Robert Heinlein - Red Planet

"Huh?"

"Think I'm going to sit here and do lessons when somebody is planning to trick my mother into being forced to last out a high-latitude winter? My own mother? Mom's got a bad heart; it would kill her." He turned and started digging things out of the locker. "Let's get moving."

Jim hesitated, then said, "Sure, Frank, but how about your plans? If you quit school now you'll never be a rocket pilot."

"The deuce with that! This is more important."

"I can warn everybody of what's up just as well as two of us can."

"The matter is settled, I tell you."

"Okay. Just wanted to be sure you knew your own mind. Let's go." Jim climbed into his own suit, zipped it up, tightened the straps, and then started picking over his belongings. He was forced to throw away a large part, as-he wanted Willis to travel in his bag.

He picked up Willis. "Look, fellow," he said, "we're going home. I want you to ride inside here, where it's nice and warm."

"Willis go for ride?"

"Willis go for ride. But I want you to stay inside and not say one word until I take you out. Understand?"

"Willis not talk?"

"Willis not talk at all, not till Jim takes him out."

"Okay, Jim boy." Willis thought about it and added,

"Willis play music?"

"No! Not a sound, not a word. No music. Willis close up and stay closed up."

"Okay, Jim boy," Willis answered in aggrieved tones and promptly made a smooth ball of himself. Jim dropped him into the bag and zipped it.

"Come on," said Frank. "Let's find Smitty, get our guns, and get going."

"The Sun won't be up for nearly an hour."

"We'll have to risk it. Say, how much money have you got?"

"Not much. Why?"

"Our fare home, dope."

"Oh-" Jim had been so preoccupied with other matters that he had not thought about the price of a ticket. The trip to the school had been free, of course, but they had no travel authorization for this trip; cash would be required.

They pooled resources-not enough for one ticket, much less than enough for two. "What'll we do?" asked Jim.

"We'll get it out of Smitty."

"How?"

"We'll get it. I'll tear off his arm and beat him over the head with it if I have to. Let's go."

"Don't forget your ice skates."

Smythe roomed alone, a tribute to his winning personality. When they shook him, he wakened quickly and said, "Very well, officer, I'll go quietly."

"Smitty," said Jim, "we want our-we want those packages."

"I'm closed for the night. Come back in the morning."

"We got to have them now."

Smythe got out of bed. "There's an extra charge for night service, of course." He stood on his bunk, removed the grille from his air intake, reached far inside, and hauled out the wrapped guns.

Jim and Frank tore off the wrappings and belted their guns on. Smythe watched them with raised eyebrows. Frank added, "We've got to have some money." He named the amount.

"Why come to me?"

"Because I know you've got it."

"So? And what do I get in return? A sweet smile?"

"No." Frank got out his slide rule, a beautiful circular instrument with twenty-one scales."How much for that?"

"Mmm-six credits."

"Don't be silly! It cost my father twenty-five."

"Eight, then. I won't be able to get more than ten for it."

"Take it as security for fifteen."

'Ten, cash. I don't run a pawn shop." Jim's slide rule went for a smaller amount, then both their watches, followed by lesser items at lower prices.

At last they had nothing left to sell but their skates, and both boys refused the suggestion although they were still twelve credits short of what they needed. "You've just got to trust us for the rest, Smitty," Frank told him.

Smythe studied the ceiling. "Well, seeing what good customers you've been, I might add that I also collect autographs."

"Huh?"

"I'll have both of yours, on one I.O.U., at six per centper month. The security will be the pound of flesh nearest your heart."

"Take it," said Jim.

Finished, they started to leave. Smythe said, "My crystal ball tells me that you gentlemen are about to fade away. How?"

"Just walk out," Jim told him.

"Hmm... it does not seem to have come to your attention that the front door is now locked at nights. Our friend and mentor, Mr. Howe, unlocks it himself when he arrives in the morning."

"You're kidding!"

"Go see for yourself."

Frank tugged Jim's arm. "Come on. We'll bust it down if we have to."

"Why do things the hard way?" inquired Smythe. "Go out through the kitchen."

"You mean the back door's not locked?" demanded Frank.

"Oh, it's locked all right."

"Then quit making silly suggestions."

"I should be offended at that," Smythe answered, "but I consider the source. While the back door is locked, it did not occur to brother Howe to install a lock on the garbage dump."

"The garbage dump," exploded Jim.

"Take it or leave it. It's your only way to sneak out."

"We'll take it, " decided Frank. "Come on, Jim."

"Hold on," put in Smythe. "One of you can operate the dump for the other, but who's going to do it for the second man? He's stuck."

"Oh, I see. " Frank looked at him. "You are."

"And what am I offered?"

"Confound you, Smitty how would you like a lump on the head? You've already taken us for everything but our eyeteeth."

Smythe shrugged. "Did I refuse? After all, I told you about it. Very well, I'll chalk it up to overhead-good will, full measure, advertising. Besides, I don't like to see my clients fall afoul of the law."

They went quickly to the school's large kitchen. Smythe's cautious progress through the corridors showed long familiarity with casual disregard of rules. Once there, Smythe said,

"All right, who goes first?"

Jim eyed the dump with distaste. It was a metal cylinder, barrel-size, laid on its side in the wall. It could be rotated on its main axis by means of a lever set in the wall; a large opening in it permitted refuse to be placed in it from inside the building, then removed from the outside, without disturbing the pressurization of the building-the simplest sort of a pressure lock. The interior showed ample signs of the use for which it was intended. "I'll go first," he volunteered and settled his mask over his face. "Wait a second," said Frank. He had been eyeing the stocks of canned foods racked around the room. Now he dumped spare clothing from his bag and started replacing it with cans.

"Hurry up," Smythe insisted. "I want to get back to my beddy-bye before the morning bell rings."

"Yes, why bother?" protested Jim. "We'll be home in a few hours."

"Just a hunch. Okay, I'm ready."

Jim climbed into the dump, drawing up his knees and clutching his bag to his chest. The cylinder rotated around him; he felt a sudden drop in pressure and a bitter cold draft. Then he was picking himself up from the pavement of the

alley behind the school.

The cylinder creaked back to the loading position; in a moment Frank landed beside him. Jim helped him up. "Boy, are you a mess!" he said, brushing at a bit of mashed potato that clung to his chum's suit.

"So are you, but there's no time to worry about it. Gee, but it's cold!"

"It'll be warmer soon. Let's go." The pink glow of the coming Sun was already lighting the eastern sky, even though the air was still midnight cold. They hurried down the alley to the street in back of the school and along it to the right. This portion of the city was entirely terrestrial and could have been a city in Alaska or Norway, but beyond them, etched against the lightening sky, were the ancient towers of Syrtis Minor, denying the Earthlike appearance of the street.

They came, as they had planned, to a tributary canal and sat down to put on their skates. They were racers, with 22inch razoriike blades, intended for speed alone. Jim finished first and lowered himself to the ice. "Better hurry," he said. "I almost froze my behind."