The Man Who Staked the Stars Read online

lean, blond man whose namewas Stout. He could be relied on to say the obvious and keep adiscussion driving to the point. "I understand we have a gooddetective agency. If we put them on this with payment for speed andsilence--"

  "And when we know who is responsible," asked Neiswanger, "_Then_ whatdo we do?"

  There was silence as they came to another full stop in thinking.Turning culprits over to the police was out of the question, anadmission that such crimes had happened, and could happen again.Firing the few detected could not impress the undetected and unfiredones enough to discourage them from their profitable criminality.

  "Hire some killings," said the round faced Mr. Beldman, withsimplicity.

  The chairman laughed. "You are joking of course, Mr. Beldman."

  "Of course," said Mr. Beldman, and laughed barkingly, being well awareof the permanent film record taken of all meetings. But he was notjoking. Nobody there was joking.

  The detective agency and the hired killers would be arranged for.

  Bryce Carter leaned back with the slight cynical smile on his leanface that was his habitual expression. "Suppose the top man is high inthe company?" he suggested softly. "What then?" He did not need topoint out that the disappearance of such a man would be enough tostart a police and stock-holders investigation of the company initself. The implication was clear. Such a man could not be touched.

  "A hypnotist," suggested Raal. "Someone to make our top man back trackand clean up his own mess."

  "Illegal, dangerous and difficult, Mr. Raal," Irving said sourly."There are extremely severe penalties against any complicity in theunsupervised use of hypnotism or hypnotic drugs, and their use againstthe will of the subject is a major crime."

  "A circulating company psychologist would be legal," suggested thelean blond man whose name was Stout.

  "We have over seventy-five of those on the company payrolls alreadyand I fail to see what use--"

  "One of the special high priced boys who iron out kinks in groups byjoining them and working with them for a while, like that ConferenceManager we had with us last year. Every member of the group that hiresone has to sign an application for treatment, and a legal release.They are very quiet and don't broadcast what they do or who theytalked with, but they have a good record of results. The groups whohire them report better work and easier work. We could use one as atrouble shooter."

  "Are they a special organization?" someone asked. "I think I've heardof them."

  "Yes, some sort of a union. I can't remember the name."

  "What would you expect them to do for us?" asked Irving.

  "I hear--" Stout said vaguely, his eyes wandering from face to face,"that they have a special tough technique for hard case troublemakers." For those who knew him, the vague look was a veil over somethought which pleased him. Presumably he was thinking the thing whichhad occurred to them all.

  * * * * *

  The culprit might be a member of the Board. There was a suddencheerful interest visible among them as they wondered who was quarryfor the "tough treatment."

  "I've heard of that," said Wan Lun, remembering. "It has been saidthat they not only do not inform others of the fact of treatment butfrequently do not inform the man under treatment but seem to be only anew friend until--poof." He smiled. "I think the guild name is Manoba.The Manoba Group."

  Stout said, "They'll probably charge enough for the skill."

  Wan said, smiling, "I also heard some idle rumor that in a few suchcases discord within a group was alleviated by sudden suicide.Presumably a psychologist can grow impatient and push a certain buttonin the mind--"

  "Sounds like a good idea," Beldman said. "Do you think if we offeredthis Manoba the right kind of money--"

  "You don't mean that, Mister Beldman," cut in the chairmanreprovingly. "You're joking again."

  "We're all great jokers," said Beldman, and laughed.

  Everyone laughed.

  "I move we vote a sum for the hiring of a Manoba psychologist."

  "Seconded, how about five hundred thousand?"

  "I don't know their fees," the chairman objected cautiously.

  "You can turn back any surplus. We stand to lose more than that byseveral orders of magnitude. Spend it at your discretion."

  "Make it seven hundred thousand. Give him a little more room."

  "I so move."

  "Seconded."

  "Carry it to a vote."

  They slipped their hands under the table edge before their respectiveseats, and each man ran his fingers over two buttons concealed there,before him, chose between the _yes_ and the _no_ button and pushedone, the choice of his fingers unseen by the others.

  Two numbers lit up on the small divided panel before the chairman. Helooked at them with his mild face expressionless. "Rejected by onevote."

  Unanimity was the law on Board decisions, which by a natural law wasprobably the reason why no love was lost among them, but this timeirritation was curbed by interest. They sat watching each other'sexpressions with glances which seemed casual. Whose was the one vote?

  "I move that the vote be repeated and made open," someone said.

  "Seconded."

  "All in favor of the appropriation for the psychologist raise yourleft hand," the chairman requested.

  They complied and looked at each other. All hands were up.

  "Carried on the second vote," the chairman said without apparentinterest. "For my own curiosity will the gentleman who voted nay onthe secret vote the first time speak up and explain his objections,and why he changed his mind on the open vote?"

  There was silence a moment--Neiswanger looking at his neatfingernails, Bryce Carter smoking, and smiling slightly as he alwayssmiled, Stout leaning back casually scanning his eyes from face toface. Beldman lit a cigar and released a cloud of blue smoke with acontented sigh. No one spoke.

  "Gentlemen," said the chairman. "It is entirely likely that theculprit is among us."

  "Never mind the melodrama, John." Irving tapped the table impatiently."We've dealt with that. Let's get on to the next business."

  II

  In the exit lounge at floor five Bryce Carter stopped a moment andglanced at himself in the mirror. Thick neck, thick body--a physiqueso evenly and heavily muscled that it looked fat until he moved. Atopthe thick body a lean face that he didn't like stared back at him. Itwas darkly tanned, with underlying freckles that were almost black.Years had passed since he had worked in space, but the space-tanremained indelible. It was not a bland or pretty face.

  At the dinner, deep in discussion with Mr. Wan, he had been surprisedto find himself smiling at intervals, irrepressibly. He hoped it hadlooked cordial, and not too much like a cat enjoying the company ofmice.

  They had no defense against him. The drugs organization could never betraced to him. The connection was too well concealed. Even theorganization knew nothing about him.

  The only evidence which could make the connection was in his own mind.The only witness against him was himself. He cast his mind back overthe meeting and dinner but there had been no slips past the firstshock of the chairman's announcement, and that had been unobserved byanyone. The psychologist they had hired might perhaps get a betrayingflicker of expression from him in an interview, many well-trainedobservers of human reactions could read expressions that keenly, butthe interviewing of all the Board by the psychologist was not likely.The Directors of the Board were even now climbing into trains andstrato planes to scatter back to the far points of the earth. It wouldtake many days for an investigating psychologist to follow tointerview each one. He and Irving would be last on the list, for hewent to Moonbase City, and Irving to Luna City.

  He had weeks.

  He smiled, fastening bands in his cuffs that folded them tightly onhis wrists, zipping up his suitcoat and slipping on gloves. He lookedat himself again. Where he had been wearing a conservative dark silkbusiness suit with a short cape, he now seemed to be wearing atailored ski-suit with an odd cowl, or a pr
essure suit without bootsor helmet, which was what it was. Carrying the zipper up further wouldhave turned the cape to an airtight helmet bubble.

  Employes and executives passing in and out of the UT building gave theclothes an approving and interested glance as they passed. Thejustification by utility was obvious. It had cost money to have apressure suit designed light and flexible enough for comfortable wear,but long ago he had grown irked by the repetitious business ofclimbing in and out of clothes every time one stepped through a spacelock, while overcapes and hoods were needed stepping outside of anytemperate zone Earth building in winter.

  A pressure suit was completely independent of weather and