The Rolling Stones (21 page)

“What do you suggest, dear?”

“Go to Phobos tomorrow, get the old
Rock
ready to go, and blast for Venus when the others do.”

“Loud cheers!” agreed Meade. “Let’s go!”

Dr. Stone said, “Meade, I thought you didn’t like Venus?”

“I don’t. But I don’t like it here and I’m tired all the time. I’d like to get back into free fall.”

“You shouldn’t be tired. Perhaps I had better check you over.”

“Oh, Mother, I’m perfectly well! I don’t want to be poked at.”

Lowell grinned. “I know why she wants to go to Venus. Mr. Magill.”

“Don’t be a snoop, Snoop!” Meade went on with quiet dignity, “In case anyone is interested, I am not interested in Second Officer Magill—and I wouldn’t be going in the
Caravan
in any case. Besides, I found out he already has a wife in Colorado.”

Hazel said, “Well, that’s legal. He’s still eligible off Earth.”

“Perhaps it is, but I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Roger Stone cut in. “Meade, you weren’t really getting interested in this wolf in ship’s clothing, were you?”

“Of course not, Daddy!” She added, “But I suppose I’ll get married one of these days.”

“That’s the trouble with girls,” Castor commented. “Give them educations—
boom!
They get married. Wasted.”

Hazel glared at them. “Oh, so? Where would you be if I hadn’t married?”

“It didn’t happen that way,” Roger Stone cut in, “so there is no use talking about other possibilities. They probably aren’t really possibilities at all, if only we understood it.”

Pollux: “Predestination.”

Castor: “Very shaky theory.”

Roger grinned. “I’m not a determinist and you can’t get my goat. I believe in free will.”

Pollux: “Another very shaky theory.”

“Make up your minds,” their father told them. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“Why not?” asked Hazel. “Free will is a golden thread running through the frozen matrix of fixed events.”

“Not mathematical,” objected Pollux.

Castor nodded. “Just poetry.”

“And not very good poetry.”

“
Shut up!
” ordered their father. “Boys, it’s quite evident that you have gone to considerable trouble to change the subject. Why?”

The twins swapped glances; Castor got the go-ahead. “Uh, Dad, the way we see it, this Venus proposition hasn’t been thought out.”

“Go on. I suppose you have an alternative suggestion?”

“Well, yes. But we didn’t mean to bring it up until after Venus departure.”

“I begin to whiff something. What you mean is that you intended to wait until the planetary aspects were wrong—too late to shape orbit for Venus.”

“Well, there was no use in letting the matter get cluttered up with a side issue.”

“What matter? Speak up.”

Castor said worriedly, “Look, Dad, we aren’t unreasonable. We can compromise. How about this: you and Mother and Buster and Meade go to Venus in the
War God.
Captain Van would love to have you do it—you know that. And—”

“Slow up. And what would you be doing? And Hazel? Mother, are you in on this?”

“Not that I know of. But I’m getting interested.”

“Castor, what’s on your mind? Speak up.”

“Well, I will if you’ll just let me, sir. You and the rest of the family could have a pleasant trip back home—in a luxury liner. Hazel and Pol and I—well, I suppose you know that Mars will be in a favorable position for the Hallelujah Node in about six weeks?”

“For a cometary-type orbit, that is,” Pollux added.

“So it’s the Asteroids again,” their father said slowly. “We settled that about a year ago.”

“But we’re a year older now.”

“More experienced.”

“You’re still not old enough for unlimited licenses. I suppose that is why you included your grandmother.”

“Oh, no! Hazel is an asset.”

“Thank you, boys.”

“Hazel, you had no inkling of this latest wild scheme?”

“No. But I don’t think it’s so wild. I’m caught up and then some on my episodes—and I’m tired of this place. I’ve seen the Martian ruins; they’re in a poor state of repair. I’ve seen a canal; it has water in it. I understand that the rest of the planet is much the same, right through to chapter eighty-eight. And I’ve seen Venus. I’ve never seen the Asteroids.”

“Right!” agreed Castor. “We don’t like Mars. The place is one big clip joint.”

“Sharp operators,” added Pollux.

“Sharper than you are, you mean,” said Hazel.

“Never mind, Mother. Boys, it is out of the question. I brought my ship out from Luna; I intend to take her back.” He stood up. “You can give Mr. d’Avril notice, dear.”

