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Medal Of Honor
by
Demming grunted. “There would be little doubt of you getting the Galactic Medal of Honor, Lieutenant, especially since Colin Casey is dead and there isn’t a living bearer of the award. Max, another drink for the Lieutenant.”
Don said, “Look. Why? I think you might be right about getting the award. But why, and why me, and what’s your percentage?”
* * * * *
Demming muttered, “Now we get to the point.” He settled back in his chair again and closed his eyes while his secretary took over.
Max Rostoff leaned forward, his wolfish face very serious. “Lieutenant, the exploitation of the Jupiter satellites is in its earliest stages. There is every reason to believe that the new sources of radioactives on Callisto alone may mean the needed power edge that can give us the victory over the Kradens. Whether or not that is so, someone is going to make literally billions out of this new frontier.”
“I still don’t see …”
“Lieutenant Mathers,” Rostoff said patiently, “the bearer of the Galactic Medal of Honor is above law. He carries with him an unalienable prestige of such magnitude that … Well, let me use an example. Suppose a bearer of the Medal of Honor formed a stock corporation to exploit the pitchblende of Callisto. How difficult would it be for him to dispose of the stock?”
Demming grunted. “And suppose there were a few, ah, crossed wires in the manipulation of the corporation’s business?” He sighed deeply. “Believe me, Lieutenant Mathers, there are an incredible number of laws which have accumulated down through the centuries to hamper the business man. It is a continual fight to be able to carry on at all. The ability to do no legal wrong would be priceless in the development of a new frontier.” He sighed again, so deeply as to make his bulk quiver. “Priceless.”
Rostoff laid it on the line, his face a leer. “We are offering you a three-way partnership, Mathers. You, with your Medal of Honor, are our front man. Mr. Demming supplies the initial capital to get underway. And I …” He twisted his mouth with evil self-satisfaction. “I was present when the Kraden ship was discovered, so I’ll have to be cut in. I’ll supply the brains.”
Demming grunted his disgust, but added nothing.
Don Mathers said slowly, looking down at the empty glass he was twirling in his fingers, “Look, we’re up to our necks in a war to the death with the Kradens. In the long run it’s either us or them. At a time like this you’re suggesting that we fake an action that will eventually enable us to milk the new satellites to the tune of billions.”
Demming grunted meaninglessly.
Don said, “The theory is that all men, all of us, ought to have our shoulders to the wheel. This project sounds to me like throwing rocks under it.”
Demming closed his eyes.
Rostoff said, “Lieutenant, it’s a dog-eat-dog society. If we eventually lick the Kradens, one of the very reasons will be because we’re a dog-eat-dog society. Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. Our apologists dream up some beautiful gobbledygook phrases for it, such as free enterprise, but actually it’s dog-eat-dog. Surprisingly enough, it works, or at least has so far. Right now, the human race needs the radioactives of the Jupiter satellites. In acquiring them, somebody is going to make a tremendous amount of money. Why shouldn’t it be us?”
“Why not, if you–or we–can do it honestly?”
Demming’s grunt was nearer a snort this time.
Rostoff said sourly, “Don’t be naive, Lieutenant. Whoever does it, is going to need little integrity. You don’t win in a sharper’s card game by playing your cards honestly. The biggest sharper wins. We’ve just found a joker somebody dropped on the floor; if we don’t use it, we’re suckers.”