“Take this Vincennes: he filed on the entire Asteroid 20-47. Why? Did he know that earlier filings were doubtful, or didn’t he know there were any? How much skullduggery went on before anything began to slip out—and what was its purpose? Did Vincennes buy information on filings within the doubtful period?”
He stopped pacing, looked out the window. When he turned back to Peter, his voice was calm, but more intense in its quietness. “But how can Vincennes stop you from certifying? You only have to make a trip to Mars. You see . . . that is the flaw in your case, the one thing that doesn’t fit. He can keep you off your claim for a time, but Vincennes has to stay off too! Ama won’t let him do anything while you go to Mars to get the proof that will beat him. So how could he profit? He stands to lose as much time as you do, and to be no better off when the case is settled. Do you follow me?”
Pete nodded. “Yes, but it isn’t as simple as all that, Mr. Kreuder. We can’t afford Mars-passage, and the liner comes in next week. We won’t have time to earn enough on Public Duty before she leaves. Our ship has to be repaired, and even then it would take four months just to get to Mars. The Claymore can’t build up the acceleration the liner does, . . He paused as a thought struck him. “Could I see a copy of that duplicate?”
Kreuder passed it over to him. “That puts a somewhat different light upon it,” he said, thoughtfully.
Peter scanned the small plastic sheet, then looked up. “Is ... is this all that appears on the copies you have here?”
Kreuder nodded. “Yes. You see, at first miners filed on certain metals in a location. Later, it was found that a given location might have several types of valuable deposit. One of the first requests the Asteroid Miners' Association made was to change the system. Now miners stake a claim on the location alone, and place the second and third copies in finders and markers.
“We saw the justice in the suggestion, but offered a compromise: the original filings would list one specific metal and the area claimed. Our duplicates here would only show the area. We didn’t want to help claim jumpers learn just where the most valuable mines could be found, so we revised our files. That is when we discovered the forgeries. So the way matters stand, Mr. Clay, if your filing is valid, you own not only the galena in that area, but anything else there, down to the center of the asteroid. Get it?”
“Uh ... I think so,” Pete said. “But suppose there’s more galena outside our area, only the deposits aren’t connected. What then?”
“Such a deposit would belong to Mr. Vincennes. You see, he has filed on the entire asteroid. If you can show that you already owned parts of it, he has to respect your claims. But the rest is his.”
Peter shook his head. “There’s one thing I don’t get. How is it that Ama seems to have more authority than Central?”
“The Asteroid Miners’ Association is recognized in its own orbit, so long as it doesn’t do anything contrary to Central, or try to boss nonmembers.
“If you had not agreed to the Miners’ Guard protection, the matter would have been referred to Central. They would have come up with the same kind of decision, though.”
Kreuder sighed. "I'm very much afraid that this has been an unhappy visit for you, Mr. Clay. It hasn’t been any more pleasant for me. I’ll do whatever I can, but there isn’t very much I can promise.” He rose and extended his hand.
Peter took the offered grip and felt a little assured by the warmth of Kreuder’s clasp. As he turned to go, his eyes fell upon a man walking along the street.
"Ogden!” he yelled. He started to make a dash for the door and found himself sailing up into the air as his magnetized shoes left the surface.
Chapter 7 What Could Be Fairer?
Peter was still red-faced when he finally reached I the street. He’d forgotten about Ceres gravity again, and let himself get caught floating and floundering like the worst whitey. They’d been decent enough about it at the Claims Office, One of the clerks grabbed a long pole with a hook on its end, fished around until he caught Pete’s belt, then pulled him down to the floor.
“Don’t feel bad, fellow,” the redhead said. “You aren’t the first who’s had that kind of trouble. This old hook gets quite a bit of use; we all go fishing now and then.”