“Dad!”

“Yes, Castor?”

“That was just a compromise offer. What we really hoped you would do—what we
wanted
you to do—was for
all
of us to go out to the Hallelujah.”

“Eh? Why, that’s silly! I’m no meteor miner.”

“You could learn to be. Or you could just go for the ride. And make a profit on it, too.”

“Yes? How?”

Castor wet his lips. “The sand rats are offering fabulous prices just for cold-sleep space. We could carry about twenty of them, at least. And we could put them down on Ceres on the way, let them outfit there.”

“Cas! I suppose you are aware that only seven out of ten cold-sleep passengers arrive alive in a long orbit?”

“Well…they know that. That’s the risk they are taking.”

Roger Stone shook his head. “We aren’t going, so I won’t have to find out if you are as cold-blooded as you sound. Have you ever seen a burial in space?”

“No, sir.”

“I have. Let’s hear no more about cold-sleep freight.”

Castor passed it to Pollux, who took over: “Dad, if you won’t listen to us all going, do you have any objections to Cas and me going?”

“Eh? How do you mean?”

“As Asteroid miners, of course. We’re not afraid of cold-sleep. If we haven’t got a ship, that’s how we would have to go.”

“Bravo!” said Hazel. “I’m going with you, boys.”

“Please, Mother!” He turned to his wife. “Edith, I sometimes wonder if we brought the right twins back from the hospital.”

“They may not be yours,” said Hazel, “but they are my grandsons, I’m sure of that. Hallelujah, here I come! Anybody coming with me?”

Dr. Stone said quietly, “You know, dear, I don’t much care for Venus, either. And it
would
give you leisure for your book.”

The
Rolling Stone
shaped orbit from Phobos outward bound for the Asteroids six weeks later. This was no easy lift like the one from Luna to Mars; in choosing to take a “cometary” or fast orbit to the Hallelujah the Stones had perforce to accept an expensive change-of-motion of twelve and a half miles per second for the departure maneuver. A fast orbit differs from a maximum-economy orbit in that it cuts the orbit being abandoned at an angle instead of being smoothly tangent to it…
much
more expensive in reaction mass. The far end of the cometary orbit would be tangent to the orbit of the Hallelujah; matching at that point would be about the same for either orbit; it was the departure from Phobos-circum-Mars that would be rugged.

The choice of a cometary orbit was not a frivolous one. In the first place, it would have been necessary to wait more than one Earth year for Mars to be in the proper relation, orbit-wise, with the Hallelujah Node for the economical orbit; secondly, the travel time itself would be more than doubled—five hundred and eighty days for the economical orbit versus two hundred and sixty-one days for the cometary orbit (a mere three days longer than the Luna-Mars trip).

Auxiliary tanks for single-H were fitted around the
Stone
’s middle, giving her a fat and sloppy appearance, but greatly improving her mass-ratio for the ordeal. Port Pilot Jason Thomas supervised the refitting; the twins helped. Castor got up his nerve to ask Thomas how he had managed to conn the
Stone
in to a landing on their arrival. “Did you figure a ballistic before you came aboard, sir?”

Thomas put down his welding torch. “A ballistic? Shucks, no, son, I’ve been doing it so long that I know every little bit of space hereabouts by its freckles.”

Which was all the satisfaction Cas could get out of him. The twins talked it over and concluded that piloting must be something more than a mathematical science.

In addition to more space for single-H certain modifications were made inside the ship. The weather outside the orbit of Mars is a steady “clear but cold”; no longer would they need reflecting foil against the Sun’s rays. Instead one side of the ship was painted with carbon black and the capacity of the air-heating system was increased by two coils. In the control room a time-delay variable-baseline stereoscopic radar was installed by means of which they would be able to see the actual shape of the Hallelujah when they reached it.

All of which was extremely expensive and the Galactic Overlord had to work overtime to pay for it. Hazel did not help with the refitting. She stayed in her room and ground out, with Lowell’s critical help, more episodes in the gory but virtuous career of Captain John Sterling—alternating this activity with sending insulting messages and threats of blackmail and/or sit-down strike to her producers back in New York; she wanted an unreasonably large advance and she wanted it right now. She got it, by sending on episodes equal to the advance. She had to write the episodes in advance anyhow; this time the
Rolling Stone
would be alone, no liners comfortably near by. Once out of radio range of Mars, they would not be able to contact Earth again until Ceres was in range of the
Stone
’s modest equipment. They were not going to Ceres but would be not far away; the Hallelujah was riding almost the same orbit somewhat ahead of that tiny planet.

