Arthur Zagat - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IX

“They pay by being my men, grateful and ready to back me up when I want help later. They don’t have to be grateful, for they know I can call any loan if the owner crosses me, and I’ve built a reputation for an occasional fit of irrational temper that is threat enough for anyone to avoid crossing me, without feeling that I have wanted to threaten or force them. As for the fugitives they pay enough by wanting the Belt to be organized as a nation independent of Earth, so that the hand of the law can’t stretch out and drag them back, and they can become wealthy in open business, in the million chances for wealth that lie around them in the Belt. They don’t know that they want this yet, but they will see it when it is told to them. I can’t do any of this now—it’s suspended for as long as I am part of UT and have to drag the dead weight of ten Earth-tied conservatives with me in every decision.”

He stopped to set in the coordinates of the Moon for the robot pilot, but he found himself still wanting to talk. “Man has reached space—do you think he’ll ever go back to the ground? In space he has gravity only when he wants it, and any weight of gravity he likes, depending on how fast he spins his house. And no gravity when he wants that. You see what that means to engineers in the advantage of building things? No weight in transportation, no weight in travel, limitless speed and almost no cost as long as he stays away from planet pulls. His house is in the sky, and when he steps out of it he can fly like a bird. And food. To grow food there is sunlight Earth never dreamed of. For heat and power there is sunlight to focus. Space is flooded with heat, irradiated with power—

“It’s not child’s play taming it, and those on the ground don’t see it yet. But the next step of mankind is out into space, and it’s never coming back.”

Pierce, sitting in one of the shock tank armchairs, asked, “What part do you have in this?”

Bryce looked at him with a feeling almost of surprise, as if he had been called back from a long distance. “Me?” he laughed, a little awed by the immensity of the goal, and the ease of it…. “First President of the Belt and political boss for life. That’s enough.”

Enough to hold the solar system in the palm of his hand, if he chose. He who rules space, rules the planets. It was the first time he had ever mentioned his goal to anyone.

Roy Pierce asked, “What do I do about this ‘friend’ of yours who lays traps?”

The last attack had settled the question of who was behind the other attacks, and who had told Beldman, but Orillo would still be a useful pawn. All that was necessary was to evade his attempts at murder for a month or so until partnership tied them too close for murder.

Bryce explained some of that to Pierce, setting up a chess board to pass away the time until they arrived back at Moonbase City.

“What’s my next assignment?” Pierce asked, when they were several moves into the game.

Bryce recalled a danger he had made no move to guard against. “The Board hired a psychologist, a mind hunter, to find out who’s doing the undermining. He’s one of the Manoba group. Remember the name, look it up and find out what their methods are, how to recognize them, and report back what to do about it.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Roy Pierce said absently, moving his knight to threaten Bryce’s bishop.

“No unnecessary trouble. Remember I have to keep my name clean.” Bryce moved a pawn one step to cover the bishop and leave room for his other bishop to menace the knight.

“I’ll be careful. There’ll be no publicity. He won’t get hurt,” Pierce said, moving the knight into Bryce’s second line where it threatened the king and a cornered castle. “Check.” And he added, as if apologizing for having delayed his move, “I don’t like to move until I’m sure what’s going on.”

The remark didn’t seem to be suited to the game, as if he had referred to something else.

It was during dinner on the Moon that he and Pierce loosened up for the first time since the ambush. Pierce had been comparatively silent since the chess game on the trip back and Bryce too, whether in sympathy with him or in a naturally parallel mood, had little to say. But now the tension had diffused and, with the stimulus of aromatic food, they climbed out of their depression of emotional solemnity.

The decorations of the dining room were lush. While they ate, the materialism of their lives was reinforced. From silvered-and-tapestried wall to wall there was life here, low-keyed with excitement in the blend of subdued talk and the shifting artistry of lights and music. Their table was almost in the center of the islands of tables and potted trees, and around them were the diners, their voices washing up at them both, inviting them with gentle tugs to surrender their resistance, beckoning them into the sea of simple pleasures.

“We owe ourselves some fun, Bryce.”

At Pierce’s words, Bryce sharpened his eyes on the face across the table. There was a touch of seriousness in those words; more like a statement than a suggestion.

Pierce smiled wryly and took a vial out of his pocket and poured it into his drink. He spun the empty bottle between thumb and fingers.

“We owe ourselves some fun,” Pierce repeated. “We’ve nothing on the fire tonight, nothing to do that’s crucial. It’s a good night to experiment.”

The warm voice waves lapping at Bryce’s mind suddenly receded and left a chill. With instinctive wariness he thought of hypnotics and single-shot addictors.

Pierce couldn’t have missed the emotionless freeze on the other’s face. Still twirling the vial casually, he began to explain. It was a new drug, he said, found being used by a tribe in Central Africa. “I’ve heard of it for some time and what you mentioned a little while back reminded me of it.”

Bryce caught the hidden reference. Central Africa—and the Manoba group. So Pierce had not dismissed the mind hunter from his thoughts as a problem to be easily dealt with.

“It’s still in the testing stage,” Pierce added. “But some of it is circulating among medical students. The tests have interesting effects. And, as I say, tonight’s a good night to experiment, it’s called B’nyab i’io.”

The chill in Bryce’s head and spine was thawing out. “You’re not conning me?” He said it with a grin, but there was an edge to the question which demanded an answer.

Pierce gave it to him, for a brief moment deadly serious. “You couldn’t get addicted if you swam in it.”

Bryce believed him. He stared at the glass. “What does it do to the I.Q.? We’ve got to collect some information here and there this evening. I want to be able to read and talk.” He smiled crookedly. “No worse than usual, that is.”

“Either raises the I.Q. or leaves it alone.”

“What’s the effect?”

“It affects different people different ways. After hearing the reports I’d like to see how it hits us.” Pierce pushed it towards him, grinning. “Leave half for me.”

Bryce’s wary thoughts touched poison and immunity and murder, but inwardly he began to scoff at his own habits of suspicion. However, before he could reach for the glass, Pierce had given a short snort as though in recognition of his presumptuousness and drank his own share first.

Then Bryce raised the cold glass to his lips.

As he put it down he could feel the change beginning to spread through his blood, warming and relaxing, bringing closer the memories of pleasure and good times. The restaurant was now completely seductive, with the surf of voices pleasant in his ears, calling to him to join the world and its offers of uncomplicated pleasures. He felt himself blending with the ethereal background mixture of light and sound.