Alan E. Nourse - Scavengers in Space

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SCAVENGERS IN SPACE
by ALAN E. NOURSE
Version 1.0
From back cover:
"This fast-moving tale of the far future deals with the quest of the Hunter brothers for a
mysterious bonanza located somewhere in the asteroid belt. The dangers and details of
asteroid mining are carefully outlined, and the bonanza itself proves to be an open gate to
wider future in the stars.
"Realistic background, good plotting and vivid writing add up to a good adventure."
From the inside:
"ORIGINAL AND HIGHLY IMAGINATIVE."
-Best Sellers
The death of an independent asteroid miner would be no unusual news to the Martian
colony. Asteroid mining was gambling for high stakes with your life in jeopardy.
But when Roger Hunter's mangled body was found in the exploded wreck of his scout
ship, his two sons found reason to suspect murder, and the possibility of a discovery that
could alter space history.
And certain space pirates soon found they had to cope with a ghost that belonged in the
past-and a weapon that belonged in the future.
ALAN E. NOURSE is a young doctor who is successfully combining his vocation,
medicine, with his avocation, writing. He is generally recognized as one of the outstanding
writers of science-fiction today, and his sound medical background stands him in good
stead for the many technical and scientific details which lend authenticity to his stories.
Dr. Nourse lives in North Bend, Washington, with his wife and young son and daughter.
Ace Books have also published his novels: A MAN OBSESSED (D-96), THE
INVADERS ARE COMING (D-366), and ROCKET TO LIMBO (D-385).
SCAVENGERS IN SPACE
by ALAN E. NOURSE
ACE BOOKS, INC. 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y.
SCAVENGERS IN SPACE
Copyright ©, 1958, 1959, by Alan E. Nourse
An Ace Book, by arrangement with David McKay Co., Inc.
All Rights Reserved
"Between Jupiter and Mars I will put a planet. ..."
. . . johannes kepler (1571-1630) (Written before the discovery of the Asteroid Belt)
PROLOGUE
Roger Hunter had completed his work long before the marauders appeared.
For two days now he had spent his waking hours down on the rock, prospecting it,
taking samples of ore back to the little orbit ship for testing, doing the things that any miner
in the Asteroid Belt would be expected to do. But he didn't really care what he found on the
rock, because the important work was done. The incredible thing that he had found was
hidden now, hidden and safe in a place that no one would think of searching, and that was
all that mattered to Roger Hunter.
His treasure, he thought to himself as he worked. His big strike, safe now, until the time
came to reveal it. He had not expected to find it when he had come out here the last time.
He had never dreamed that such a thing was here, but when he found it he knew what he
had to do.
It was on the second day that he saw the dark ship appear, moving in swiftly on contact
course with his own ship. He knew what it was the instant he saw it, long before the golden
triangle-and-J insignia became visible on its hull.
He dropped the samples he had been working with and strapped himself quickly onto
the scooter. He opened the valve and saw the little asteroid drop away from him as he
moved swiftly up toward the loading lock of his ship. He knew what his visitors wanted, he
knew too well why they were here.
Once in the control cabin he tore the roll of microfilm from the camera he had been
using and thrust it into the storage bin. They would read it, of course, but it would have no
meaning to them. In the view screen he saw the dark ship move closer, almost close enough
for boarding.
Then he saw the leather gun case lying on the drafting board, and his heart sank.
He picked it up, searching wildly for a place to hide it. His eye stopped on his space
pack lying on the floor, the battered aluminum case he had used for so many years. Quickly
he threw open the lid, thrust the leather case under the pile of clothing, and slammed the lid
down again.
It was bad. If they searched it they might discover the truth, but it was a risk he had to
take.
For just a moment he thought of the boys and wondered if he would ever see them
again. Then he heard the lock crash open somewhere below. Heavy boots pounded the
corridor, and three men walked into the control cabin.
Quietly, Roger Hunger turned to face them.
Chapter One
TROUBLE TIMES TWO
The sun was glowing dull red as it slipped down behind the curving horizon of Mars, but
Gregory Hunter was not able to see it.
