«Yes. Two men only. I’ve pretty well established that they never broke security and told anyone else till the secret was out.»
«And who are they?»
«Technicians, Hollyday and Steinmann. They were working at Earth Station when the Jane was loaded. They quit soon after—not at the same time—and came here by liner and got jobs. You can bet that their quarters have been searched!»
«Perhaps,» murmured Syaloch, «it would be worthwhile to interview the gentlemen in question.»
Steinmann, a thin redhead, wore truculence like a mantle; Hollyday merely looked worried. It was no evidence of guilt—everyone had been rubbed raw of late. They sat in the police office, with Gregg behind the desk and Syaloch leaning against the wall, smoking and regarding them with unreadable yellow eyes.
«Damn it, I’ve told this over and over till I’m sick of it!» Steinmann knotted his fists and gave the Martian a bloodshot stare. «I never touched the things and I don’t know who did. Hasn’t any man a right to change jobs?»
«Please,» said the detective mildly. «The better you help the sooner we can finish this work. I take it you were acquainted with the man who actually put the box aboard the ship?»
«Sure. Everybody knew John Carter. Everybody knows everybody else on a satellite station.» The Earthman stuck out his jaw. «That’s why none of us’ll take scop. We won’t blab out all our thoughts to guys we see fifty times a day. We’d go nuts!»
«I never made such a request,» said Syaloch.
«Carter was quite a good friend of mine,» volunteered Hollyday.
«Uh-huh,» grunted Gregg. «And he quit too, about the same time you fellows did, and went Earthside and hasn’t been seen since. HQ told me you and he were thick. What’d you talk about?»
«The usual.» Hollyday shrugged. «Wine, women, and song. I haven’t heard from him since I left Earth.»
«Who says Carter stole the box?» demanded Steinmann. «He just got tired of living in space and quit his job. He couldn’t have stolen the jewels—he was searched, remember?»
«Could he have hidden it somewhere for a friend to get at this end?» inquired Syaloch.
«Hidden it? Where? Those ships don’t have secret compartments.» Steinmann spoke wearily. «And he was only aboard the Jane a few minutes, just long enough to put the box where he was supposed to.» His eyes smoldered at Gregg. «Let’s face it: the only people anywhere along the line who ever had a chance to lift it were our own dear cops.»
The Inspector reddened and half rose. «Look here, you—»
«We’ve got your word that you’re innocent,» growled Steinmann. «Why should it be any better than mine?»
Syaloch waved both men back. «If you please. Brawls are unphilosophic.» His beak opened and clattered, the Martian equivalent of a smile. «Has either of you, perhaps, a theory? I am open to all ideas.»
There was a stillness. Then Hollyday mumbled: «Yes. I have one.»
Syaloch hooded his eyes and puffed quietly, waiting.
Hollyday’s grin was shaky. «Only if I’m right, you’ll never see those jewels again.»
Gregg sputtered.
«I’ve been around the Solar System a lot,» said Hollyday. «It gets lonesome out in space. You never know how big and lonesome it is till you’ve been there, all by yourself. And I’ve done just that—I’m an amateur uranium prospector, not a lucky one so far. I can’t believe we know everything about the universe, or that there’s only vacuum between the planets.»
«Are you talking about the cobblies?» snorted Gregg.
«Go ahead and call it superstition. But if you’re in space long enough… well, somehow, you know. There are beings out there—gas beings, radiation beings, whatever you want to imagine, there’s something living in space.»
«And what use would a box of jewels be to a cobbly?»
Hollyday spread his hands. «How can I tell? Maybe we bother them, scooting through their own dark kingdom with our little rockets. Stealing the crown jewels would be a good way to disrupt the Mars trade, wouldn’t it?»
Only Syaloch’s pipe broke the inward-pressing silence. But its burbling seemed quite irreverent.
«Well—» Gregg fumbled helplessly with a meteoric paperweight. «Well, Mr. Syaloch, do you want to ask any more questions?»
«Only one.» The third lids rolled back, and coldness looked out at Steinmann. «If you please, my good man, what is your hobby?»
«Huh? Chess. I play chess. What’s it to you?» Steinmann lowered his head and glared sullenly.
«Nothing else?»
«What else is there?»
Syaloch glanced at the Inspector, who nodded confirmation, and then replied gently: «I see. Thank you. Perhaps we can have a game sometime. I have some small skill of my own. That is all for now, gentlemen.»
They left, moving like things of dream through the low gravity.
«Well?» Gregg’s eyes pleaded with Syaloch. «What next?»
«Very little. I think… yesss, while I am here I should like to watch the technicians at work. In my profession, one needs a broad knowledge of all occupations.»
Gregg sighed.
Ramanowitz showed the guest around. The Kim Brackney was in and being unloaded. They threaded through a hive of spacesuited men.
«The cops are going to have to raise that embargo soon,» said Ramanowitz. «Either that or admit why they’ve clamped it on. Our warehouses are busting.»
«It would be politic to do so,» nodded Syaloch. «Ah, tell me… is this equipment standard for all stations?»
«Oh, you mean what the boys are wearing and carrying around? Sure. Same issue everywhere.»
«May I inspect it more closely?»
«Hm?» Lord, deliver me from visiting firemen! thought Ramanowitz. He waved a mechanic over to him. «Mr. Syaloch would like you to explain your outfit,» he said with ponderous sarcasm.
«Sure. Regular spacesuit here, reinforced at the seams.» The gauntleted hands moved about, pointing. «Heating coils powered from this capacitance battery. Ten-hour air supply in the tanks. These buckles, you snap your tools into them, so they won’t drift around in free fall. This little can at my belt holds paint that I spray out through this nozzle.»
«Why must spaceships be painted?» asked Syaloch. «There is nothing to corrode the metal.»
«Well, sir, we just call it paint. It’s really gunk, to seal any leaks in the hull till we can install a new plate, or to mark any other kind of damage. Meteor punctures and so on.» The mechanic pressed a trigger and a thin, almost invisible stream jetted out, solidifying as it hit the ground.
«But it cannot readily be seen, can it?» objected the Martian. «I, at least, find it difficult to see clearly in airlessness.»
«That’s right. Light doesn’t diffuse, so… well, anyhow, the stuff is radioactive—not enough to be dangerous, just enough so that the repair crew can spot the place with a Geiger counter.»
«I understand. What is the half-life?»
«Oh, I’m not sure. Six months, maybe? It’s supposed to remain detectable for a year.»
«Thank you.» Syaloch stalked off. Ramanowitz had to jump to keep up with those long legs.
«Do you think Carter may have hid the box in his paint can?» suggested the human.
«No, hardly. The can is too small, and I assume he was searched thoroughly.» Syaloch stopped and bowed. «You have been very kind and patient. Mr. Ramanowitz. I am finished now, and can find the Inspector myself.»
«What for?»
«To tell him he can lift the embargo, of course.» Syaloch made a harsh sibilance. «And then I must get the next boat to Mars. If I hurry, I can attend the concert in Sabaeus tonight.» His voice grew dreamy. «They will be premiering Hanyech’s Variations on a Theme by Mendelssohn, transcribed to the Royal Chlannach scale. It should be most unusual.»