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diff --git a/27089.txt b/27089.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9cce813 --- /dev/null +++ b/27089.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1698 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Risk Profession, by Donald Edwin Westlake + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Risk Profession + +Author: Donald Edwin Westlake + +Illustrator: Ivie + +Release Date: October 29, 2008 [EBook #27089] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RISK PROFESSION *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Illustrated by IVIE] + + + _The men who did dangerous work had a special kind of insurance + policy. But when somebody wanted to collect on that policy, the + claims investigator suddenly became a member of ..._ + + +The RISK PROFESSION + +By DONALD E. WESTLAKE + + +Mister Henderson called me into his office my third day back in +Tangiers. That was a day and a half later than I'd expected. Roving +claims investigators for Tangiers Mutual Insurance Corporation don't +usually get to spend more than thirty-six consecutive hours at home +base. + +Henderson was jovial but stern. That meant he was happy with the job I'd +just completed, and that he was pretty sure I'd find some crooked +shenanigans on this next assignment. That didn't please me. I'm +basically a plain-living type, and I hate complications. I almost wished +for a second there that I was back on Fire and Theft in Greater New +York. But I knew better than that. As a roving claim investigator, I +avoided the more stultifying paper work inherent in this line of work +and had the additional luxury of an expense account nobody ever +questioned. + +It made working for a living almost worthwhile. + +When I was settled in the chair beside his desk, Henderson said, "That +was good work you did on Luna, Ged. Saved the company a pretty pence." + +I smiled modestly and said, "Thank you, sir." And reflected to myself +for the thousandth time that the company could do worse than split that +saving with the guy who'd made it possible. Me, in other words. + +"Got a tricky one this time, Ged," said my boss. He had done his +back-patting, now we got down to business. He peered keenly at me, or at +least as keenly as a round-faced tiny-eyed fat man _can_ peer. "What do +you know about the Risk Profession Retirement Plan?" he asked me. + +"I've heard of it," I said truthfully. "That's about all." + +He nodded. "Most of the policies are sold off-planet, of course. It's a +form of insurance for non-insurables. Spaceship crews, asteroid +prospectors, people like that." + +"I see," I said, unhappily. I knew right away this meant I was going to +have to go off-Earth again. I'm a one-gee boy all the way. Gravity +changes get me in the solar plexus. I get g-sick at the drop of an +elevator. + + * * * + +"Here's the way it works," he went on, either not noticing my sad face +or choosing to ignore it. "The client pays a monthly premium. He can be +as far ahead or as far behind in his payments as he wants--the policy +has no lapse clause--just so he's all paid up by the Target Date. The +Target Date is a retirement age, forty-five or above, chosen by the +client himself. After the Target Date, he stops paying premiums, and we +begin to pay him a monthly retirement check, the amount determined by +the amount paid into the policy, his age at retiring, and so on. Clear?" + +I nodded, looking for the gimmick that made this a paying proposition +for good old Tangiers Mutual. + +"The Double R-P--that's what we call it around the office here--assures +the client that he won't be reduced to panhandling in his old age, +should his other retirement plans fall through. For Belt prospectors, of +course, this means the big strike, which maybe one in a hundred find. +For the man who never does make that big strike, this is something to +fall back on. He can come home to Earth and retire, with a guaranteed +income for the rest of his life." + +I nodded again, like a good company man. + +"Of course," said Henderson, emphasizing this point with an upraised +chubby finger, "these men are still uninsurables. This is a retirement +plan only, not an insurance policy. There is no beneficiary other than +the client himself." + +And there was the gimmick. I knew a little something of the actuarial +statistics concerning uninsurables, particularly Belt prospectors. Not +many of them lived to be forty-five, and the few who would survive the +Belt and come home to collect the retirement wouldn't last more than a +year or two. A man who's spent the last twenty or thirty years on +low-gee asteroids just shrivels up after a while when he tries to live +on Earth. + +It needed a company like Tangiers Mutual to dream up a racket like that. +The term "uninsurables" to most insurance companies means those people +whose jobs or habitats make them too likely as prospects for obituaries. +To Tangiers Mutual, uninsurables are people who have money the company +can't get at. + +"Now," said Henderson importantly, "we come to the problem at hand." He +ruffled his up-to-now-neat In basket and finally found the folder he +wanted. He studied the blank exterior of this folder for a few seconds, +pursing his lips at it, and said, "One of our clients under the Double +R-P was a man named Jafe McCann." + +"Was?" I echoed. + +He squinted at me, then nodded at my sharpness. "That's right, he's +dead." He sighed heavily and tapped the folder with all those pudgy +fingers. "Normally," he said, "that would be the end of it. File closed. +However, this time there are complications." + +Naturally. Otherwise, he wouldn't be telling _me_ about it. But +Henderson couldn't be rushed, and I knew it. I kept the alert look on my +face and thought of other things, while waiting for him to get to the +point. + +"Two weeks after Jafe McCann's death," Henderson said, "we received a +cash-return form on his policy." + +"A cash-return form?" I'd never heard of such a thing. It didn't sound +like anything Tangiers Mutual would have anything to do with. We _never_ +return cash. + + * * * + +"It's something special in this case," he explained. "You see, this +isn't an insurance policy, it's a retirement plan, and the client can +withdraw from the retirement plan at any time, and have seventy-five per +cent of his paid-up premiums returned to him. It's, uh, the law in plans +such as this." + +"Oh," I said. That explained it. A law that had snuck through the World +Finance Code Commission while the insurance lobby wasn't looking. + +"But you see the point," said Henderson. "This cash-return form arrived +two weeks after the client's death." + +"You said there weren't any beneficiaries," I pointed out. + +"Of course. But the form was sent in by the man's partner, one Ab +Karpin. McCann left a hand-written will bequeathing all his possessions +to Karpin. Since, according to Karpin, this was done before McCann's +death, the premium money cannot be considered part of the policy, but as +part of McCann's cash-on-hand. And Karpin wants it." + +"It can't be that much, can it?" I asked. I was trying my best to point +out to him that the company would spend more than it would save if it +sent me all the way out to the asteroids, a prospect I could feel coming +and one which I wasn't ready to cry hosannah over. + +"McCann died," Henderson said ponderously, "at the age of fifty-six. He +had set his retirement age at sixty. He took out the policy at the age +of thirty-four, with monthly payments of fifty credits. Figure it out +for yourself." + +I did--in my head--and