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Read book online Β«Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) πŸ“•Β».   Author   -   Mack Reynolds



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I took over.”

β€œOh, you did, eh?”

β€œWell, yes, sir. You were, well, reclining in the gutter, sir. In spite of your, well, appearance, your condition, I recognized you, sir.”

β€œOh.” His stomach was an objecting turmoil.

The Lieutenant said, β€œWant to try some more of this coffee now, sir? Or maybe some soup or a sandwich?”

Don groaned. β€œNo. No, thanks. Don’t think I could hold it down.”

The pilot grinned. β€œYou must’ve thrown a classic, sir.”

β€œI guess so. What time is it? No, that doesn’t make any difference. What’s the date?”

Pierpont told him.

It was hard to believe. The last he could remember he’d been with Di. With Di in some nightclub. He wondered how long ago that had been.

He fumbled in his clothes for a smoke and couldn’t find one. He didn’t want it anyway.

He growled at the Lieutenant, β€œWell, how go the One Man Scouts?”

Pierpont grinned back at him. β€œGlad to be out of them, sir?”

β€œUsually.”

Pierpont looked at him strangely. β€œI don’t blame you, I suppose. But it isn’t as bad these days as it used to be while you were still in the Space Service, sir.”

Don grunted. β€œHow come? Two weeks to a month, all by yourself, watching the symptoms of space cafard progress. Then three weeks of leave, to get drunk in, and then another stretch in space.”

The pilot snorted deprecation. β€œThat’s the way it used to be.” He fingered the spoon of his coffee cup. β€œThat’s the way it still should be, of course. But it isn’t. They’re spreading the duty around now and I spend less than one week out of four on patrol.”

Don hadn’t been listening too closely, but now he looked up. β€œWhat’d’ya mean?”

Pierpont said, β€œI mean, sir, I suppose this isn’t bridging security, seeing who you are, but fuel stocks are so low that we can’t maintain full patrols any more.”

There was a cold emptiness in Don Mathers’ stomach.

He said, β€œLook, I’m still woozy. Say that again, Lieutenant.”

The Lieutenant told him again.

Don Mathers rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and tried to think.

He said finally, β€œLook, Lieutenant. First let’s get another cup of coffee into me, and maybe that sandwich you were talking about. Then would you help me to get back to my hotel?”

By the fourth day, his hands weren’t trembling any longer. He ate a good breakfast, dressed carefully, then took a hotel limousine down to the offices of the Mathers, Demming and Rostoff Corporation.

At the entrance to the inner sanctum the heavyset Scotty looked up at his approach. He said, β€œThe boss has been looking for you, Mr. Mathers, but right now you ain’t got no appointment, have you? Him and Mr. Rostoff is having a big conference. He says to keep everybody out.”

β€œThat doesn’t apply to me, Scotty,” Don snapped. β€œGet out of my way.”

Scotty stood up, reluctantly, but barred the way. β€œHe said it applied to everybody, Mr. Mathers.”

Don put his full weight into a blow that started at his waist, dug deep into the other’s middle. Scotty doubled forward, his eyes bugging. Don Mathers gripped his hands together into a double fist and brought them upward in a vicious uppercut.

Scotty fell forward and to the floor.

Don stood above him momentarily, watchful for movement which didn’t develop. The hefty bodyguard must have been doing some easy living himself. He wasn’t as tough as he looked.

Don knelt and fished from under the other’s left arm a vicious-looking short-barrelled scrambler. He tucked it under his own jacket into his belt, then turned, opened the door and entered the supposedly barred office.

Demming and Rostoff looked up from their work across a double desk.

Both scowled. Rostoff opened his mouth to say something and Don Mathers rapped, β€œShut up.”

Rostoff blinked at him. Demming leaned back in his swivel chair. β€œYou’re sober for a change,” he wheezed, almost accusingly.

Don Mathers pulled up a stenographer’s chair and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back. He said coldly, β€œComes a point when even the lowest worm turns. I’ve been checking on a few things.”

Demming grunted amusement.

Don said, β€œSpace patrols have been cut far below the danger point.”

Rostoff snorted. β€œIs that supposed to interest us? That’s the problem of the military⁠—and the government.”

β€œOh, it interests us, all right,” Don growled. β€œCurrently, Mathers, Demming and Rostoff control probably three-quarters of the system’s radioactives.”

Demming said in greasy satisfaction, β€œMore like four-fifths.”

β€œWhy?” Don said bluntly. β€œWhy are we doing what we’re doing?”

They both scowled, but another element was present in their expressions too. They thought the question unintelligent.

Demming closed his eyes in his porcine manner and grunted, β€œTell him.”

Rostoff said, β€œLook, Mathers, don’t be stupid. Remember when we told you, during that first interview, that we wanted your name in the corporation, among other reasons, because we could use a man who was above law? That a maze of ridiculously binding ordinances have been laid on business down through the centuries?”

β€œI remember,” Don said bitterly.

β€œWell, it goes both ways. Government today is also bound, very strongly, and even in great emergency, not to interfere in business. These complicated laws balance each other, you might say. Our whole legal system is based upon them. Right now, we’ve got government right where we want it. This is free enterprise, Mathers, at its pinnacle. Did you ever hear of Jim Fisk and his attempt to corner gold in 1869, the so-called Black Friday affair? Well, Jim Fisk was a peanut peddler compared to us.”

β€œWhat’s this got to do with the Fleet having insufficient fuel toβ β€Šβ β€¦β€ Don Mathers stopped as comprehension hit him. β€œYou’re holding our radioactives off the market, pressuring the government for a price rise which it can’t afford.”

Demming opened his eyes and said fatly, β€œFor triple the price, Mathers. Before we’re through, we’ll corner half the wealth of the system.”

Don said, β€œButβ β€Šβ β€¦ but the species isβ β€Šβ β€¦ atβ β€Šβ β€¦ war.”

Rostoff sneered, β€œYou seem to be getting noble rather late in the game, Mathers. Business is business.”

Don Mathers was shaking his head. β€œWe immediately begin selling our radioactives at cost of production. I might remind you

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