On the screen, Reagan shrugged. “We’ve done very well until now. We’ve got our foundation solidly laid. We’ve got the properties and some of the necessary contracts for development and future use. But we’re stretched to the limit. The first loans are now coming due. We’re going to be watched very carefully. If we pay those loans on time, then we’ll have no trouble with future loans. But, if we fail to pay those loans, the word will go around that we’re in trouble. God help us then.”
Krojac nodded soberly. Here was the clinch. It was one thing to see the opportunity, conceive a plan, and carry the plan as far as ordinary luck, energy, thought, and determination would carry it. It was another thing to have that plan reach the point where it should just start to bear fruit, and then see it pile into a stone wall.
“How far’s our work behind schedule, down on the planet?”
“Just three days. But when those colonists start coming through here, we’ve got to have the facilities ready. Otherwise, instead of pay, we’re going to get a penalty. Either pay, or penalty, is figured per head, and the numbers passing through here will be enormous.”
Krojac thought it over. The main new colonization route through this sector passed nearby before branching, and that had seemed to be his opportunity. What he needed was a quick return that would pay off immediate debts. Colonists outbound on the longer government routes were given a chance to rest and make up deficiencies in their equipment before the final stage of the trip. The government would gladly pay a private enterpriser who would supply the rest-and-refit facilities.
* * *
Krojac had known an Earth-type planet ideally situated, and occupied only by monster carnivores and herbivores, and a kind of big-boned tiger-like creature with no visible technology, civilization, or other accomplishments. All he had to do was to get the refit contract, and he could build on this planet, and have a sure source of cash income. He decided to do it.
The first shock had come when the government put the refit contract up for bids, and Reed & Osborne publicly announced its intention of bidding.
“Now what?” Krojac demanded.
Reagan shook his head. “I’m afraid their move is obvious.”
“Bid at just what they think it will cost?”
“Right. Then whether they get it or not, they won’t lose a cent; while if we don’t get it, we’ll be denied our immediate source of cash. Yet to get it, we’ll have to bid below cost. The result will be that we’ll be driven to the wall. And when we fold up, Reed & Osborne will buy us out cheap, for an enormous overall profit.”
Krojac tested the logic of it. It fit like a sharp knife between the ribs. “There’s just one thing. This is a long-term contract.”
“Yes. They can’t plan on renegotiating it every year or two.”
“That means they’ll have to figure planetary rights over a long period. After they’ve sold them out, they’ll still have expenses. If we should live through this, they don’t want a drawn-out drain on their resources.”
“Hm-m-m, that’s right. Let’s get Sheaster’s opinion on this.”
A moment later, a shrewd face looked at them from the screen. “Sure, when you take a government R and R Contract, you get full planetary settlement rights. That’s thrown in free. It doesn’t cost the government a cent. Yes, if you’ve got space left over, and you always have lots of it, you can sell homesteads to the settlers, and the government will pay you the settlers’ outbound shipping cost.” Sheaster’s eyes narrowed. “But wait a minute, now. You can’t extrapolate the short-term gains onto a long-term basis. What happens is, you get a fast flow of cash while the nearby land is used up, then you run into expenses. You’ve got to deliver the settler fairly close to the homestead. You’ve got to lay out a system for the homestead boundaries. You’ve got to make the first year’s supplies available. You run into diminishing returns pretty fast when you start shuttling them over mountain ranges against gravity, and hauling out supplies. It turns into a mass of details, and whether a river flows north or south can make all the difference.”
“How’s Reed & Osborne going to figure it?”
“The same way, only more so. They don’t want it. They just want to saw off the limb we’re climbing on.”
“We’ll be safe to figure they won’t bid below their idea of average long-term cost?”
Sheaster thought it over. “Yes. But you think we can cut under their bid, count on short-term sales to settlers, and have cash from the government? Sure. Later, we’ll have a steady drain till the contract runs out, but by then we can cover that from other sources.” Sheaster squinted at the screen. “Yes, I think that’s it.”
Krojac said, “Is there any place we can get in a trap?”
“If we make a wrong guess as to costs, sure. Or if it turns out there’s a ‘sentient race’ on the planet.”
“We’ve got the survey reports. They haven’t classified it yet, but there’s no sign of that.”
“No. But if that happens, we could wind up with the contract and no planet. When there’s a ‘sentient race,’ you have to get their permission.”
“The initial recommendation was to classify it A-1 except for the big carnivores on the planet.”
Sheaster nodded. “We can’t eliminate chance. If we don’t do this, we take a bigger risk of failing.”
“Just what I think,” said Krojac. “O.K., we’ll bid slightly below cost.”
* * *
And, Krojac thought, sitting on the edge of his bed ten months later, it had worked like a charm, until about six weeks ago. He had won the contract. He’d gotten ready to start work. But then it developed that the chief of the classification unit on the planet thought the planet’s tigerlike race was sentient; he also thought it was potentially deadly.
Since the classification chief produced no proof for this belief, the obvious answer was that Reed & Osborne were quietly paying a little something into a hidden account somewhere. The simplest counter was to try to outbid Reed & Osborne, and when that didn’t work, to pull every string available to force the local official, whose name was Lindell, to make up his mind.
Lindell, however, did not make up his mind, but instead sent back worried reports of possible future trouble, along with every conceivable kind of proof that the local species was neither sentient nor actually dangerous. These reports, copies of which quickly found their way to Nels Krojac, all but drove him wild. Reed & Osborne, through Lindell, had him in a box.
“All right,” said Krojac finally, “there’s nothing to do but send the men down there anyway, and fight it out in court afterward. Maybe by then, at least, we’ll have the money to pay the fines.”
Sheaster nodded. “We might beat him. This is so irrational, it must be he’s been bribed.”
Reagan said, “He can’t actually stop us. His base is set up to fight off the carnivores. But that’s all the weapons he’s got, except for lightly-armed surveyor-probes.”
Krojac nodded. “And his base is far enough away so that’s no bother.”
“Except,” said Sheaster thoughtfully, “there’s just one thing.”
“Now what?”
“He could call in the Space Force.”
Krojac could see the incandescent sparks dance before his eyes. “That’s all we’d need.”
“Agh,” said Reagan, “what’s the likelihood of that?”
“With this Lindell,” said Sheaster. “I’m not so sure.”
There was a silence, then Krojac shrugged.
“What else can we do?”
“The Space Force shoots with guns,” said Sheaster. “It’s a difference of going bust and getting killed. Maybe you don’t care, but I do.”
Reagan said, “We don’t know he’ll call in the Space Force.”
Sheaster pursed his lips doubtfully.
Krojac nodded. “Reagan’s right. As it stands, we’re beat. We’ve got to force the issue. Meanwhile, in case he does call in the Space Force, we’ve got to dig up every complication, legal precedent, and argument for delay we can think of. We might make it so complicated the Space Force would think it lacked jurisdiction.”
Reagan said thoughtfully, “I’ve got a nephew on one of those ships—I think he’s second-in-command of a patrol squadron. I think he’d see reason.”
“If he can get us out of this,” said Krojac earnestly, “I’d be grateful, in five figures. You and he can split it any way you want.”
Reagan said, “I don’t know. It’s no use unless he’s in the right squadron.”
“Maybe we could cut his C.O. in. This thing is worth plenty to me.”
“Yeah,” said Reagan, “but there’re a lot of patrol squadrons out there, and I’m just not sure—”
“Listen,” said Sheaster, “go easy about cutting the C.O. in. There’s a certain type we don’t want to fool with. Let me get it across to you, these boys play with guns.”