Worst of all, though, was the delay. He stepped out onto the street with a sinking feeling as he looked up and down, seeing no trace of the mysterious Ogden. The streets of Cerestown rarely were crowded, although there were nearly always some people about. He buttonholed a Public Duty man, who was checking the magnetic lines beneath the street, and inquired. No, the man hadn’t noticed any dour-faced individual answering to Ogden’s description.
Maybe I’ll see him again, since he’s around town, Peter thought.
There was only one thing to do now—see if Ama would help. It didn’t look promising, but he could try. The Association layout was across the street from Cerestown Supply, just a little way down.
Peter went in, to find a much larger setup than the Claims Office had, although much of the equipment was similar. The front room, however, was filled with bulletin boards. Recording units and the like were in offices set off to one side. The one man at a desk here was listening to private communication, receiver to his ear. Pete roamed around the room, examining the many charts and bulletins with undisguised interest. Large sections of the Asteroid Belt had been charted, and red circles indicated claims. At the bottom of each chart were notes listing the numbers given to asteroids on the chart and indicating which areas had been claimed. Peter was surprised at the number of asteroids whose numbers were followed by the single word: “Open.”
Kreuder had been right, Peter saw. Claims listed did not specify any particular metal. In a few instances, he noted that the listing was “blanket.”
He went from chart to chart until he found one containing Asteroid 20-47. It was outlined, but in the column below the chart was written: Under Ama Protection.
Pete found a couple of other asteroids on other charts listed the same way before he heard a voice calling to him. He turned to find that the man at the desk had finished his business on the communicator. A plaque on the desk told all that the occupant was John Wendl.
Wendl was a round-faced individual with a smooth amiability about him. When Peter identified himself, the other nodded. “Clay—the name is familiar. I think we had a report about you from Captain Ezzard just recently. Let me get it out, so we can go over it— then you can add to it, confirm or amend as you wish.” He went over to the files and took out a spool of tape, which he started to unroll slowly, reading aloud as he went along.
Surprisingly enough it was a very fair statement of just what Ezzard had seen and heard, and, so far as Pete could make out, made the Clays’s side of the affair sound more logical than that of Vincennes.
Pete told about the tube explosion on the Claymore, and Wendl let out an irritated exclamation. “That is even more serious than you might think, Mr. Clay.” He turned as a man came out of one of the adjoining rooms. “What do you think, Joe? Here’s another instance of defective fuel containers. They tried to blast a kicker and the container exploded in their tube.” He added, with a nod in Peter s direction, “You don’t realize how lucky you were, fellow. Had it been a bow or after-tube, the holes on either side might have been ruined as well.”
Peter hardly heard this as he stared at the newcomer. The man Wendl had just called “Joe” was Vincennes!
The stocky depth-operator lifted his eyebrows as he recognized Pete. “Your ship, too, Clay? It looks as if misfortune keeps us together. I have just finished dictating a report. The same thing happened to my ship, only we were hit by a meteor before we could put about—the explosion must have damaged our automatics. Ezzard had to tow us back. . . . Have you been to the Claims Office?”
“Yes,” Peter said grimly. "That is why I am here. The copy on file shows that our claim was made just when we said it was—13/11/48.”
"Did Kreuder tell you the trouble with that date?
” Pete nodded. “We'll have to get it certified on Mars. But we need credits for the passage. Dad and I would both take a job in Maintenance to raise the funds, only there won’t be time. Captain Ezzard said that Ama assists miners in all kinds of trouble, and this is one kind, sure enough."
Wendl nodded. “I quite agree—and I think Mr. Vincennes will agree too. The only hitch at the moment is that you and your partner are not members of the Association.”
“Well," spoke up Vincennes, “that should be easy enough to remedy. You can sign up any time—and the fact that you signed up because you needed assistance at the time won't hurt any, will it, Wendl?” The official shook his head. “So you see, the door’s wide open.”
Peter stared at the elder man as if he hadn’t heard. T don’t get it, Mr. Vincennes; I don’t get it at all. You claimed 20-47—wanted to throw us off—insisted that we be kept off. Now you’re all for our getting help from Ama so we can prove that your filing’s no good.”
