The estimator whistled.
“That’s it,” Zeke told him.
“Umm.” The other stared at the older man, and then shrugged. “All right, I’ll level with you, Captain Vaughn. I was padding it—I like a fat commission as well as the next. But I wasn’t padding it that much. Not by a tenth!” He pulled at one ear lobe, staring about at the ship. Then he shrugged.
“Maybe there’s something we can do, though,” he suggested at last. “We’ve got a few old parts, and we can jury-rig a little more. For twenty-five thousand, we can retune those drivers enough for you to pass take-off inspection here. Hell, since I’m one of the inspectors, I’ll guarantee that. Take us maybe two weeks. Then you can take the ship across to Venus. They’re short of metal and paying top scrap prices. You could probably get enough for this outfit to pick up a fairly good used blowtorch, or to retire on. They jury-rigged a couple of scrapped ion blasters on Earth and crawled across with them recently, so there must be a good price there. How’s it sound?”
Zeke brought a trembling hand up to a big wrench on the wall. “Get off!” His voice was thick in his ears. “Get off my ship, damn you!”
“What the heck gives?” The inspector took a backward step, more as if humoring Zeke than in fear. “Look, I’m trying to help you. You crazy, Captain?”
The brief anger ebbed back into the general dullness, and Zeke let his arm drop limply. He nodded. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. I must be, landing on Callisto without finding out ahead of time they had take-off inspection now. All right, fix her up.”
There was nothing else he could do, of course. It would leave him enough to buy supplies, at least. And fuel was no problem—he’d learned places to find frozen water years before, and the fuel tanks were nearly full.
But with the contract with Saturanus ended, getting freight enough to keep going was going to be tough. If the Midas had been in top condition, he could probably get a fat contract for the new mines on Pluto, since it was hard to get blowtorch pilots who would stick to the long haul so far from any recreation. But the mines wouldn’t risk their ultra-precious ores without a full inspection of the ship. They’d turned him down five years ago. Now it was out of the question.
He headed back toward his hotel, trying to figure out what to tell Mary. She’d know he was lying, of course, but she’d feel better, somehow. Then he’d have to go looking for work. There had to be something.
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he quoted to himself, trying to believe it. Then he stopped. His mind found it too easy to twist what came next. Green pastures and still waters! He might be old, but he wasn’t ready to be turned out to pasture; nor was the ship going to be becalmed in still waters, out of the current, to rot and decay uselessly!
* * * *
The ship behaved slightly better on the take-off from Callisto. He’d been nervous about that, after watching the fumbling, sloppy work of the men. And Mary had her own worries probably inspired by her contempt of anyone who would foul up the passageways without cleaning them. It had taken her hours, while he inspected the work, to restore the Midas in livable condition. But once beyond the planetary limits, they both breathed easier.
“I’ll fix the tea, Zeke,” she said. Then she smiled faintly, “He was such a nice young man.”
Zeke knew she was thinking of Hathaway, and nodded. He had to admit she was right. Hathaway couldn’t get the contract renewed, but he’d done all he could, as it turned out. He’d come to their hotel to tell them he’d got them a small job for another minerals company, carrying an emergency inspector to Ceres. The payment had been ridiculously low, bit it was something, at least; and Hathaway had suggested there might be work for them on Ceres for a few trips. With the last of their money gone, they’d needed it.
It had been their only chance, after Zeke had tried every office in Zeus City. There had been no other work for a wornout ion blaster.
Hathaway had been almost a different man, as if a big load had been lifted from his conscience. He’d been as nice as Mary thought. Too nice, Zeke reflected bitterly. They were carrying a passenger now and making enough to pay for the trip, but he knew it was only Hathaway’s charity. He’d won the job only because the younger man had put on pressure to help him, not on his own merits. He wasn’t used to that. Then he remembered that Williams had given him fifteen years of contracts, and that it had been almost charity on Williams’ part!