came up with a figure of thirteen thousand and +two hundred credits. Seventy-five per cent of that would be nine +thousand and nine hundred credits. Call it ten thousand credits even. + +I had to admit it. It was worth the trip. + +"I see," I said sadly. + +"Now," said Henderson, "the conditions--the circumstances--of McCann's +death are somewhat suspicious. And so is the cash-return form itself." + +"There's a chance it's a forgery?" + +"One would think so," he said. "But our handwriting experts have worn +themselves out with that form, comparing it with every other single +scrap of McCann's writing they can find. And their conclusion is that +not only is it genuinely McCann's handwriting, but it is McCann's +handwriting at age fifty-six." + +"So McCann must have written it," I said. "Under duress, do you think?" + +"I have no idea," said Henderson complacently. "That's what you're +supposed to find out. Oh, there's just one more thing." + +I did my best to make my ears perk. + +"I told you that McCann's death occurred under somewhat suspicious +circumstances." + +"Yes," I agreed, "you did." + +"McCann and Karpin," he said, "have been partners--unincorporated, of +course--for the last fifteen years. They had found small rare-metal +deposits now and again, but they had never found that one big strike all +the Belt prospectors waste their lives looking for. Not until the day +before McCann died." + +"Ah hah," I said. "_Then_ they found the big strike." + +"Exactly." + +"And McCann's death?" + +"Accidental." + +"Sure," I said. "What proof have we got?" + +"None. The body is lost in space. And law is few and far between that +far out." + +"So all we've got is this guy Karpin's word for how McCann died, is that +it?" + +"That's all we have. So far." + +"Sure. And now you want me to go on out there and find out what's +cooking, and see if I can maybe save the company ten thousand credits." + +"Exactly," said Henderson. + + * * * * * + +The copter took me to the spaceport west of Cairo, and there I boarded +the good ship _Demeter_ for Luna City and points Out. I loaded up on +g-sickness pills and they worked fine. I was sick as a dog. + +By the time we got to Atronics City, my insides had grown resigned to +their fate. As long as I didn't try to eat, my stomach would leave me +alone. + +Atronics City was about as depressing as a Turkish bath with all the +lights on. It stood on a chunk of rock a couple of miles thick, and it +looked like nothing more in this world than a welder's practice range. + +From the outside, Atronics City is just a derby-shaped dome of +nickel-iron, black and kind of dirty-looking. I suppose a transparent +dome would have been more fun, but the builders of the company cities in +the asteroids were businessmen, and they weren't concerned with having +fun. There's nothing to look at outside the dome but chunks of rock and +the blackness of space anyway, and you've got all this cheap iron +floating around in the vicinity, and all a dome's supposed to do is keep +the air in. Besides, though the Belt isn't as crowded as a lot of people +think, there _is_ quite a lot of debris rushing here and there, bumping +into things, and a transparent dome would just get all scratched up, not +to mention punctured. + +From the inside, Atronics City is even jollier. There's the top level, +directly under the dome, which is mainly parking area for scooters and +tuggers of various kinds, plus the office shacks of the Assayer's +Office, the Entry Authority, the Industry Troopers and so on. The next +three levels have all been burned into the bowels of the planetoid. + +Level two is the Atronics plant, and a noisy plant it is. Level three is +the shopping and entertainment area--grocery stores and clothing stores +and movie theaters and bars--and level four is housing, two rooms and +kitchen for the unmarried, four rooms and kitchen plus one room for each +child for the married. + +All of these levels have one thing in common. Square corners, painted +olive drab. The total effect of the place is suffocating. You feel like +you're stuck in the middle of a stack of packing crates. + +Most of the people living in Atronics City work, of course, for +International Atronics, Incorporated. The rest of them work in the +service occupations--running the bars and grocery stores and so on--that +keep the company employees alive and relatively happy. + +Wages come high in the places like Atronics City. Why not, the raw +materials come practically for free. And as for working conditions, +well, take a for instance. How do you make a vacuum tube? You fiddle +with the innards and surround it all with glass. And how do you get the +air out? No problem, boy, there wasn't any air in there to begin with. + +At any rate, there I was at Atronics City. That was as far as _Demeter_ +would take me. Now, while the ship went on to Ludlum City and Chemisant +City and the other asteroid business towns, my two suitcases and I +dribbled down the elevator to my hostelry on level four. + + * * * + +Have you ever taken an elevator ride when the gravity is practically +non-existent? Well, don't. You see, the elevator manages to sink faster +than you do. It isn't being _lowered_ down to level four, it's being +_pulled_ down. + +What this means is that the suitcases have to be lashed down with the +straps provided, and you and the operator have to hold on tight to the +hand-grips placed here and there around the wall. Otherwise, you'd clonk +your head on the ceiling. + +But we got to level four at last, and off I went with my suitcases and +the operator's directions. The suitcases weighed about half an ounce +each out here, and I felt as though I weighed the same. Every time I +raised a foot, I was sure I was about to go sailing into a wall. Local +citizens eased by me, their feet occasionally touching the iron pavement +as they soared along, and I gave them all dirty looks. + +Level four was nothing but walls and windows. The iron floor went among +these walls and windows in a straight straight line, bisecting other +"streets" at perfect right angles, and the iron ceiling sixteen feet up +was lined with a double row of fluorescent tubes. I was beginning to +feel claustrophobic already. + +The Chalmers Hotel--named for an Atronics vice-president--had received +my advance registration, which was nice. I was shown to a second-floor +room--nothing on level four had more than two stories--and was left to +unpack my suitcases as best I may. + +I had decided to spend a day or two at Atronics City before taking a +scooter out to Ab Karpin's claim. Atronics City had been Karpin's and +McCann's home base. All of McCann's premium payments had been mailed +from here, and the normal mailing address for both of them was GPO +Atronics City. + +I wanted to know as much as possible about Ab Karpin before I went out +to see him. And Atronics City seemed like the best place to get my +information. + +But not today. Today, my stomach was very unhappy, and my head was on +sympathy strike. Today, I was going to spend my time exclusively in bed, +trying not to float up to the ceiling. + + * * * * * + +The Mapping & Registry Office, it seemed to me the next day, was the +best place to start. This was where prospectors filed their claims, but +it was a lot more than that. The waiting room of M&R was the unofficial +club of the asteroid prospectors. This is where they met with one +another, talked together about the things that prospectors discuss, and +made and dissolved their transient partnerships. + +In this way, Karpin and McCann were unusual. They had maintained their +partnership for fifteen years. That was about sixty times longer than +most such arrangements lasted. + +Searching the asteroid chunks for rare and valuable metals is basically +pretty lonely work, and it's inevitable that the prospectors will every +once in a while get hungry for human company and decide to try a team +operation. But, at the same time, work like this attracts people who +don't get along very well with human company. So the partnerships come +and go, and the hatreds flare and are forgotten, and the normal +prospecting team lasts an average of three months. + +At any rate, it was to the Mapping & Registry Office that I went first. +And, since that office was up on the first level, I went by elevator. + +Riding _up_ in that elevator was a heck of a lot more fun than riding +down. The elevator whipped up like mad, the floor pressed against the +soles of my feet, and it felt almost like good old Earth for a second or +two there. But then the elevator stopped, and I held on tight to the +hand-grips to keep from shooting through the top of the blasted thing. + +The operator--a phlegmatic sort--gave me directions to the M&R, and off +I went, still trying to figure out how to sail along as gracefully as +the locals. + +The Mapping & Registry Office occupied a good-sized shack over near the +dome wall, next to the entry lock. I pushed open the door and went on +in. + +The waiting room was cozy and surprisingly large, large enough to +comfortably hold the six maroon leather sofas scattered here and there +on the pale green carpet, flanked by bronze ashtray stands. There were +only six prospectors here at the moment, chatting together in two groups +of three, and they all looked alike. Grizzled, ageless, watery-eyed, +their clothing clean but baggy. I passed them and went on to the desk at +the far end, behind which sat a young man in official gray, slowly +turning the crank of a microfilm reader. + +He looked up at my approach. I flashed my company identification and +asked to speak to the manager. He went away, came back, and ushered me +into an office which managed to be Spartan and sumptuous at the same +time. The walls had been plastic-painted in textured brown, the iron +floor had been lushly carpeted in gray, and the desk had been covered +with a simulated wood coating. + +The manager--a man named Teaking--went well with the office. His face +and hands were spare and lean, but his uniform was immaculate, covered +with every curlicue the regulations allowed. He welcomed me politely, +but curiously, and I said, "I wonder if you know a prospector named Ab +Karpin?" + +"Karpin? Of course. He and old Jafe McCann--pity about McCann. I hear he +got killed." + +"Yes, he did." + +"And that's what you're here for, eh?" He nodded sagely. "I didn't know +the Belt boys could get insurance," he said. + +"It isn't exactly that," I said. "This concerns a retirement plan, +and--well, the details don't matter." Which, I hoped, would end his +curiosity in that line. "I was hoping you could give me some background +on Karpin. And on McCann, too, for that matter." + +He grinned a bit. "You saw the men sitting outside?" + +I nodded. + +"Then you've seen Karpin and McCann. Exactly the same. It doesn't matter +if a man's thirty or sixty or what. It doesn't matter what he was like +before he came out here. If he's been here a few years, he looks exactly +like the bunch you saw outside there." + +"That's appearance," I said. "What I was looking for was personality." + +"Same thing," he said. "All of them. Close-mouthed, anti-social, +fiercely independent, incurably romantic, always convinced that the big +strike is just a piece of rock away. McCann, now, he was a bit more +realistic than most. He'd be the one I'd expect to take out a retirement +policy. A real pence-pincher, that one, though I shouldn't say it as +he's dead. But that's the way he was. Brighter than most Belt boys when +it came to money matters. I've seen him haggle over a new piece of +equipment for their scooter, or some repair work, or some such thing, +and he was a wonder to watch." + +"And Karpin?" I asked him. + +"A prospector," he said, as though that answered my question. "Same as +everybody else. Not as sharp as McCann when it came to money. That's why +all the money stuff in the partnership was handled by McCann. But Karpin +was one of the sharpest boys in the business when it came to mineralogy. +He knew rocks you and I never heard of, and most times he knew them by +sight. Almost all of the Belt boys are college grads--you've got to know +what you're looking for out here and what it looks like when you've +found it--but Karpin has practically all of them beat. He's _sharp_." + + * * * + +"Sounds like a good team," I said. + +"I guess that's why they stayed together so long," he said. "They +complemented each other." He leaned forward, the inevitable prelude to a +confidential remark. "I'll tell you something off the record, Mister," +he said. "Those two were smarter than they knew. Their partnership was +never legalized, it was never anything more than a piece of paper. And +there's a bunch of fellas around here mighty unhappy about that today. +Jafe McCann is the one who handled all the money matters, like I said. +He's got IOU's all over town." + +"And they can't collect from Karpin?" + +He nodded. "Jafe McCann died just a bit too soon. He was sharp and +cheap, but he was honest. If he'd lived, he would have repaid all his +debts, I'm sure of it. And if this strike they made is as good as I +hear, he would have been able to repay them with no trouble at all." + +I nodded, somewhat impatiently. I had the feeling by now that I was +talking to a man who was one of those who had a Jafe McCann IOU in his +pocket. "How long has it been since you've seen Karpin?" I asked him, +wondering what Karpin's attitude and expression was now that his partner +was dead. + +"Oh, Lord, not for a couple of months," he said. "Not since they went +out together the last time and made that strike." + +"Didn't Karpin come in to make his claim?" + +"Not here. Over to Chemisant City. That was the nearest M&R to the +strike." + +"Oh." That was a pity. I would have liked to have known if there had +been a change of any kind in Karpin since his partner's death. "I'll +tell you what the situation is," I said, with a false air of +truthfulness. "We have some misgivings about McCann's death. Not +suspicions, exactly, just misgivings. The timing is what bothers us." + +"You mean, because it happened just after the strike?" + +"That's it," I answered frankly. + +He shook his head. "I wouldn't get too excited about that, if I were +you," he said. "It wouldn't be the first time it's happened. A man makes +the big strike after all, and he gets so excited he forgets himself for +a minute and gets careless. And you only have to be careless once out +here." + +"That may be it," I said. I got to my feet, knowing I'd picked up all +there was from this man. "Thanks a lot for your cooperation," I said. + +"Any time," he said. He stood and shook hands with me. + +I went back out through the chatting prospectors and crossed the echoing +cavern that was level one, aiming to rent myself a scooter. + + * * * * * + +I don't like rockets. They're noisy as the dickens, they steer hard and +drive erratically, and you can never carry what _I_ would consider a +safe emergency excess of fuel. Nothing like the big steady-g +interplanetary liners. On those I feel almost human. + +The appearance of the scooter I was shown at the rental agency didn't do +much to raise my opinion of this mode of transportation. The