Rich Living, Page 4
Michael Cathal
It's notdifficult."
Pellinger nodded in agreement. "There you are. And Jason ought to know;he's spent most of his life dodging them."
* * * * *
Delman looked at Tarsh with distaste. "I remember now. You were the manwho shipped girls to Mercury and got run in under Section 7 of the WhiteSlavery Act. Ten years, wasn't it?"
"That's right," Jason Tarsh answered, "but there's no need to be nastyabout it. Just fulfilling the old commercial custom of supply anddemand." His thin lips broke into a smile. "Know what they used to callme in the camps? 'The Miner's Best Friend.' Nice of them, eh?"
"Was it? They gave the same name to their canaries in the old days--andmost of those were killed by fire-damp. But to get back to your mythicalpatrol ship--where do you expect it to come from? You know as well as Ido, they keep to the main spaceways. We're tucked away in a remotecorner of the Galaxy. There's one chance in a thousand that a patrolship is within forty-five days of here."
The color drained from Walter Pellinger's face. "Why forty-five?" hewhispered.
The lawyer paused before replying. They were grouped around him in ahalf-circle, three frightened people waiting for an answer, yet knowingin their hearts what that answer would be.
He shrugged. "I should have thought it was obvious," he said. "Ofcourse, I've no wish to alarm you and there is a method that might getus out of here, but we've got to face the facts. I was the only oneamong you whose legs had already begun to fail, so it's safe to assumeI'm the oldest inhabitant. In forty-five days, I shall be ten--the restof you will be less--and I can't guarantee to look after you any longerthan that." He fell silent, allowing the implication to sink in.
"Seven million dollars!" cried Walter Pellinger. "I've paid sevenmillion dollars just to die!" He began to laugh hysterically.
"Stop it, you fool!" Jason Tarsh caught him by the shoulders and beganto shake him violently. "You've paid seven million dollars to die young.Why, you ought to be tickled pink. Remember the slogan of GalacticStores--'Originality is the Test of Taste!'"
Gillian Murray seized the lawyer's hand. "Curtis, you said somethingabout a method."
He pointed at the emergency hangar over on the far side. "There's alifeboat in there. It may have been damaged by the blast, so don't pinyour hopes on it. But if we can shift the loose stones and get the doorsopen, we'll soon know."
Arm in arm, they walked across the landing strip.
* * * * *
Twice the relief boat shot low over the runway, sweeping round in agigantic circle. Then it changed course and climbed steeply into thestratosphere. They watched it disappear out of sight--the last link withthe world they knew.
In the center of the landing strip, a dense column of smoke billowed upfrom a pile of smoldering moss--a warning that no pilot could fail toobserve. In the stillness, it rose in a tall spiral, twisting andturning, signaling to the winds.
"You should've let it land." Walter Pellinger was almost in tears; heblinked miserably.
* * * * *
Delman had never pictured him like this, small, myopic, with fair hairand sloping shoulders. The structure of his eyes had changed during theintervening weeks and the contact lenses he'd worn until recently werequite useless to him. Now, at twenty-one, he was half-blind and oflittle practical help to them.
"They didn't stand a chance," the lawyer replied.
"Oh, but they did! On the Law of Probability, they had one insixty-seven--and our lives are worth a thousand of theirs."
"Yes, I know. Our lives are essential to humanity. You've said it allbefore and I still disagree with you."
"Have I? I don't remember."
"You have. But it doesn't matter. Come on back. We've got to clear thosestones. There aren't many left."
As he strode toward the hangar, the lawyer knew that the days wererunning short. True, the launching ramp was intact and one door of thehangar was already open; but it would take at least a week to remove thechunks of rejuvenite blocking the remaining door. Tarsh and himself haddone most of the heavy work. Yet even Tarsh, with all his felinestrength, was beginning to tire. The constant effort to make use ofevery scrap of daylight was proving too much for them.
According to Gillian, the lifeboat was unharmed. Delman hadn't the timeto inspect it properly. But the very position of the hangar, squeezedtight against the cliffside, had given it the best protection possible.No, if only they could remove those stones!
Delman exhaustedly picked up his discarded crowbar. He inserted thepoint under a slab of rejuvenite, thrust down and pried with all hisstrength. As it tilted, Gillian Murray forced chocks of metal underneathto hold it in place. The teamwork was repeated time after time, until atlast the slab toppled over, gaining them another twelve inches. Theyrested for a moment. Then the whole endless process started once again.
By dusk, they had removed five stones.
* * * * *
Finished eating, they relaxed in the living room, lying back in thepadded comfort of the armchairs. Only Jason Tarsh remainedstanding--slim and compact, like a young Oriental despot--his eyes fixedon Walter Pellinger.
Pellinger squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "I think I'll try and getsome sleep," he said.
