“Yes, but—”
“Right or wrong?”
“Well . . . yes, that’s right. I just wanted—”
“The smaller man can live on less water, he breathes less air, he occunies less space. Les goes.” Harriman walked over and put a hand on Coster’s shoulder. “Don’t take it hard, son. It can’t be any worse on you than it is on me. This trip has got to succeed—and that means you and I have got to give up the honor of being the first man on the Moon. But I promise you this: we’ll go on the second trip, we’ll go with Les as our private chauffeur. It will be the first of a lot of passenger trips. Look, Bob-you can be a big man in this game, if you’ll play along now. How would you like to be chief engineer of the first lunar colony?”
Coster managed to grin. “It might not be so bad.”
“You’d like it. Living on the Moon will be an engineering problem; you and I have talked about it. How’d you like to put your theories to work? Build the first city? Build the big observatory we’ll found there? Look around and know that you were the man who had done it?”
Coster was definitely adjusting himself to it. “You make it sound good. Say, what will you be doing?”
“Me? Well, maybe I’ll be the first mayor of Luna City.” It was a new thought to him; he savored it. “The Honorable Delos David Harriman, Mayor of Luna City. Say, I like that! You know, I’ve never held any sort of public office; I’ve just owned things.” He looked around. “Everything settled?”
“I guess so,” Coster said slowly. Suddenly he stuck his hand out at LeCroix. “You fly her, Les; I’ll build her.”
LeCroix grabbed his hand. “It’s a deal. And you and the Boss get busy and start making plans for the next job-big enough for all of us.”
“Right!”
Harriman put his hand on top of theirs. “That’s the way I like to hear you talk. We’ll stick together and we’ll found Luna City together.”
“I think we ought to call it “Harriman,” LeCroix said seriously.
“Nope, I’ve thought of it as Luna City ever since I was a kid; Luna City it’s going to be. Maybe we’ll put Harriman Square in the middle of it,” he added.
“I’ll mark it that way in the plans,” agreed Coster.
Harriman left at once. Despite the solution he was terribly depressed and did not want his two colleagues to see it. It had been a Pyrrhic victory; he had saved the enterprise but he felt like an animal who has gnawed off his own leg to escape a trap.
CHAPTER EIGHT
STRONG WAS ALONE in the offices of the partnership when he got a call from Dixon. “George, I was looking for D.D. Is he there?”
“No, he’s back in Washington—something about clearances. I expect him back soon.”
“Hmmm. . . . Entenza and I want to see him. We’re coming over.” They arrived shortly. Entenza was quite evidently very much worked up over something; Dixon looked sleekly impassive as usual. After greetings Dixon waited a moment, then said, “Jack, you had some business to transact, didn’t you?”
Entenza jumped, then snatched a draft from his pocket.
“Oh, yes! George, I’m not going to have to pro-rate after all. Here’s my payment to bring my share up to full payment to date.”
Strong accepted it. “I know that Delos will be pleased.” He tucked it in a drawer.
“Well,” said Dixon sharply, “aren’t you going to receipt for it?”
“If Jack wants a receipt. The cancelled draft will serve.” However, Strong wrote out a receipt without further comment; Entenza accepted it.
They waited a while. Presently Dixon said, “George, you’re in this pretty deep, aren’t you?”
“Possibly.”
“Want to hedge your bets?”
“How?”
“Well, candidly, I want to protect myself. Want to sell one half of one. percent of your share?”
Strong thought about it. In fact he was worried—worried sick. The presence of Dixon’s auditor had forced them to keep on a cash basis—and only Strong knew how close to the line that had forced the partners. “Why do you want it?”