There was no view screen in the ship's cabin; it was too tiny for that. Greg twisted
around in the cockpit that had been built just big enough to hold him, and shifted his long
legs against the brace-webbing, trying to get them comfortable. He took a deep breath and
wrinkled his nose. Already the cabin was taking on the dank, musty smell of mechanically
replaced air that made him think of the locker rooms and crowded gymnasiums of his
school days. He shifted his legs again, fiddling with the straps across his chest to keep his
hands from trembling.
His earphones crackled, and a familiar voice said, "Five minutes, Greg."
"Right." His own voice sounded harsh. He realized that he was frightened. Quickly he
made the final check-through that he had rehearsed so many times in the past weeks. The
straps were all secure; he could reach the buttons on the control panel easily; and the
handgrips felt right. He leaned back, forcing himself to relax, closing his eyes for a moment.
Here in the tiny experimental ship's cabin, he had no sense of time or motion, but he
knew that the ship was clinging to its launching rack on the shell of the Star-Jump satellite
station, spinning slowly in its twenty-four-hour orbit around Mars. Somewhere far below was
the surface of the red planet itself, a huge dull-orange ball that filled the horizon from side to
side.
Suddenly now, Greg wished he could see it for just a moment. Many times during his
off-duty hours he had stood on the observation deck of the satellite station, watching the line
of darkness crawl across Mars' surface. Sometimes, when the atmosphere was free of
clouds, he could see the lights going on in Sun Lake City, Elysium, Poke's Hole, and a
dozen other colony settlements dotting the equatorial surface of the planet. There were
people down there . . . thousands of people . . . but here he was alone.
He knew he was afraid . . . but nobody else knew that, not even the captain waiting at
the control board on the satellite, and in spite of the fear Greg Hunter would not have traded
places at this moment with anyone else in the universe. He had worked too hard and waited
too long for this moment.
He heard the count-down monitor clicking in his ears, and his hands clenched into fists.
How far from Mars would he be ten minutes from now? He didn't know. Farther than any man
had ever traveled before in the space of ten minutes, he knew, and faster. How far and how
fast would depend on him alone. He gripped the handgrips, waiting.
"All set, Greg?" The captain's voice in the earphones cut into the silence.
"All set, Captain."
"You understand the program?"
Greg nodded. "Twenty-four hours out, twenty-four hours back, ninety degrees to the
ecliptic, and all the acceleration I can stand both ways," he said slowly.
"That's right. But Greg-" the captain hesitated. "Don't overdo it. This is only a test run.
We want you back in one piece."
Greg grinned to himself. He thought of the months of conditioning he had gone through
to prepare for this run, the hours in the centrifuge to build up his tolerance to acceleration,
the careful diet, the rigorous hours of phsyical conditioning. It was only one experiment, one
tiny step in the work that could someday give men the stars, but to Gregory Hunter at this
moment it was everything. "I’ll be all right," he said.
"Good luck, then." The captain cut off, and the blast-off buzzer sounded.
Somewhere below, the ship's engines began to throb, a low steady vibration. The hum
rose to a rumble, then to a roar. Like a giant hand pressing against his chest, the pressure
began, growing heavier with every second. Greg's arms sagged against the straps; his legs
felt like lead weights, and he could feel his lips pulling back as the acceleration increased.
The scream of the engines grew higher as the weight bore down on him, pressing the air out
of his lungs.
He was off. His heart hammered in his throat, and his eyes ached fiercely, but he paid
no attention. His finger crept to the air-speed indicator, then to the cut-off switch. When the
pressure became too great, when he began to black out, he would press it.
But not yet. Like a tiny metal dart, the ship was moving away from the Star-Jump
satellite, out into space, accelerating steadily. It was speed they wanted; they had to know
how much acceleration a man could take for how long and still survive. It was up to him now
to show them.
