The Man Who Staked the Stars Page 6

him.

  IV

  He went into his luxurious inner office with its deep rugs andeye-relaxing colors and its comfortable wide desk with its speaker boxand telephones that were like the nerve wires of power, and sat downcomfortably like a king on a throne or a mule skinner in the driver'sseat with ten pairs of reins in each hand. He never felt completelyawake and up to his full size in the morning until he was here.

  There was a good stack of letters and memos on the desk waiting forhim. On top of the mail stack was a letter labeled PRIVATE in a beamedspacegram envelope. He did not recognize the name at the head of itbut the return address was General Delivery, Reef Three, The Belt. Itread:

  _Something urgent has come up. Must see you. Arrange when. Bob._Roberto Orillo, who had been his manager in the small line that UT hadtaken from him, now the owner of a tiny line of his own whichcarefully avoided competition with UT in the Belt.

  "Arrange when." They could only meet in secret. What would Orillo wantto discuss?

  The theory he had held in the back of his mind for three days gaveanswer--Murder! It was Orillo who was behind the attempted attack onEarth. This meeting was another trap. Orillo wanted him dead.

  Roberto Orillo had been his first helper with the shipping anddelivery service Bryce had built up from the days when he had beenmerely an asteroid prospector with a ship overstocked with suppliesand an obliging willingness to sell his surplus.

  After he put his traveling stores on schedule he noticed that anincreasing number of people began moving into the Belt to settle alonghis route without investing in the proper ship or supplies, dependingon him, using his ship for a store and bus service, swelling hisprofits. He found that wherever he chose to extend a route and offercredit for a stake settlers would appear and a community begin togrow.

  He absorbed that lesson and laid plans.

  UT blocked them. Running his store ships on their regular rounds,making loans, mediating deals, taking half interests in ideas thatlooked profitable, selling fuel and power, subtly binding hiscustomers to him with bonds of dependency deeper than peonage, Brycefound suddenly that UT, whose trade mark had never been seen in theBelt before, had slipped in five ships patterned precisely after his,but larger, more magnificent and expensive, and set them running onthe same course as his but one day ahead. His customers told him. Theywere apologetic but they had bought at the ship which came earliest,enticed by the glitter and the bargain prices.

  It was a killing blow, and was obviously meant to be so. The UTmanagers were wise in the ways of power, and with limitless moneycould bankrupt him.

  That day Bryce saw that he could not fight UT from outside, and he sawa dream of empire greater than Alexander ever dreamed of being rippedfrom his hands. When a tactful and conciliating offer came from UT fora merger and an exchange of stock at double its value, he saw it wasan indirect bribe for his silent submission without complaints toSpaceways or to the Anti-Cartel Commission of the FN, and he saw thatthe only way to compete with the gigantic corporation was to destroyit from within.

  He held out for a seat on the Board of Directors. They gave it to him.

  And in three years had done an efficient job of corrupting andundermining UT to the point where it was ready to fall. UT had a weekmore to live in respected public service before an outraged publictore it apart.

  Bryce had left Orillo in the Belt to form a small delivery companyservicing thinly settled outlying points where the profits were toosmall to disturb UT. It would be this company that would take over andbuy out the UT equipment when Spaceways chopped up the monstercorporation, and it was planned that Orillo offer Bryce fullpartnership when this event took place.

  But perhaps Orillo objected to sharing his reign with a partner. Andperhaps Orillo had always objected to the fact that Bryce was the onlyone who knew Orillo was a fugitive from justice. Bryce had never quitebeen able to tell what went on behind the handsome blond face andimpassive blue eyes of his assistant.

  Bryce had taken him in hand and given him a job after Orillo fled froma murder charge in South Africa. And Bryce had arranged the operationsthat gave Orillo a new face, new fingerprints and an unworried future.Only Bryce could now give the word to the police which could bring theexamination that would show Orillo's retina tallied with that of awanted man.

  But if murder had always lain behind those impassive pale blue eyes,why had there been no attempts before? The answer to that was easy. Upto this time Bryce's activities had been profitable to Orillo. He hadseen where Bryce's plans were leading and wanted them to succeed, sothat he might step into Bryce's shoes and reap the results.

