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Medal Of Honor
by
She looked up into his face. “You’ll always be Captain Mathers to me, sir.” She added, softly and irrelevantly, “My two brothers were lost on the Minerva in that action last year off Pluto.” She took a deep breath, which only stressed her figure. “I’ve applied six times for Space Service, but they won’t take me.”
They were in an elevator now. Don said, “That’s too bad, Toni. However, the Space Service isn’t as romantic as you might think.”
“Yes, sir,” Toni Fitzgerald said, her soul in her eyes. “You ought to know, sir.”
Don was somehow irritated. He said nothing further until they reached the upper stories of the gigantic office building. He thanked her after she’d turned him over to another receptionist.
Don Mathers’ spirits had been restored by the time he was brought to the door of Max Rostoff’s office. His new guide evidently hadn’t even bothered to check on the man’s availability, before ushering Mathers into the other’s presence.
Max Rostoff looked up from his desk, wolfishly aggressive-looking as ever. “Why, Captain,” he said. “How fine to see you again. Come right in. Martha, that will be all.”
* * * * *
Martha gave the interplanetary hero one more long look and then turned and left.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Max Rostoff turned and snarled, “Where have you been, you rummy?”
He couldn’t have shocked Don Mathers more if he’d suddenly sprouted a unicorn’s horn.
“We’ve been looking for you for a week,” Rostoff snapped. “Out of one bar, into another, our men couldn’t catch up with you. Dammit, don’t you realize we’ve got to get going? We’ve got a dozen documents for you to sign. We’ve got to get this thing underway, before somebody else does.”
Don blurted, “You can’t talk to me that way.”
It was the other’s turn to stare. Max Rostoff said, low and dangerously, “No? Why can’t I?”
Don glared at him.
Max Rostoff said, low and dangerously, “Let’s get this straight, Mathers. To everybody else, but Demming and me, you might be the biggest hero in the Solar System. But you know what you are to us?”
Don felt his indignation seeping from him.
“To us,” Max Rostoff said flatly, “you’re just another demi-buttocked incompetent on the make.” He added definitely, “And make no mistake, Mathers, you’ll continue to have a good thing out of this only so long as we can use you.”
A voice from behind them said, “Let me add to that, period, end of paragraph.”
It was Lawrence Demming, who’d just entered from an inner office.
He said, even his voice seemed fat, “And now that’s settled, I’m going to call in some lawyers. While they’re around, we conduct ourselves as though we’re three equal partners. On paper, we will be.”
“Wait a minute, now,” Don blurted. “What do you think you’re pulling? The agreement was we split this whole thing three ways.”
Demming’s jowls wobbled as he nodded. “That’s right. And your share of the loot is your Galactic Medal of Honor. That and the dubious privilege of having the whole thing in your name. You’ll keep your medal, and we’ll keep our share.” He growled heavily, “You don’t think you’re getting the short end of the stick, do you?”
Max Rostoff said, “Let’s knock this off and get the law boys in. We’ve got enough paper work to keep us busy the rest of the week.” He sat down again at his desk and looked up at Don. “Then we’ll all be taking off for Callisto, to get things under way. With any luck, in six months we’ll have every ounce of pitchblende left in the system sewed up.”
* * * * *