He picked up his pipe and began filling it as he went on his routine tour of inspection. The door to the passenger cabin was closed, and he felt almost grateful, uncertain about how much the young engineer knew of the situation. He made his way back to the driver compartment, groaning again as he saw the shoddy workmanship that had been done. They hadn’t even bothered removing the rust from salvaged parts. And he remembered that there had been no guarantee, beyond passing take-off inspection. Maybe the work would hold up for another year—beyond that, it would probably fail with complete finality. From ten feet away, he could detect heat still leaking from damaged insulation.
But there was nothing he could do. He’d been one of the best spaceship power engineers turned out in his day. He could control the big generator almost to perfection, and could have taught its operation at any school, or to any younger man who might have been willing to learn. But drivers were too complicated for one man to balance, and he had no repair parts.
He shrugged, and turned back toward the huge engine, where the smooth flow of unceasing power would soothe some of his worries. He was surprised to find Grundy, the engineer-passenger there, studying the bulk of the motor. The blond young man looked almost embarrassed at being caught snooping.
“I had to take a look at her,” he explained hastily. “I’ve never seen a fusion motor before. I meant to, while I was still on Earth, but it was always too much trouble getting into the sections where they are.”
Zeke nodded. He’d heard that the projected fission motors for general use hadn’t been built, since the solar-energy converters had been developed to near perfection. There were plenty of the fusion generators in existence, but they were confined to places where sunlight was unreliable. When a layer of solar-batteries could be sprayed on cheap cloth like paint, capable of extracting nearly a hundred percent of the energy of sunlight and when the new capacity storage cells could handle several days’ accumulation of power, why should men bother with gigantic machinery? Of course, on the planets beyond Mars, sunlight was too weak. But there, the expense of freighting had made all but the biggest installations choose the much simpler and smaller uranium-fission power units; it was cheaper to pay for uranium than to pay interest on a fission motor.
“Glad to show her to you,” he told Grundy.
The engineer shook his head. “No, thanks. I just wanted to take a look. I already know the general theory. Too bad these things couldn’t be built smaller and cheaper. With uranium getting scarcer and more expensive, it’s making it tough on some of the settlements.”
“You a power engineer?” Zeke asked.
“No, mining,” the younger man answered. He gestured to the ship in general around him. “This Midas—wasn’t that the same ship Levitchoffsky was on when they found the uranium lode on that asteroid—the one where he got his start in building up Solar Freighting?”
Zeke nodded. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. Levitchoffsky had bought the claim from a passenger to Saturn who’d given up trying to live off it. Then when he and the others on the Midas had stopped there to see what he had, they’d accidentally taken samples at just the right place. Levitchoffsky had promptly sold it to a speculating firm. It had been two years later, after he’d lost his profits in other worthless claims before he sold his interest in the Midas and joined Solar Freighting.
The engineer stood around a few minutes longer, and then wandered back to his own cabin, more impressed with the fact that Zeke had know
n Levitchoffsky than with the Midas. Zeke started to follow him, and then stopped. Levitchoffsky! Zeke hadn’t been in touch with him for years, but the other would still remember him. He might be president of Solar Freighting and respectable now. But he wouldn’t have forgotten. If he knew that Zeke was in trouble, he’d do anything he could to help.
Zeke dropped onto the base of the huge motor, caressing it softly as he thought it over. There were still scrapped ion blasters on Earth, and men trained to work with almost anything of a technical nature. They could fix up the Midas—probably for a fraction of what it would cost on Callisto. Then, with a ship like new, there was almost certain work at good rates on the Pluto run. If Levitchoffsky would lend him the money, he could probably pay it back in five years—even paying some younger man a salary high enough to entice him to help.
It wasn’t a thing he liked. It was trading on old friendship. But if he had to have help, he’d rather have it from Levitchoffsky than anyone. And it wouldn’t really be charity. He was good for at least ten more years, with a repaired ship and some kind of help.
He was still considering this when the alarm sounded harshly. One look at the auxiliary control panel in the engine room sent him running painfully back toward the driver section.