Fleetingly, he thought of Tom-poor old stick-in-the-mud Tom-working away in his grubby
little Mars-bound laboratory, watching bacteria grow. Tom could never have qualified for a
job like this. Tom couldn't even go into free-fall for ten minutes without getting sick all over
the place. Greg felt a surge of pity for his brother, and then a twinge of malicious
anticipation. Wait until Tom read the reports on this run! It was all right to spend your time
poking around with bottles and test tubes if you couldn't do anything else, but it took
something special to pilot an XP ship for Project Star-Jump. And after this run was over,
even Tom would have to admit it.
There was a lurch, and quite suddenly the enormous pressure was gone. Greg took an
unexpected gasp of air, felt his arms and legs rising up in reaction, out of control. He
grabbed the shock bar, and stared down at the control panel.
Something was wrong. He hadn't pushed the cut-off button, yet the ship's engines were
suddenly silent. He jabbed at the power switch. Nothing happened. Then the side jets
spurted, and he was slammed sideways into the cot.
He snapped on the radio speaker. "Control . . . can you read me? Something's gone
wrong out here."
"Nothing's wrong," the captain's voice said in his earphones. "Just sit tight. I'm bringing
you back in."
"Back!" Greg sat up against the webbing. "What do you mean?"
"Sorry, Greg. There's a call here from Sun Lake City. They want you down there in a
hurry. We'll have to scratch you on this run."
"Who wants me down there?"
"The U.N. Council office. Signed by Major Briarton himself."
"But I can't go down to Mars now."
"Sorry. I can't argue with the major. We're bringing you in."
Greg sank dack, disappointment so thick he could taste it in his mouth. Sun Lake City!
That meant two days at least, one down, one back, maybe more if connections weren't right.
It meant that the captain would send Morton or one of the others out in his place. It meant. . . .
Suddenly he thought of what else it meant, and a chill ran up his back. There was only
one reason Major Briarton would call him in like this. Something had happened to Dad.
Greg leaned back in the cot, suddenly tense. A thousand frightful possibilities flooded
his mind. It could only mean that Dad was in some kind of trouble.
And if anything had happened to Dad. ...
The sun was sinking rapidly toward the horizon when the city finally came into sight in
the distance, but try as he would, Tom Hunter could not urge more than thirty-five miles an
hour from the huge lurching vehicle he was driving.
On an open paved highway the big pillow-wheeled Sloppy Joe would do sixty in a
breeze, but this desert route was far from a paved road. Inside the pressurized passenger
cab, Tom gripped the shock bars with one arm and the other leg, and jammed the
accelerator to the floor. The engine coughed, but thirty-five was all it would do.
Through the windshield Tom could see the endless rolling dunes of the Martian desert
stretching to the horizon on every side. They called Mars the red planet, but it was not red
when you were close to it. There were multitudes of colors here-yellow, orange, brown, gray,
occasional patches of gray-green-all shifting and changing in the fading sunlight. Off to the
right were the worn-down peaks of the Mesabi II, one of the long, low mountain ranges of
almost pure iron ore that helped give the planet its dull red appearance from outer space.
And behind him, near the horizon, the tiny sun glowed orange out of a blue-black sky.
Tom fought the wheel as the Sloppy Joe jounced across a dry creek bed and swore
softly to himself. Why hadn't he kept his head and waited for the mail ship that had been due
at the lab to give him a lift back? He'd have been in Sun Lake City an hour ago. But the
urgency of the message had driven caution from his mind. No information, no hint of what
was wrong, just a single sentence telling him to come in to the city at once, by whatever
means he had available.
Ten minutes later he had commandeered the Sloppy Joe and started out on the long
cross-country run. A summons from the Mars Coordinator of the U.N. Interplanetary Council
was the same as an order. But there was more to Tom's haste than that. There was only one
reason that Major Briarton would be calling him in to Sun Lake City, and that reason meant
trouble.
Something was wrong. Something had happened to Dad.
Now Tom peered up at the dark sky, squinting into the sun. Somewhere out there,
between Mars and Jupiter, was a no man's land of danger, a great circling ring of space dirt
and debris, the Asteroid Belt. And somewhere out there, Dad was working.
