by Earl
“You don’t deserve it, you cursed sot, and you won’t get it!”
With these words Hanson swung his fist in the other’s face and knocked him against the wall. Timothy picked up a rock from the discard tub and threw it at Hanson as he lumbered up to carry his plans through. But the rock missed and the fat man grabbed him about the legs and swung him like an ax. The little man screamed and struggled but the repeated blows of his head against the metal wall finally rendered him unconscious.
Hanson looked down at his still form a moment. Then he picked him up and carried him to the small bedroom which contained two sleeping bunks. In the wall nearest the hull was an air seal. He opened this. In the tiny chamber revealed rested a small ellipsoid metal object with a bulge of steel-glass on its top surface—the “life boat.”
Due to the constant dangers of meteors in space which might at any moment crash through an ether boat, each space vehicle carried tone or more of the life boats. They were simply little one-man ether boats, miniature models of the larger craft, equipped with small but efficient rocket motors. If for any reason the larger boat became unmanageable, damaged, or useless as a vehicle, the passenger could then embark in the life boat and propel himself within reach of rescue. Each life boat was equipped with a radio. They also carried food, oxygen, and heating apparatus.
Hanson, holding the little man in his arms, smirked as he saw the dull metal ellipsoid boat, for it entered his plans of the moment. On its side was emblazoned the same number as was on the outside hull of the bigger boat—P-322-M-505.
The fat man placed his unconscious companion on the floor, opened the door of the life boat, and proceeded to plunder it of all food and rocket fuel, and also of most of its oxygen.
Then he shoved the limp form of the little man into it full length on the curved floor. There were only two positions possible in it: lying flat on the bottom, and sitting up with one’s head in the bulge of glass which served as a piloting lookout. Hanson banged shut the door.
This done he closed the bedroom seal, donned a vacuum suit in the main room, and stepped out onto the asteroid. He walked to the other side of the boat, pulled open the seal letting the air out with a rush, and dragged out the life boat containing the senseless Timothy.
All was now done to Hanson’s complete satisfaction. He was sending Timothy to death, sure death without fuel to avoid asteroids and food to keep his body alive. Why should he kill the little drunkard in other bloodier, more sudden ways, when this was so easy?
Hanson’s face overspread with a demoniac grin as he looked first at the ellipsoid object and then around at the crumbly rock hills near the ether boat. A wealth in platinum—and it would all be his and his alone!
Stooping, the fat man grasped the life boat by two of its many rocket tubes, raised it to his chest, and pushed it away from him forcefully. He knew that the gravitation of the asteroid was so small that it would fail to draw back again the little craft as it shot away from him like a blunt bullet.
But before the little object passed out of view altogether, a ghastly white face with wide, fearful eyes appeared in the glass bulge and looked back to Hanson with a pitiful expression of horrible despair.
Hanson began to laugh then, and laughed insanely till he once again took off the suit in the ether boat.
“Mine, all mine!” he shouted, waving an arm to include all the visible topography. “He didn’t deserve any of it, the little rat—and now it’s all mine!”
CHAPTER IV
Justice
l In a magnificently decorated arched room sat two men facing each other. The one was young and neatly dressed, but there was a look of sharp disappointment on his face. The other was obese, dressed in the height of opulence of the twenty-second century with numerous flashing jewels on his silken garments. His face was repulsively stern and implacable.
“Then you refuse to loan me a paltry fifty thousand dollars,” said the younger man bitterly, “which would tide my company Over until we can collect on that Venus deal?”
“I absolutely refuse,” said the fat man with a cold leer. “You haven’t given me near enough assurance that your company will ever gain on the deal. And as I am not in the habit of throwing away money, I can’t help you.”
The younger man stared at the other a moment in rising anger. Then he turned on his heel and strode to the door.
But before he left he turned to the fat man:
“I was told, Mr. Hanson, that you were the most hard-hearted man in God’s world. But by the Heavens above, you’re worse than that; you are a thing of meanness and evil, not fit to be called a human being!”
The door banged shut.