But it was all over before he reached it. The insulation on the main steering driver section had finally blown. It must have been over within microseconds as the searing ions blasted out and then the lagging cut-off had deactivated that section. But the damage was beyond any hope of repair!
It was the section supposedly repaired on Callisto. Zeke couldn’t tell whether it had blown because of defective work or because the greater relative strength of the newer parts had put too much strain on old sections. It didn’t matter. Now he had only the emergency steering power left.
That was good for perhaps a couple of landings and take-offs, if he nursed it. After that, the Midas was through.
There was no longer any doubt. Once he reached Ceres, he’d have to cable Levitchoffsky. And now that it was settled beyond a doubt, he began to wonder. Thirty years is a long time. The young man he’d known would have done anything for him; but he’d seen others change with prosperity and time. He suddenly wondered whether Levitchoffsky would even accept the collect cable.
* * * *
Zeke was lucky that the little planetoid had so low a gravity. He was able to conserve on his use of the auxiliaries, without too rough a landing. He sat recovering from it and watching the engineer go hastily down the ramp; the young man must have been angry at the jolting, from the way he walked. But if he’d known it, he was lucky to be in one piece.
The field look bleak. Ceres had been a regular stopping place for the Midas once, but that was long ago. He had remembered it as a beehive of activity, bustling with the business of its great germanium mines. Now the field seemed deserted, and the great warehouses were dark in the faint light of the sun.
And it seemed even gloomier when Zeke stepped out of the Midas and headed toward the cable office. As he passed nearer the line of warehouses, he saw some activity, but nothing like what it had been. Behind them, the processing mills were busy, with the little trucks hard at work. But there was none of the gaiety he had associated with busy miners. And a glance at the loads they were carrying told the answer.
Low-grade ore! Even the fabulous mines here were wearing out. He’d heard a rumor that they’d suddenly come to the end of the rich stuff, but he’d hardly believed it. Now he saw it was true. Ceres probably had enough low-grade to last for generations, but she’d been built on nearly pure ore, and this must be a starvation diet for her.
It seemed even worse than it should, however. Few lights were on, and he saw men in one of the stores wearing heavy clothes, as if they were conserving on heat. If there were a smiling face among the fifty thousand inhabitants of the world, Zeke couldn’t find it.
Even the air in the plastic bubble that covered the town seemed old and weary. Zeke shivered, realizing it was cold. But it was more than the coldness that increased the ache of his joints. Age had crept up on him and the Midas; now it seemed to be pressing down on even the worlds he had known, as if the whole universe was running down into the stagnation of senility.
Age should be a period of peace and contentment—the still waters the Psalm mentioned, where everything was calm and serene. But here, as on board the Midas, the stillness was stagnation and decay, like a pool left behind the flood, when the current has ceased.
His steps lagged as he neared the cable office, partly from the general gloom around and partly from something else. Damn it, it wasn’t really charity he was asking of Levitchoffsky. He repeated it to himself, but he couldn’t quite believe it.
Here and there he recognized a store, but he felt no desire to enter them. Even if the same men owned them, they would have changed too much since he’d known them, as Levitchoffsky might have changed.
Then a sudden call swung him slowly around.
“Zeke!” The man was grey and bearded. At first Zeke didn’t recognize him. Then his memory turned up the face in younger form—doubtfully. Yet from the use of the first name, it must be Aaron Cowslick, who’d been Ceres’ chief blacksheep and general hellraiser. They’d been on binges enough once, before Zeke had married and quieted down.
“Zeke!” The man caught his hand, and now he recognized the scar over one eye, and knew for sure it was Aaron. “I wondered, when the Midas dropped, whether you’d still be on her. Then Mary said you’d headed this way. I thought you’d died long ago. We missed you around here. How’s tricks?”
Zeke tried to shake off his gloom, cursing himself for not thinking to look Aaron up before the man searched him out. “Well enough,” he lied, feeling sure the other knew better. “How come you’re not in jail?”