Tom thought for a moment of the pitiful little mining rig that Dad had taken out to the belt;
the tiny orbit ship to be used for headquarters and storage of the ore; the even tinier scout
ship, Pete Racely's old Scavenger that he had sold to Roger Hunter for back taxes and
repairs when he went broke in the belt looking for his big strike. It wasn't much of a mining
rig for anybody to use, and the dangers of a small mining operation in the Asteroid Belt were
frightening. It took skill to bring a little scout ship in for a landing on an asteroid rock hardly
bigger than the ship itself; it took even more skill to rig the controlled Murexide charges to
blast the rock into tiny fragments, and then run out the shiny magnetic net to catch the
explosion debris and bring it in to the hold of the orbit ship.
Tom scowled, trying to shake off the feeling of uneasiness that was nibbling at his mind.
Asteroid mining was dangerous, but Dad was no novice. Nobody on Mars knew how to
handle a mining rig better than he did. He knew what he was doing out there, there was no
real danger for him.
But what of the rumors that had found their way even to the obscurity of the outpost
experimental lab where Tom was working?
Roger Hunter, a good man, a gentle and peaceful man, had finally seen all he could
stomach of Jupiter Equilateral and its company mining policies six months before. He had
told them so in plain, simple language when he turned in his resignation. They didn't try to
stop him. A man was still free to quit a job on Mars if he wanted to, even a job with Jupiter
Equilateral. But it was an open secret that the big mining outfit had not liked Hunter's way of
resigning, taking half a dozen of their first-rate mining engineers with him. There had been
veiled threats, rumors of attempts to close the markets to Hunter's ore, in open violation of
U.N. Council policies on Mars.
Tom fought the wheel as the big tractor lumbered up another rise, and the huge plastic
bubble of Sun Lake City came into view far down the valley below. Off to the right was the
space port, with the tall spires of the shuttle ships rising up in sharp relief against the dark
sky. One of the ships was landing now, settling down on a mushroom-shaped cloud of fire
after its run out to the travel lanes where the huge interplanetary orbit ships made their
endless circuits between Mars and Earth.
Tom clung to the shock bar and rode the tractor down the slope. Seeing the ships made
him think of Greg. Had Greg been summoned too? He closed his lips tightly as a wave of
anger passed through his mind. If anything had happened, no matter what, he thought, Greg
would be there. Taking over and running things, as usual. He thought of the last time he had
seen his brother, and then deliberately blocked out the engulfing bitterness. That had been
more than a year ago. Maybe Greg had changed since then. But somehow, Tom didn't think
so. The Sloppy Joe was on the valley floor now, and ahead, the bubble covering the city
was drawing closer. The sun was almost gone; lights were appearing inside the plastic
shielding. Bom and raised on Mars, Tom had seen the teeming cities of Earth only once in
his life, but to him none of the splendors of the Earth cities could match the simple, quiet
beauty of this Martian outpost settlement. There had been a time when people had said that
Sun Lake City could never be built, that it could never survive if it were, but with each
successive year it grew larger and stronger, the headquarters city for the planet that had
become the new frontier of Earth.
The radiophone buzzed, and the airlock guard hailed him when he returned the signal.
Tom gave his routine ID. He guided the tractor into the lock, waited until pressure and
atmosphere rose to normal, and then leaped out of the cab.
Five minutes later he was walking across the lobby of the Interplanetary Council
building, stepping into the down elevator. Three flights below, he stepped out into the office
corridor of the U.N. Interplanetary Council on Mars.
If there was trouble, this was there he would find it.
He paused for a minute before the gray plastic door marked MAJOR FRANK
BRIARTON in raised stainless steel letters. Then he pushed open the door and walked into
the anteroom.
It was empty. At a desk in the corner an automatic typer was clicking busily, and green
lights blinked on the secretary robot. "Yes, please? May I help you?" the metallic voice
asked.
