Mystery of the Third Mine

by Robert Lowndes

  Clay looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Certainly. This doesn’t belong to either Pete or me, but I think the owner wouldn’t mind.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Webster. He picked up the viola and bow, began to play a simple, affecting melody that Peter had never heard before. Webster played without apparent attention to what he was doing. He sat in his seat almost as if he were listening to someone else. When he spoke, his voice seemed to blend with the music, although his words were entirely clear.

  “Laura’s parents were lost in the Belt, along with my own wife. The Asteroid Miners’ Association came out of conversations the four of us had had many an evening. Originally, it was thought of only as the Miners’ Aid.”

  “How long has Ama been going?” Clay asked. “I never heard of it until this last week."

  “Not very long. I tried to organize it here among the miners, as an independent association for Ceres alone. I failed. Many agreed that it was a fine idea, but few wanted to do the initial work. Few could see it was necessary. The feeling was that Central should handle Miners’ Aid, and that was enough.

  “But I found that there has been a much greater increase in claim jumping, pilfering, and swindling than most others realized. Miners have been lost in space and the Belt. They have had accidents on their claims, and so forth, since the very beginning of Cerestown. This has been accepted as normal. Hardly anyone has thought of looking to see if there were more such incidents than there should be.”

  Webster sighed. “I had to start out completely alone. But at last I accumulated enough evidence to convince Martian police that an Asteroid Miners’ Association, with guard units comprising what we call the Miners’ Aid, was needed. I showed them that a separate organization on Ceres would be to their advantage, as well as to ours. That was half a year ago. Building this organization is my life, and I want Laura to take my place as director of Ama when I have finished setting it up. Had anything happened to her . .

  “The organization would go on,” said Clay. “If it’s worth anything, it’s bigger than any one person.” Webster nodded. “Yes . . . Ama will go on. But while I live, this is my goal.”

  His lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile. “I m not merely being ambitious for the girl. She has already proved herself capable. When the time comes, she will be ready.”

  He stopped and put the viola down, his eyes haunted. “I hate blind, undirected forces,” he said quietly. “I want to order and arrange things for human ends. Had Laura escaped just as closely in a danger connected with the work, I should have felt it was different. But . . . this freak accident. . . He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the look was gone.

  “Clay, I cannot undo the injustice that has been done to you, but I can make amends. Will you sell me your mine—sell it to me, personally, not to Ama? And name your own price?”

  Pete had it on the tip of his tongue to ask Webster what part of the organization this “injustice” fitted into, but stopped himself. It was a strange admission for Webster to make. Did he realize what he'd said?

  He’d specified Vincennes as an “associate,” but what did that mean? Did it mean that Ama backed up Vincennes’ actions, such as the business on 20-47? Or was that the man’s own personal matter—something he kept secret from Webster?

  Clay said, “I appreciate your offer, Webster. But if you really want to help us, I'd rather trouble Ama for a small loan. We want to take the liner next week, get Mars’ certification of our filing. You ought to agree that fighting for our rights will fit in with the Association s aims.”

  Webster nodded. “Yes, you are right. Unfortunately,

  I cannot help you there. Oh . . . Ama could lend you that sum and more without trouble. That isn’t the hitch. The difficulty is that the loan wouldn’t accomplish anything/’

  He stood up. “You see, gentlemen, Ceres is in a state of crisis. We suspect that a number of filings transferring ownership of claims were obtained through fraud and extortion. The filings themselves are in perfect order, and the Claims Office has approved them. But we have been holding them while investigation was made.

  “Everything points to organization behind the skullduggery that has been going on. These transfer filings have disappeared from our office, and that proves it. Obviously, the thieves will try to deliver these transfers to Mars. They will pass them off as cleared and approved by Ama. They would be the first set of filings delivered since our recognition by Mars.”

  Webster got up and started to pace the floor, “This is serious. Our recognition, gentlemen, was won by a very small majority in the Martian Council Were we to protest that the very first sheaf of filings cleared by us were actually fraudulent, it would be very damaging. It might cast such doubts upon our efficiency as to reverse that decision. It might set Ama back for years.” His voice dropped. "I doubt that Ama could continue against organized opposition here, without Martian support. Those transfers must not get through.”

