Clay set up a projector and they started running the film through slowly. For several minutes they watched the succession of faces and listened to the voices quietly. Then Peter called out, “Hold it, Glen. Rewind a bit and let me look again.”
“I’ll work it manually/’ said Abend. Peter sat at the edge of his chair as the pictures started again, then said, “There!” He turned to Clay. “Haven’t we seen that one somewhere?”
The face was that of a gaunt-looking man, but there was something familiar about the way he thrust forth his head when he spoke; the voice itself was unfamiliar.
‘'Picture more weight on him,” Peter whispered, "put him in a new outfit and you have . . ."
". . . Vincennes’ right-hand man!” breathed Clay.
A few moments later Clay pointed his finger, announcing, "That fellows in the Miners' Guard. Not even an attempt at disguise.” They ran through the rest of the film without making any more discoveries, but this much was a find. Three men, banished from the Belt for proven crimes, supposedly returned to Mars for therapy.
“And the three who jumped me can most likely be added to the list,” Glen said.
“How did they do it?” Peter wanted to know. "Not too hard, fellow. They must have found out when I was coming, first of all. They landed on another part of 20-47 and waited for me. Then, when I went into the mine, they sneaked into the Abend-land. The rest is simple.”
“Have any jumpers or pilferers or whatever come back legally?” Pete asked.
"I looked into that,” Glen said. "Yes, a few have, and they’ve made out all right. Their records aren't kept in the Claims Office. They are in a confidential file at Central, and only the Psych department can open them. It's easy to fall into the ‘once a thief, always a thief' reaction if you know a man's been in trouble before. As soon as an exile's treatment is complete, Mars orders his file transferred to Psych, and they handle the case. Everyone goes through that department before coming to the Belt. You wouldn't know that a newcomer is a former exile, unless you knew the man before.”
"But can't Psych spot the ones likely to go off?” Peter wanted to know.
“Psych isn’t an exact science, partner,” Clay put in. “They can guess right in some cases, but they can t predict the future. No man in the Belt has been conditioned to handle all the strains you go under here. No one can foresee all die possibilities. Everyone has his own breaking point, but it isn’t something fixed, Once and for all. A few Earthmen have gotten into trouble, too, though most of them have made out all right, as have Lunarians.
“What I’m curious about, Glen, is how you managed to get hold of these films. I thought they weren’t allowed out of the Claims Office.”
Abend grinned diffidently. “Old Caution swore me in as a special aide. That’s confidential. He’s taking a chance, because this is going to be shown to a meeting. But the Claims Office does have special authority in emergencies. The hitch is that Kreuder will have to prove that the emergency really existed if he’s challenged on his actions later.”
“Well, include us in the party, Glen. Just what do you think can be done?”
“I'm not sure right now. Webster’s made a surprise move, getting the Patrol in. That’s what swung Old Caution over to taking action. It means that Mars is ready to back Ama to the limit. That means we can’t afford to make any move that will play into Webster’s hands.”
The communicator called out, “20-47 Clay!” and Barbara Abends voice came forth as Clay answered “Marlene” when he opened up.
“Glen,” she said, “Tom Honoye just called. He says someone Is trying to get them all to start fighting right now. They should raid Ama headquarters. Tom’s tried to get them to wait until you show up, but they're all getting excited. He thinks this may be a put-up job,"
“Call him back, Barb," Glen replied quickly. “Tell him to stall for another half-hour. ... I have it. Say that Alan and Pete Clay are coming over. They've got important news."
He cut the communicator. “The whole idea is to get action, but I don’t like this. It sounds like a trap. Look, the meeting is at Central Concert Hall. As far as anyone outside knows, it’s a session to play Honoye’s Concerto Grosso. Take your instruments and get on over there."
Peter looked puzzled, “I don't get it. What's wrong with just holding a meeting and letting it go at that?”
Clay chuckled. “Use your head, partner. Suppose some Ama people happened to wander in right in the middle of things. . . . Glen, do you have anyone posted for lookouts?”
Abend nodded. "It’s on the top floor, and we have someone watching each entrance to the building. If anyone we don't know comes in, the signal will be passed up. By the time they get to the hall, all they'll find will be a session.
“I have to get someone now, so you two blast off. Tell them about the Martian Patrol and the blockade—Mr. Webster’s fancy three-way cordon. I’m sure the news hasn't gotten all around yet, and it ought to cool them down—I hope!”
Chapter 11 We Have a List
think we may be watched,” Glen said, as the three stepped out into the street. ‘"We’d better split up." The other two nodded agreement, and they started off in different directions. It wasn’t very far to the building where the meeting would be held, but Peter had an idea. “You go ahead, Dad,” he said to Clay. “Ill follow Glen for a while to see if anyone’s after him, then come around to the meeting/’
“Good work." Clay approved.
Peter waited a little while, then started off in the direction Abend had taken. He could see no signs of anyone following Glen, though, and finally saw Abend enter an apartment building. It was rather disappointing, he thought.