Tom picked up the speaker to answer and felt a touch on his shoulder. Behind him, a
familiar voice said, "Hello, Twin."
At first glance they looked like carbon copies of each other, although they were no more
identical than identical twins ever are. Greg stood a good two inches taller than Tom. His
shoulders were broad, and there was a small gray scar over one eye that stood out in
contrast to the healthy tanned color of his face. Tom was of slighter build, and wirier, his skin
much more pale.
But they had the same dark hair, the same gray eyes, the same square, stubborn line to
the jaw. They looked at each Other for a moment without speaking. Then Greg grinned and
clapped his brother on the shoulder.
"So you got here, finally," he said. "I was beginning to think I'd have to go put on the
desert and find you."
"Oh, I got here, all right," Tom said. "I see you did too."
"Yes," Greg said heavily. "Can't argue with the major, you know."
"What does he want?"
"How should I know? All he said was to get down here fast. And now he isn't even here
himself, and his squawk box here isn't any help."
The secretary robot was repeating its mechanical question for the fourth time. Greg
kicked at the foot pedal, cutting it off in mid-sentence. "Whatever he wants, it had better be
good. Of all the times to drag me down here."
"Well, something's happened, that's sure."
"Like what?" Greg snapped. "For three months I've been working to take that ship out,
and now they've sent Morton out in my place. Well, now I'm here. There had just better be a
good reason."
"Is Dad on Mars?" Tom asked.
Greg looked at him. "I don't know."
"We could check the register."
"I've already checked it. He hasn't logged in, but that doesn't mean anything."
"I suppose not," Tom said glumly.
They were silent for a moment. Then, "Look, what are you worried about?" Greg asked.
"Nothing could have happened to Dad. He's been mining the belt for years."
"I know. I just wish he were here, that's all. If he's in some land of trouble...."
"What kind of trouble? You're looking for spooks."
"Spooks like Jupiter Equilateral, maybe," Tom said. "They could make plenty of trouble
for Dad."
"With the U.N. in the driver's seat here? They wouldn't dare. Why do you think the major
rides them so hard with all the claim-filing regulations? He'd give his right arm for a chance
to break that outfit into pieces."
"I still wish somebody had gone out to the belt with Dad," Tom said.
"You mean somebody like me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Well, why me?" Greg said angrily. "You think just because you always need somebody
to look after you that everybody else does, too. Dad doesn't need a baby sitter." He broke
off and jammed his hands in his pockets. "All right, maybe one of us should have gone with
him, I don't know. But if he's gotten into trouble, having one of us around wouldn't have made
any difference anyway. You know Dad as well as I do-"
He broke off as the door opened. The newcomer was a tall gray-haired man with U.N.
Council stripes on his lapel, and major's rockets on his shoulders. "Sorry I'm late, boys,"
Major Briarton said. "I'd hoped to be here when you arrived." He pulled off his cap and
gloves and looked up at the twins. "Now, then, what were we shouting at each other about?"
"Nothing," Greg said, flushing.
"Well, come on in and sit down." The major led them into the inner office and sank down
behind his desk. He seemed thinner now than when Tom had seen him last; his eyes looked
tired, and his face was heavily lined. "I'm sorry to have to pull you in here like this, but I'm
afraid I had no choice. When did you boys hear from your father last?"
They looked at each other. "I saw him six weeks ago," Tom said. "Just before he left to
go out to the belt again."
"Nothing since then?"
"Not a word."
The major chewed his lip. "Greg?"
"I had a note at Christmas, I think. But what-"
"What did he say in the note?"
"He said Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Dad isn't much of a letter writer."
"Nothing at all about what he was doing?"
Greg shook his head. "Look, Major, if there's some sort of trouble-"
"Yes, I'm afraid there's trouble," the major said. He looked at them and snread his hands
helplessly. "There isn't any easy way to tell you, but you've got to know. There's been an
accident, out in the belt."
"Accident?" Greg said.
"A very serious accident. A fuel tank exploded in the scooter your father was riding back
to the Scavenger. It must have been very sudden, and by the time help arrived-" the major
broke off, unable to find words.