thing was a +good ten years old, the paint scraped and scratched all over its +egg-shaped, originally green-colored body, and the windshield--a silly +term, really, for the front window of a craft that spends most of its +time out where there isn't any wind--was scratched and pockmarked to the +point of translucency by years of exposure to the asteroidal dust. + +The rental agent was a sharp-nosed thin-faced type who displayed this +refugee from a melting vat without a blush, and still didn't blush when +he told me the charges. Twenty credits a day, plus fuel. + +I paid without a murmur--it was the company's money, not mine--and paid +an additional ten credits for the rental of a suit to go with it. I +worked my way awkwardly into the suit, and clambered into the driver's +seat of the relic. I attached the suit to the ship in all the necessary +places, and the agent closed and spun the door. + +Most of the black paint had worn off the handles of the controls, and +insulation peeked through rips in the plastic siding here and there. I +wondered if the thing had any slow leaks and supposed fatalistically +that it had. The agent waved at me, stony-faced, the conveyor belt +trundled me outside the dome, and I kicked the weary rocket into life. + +The scooter had a tendency to roll to the right. If I hadn't kept +fighting it back, it would have soon worked up a dandy little spin. I +was spending so much time juggling with the controls that I practically +missed a couple of my beacon rocks, and that would have been just too +bad. If I'd gotten off the course I had carefully outlined for myself, +I'd never have found my bearings again, and I would have just floated +around amid the scenery until some passerby took pity and towed me back +home. + +But I managed to avoid getting lost, which surprised me, and after four +nerve-wracking hours I finally spotted the yellow-painted X of a +registered claim on a half-mile-thick chunk of rock dead ahead. As I got +closer, I spied a scooter parked near the X, and beside it an inflated +portable dome. The scooter was somewhat larger than mine, but no newer +and probably even less safe. The dome was varicolored, from repeated +patching. + +This would be the claim, and this is where I would find Karpin, sitting +on his property while waiting for the sale to go through. Prospectors +like Karpin are free-lance men, working for no particular company. They +register their claims in their own names, and then sell the rights to +whichever company shows up first with the most attractive offer. There's +a lot of paperwork to such a sale, and it's all handled by the company. +While waiting, the smart prospector sits on his claim and makes sure +nobody chips off a part of it for himself, a stunt that still happens +now and again. It doesn't take too much concentrated explosive to make +two rocks out of one rock, and a man's claim is only the rock with his X +on it. + +I set the scooter down next to the other one, and flicked the toggle for +the air pumps, then put on the fishbowl and went about unattaching the +suit from the ship. When the red light flashed on and off, I spun the +door, opened it, and stepped out onto the rock, moving very cautiously. +It isn't that I don't believe the magnets in the boot soles will work, +it's just that I know for a fact that they won't work if I happen to +raise both feet at the same time. + +[Illustration] + +I clumped across the crude X to Karpin's dome. The dome had no viewports +at all, so I wasn't sure Karpin was aware of my presence. I rapped my +metal glove on the metal outer door of the lock, and then I was sure. + +But it took him long enough to open up. I had just about decided he'd +joined his partner in the long sleep when the door cracked open an inch. +I pushed it open and stepped into the lock, ducking my head. The door +was only five feet high, and just as wide as the lock itself, three +feet. The other dimensions of the lock were: height, six feet six; +width, one foot. Not exactly room to dance in. + + * * * + +When the red light high on the left-hand wall clicked off, I rapped on +the inner door. It promptly opened, I stepped through and removed the +fishbowl. + +Karpin stood in the middle of the room, a small revolver in his hand. +"Shut the door," he said. + +I obeyed, moving slowly. I didn't want that gun to go off by mistake. + +"Who are you?" Karpin demanded. The M&R man had been right. Ab Karpin +was a dead ringer for all those other prospectors I'd seen back at +Atronics City. Short and skinny and grizzled and ageless. He could have +been forty, and he could have been ninety, but he was probably somewhere +the other side of fifty. His hair was black and limp and thinning, +ruffled in little wisps across his wrinkled pate. His forehead and +cheeks were lined like a plowed field, and were much the same color. His +eyes were wide apart and small, so deep-set beneath shaggy brows that +they seemed black. His mouth was thin, almost lipless. The hand holding +the revolver was nothing but bones and blue veins covered with taut +skin. + +He was wearing a dirty undershirt and an old pair of trousers that had +been cut off raggedly just above his knobby knees. Faded slippers were +on his feet. He had good reason for dressing that way, the temperature +inside the dome must have been nearly ninety degrees. The dome wasn't +reflecting away the sun's heat as well as it had when it was young. + +I looked at Karpin, and despite the revolver and the tense expression on +his face, he was the least dangerous-looking man I'd ever run across. +All at once, the idea that this anti-social old geezer had the drive or +the imagination to murder his partner seemed ridiculous. + +Apparently, I spent too much time looking him over, because he said +again, "Who are you?" And this time he motioned impatiently with the +revolver. + +"Stanton," I told him. "Ged Stanton, Tangiers Mutual Insurance. I have +identification, but it's in my pants pocket, down inside this suit." + +"Get it," he said. "And move slow." + +"Right you are." + +I moved slow, as per directions, and peeled out of the suit, then +reached into my trouser pocket and took out my ID clip. I flipped it +open and showed him the card bearing my signature and picture and right +thumb-print and the name of the company I represented, and he nodded, +satisfied, and tossed the revolver over onto his bed. "I got to be +careful," he said. "I got a big claim here." + +"I know that," I told him. "Congratulations for it." + +"Thanks," he said, but he still looked peevish. "You're here about +Jafe's insurance, right?" + +"That I am." + +"Don't want to pay up, I suppose. That doesn't surprise me." + +Blunt old men irritate me. "Well," I said, "we do have to investigate." + +"Sure," he said. "You want some coffee?" + +"Thank you." + +"You can sit in that chair there. That was Jafe's." + +I settled gingerly in the cloth-and-plastic foldaway chair he'd pointed +at, and he went over to the kitchen area of the dome to start coffee. I +took the opportunity to look the dome over. It was the first portable +dome I'd ever been inside. + + * * * + +It was all one room, roughly circular, with a diameter of about fifteen +feet. The sides went straight up for the first seven feet, then curved +gradually inward to form the roof. At the center of the dome, the +ceiling was about twelve feet high. + +The floor of the room was simply the asteroidal rock surface, not +completely level and smooth. There were two chairs and a table to the +right of the entry lock, two foldaway cots around the wall beyond them, +the kitchen area next