  “But,” objected Clay, “if you haven’t cleared them, can’t you advise Mars what has happened and disclaim them in advance?”

  “If something like this happened a year from now, that would be all that was needed. At the present, it would raise too much doubt. We cannot afford to be questioned at this point.

  “I have appealed to the Martian Patrol, and they are taking emergency measures. The Belt is being patrolled, and all ships heading toward Mars will be stopped and turned back, or spotted for arrest. The liner service from Mars has been suspended. So, you see, the matter is out of my hands now.”

  “You mean,” Peter burst out, “that if we try to prove our filing, well be arrested as thieves!”

  Chapter 10 Sealed Permit

  Webster showed signs of distress at the accusation and raised his hand appealingly. “No, no,” he said. “I do not mean any such implication. This measure isn’t directed at you, fellow."

  “But it might as well be." Peter shot back.

  "I'm afraid you are right about that. The fact is that you couldn’t get through."

  Alan Clay chuckled dryly and stretched his legs. “I don’t know about that, Webster. I don’t know that we couldn’t at all, particularly since we know about the Patrol. As a matter of fact, I don’t see what your cordon can do at all, except to prevent honest people from reaching Mars. Most folks will stand by when they hear the trip’s forbidden for the time being. But you don’t imagine that the crooks will worry about that, do you?”

  Webster smiled wryly. “Of course not. I assume the attempt will be made.”

  “Then how in blazes do you figure it can be stopped? The Patrol and Ama together haven't enough ships to blockade the Belt so that no ship could possibly get through. Only one has to—one ship which won’t decelerate when challenged by the Patrol, if they spot it at all.”

  “You think I haven’t thought of that?” Webster sat down and wiped his brow. "I'm in a desperate position; I admit it! I have a personal stake in this business. Ama, and Laura’s future in Ama, is all that means anything to me. I’ll stop at nothing to secure our position. I haven’t any illusions of being indispensable to Ceres. Certainly, if Ama fails now, something like it will succeed again in the future.

  “I know what you can say. You can accuse me of sacrificing you and others in order to gain my own objective at my own time. I’ve thought of that too!” He picked up the viola and began to play again, his voice becoming more calm. “I couldn’t set up ideal conditions. I’ve had to work with conditions as they were.”

  “Webster,” Clay said, “that excuse has been used by hundreds of men to justify every manner of crime. I’m not talking about scoundrels, but honest, well-meaning men who wanted to accomplish something worth-while. They decided that the end justified the means. You've studied Earths history. Well, you’ve let yourself forget that your means shape the end. Once you start trampling on other people, you set up a chain of actions which you cannot break. You have to commit larger and larger injustices
to hold on to what you gained by the first small ones.”

  Webster lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “Injustice. That's a tricky word. You have to make all kinds of selection, Clay. Look at these claim jumpers and pilferers—do you suppose they consider themselves as ‘evil’ men? Of course not! They see themselves as victims of "injustice/

  ‘‘When your luck is bad, and all legal means of getting what you want seem to be closed off, then you feel that the law itself is ‘unjust/ It's a state of mind, and it isn’t healthy, but you feel it nonetheless. These thieves, as we call them, are victims of the circumstances.”

  “They still have to be stopped,” Clay said. “You have to catch a sick one before you can treat him.” “Exactly. But Ama isn’t only out to capture thieves. We’re also trying to change things here, so that a miner who’s up against it won’t feel that he has to steal.”

  Webster sounded completely sincere, as he continued. “As things stand, we don’t have the choice between being completely ‘fair’ to all and being ‘unjust' to some. The situations growing worse. It wasn’t dealt with effectively at the very start. Now it’s come to the point where it can’t be handled without some ‘injustice/

  “I chose to act now, where only a few ‘innocent’ bystanders might be hurt. Should I have waited until the problem couldn’t be solved without many more such casualties?”

