Trojan Orbit

by Mack Reynolds

  “Holy smog,” the Texan protested. “You’ve already hardly got anybody left.”

  “Yeah. And there’s another small item or two. How about broads? Are you going to have two hundred men up there for periods of at least a year or eighteen months at a stretch, as the egg-head saw it, without any kind of relaxation? You know what happens to guys who are locked up without mopsies in prison or in concentration camps, or labor camps like in Siberia? They go queer, that’s what happens. Hell, even sailors have a bad reputation. You’d better have at least ten broads up there, willing and able to put out. Maybe some of them could double as waitresses and so forth in the reception hall, but they’d have to be available for getting laid when a man wanted some nooky.”

  “Jesus,” Rick laughed.

  “There’s another item,” the other pursued. “With two hundred men, you better figure on five percent being on the sick list. That’s a conservative figure for a dangerous location like the moon. That means you’ve got ten men in the sick bay at any given time, some of them waiting to be shipped back to Earthside, some of them waiting for broken arm or leg to heal. Oh, ten men is a conservative figure.”

  “Is there anybody left at all to mine the ore and send it off?” Rick said.

  “Add it up,” Jeff told him. “But just a minute. That’s not all. We’re not through yet. How about the spaceship field? There’s one hell of a lot of space shuttles, space tugs and so forth, coming and going from the moon base. You’ve got to have pilots, engineers, mechanics, men to handle the freight, refuel the ships, control tower technicians, and all the rest. Let’s say twenty-five again, which is low, always remembering that everything goes on a three-shift Earthday basis. Now that totals 145 people, including the broads who are working at things other than mining that ore, freighting it over to the mass driver, packaging it and loading it into the mass driver buckets. So we’ve got 55 men left to handle the basic operation, lobbing ore into space. Working three shifts, that’s 18 men on a shift. Remember that monorail, so carefully calibrated, is 11 kilometers long—about 6.5 miles. If you had your men stationed along that delicately balanced, carefully aligned monorail, one every third of a mile, for adjustments, lubrication, and troubleshooting in general, you’d use up all 18 of your men. You could also use up the whole number packaging and loading up the mass driver.”

  “How about automation?” the Texan said unhappily.

  “Sure, automation. Everywhere it makes sense. But machinery on the moon is another thing. Big swings in temperature, one-sixth gravity, and so forth. Lava dust all over the place to gum up anything mechanically delicate. If you boost your automation, you’re sure as hell going to have to boost that 25 maintenance men.”

  A newcomer lowered himself into the place next to Rick. Rick glanced over at him. A man about his own age and physical build, seemingly a bit shifty of dark eyes but with an ingratiating little smile.

  He grinned and whispered to Rick, “The usual beefing brigade in full voice?”

  Rick said, “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “I’m Tony Black.”

  “Rick Venner,” Rick said. “I just got in. Is there anything in what these characters are saying?”

  “Some. You’ll hear it all, a hundred times over.” The other reached for food. “How’re things going, Rocks?” His voice was still low, as though avoiding disturbing the controversy.

  Rick’s face froze.

  Tony Black grinned a small grin and whispered, “I’m your contact up here. We’ll talk after lunch.”

  Rick had nothing to say to that. What contact? He hadn’t known anything about contacting anyone in Island One. He thought that he was completely clear now.

  The Texan was still bravely holding forth. He demanded, “Why not just up the crew working on the mining and the mass driver? Send in, say, another fifty men?”

  A newcomer to the conversation, who had finished his food, or, at least, that part of it that he managed to get down, said with a bitter laugh, “Sure. And when you do, you up everything else. First you’ve got to construct bigger living quarters, make arrangements for more grub, air, water, and all the rest. You’ve got to increase the size of the hospital, the steward department, everything, including the number of broads. To feed all these new additions, you’ve got to send up more spaceships from Earth. And an extra fifty still isn’t enough men.”

  “Why not?” one of the other space tyros, who hadn’t spoken up thus far, said. He was the youth who had pointed out on the street on the way to the dormitory that Lagrange Five City wasn’t exactly as portrayed in the Tri-Di shows.

  Jeff, who seemingly carried half the conversation load at the community table, took over again. “Because the fucking mass driver doesn’t work, and the fucking smelters here in Lagrange Five don’t work. Practically nothing the eggheads dreamed up works. We’ve had to improvise. First of all, the ore doesn’t get to us, because the catcher doesn’t catch it, even when it gets off the moon okay. Not all of it, at least. Some gets through. But with the smelters a disaster, we’ve been doing the smelting at the Luna base, then shipping up sheet metal by rocket to moon orbit, and then pushing the stuff over here to Lagrange Five by space tug. And if you think that’s not a damn sight more expensive than they originally figured, you’re drivel-happy, and if you think that it involves less than a couple of thousand people, you’re crazier still. It’s still cheaper than sending everything up from Earth, but it’s nothing like the original idea.”

  The Texan was flabbergasted.

  Rick said, ignoring his new contact for the moment, “you mean out of the ten thousand workers up here, two thousand are on the moon base? I never heard that down Earthside.”