Vincennes smiled and chuckled a little. “Sounds odd to you, eh? Well, the answers a simple one. You’ve had a tough break, and I’m not trying to cash in on it. If your filing is legal, then I’ll have to be content with the rest of 20-47—but I seriously doubt that. The sooner this is cleared up, one way or another, the sooner I can start operations on as much of the asteroid as I have a right to.”
“You see,” added Wendl, “during the doubtful period, not only were filings tampered with, but a number were drawn up incorrectly—it was an outright swindle. Those thieves in the office deliberately made errors so that filings would not stand up if contested in court. They’d do this when an especially rich filing was made, then peddle the information so that another party could come in and get a legal filing. When miners began to suspect this skullduggery, it proved the need for Ama.
"The Claims Office was working hand in glove with jumpers and pilferers, taking a generous slice of the loot for their services in making everything appear straight. They couldn’t hope to get away with it forever. They just cleaned up as much as they could and skipped out when it became too hot to sit on any longer, leaving old Yerxa to face the inquiry. Fortunately, his good name has been cleared, and Old Caution has kept things in order.”
“Well, can you help us with passage on the liner?” "I think,” Wendl replied, “something can be done, but you’ll have to wait until the Director is in. He’s out on a field trip now, but should be back sometime today. You haven’t heard anything from your friend Abend, have you?”
“No.”
“There have been no calls for help in the section between 20-47 and Ceres, and no wrecks sighted. He isn’t on 20-47. It looks as if he may have been kidnaped—that has happened too. If that is the case, there’s little we can do about it, unless we just happen to be lucky. After all, the entire population of Ceres could hide out there in the Belt for years. No one could find them if they were determined to stay hidden.”
Pete turned to Vincennes as a thought struck him. “You said a little while ago that you didn’t want to cash in on our misfortune. Well. . . what else are you doing? What is it but misfortune if our filing is doubtful because we trusted dishonest officials. We made the claim in good faith.
“I can see that you don't want to do anything illegal—that's fine. But you don't mind taking advantage of the legal business. You can profit by someone else’s skullduggery. What's the difference between stealing a claim yourself and getting it through someone else's swindles, when you come down to the real thing?”
Wendl let his breath out with a whoosh. “The kid's got you on that one, Joe."
Vincennes was clearly taken by surprise. He said slowly, “Well, I'll be danged,” and looked uncomfortable. “Look here." he continued after an embarrassed pause, “your partner will sure enough admit that his galena claim isn't worth all the expense you’re ready to go to in order to save it. You can't clear more than fifty-five to one hundred credits a week apiece from it. Isn't that right?"
“Close enough. But that's no reason for letting it go."
“Of course not; it's a way to build up a stake for prospecting. I've done the same myself in the past, lots of times. So why not consider a simple proposition? I've seen your equipment and the way you handle it. You’re both good miners. Why not take a job with me for the time being? I’ll pay you each one hundred and twenty-five credits a week for working that galena claim, if you’ll just let the ownership of it ride. You two can mine the galena until it’s worked out, or quit any time you want to—just as if it were your own property.”
Vincennes paused a moment, then went on in an enthusiastic voice, “Suppose I offer you a contract with these propositions, eh? Why, in six months you ought to be ready to go prospecting for good stakes, instead of finding yourself no better off than you are today. You wouldn’t be as well off, as a matter of fact. You’d have back taxes to make up, then.
“I fought a disputed claim through myself, once, and won. You know what I found afterward? Well, I found out I’d been a stubborn fool, because it hadn’t been worth all the trouble I went to. The Belt is full of grubstake mines. Why, you and your father could find three more in the time you spend squabbling over one. . . . What do you say^shall I ask Wendl to draw up a contract? What could be fairer, I ask you?”