and a cluttered storage area around on the other +side. There was a heater standing alone in the center of the room, but +it certainly wasn't needed now. Sweat was already trickling down the +back of my neck and down my forehead into my eyebrows. I peeled off my +shirt and used it to wipe sweat from my face. "Warm in here," I said. + +"You get used to it," he muttered, which I found hard to believe. + +He brought over the coffee, and I tasted it. It was rotten, as bitter as +this old hermit's soul, but I said, "Good coffee. Thanks a lot." + +"I like it strong," he said. + +I looked around at the room again. "All the comforts of home, eh? Pretty +ingenious arrangement." + +"Sure," he said sourly. "How about getting to the point, Mister?" + +There's only one way to handle a blunt old man. Be blunt right back. +"I'll tell you how it is," I said. "The company isn't accusing you of +anything, but it has to be sure everything's on the up and up before it +pays out any ten thousand credits. And your partner just happening to +fill out that cash-return form just before he died--well, you've got to +admit it is a funny kind of coincidence." + +"How so?" He slurped coffee, and glowered at me over the cup. "We made +this strike here," he said. "We knew it was the big one. Jafe had that +insurance policy of his in case he never did make the big strike. As +soon as we knew this was the big one, he said, 'I guess I don't need +that retirement now,' and sat right down and wrote out the cash-return. +Then we opened a bottle of liquor and celebrated, and he got himself +killed." + +The way Karpin said it, it sounded smooth and natural. _Too_ smooth and +natural. "How did this accident happen anyway?" I asked him. + +"I'm not one hundred per cent sure of that myself," he said. "I was +pretty well drunk myself by that time. But he put on his suit and said +he was going out to paint the X. He was falling all over himself, and I +tried to tell him it could wait till we'd had some sleep, but he +wouldn't pay any attention to me." + +"So he went out," I said. + +He nodded. "He went out first. After a couple minutes, I got lonesome in +here, so I suited up and went out after him. It happened just as I was +going out the lock, and I just barely got a glimpse of what happened." + + * * * + +He attacked the coffee again, noisily, and I prompted him, saying, "What +did happen, Mister Karpin?" + +"Well, he was capering around out there, waving the paint tube and such. +There's a lot of sharp rock sticking out around here. Just as I got +outside, he lost his balance and kicked out, and scraped right into some +of that rock, and punctured his suit." + +"I thought the body was lost," I said. + +He nodded. "It was. The last thing in life Jafe ever did was try to +shove himself away from those rocks. That, and the force of air coming +out of that puncture for the first second or two, was enough to throw +him up off the surface. It threw him up too high, and he never got back +down." + +My doubt must have showed in my face, because he added, "Mister, there +isn't enough gravity on this place to shoot craps with." + +He was right. As we talked, I kept finding myself holding unnecessarily +tight to the arms of the chair. I kept having the feeling I was going to +float out of the chair and hover around up at the top of the dome if I +were to let go. It was silly of course--there was _some_ gravity on that +planetoid, after all--but I just don't seem to get used to low-gee. + +Nevertheless, I still had some more questions. "Didn't you try to get +his body back? Couldn't you have reached him?" + +"I tried to, Mister," he said. "Old Jafe McCann was my partner for +fifteen years. But I was drunk, and that's a fact. And I was afraid to +go jumping up in the air, for fear _I'd_ go floating away, too." + +"Frankly," I said, "I'm no expert on low gravity and asteroids. But +wouldn't McCann's body just go into orbit around this rock? I mean, it +wouldn't simply go floating off into space, would it?" + +"It sure would," he said. "There's a lot of other rocks out here, too, +Mister, and a lot of them are bigger than this one and have a lot more +gravity pull. I don't suppose there's a navigator in the business who +could have computed Jafe's course in advance. He floated up, and then he +floated back over the dome here and seemed to hover for a couple +minutes, and then he just floated out and away. His isn't the only body +circling around the sun with all these rocks, you know." + +I chewed a lip and thought it all over. I didn't know enough about +asteroid gravity or the conditions out here to be able to say for sure +whether Karpin's story was true or not. Up to this point, I couldn't +attack the problem on a fact basis. I had to depend on _feeling_ now, +the hunches and instincts of eight years in this job, hearing some +people tell lies and other people tell the truth. + +And my instinct said Ab Karpin was lying in his teeth. That dramatic +little touch about McCann's body hovering over the dome before +disappearing into the void, that sounded more like the embellishment of +fiction than the circumstance of truth. And the string of coincidences +were just too much. McCann just coincidentally happens to die right +after he and his partner make their big strike. He happens to write out +the cash-return form just before dying. And his body just happens to +float away, so nobody can look at it and check Karpin's story. + + * * * + +But no matter what my instinct said, the story was smooth. It was smooth +as glass, and there was no place for me to get a grip on it. + +What now? There wasn't any hole in Karpin's story, at least none that I +could see. I had to break his story somehow, and in order to do that I +had to do some nosing around on this planetoid. I couldn't know in +advance what I was looking for, I could only look. I'd know it when I +found it. It would be something that conflicted with Karpin's story. + +And for that, I had to be sure the story was complete. "You said McCann +had gone out to paint the X," I said. "Did he paint it?" + +Karpin shook his head. "He never got a chance. He spent all his time +dancing, up till he went and killed himself." + +"So you painted it yourself." + +He nodded. + +"And then you went on into Atronics City and registered your claim, is +that the story?" + +"No. Chemisant City was closer than Atronics City right then, so I went +there. Just after Jafe's death, and everything--I didn't feel like being +alone any more than I had to." + +"You said Chemisant City was closer to you _then_," I said. "Isn't it +now?" + +"Things move around a lot out here, Mister," he said. "Right now, +Chemisant City's almost twice as far from here as Atronics City. In +about three days, it'll start swinging in closer again. Things keep +shifting around out here." + +"So I've noticed," I said. "When you took off to go to Chemisant City, +didn't you make a try for your partner's body then?" + +He shook his head. "He was long out of sight by then," he said. "That +was ten, eleven hours later, when I took off." + +"Why's that? All you had to do was paint the X and take off." + +"Mister, I told you. I was drunk. I was falling down drunk, and when I +saw I couldn't get at Jafe, and he was dead anyway, I came back in here +and slept it off. Maybe if I'd been sober I would have taken the scooter +and gone after him, but I was _drunk_." + +"I see." And there just weren't any more questions I could think of to +ask, not right now. So I said, "I've just had a shaky four-hour ride +coming out here. Mind if I stick around a while before going back?" + +"Help