"Maybe we ought to run down and have a look. No-later," he amended. "We'll be busy."
"I don't see what more we can do, Mr. Harriman. We've got twelve of our best ballistic computers calculating possible routes for you now."
Harriman started to tell the man to put on another twelve, switched off the screen instead. He was still at Peterson Field, with one of Skyways' best stratoships waiting for him outside, waiting to take him to whatever point on the globe LeCroix might ground. LeCroix was in the upper stratosphere, had been there for more than twenty-four hours. The pilot was slowly, cautiously wearing out his terminal velocity, dissipating the incredible kinetic energy as shock wave and radiant heat.
They had tracked him by radar around the globe and around again-and again... yet there was no way of knowing just where and what sort of landing the pilot would choose to risk. Harriman listened to the running radar reports and cursed the fact that they had elected to save the weight of radio equipment.
The radar figures started coming closer together. The voice broke off and started again: "He's in his landing glide!"
"Tell the field to get ready!" shouted Harriman. He held his breath and waited. After endless seconds another voice cut in with, "The Moon ship is now landing. It will ground somewhere west of Chihuahua in Old Mexico."
Harriman started for the door at a run.
Coached by radio en route, Harriman's pilot spotted the Pioneer incredibly small against the desert sand. He put his own ship quite close to it, in a beautiful landing. Harriman was fumbling at the cabin door before the ship was fairly stopped.
LeCroix was sitting on the ground, resting his back against a skid of his ship and enjoying the shade of its stubby triangular wings. A paisano sheepherder stood facing him, open-mouthed. As Harriman trotted out and lumbered toward him LeCroix stood up, flipped a cigaret butt away and said, "Hi, Boss!"
"Les!" The older man threw his arms around the younger. "It's good to see you, boy."
"It's good to see you. Pedro here doesn't speak my language." LeCroix glanced around; there was no one else nearby but the pilot of Harriman's ship. "Where's the gang? Where's Bob?"
"I didn't wait. They'll surely be along in a few minutes-hey, there they come now!" It was another stratoship, plunging in to a landing. Harriman turned to his pilot. "Bill-go over and meet them."
"Huh? They'll come, never fear."
"Do as I say."
"You're the doctor." The pilot trudged through the sand, his back expressing disapproval. LeCroix looked puzzled. "Quick, Les-help me with this."
"This" was the five thousand cancelled envelopes which were supposed to have been to the Moon. They got them out of Harriman's stratoship and into the Moon ship, there to be stowed in an empty food locker, while their actions were still shielded from the later arrivals by the bulk of the strataship. "Whew!" said Harriman. "That was close. Half a million dollars. We need it, Les."
"Sure, but look, Mr. Harriman, the di-"
"Sssh! The others are coming. How about the other business? Ready with your act?"
"Yes. But I was trying to tell you-"
"Quiet!"
It was not their colleagues; it was a shipload of reporters, camera men, mike men, commentators, technicians. They swarmed over them.
Harriman waved to them jauntily. "Help yourselves, boys. Get a lot of pictures. Climb through the ship. Make yourselves at home. Look at anything you want to. But go easy on Captain LeCroix-he's tired."
Another ship had landed, this time with Caster, Dixon and Strong. Entenza showed up in his own chartered ship and began bossing the TV, pix, and radio men, in the course of which he almost had a fight with an unauthorized camera crew. A large copter transport grounded and spilled out nearly a platoon of khaki-clad Mexican troops. Fom somewhere-out of the sand apparently-several dozen native peasants showed up. Harriman broke away from reporters, held a quick and expensive discussion with the captain of the local troops and a degree of order was restored in time to save the Pioneer from being picked to pieces.
"Just let that be!" It was LeCroix's voice, from inside the Pioneer. Harriman waited and listened. "None of your business!" the pilot's voice went on, rising higher, "and put them back!"
Harriman pushed his way to the door of the ship. "What's the trouble, Les?"
Inside the cramped cabin, hardly large enough for a TV booth, three men stood, LeCroix and two reporters. All three men looked angry. "What's the trouble, Les?" Harriman repeated.
LeCroix was holding a small cloth bag which appeared to be empty. Scattered on the pilot's acceleration rest between him and the reporters were several small, dully brilliant stones. A reporter held one such stone up to the light.
"These guys were poking their noses into things that didn't concern them," LeCroix said angrily.
The reporter looked at the stone said, "You told us to look at what we liked, didn't you, Mr. Harriman?"
"Yes."
"Your pilot here-" He jerked a thumb at LeCroix. "-apparently didn't expect us to find these. He had them hidden in the pads of his chair."
"What of it?"
"They're diamonds."
"What makes you think so?"
"They're diamonds all right."
Harriman stopped and unwrapped a cigar. Presently he said, "Those diamonds were where you found them because I put them there."
A flashlight went off behind Harriman; a voice said, "Hold the rock up higher, Jeff."
The reporter called Jeff obliged, then said, "That seems an odd thing to do, Mr. Harriman."
"I was interested in the effect of outer space radiations on raw diamonds. On my orders Captain LeCroix placed that sack of diamonds in the ship."
Jeff whistled thoughtfully. "You know, Mr. Harriman, if you did not have that explanation, I'd think LeCroix had found the rocks on the Moon and was trying to hold out on you."
"Print that and you will be sued for libel. I have every confidence in Captain LeCroix. Now give me the diamonds."
Jeff's eyebrows went up. "But not confidence enough in him to let him keep them,.maybe?"
"Give me the stones. Then get out."
Harriman got LeCroix away from the reporters as quickly as possible and into Harriman's own ship. "That's all for now," he told the news and pictures people. "See us at Peterson Field."
Once the ship raised ground he turned to LeCroix. "You did a beautiful job, Les."
"That reporter named Jeff must be sort of confused."
"Eh? Oh, that. No, I mean the flight. You did it. You're head man on this planet."
LeCroix shrugged it off. "Bob built a good ship. It was a cinch. Now about those diamonds-"
"Forget the diamonds. You've done your part. We placed those rocks in the ship; now we tell everybody we did-truthful as can be. It's not our fault if they don't believe us."
"But Mr. Harriman-"
"What?"
LeCroix unzipped a pocket in his coveralls, hauled out a soiled handkerchief, knotted into a bag. He untied it-and spilled into Harriman's hands many more diamonds than had been displayed in the ship-larger, finer diamonds.
Harriman stared at them. He began to chuckle.
Presently he shoved them back at LeCroix. "Keep them."
"I figure they belong to all of us."
"Well, keep them for us, then. And keep your mouth shut about them. No, wait." He picked out two large stones. "I'll have rings made from these two, one for you, one for me. But keep your mouth shut, or they won't be worth anything, except as curiosities."
It was quite true, he thought. Long ago the diamond syndicate had realized that diamonds in plentiful supply were worth little more than glass, except for industrial uses. Earth had more than enough for that, more than enough for jewels. If Moon diamonds were literally "common as pebbles" then they were just that-pebbles.
Not worth the expense of bringing them to earth. But now take uranium. If that were plentiful- Harriman sat back and indulged in daydreaming. Presently LeCroix said softly, "You know, Boss, it's wonderful there."