It was quite a speech, Peter thought. He looked at Wendl, who rubbed his chin and nodded, i won’t take sides in this, Mr. Clay. It’s none of my business, but I must admit that Joe’s offer sounds like a good one to me. If you want to take him up, I’ll be around to see that his contract is in order.”
He smiled at Vincennes. “You won’t be able to get away with anything, Joe. I heard what you just said, and I have a very good memory. If I draw up a contract, it’ll be in line with what you just said now—no afterthoughts or fancy amendments. You made an offer, fellow, and you’re stuck with it if they accept.”
‘I'll repeat it the same way,” Vincennes snorted. "I'm not one of your lawyer-breeds, Wendl. Never backed down on an offer or broke a contract yet, and I don't intend to start with this one.”
Peter was thinking that the offer was a generous one, perfectly fair on the surface. Too generous, and too fair. More than anything else, this latest appeal to reason convinced him that a third mine was on Asteroid 20-47. It must be something extremely valuable, and perhaps it was near the area he and his father claimed.
He remembered the little flake of metal again, and was glad he hadn’t brought it with him and shown it to the Claims Office chief. Old Caution might be all right, but the fewer people who knew that he, Peter Clay, knew, the better. Perhaps all this talk about the small value of the galena claim was a trick. Maybe they were trying to see if he suspected anything.
If he let on, might the Clays not suddenly disappear, as Glen Abend had?
He stood there, not letting any expression cross his face but a look of careful thinking,
“I’ll talk to my partner,” he said finally. He turned to Wendl. “When will the Director be in?”
The other looked at a chronometer. "Webster will be around sometime soon, but perhaps not until tonight. You’ll find him here tomorrow for sure.” “Thanks,” said Pete, I'll be back.”
He nodded to Vincennes and went out into the street. Well, there was nothing more he could do today. He might as well let things go until tomorrow, at that. Peter looked up the street in the direction of Cerestown Supply, and saw Menotti out on the sidewalk talking to a girl. Steve must have a romance building, he thought.
Peter let his eyes wander idly up and down as he stood in the doorway. He glanced up toward the top story where he’d seen the calculator unit hoisted a few hours before. It wasn’t there. No, it was being let down—he saw that it was nearly to the sidewalk....
Wait a moment. ... It wasn’t being let down; it was falling! Drifting the way anything drifted from a height here, floating straight down, slowly, soundlessly, toward the two talking on the sidewalk.
For a moment Peter stood frozen wi
th horror, then he found his voice. “Look out!” he yelled, and started across the street. This time he had to make haste slowly. He mustn’t let both shoes leave the surface and find himself sailing up again!
Chapter 8 Convenient—For Someone!
t was doubtful whether they could hear his warning. Steve Menotti and the girl were some distance away, across the street and up a bit. Both of them were completely wrapped up in their conversation. Besides, Peter knew that sound didn’t carry very far under the dome—at least anything distinct enough to be understood. He himself could hear faint noises from other distances, and one or more of them could have been someone calling out something. This was so commonplace that you heard without hearing.
The falling unit was now directly over the heads of the pair, and Peter was approaching them as quickly as he could without risking another swim in the atmosphere. Menotti looked in his direction suddenly, and saw Pete’s pointing finger. He looked up and grasped the girl's arm as her eyes followed his.
What followed was like a nightmare.
Peter was across the street now, and almost upon them. He saw the girl start a movement to one side, but too suddenly—saw her lose her balance. Her arms flailed out wildly as she started to topple, as slowly as the mass bearing down upon her. She had twisted to one side and was out of Menotti’s reach, although not clear of the unit.
The mass was now touching Steve s head. “Menotti,” Peter yelled, “get clear! I can pull her out!”
Steve ducked down, his arms reaching for the girl to push her aside. He caught hold of her feet and started to swing her around, unconsciously straightening as he did so. The movement was too strong. It lifted the girl’s legs, but it also sent Steve Menotti’s head up squarely against a corner of the mass, now a few inches lower than before. Faint as the sound was, its thud was sickening to hear.
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