And they sat frozen, almost as though they were listening, and hardly ever interrupting. People under Spaceoline have a kind of politeness about them. They won't speak when someone else is speaking. That's why they take turns.
I kept it up with a kind of heartfelt sadness in my voice until the loudspeaker announced in stirring tones the arrival of the Space Eater.
That was that. I said in a loud voice, "Rise, gentlemen."
"Not you, you murderer," and my magnetic coil was on Ferrucci's wrist before he could breathe twice.
Ferrucci fought like a demon. He was under no Spaceoline influence. They found the altered Spaceoline in thin flesh-colored plastic pads hugging the inner surface of his thighs. You couldn't see it at all; you could only feel it, and even then it took a knife to make sure.
Afterward, Rog Crinton, grinning and half insane with relief, held me by the lapel with a death grip. "How did you do it? What gave it away?"
I said, trying to pull loose, "One of them was faking a Spaceoline jag. 1 was sure of it. So I told them," (I grew cautious-none of his business as to the details, you know) ". . . uh, about a girl, see, and two of them never reacted, so they were Spaceolined. But Ferrucci's breathing speeded up and the beads of sweat came out on his forehead. I gave a pretty dramatic rendition, and he reacted, so he was under no Spaceoline. Now will you let me go?"
He let go and I almost fell over backward.
I was set to take off. My feet were pawing the ground without any instruction from me-but then I turned back.
"Hey, Rog," I said, "can you sign me a chit for a thousand credits without its going on the record-for services rendered to the Service?"
That's when I realized he was half insane with relief and very temporary gratitude, because he said, "Sure, Max, sure. Ten thousand credits if you want."
"I want," I said, grabbing him for a change. "1 want. I want."
He filled out an official Service chit for ten thousand credits; good as cash anywhere in half the Galaxy. He was actually grinning as he gave it to me and you can bet I was grinning as I took it.
How he intended accounting for it was his affair; the point was that 7 wouldn't have to account for it to Hilda.
1 stood in the booth, one last time, signaling Flora. I didn't dare let matters go till I reached her place. The additional half hour might just give her time to get someone else, if she hadn't already.
Make her answer. Make her answer. Make her-
She answered, but she was in formal clothes. She was going out and I had obviously caught her by two minutes.
"I am going out," she announced. "Some men can be decent. And I do not wish to see you in the henceforward. 1 do not wish ever to find my eyes upon you. You will do me a great favor, Mister Whoeveryouare, if you unhand my signal combination and never pollute it with-"
I wasn't saying anything. I was just standing there holding my breath and also holding the chit up where she could see it. Just standing there. Just holding.
Sure enough, at the word "pollute" she came in for a closer look. She wasn't much on education, that girl, but she could read "ten thousand credits" faster than any college graduate in the Solar System.
She said, "Max! For me?"
"All for you, baby," I said, "I told you I had a little business to do. I wanted to surprise you."
"Oh, Max, that's sweet of you. I didn't really mind. I was joking. Now you come right here to me." She took off her coat.
"What about your date?" I said. "I said I was joking," she said. "
"I'm coming," I said faintly. "With every single one of those credits now," she said roguishly.
"With every single one," I said.
I broke contact, stepped out of the booth, and now, finally, I was set- ..set-
I heard my name called. "Max! Max!" Someone was running toward me. "Rog Crinton said I would find you here. Mamma's all right after all, so I got special passage on the Space Eater and what's this about ten thousand credits?"
I didn't turn. I said, "Hello, Hilda."
And then I turned and did the hardest thing I ever succeeded in doing in .all my good-for-nothing, space-hopping life.
I managed to smile.
The Gentle Vultures
For fifteen years now, the Hurrians had maintained their base on the other side of the Moon.
It was unprecedented; unheard of. No Human had dreamed it possible to be delayed so long. The decontamination squads had been ready; ready and waiting for fifteen years; ready to swoop down through the radioactive clouds and save what might be saved for the remnant of survivors. -In return, of course, for fair payment.
But fifteen times the planet had revolved about its Sun. During each revolution, the satellite had rotated not quite thirteen times about the primary. And in all that time the nuclear war had not come.
Nuclear bombs were exploded by the large-primate intelligences at various points on the planet's surface. The planet's stratosphere had grown amazingly warm with radioactive refuse. But still no war.
Devi-en hoped ardently that he would be replaced. He was the fourth Captain-in-charge of this colonizing expedition (if it could still be called so after fifteen years of suspended animation) and he was quite content that there should be a fifth. Now that the home world was sending an Arch-administrator to make a personal survey of the situation, his replacement might come soon. Good!
He stood on the surface of the Moon, encased in his space-suit, and thought of home, of Hurria. His long, thin arms moved restlessly with the thought, as though aching (through millions of years of instinct) for the ancestral trees. He stood only three feet high. What could be seen of him through the glass-fronted head plate was a black and wrinkled face with the fleshy, mobile nose dead-centered. The little tuft of fine beard was a pure white in contrast. In the rear of the suit, just below center, was the bulge within which the short and stubby Hurrian tail might rest comfortably.