“Because I run the jail, Zeke. I’m mayor here!” At Zeke’s expression, his grin widened. “Nothing stronger than coffee now, and the doc tells me to cut down on that. Speaking of which…”
He grabbed one of Zeke’s arms and began leading him toward a little restaurant. Zeke felt almost grateful for the stop. And when the coffee arrived, it helped to cut through some of the cold. He sat sipping it, while Aaron ran through all the proper questions. He tried to answer them casually, but the truth must have been obvious. The mayor sighed, and pointed outside.
“It was a great time, when the Midas was still full of ginger and this town was booming.” He stared out, his face losing all its expression. “Don’t lie to me, Zeke, and I won’t try to fool you. It’s bad. Unless young Grundy sends back the right message to his company, we’re in trouble.”
“The mines?” Zeke asked.
“The mines. One of our men thinks he’s found what may be a formation that would lead to a rich lode. I wish I believed it. We’ve about reached the end of the rope. We can’t cut down on power much more, and uranium is going higher and higher. That last discovery on Neptune turned out to be a bust—just a freak pocket. Now they’ve raised the ante on U-235. We can’t afford enough to keep going. And without sufficient power on a world like this, we can’t do anything Food, water, air—it’s all U-235 to us. Besides, the processing plants need more power for low-grade stuff than for the high-quality ore. Even if we could afford the uranium, we’d still have to run our power plant too hot, and it wouldn’t last forever. Looks like you might have some business if you’re cheap enough.”
“Resettlement?” Zeke asked.
The other nodded soberly. “Exactly. Vesta Metals says we can be split up among the Trojans—they’ve got booming mines there. If we can pay passage for ourselves and what we have to take, they’ve offered work and housing. We may have to take it, too.”
“I can’t take you,” Zeke told him. He sucked at the last bit of coffee, then put the cup down heavily. “Steering drivers are shot, Aaron. Even your young Grundy is going to have to get back to Callisto on the first blo
wtorch that comes along. Until I get repairs, I can’t risk carrying passengers or freight.”
The mayor seemed almost relieved, though his voice was sympathetic. It must be hell to face breaking up a world and migrating in pieces. “I guessed it might be like that when I saw Mary,” he said. “Well, it’ll all work out somehow. We’ll have to get together for dinner at my place. My wife’s a swell cook.”
“Bring her out to the Midas for a return engagement and let Mary show you she can still cook, then,” Zeke suggested. “We’ve still got some Martian turkey in the freezer. Bring the whole family, if you’ve got kids.”
Aaron grinned. “One—a girl. Teaches school here. Which reminds me, when she heard there was an ion blaster landing here, she got all set to descend on you with her class. She’s never had a chance to show them a ship like that. Okay?”
“Sure,” Zeke said automatically. “What time does the cable office close, Aaron?”
It turned out he had just time enough. He shook hands with the mayor again, almost relieved to drop back into his own thoughts. Normally, a chance to relive the old days would have been a gift from the blue, but right now he didn’t want to be reminded of all the years that had passed.
Inside the cable office, a girl took his cable slip and frowned when she saw the check in the collect square. She glanced over it, came to his signature, and stopped to look up quickly. “Captain Vaughn?” He nodded.
“There’s a message here for you. It came two days ago and we’ve been holding it. From Mr. Levitchoffsky! Maybe you’d better read it first.”
Zeke stared at the envelope in blank amazement for a second, before the answer came. Mary, of course! She must have sent a cable to Levitchoffsky as soon as she knew the contract was ended—probably warning the man not to let Zeke know she’d cabled. She’d known them all, of course, and thought of him long before Zeke had.
He ripped it open with trembling fingers. It was a long cable, obviously sent with no regard to cost. Zeke skimmed over the cover-up for Mary on how Levitchoffsky had been trying to get in touch with him and had finally heard of his landing and trouble on Callisto. It was enough to know that the man was obviously filled with the same friendship he’d had so long ago, and that the words carried a genuine delight at being in touch again. Then he came to the important part.
The 13th Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack Page 15