Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

While they’re around, we conduct ourselves as though we’re three equal partners. On paper, we will be.”

“Wait a minute, now,” Don blurted. “What do you think you’re pulling? The agreement was we split this whole thing three ways.”

Demming’s jowls wobbled as he nodded. “That’s right. And your share of the loot is your Galactic Medal of Honor. That and the dubious privilege of having the whole thing in your name. You’ll keep your medal, and we’ll keep our share.” He growled heavily, “You don’t think you’re getting the short end of the stick, do you?”

Max Rostoff said, “Let’s knock this off and get the law boys in. We’ve got enough paper work to keep us busy the rest of the week.” He sat down again at his desk and looked up at Don. “Then we’ll all be taking off for Callisto, to get things under way. With any luck, in six months we’ll have every ounce of pitchblende left in the system sewed up.”

There was a crowd awaiting his ship at the Callisto Spaceport. A crowd modest by Earth standards but representing a large percentage of the small population of Jupiter’s moon.

On the way out, a staff of the system’s best speechwriters, and two top professional actors had been working with him.

Don Mathers gave a short preliminary talk at the spaceport, and then the important one, the one that was broadcast throughout the system, that night from his suite at the hotel. He’d been well rehearsed, and they’d kept him from the bottle except for two or three quick ones immediately before going on.

The project at hand is to extract the newly discovered deposits of pitchblende on these satellites of Jupiter.

He paused impressively before continuing.

It’s a job that cannot be done in slipshod, haphazard manner. The system’s need for radioactives cannot be overstressed.

In short, fellow humans, we must allow nothing to stand in the way of all out, unified effort to do this job quickly and efficiently. My associates and I have formed a corporation to manage this crash program. We invite all to participate by purchasing stock. I will not speak of profits, fellow humans, because in this emergency we all scorn them. However, as I say, you are invited to participate.

Some of the preliminary mining concessions are at present in the hands of individuals or small corporations. It will be necessary that these turn over their holdings to our single all-embracing organization for the sake of efficiency. Our experts will evaluate such holdings and recompense the owners.

Don Mathers paused again for emphasis.

This is no time for quibbling. All must come in. If there are those who put private gain before the needs of the system, then pressures must be found to be exerted against them.

We will need thousands and tens of thousands of trained workers to operate our mines, our mills, our refineries. In the past, skilled labor here on the satellites was used to double or even triple the wage rates on Earth and the settled planets and satellites. I need only repeat, this is no time for personal gain and quibbling. The corporation announces proudly that it will pay only prevailing Earth rates. We will not insult our employees by “bribing” them to patriotism through higher wages.

There was more, along the same lines.

It was all taken very well. Indeed, with enthusiasm.

On the third day, at an office conference, Don waited for an opening to say, “Look, somewhere here on Callisto is a young woman named Dian Fuller. After we get me established in an office, I’d like her to be my secretary.”

Demming looked up from some reports he was scanning. He grunted to Max Rostoff, “Tell him,” and went back to the papers.

Max Rostoff, settled back into his chair. He said to the two bodyguards, stationed at the door, “Scotty, Rogers, go and make the arrangements to bring that damned prospector into line.”

When they were gone, Rostoff turned back to Don Mathers. “You don’t need an office, Mathers. All you need is to go back to your bottles. Just don’t belt it so hard that you can’t sign papers every time we need a signature.”

Don flushed angrily, “Look, don’t push me, you two. You need me. Plenty. In fact, from what I can see, this corporation needs me more than it does you.” He looked scornfully at Demming. “Originally, the idea was that you put up the money. What money? We have fifty-one percent of the stock in my name, but all the credit units needed are coming from sales of stock.” He turned to Rostoff. “You were supposed to put up the brains. What brains? We’ve hired the best mining engineers, the best technicians, to do their end, the best corporation executives to handle that end. You’re not needed.”

Demming grunted amusement at the short speech, but didn’t bother to look up from his perusal.

Max Rostoff’s face had grown wolfishly thin in his anger. “Look, bottle-baby,” he sneered, “you’re the only one that’s vulnerable in this setup. There’s not a single thing that Demming and I can be held to account for. You have no beefs coming, for that matter. You’re getting everything you ever wanted. You’ve got the best suite in the best hotel on Callisto. You eat the best food the Solar System provides. And, most important of all to a rummy, you drink the best booze and as much of it as you want. What’s more, unless either Demming or I go to the bother, you’ll never be exposed. You’ll live your life out being the biggest hero in the system.”

It was Don Mathers’ turn to sneer. “What do you mean, I’m the only one vulnerable? There’s no evidence against me, Rostoff, and you know it. Who’d listen to you if you sounded off? I burned that Kraden cruiser until there wasn’t a sign to be found that would indicate it wasn’t in operational condition when I first spotted it.”

Demming grunted his amusement again.

Max Rostoff laughed sourly. “Don’t be an ass, Mathers. We