  Clay sighed. “Well, we’ve reached the point where arguing won’t change anything. You’re determined on the course you’ve taken.”

  “I still don’t see how you can hope to block off the thieves,” Peter said. “The Patrol and your guard both have fighting ships, but what can they do in space? Those guns are fine for disabling a ship on the ground. But I learned in school that about the only time a "hit’ could be made in any space battle, with such weapons as we have, was when ships were passing each other.”

  Webster nodded. “At times I regret that the arts of warfare haven’t advanced much. . . . It's true that the Martian Patrol hasn’t had to worry about space-fighting to any large degree. But they have developed a technique which is quite effective.” He fished around in a pocket and brought forth a small bit of metal. “I’m going to toss this up into the air. Now, watch it. When it comes down, see if you can hit it with the palm of your hand. Hit it as hard as you can.”

  Peter watched the little chunk drift down, judged it, then stepped toward it and batted it into a corner of the room.

  “Feel it?” Webster asked.

  Pete nodded. “Yes. It stung my hand a little.” Clay whistled softly. “So that’s the principle. Can you figure it out, partner?”

  Pete frowned in thought. “Well . . . it doesn’t have much mass or weight, and it wasn’t moving very fast . . . ."

  “But your hand was,” said Webster. He smiled. “That’s the beauty of it. The faster a ship is going, the more effective this weapon is. You just sow a quantity of small bits of metal in the path of the ship when it’s close enough. By then, automatic detectors can’t spot the mass and veer the ship aside in time. There’s no explosion. The ship’s hull will be peppered with tiny punctures, as if it had been caught in a meteor storm.”

  “Yes, but all this depends upon the Patrol intercepting the ship. That doesn’t prevent a ship from slipping through the cordon. They can't cover the entire area with traps. First of all, the metal will be detected if the ship is far enough away. Second, the stuff could be as dangerous to the fighters as to anyone else.” Peter shrugged and looked at the Ama chief.

  "Were not banking on this alone,” Webster told him. “There are three zones of defense, as it were. First of all, a squadron of the Martian Patrol is on its way to Ceres, and a blockade will be thrown around this planetoid. A second cordon covers the Belt area. A third is around Mars itself.

  “Each area is being patrolled, so that any ship going through will be detected, if not stopped. If nowhere else, a party will be captured at Port Syrtis.... So, you see, gentlemen, the end result is that you would gain nothing by trying to get to Mars . . . even if you managed to get through the Patrol. I’m sorry this hits you personally, but there is nothing I can do about it.”

  Peter looked at him curiously. “I don’t see why not, Mr. Webster. You’re Director of Ama, aren’t you?” “Yes.”

  “Well, since die Patrol is working with you, they’d honor a special permit to let us through, wouldn’t they?”

  Webster pondered a moment. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he replied, quietly. He took a plastic ticket and stylus from his pocket and wrote on it. “This should be sufficient, and I apologize for not having thought of it. . . . Hm-m-m, I’d better seal it.’’

  Peter was watching as Webster went over to the table, and noticed that the man did not take off his ring, but used a ring from his pocket. Webster impressed the seal into the plastic, scanned the ticket, then handed it to Clay. “You’ll have to stop for questioning,” he said, "'but this ought to serve its purpose. ... You're sure you want to go through with it?” Clay nodded.

  “Well, if you change your mind, please let me know. My offer stands.”

  The communicator buzzed and Clay went to it, listened a moment, then said, “Yes; he's here.” He handed the instrument to Webster. “Call for you from headquarters/’

  Webster took the receiver, listened, then smiled. “Good," he said. He listened a little longer. “I was afraid of something like that.” Another wait, then he added, “Excellent. I'll tell them. Back shortly.”

