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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Were you serious when you made that motion about a price of seventy-five centisols?" "I sure was!" Joe declared. "That's the real price, and always has been, and that's what we get or Kapstaad doesn't get any more wax." "If Murell can top it, maybe Kapstaad won't get any more wax, period," I said. "Who's he with Interstellar Import-Export?"
Joe Kivelson wasn't in sight, but Glenn Murell and Oscar were drinking coffee. I went to the front window, and there was a scarlet glow on the horizon ahead of me. That's another sight Cesário Vieria will miss, if he takes his next reincarnation off Fenris.
I didn't see him reach for it, or where he drew it from. It was just in his hand, firing, and the empty brass flew up and came down on the concrete with a jingle on the heels of the report. We had all stopped short, and the roustabout who was towing the lifter came hurrying up. Murell simply stood gaping at Bish.
While it was going on, I went to the communication screen and got the Times, and told Dad what had happened. "Yes," he said. "That was what I was afraid you'd find. Glenn Murell called in from the spaceport a few minutes ago. He says Mort Hallstock came in with his car, and he heard from some of the workmen that Bish Ware, Steve Ravick and Leo Belsher came in on the Main City Level in a jeep.
The outside bark is a hard shell, which grows during the beginning of our four hot seasons a year. Under that will be more bark, soft and spongy, and this gets more and more dense toward the middle; and then comes the hardwood core, which may be as much as two feet thick. "One thing, we have firewood," Murell said, looking at them. "What'll we cut it with; our knives?" I wanted to know.
The poisoning of Murell seemed like an unexpected blow to him. That fitted what I'd begun to think. Finally, he motioned the laborer to pick up the lifter, and we started off toward where he had parked his jeep, outside the spaceport area. Bish walked along with us, drawing his pistol and replacing the fired round in the magazine.
"Bulldog, Nip Spazoni," Joe told me. "Nip's bringing my saloon fighter aboard, and he wants to meet Mr. Murell." I remembered that the man who had roughed up the Ravick goon in Martian Joe's had made his getaway from town in the Bulldog.
That way, even in the post-sunset and post-dawn storms, ships can come in submerged around the outer breakwater and under the roof, and we don't get any wind or heavy seas along the docks. Murell was interested in everything he saw, in the brief time while we were going down along the docks to where the Javelin was berthed.
They watched the Peenemünde being towed down and berthed, and the audiovisual interview with Murell. Then Dad came on the screen with a record player in front of them, and gave them a play-off of my interview with Leo Belsher. Ordinary bad language I do not mind. I'm afraid I use a little myself, while struggling with some of the worn-out equipment we have at the paper.
Didn't scratch the guy; hit the blade. One Eye has the knife, with the bullet mark on it, over his back bar, now." "Well, was he drunk then?" Joe asked. "Well, he had to hang onto the bar with one hand while he fired with the other." Then he turned to me. "How is Murell, now?" he asked. I told him what the hospital had given us. Everybody seemed much relieved.
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