerals. Short supply means higher prices. Why should we go out of business because a few men didn’t have the guts to fight for their own?”
“You’re too generous,” I said, and reached for a cigarette. “But why depend on me to straighten things out?”
“Because you’re part of the Belt, Jim, and it’s your future. Because you’re a little man, and everyone loves a little man who stands up for his rights. You could commit murder and they’ll call you a hero.”
“Sweet talk,” I said. “But I’m no hero.”
“You’re not rich, either,” he pointed out. “If you don’t want to do it for liberty and justice, decency and a safe future, then do it for the money. A hundred thousand credits, Jim. Think of it!”
I did.
*
Alone on the asteroid I had a lot of time for thinking. We’d swung back towards Central and, with a powered flight, Harry would make it there in three days. Add a day for landing and formalities. Add three more for the goons to come out on their claim-jumping errand. I had a week to look at the stars and sort myself out.
I had supplies and an igloo. I could inflate it and get out of my suit while I ate and rested, and recharged the air tanks. I had plenty of the laced coffee, plenty of cigarettes, plenty of food and water.
I also had a gun.
It was a Weimar rifle, low-calibre high-velocity, with calibrated sights and a full clip of fifty rounds. I’d heard of them, but had never seen one before. You don’t see many guns in the Belt. They cost a lot of money, and are about as useful as a pair of snowshoes on the sun-side of Mercury. The only thing you can do with them is to kill your fellow man, and murder, as a pastime, isn’t popular.
The mere fact that Harry had brought it along showed me how serious he had been when he told me I could get away with murder. He meant it literally and, as I’d a lot of time to get through, I spent some of it in target practice. After twenty shots I knew that I could hit anything I aimed at. With no gravity to speak of, no windage, no deviation, and with those sights, all I had to do was to point it and press the trigger. I put it to one side and gave my brain some exercise.
Things had happened too fast for my liking. I’d always been a lone wolf, and ever since I’d scraped up the fare from Earth, I’d kept clear of unions, companies, gangs and other groups and mutual-aid societies. With the Inner Worlds tied down by the big companies, the Belt offered the only place where a man could operate on his own with the chance to make his pile. If Harry was right, it was only a matter of time before the Belt went the same way as Mars and Venus.
And I knew that Harry was right.
But he hadn’t told me everything. It wasn’t as simple as he’d tried to make out. Co
nsolidated wanted me to start something so that they could move in and finish it. Once I’d set the ball rolling they could take over. It wouldn’t be hard for them to use me as an excuse to demand that Earth grant them extensive powers to protect their investment in the Belt. They would coat it with a layer of philanthropy, but the facts would remain the same. Company police, company officials, company ships and supplies. Once they started they wouldn’t stop until they literally owned the seventh decant.
Against that was the threat of the criminals taking over. In a war with Consolidated they would win because destruction is easier than construction. They could hold the company to ransom, bribe officials with the money so obtained, and extend their power over every man in the decant.
To stay alive in space you’ve got to have air and fuel, food and water. Someone’s got to import those things, and once they gain control of them they hold a pistol at your head.
Let either side gain full control and it would be impossible to enter a dome, refuel a ship or buy food without their permission. The tariff would rise to the sky and we’d have to jump every time they cracked a whip in order to stay alive.
A nice prospect—and I was in the middle of it. I had a week to think about it, and I covered it from all angles. In between bouts of brain-work, I sat and smoked and drank the laced coffee, while the stars swung around me and I tried not to feel lost. I checked my suit and made sure the compact recording machine Harry had left was in good order. I did everything a dozen times, and was just ready to go space-crazy with boredom when time ran out and things began to happen.
*
The goons were early. I’d caught a glimpse of their jets and had time to deflate the igloo and stack it away under a rock with the supplies and recorder. I took the rifle and hid behind a rock overlooking the squat bulk of the radio-marker. I’d plugged in my contact belt and, as soon as the ship landed, I heard voices on the general band echoing from my radiocap.
I pressed the radio relay to the recorder, settled myself more comfortably and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long.
The door opened and air made an expanding mist of ice.
Two men came out, looked around for a moment, then headed towards the marker.
“What’ll we do with it, Jeff? Smash it or take it back with us?”
I didn’t know which of the two was talking, but it didn’t matter. I crouched lower and stared through the sights of the rifle.
“Take it back with us, of course,” snapped Jeff. “These things are worth money. We can file off the number, adjust the pulse, and sell it. You ready to take the bore, Sam?”
“Just getting my gear.” A third figure jumped down from the ship. He carried a lot of equipment. “How about you giving me a hand?”
“Let’s switch markers first.” The first man who had spoken reached out his hand towards my marker.
I shot him through the body.
“All right,” I said. “Stay where you are. If anyone wants to try anything I’m ready.”
“Fred!” Jeff moved towards the dead man then halted as I sent rock splinters flying from next to his boot.
“I’m not just talking,” I snapped. “I’d as soon kill you as not. Stay away from that marker.”
“Now wait a minute.” Jeff turned and I could see the starlight glinting from his helmet as he tried to locate me. “You’ve got us all wrong. We just touched down to do some repairs.”
I didn’t answer.
“Look,” he said. “There’s no need for all this. Come out and we’ll have a talk. Where are you?”
I still didn’t answer. “You’ve killed Fred,” he said, and his voice was ugly. “That’s murder.”
“You louse!” I had to stop myself from killing him where he stood. “So it’s murder, is it? What do you call it when you claim-jump? This is my rock and I’m keeping it.”