"Just a moment, Walter," Tarsh lifted a restraining hand. "You're abusinessman and I want your advice. It's quite a simple problem. Imaginethat four of your employees are stranded on a desert island with verylittle food. And suppose they all agree to build a raft on which toescape and get back to the head office--what you might call a 'jointventure.' Now let us also suppose that three of those people work hard,cut down trees and fashion them into planks, gather creepers and braidthem into ropes, and generally do all they can to further the commonpurpose. But the fourth, Walter--and this is the point--the fourth doesnothing. He eats the food--Company food, mind you!--so urgently neededto keep up the strength of the--"
"Why do you keep picking on me? I do all I can." Walter Pellinger gotout of his chair.
"_You?_" said Jason Tarsh, affecting amazement. "Who said anything about_you_? Why, you're the last person I'd criticize. But I see you wish toleave the lovebirds to themselves, so let's finish our little chatoutside. It's a fine night." He steered the unwilling Pellinger out ontothe veranda.
"Well, shall we take a hint and move over to the settee?" Gillian Murraysuggested.
Delman watched with admiration as she crossed the room, clean-limbed andgraceful, her long red hair falling from the crown of her head in a softcascade.
"Never be discourteous to the cook," he replied. "That was one of myearliest lessons. And, heaven knows, you're an unusually attractivecook. It gives one an appetite just to look at you." He got up to joinher--a bearded giant, tall and deep-chested, like the heroes of theViking sagas.
"What will you do when we get back?" she asked.
"Marry and get some job that won't take me away from you. Does that meetwith your approval?"
"Yes," she said. "If that's a proposal, it will do nicely."
They kissed with all the intensity of young love, losing in theirembrace the dread of time which swept them toward their childhood.
"Curtis," she said quietly, "have we any hope? Please be honest!"
* * * * *
His fingers brushed the back of her neck lightly, up and down, notaltering their tender rhythm.
"Not much," he said without emotion.
"Jason was right about the food. There's very little left; the supplieswere on the lifeboat. You're all hungry. I know you are."
"It's not only that, darling. Sleep is just as important. But we can'tspare the time. Every day now, we'll be growing physically weaker andthe same job will soon take us twice as long. There's so much to do. Andwe've got to plan all of it in advance, while our minds are stilladult."
"Is that why you've got the recording machine down here?"
"It may s
ound idiotic," he said, "but I can't remember my boyhood--itwas four hundred years ago. Today, I'm twenty-five, you're twenty, andWalter is somewhere between the two of us. Jason, I'm sure, is less--howmuch, I don't know. The fact is that we'll be children before weleave--that is, _if_ we leave--and we'll only be able to understand thesimple things. So it seemed essential to clarify the lifeboatinstructions; the manual would be complete nonsense to a child. Ofcourse, I've added some general advice as it occurred to me."
Gillian sighed. "I
Pellinger nodded in agreement. "There you are. And Jason ought to know;he's spent most of his life dodging them."
* * * * *
Delman looked at Tarsh with distaste. "I remember now. You were the manwho shipped girls to Mercury and got run in under Section 7 of the WhiteSlavery Act. Ten years, wasn't it?"
"That's right," Jason Tarsh answered, "but there's no need to be nastyabout it. Just fulfilling the old commercial custom of supply anddemand." His thin lips broke into a smile. "Know what they used to callme in the camps? 'The Miner's Best Friend.' Nice of them, eh?"
"Was it? They gave the same name to their canaries in the old days--andmost of those were killed by fire-damp. But to get back to your mythicalpatrol ship--where do you expect it to come from? You know as well as Ido, they keep to the main spaceways. We're tucked away in a remotecorner of the Galaxy. There's one chance in a thousand that a patrolship is within forty-five days of here."
The color drained from Walter Pellinger's face. "Why forty-five?" hewhispered.
The lawyer paused before replying. They were grouped around him in ahalf-circle, three frightened people waiting for an answer, yet knowingin their hearts what that answer would be.
He shrugged. "I should have thought it was obvious," he said. "Ofcourse, I've no wish to alarm you and there is a method that might getus out of here, but we've got to face the facts. I was the only oneamong you whose legs had already begun to fail, so it's safe to assumeI'm the oldest inhabitant. In forty-five days, I shall be ten--the restof you will be less--and I can't guarantee to look after you any longerthan that." He fell silent, allowing the implication to sink in.
"Seven million dollars!" cried Walter Pellinger. "I've paid sevenmillion dollars just to die!" He began to laugh hysterically.
"Stop it, you fool!" Jason Tarsh caught him by the shoulders and beganto shake him violently. "You've paid seven million dollars to die young.Why, you ought to be tickled pink. Remember the slogan of GalacticStores--'Originality is the Test of Taste!'"
Gillian Murray seized the lawyer's hand. "Curtis, you said somethingabout a method."
He pointed at the emergency hangar over on the far side. "There's alifeboat in there. It may have been damaged by the blast, so don't pinyour hopes on it. But if we can shift the loose stones and get the doorsopen, we'll soon know."
Arm in arm, they walked across the landing strip.
* * * * *
Twice the relief boat shot low over the runway, sweeping round in agigantic circle. Then it changed course and climbed steeply into thestratosphere. They watched it disappear out of sight--the last link withthe world they knew.
