the obstacles. Therocket drill and the eye-bolt had been designed to work together; thehole made by the first was only a trifle larger than the second. Theanchor settled firmly into place.
St. Simon released the clamps that held the eye-bolt to the hull of theship, and backed away again. As he did, a power cord unreeled, for theeye-bolt was still connected to the vessel electrically.
Several meters away, St. Simon pushed another button. There was nosound, but his practiced eye saw the eye of the anchor quiver. A smallexplosive charge, set in the buried end of the anchor, had detonated,expanding the far end of the bolt, wedging it firmly in the hole. At thesame time, a piston had been forced up a small shaft in the center ofthe bolt, forcing a catalyst to mix with a fast-setting resin, andextruding the mixture out through half a dozen holes in the side of thebolt. When the stuff set, the anchor was locked securely to the sides ofthe shaft and thus to the planetoid itself.
St. Simon waited for a few minutes to make sure the resin had setcompletely. Then he clambered outside again and attached a heavy towingcable to the eye of the anchor, which projected above the surface of theasteroid. Back inside the ship again, he slowly applied power. The cablestraightened and pulled at the anchor as the _Nancy Bell_ tried to getaway from the asteroid.
"Jules, old bunion," he said as he watched the needle of the tensiongauge, "we have set her well."
"Yes, m'lud. So it would appear, m'lud."
St. Simon cut the power. "Very good, Jules. Now we shall see if thebeeper is functioning as it should." He flipped a switch that turned onthe finder pickup, then turned the selector to his own frequency band.
_Beep!_ said the radio importantly. _Beep!_
The explosion had also triggered on a small but powerful transmitterbuilt into the anchor. The tugs would be able to find the planetoid byfollowing the beeps.
"Ah, Jules! Success!"
"Yes, m'lud. Success. For the tenth time in a row, this trip. And howmany trips does this make?"
"Ah, but who's counting? Think of the money!"
"And the monotony, m'lud. To say nothing of molasses, muchness, andother things that begin with an M."
"Quite so, Jules; quite so. Well, let's detach the towing cable and beon our way."
"Whither, m'lud, Vesta?"
"I rather thought Pallas this time, old thimble."
"Still, m'lud, Vesta--"
"Pallas, Jules."
"Vesta?"
"Hum, hi, ho," said Captain St. Simon thoughtfully. "Pallas?"
The argument continued while the tow cable was detached from thefreshly-placed anchor, and while the air was being let back into thecontrol chamber, and while St. Simon divested himself of his suit.Actually, although he would like to go to Vesta, it was out of thequestion. Energywise and timewise, Pallas was much closer.
He settled back in the bucket seat and shot toward Pallas.
* * * * *
Mr. Edway Tarnhorst was from San Pedro, Greater Los Angeles, California,Earth. He was a businessman of executive rank, and was fairly rich. Inhis left lapel was the Magistral Knight's Cross of the SovereignHierosolymitan Order of Malta, reproduced in miniature. In his walletwas a card identifying him as a Representative of the Constituency ofSouthern California to the Supreme Congress of the People of the UnitedNations of Earth. He was just past his fifty-third birthday, and hislean, ascetic face and graying hair gave him a look of saintly wisdom.Aside from the eight-pointed cross in his lapel, the only ornamentationor jewelry he wore consisted of a small, exquisitely thin gold watch onhis left wrist, and, on the ring finger of his left hand, a gold signetring set with a single, flat, unfaceted diamond which was delicatelyengraved with the Tarnhorst coat of arms. His clothing was quietly butimpressively expensive, and under Earth gravity would probably havedraped impeccably, but it tended to fluff oddly away from his body undera gee-pull only a twentieth of Earth's.
He sat in his chair with both feet planted firmly on the metal floor,and his hands gripping the armrests as though he were afraid he mightfloat off toward the ceiling if he let go. But only his body betrayedhis unease; his face was impassive and calm.