For a long moment there was utter silence in the room. Outside, an elevator was
buzzing, and a typewriter clicked monotonously somewhere in the building.
Then Tom Hunter broke the silence. "Who was it, Major?" he asked. "Who was it that
killed our father?"
Chapter Two
JUPITER EQUILATERAL
For a moment, Major Briarton just stared at him. Then he was on his feet, shaking his
head as he came around the desk. "Tom, use your head," he said. "It's as much of a shock
to me as it is to you, but you can't afford to jump to false conclusions."
Tom looked up bitterly. "He's dead, isn't he?"
"Yes, he's dead. He must have died the instant of the explosion."
"You mean you don't know?"
"I wasn't there at the time it happened; no."
"Then who was?"
Major Briarton again spread his hands helplessly. "Nobody was. Your father was alone.
From what we could tell later, he'd left the Scavenger when the rear tank exploded. There
wasn't enough left of it to tell what went wrong, but it was an accident; there was no evidence
to suggest anything else."
Tom looked at him. "You really believe that?"
"I can only tell you what we found."
"Well, I don't believe it for a minute," Tom said angrily. "How long have you and Dad
been friends? Twenty years? Twenty-five? Longer than we've been alive, that's sure. Do you
really think Dad could have an accident with a mining^ rig?"
"I know he was an expert engineer," the major said. "But things can happen that even an
expert can't foresee, mining in the belt"
"Things like a fuel tank exploding? Not to Dad, they wouldn't happen. I don't care what
anybody says."
"Easy, Tom," Greg said.
"Well, I won't take it easy! Dad was too careful for something like that to happen. If he
had an accident, somebody made it happen."
Greg turned to the major. "What was Dad doing out there?"
"Mining."
"By himself? No crew at all?"
"No, he was alone."
"I thought the regulations said there always had to be at least two men working an
asteroid claim."
"That's right. Your father had Johnny Coombs with him when he left Sun Lake City. They
signed out as a team, and then Johnny came back to Mars on the first shuttle ship."
"How come?"
"Not even Johnny knows. Your father just sent him back, and there was nothing we could
do about it then. The U.N. has no jurisdiction in the belt, unless a major crime has been
committed." Major Briarton shook his head. "If a man is determined to mine a claim all by
himself out there, he can find a dozen different ways to wiggle out of the regulations."
"But Dad would never be that stupid," Greg said. "If he was alone when it happened,
who found him?"
"A routine U.N. patrol ship. When your father failed to check in at the regular eight-hour
signal, they went out to see what was wrong. But by the time they reached him, it was too
late to help."
"I just don't get it," Greg said. "Dad had more sense than to try to mine out there all by
himself."
"I know," the major said. "But I don't know the answer. I had a patrol ship go over the
scene of the accident with a fine tooth comb after they reported what had happened, but
there was nothing there to find. It was an accident, and that's that."
"What about Jupiter Equilateral?" Tom said hotly. "Everybody knows they were out to
get Dad. Why don't you find out what they were doing when it happened, bring them in for
questioning?"
"I can't do that," the major said wearily.
"Why can't you?"
"I haven't a scrap of evidence."
"But you're the Mars Coordinator, aren't you?" Tom persisted. "You act like you're
scared of them."
Major Briarton's lips tightened angrily. "All right, since you put it that way. I am scared of
them. They're big, and they're powerful. If they had their way, there wouldn't be any United
Nations control on Mars, there wouldn't be anybody to fight them and keep them in check.
There wouldn't be any independent miners out in the belt, either, because they'd all be
bought out or dead, and Earth would pay through the nose for every ounce of metal that she
got from the Asteroid Belt. That company has been trying to drive the U.N. off Mars for thirty
years, and they've come so close to it that it scares me plenty." He paused, then went on.
"And that is exactly why I refuse to stir up a mess over this thing, unhappy as it is, without
something more than suspicions and rumors to back me up, because all Jupiter Equilateral
needs is one big issue to make us look like fools out here, and we're through."
