Retief at Large by Keith Laumer Page B

all prospectors operating
in the belt ..."
     
                Leatherwell
swallowed, eyes bulging, glanced at Mancziewicz's face. He nodded.
"Agreed."
     
                "...
then I think I'd sign an agreement releasing him from his offer."
     
                Mancziewicz
looked at Magnan.
     
                "You're
the Terrestrial Consul-General." he said. "Is that the straight
goods?"
     
                Magnan
nodded. "If Mr. Leatherwell agrees—"
     
                "He's
already agreed," Retief said. "My pocket recorder, you know."
     
                "Put
it in writing," Mancziewicz said.
     
                Magnan
called in Miss Grumble. The others waited silently while Magnan dictated. He
signed the paper with a flourish, passed it across to Mancziewicz. He read it,
re-read it, then picked up the pen and signed. Magnan impressed the Consular
seal on the paper.
     
                "Now
the grant," Retief said. Magnan signed the claim, added a seal.
Mancziewicz tucked the papers away in an inner pocket. He rose.
     
                "Well,
gents, I guess maybe I had you figured wrong," he said. He looked at
Retief. "Uh ... got time for a drink?"
     
                "I
shouldn't drink during office hours," Retief said. He rose. "So I'll
take the rest of the day off."
     
    -
     
                "I
don't get it," Sam said signalling for refills. "What was the routine
with the injunction—and impounding Gertie? You could have got
hurt."
     
                "I
don't think so," Retief said. "If you'd meant business with that
Browning, you'd have flipped the safety off. As for the injunction—orders are
orders."
     
                "I've
been thinking," Sam said. "That gold deposit. It was a plant, too,
wasn't it?"
     
                "I'm
just a bureaucrat, Sam. What would I know about gold?"
     
                "A
double-salting job," Sam said. "I was supposed to spot the phoney
hardware—and then fall for the gold plant. When Leatherwell put his proposition
to me, I'd grab it. The gold was worth plenty, I'd figure, and I couldn't
afford a legal tangle with General Minerals. The lousy skunk! And you must have
spotted it and put it up to him."
     
                The
bartender leaned across to Retief. "Wanted on the phone."
     
                In
the booth, Magnan's agitated face stared a Retief.
     
                "Retief,
Mr. Leatherwell's in a towering rage! The deposit on 2645-P; it was merely a
surface film, barely a few inches thick! The entire deposit wouldn't fill an
ore-boat." A horrified expression dawned on Magnan's face.
"Retief," he gasped, "what did you do with the impounded
ore-carrier?"
     
                "Well,
let me see," Retief said. "According to the Space Navigation Code, a
body in orbit within twenty miles of any inhabited airless body constitutes a
navigational hazard. Accordingly, I had it towed away."
     
                "And
the cargo?"
     
                "Well,
accelerating all that mass was an expensive business, so to save the taxpayer's
credits, I had it dumped."
     
                "Where?"
Magnan croaked.
     
                "On
some unimportant asteroid—as specified by Regulations." He smiled blandly
at Magnan. Magnan looked back numbly.
     
                "But
you said—"
     
                "All
I said was that there was what looked like a valuable deposit on 2645-P. It
turned out to be a bogus gold mine that somebody had rigged up in a hurry.
Curious, eh?"
     
                "But
you told me—"
     
                "And
you told Mr. Leatherwell. Indiscreet of you, Mr. Consul. That was a privileged
communication; classified information, official use only."
     
                "You
led me to believe there was collapsed