The way from this point to the Concert Hall led past a large open area, mostly used as a ball park. There was a game going on as he went by, and Peter wished he could watch for a while.
Baseball was pretty much the same game it had been on Earth, but low gravity made for a lot of differences. The ball was plastic, with a metal core. The current running underneath the ground, through a large metal plate, acted as a magnet. You could hit the ball very high and very far, but it wouldn’t go right up to the top of the dome. It would bounce if it hit the ground at a sharp angle, but that was all. Usually, when it touched the surface, it stayed put.
Despite himself, Peter found he couldn’t resist watching as a batter came up. Behind the plate, a Public Duty man was calling them as he saw them, and the batter turned around to protest a called strike.
The next delivery was good for a hit. There was a man on first base. Pete decided to wait and see if the runners would shuffle or jump. You could try to make it to a base in one long hop, but you had to land on the base; if you missed, you were automatically out. But if you hit it right, then you were safe, even if a fielder caught the fly.
They were going to try to get the runner at second, who was shuffling along, while the batter had made a jump for first. He carried little bits of metal—ball-hawk’s pebbles, they were called. He could throw three of them away for correcting his flight. Just the push of one of these hurled from him would start him in a slightly different direction. But it took a real expert to jump bases. The distances were much smaller in games on Earth. Peter thought of films he had seen and wondered how you could enjoy playing baseball when everything was so easy.
The outfielder had made his jump when the ball was hit, and was now correcting his own course. He could use as many pebbles as he wanted to. He’d be out of luck, though, if he used them all before the play was complete. Pete murmured, “Nice!” as the man intercepted the ball that was traveling at him with a lot of speed, and threw to the second baseman. The runner tried to gain time by taking a short hop, but was tagged when he landed at base. You couldn’t tag a man whose feet were off the ground, but you could try to push him so he’d land outside the base paths.
One out. He stayed long enough to see that the batter was going to land safely at first, then started on. The base runner should have
started hopping a little sooner.
Pete was still going over the play in his mind when he heard a voice. He couldn’t be sure what had been said; it was too far away. It had sounded something like, “There’s one of them.”
He looked up and around suddenly. Two men were standing in the doorway of the building he approached, and they stepped out now. He recognized Saul Hailey, Vincennes’ foreman.
“Good evening, Mr. Clay,” the man said. “I’d like a word with you.”
“It’ll have to be short,” Peter replied. “I’m late for a session.”
“I’ll come right to the point. Mr. Vincennes is wondering if you and your partner have made up your minds about his offer.”
“I told my partner, and we’re both thinking it over,” Peter said.
Hailey glanced at the other man, a blondish fellow with a long scar on his forehead. “Well, you know how it is with partners. One can decide for both. You think it’s a fair offer, don’t you?”
Pete snapped, ‘I’m sorry but I haven’t time to talk about it now.” He started to brush by Hailey, but the other man lifted his hand.
“Easy now, fellow. We wouldn’t want to see you lose out on a good thing. Mr. Vincennes might change his mind, and then you’d be out of luck/’ He paused and looked behind Peter for an instant. “Sorry you haven’t time to think about it, but we can help out there. . . . All right, fellows, grab him!”
Peter turned around to see two more men coming toward him. They must have been waiting in the entrance of the building he’d just passed.
That’s what I get for second-guessing a ball game when I should have kept my eyes open, he thought.
He twisted away as Hailey grasped his arm, but they were ringing him around now. His hands were free; he carried the violin case strapped to his back like an oxygen tank. Out of the comer of one eye, Peter saw the blondish man start a swing at his head with a short club.
He ducked, then shoved forward, head low, and butted the man in front of him.. The fellow vfent in a sidewise sprawl. But the others would have hold of him in an instant.
Jump to base, he thought. He came out of the crouch quickly and leaped straight up. He was clear of them, and above their reach before they guessed his plan. They stood there for an instant, then he saw Hailey grin.
Of course! They’d figure out his flight-curve and be waiting for him when he came down. He was close to the side of the building, but not near enough to reach it. Peter was still rising, but he’d reach the top of his jump soon and start to come down—away from the building. If he only had some of those little objects baseball players used to change flight. . . .
His ring—that would do it It had taken quite a few credits to have it made with the design he’d chosen for his own “seal,” but he could replace it later. He took it off and threw it down at an angle.
That was enough. Now he was moving up again at the same angle, and he’d hit the side of the building. There was a little ledge around each floor. All he had to do was grasp that and . . .
He reached out for it as he came up against the building side, but it wasn’t quite within his grasp. Like the player trying to hop to second base, he hadn’t figured out the course quite right. He’d come down and be tagged out with a club.
His stylus—that might do it He reached into a pocket, took out the little rod of plastic with its pointed end and flicked it away from him. It didn’t seem as if this could have any effect, but that pushed him the inch or so he needed in order to touch the ledge. He pressed his finger tips hard upon it and pulled himself in slowly.