He crossed the room to a wall cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a scarred aluminum
box. "We found this in the cabin of the Scavenger. I thought you boys might want it."
They both recognized it instantly. It was the battered old spacer's pack that Roger
Hunter had used for as long as they could remember. It seemed to them, suddenly, as if a
part of him had appeared here in the room with them. Greg looked at the box and turned
away. "You open it," he said to Tom in a sick voice.
There was nothing much inside-some clothing, a pipe and tobacco pouch, a jackknife,
half a dozen other items so familiar that Tom could hardly bear to touch them. At the bottom
of the pack was the heavy leather gun case which bad always held Roger Hunter's ancient
.44 revolver. Tom dropped it back without even opening the flap. He closed the box and took
a deep breath. Then you really believe that it was an accident and nothing more?" he said to
the major.
"All the evidence points to it. There was nothing to indicate anything else."
"I'm not talking about evidence, now. I'm talking about what you think."
Major Briarton shook his head. "What I think or don't think doesn't make any difference.
It just doesn't matter. In order to do anything, I've got to have evidence, and there just isn't
any evidence. I can't even take a ship out there for a second look, with the evidence I have,
and that's all there is to it."
"But you think that maybe it wasn't an accident, just the same," Tom pursued.
The major hesitated. Then he shook his head again. "I'm sorry, but I've got to stand on
what I've said. And I think you'd better stand on it, too."
#
It should have been enough, but it wasn't. As Tom Hunter walked with his brother down
the broad upper ramp to the business section of Sun Lake City, he could not shake off the
feeling of helpless anger, the growing conviction that Dad's death involved something more
than the tragic accident in space that Major Briarton had insisted it was.
"He didn't tell us everything he knew," Tom said fiercely. "He didn't say everything he
wanted to say, either. He doesn't think it was an accident any more than I do."
"We can't put words in his mouth," Greg said. "And anyway, you shouldn't have
badgered him like that. He was only doing what he had to do, and you didn't help him out
any."
"He didn't believe a word he was saying," Tom said.
"How do you know? Are you a mind reader?"
"No."
"Well, Dad wasn't a superman, either. He was taking an awful risk, trying to work a
mining rig by himself, and he had a bad break. Why do you have to have somebody to
blame for it?"
"Keep talking," Tom said. "You’ll convince yourself yet."
Greg just jammed his hands in his pockets, and they walked on in silence. On the
second level of the Martian underground city, stores and supply depots had crowded out the
living quarters, and the corridors were busy with people. The low oxygen concentration and
the low pressure of Mars' atmosphere had proven unsuitable for human life except for very
brief periods of exposure; every human habitation on Mars depended on the protective
plastic bubble outside to keep in the artificially maintained atmosphere. As a consequence,
the cities on Mars had never spread out on the surface like Earth cities, but were excavated
into the ground, and resembled huge multi-unit apartment buildings, with ramps and
concourses connecting the various levels and segments of the city.
Of all the Martian cities, Sun Lake City was the biggest, the busiest, the noisiest.
Already it was crowded with miners and their families, prospectors, rocket men, research
men and builders, and for the third time in a decade the power machinery was at work
excavating for another level of the city to make room for more.
For Tom and Greg Hunter, Sun Lake City had always been home. Now they walked
along the main concourse, Tom with the aluminum box under his arm, Greg with his own
spacer's pack thrown over his shoulder. They didn't talk; rather than being drawn closer by
the news of the tragedy, it seemed that they had drawn farther apart, as though the one
common link that had held them together had suddenly been broken.
They turned into the dining commissary, mingling with the crowd as people poured up
from the living quarters and offices on the lower levels. They stood across from each other at
the table, picking at their food and saying nothing. Finally Tom tossed down his fork. "At
least there's one thing we can do," he said. "I'm going to call Johnny Coombs."