The man sitting next to him looked a great deal more comfortable. Thiswas Mr. Peter Danley, who was twenty years younger than Mr. Tarnhorstand looked it. Instead of the Earth-cut clothing that the older man waswearing, he was wearing the close-fitting tights that were the commondress of the Belt cities. His hair was cropped close, and the fine blondstrands made a sort of golden halo about his head when the light fromthe panels overhead shone on them. His eyes were pale blue, and thelashes and eyebrows were so light as to be almost invisible. Thateffect, combined with his thin-lined, almost lipless mouth, gave hisface a rather expressionless expression. He carried himself like a manwho was used to low-gravity or null-gravity conditions, but he talkedlike an Earthman, not a Belt man. The identification card in his beltexplained that; he was a pilot on the Earth-Moon shuttle service. In theeyes of anyone from the Belt cities, he was still an Earthman, not atrue spaceman. He was looked upon in the same way that the captain of atransatlantic liner might have looked upon the skipper of the StatenIsland ferry two centuries before. The very fact that he was seated in achair gave away his Earth habits.
The third man was standing, leaning at a slight angle, so that his backtouched the wall behind him. He was not tall--five nine--and his faceand body were thin. His tanned skin seemed to be stretched tightly overthis scanty padding, and in places the bones appeared to be trying topoke their way through to the surface. His ears were small and laynearly flat against his head, and the hair on his skull was so sparsethat the tanned scalp could be easily seen beneath it, although therewas no actual bald spot anywhere. Only his large, luminous brown eyesshowed that Nature had not skimped on everything when he was formed. Hisname was lettered neatly on the outside of the door to the office:Georges Alhamid. In spite of the French spelling, he pronounced the name"George," in the English manner.
He had welcomed the two Earthmen into his office, smiling the automaticsmile of the diplomat as he welcomed them to Pallas. As soon as theywere comfortably seated--though perhaps that word did not exactly applyto Edway Tarnhorst--Georges Alhamid said:
"Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
He asked it as though he were completely unaware of what had brought thetwo men to Pallas.
Tarnhorst looked as though he were privately astonished that his hostcould speak grammatically. "Mr. Alhamid," he began, "I don't knowwhether you're aware that the industrial death rate here in the Belt hasbeen the subject of a great deal of discussion in both industrial andgovernmental circles on Earth." It was a half question, and he let ithang in the air, waiting to see whether he got an answer.
"Certainly my office has received a great deal of correspondence on thesubject," Alhamid said. His voice sounded as though Tarnhorst hadmentioned nothing more serious than a commercial deal. Important, butnothing to get into a heavy sweat over.
Tarnhorst nodded and then held his head very still. His actions betrayedthe fact that he was not used to the messages his semicircular canalswere sending his brain when he moved his head under low gee.
"Exactly," he said after a moment's pause. "I have 'stat copies of apart of that correspondence. To be specific, the correspondence betweenyour office and the Workers' Union Safety Control Board, and betweenyour office and the Workingman's Compensation Insurance Corporation."
"I see. Well, then, you're fully aware of what our trouble is, Mr.Tarnhorst. I'm glad to see that an official of the insurance company istaking an interest in our troubles."
Tarnhorst's head twitched, as though he were going to shake his head andhad thought better of it a fraction of a second too late. It didn'tmatter. The fluid in his inner ears sloshed anyway.
"I am not here in my capacity as an officer of the Workingman'sCompensation Insurance Corporation," he said carefully. "I am here as arepresentative of the People's Congress."
Alhamid's face showed a mild
surprise which he did not feel. "I'mhonored, of course, Mr. Tarnhorst," he said, "but you must understandthat I am not an official of the government of Pallas."
Tarnhorst's ascetic face betrayed nothing. "Since you have no unifiedgovernment out here," he said, "I cannot, of course, presume to dealwith you in a governmental capacity. I have spoken to the Governor ofPallas, however, and he assures me that you are the man to speak to."
"If it's about the industrial death rate," Alhamid agreed, "then he'sperfectly correct. But if you're here as a governmental representativeof Earth, I don't understand--"
"Please, Mr. Alhamid," Tarnhorst interrupted with a touch of irritationin his voice. "This is
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