  “What ten thousand?” one of the others growled. “That’s another one of those egghead goof-offs. They said there’d be ten thousand people here; four thousand would be employed building additional colonies, while six thousand would be producing satellite solar power stations. Wizard, but who was supposed to be running the island? Who was going to be keeping the hydroponic farms going, regulating the air and water, running all the equipment involved in maintaining a space colony? Who was going to be teaching the kids? Who was going to be taking care of the hospitals? Who was going to handle the office work? It’s the same story as the moon base; you’re lucky to get half of your people out doing the actual work you came to do. But there’s something else involved here in Island One. The original dream Ryan and his Lagrange Five Corporation sold us on was that we were going to be space colonists, not just temporary contract workers. We could bring up our families. Wizard, some of us did. And when you bring a family, it includes kids and even some old folks. Swell. They don’t work. They eat, but they don’t work. And neither do quite a few of the wives. Supposedly, the married couples that came up were both to have jobs. But many women can’t do anything but white-collar jobs, medical jobs such as nursing, or maybe restaurant work. And when they’re pregnant, or the baby’s small, they can’t even do that. And, like Jeff said, there’s always five percent or more of everybody on sick call.” The speaker snorted. “If anybody thinks there’s 10,000 highly trained workers up here, all working their asses off building more space colonies and SPS’s, he’s around the bend.”

  Both Rick and Tony Black had finished eating. They got up together and the new acquaintance led Rick into the assembly room and to an isolated corner of it where they took chairs facing each other.

  Rick said, “Now then, what’s all this jetsam about being my contact?”

  The other smiled and said, “It was a three-way operation, Rocks. The Penman, down in Mexico, Monk Ravelle at the New Albuquerque shuttleport, and me up here. It had to be handled all the way along the line.”

  “What do you mean, it was a three way operation?”

  “The Penman’s dead, Rocks. So is Monk Ravelle.”

  Rick fixed his eyes on him, they were pale and cold. “Who killed them?”

  “I don’t know,” the other said. “Somebody Ear
thside evidently took a dim view of our little operation. It couldn’t have been something else because that was the only scam the two of them were involved in together.”

  “Holy Zoroaster,” Rick snorted. “And on top of everything else, there’s a damn IABI man came up with me on the shuttle and then the freight passenger spacecraft. Guess who he’s looking for? Rocks Weil. Thank sweet Jesus he didn’t make me.”

  Tony Black looked less than happy. “You’re going to need a contact up here, Rocks. By the way, you owe me five thousand dollars.”

  The other eyed him. “Why?”

  “It’s my share of the deal.”

  “Pavel Meer said the tab was ten thousand. I gave it to him.”

  Black shook his head. “That doesn’t count me. I take care of this end for five thousand.”

  “I haven’t got that much left.”

  The other looked at him unbelievingly. “What was the score of that last romp of yours, Rocks?”

  “It’s stashed. I haven’t fenced the stones yet. I planned to lay doggo for five years before trying.”

  “There’s no hurry. You’re making ten thousand a year up here, not counting the twenty thousand a year bonus payable in LFC stock when your five years are up. I can wait.”

  “What good can you do me?” Rick said coldly.

  The other grinned his sly grin. “You’d be surprised.” He motioned with his head toward the dining room. “How’d you like to eat that slop for the next five years? And sleep in a bunk like they assigned you?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Wizard. Get your things. I’ve got a two-person house. You’re moving in with me.”

  “Why?”

  “My former housemate found himself a mopsy working in Commissary and moved in with her. I’ve got to find another guy to take his place or move into either smaller quarters or into a dormitory. No thanks. You’d better take the offer. It’s more comfortable than most pads.”

  Rick eyed him suspiciously. “You must know other people better than you do me. Why give me the break?”

  Tony Black grinned his weasel grin again. “Because you’re Rocks Weil, one of the smartest operators to come down the track for years. And there’re various profitable operations in this island. Now that my deal with the Penman is off, I’m going to have to go even further into them. I wouldn’t mind a helping hand from a talent such as yourself.” He grinned wider. “Besides, I’ve got to protect my investment. You owe me five grand.”

  Rick thought about it. He said, “Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. The Penman didn’t tell me about five thousand for you. The deal was for a flat ten thou. But I’ll match you for it. Double or nothing.”

  Tony Black laughed in open admiration. “By Christ, Rocks, you’re a card. Why do you think I want you in with me? Paul Lund, in Tangier, gave me a rundown on your career once. You must’ve been no more than ten years old when you started off, conning the kids in the neighborhood out of their lunch money. Before you got into heists, you were a pro gambler, then a grifter specializing in the big score. Then you worked out your own system of putting the snatch on important stones and flogging them to offbeat millionaire winchells. That’s where you got the moniker Rocks. Well, Rocks, I wouldn’t match pennies with you.”

  Rick had to grin back at him. “I’ll get my things,” he said.

  He went back to his bunk and began reassembling his belongings.

  The Texan came over and said, “Y’all leaving already?”

  “That’s right. So the bunk’s yours after all. Be seeing you around, Tex.”

  “Probably not,” the other said gloomily. “They’ll be sending me over to that there moon base the boys was telling us about.”

