Space Lawyer

by Mike Jurist

  Then the grin faded to a thoughtful look. Foote never did anything without a purpose. Why was he on the Pleasure Dome? And why, especially, had he been to see Wilson?

  The famous astronomer greeted Kerry warmly. The young man had been his star pupil in astrophysics back in Megalon University; and he bad always bemoaned the fact that Kerry had gone into law instead of scientific research.

  They shook hands. Wilson was thin and lanky, stooped over with thought and much peering into instruments.

  "It's good to see you again," he said. "I've been hearing strange tales about you, Kerry."

  The young man smiled. "Which no doubt have lost nothing in the telling," he retorted.

  "Hmm! Perhaps not. But is it true that you . . . er . . . made monkeys out of Mr. Kenton's scientific experts, so that they actually helped you cause his asteroid to fall on yours?"

  "That wasn't their fault, Professor Wilson. They didn't happen to have a certain chart before them."

  "Hmm, yes. And I suppose Mr. Foote didn't happen to have another chart before him when you filed that chunk of thermatite as a Trojan asteroid while he was filing it as a member of the Belt?"

  Kerry laughed. "You see, I didn't forget what you taught me back at college."

  The astronomer shook his head. "I suppose you've been doing better financially this way than if you had joined my staff; but—"

  "Not too bad," Kerry broke in hurriedly. He knew the other's rigorous standards and saw a lecture coming. "But speaking of Foote, I saw him leave your office just now. I didn't know he was a friend of yours."

  Wilson grimaced. "Friend? Oh no! It's really the first time we've met. He merely expressed an interest in what we've been doing on Comet X."

  Kerry held his breath a moment; then exhaled slowly. "Aha!" he thought. "So Foote's got ideas too. That complicates matters."

  Aloud he said: "Old Foote's been asking you questions about the new comet, eh?"

  "Yes; quite a lot of them, too. I really hadn't expected to find a . . . hum . . . business man so interested in pure scientific speculation. After all, you can't make money out of a comet, ha, ha!"

  "Ha! ha!" echoed Kerry. "No indeed! There's nothing emptier than a comet. A mere dust storm in space, so to speak. A head composed of tiny meteors; and a tail whose density is not much greater than that of our best vacuum."

  But his laughter sounded hollow in his own ears. Foote had beaten him to it; and with the resources of Mammoth Exploitations at his command—

  Wilson's face had lit up with intellectual excitement. "What you say is true enough, Kerry, of all the comets we have previously known. But Comet X seems different."

  Kerry stiffened. He held his face impassive, and kept his voice to a flat calm.

  "In what way, Professor Wilson?"

  "In the first place, it's moving in an orbit so close to a parabola that it's difficult for even our most sensitive measuring instruments to determine from the elements so far taken whether it's an extremely long ellipse or actually a hyperbola. You know, of course, that a true parabolic orbit is an almost impossible affair. The slightest gravitational pull either way shifts it to an enclosed ellipse or an open hyperbola."

  "Of course," Kerry agreed. "But your published calculations show it to be an ellipse, don't they?"

  "An apparent one, my boy. It's too soon to be certain. The comet is still considerably beyond Saturn. We'll have to wait until it swings around the sun and returns on its other branch before we'll know definitely."

  "Then all this talk about Comet X being the Star of Bethlehem is untrue?"

  "It's still speculation." Wilson shook his head. "You Know how the telecasters blow up everything. When we made our first calculations, we figured a tentative orbit of about 2430 years. Some keen reporter noted that if this were so, the comet must have made a previous appearance at the very beginning of the Christian Era. He came to me quite breathless. Then the comet was really the Star of Bethlehem? It might have been, I agreed; but pointed out how wholly tentative our results were as yet." The astronomer grinned ruefully. "But I was talking to empty air. That fellow was out of here, and rocketing to Earth so fast I understand he made a crash landing and almost lost his life."

  "You said this comet was different—" hinted Kerry.

  "Oh, yes. It's not, so to speak, a dust storm. The head is actually solid; a planetoid approximately one hundred and fifty miles in diameter."

  Kerry perked up his ears. "Then it's really not a comet at all. It's an asteroid with an immensely eccentric orbit."