yourself," he said, in a pretty poor attempt at genial +hospitality. "You can sleep over, if you want." + +"Fine," I said. "I think I'd like that." + +"You wouldn't happen to play cribbage, would you?" he asked, with the +first real sign of animation I'd seen in him yet. + +"I learn fast," I told him. + +"Okay," he said. "I'll teach you." And he produced a filthy deck of +cards and taught me. + + * * * * * + +After losing nine straight games of cribbage, I quit, and got to my +feet. I was at my most casual as I stretched and said, "Okay if I wander +around outside for a while? I've never been on an asteroid like this +before. I mean, a little one like this. I've just been to the company +cities up to now." + +"Go right ahead," he said. "I've got some polishing and patching to do, +anyway." He made his voice sound easy and innocent, but I noticed his +eyes were alert and wary, watching me as I struggled back into my suit. + +I didn't bother to put my shirt back on first, and that was a mistake. +The temperature inside an atmosphere suit is a steady sixty-eight +degrees. That had never seemed particularly chilly before, but after +the heat of that dome, it seemed cold as a blizzard inside the suit. + +I went on out through the airlock, and moved as briskly as possible in +the cumbersome suit, while the sweat chilled on my back and face, and I +accepted the glum conviction that one thing I was going to get out of +this trip for sure was a nasty head cold. + +I went over to the X first, and stood looking at it. It was just an X, +that's all, shakily scrawled in yellow paint, with the initials "J-A" +scrawled much smaller beside it. + +I left the X and clumped away. The horizon was practically at arm's +length, so it didn't take long for the dome to be out of sight. And then +I clumped more slowly, studying the surface of the asteroid. + +What I was looking for was a grave. I believed that Karpin was lying, +that he had murdered his partner. And I didn't believe that Jafe +McCann's body had floated off into space. I was convinced that his body +was still somewhere on this asteroid. Karpin had been forced to concoct +a story about the body being lost because the appearance of the body +would prove somehow that it had been murder and not accident. I was +convinced of that, and now all I had to do was prove it. + +But that asteroid was a pretty unlikely place for a grave. That wasn't +dirt I was walking on, it was rock, solid metallic rock. You don't dig a +grave in solid rock, not with a shovel. You maybe can do it with +dynamite, but that won't work too well if your object is to keep anybody +from seeing that the hole has been made. Dirt can be patted down. +Blown-up rock looks like blown-up rock, and that's all there is to it. + +I considered crevices and fissures in the surface, some cranny large +enough for Karpin to have stuffed the body into. But I didn't find any +of these either as I plodded along, being sure to keep one magnetted +boot always in contact with the ground. + +Karpin and McCann had set their dome up at just about the only really +level spot on that entire planetoid. The rest of it was nothing but +jagged rock, and it wasn't easy traveling at all, maneuvering around +with magnets on my boots and a bulky atmosphere suit cramping my +movements. + + * * * + +And then I stopped and looked out at space and cursed myself for a +ring-tailed baboon. McCann's body might be anywhere in the Solar System, +anywhere at all, but there was one place I could be sure it wasn't, and +that place was this asteroid. No, Karpin had not blown a grave or +stuffed the body into a fissure in the ground. Why not? Because this +chunk of rock was valuable, that's why not. Because Karpin was in the +process of selling it to one of the major companies, and that company +would come along and chop this chunk of rock to pieces, getting the +valuable metal out, and McCann's body would turn up in the first week of +operations if Karpin were stupid enough to bury it here. + +Ten hours between McCann's death and Karpin's departure for Chemisant +City. He'd admitted that already. And I was willing to bet he'd spent at +least part of that time carrying McCann's body to some other asteroid, +one he was sure was nothing but worthless rock. If that were true, it +meant the mortal remains of Jafe McCann were now somewhere--_anywhere_--in +the Asteroid Belt. Even if I assumed that the body had been hidden on an +asteroid somewhere between here and Chemisant City--which wasn't +necessarily so--that wouldn't help at all. The relative positions of +planetoids in the Belt just keep on shifting. A small chunk of rock that +was between here and Chemisant City a few weeks ago--it could be almost +anywhere in the Belt right now. + +The body, that was the main item. I'd more or less counted on finding it +somehow. At the moment, I couldn't think of any other angle for +attacking Karpin's story. + +As I clopped morosely back to the dome, I nibbled at Karpin's story in +my mind. For instance, why go to Chemisant City? It was closer, he said, +but it couldn't have been closer by more than a couple of hours. The way +I understood it, Karpin was well-known back on Atronics City--it was the +normal base of operations for he and his partner--and he didn't know a +soul at Chemisant City. Did it make sense for him to go somewhere he +wasn't known after his partner's death, even if it _was_ an hour closer? +No, it made a lot more sense for a man in that situation to go where +he's known, go someplace where he has friends who'll sympathize with him +and help him over the shock of losing a partner of fifteen years' +standing, even if going there does mean traveling an hour longer. + +And there was always the cash-return form. That was what I was here +about in the first place. It just didn't make sense for McCann to have +held up his celebration while he filled out a form that he wouldn't be +able to mail until he got back to Atronics City. And yet the company's +handwriting experts were convinced that it wasn't a forgery, and I could +pretty well take their word for it. + +Mulling these things over as I tramped back toward the dome, I suddenly +heard a distant bell ringing way back in my head. The glimmering of an +idea, not an idea yet but just the hint of one. I wasn't sure where it +led, or even if it led anywhere at all, but I was going to find out. + + * * * * * + +Karpin opened the doors for me. By the time I'd stripped off the suit he +was back to work. He was cleaning the single unit which was his +combination stove and refrigerator and sink and garbage disposal. + +I looked around the dome again, and I had to admit that a lot of +ingenuity had gone into the manufacture and design of this dome and its +contents. The dome itself, when deflated, folded down into an oblong box +three feet by one foot by one foot. The lock itself, of course, folded +separately, into another box somewhat smaller than that. + +As for the gear inside the dome, it was functional and collapsible, and +there wasn't a single item there that wasn't needed. There were the two +chairs and the two cots and the table, all of them foldaway. There was +that fantastic combination job Karpin was cleaning right now, and that +had dimensions of four feet by three feet by three feet. The clutter of +gear over to the left wasn't as much of a clutter as it looked. There +was a Geiger counter, an automatic spectrograph, two atmosphere suits, a +torsion densimeter, a core-cutting drill, a few small hammers and picks, +two spare air tanks, boxes of food concentrate, a paint tube, a doorless +jimmy-john