TUNNEL IN THE SKY by ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

Jack went on slicing liver. “It’s not much of a story and I don’t know that it is your knife. But it was not mine to start with you’ve seen mine. I use this one as a kitchen knife. Its balance is wrong.

“Colonel Bowie! Balanced wrong? That’s the best throwing knife you ever saw!”

“Do you want to hear this? I ran across this hombre in the bush, just as the jackals were getting to him. I don’t know what got him, stobor, maybe; he was pretty well clawed and half eaten. He wasn’t one of my class, for his face wasn’t marked and I could tell. He was carrying a Thunderbolt and”

“Wait a minute. A Thunderbolt gun?”

“I said so, didn’t I? I guess he tried to use it and had no luck. Anyhow, I took what I could use this knife and a couple of other things; I’ll show you. I left the Thunderbolt; the power pack was exhausted and it was junk.”

“Jack, look at me. You’re not lying?”

Jack shrugged. “I can take you to the spot. There might not be anything left of him, but the Thunderbolt ought to be there.”

Rod stuck out his hand. “I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions.”

Jack looked at his hand, did not shake it. “I don’t think you are much of a team mate. We had better call it quits.” The knife flipped over, landed at Rod’s toes. “Take your toadsticker and be on your way.”

Rod did not pick up the knife. “Don’t get sore, Jack. I made an honest mistake.”

“It was a mistake, all right. You didn’t trust me and I’m not likely to trust you again. You can’t build a team on that.” Jack hesitated. “Finish your breakfast and shove off. It’s better that way.”

“Jack, I truly am sorry. I apologize. But it was a mistake anybody could make you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“You didn’t wait to hear my story!”

“So I was wrong, I said I was wrong.” Rod hurriedly told how he had been stripped of his survival gear. “so naturally, when I saw Colonel Bowie, I assumed that you must have jumped me. That’s logical, isn’t it?” Jack did not answer; Rod persisted: “Well? Isn’t it?”

Jack said slowly, “You used ‘logic’ again. What you call ‘logic.’ Rod, you use the stuff the way some people use dope. Why don’t you use your head, instead?”

Rod flushed and kept still. Jack went on, “If I had swiped your knife, would I have let you see it? For that matter, would I have teamed with you?”

“No, I guess not. Jack, I jumped at a conclusion and lost my temper.”

“Commander Benboe says,” Jack answered bleakly, “that losing your temper and jumping at conclusions is a one way ticket to the cemetery.”

Rod looked sheepish. ”Deacon Matson talks the same way.”

“Maybe they’re right. So let’s not do it again, huh? Every dog gets one bite, but only one.”

Rod looked up, saw Jack’s dirty paw stuck out at him. “You mean we’re partners again?”

“Shake. I think we had better be; we don’t have much choice.” They solemnly shook hands. Then Rod picked up Colonel Bowie, looked at it longingly, and handed it hilt first to Jack.

“I guess it’s yours, after all.”

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m glad you’ve got it back.”

“No,” Rod insisted. “You came by it fair and square.

“Don’t be silly, Rod. I’ve got ‘Bluebeard’; that’s the knife for me.”

“It’s yours. I’ve got Lady Macbeth.”

Jack frowned. “We’re partners, right?”

“Huh? Sure.”

“So We share everything. Bluebeard belongs just as much to you as to me. And Colonel Bowie belongs to both of us. But you are used to it, so it’s best for the team for you to wear it. Does that appeal to your lopsided sense of logic?”

“Well. . .”

“So shut up and eat your breakfast. Shall I toast you another slice? That one is cold.”

Rod picked up the scorched chunk of liver, brushed dirt and ashes from it. “This is all right.”

“Throw it in the stream and have a hot piece. Liver won’t keep anyhow.”

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