  He put the receiver back on its hook and turned to the Clays. “The Patrol has arrived, but something much more important to you has come up. The news is bad, I’m afraid. A miner has reported that your friend Abend was thrown out of his ship into space. He was in a damaged spacesuit and presumably with insufficient air. We know about it, because he managed to turn on his ship-communicator when he was attacked. The attackers did not discover this until after they'd shoved Abend out. The miner who caught the unintended broadcast of that scene was on a near-by asteroid. He says he can identify one of the men. He's sure that man is here in Cerestown now!” Peter caught Clay's eye and nodded quickly. “But what about Glen? Is there any chance of his being found?”

  “The guard is searching the vicinity. We think it happened near 20-05. If so, he may have landed there.

  “I promise you this much: if Abend can be found, the guard will find him. In any event, we’ll get one of the men responsible.”

  Glen Abend showed signs of considerable relief when he returned the following evening. Clay and Peter had spent the day watching repair work on the Claymore. It was nearly finished—the ship would be spaceworthy by morning.

  "I rigged up an eavesdrop receiver, and checked both of our apartments,” Abend said. “They aren’t wired for listening in to conversations, so we can talk freely.”

  He listened as Clay and Peter went over the happenings of the last few days. His head bobbed up and down as each suspicious event was brought up. When Peter mentioned the little flakes of metal, Abend snapped his fingers excitedly.

  “That must be it!” he exclaimed. “A third mine on 20-47. But how could we have missed it, Alan?” “What I want to know,” Pete interrupted, “is what kind of metal those flakes are/’

  “I'd tell you, partner." Clay answered, “but right now I think it's better that neither you nor Glen know. A man can't tell anyone something he doesn't know himself—can’t be forced to tell. That’s what I’m worried about; I’d trust you not to give it away.”

  Abend nodded. “That makes sense enough/’ He listened while they went on with the story, then got up excitedly, as they mentioned their suspicions of Ogden. Peter drew attention to the fact that Ogden knew just who the Clays were, although he wasn't supposed to have heard of them before.

  “There's a definite lead,” Glen said. “I’ve talked with three miners who came up against something very much like that. Each one of them got a call for help from some ‘lone prospector’ in trouble with jumpers. In each case
the Miners’ Aid showed up, just at the right moment. And each miners description of the lone prospector fits Dave Ogden!”

  “That certainly proves something,” said Peter. “But what?”

  “What I want to know is,” Clay put in, “did Captain Ezzard also appear on all these occasions?” Abend shook his head. “No, the guard officials differed in each instance.”

  “So what do we have?” asked Pete.

  “A fair amount. The man who tried to sell me that Belt Insurance policy introduced himself as Carl Harvey, I checked with Central and found that Harvey was supposed to be deported. Belt Insurance was issued a warning. They claimed that there was nothing illegal in their contract, but agreed that Harvey had failed to tell his customers all they should know. There’s talk about Ama forcing them to change their policy. At least, members have been warned not to sign.”

  Clay threw up his hands. “So what do we have? We get a lead, follow it a little ways, then it disappears. The most I can see is that someone in Ama may be crooked, or perhaps someone is trying to make Ama appear crooked! It’s the same pattern of suspicion without solid evidence. Listen to this now.”

  He continued the story, ending up with the interview they’d just concluded with Webster. “I’ve got my own explanation. Ama is a crooked outfit masquerading as supporters of law and order. They do just enough on the surface to keep up a good front. Underneath, it’s a conspiracy for wholesale robbery. And they have Mars behind them.”

  Abend nodded. I think you’ve hit it, Alan. Just where Webster fits into all this, I'm not sure. I've had a very busy time of it since I came back—been working with Kreuder over at the Claims Office. He’s trying to gather evidence too. We made a list of miners who have suffered because of the doubtful period, as well as those who were taken in by Belt Insurance. I’ve located a number of them, and they’re all fighting mad. We’ve gotten up a small organization to fight Ama . . . holding a meeting tonight.” He took a spool of film from his pocket. “Here’s another possibility. It may lead to something, or it may not; I don’t know. I have here sound photos of all the men who have been banished for pilfering or claim jumping in the last few years. It occurred to both Kreuder and me that some of these persons may have been seen around. I’m going to show the film tonight Want to see a preview?”