The boost to a cometary orbit left little margin for cargo but what there was the twins wanted to use, undeterred by their father’s blunt disapproval of the passengers-in-cold-sleep idea. Their next notion was to carry full outfits for themselves for meteor mining—rocket scooter, special suits, emergency shelter, keyed radioactive claiming stakes, centrifuge speegee tester, black lights, Geiger counters, prospecting radar, portable spark spectroscope, and everything else needed to go quietly rock-happy.

Their father said simply, “Your money?”

“Of course. And we pay for the boost.”

“Go ahead. Go right ahead. Don’t let me discourage you. Any objections from me would simply confirm your preconceptions.”

Castor was baffled by the lack of opposition. “What’s the matter with it, Dad? You worried about the danger involved?”

“Danger? Heavens, no! It’s your privilege to get yourselves killed in your own way. Anyhow, I don’t think you will. You’re young and you’re both smart, even if you don’t show it sometimes, and you’re both in tiptop physical condition, and I’m sure you’ll know your equipment.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing. For myself, I long since came to the firm conclusion that a man can do more productive work, and make more money if that is his object, by sitting down with his hands in his pockets than by any form of physical activity. Do you happen to know the average yearly income of a meteor miner?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Less than six hundred a year.”

“But some of them get rich!”

“Sure they do. And some make much less than six hundred a year; that’s an average, including the rich strikes. Just as a matter of curiosity, bearing in mind that most of those miners are experienced and able, what is it that you two expect to bring to this trade that will enable you to raise the yearly average? Speak up; don’t be shy.”

“Doggone it, Dad, what would
you
ship?”

“Me? Nothing. I have no talent for trade. I’m going out for the ride—and to take a look at the bones of Lucifer. I’m beginning to get interested in planetology. I may do a book about it.”

“What happened to your other book?”

“I hope that isn’t sarcasm, Cas. I expect to have it finished before we get there.” He adjourned the discussion by leaving.

The twins turned to leave, found Hazel grinning at them. Castor scowled at her. “What are you smirking at, Hazel?”

“You two.”

“Well…why shouldn’t we have a whirl at meteor mining?”

“No reason. Go ahead; you can afford the luxury. But see here, boys, do you really want to know what to ship to make some money?”

“Sure!”

“What’s your offer?”

“Percentage cut? Or flat fee? But we don’t pay if we don’t take your advice.”

“Oh, rats! I’ll give it to you free. If you get advice free, you won’t take it and I’ll be able to say, ‘I told you so!’”

“You would, too.”

“Of course I would. There’s no warmer pleasure than being able to tell a smart aleck, ‘I told you so, but you wouldn’t listen.’ Okay, here it is, in the form of a question, just like an oracle: Who made money in all the other big mining rushes of history?”

“Why, the chaps who struck it rich, I suppose.”

“That’s a laugh. There are so few cases of prospectors who actually hung on to what they had found and died rich that they stand out like supernovae. Let’s take a famous rush, the California Gold Rush back in 1861—no, 1861 was something else; I forget. 1849, that was it—the ’Forty-niners. Read about ’em in history?”

“Some.”

“There was a citizen named Sutter; they found gold on his place. Did it make him rich? It
ruined
him. But who did get rich?”

“Tell us, Hazel. Don’t bother to dramatize it.”

“Why not? I may put it in the show—serial numbers rubbed off, of course. I’ll tell you: everybody who had something the miners had to buy. Grocers, mostly. Boy, did
they
get rich! Hardware dealers. Men with stamping mills. Everybody but the poor miner. Even laundries in Honolulu.”

“Honolulu? But that’s way out in the Pacific, off China somewhere.”

“It was in Hawaii the last time I looked. But they used to ship dirty laundry from California clear to Honolulu to have it washed—both ways by sailing ship. That’s about like having your dirty shirts shipped from Marsport to Luna. Boys, if you want to make money, set up a laundry in the Hallelujah. But it doesn’t have to be a laundry—just anything, so long as the miners want it and you’ve got it. If your father wasn’t a Puritan at heart, I’d set up a well-run, perfectly honest gambling hall! That’s like having a rich uncle.”