and two small metal boxes about eight inches cube. These last +were undoubtedly Karpin's and McCann's pouches, where they kept whatever +letters, money, address books or other small bits of possessions they +owned. Back of this mound of gear, against the wall, stood the air +reconditioner, humming quietly to itself. + +In this small enclosed space there was everything a man needed to keep +himself alive. Everything except human company. And if you didn't need +human company, then you had everything. Just on the other side of that +dome, there was a million miles of death, in a million possible ways. On +this side of the dome, life was cozy, if somewhat Spartan and very hot. + +I knew for sure I was going to get a head cold. My body had adjusted to +the sixty-eight degrees inside the suit, finally, and now was very +annoyed to find the temperature shooting up to ninety again. + +Since Karpin didn't seem inclined to talk, and I would rather spend my +time thinking than talking anyway, I took a hint from him and did some +cleaning. I'd noticed a smeared spot about nose-level on the faceplate +of my fishbowl, and now was as good a time as any to get rid of it. It +had a tendency to make my eyes cross. + +My shirt was sodden and wrinkled by this time anyway, having first been +used to wipe sweat from my face and later been rolled into a ball and +left on the chair when I went outside, so I used it for a cleaning rag, +buffing like mad the silvered surface of the faceplate. Faceplates are +silvered, not so the man inside can look out and no one else can look +in, but in order to keep some of the more violent rays of the sun from +getting through to the face. + +I buffed for a while, and then I put the fishbowl on my head and looked +through it. The spot was gone, so I went over and reattached it to the +rest of the suit, and then settled back in my chair again and lit a +cigarette. + +Karpin spoke up. "Wish you wouldn't smoke. Makes it tough on the +conditioner." + +"Oh," I said. "Sorry." So I just sat, thinking morosely about non-forged +cash-return forms, and coincidences, and likely spots to hide a body in +the Asteroid Belt. + + * * * + +Where would one dispose of a body in the asteroids? I went back through +my thinking on that topic, and I found holes big enough to drive +Karpin's claim through. This idea of leaving the body on some worthless +chunk of rock, for instance. If Karpin had killed his partner--and I was +dead sure he had--he'd planned it carefully and he wouldn't be leaving +anything to chance. Now, an asteroid isn't worthless to a prospector +until that prospector has landed on it and tested it. _Karpin_ might +know that such-and-such an asteroid was nothing but worthless stone, but +the guy who stops there and finds McCann's body might _not_ know it. + +No, Karpin wouldn't leave that to chance. He would get rid of that body, +and he would do it in such a way that nobody would _ever_ find it. + +How? Not by leaving it on a worthless asteroid, and not by just pushing +it off into space. The distance between asteroids is large, but so's the +travel. McCann's body, floating around in the blackness, might just be +found by somebody. + +And that, so far as I could see, eliminated the possibilities. McCann's +body was in the Belt. I'd eliminated both the asteroids themselves and +the space around the asteroids as hiding places. What was left? + +The sun, of course. + +I thought that over for a while, rather surprised at myself for having +noticed the possibility. Now, let's say Karpin attaches a small rocket +to McCann's body, stuffed into its atmosphere suit. He sets the rocket +going, and off goes McCann. Not that he aims it toward the sun, that +wouldn't work well at all. Instead of falling into the sun, the body +would simply take up a long elliptical orbit _around_ the sun, and would +come back to the asteroids every few hundred years. No, he would aim +McCann _back_, in the direction opposite to the direction or rotation of +the asteroids. He would, in essence, slow McCann's body down, make it +practically stop in relation to the motion of the asteroids. And then it +would simply _fall_ into the sun. + +None of my ideas, it seemed, were happy ones. If McCann's body were even +at this moment falling toward the sun, it was just as useful to me as if +it were on some other asteroid. + +But, wait a second. Karpin and McCann had worked with the minimum of +equipment, I'd already noticed that. They didn't have extras of +anything, and they certainly wouldn't have extra rockets. Except for one +fast trip to Chemisant City--when he had neither the time nor the excuse +to buy a jato rocket--Karpin had spent all of his time since McCann's +death right here on this planetoid. + +So that killed that idea. + +While I was hunting around for some other idea, Karpin spoke up again, +for the first time in maybe twenty minutes. "You think I killed him, +don't you?" he said, not looking around from his cleaning job. + +I considered my answer. There was no reason at all to be overly polite +to this sour old buzzard, but at the same time I am naturally the +soft-spoken type. "We aren't sure," I said. "We just think there are +some odd items to be explained." + +"Such as what?" he demanded. + +"Such as the timing of McCann's cash-return form." + +"I already explained that," he said. + +"I know. You've explained everything." + +"He wrote it out himself," the old man insisted. He put down his +cleaning cloth, and turned to face me. "I suppose your company checked +the handwriting already, and Jafe McCann is the one who wrote that +form." + +He was so blasted sure of himself. "It would seem that way," I said. + +"What other odd items you worried about?" he asked me, in a rusty +attempt at sarcasm. + +"Well," I said, "there's this business of going to Chemisant City. It +would have made more sense for you to go to Atronics City, where you +were known." + +"Chemisant was closer," he said. He shook a finger at me. "That company +of yours thinks it can cheat me out of my money," he said. "Well, it +can't. I know my rights. That money belongs to me." + +"I guess you're doing pretty well without McCann," I said. + +His angry expression was replaced by one of bewilderment. "What do you +mean?" + +"They told me back at Atronics City," I explained, "that McCann was the +money expert and you were the metals expert, and that's why McCann +handled all your buying on credit and stuff like that. Looks as though +you've got a pretty keen eye for money yourself." + +"I know what's mine," he mumbled, and turned away. He went back to +scrubbing the stove coils again. + +I stared at his back. Something had happened just then, and I wasn't +sure what. He'd just been starting to warm up to a tirade against the +dirty insurance company, and all of a sudden he'd folded up and shut up +like a clam. + +And then I saw it. Or at least I saw part of it. I saw how that +cash-return form fit in, and how it made perfect sense. + +Now, all I needed was proof of murder. Preferably a body. I had the rest +of it. Then I could pack the old geezer back to Atronics City and get +proof for the part I'd already figured out. + +I'd like that. I'd like getting back to Atronics City, and having this +all straightened out, and then taking the very next liner straight back +to Earth. More immediately, I'd like getting out of this heat and back +into the cool sixty-eight degrees of-- + +And then it hit me. The whole thing hit me, and I just sat there and +stared. They did not carry extras, Karpin and McCann, they did not carry +one item of equipment more than they