He weaved through the crowd of diners to the phone booths in the rear and dialed a
number. Johnny had been a friend of the family for years; he and Roger Hunter had been
partners in many mining ventures in the Asteroid Belt before Hunter had taken his position
with Jupiter Equilateral. If Johnny had any suspicions that Roger Hunter's accident had been
more than an accident, he certainly would not hesitate to voice them.
After a dozen rings, Tom hung up, tried another number. There was no answer there,
either. Frowning, Tom rang the city's central paging system. "Put in a personal call for
Johnny Coombs," he said when the "record" signal flashed on. "Tell him to contact the
Hunters when he comes in. We'll be at home."
Back at the table, he finished his dinner without tasting it. Greg checked his watch, and
together they started for the down ramp that led to the living quarters of the city. A jitney
passed them, loaded with people bound for quarters, but neither of them made a move to
hop on. When they reached H wing on the fourth level, they turned right down an apartment
corridor, and stopped in front of a familiar doorway. Tom pressed his palm against the lock
plate, and the door swung open.
It was home to them, the only home they had ever known. Soft lights sprang up on the
walls of the apartment as the door opened. Tom saw the old bookcases lining the walls, the
drafting board and light at the far end of the room, the simple chairs and dining table, the
door which led into the bedroom and kitchen beyond. The room still had the slightly
disheveled look it had had ever, since Mom died-a slipper on the floor here, a book face
down on the couch there. It looked as though Dad had just stepped out for an hour or so. ...
Tom was three steps into the room before he saw the visitor. The man was sitting
comfortably in Roger Hunter's easy chair, a short, fat man with round pink cheeks that
sagged a little and a double chin that rested on his neck scarf. There were two other men in
the room, both large and broad-shouldered; one of them nodded to the fat man, and moved
to stand between the twins and the door.
The fat man was out of his seat before the boys could speak, smiling at them and
holding out his hand. "I wanted to be sure to see you before you left the city," he was saying,
"so we just came on in to wait. I hope you don't mind our butting in, so to speak." He
chuckled, looking from one twin to the other. "You don't know me, I suppose. I'm Merrill
Tawney. Representing Jupiter Equilateral, you know."
Tom took the card he was holding out, looked at the name and the tiny gold symbol in
the corner, a J in the center of a triangle. He handed the card to Greg. "I've seen you
before," he told the fat man. "What do you want with us?"
Tawney smiled again, spreading his hands. "We've heard about the tragedy, of course.
Shocking. . . . Roger was one of our group so recently. We wanted you to know that if there
is anything at all we can do to help, we'd be only too glad."
"Thanks," Greg said. "But we're doing just fine."
Tawney's smile tightened a little, but he hung on to it. "I always felt close to your father,"
he said. "All of us at Jupiter Equilateral did. We were all sorry to see him leave."
"I bet you were," Greg said. "He was the best mining engineer you ever had. But Dad
could never stand liars, or crooked ways of doing business."
One of the men started for Greg, but the fat man stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"We had our differences of opinion," he said. "We saw things one way, your father saw them
another way. But he was a fine man, one of the finest."
"Look, Mr. Tawney, you'd better say what you came to say and get out of here," Greg
said angrily, "before we give your friends here something to do."
"I merely came to offer you some help," Tawney said. He was no longer smiling. "Since
your father's death, you two have acquired certain responsibilities. I thought we might relieve
you of some of them."
"What sort of responsibilities?"
"You have an unmanned orbit ship which is now a derelict in the Asteroid Belt. You have
a scout ship out there also. You can't just leave them there as a navigation hazard to every
ship traveling in the sector. There are also a few mining claims which aren't going to be of
much value to you now."
"I see," Greg said. "Are you offering to buy Dad's mining rig?"
摘要：

SCAVENGERSINSPACEbyALANE.NOURSEVersion1.0Frombackcover:"Thisfast-movingtaleofthefarfuturedealswiththequestoftheHunterbrothersforamysteriousbonanzalocatedsomewhereintheasteroidbelt.Thedangersanddetailsofasteroidminingarecarefullyoutlined,andthebonanzaitselfprovestobeanopengatetowiderfutureinthestars....

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