contract has been subjected to every sort of attack possible and revised so that it can't be broken by the devil himself.
«You're not peddling your curbstone law to another stumble-bum in this case; you are talking to a man who knows just where he stands, legally. As for seeing the Captain – if you think the commanding officer of a major vessel has nothing more to do than listen to the
Wingate started to speak, thought better of it, and turned to go. This would require some thought.
The Purser stopped him. «Wait. Here's your copy of the contract.» He chucked it, the flimsy white sheets riffled to the deck. Wingate picked them up and left silently.
Hartley was waiting for him in the passageway. «How d'ja make out, Hump?»
«Not so well. No, I don't want to talk about it. I've got to think.» They walked silently back the way they had come toward the ladder which gave access to the lower decks. A figure ascended from the ladder and came toward them. Wingate noted it without interest.
He looked again. Suddenly the whole preposterous chain of events fell into place; he shouted in relief. «Sam!» he called out. «Sam – you cockeyed old so-and-so. I should have spotted your handiwork.» It was all clear now; Sam had framed him with a phony shanghai. Probably the skipper was a pal of Sam's – a reserve officer, maybe – and they had cooked it up between them. It was a rough sort of a joke, but he was too relieved to be angry. Just the same he would make Jones pay for his fun, somehow, on the jump back from Luna City.
It was then that he noticed that Jones was not laughing.
Furthermore he was dressed – most unreasonably – in the same blue denim that the contract laborers were. «Hump,» he was saying, «are you still drunk?»
«Me? No. What's the i – »
«Don't you realize we're in a jam?»
«Oh hell, Sam, a joke's a joke, but don't keep it up any longer. I've caught on, I tell you. I don't mind – it was a good gag.»
«Gag, eh?» said Jones bitterly. «I suppose it was just a gag when you talked me into signing up.»
»
«You certainly did. You were so damn sure you knew what you were talking about. You claimed that we could sign up, spend a month or so on Venus, and come home. You wanted to bet on it. So we went around to the docks and signed up. It seemed like a good idea then – the only way to settle the argument.»
Wingate whistled softly. «Well, I'll be – Sam, I haven't the slightest recollection of it. I must have drawn a blank before I passed out.»
«Yeah, I guess so. Too bad you didn't pass out sooner. Not that I'm blaming you; you didn't drag me. Anyhow, I'm on my way up to try to straighten it out.»
«Better wait a minute till you hear what happened to me. Oh yes – Sam, this is, uh, Satchel Hartley. Good sort.» Hartley had been waiting uncertainly near them; he stepped forward and shook hands.
Wingate brought Jones up to date, and added, «So you see your reception isn't likely to be too friendly. I guess I muffed it. But we are sure to break the contract as soon as we can get a hearing on time alone.»
«How do you mean?»
«We were signed up less than twelve hours before ship lifting. That's contrary to the Space Precautionary Act.»
«Yes – yes, I see what you mean. The Moon's in her last quarter; they would lift ship some time after midnight to take advantage of favorable earthswing. I wonder what time it was when we signed on?»
Wingate took out his contract copy. The notary's stamp showed a time of eleven thirty-two. «Great Day!» he shouted. «I knew there would be a flaw in it somewhere. This contract is invalid on its face. The ship's log will prove it.»
Jones studied it. «Look again,» he said. Wingate did so. The stamp showed eleven thirty-two, but A.M., not P.M.
«But that's impossible,» he protested.
«Of course it is. But it's official. I think we will find that the story is that we were signed on in the morning, paid our bounty money, and had one last glorious luau before we were carried aboard. I seem to recollect some trouble in getting the recruiter to sign us up. Maybe we convinced him by kicking in our bounty money.»
«But we
«Sure you can prove it –
«So you see it's this way,» Jones decided after some minutes of somewhat fruitless discussion, «there is no sense in trying to break our contracts here and now; they'll laugh at us. The thing to do is to make money talk, and talk loud. The only way I can see to get us off at Luna City is to post non-performance bonds with the company bank there – cash, and damn big ones, too.»
«How big?»
«Twenty thousand credits, at least, I should guess.» «But that's not equitable – it's all out of proportion.»
«Quit worrying about equity, will you? Can't you realize that they've got us where the hair is short? This won't be a bond set by a court ruling; it's got to be big enough to make a minor company official take a chance on doing something that's not in the book.»
«I can't raise such a bond.»
«Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it.»
Wingate wanted to argue the point, but did not. There are times when it is very convenient to have a wealthy friend.
«I've got to get a radiogram off to my sister,» Jones went on, «to get this done – »
«Why your sister? Why not your family firm?»
«Because we need fast action, that's why. The lawyers that handle our family finances would fiddle and fume around trying to confirm the message. They'd send a message back to the Captain, asking if Sam Houston Jones were really aboard, and he would answer 'No,' as I'm signed up as Sam Jones. I had some silly idea of staying out of the news broadcasts, on account of the family.»
«You can't blame them,» protested Wingate, feeling an obscure clannish loyalty to his colleagues in law, «they're handling other peoples' money.»
«I'm not blaming them. But I've got to have fast action and Sis'll do what I ask her. I'll phrase the message so she'll know it's me. The only hurdle now is to persuade the Purser to let me send a message on tick.»
He was gone for a long time on this mission. Hartley waited with Wingate, both to keep him company and because of a strong human interest in unusual events. When Jones finally appeared he wore a look of tight-lipped annoyance. Wingate, seeing the expression, felt a sudden, chilling apprehension. «Couldn't you send it? Wouldn't he let you?»
«Oh, he let me – finally,» Jones admitted, «but that Purser – man, is he tight!»
Even without the alarm gongs Wingate would have been acutely aware of the grounding at Luna City. The sudden change from the high gravity deceleration of their approach to the weak surface gravity – one-sixth earth normal – of the Moon took immediate toll on his abused stomach. It was well that he had not eaten much. Both Hartley and Jones were deepspace men and regarded enough acceleration to permit normal swallowing as adequate for any purpose. There is a curious lack of sympathy between those who are subject to spacesickness and those who are immune to it. Why the spectacle of a man regurgitating, choked, eyes streaming with tears, stomach knotted with pain, should seem funny is difficult to see, but there it is. It divides the human race into two distinct and antipathetic groups – amused contempt on one side, helpless murderous hatred on the other.
Neither Hartley nor Jones had the inherent sadism which is too frequently evident on such occasions – for example the great wit who suggests salt pork as a remedy – but, feeling no discomfort themselves, they were simply unable to comprehend (having forgotten the soul-twisting intensity of their own experience as new chums) that Wingate was literally suffering «a fate worse than death» – much worse, for it was stretched into a sensible eternity by a distortion of the time sense known only to sufferers from spacesicknesses, seasicknesses, and (we are told) smokers of hashish.
As a matter of fact, the stop on the Moon was less than four hours long. Toward the end of the wait Wingate had quieted down sufficiently again to take an interest in the expected reply to Jones' message, particularly after