Egard Hanson’s face grew dark at the insult. He took a few steps toward the door, then changed his mind. A grin of pure maliciousness appeared on his face. He seated himself comfortably, extracted a small disc from the end table, and spoke softly into it. “Venus relay station,” came a voice from the disc. “Give me contact with Timtillo, Venus. This is Egard Hanson speaking.”
“Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”
“Earth relay station, Timtillo, Venus,” came from the disc.
“Call New Boston, Venus, and my party is James Veloe.”
“Hello, hello, James Veloe speaking,” came after a short delay.
“Hello, Veloe. This is Hanson. Veloe, I want you to look into the deal between the Cristobal Beryllium Co. here in Indianapolis and the Venus Beryl people. Whatever the state of affairs, see to it that the deal does NOT go through. Cristobal Co. needs a little shake-down. Get it?”
“Trust me, Mr. Hanson.”
“There’ll be ten thousand in it for you, Veloe. Goodbye.”
Hanson put away the disc and relaxed with a sigh of satisfaction into his cushioned seat. His piggish eyes gleamed brightly as he thought of how he had avenged the biting insult of the upstart who had come to him for financial help and then gotten angry at the refusal.
Of course fifty thousand dollars would have meant nothing to Hanson. He could have thrown ten times that amount in the river without a pang. But Hanson wasn’t the man to help others over rough places just for love. He had an immense fortune, but that was HIS good luck, not anybody else’s.
A few minutes later the door opened again. A slim, appealingly clad girl danced into the room and fell into his lap. Her arms went about his neck.
“Hello, dear!” she said sweetly. “Oh, dad, how can I ever thank you for that simply beautiful necklace. Why, it must have cost a mint of money! And it’s positively gorgeous!”
“I’m glad you liked it,” returned the fat man, his gruff voice diluted with as much softness as was possible. “As for the cost—hmmph—there is NOTHING too costly in this world for you. Ever since your mother . . . died . . .”
“I know, dear! I’m all you have left to love, and you’ve shown that SO many times . . .”
“Now, now, surely that isn’t a tear in your pretty eye, Elaine? Come, now, smile for your dad. I see so much of people who smile at me only because they see me as a bag of gold, that I sometimes simply yearn for your sweet, honest smile, my darling.”
“You flatterer!”
The girl nestled in her father’s arms. Then she sprang erect.
“I almost forgot what I wanted to tell you, dear. I’m taking a trip to Jupiter next week! I’ve heard so much about the beautiful scenery there that I can’t resist going!”
Egard Hanson sat up suddenly “What! To Jupiter? No, Elaine, you had better not.”
“Why—why not?”
“Because of the danger, Elaine. You know, just a few days ago a meteor crashed into a liner bound for Saturn and killed outright three hundred and more people. I don’t want you to risk . . .”
“Oh, bosh! Those accidents don’t happen very often. Why should a meteor pick out little me who hasn’t done anybody any harm? Now, dear, don’t argue with me, you know it won’t get you anywhere!”
Elaine smiled triumphantly at him. As a sigh of resigna
tion escaped his lips, she flung her arms around him and kissed him.
“But I’ll worry about you, darling. I DO wish you’d stay on Earth here. There’s plenty of excitement and scenery on this planet . . .”
But with a tinkling laugh, the daughter tripped away, her eighteen summers of life unknowing of the dangers and tribulations of a world that she saw through a platinum-studded, gold-tinted glass.
When his daughter was gone, Hanson’s face again set into its normal mold of arrogance and ruthless power, for there were many things occupying his mind of a desultory nature. He had taken care of Cristobal Co. but there were certain other business institutions with whom he had clashed and who needed a shake-down . . .
l But Hanson was not to be left alone this evening, it seemed. The butler announced a gentleman to see him.
“Orville Stibb? Never heard of him,” said Hanson. “Shoo him away.”
But the butler returned to say: “Pardon, sir, but the gentleman says he used to know you when you were a prospector and lived at Porto Monto, Mars.” Hanson started slightly and then waved for him to be presented.