  "No-o! The other indicia are wholly cometary. It shines by its own light, and gives off the emanations which constitute its tail. Yet it isn't hot. There's a huge envelope of atmosphere that seemingly defies the laws of gravity; and the spectroscopic observations we've just taken show lines we've never observed anywhere in the universe before. Comet X," said Wilson impressively, "is something new. I can't wait until it gets close enough for an expedition to take off."

  "You haven't published your findings yet?" Kerry asked carefully.

  "I'm working on my report now. I expect to get it to the Interplanetary Commission in a few days."

  "It might be wise not to mention these uh . . . facts to the newscasters," said Kerry with an easy laugh. "You remember what they did on that Star of Bethlehem business."

  "You're quite right, my boy," agreed the astronomer. "I haven't told a soul so far, except you—"

  "And Mr. Foote."

  Wilson dismissed the president of Mammoth Exploitations with a wave of his hand. "Oh, he's a business man; not a telecaster chap. Come to think of it, Kerry, he said exactly what you did—to keep the whole thing secret until all the findings were in."

  "He would," said Kerry grimly.

  "Eh, what's that?"

  "I said, Professor, you could rely on Foote not to tell another living soul."

  "Dear me, I'm glad to hear it. For the moment I thought he might talk to the gentlemen of the press. I must learn to keep my mouth shut. I also talk too much. You understand, Kerry, what I've just told you is . . . er . . . confidential?"

  "I won't breathe a word of it even in my sleep."

  "Good! And—" the astronomer looked at the young man wistfully, "I couldn't induce you to join my staff?"

  "Thank you, sir. Someday, perhaps—"

  They shook bands warmly and Kerry departed, trying hard not to break into a run.

  Wilson stared after him; then turned to an associate. "There goes a young man who has the makings of a top scientist in him. But he prefers to make money. What a pity!"

  Shaking his head sadly, he returned to the laborious drafting of his report.

  Kerry Dale found a most impatient young lady seated at the table where he had abruptly left her half an hour ago.

  "Well!" she exclaimed, "I have never been so cavalierly treated in my life. If this is your idea of taking revenge—"

  "Perish the thought!" he said almost gaily. "I had to—ah—meet an old friend. Look, Sally, I have to return to Megalon at once. You don't mind, do you?"

  "Oh no, not at all! We might as well make a clean break of it now as later."

  He was hustling the angry girl into her wraps and they were half way on the moving platform toward the exit port before he was able to reply. "This is no break, Sally, clean or otherwise. You're still going to marry me, in spite of your father, in spite of yourself."

  "Oh, I am, am I? I'm beginning to think father was right, after all. What are these mysterious goings-on?"

  By this time Kerry had almost pushed her into a space-taxi, snapped at the pilot: "A hundred extra if you make Megalon in fifteen minutes flat."

  It was only after he had slid the curved door hermetically into position, and sank back into the seat that he said with considerable earnestness, "Sorry, my dear. This is something that I wouldn't even discuss with my wife."

  Sally did not deign to answer, and the rest of the trip down to Earth was completed in silence. Fortunately, Megalon was alm
ost directly underneath at the time, and the pilot cradled his craft at the space port in fourteen minutes, twenty seconds. He was grinning widely as he opened the door. "Made it, Mr. Dale." Then with a meaning look at the girl, he added with a wink: "Though what your hurry was—"

  Kerry cut him short; thrust the fare and an extra hundred in his hand. "Thanks!" he said, and jumped out.

  He turned to the girl: "I'm sorry, Sally, but this is an emergency. I'll put you on an aerocab to your home."

  She stared at him incredulously. "You mean you're dumping me. That, I must say, is an unprecedented experience for yours truly, Sally Kenton."

  "No! No!" he protested unhappily. "It's just that it's an . . . er . . . unprecedented situation. Someday I'll explain to you."

  "You needn't," she retorted frigidly. "And I am well able to find a cab myself. Good bye, Mr. Kerry Dale."

  Her gloved finger bad scarcely lifted when a cab rolled up. The driver stared eagerly. "Ah yes, Miss Kenton." Everyone knew her.