Down on the street the waiting men started for the building entrance. Peter grinned as he watched them, then looked around. The place he wanted was just a way down the street. He was one story below the top of this apartment. Above him curved the great dome that covered Cerestown.
A pleasant-faced woman opened a window and said, “What’s up, fellow?”
Peter laughed. “Just a bit of a game. I can win if I can make it to Central Concert Hall without touching the ground. . . . You wouldn’t have any ballhawk’s pebbles, would you?”
The woman grinned. “Might have, at that. Hold on a moment.” Peter fidgeted, then sighed in relief as the woman came back with a handful of the little lumps of metal.
“Thanks."
“It looks like fun,” the woman said. “I’ve never heard of this game before. What's it called?”
“Don't know,” he answered. “I just invented it. Have to think of a name later.” He waved as he took a low jump that started him across the area between this building and the next.
Peter estimated there were about twenty-odd people on the stage in the front of the hall when he arrived. All were seated before music stands, sheets of the score propped up on them, and their instruments were ready. They could start playing at any moment.
Ben Black stood at the conductors podium, and a woman was just finishing some remarks. He didn't get what she was saying.
Several women were in the group, but that was hardly unusual. Anyone who came out to the Belt was judged by the kind of person he or she turned out to be. There was no other basis for deciding about people.
He looked over the group and recognized Tom Honoye. The man was from Earth, but the tag "Earthman” only explained his height, which was somewhat short even by Earth's standards. Ben Black was taller than Honoye, but shorter than Peter. He’d come from Luna, the colony on Earth's moon, and you could see at a glance why he'd chuckle at being called “Whitey.”
There was a dark-haired girl he'd seen before. Oh yes, she'd been at the Claims Office yesterday morning. The talk had stopped, as everyone turned to look at the new arrival.
“Now we have two-thirds of the string trio,” someone said.
“You missed the excitement, fellow,” Ben Black told him as he took a seat next to Clay. “A certain Mr. Ogden was trying to sell us on attacking Ama headquarters. We voted him down, so he got mad and left.”
“But—but you shouldn’t have let him go,” Peter protested. “Hell run right over to Vincennes, or whoever’s behind the dirty work, and tell them all about us.”
Clay laughed. “Ben didn't say how he left He started a bit of a ruckus, so we carried him into the next room and locked him in. Hell be asleep for quite a while. What kept you so long, Pete?”
“Oh, I had a little excitement too. Did you tell them about the Patrol?”
“Yes,” Clay answered. “And about the setup on 20-47. Somehow, the business there seems to be something important to whoever's behind all the skullduggery ”
Peter told of the meeting with Hailey, and his escape. Before anyone could start to discuss this, Black said, “String trio's complete now. Here's Mr. Gideon and his guest.”
The “guest” was Lon Kreuder!
Glen said, as he came down in front, “We now have an extra clarinet, so we'll have to play a different version of the Concerto Grosso. Get out your alternate scores, friends.”
There was a small ripple of laughter as Abend continued. “We're here to decide just what were going to do about Ama and the situation in general. Before we get to that, I think we’d all like to hear from Mr. Kreuder/’
“We’d better get ready to join the others if we have to switch to a real session/’ Kreuder said. He looked somewhat different from the worried official whom everyone called “Old Caution." There was a quiet, confident manner about him now.
“Come on up to the podium when you’re ready,” Ben invited.
It was very quiet as Kreuder looked over the group from the conductor’s stand and started to speak.
"A number of you,” he began, “as well as most other people, have suspected that the Claims Office supports the Asteroid Miners’ Association. Or, at the very best, you think we can only co-operate with Ama. The time has come when I can tell you openly and plainly that neither one is the case, although I have had to act that way.”
Ben Black suggested that he start with making it clear just w
hat the Claims Office’s position really was. Peter sighed. It must be the way people became when they had an official position. They couldn’t say anything in one word if twenty could possibly be found.
Kreuder nodded. “Yes. When Cerestown was founded, Mars set up the Claims Office. It was to be responsible to Mars only, but was expected to co-operate with Ceres Central, and any other organization set up later, at our discretion. We are not under Ama protection’ or responsible to it. When Ama was founded, our policy was that of co-operation. We gave out information, but it was only the kind of information we would give to anyone who asked for it.
‘'"The duties of the Claims Office are, mainly . . T Kreuder continued, and went on for about fifteen minutes. At the end of that time, all he had said was that the Claims Office kept records; and was supposed to tell miners what their rights were, and help them file their claims in the most effective way. In any dispute, the Claims Office would tell you whether you had a claim or you didn't.
. . to publish current reports on asteroids where no claims have been filed, or are still partly open. We report any irregularities that come to our attention to Mars and to Ceres Central____” There followed lengthy details about how you went about doing this. .. and to oversee miners" marker and finder units____”
In short, the Claims Office tested each unit before it was handed out.
There was a buzz of comment around the group as Kreuder paused. The man was fully at ease now, even if some of the audience was beginning to squirm.
Peter whispered to Clay, “I hope Old Caution can get to the point before the deadline on our ‘protection.' ”
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