needed. + +I sat there and looked at the place where the dead body was hidden, and +I said, "Well, I'll be a son of a gun!" + +He turned and looked at me, and then he followed the direction of my +gaze, and he saw what I was staring at, and he made a jump across the +room at the revolver lying on the cot. + + * * * + +That's what saved me. He moved too fast, jerked his muscles too hard, +and went sailing up and over the cot and ricocheted off the dome wall. +And that gave me plenty of time to get up from the chair, moving more +cautiously than he had, and get my hands on the revolver before he could +get himself squared away again. + +I straightened with the gun in my hand and looked into a face white with +frustration and rage. "Okay, Mister McCann," I said. "It's all over." + +He knew I had him, but he tried not to show it. "What are you talking +about? McCann's dead." + +"Sure he is," I said. "Jafe McCann was the money-minded part of the +team. He was the one who signed for all the loans and all the equipment +bought on credit. With this big strike in, Jafe McCann was the one who'd +have to pay all that money." + +"You're babbling," he snapped, but the words were hollow. + +"You weren't satisfied with half a loaf," I said. "You should have been. +Half a loaf is better than none. But you wanted every penny you could +get your hands on, and you wanted to pay out just as little money as you +possibly could. So when you killed Ab Karpin, you saw a way to kill your +debts as well. You'd _become_ Ab Karpin, and it would be Jafe McCann who +was dead, and the debts dead with him." + +"That's a lie," he said, his voice getting shrill. "_I'm_ Ab Karpin, and +I've got papers to prove it." + +"Sure. Papers you stole from a dead man. And you might have gotten away +with it, too. But you just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? +Not satisfied with having the whole claim to yourself, you switched +identities with your victim to avoid your debts. And not satisfied with +_that_, you filled out a cash-return form and tried to collect your +money as your own heir. _That's_ why you had to go to Chemisant City, +where nobody would recognize Ab Karpin or Jafe McCann, rather than to +Atronics City where you were well-known." + +"You don't want to make too many wild accusations," he shouted, his +voice shaking. "You don't want to go around accusing people of things +you can't prove." + +"I can prove it," I told him. "I can prove everything I've said. As to +who you are, there's no problem. All I have to do is bring you back to +Atronics City. There'll be plenty of people there to identify you. And +as to proving you murdered Ab Karpin, I think his body will be proof +enough, don't you?" + +McCann watched me as I backed slowly around the room to the mound of +gear. The partners had had no extra equipment, no extra equipment at +all. I looked down at the two atmosphere suits lying side by side on the +metallic rock floor. + +_Two_ atmosphere suits. The dead man was supposed to be in one of those, +floating out in space somewhere. He was in the suit, right enough, I was +sure of that, but he wasn't floating anywhere. + +A space suit is a perfect place to hide a body, for as long as it has to +be hid. The silvered faceplate keeps you from seeing inside, and the +suit is, naturally, a sealed atmosphere. A body can rot away to ashes +inside a space suit, and you'll never notice a thing on the outside. + + * * * + +I'd had the right idea after all. McCann had planned to get rid of +Karpin's body by attaching a rocket to it, slowing it down, and letting +it fall into the sun. But he hadn't had an opportunity yet to go buy a +rocket. He couldn't go to Atronics City, where he could have bought the +rocket on credit, and he couldn't go to Chemisant City until the claim +sale went through and he had some money to spend. And in the meantime, +Karpin's body was perfectly safe, sealed away inside his atmosphere +suit. + +And it would have been safe, too, if McCann hadn't been just a little +bit too greedy. He could kill his partner and get away with it; +policemen on the Belt are even farther apart than the asteroids. He +could swindle his creditors and get away with it; they had no way of +checking up and no reason to suspect a switch in identities. But when he +tried to get his own money back from Tangiers Mutual Insurance; _that's_ +when he made his mistake. + +I studied the two atmosphere suits, at the same time managing to keep a +wary eye on Jafe McCann, standing rigid and silent across the room. +Which one of those suits contained the body of Ab Karpin? + +The one with the new patch on the chest, of course. As I'd guessed, +McCann had shot him, and that's why he had the problem of disposing of +the body in the first place. + +I prodded that suit with my toe. "He's in there, isn't he?" + +"You're crazy." + +"Think I should open it up and check? It's been almost a month, you +know. I imagine he's pretty ripe by now." + +I reached down to the neck-fastenings on the fishbowl, and McCann +finally moved. His arms jerked up, and he cried, "Don't! He's in there, +he's in there! For God's sake, don't open it up!" + +I relaxed. Mission accomplished. "Crawl into your suit, little man," I +said. "We've got ourselves a trip to make, the three of us." + + * * * * * + +Henderson, as usual, was jovial but stern. "You did a fine job up there, +Ged," he said, with false familiarity. "Really brilliant work." + +"Thank you very much," I said. I was holding the last piece of news for +a minute or two, relishing it. + +"But you brought McCann in over a week ago. I don't see why you had to +stay up at Atronics City at all after that, much less ten days." + +I sat back in the chair and negligently crossed my legs. "I just thought +I'd take a little vacation," I said carelessly, and lit a cigarette. I +flicked ashes in the general direction of the ashtray on Henderson's +desk. Some of them made it. + +"A vacation?" he echoed, eyes widening. Henderson was a company man, a +_real_ company man. A vacation for him was purgatory, it was separation +from a loved one. "I don't believe you have a vacation coming," he said +frostily, "for at least six months." + +"That's what you think, Henny," I said. + +All he could do at that was blink. + +I went on, enjoying myself hugely. "I don't like this company," I said. +"And I don't like this job. And I don't like you. And from now on, I've +decided, it's going to be vacation all the time." + +"Ged," he said, his voice faint, "what's the matter with you? Don't you +feel well?" + +"I feel well," I told him. "I feel fine. Now, I'll tell you why I spent +an extra ten days at Atronics City. McCann made and registered the big +strike, right?" + +Henderson nodded blankly, apparently not trusting himself to speak. + +"Wrong," I said cheerfully. "McCann went to Chemisant City and filled +out all the forms required for registering a claim. But every place he +was supposed to sign his name he wrote _Ab Karpin_ instead. Jafe McCann +_never did make a legal registration of his claim_." + +Henderson just looked fish-eyed. + +"So," I went on, "as soon as I turned McCann over to the law at Atronics +City, I went and registered that claim myself. And then I waited around +for ten days until the company finished the paperwork involved in buying +that claim from me. And then I came straight back here, just to say +goodbye to you. Wasn't that nice?" + +He didn't move. + +"Goodbye," I said. + + +THE END + + +[Illustration] + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ March 1961. 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