  "My home, please," she said. She got in with a twinkle of shapely ankles. "Close the door, please, and get started."

  The driver stared at Kerry; then at her. "Alone?" he asked. "Alone."

  As the cab rose into the air and darted off, a most unhappy young man flung toward the nearest ground cab. "Quick!" he ordered, "to the field office."

  It was only a mile and thirty seconds away; but he had time for a sinking sensation. Was he making a fool of himself? Had he lost Sally in order to try for another coup? Then he gritted his teeth. She was her father's daughter, all right. And Old Fireball thought his head was getting too big for his breeches, did he? Just like the irascible old man to make an Irish bull like that! And he was going to take him down a peg, was he? Won't he be surprised! Kerry began to chuckle. Then he stopped short; frowned. But there was Foote, that Venusian swamp snake, as Old Fireball contemptuously called him. He had a head start, and his ships were faster.

  The cab braked to a stop. Kerry got out, paid his bill, dashed into the great field office and to the nearest view-phone. The first call he put through was to Jem, his second in command and loyal assistant. Jem was the chap who had originally shanghaied him on board a Kenton freighter; and then switched bosses to follow the man he had kidnapped.

  Jem's face looked startled and sleepy on the viewscreen. "What the hell," he grunted, with eyes still stuck together. "Waking a guy at one ack-emma." Then his eyes unstuck. "Hey, it's Kerry! What's wrong?"

  Kerry spoke rapidly. "Listen to me carefully, Jem, and don't ask questions. The Flash is taking off tomorrow noon on a long trip, destination unknown. Round up Sparks and the crew at once. They must be at the space port with full kits at seven this morning, ready to blast off. Understand?"

  Jem used his fingers to probe his sleep-filled eyes still further up. "But—Kerry!" he yelled wildly; "you just can't—"

  He was staring at a blank screen. Kerry had switched off. Jem groaned; doused his head in cold water, sprayed untoweled drops all over the screen as he began his own calls.

  "The son-of-a-space-cook's gone ray-crazy!" he moaned to himself. Then, as Sparks's equally sleepy visage appeared, Jem roared at him: "Orders from Mr. Dale. The Flash takes off tomorrow at noon. Report by seven A. M. on board with kit."

  Sparks looked flabbergasted. "But I can't—" he commenced.

  "The hell you can't," yelled Jem. "Them's orders!"

  Meanwhile, Kerry was putting in a busy night. Supplies; equipment; food; full fuel tanks; charts; ray guns; then, as an afterthought, a special order of half a dozen space-suits, guaranteed impervious to radiations of every kind and to temperatures up to 500° Centigrade. "Wilson may be wrong about the temperature of the comet's core," he reasoned. "He said it was self-luminescent, didn't he?"

  By seven in the morning, Kerry was tired but content. He hadn't slept a wink all night, but everything was rolling. Supply purveyors, at first furious at being awakened at dead of night, had been soothed by the offer of double payment, and had promised to make deliveries no later than ten. At seven, a disgruntled and bewildered crew rolled on board the Flash. But in the few short months they had learned to follow orders unquestioningly. No matter how many times their boss had sounded screwy, in the end he had proved brilliantly right. And lie paid wages triple the regular scale!

  Jem stared hard at Kerry. "Where 're we going?" he growled. "To Ganymede."

  "Ganymede! That's a long run, an' we got back from there only a month ago." He stared still harder. "Where else 're we going, Kerry?"

  "Oh," the young man said vaguely, "planes alpha, beta, gamma." Then he grinned, slapped his mate on the back. "Sealed orders, Jem. Just you get the Flash shipshape for every possible contingency—and I mean every contingency—while I get my port clearance papers."

  Jem gazed puzzled after his young owner, as Kerry hurried over to the field office. "There's trouble ahead, me lad," he communed with himself. "Every time Kerry talks like that, we land in a whole durned pot of it."

  When the equipment began to flow on board, he was more than ever convinced that his hunch was right. His eyes widened at the ray guns, the hand weapons that hurled space torpedoes nosed with atomic warheads, and the recently invented impervious space suits. "Oh! Oh!" he exclaimed, "now I know we're in for it. But what the hell," he added philosophically, "that lad always manages to land on his feet." He swung on his crew. "All right, you space-drifters, get going," he roared. "We ain’t got all year ta powder our noses."