Orville Stibb entered, dressed in usual prospector clothing which was somewhat the worse for wear. He smiled graciously as he saw Hanson and advanced with outstretched hand. But Hanson ignored the hand and stared coldly at the man. Evidently here for a touch, he thought.
“Certainly is a pleasure to see you, Mr. Hanson, after all these years, twenty years to be exact.”
“Never mind about that,” said Hanson boorishly. “If you have anything to say, out with it. I suppose it’s money you want?”
“No, no, not exactly, Mr. Hanson. There’s just a little matter I’d like to talk about—it goes back twenty years.”
Hanson bent his puckered eyes on the other.
“Well, what?”
“Just this, Mr. Hanson. When you left Porto Monto twenty years ago before you came back with a fabulous find, there was another man with you—a Jeremiah Timothy.”
Hanson’s hands fumbled a moment with a cigar that he picked up and lit. Then he assumed a sorrowful look.
“Yes, I did have him for my companion. He was the one really found the ore-bed, you know. But, poor soul, he left our ether boat one day without enough oxygen and when I found his body—well, you know, Stibb, how those things happen. I was so sorry, because I really wanted the poor fellow to enjoy some of that wealth.”
But Stibb’s face had become suddenly crafty, sarcastically impudent as he detected the insincerity in Hanson’s voice.
“Yes, I imagine it was a bad blow to YOU that you had to take the whole thing instead of sharing it.”
“What do you mean?” cried Hanson, his voice crispy. “I mean, Hanson, that it might produce a scandal if I were to suddenly announce to the right authorities that you had a companion that never returned.”
“Well, what of it? He died. Is it my fault? Prospectors die by the hundreds out there in the asteroids.”
“Yes, they do, Hanson. But their death’s are always REPORTED if one or more of the party returns. You, Hanson, neglected to report that a certain Timothy died on an asteroid, when you got back and negotiated your find. If I were to reveal that fact to, let us say, a relation of his—after much searching I DID find that he had one living relation, a cousin—I think you would not relish the trouble that would bring you.”
Hanson thought for a long time. Then:
“All right, Stibb. What’s your price?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars!”
Hanson gasped, opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. He rang for his servant and gave him orders to bring paper, pen, and check-book.
“Here, Stibb. Write out at my dictation a statement that you have received a half million dollars for services rendered and sign it. I will give you my check.”
Orville Stibb arose, letting out a huge sigh. Without a word he bowed slightly, mockingly, to the fat man and left. In his pocket was the check.
Egard Hanson sat alone, smoking his cigar. Twenty years had rolled by since he and the little drunken Timothy had embarked for the asteroids. They were twenty years of lustful, brow-beating opulence; mean, spiteful satisfying of a colossal ego and a general hatred of his fellow men. Even his wife whom he had married almost as soon as the wealth rolled into his lap, suffered mutely from his harsh nature. Only his daughter, the sweet, innocent Elaine who looked upon her father as a benign, genial saint-like old man, escaped the baser acts of his life that caused countless people to curse his very soul as the devil in human flesh. She knew nothing of such things. Her father was a prince of men. She was the embodiment of Hanson’s residue of conscience. Only in her did the ruthless capitalist display something of a better nature.
Orville Stibb had brought an echo from the past into the room. The name Timothy, which Hanson had not heard mentioned for twenty years, brought a vague sense of unrest in the wealthy man’s mind. He did not sleep well that night.
l “Goodbye, daddy dear!” cried Elaine, flinging her arms about his neck. “I’ll be back in five weeks. Now don’t you dare to worry. I took this stateroom nine tiers removed from the hull just to satisfy you, although I Would have loved one up against it so that I could look at the stars anytime I wanted. Oh, I’m going to have a perfectly lovely time, I know!” Hanson kissed his radiantly happy daughter, looked at her fondly for a moment, and then left. Out in the corridor he was joined by one of his paid associates in business, who was also something of a friend.
“Wonderful girl, Elaine,” sighed the friend. “Pretty and sweet.”