In the center of the landing strip, a dense column of smoke billowed upfrom a pile of smoldering moss--a warning that no pilot could fail toobserve. In the stillness, it rose in a tall spiral, twisting andturning, signaling to the winds.
"You should've let it land." Walter Pellinger was almost in tears; heblinked miserably.
* * * * *
Delman had never pictured him like this, small, myopic, with fair hairand sloping shoulders. The structure of his eyes had changed during theintervening weeks and the contact lenses he'd worn until recently werequite useless to him. Now, at twenty-one, he was half-blind and oflittle practical help to them.
"They didn't stand a chance," the lawyer replied.
"Oh, but they did! On the Law of Probability, they had one insixty-seven--and our lives are worth a thousand of theirs."
"Yes, I know. Our lives are essential to humanity. You've said it allbefore and I still disagree with you."
"Have I? I don't remember."
"You have. But it doesn't matter. Come on back. We've got to clear thosestones. There aren't many left."
As he strode toward the hangar, the lawyer knew that the days wererunning short. True, the launching ramp was intact and one door of thehangar was already open; but it would take at least a week to remove thechunks of rejuvenite blocking the remaining door. Tarsh and himself haddone most of the heavy work. Yet even Tarsh, with all his felinestrength, was beginning to tire. The constant effort to make use ofevery scrap of daylight was proving too much for them.
According to Gillian, the lifeboat was unharmed. Delman hadn't the timeto inspect it properly. But the very position of the hangar, squeezedtight against the cliffside, had given it the best protection possible.No, if only they could remove those stones!
Delman exhaustedly picked up his discarded crowbar. He inserted thepoint under a slab of rejuvenite, thrust down and pried with all hisstrength. As it tilted, Gillian Murray forced chocks of metal underneathto hold it in place. The teamwork was repeated time after time, until atlast the slab toppled over, gaining them another twelve inches. Theyrested for a moment. Then the whole endless process started once again.
By dusk, they had removed five stones.
* * * * *
Finished eating, they relaxed in the living room, lying back in thepadded comfort of the armchairs. Only Jason Tarsh remainedstanding--slim and compact, like a young Oriental despot--his eyes fixedon Walter Pellinger.
Pellinger squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "I think I'll try and getsome sleep," he said.
"Just a moment, Walter," Tarsh lifted a restraining hand. "You're abusinessman and I want your advice. It's quite a simple problem. Imaginethat four of your employees are stranded on a desert island with verylittle food. And suppose they all agree to build a raft on which toescape and get back to the head office--what you might call a 'jointventure.' Now let us also suppose that three of those people work hard,cut down trees and fashion them into planks, gather creepers and braidthem into ropes, and generally do all they can to further the commonpurpose. But the fourth, Walter--and this is the point--the fourth doesnothing. He eats the food--Company food, mind you!--so urgently neededto keep up the strength of the--"
"Why do you keep picking on me? I do all I can." Walter Pellinger gotout of his chair.
"_You?_" said Jason Tarsh, affecting amazement. "Who said anything about_you_? Why, you're the last person I'd criticize. But I see you wish toleave the lovebirds to themselves, so let's finish our little chatoutside. It's a fine night." He steered the unwilling Pellinger out ontothe veranda.
"Well, shall we take a hint and move over to the settee?" Gillian Murraysuggested.
Delman watched with admiration as she crossed the room, clean-limbed andgraceful, her long red hair falling from the crown of her head in a softcascade.
"Never be discourteous to the cook," he replied. "That was one of myearliest lessons. And, heaven knows, you're an unusually attractivecook. It gives one an appetite just to look at you." He got up to joinher--a bearded giant, tall and deep-chested, like the heroes of theViking sagas.
"What will you do when we get back?" she asked.
"Marry and get some job that won't take me away from you. Does that meetwith your approval?"
"Yes," she said. "If that's a proposal, it will do nicely."
They kissed with all the intensity of young love, losing in theirembrace the dread of time which swept them toward their childhood.
"Curtis," she said quietly, "have we any hope? Please be honest!"
* * * * *
His fingers brushed the back of her neck lightly, up and down, notaltering their tender rhythm.
"Not much," he said without emotion.
"Jason was right about the food. There's very little left; the supplieswere on the lifeboat. You're all hungry. I know you are."
"It's not only that, darling. Sleep is just as important. But we can'tspare the time. Every day now, we'll be growing physically weaker andthe same job will soon take us twice as long. There's so much to do. Andwe've got to plan all of it in advance, while our minds are stilladult."
"Is that why you've got the recording machine down here?"
"It may s
ound idiotic," he said, "but I can't remember my boyhood--itwas four hundred years ago. Today, I'm twenty-five, you're twenty, andWalter is somewhere between the two of us. Jason, I'm sure, is less--howmuch, I don't know. The fact is that we'll be children before weleave--that is, _if_ we leave--and we'll only be able to understand thesimple things. So it seemed essential to clarify the lifeboatinstructions; the manual would be complete nonsense to a child. Ofcourse, I've added some general advice as it occurred to me."
Gillian sighed. "I