  Sally Kenton was an intelligent young lady as well as a sight for admiring eyes. She could put two and two together and make a full-length volume out of it as well as the next one. As she sat in the aerocab, her thoughts clicked like well-oiled counters. The frown vanished; and she smiled. It was a pity to waste that smile on the darkness of the cab. "All right, Mr. Kerry Dale," she said softly. "As you yourself so nicely put it, no holds barred."

  Simeon Kenton looked like a Della Robbia cherub in his sleep suit; but his temper was definitely not on the cherubic side at being awakened from his beauty rest.

  "It's bad enough," he yelled at his lovely daughter, "that you go gallivanting with that snipperwhacker of a Dale who's bent on driving me to my grave, but you've got to get me outa sleep to tell me about it."

  "What a way," said Sally reproachfully, "to talk of your future son-in-law!"

  Old Simeon stopped in midstream, looked keenly at his daughter.

  "Eli, what's that?"

  She looked demurely down. "Kerry Dale asked me to marry him."

  "And you—"

  "Told him I couldn't marry him until you approved."

  Old Simeon's face was a moving panorama in which bewilderment chased astonishment and suspicion chased bewilderment.

  "You told him that?" he gasped.

  "Of course!" Her demureness was a sight to behold. "What else could I have said?"

  The old man gulped, looked apoplectic, then suddenly calmed down. "All right, Sally," he purred. "What blamefoozled devilment are you up to now? Don't keep your poor old father standing here in his bare feet on tenterhooks."

  She smiled fondly at him. "I really think you were right. Things have been too easy for him. He has to be taken down a bit . . . but he mustn't get hurt in the process," she added hastily.

  Kenton exhaled gratification. "Ha! I always said you had a level head on your shoulders, Sally. You're a blick of the old chop; I mean—a chick of the old blop—oh, drat it, you know what I mean."

  "I think I do, dad," she murmured.

  he was wide awake now, eager. "But how 're we gonna take him down, Sally? He's a smart young man, ding drat him! Twice he's done me in already."

  "I don't know the full answer; but let me tell you what happened."

  She narrated the events of the evening rapidly and succinctly. When she had ended, Simeon merely stared. "Blame it all, I don't see a thing."

  "Oh, dad," she said reproachfully, "you didn't make your way in the world by not seeing things. Let me try and pu
t the pieces together for you. It was obvious an idea struck Kerry when I quoted that rather ridiculous phrase of yours about the beard of the comet's tail."

  "It wasn't ridiculous," her father started indignantly; then subsided. "Go on, Sally."

  She ticked off her points. "He stared at that new comet a while; then left me abruptly. I watched where he went. He went, dad, up to the observatory. Twenty minutes later he was back, excited. He hustled me down to Earth, dumped me at the space-port, and rushed off for the field office."

  Simeon digested the sequence of events. Then: "I still don't see anything except that he's a strange young man."

  "I'm surprised at you, father," she cried impatiently. "Kerry does nothing on impulse; meaning he has a motive for everything. just now his motive is to make a lot of money and prove to you that he can outsmart you any day."

  "Why, the young blitherskite!" commenced Simeon in a rage; then grinned cherubically at his daughter. "Let him just try it again."

  "He is, dad. There's something about that comet which smells like money; a lot of it. And they must have told him something in the observatory that made the smell so overpowering it caused him to ditch me at the space-port like a sack of meal."

  Now if there was anything in the System further removed from a sack of meal than Sally, it had not been discovered yet. Awe and admiration struggled in old Simeon's face. "Sally," he said impressively, "you are a chip of the old block. There," he crowed delightedly, "I got it right that time! Ha-har-rumph!

  We'll see fast enough."

  His bare feet padded on the thick carpet toward the visiscreen. He flicked a switch. "Gi' me Professor Wilson at the Pleasure Dome Observatory," be snapped at the operator. "Simeon Kenton calling him."

  The ascetic features and stooped shoulders of the astronomer swam on the screen, looked startled at the sleep-suited old man with his bare skinny shanks, and the lovely image of Sally in' the background.