“Okay, okay, so who’s arguing?” Jeff looked for me again, but I was well hidden. “So we made a mistake, that’s all. Just let me pick up Fred and we’ll get moving.”
“Stay where you are.”
“Listen,” said Sam. “I don’t know who you are, or where you are, but you’re asking for trouble. We just touched down for repairs. You killed one of us. You’re in a spot, mister.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then think again. You’re trigger-happy. We didn’t do anything wrong, and you can’t prove we did. When we get back to Central we’ll file a complaint. You can’t get away with murder, not in the Belt you can’t.”
“You’re a couple of claim- jumpers.”
“Us?” He laughed. “Don’t be silly. Try and make the police believe that.”
“They’ll believe it.” I sent another shot close to Jeff’s boot. “I told you not to move. I’m coming down, and if one of you as much as lifts a hand I’ll let you have it.”
Slowly I rose and kicked myself down towards them. I stumbled as I landed, but recovered without losing control of the rifle. I wasn’t sure if they were armed or not, and I didn’t want to take chances. I kept staring at them as I walked nearer, my fingers tense on the trigger in case they should try anything. I didn’t look towards the ship.
That was my mistake.
Something slammed into my left leg and knocked me down. I could hear the hiss of air as I fell and my leg felt cold and hot at the same time. I twisted and jerked back the trigger to automatic fire, spraying lead towards the running figures of the two men. Then I rolled behind a rock and gave myself some first-aid.
I had to move fast because I’d lost a lot of air, and blood. I tore off the sling of the rifle and twisted it around my thigh above the gash in my suit. I tightened it until the hissing stopped, then I snatched up the rifle and sent three shots towards the closing door of the ship.
It stopped closing, and I had time to realise what had happened. There was a fourth man in the ship. How he had missed killing me I didn’t know, but he’d probably had a hand gun and wasn’t too good a shot. Both Jeff and Sam lay where they had fallen. I didn’t worry about them; they couldn’t hurt me anymore. The fourth man could.
“Come out,” I said. “Drop your gun and come on out.”
“Not a chance.” He was breathing hard and I wondered if I’d winged him. “You can’t hurt me in here.”
“That’s what you think.” I stared through the sights and fired at the hull. The skin of a spaceship isn’t very thick, it’s only needed to keep in the air, and the Weimar was a high-velocity gun. The bullet went through the hull as if it were paper.
“Come out or I’ll puncture your fuel tanks. Come out or I’ll smash your controls. Come out, damn you!”
“Hold it, I’m coming out.” A figure appeared at the open door, hands above its head. I blinked at it; it seemed to waver and blur, and before I knew it, he was half-way to me. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Let me help you.”
“Stay where you are.” I was hurt, my leg felt like hell, and I knew that unless I did something pretty soon I’d pass out. I tried to hop towards the ship.
I saw his gun just in time. He had tucked it behind him, and as he swung back his arm I caught the glint of starlight from the metal. We fired together. Where his shot went I didn’t know, but my own bullet took him smack in the face-plate. I watched him fall and then I was flat on my face with everything dimming around me.
“Harry,” I said. “Harry, where the hell are you?”
I was crying with weakness. “Harry! Come and get me, Harry, Harry…!”
I was still crying when I passed out.
*
I opened my eyes and stared at a green-tinted ceiling. I lay on something soft, and the air smelt pure and fresh. I sat up and grabbed at my left leg. It was still there, and I relaxed. Harry came into the room as I was reaching for a cigarette. He handed me one and sat down beside the bed.
“We picked you up just in time,” he said. “You’d lost a lot of blood and your leg was badly frozen, but you’ll be as new in a coup
le of weeks.” He took something from his pocket and handed it to me. I stared at it. It was a cheque for one hundred thousand credits. “For your claim,” he said, and winked.
“Thanks.” I tucked it beneath my pillow. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Yes. The recording cleared you, and so did the evidence of the police we took with us out to the rock. Jeff wasn’t dead when we found him and he spilled everything. The recorder has been impeached for conspiracy, half the police have resigned, and most of the claims office staff have been arrested.” He stared at his finger nails. “You did a good job, Jim.”
“You did a good job,” I corrected. “I was just your stooge, the man who pulled the trigger so Consolidated could keep in the clear. What happens now? Do you get what you wanted? Sovereign rights in the seventh, decant so that you can protect your investment, and everything made smooth so that the Company can concentrate on the job of making profits?”
“What makes you think that, Jim?”
“I had a week to think about it and, believe it or not, I’m not quite a moron. Criminals or businessmen, what’s the difference? Both are out to make all they can.”
“There’s a big difference, Jim,” he said quietly. “A very big difference. You, like most people, have the wrong idea about business. We want to make a profit, sure, but what’s wrong in that? To make it we must have labour; that means we must employ people; they benefit, we benefit, and civilisation mounts a little. How else can the Belt be developed? Who else but Consolidated would pour millions into this decant and so provide everything you and those like you need to exist?”
“You talk well, Harry,” I said tiredly. “You talk so well that I almost believe you, but not quite. A company, you told me once, has no heart or soul. It has an object and it will do anything to obtain it. Individual officers of a company have to fit their own ideas to the overall pattern. They have no individual responsibility, they go by the book, and they feel no guilt at what they do. And never forget this: it’s the customer, the small man like me and those like me, who have to pay, and pay, and keep on paying. Consolidated, like any other big business, is a potential dictatorship’”