Part 3 (1/2)

”I'm Lana Elden,” she said.

Jonner swore under his breath. A woman! But if she weren't qualified, her name would not have been on the Commission board.

The verbal contract was made quickly, and Jonner cut the Commission monitor into the line to make it binding. That was done often when rival s.h.i.+ps, even of the same line, were bidding for the services of crewmen.

”Blastoff time is 2100 tonight,” he said, ending the interview. ”Be here.”

Jonner left the personnel office and walked down the hall. At the elevator, Deveet and Kruger hurried out, almost colliding with him.

”Jonner, we've run into trouble!” exclaimed Deveet. ”s.p.a.ce Fuels won't sell us any hydrazine and nitric acid to refill the tanks. They say they have a new contract with Marscorp that takes all their supply.”

”Contract, h.e.l.l!” snorted Jonner. ”Marscorp owns s.p.a.ce Fuels. What can be done about it, Kruger?”

Kruger shook his head.

”I'm all for you, but s.p.a.ce Control has no jurisdiction,” he said. ”If a private firm wants to restrict its sales to a franchised line, there's nothing we can do about it. If you had a franchise, we could force them to allot fuel on the basis of cargo handled, since s.p.a.ce Fuels has a monopoly here. But you don't have a franchise yet.”

Jonner scratched his grey head thoughtfully.

It was a serious situation. The atom-powered _Radiant Hope_ could no more make a planetary landing than the chemically-powered s.h.i.+ps. Its power gave a low, sustained thrust that permitted it to accelerate constantly over long periods of time. To beat the powerful pull of planetary surface gravity, the terrific burst of quick energy from the streamlined G-boats, the planetary landing craft, was needed.

”We can still handle it,” Jonner said at last. ”With only twenty tons return cargo, we can take it up this trip. Add some large parachutes to that, Deveet. We'll shoot the end of the cable down by signal rocket, out in the lowlands, and stop the winch when we've made contact, long enough to attach the rest of the cargo to the cable. Pull it down with the cable and, with Mars' low gravity, the parachutes will keep it from being damaged.”

But when Jonner got back to the landing field to check on unloading operations, his plan was smashed. As he approached the G-boat, a mechanic wearing an ill-concealed smirk came up to him.

”Captain, looks like you sprung a leak in your fuel line,” he said. ”All your hydrazine's leaked out in the sand.”

Jonner swung from the waist and knocked the man flat. Then he turned on his heel and went back to the administration building to pay the 10-credit fine he would be a.s.sessed for a.s.saulting a s.p.a.ceport employee.

The s.p.a.ce Control Commission's hearing room in Mars City was almost empty. The examiner sat on the bench, resting his chin on his hand as he listened to testimony. In the plaintiff's section sat Jonner, flanked by Deveet and Lana Elden. In the defense box were the Mars Corporation attorney and Captain Rus...o...b..at of the _Marsward XVIII_. Kruger, seated near the rear of the room, was the only spectator.

The Mars Corporation attorney had succeeded in delaying the final hearing more than a 42-day Martian month by legal maneuvers. Meanwhile, the _Marsward XVIII_ had blasted down to Phobos, and G-boats had been shuttling back and forth unloading the vessel and reloading it for the return trip to Earth.

When testimony had been completed, the examiner shuffled through his papers. He put on his spectacles and peered over them at the litigants.

”It is the ruling of this court,” he said formally, ”that the plaintiffs have not presented sufficient evidence to prove tampering with the fuel line of the G-boat of the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p _Radiant Hope_. There is no evidence that it was cut or burned, but only that it was broken. The court must remind the plaintiffs that this could have been done accidentally, through inept handling of cargo.

”Since the plaintiffs have not been able to prove their contention, this court of complaint has no alternative than to dismiss the case.”

The examiner arose and left the hearing room. Baat waddled across the aisle, puffing.

”Too bad, Jonner,” he said. ”I don't like the stuff Marscorp's pulling, and I think you know I don't have anything to do with it.

”I want to win, but I want to win fair and square. If there's anything I can do to help....”

”Haven't got a spare G-boat in your pocket, have you?” retorted Jonner, with a rueful smile.

Baat pulled at his jowls.