“Jones, I don’t know what I’d do without her,” said Hanson. “She fills a place in my life that I don’t think I could do without.”
Then he looked at his companion slyly as they walked down the long corridor filled with people bidding each other farewell and bon voyage.
“She will make a wonderful wife for some man.”
Jones flushed and agreed. “Mr. Hanson, this is hardly the time and place to say it, I know, but I hope to ask for her hand soon—with your permission.”
Hanson laughed. “The bashful suitor in person.” Then he became serious.
“Not a bad idea, Jones. You’ve been faithful to me for five years and I think you’re just the man. Of course, now, don’t raise any high hopes. Never in the world will I force Elaine into marriage. You must win her consent without any aid from me.”
Jones smiled with pleasure.
Then the two men arrived at the captain’s office.
“Ah, Mr. Hanson, a pleasure to see you,” said the captain with a bow.
“Yes, yes,” said Hanson tersely. “I came here to remind you again that my daughter is in number 119, tier nine. If anything happens, my dear captain, it would be well for you to see that her room is immediately looked into. Not that anything is very likely to happen . . . but above all my daughter must be protected from any danger.”
“Quite right,” murmured the captain as the fat man shot him a stern look of command. “Thank you, Mr. Hanson, for the check you sent me yesterday.”
Hanson strode from the room followed by Jones. Outside the door he accidently bumped into a man who was walking by hurriedly.
“I beg your par . . .”
But before he could finish, Hanson swung his fat hand across his face.
“That will teach you to be less clumsy when Egard Hanson walks by you!”
The mark of the blow became surrounded by an intense flush of anger. The man looked at the retreating figures, repeated the name to himself, then lost his anger. Other men had bucked the power of Egard Hanson and brought great troubles down upon themselves. He was an impolite pig, but . . . he had wealth.
* * *
Three days later a white-faced man stood a moment outside Hanson’s private study in trembling indecision. It was Jones. Finally he softly opened the door and walked in.
“Hello there, Jones,” called Hanson looking up from some papers he had been reading. “Come here and
sit down, my boy.”
As Jones silently approached, the light fell on his white face and fearful eyes.
“Why, you’re sick, Jones!” exclaimed the fat man, but Jones shook his head.
Hanson leaped to his feet, suddenly pale himself.
“Jones, what is it! Quick, tell me!”
But Jones could not find his tongue. He mutely held out a folded paper and sank into a chair.
Hanson wrenched Open the paper, glanced at the message therein, then gave a wild cry of utter agony.
“Get out!” he screamed to the shrinking Jones. “Get out of my sight! Oh, my daughter . . . Elaine . . .”
Jones slunk out.
Hanson quieted himself then and read the message to the end. His skin blanched. His piggish eyes opened in stark terror.
As he raised his eyes to the dark c’orner of the room, he moaned at the apparition he saw there.
It was Jeremiah Timothy, his pinched face reflecting deep sadness. Then the finger of the vision pointed to the gasping man of wealth. No words came from his dead lips, but there was a look of denunciation plainly written on his face—accusing the trembling, horror-stricken fat man of . . . MURDER!
With a low groan, Egard Hanson sank to the floor—dead.
In his hand was clutched the message from the Jupiter Space Road Co.
It read: “The liner Jove, bound from earth to Jupiter, was pierced by an object while en route. It is with the deepest regrets that we inform you that your daughter, Elaine Hanson, is numbered among the dead. It was not a meteor that struck the liner. It seems to have been a derelict ether boat or possibly a life boat. The death of your daughter was unavoidable as the object crashed through to the tenth tier, opening all the corridors in that section to the vacuum. The only definite things we know were that the derelict must have been going at a terrific rate, and that it was absolutely impossible for the pilots to avoid meeting it. However, we have the number of the derelict. By some miracle a piece of it remained intact, hanging on to the jagged hole by a fused thread. With this number, which is P-322-M-505, we are going to prosecute the Space Derelict Clearance Co. for criminal negligence.”