Wingate did so. The main exhibit he found to be a contract, duly entered into, between Humphrey Wingate and the Venus Development Company for six years of indentured labor on the planet Venus.
That your signature? asked the Purser.
Wingate's professional caution stood him in good stead. He studied the signature closely in order to gain time while he tried to collect his wits. Well, he said at last, I will stipulate that it looks very much like my signature, but I will not concede that it is my signature I'm not a handwriting expert.
The Purser brushed aside the objection with an air of annoyance. I haven't time to quibble with you. Let's check the thumbprint. Here. He shoved an impression pad across his desk. For a moment Wingate considered standing on his legal rights by refusing, but no, that would prejudice his case. He had nothing to lose; it couldn't be his thumbprint on the contract. Unless
But it was. Even his untrained eye could see that the two prints matched. He fought back a surge of panic. This was probably a nightmare, inspired by his argument last night with Jones. Or, if by some wild chance it were real, it was a frameup in which he must find the flaw. Men of his sort were not framed; the whole thing was ridiculous. He marshalled his words carefully.
I won't dispute your position, my dear sir. In some fashion both you and I have been made the victims of a rather sorry joke. It seems hardly necessary to point out that a man who is unconscious, as I must have been last night, may have his thumbprint taken without his knowledge. Superficially this contract is valid and I assume naturally your good faith in the matter. But, in fact, the instrument lacks one necessary element of a contract.
Which is?
The intention on the part of both parties to enter into a contractual relationship. Notwithstanding signature and thumbprint I had no intention of contracting which can easily be shown by other factors. I am a successful lawyer with a good practice, as my tax returns will show. It is not reasonable to believe and no court will believe that I voluntarily gave up my accustomed life for six years of indenture at a much lower income.
So you're a lawyer, eh? Perhaps there has been chicanery on your part. How does it happen that you represent yourself here as a radio technician?
Wingate again had to steady himself at this unexpected flank attack. He was in truth a radio expert it was his cherished hobby but how had they known? Shut up, he told himself. Don't admit anything. The whole thing is ridiculous, he protested. I insist that I be taken to see the Captain I can break that contract in ten minutes time.
The Purser waited before replying. Are you through speaking your piece?
Yes.
Very well. You've had your say, now I'll have mine. You listen to me, Mister Spacelawyer. The contract was drawn up by some of the shrewdest legal minds in two planets. They had specifically in mind that worthless bums would sign it, drink up their bounty money, and then decide that they didn't want to go to work after all. That contract has been subjected to every sort of attack possible and revised so that it can't be broken by the devil himself.
You're not peddling your curbstone law to another stumble-bum in this case; you are talking to a man who knows just where he stands, legally. As for seeing the Captain if you think the commanding officer of a major vessel has nothing more to do than listen to the rhira dreams of a self-appointed word artist, you've got another think coming! Return to your quarters!
Wingate started to speak, thought better of it, and turned to go. This would require some thought.
The Purser stopped him. Wait. Here's your copy of the contract. He chucked it, the flimsy white sheets riffled to the deck. Wingate picked them up and left silently.
Hartley was waiting for him in the passageway. How d'ja make out, Hump?
Not so well. No, I don't want to talk about it. I've got to think. They walked silently back the way they had come toward the ladder which gave access to the lower decks. A figure ascended from the ladder and came toward them. Wingate noted it without interest.
He looked again. Suddenly the whole preposterous chain of events fell into place; he shouted in relief. Sam! he called out. Sam you cockeyed old so-and-so. I should have spotted your handiwork. It was all clear now; Sam had framed him with a phony shanghai. Probably the skipper was a pal of Sam's a reserve officer, maybe and they had cooked it up between them. It was a rough sort of a joke, but he was too relieved to be angry. Just the same he would make Jones pay for his fun, somehow, on the jump back from Luna City.
It was then that he noticed that Jones was not laughing.
Furthermore he was dressed most unreasonably in the same blue denim that the contract laborers were. Hump, he was saying, are you still drunk?
Me? No. What's the i
Don't you realize we're in a jam?
Oh hell, Sam, a joke's a joke, but don't keep it up any longer. I've caught on, I tell you. I don't mind it was a good gag.
Gag, eh? said Jones bitterly. I suppose it was just a gag when you talked me into signing up.
I persuaded you to sign up?
You certainly did. You were so damn sure you knew what you were talking about. You claimed that we could sign up, spend a month or so on Venus, and come home. You wanted to bet on it. So we went around to the docks and signed up. It seemed like a good idea then the only way to settle the argument.
Wingate whistled softly. Well, I'll be Sam, I haven't the slightest recollection of it. I must have drawn a blank before I passed out.
Yeah, I guess so. Too bad you didn't pass out sooner. Not that I'm blaming you; you didn't drag me. Anyhow, I'm on my way up to try to straighten it out.
Better wait a minute till you hear what happened to me. Oh yes Sam, this is, uh, Satchel Hartley. Good sort. Hartley had been waiting uncertainly near them; he stepped forward and shook hands.
Wingate brought Jones up to date, and added, So you see your reception isn't likely to be too friendly. I guess I muffed it. But we are sure to break the contract as soon as we can get a hearing on time alone.
How do you mean?
We were signed up less than twelve hours before ship lifting. That's contrary to the Space Precautionary Act.
Yes yes, I see what you mean. The Moon's in her last quarter; they would lift ship some time after midnight to take advantage of favorable earthswing. I wonder what time it was when we signed on?
Wingate took out his contract copy. The notary's stamp showed a time of eleven thirty-two. Great Day! he shouted. I knew there would be a flaw in it somewhere. This contract is invalid on its face. The ship's log will prove it.
Jones studied it. Look again, he said. Wingate did so. The stamp showed eleven thirty-two, but A.M., not P.M.
But that's impossible, he protested.
Of course it is. But it's official. I think we will find that the story is that we were signed on in the morning, paid our bounty money, and had one last glorious luau before we were carried aboard. I seem to recollect some trouble in getting the recruiter to sign us up. Maybe we convinced him by kicking in our bounty money.
But we didn't sign up in the morning. It's not true and I can prove it.
Sure you can prove it but how can you prove it without going back to Earth first?!
So you see it's this way, Jones decided after some minutes of somewhat fruitless discussion, there is no sense in trying to break our contracts here and now; they'll laugh at us. The thing to do is to make money talk, and talk loud. The only way I can see to get us off at Luna City is to post non-performance bonds with the company bank there cash, and damn big ones, too.