* * * * *
Matheny's finger stabbed in the general direction of Doran's pajamatop. ”Exactly. And who set it up that way? Earthmen. We Martians arebabes in the desert. What chance do we have to earn dollars on thescale we need them, in competition with corporations which could buyand sell our whole planet before breakfast? Why, we couldn't affordthree seconds of commercial time on a Lullaby Pillow 'cast. What weneed, what we have to hire, is an executive who knows Earth, who's anEarthman himself. Let him tell us what will appeal to your people, andhow to dodge the tax bite and--and--well, you see how it goes, thatsort of, uh, thing.”
Matheny felt his eloquence running down and grabbed for the secondbottle of beer.
”But where do I start?” he asked plaintively, for his loneliness smotehim anew. ”I'm just a college professor at home. How would I even getto see--”
”It might be arranged,” said Doran in a thoughtful tone. ”It justmight. How much could you pay this fellow?”
”A hundred megabucks a year, if he'll sign a five-year contract. That'sEarth years, mind you.”
”I'm sorry to tell you this, Pete,” said Doran, ”but while that is notbad money, it is not what a high-powered sales scientist gets in NewerYork. Plus his retirement benefits, which he would lose if he quitwhere he is now at. And I am sure he would not want to settle on Marspermanently.”
”I could offer a certain amount of, uh, lagniappe,” said Matheny. ”Thatis, well, I can draw up to a hundred megabucks myself for, uh, expensesand, well ... let me buy you a drink!”
Doran's black eyes frogged at him. ”You might at that,” said theEarthman very softly. ”Yes, you might at that.”
Matheny found himself warming. Gus Doran was an authentic bobber. Ahell of a swell chap. He explained modestly that he was a free-lancebusiness consultant and it was barely possible that he could arrangesome contacts....
”No, no, no commission, all done in the interest of interplanetaryfriendship ... well, anyhow, let's not talk business now. If you havegot to stick to beer, Pete, make it a chaser to akvavit. What isakvavit? Well, I will just take and show you.”
A hell of a good bloke. He knew some very funny stories, too, andhe laughed at Matheny's, though they were probably too rustic for abig-city taste like his.
”What I really want,” said Matheny, ”what I really want--I mean whatMars really needs, get me?--is a confidence man.”
”A what?”
”The best and slickest one on Earth, to operate a world-size con gamefor us and make us some real money.”
”Con man? Oh. A slipstring.”
”A con by any other name,” said Matheny, pouring down an akvavit.
* * * * *
Doran squinted through cigarette smoke. ”You are interesting mestrangely, my friend. Say on.”
”No.” Matheny realized his head was a bit smoky. The walls of the boothseemed odd, somehow. They were just leatheroid walls, but they had anodd quality.
”No, sorry, Gus,” he said. ”I spoke too much.”
”Okay. Forget it. I do not like a man that pries. But look, let's bombout of here, how about it? Go have a little fun.”
”By all means.” Matheny disposed of his last beer. ”I could use somegaiety.”
”You have come to the right town then. But let us get you a hotel roomfirst and some more up-to-date clothes.”
”_Allez_,” said Matheny. ”If I don't mean _allons_, or maybe _alors_.”
The drop down to cab-ramp level and the short ride afterward soberedhim; the room rate at the Jupiter-Astoria sobered him still more.
_Oh, well_, he thought, _if I succeed in this job, no one at home willquibble._
And the chamber to which he and Doran were shown was spectacularenough, with a pneumo direct to the bar and a full-wall transparency toshow the vertical incandescence of the towers.
”Whoof!” Matheny sat down. The chair slithered sensuously about hiscontours. He jumped. ”What the dusty hell--Oh.” He tried to grin, buthis face burned. ”I see.”
”That is a sexy type of furniture, all right,” agreed Doran. He loweredhimself into another chair, cocked his feet on the 3-D and waved acigarette. ”Which speaking of, what say we get some girls? It is nottoo late to catch them at home. A date here will usually start around2100 hours earliest.”
”What?”
”You know. Dames. Like a certain blonde warhead with twin radar andswivel mounting, and she just loves exotics. Such as you.”
”Me?” Matheny heard his voice climb to a schoolboy squeak. ”Me?Exotic? Why, I'm just a little college professor. I g-g-g, that is--”His tongue got stuck on his palate. He pulled it loose and moisteneduncertain lips.
”You are from Mars. Okay? So you fought bushcats barehanded in anabandoned canal.”
”What's a bushcat? And we don't have canals. The evaporation rate--”
”Look, Pete,” said Doran patiently. ”She don't have to know that, doesshe?”
”Well--well, no. I guess not No.”
”Let's order you some clothes on the pneumo,” said Doran. ”I recommendyou buy from Schwartzherz. Everybody knows he is expensive.”
* * * * *
While Matheny jittered about, shaving and showering and struggling withhis new raiment, Doran kept him supplied with akvavit and beer.
”You said one thing, Pete,” Doran remarked. ”About needing aslipstring. A con man, you would call it.”
”Forget that. Please. I spoke out of turn.”
”Well, you see, maybe a man like that is just what Mars does need. Andmaybe I have got a few contacts.”
”What?” Matheny gaped out of the bathroom.
Doran cupped his hands around a fresh cigarette, not looking at him.”I am not that man,” he said frankly. ”But in my line I get a lot ofcontacts, and not all of them go topside. See what I mean? Like if,say, you wanted somebody terminated and could pay for it, I could notdo it. I would not want to know anything about it. But I could tell youa phone number.”
He shrugged and gave the Martian a sidelong glance. ”Sure, you may notbe interested. But if you are, well, Pete, I was not born yesterday. Igot tolerance. Like the book says, if you want to get ahead, you havegot to think positively.”
Matheny hesitated. If only he hadn't taken that last shot! It made himwant to say yes, immediately, without reservations. And therefore maybehe became overcautious.
They had instructed him on Mars to take chances if he must.
”I could tell you a thing or two that might give you a better idea,” hesaid slowly. ”But it would have to be under security.”
”Okay by me. Room service can send us up an oath box right now.”
”What? But--but--” Matheny hung onto himself and tried to believe thathe had landed on Earth less than six hours ago.
In the end, he did call room service and the machine was trundled in.Doran swallowed the pill and donned the conditioner helmet without aninstant's hesitation.
”I shall never reveal to any person unauthorized by yourself whateveryou may tell me under security, now or at any other time,” herecited. Then, cheerfully: ”And that formula, Pete, happens to be thehonest-to-zebra truth.”
”I know.” Matheny stared, embarrassed, at the carpet. ”I'm sorryto--to--I mean of course I trust you, but--”
”Forget it. I take a hundred security oaths a year, in my line of work.Maybe I can help you. I like you, Pete, damn if I don't. And, sure,I might stand to get an agent's cut, if I arrange--Go ahead, boy, goahead.” Doran crossed his legs and leaned back.
”Oh, it's simple enough,” said Matheny. ”It's only that we already areoperating con games.”
”On Mars, you mean?”
”Yes. There never were any Old Martians. We erected the ruins fiftyyears ago for the Billingsworth Expedition to find. We've beenmanufacturing relics ever since.”
”_Huh?_ Well, why, but--”
”In this case, it helps
to be at the far end of an interplanetaryhaul,” said Matheny. ”Not many Terrestrial archeologists get to Marsand they depend on our people to--Well, anyhow--”
”I will be clopped! Good for you!”
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