“I still don’t see——”
“Lieutenant Mathers,” Rostoff interrupted patiently, “the bearer of the Galactic Medal of Honor is above the law. He carries with him an inalienable prestige of such magnitude that… well, let me use an example. Suppose a bearer of the Galactic Medal of Honor formed a stock corporation to exploit the pitchblende of Callisto. How difficult would it be for him to dispose of the stock? How difficult for him to get concessions from the government?”
Demming grunted and without bothering to open his eyes said, “And suppose that there were a few, ah, crossed wires in the manipulation of the corporations’ business?” He sighed deeply. “Believe me, Lieutenant Mathers, there are an incredible number of laws which have accumulated down through the centuries to hamper the businessman. It is a continual fight to be able to carry on at all. The ability to do no legal wrong would be priceless in the development of the new frontier.” He sighed again, so deeply as to make his bulk quiver. “Priceless.”
Rostoff laid it on the line. “We are offering you a partnership, Mathers. You, with your Galactic Medal of Honor, will be our front man. Mr. Demming and I will supply the initial capital to get underway, the organization and the know-how, the brains. We’ll take Callisto and the other satellite colonies the way Grant took Richmond, to use the old Americanism.”
Don said slowly, looking down at the empty glass he was twirling in his fingers, “Look, we’re in a war to the death with the Kradens. In the long run it’s either us or them. At a time like this you’re suggesting that we fake an action that will eventually enable us to milk the new satellites to the tune of billions.”
Demming grunted meaninglessly.
Don said, “The theory is that all men, all of us, ought to have our shoulders to the wheel. This project sounds to me as though we’d be throwing rocks under it.”
Demming closed his eyes, still again.
Rostoff took up the bottle of sparkling wine from the ice bucket next to him and poured the drink into his champagne glass. He said to Don Mathers, “Lieutenant, it’s a dog-eat-dog socioeconomic system we live under. If we eventually defeat the Kradens, one of the very reasons will be because we are a dog-eat-dog society. Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. Our apologists dream up some beautiful gobbledygook phrases for it, such as free enterprise, but actually it’s dog-eat-dog. Surprisingly enough, the system works, or at least it has so far. It leads to progress, the inept fall out of the game. Right now, the human race needs the radioactives of the Jupiter satellites. In acquiring them, somebody is going to make a tremendous amount of money. Why shouldn’t it be us?”
Don said, a dogged quality in his voice, “Why not, if you—or we—can do it honestly?”
Demming’s grunt was nearer to a snort this time.
Rostoff said sourly, “Don’t be naive, Lieutenant. Whoever does it, is going to need little integrity. You don’t win in a sharper’s card game by playing your cards honestly. The biggest sharper wins. We’ve just found a joker somebody dropped on the floor. If we don’t use it, we’re suckers.”
Demming opened his pig eyes and said, “All this is on the academic side. We checked your background thoroughly before approaching you, Mathers. We know your record, even before you entered the Space Service, your, ah, minor peccadilloes. Just between the three of us, wouldn’t you like out of your commission? There are a full billion men and women in our armed forces—you can be spared. Let us say that you’ve already done your share. Can’t you see the potentialities in spending the rest of your life with the Galactic Medal of Honor in your pocket?”
Don said, breathing a little harder, “If it came out, it would mean the firing squad for all of us.”
The fat man was reasonable. “How could it come out? Only we three would be in on it, and it is certainly not to the interest of any of us to reveal anything.”
Don looked at the secretary. “How about him? You’re not even cutting him in, and he knows the whole thing.”
Demming shook his head. “Dirck is completely faithful to me. He’s my man.”
Don said, I’ll have to think about it.”
Maximilian Rostoff said, “Don’t take too long about thinking. Every day that goes by runs the risk that someone else might also spot the derelict.” He looked at his wrist chronometer and stood. “I’ve got a corporation board meeting,” he said. “Demming, I’ll leave it to you to give the Lieutenant any details, how to get in touch with us, the exact location of the Kraden spaceship, and so forth.”
He brought his transceiver from a jacket pocket, opened it, activated it and spoke a few words. Within a minute, a luxurious helio-hover had swooped in and a uniformed chauffeur had popped out to open the door.
Rostoff repeated, “Don’t take too long about it, Lieutenant.” He turned and headed for his craft.
Demming said, “What time is it, Dirck?”
The secretary said promptly, seemingly without having to check, “Ten minutes until two, sir.”
The fat man lurched to his feet. He wheezed to Don Mathers, “Why not stay for dinner? Perhaps it would be interesting for you to experience the way of life you could become used to if you bore the Galactic Medal of Honor.”
“Why… thank you,” Don said, standing too.
Lawrence Demming waddled, rather than walked, toward the chalet, Don Mathers following. As soon as they left the area where they had been drinking and talking, two liveried servants materialized and began policing it up. Dirck Bosch, the secretary headed in a different direction toward the chalet. As hired help, he seemingly did not eat with the boss.
Don said to his host, “I still don’t like the idea of his being in on the whole story. Just one slip and we’d be sunk—if I come in with you.”
Demming grunted. “I have Dirck under my thumb. I know where the body is buried, as the saying goes. I own him, body and soul.”
“Sometimes a worm turns under too much pressure,” Don said, still unhappy.
“Not this worm,” the fat man said, leading the way into the chalet proper.
It was a new experience for Don Mathers. Like everyone else, he had been surfeited all his life with the luxurious sets of films, TV and now Tri-Di. Nine shows out of ten were devoted to characters who lived on a scale of luxury unknown to ninety-nine percent of the population. Evidently, that was what the viewers wanted, a dream world, a fairyland world.
Lieutenant Don Mathers had never seen anything like this, even on Tri-Di. This was a museum. Obviously, the uncouth Lawrence Demming had had little to say about its decor. Undoubtedly, the interior decorator had been the best available; undoubtedly, the budget for art had been absolutely unlimited. Don Mathers was no great connoisseur of art but he recognized paintings that he vaguely thought were in various of the world’s museums. How had the interplanetary magnate ever acquired them?
Possibly, Don decided sourly, by buying the museum.
He had expected to be conducted to the dining room, but instead was taken to an elevator.
Demming said heavily, “We rough it up here for the sun, fresh air and so forth, but actually we usually live below.”
If this was roughing it, in Don Mathers’ considered opinion, then by the same standards you could have consigned Nefertiti, Cleopatra and Madame Du Barry to the rank of two-dollar whores. The rugs they had waded through must be Persian, and antiques, he realized, though he knew nothing of rugs. He knew nothing of furniture, either, but surely this was all of museum quality, and, he supposed, at least several centuries old. For Don Mathers’ money it didn’t look particularly comfortable.
They entered the spacious elevator, Demming muttering something about being hungry. The magnate spoke into the elevator screen and they descended sedately. Then the elevator stopped and then shunted sideward for a distance Mathers couldn’t calculate. It stopped again and then started off in another direction; forty-five degrees, he estimated, in the alteration of course. What in the hell kind of an elevator was this? It stopped again, momentarily, and then began to descend once more. Finally it came to a complete halt and the door slid open.