  In three more months Bryce's death would be the death of a partner,and bring the unwanted spotlight of police investigation on Orillohimself, but now, at this point, the disappearance of Bryce Carterwould bring police inquiry and suspicion only to the already shaky andundermined fabric of UT.

  Bryce counted the profit and loss of his death to the man he hadhelped, and smiled ruefully. Yet the request for the meeting might begenuine and important. He had to take a chance on it and meet hisex-assistant and future partner somewhere far away from witnesses,recognition--or protection.

  Taking a memo pad he printed, _I'll meet you Friday; 3:PM LM_, andwrote in the coordinates of a position in space not very far out fromEarth, indicated the radar blink signals for its buoy and clipped thememo sheet to the envelope with its false name and return address.Ringing for his secretary, he handed it to her.

  "See that that gets beamed back immediately. Friend of mine seems tobe in some sort of a jam."

  That was that. He turned to his work. After an hour or so the intercombox clicked and Kesby said unexpectedly, "Visitor to see you, boss.Can I send him in?"

  "Yes." The receptionist had strict orders to keep out everyone exceptthose scheduled for appointment, and to announce the names andbusinesses of dubious cases for his deciding, but Kesby must haveoverridden her decision. He sounded confident. Probably someoneimportant.

  * * * * *

  Kesby opened the door with an expression half nervous, halfmischievous, "Your visitor," and closed it hastily as the personstepped in.

  He didn't belong in there. It was obvious to Bryce that whoever hewas, he had gotten in through a lie.

  The young man who stood inside his office watching him was no oneconnected with the business. He was too young for any position ofimportance. The slender frailty of childhood was still with him. Yetthat impression soon faded under the impressiveness of his stance. Itwas more than just arrogance or poise, it was an unshakableconfidence. As if no failure could be conceived.

  He stood balanced to move either forward or back. His voice was againa surprise. Absolute total clarity, almost without inflection as ifthe words reached the mind without needing a voice. "If you're goingto throw me out, this is the best time to do it." Dark brown skin ofone of the dark races, jet black straight hair, a dark pair of eyesthat were merry and watchful and had the impact of somethingdangerous. Colossal gall, Bryce characterized it to himself. He mightbe as good as he thinks he is. He was probably selling the BrooklynBridge, and he should never have gotten in, but the fact that he hadsomehow gotten past Kesby made him worth a few questions before beingthrown out.

  "What do you want?"

  He came forward to the desk to answer. "I want to be your right arm."He took out a pack of cigarettes, shaking one free and offering itwith courtesy. "Have one?" Bryce shook his head and the boy put onebetween his own lips and put the pack away. "My name is Pierce," hesaid, lighting the cigarette with the flame cupped in his hands as ifhe were used to smoking in the wind. He looked up with his eyessquinting against the smoke, shook the match out and dropped it in thedesk ash tray. "Roy Pierce."

  He was as much at home as an invading army. Bryce felt an impulse tolaugh.

  He knew this kid very well, but he couldn't place where, when, or how."Am I supposed to know the name?"

  "Do you remember Pop Yak?"

  B
ryce remembered Pop Yak. He gave in with a sigh, and ordered in thesingsong vernacular of his childhood. "Okay. Sitselfdel, speeltalkcutchop!"

  Pop Yak was a grizzled man who had watched Bryce fighting with anotherkid. Afterward he had taken Bryce into his store and given him icecream and some pointers on dirty fighting. Not much had penetrated thefirst time but Bryce went back for advice again, learning that thatwas the place to be told how to do things and get what he wanted. Popwas always patient with his teaching, and always right.

  He had chosen Bryce as his agent to sell minor drugs to the other kidsand acted as a fence for the things he stole, and he encouraged him tostudy in the compulsory school and loaned him books. And Pop was thefirst to give him the tip on legitimate business and how to pull moneyon the right side of the law and make a profit they couldn't kickabout. Good old Pop. "Will-pay." The boy sat down and leaned forwardwith a slight intent motion