  Rick took up his bag. “They were probably exaggerating,” he said, with an attempt at comfort.

  As they walked along the narrow street, Rick said to his newfound house companion, “Your place very far?”

  The other grunted. “Nothing’s very far in Island One,” he said. “The length of the whole cylinder is less than a mile. You get used to it after a while.” He thought about that, then said, “Like shit you do.”

  Rick had been eyeing the buildings they passed and decided that the only word was grim. Come to think of it, so were the expressions on most of the pedestrians they passed.

  He said, “Been here long?”

  “Three years.”

  “Pretty rugged?”

  The other looked over at him. “Rugged enough, Rocks. But there’re always angles. And there’re always people like us to find them.”

  Rick inwardly accepted that. It had been his own experience.

  Tony Black came up on a small, two-story house. “This is us,” he said, in deprecation. “The Maison Black.”

  They entered, Rick noting that there was no lock on the door. The whole ground floor was taken up by a living room, rather sparsely furnished. There was a dark blue rug covering most of the floor, of a material the newcomer had never seen before.

  Black saw the direction of his eyes. “Beta-cloth,” he said. “They make it out of woven glass fiber. It was originally used by the Apollo astronauts because it’s fireproof. We’re beginning to make it up here now. Not much, though. Can’t spare the time and labor.”

  “How’d you get some, then?”

  Black grinned. Rick was beginning to dislike the other’s version of a smile. It had too much of a sly, furtive quality.

  Black said, “Like I said, I’ve got angles. Come on upstairs. I’ll show you your room.”

  They went up the stairs. On the second floor there were two rather small bedrooms. Rick was led into one of them. It was austerely furnished. There was a bed, admittedly with more comfortable-looking bedding than the dormitories boasted, and obviously brought up from Earthside. There were a table, one straight chair, one more comfortable chair, a bedstand with a lamp on it, a small chest of drawers. There was also a small closet.

  Black said, apologetically, “Roony took most of his things with him. We’ll get you fixed up as time goes by.”

  Rick said, “No TV or Tri-Di?” He hadn’t seen any such equipment down in the living room either.

  “Are you kidding?” Black snorted. “They have them over in the L5 Hilton and in some of the community recreation halls, but private sets aren’t for such as us. These items have to be lobbed up from Earth. Plenty expensive.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “What bathroom? There’s a community bathhouse down the street—toilets and showers.”

  Rick took him in. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  “What kitchen? We eat at one of the community dining halls. Smarten up, Rocks. They can’t ship in thousands of flush toilets, bathtubs, kitchen stoves, refrigerators, kitchen sinks, and all the rest of such items as go into bathrooms and kitchens. And we sure as hell can’t tool up to make them here; not yet. The only places they’ve got such things, in private quarters, is in the hotel and in some of the homes of the big shots who keep their own places, rather than living there.”

  Rick whistled softly. He put his bag on the bed. “Five years, eh? I suspect I’d rather serve it in New Alcatraz.”

  “You shoulda thought of that before you signed up, Rocks.”

  Rick sat on the bed and eyed the other. He said, “You better start remembering to call me Rick. Rick Venner. Especially with that IABI man pussyfooting around looking for me. What’s this about the L5 Hilton?”

  His newfound companion sat in the more comfortable chair. “It’s the showplace. It’s where the Lagrange Five Corporation has its headquarters and where Ryan and the top executives live. It’s where all the politicians and the other big shots stay when they come up from Earthside. It’s got everything—mopsies and all. From what I hear, they’re going to have a big party tonight, undoubtedly with champagne and such. Some Arab sheik or something came up on the same passenger freighter you did. I don’t know why. And some big shot Russian scientist.”

  “How do you
get an invite?” Rick said.

  “You don’t.” Tony Black grinned his Sly grin. “And you don’t sneak in, either. Not in those space coveralls. In the Hilton, they dress like they were down Earthside, in some swanky resort. You’d stand out like a hard-on in the showers. Look, I got some things to do. They’ll keep me out until late. The community dining hall is down the street about eight houses. Turn right when you leave the house. We’ll get together in the morning and work this all out—get you registered as living here and all.”

  He stood and nodded to Rick. “Make yourself to home, Rocks…uh, Rick.”

  After he had left, Rick looked about the sparse room again. He muttered, “And the Waldorf Towers was never like this, either.”

  He waited ten minutes, then came to his feet, went out into the hall, and let himself into the other bedroom.

  It was considerably different from his own, to his surprise. There were drapes at the windows that must have come up from Earthside. There was carpeting on the floor. There was also more, and more comfortable, furniture—including a chest of drawers that doubled as a bar, with several bottles on its top. The liquor represented was the best. Rick poured himself a double Scotch and knocked it back.

  He whistled softly to himself and then went to the closet. Inside were three Earthside suits that looked as though they had been tailored in London. Rick Venner knew London styles and London labels. In his time, he had been flush often enough to invest in them. He ran his tongue across his upper lip. Come to think of it, they’d fit him very neatly. Friend Tony was almost his size. There was also a considerable collection of packaged, canned, and bottled food, obviously Earthside. He thoughtfully peeled a bar of chocolate and almonds and munched on it as he pried around.