The Galaxy Primes Part 45

"Regret ... research ... of such extreme delicacy ... vibration ...

temperature control ... one one-hundredth of one degree Centigrade...."

He sought out his long-time acquaintance Banks; finding him in a temporary office half a block away from the Hall. "What's the story, Jerry?" he asked. "The _real_ story, I mean?"

"You know, as much about it as I do, Ben. Garlock and James don't waste time trying to detail me on that kind of business, you know."

This should have satisfied any newshawk, but Bundy's nose still itched.

He mulled things over for a minute, then probed, finding that he could read nothing except Banks' outermost, most superficial thoughts.

"Well ... maybe ... but...." Then Bundy plunged. "All you have to do, Jerry, is tell me screens-half-down that your d.a.m.n story is true."

"And that's the one thing I can't do," Banks admitted; and Bundy could not detect that any part of his sheepishness was feigned. "You're just too d.a.m.ned smart, Ben."

"Oh--one of _those_ things? So that's it?"

"Yup. I told Evans it might not work."

That should have satisfied the reporter, but it didn't. "Now it doesn't smell just a trifle cheesy; it stinks like rotten fish. You won't go screens down on that one, either."

"No comment."

"Oh, joy!" Bundy exulted. "So big that Gerald Banks, the top press-agent of all time, actually doesn't _want_ publicity! The stars.h.i.+p works--this lack-of-control stuff is the bunk--from here to another star in nothing flat--Garlock's back, and he's brought--what _have_ you got in there, Jerry?"

"The only way I can tell you is in confidence, for Evans' release. I'd like to, Ben, believe me, but I can't."

"Confidence, h.e.l.l! Do you think we won't get it?"

"In that case, no comment." The interview ended and the siege began.

Newshounds and detectives questioned and peered and probed. They dug into morgues, tabulating and cla.s.sifying. They recalled and taped and sifted all the gossip they had heard. They got a picture of sorts, but it was maddeningly confusing and incomplete. And, since it was certain that inter-systemic matters were involved, they could not extrapolate--any guess was far too apt to be wrong. Thus nothing went on the air or appeared in print; and, although the surface remained calm, all newsdom seethed to its depths.

Wherefore haggard Banks and harried Evans greeted Garlock with shouts of joy when the four wanderers came back to spend the week end on Earth.

"I'll talk to 'em," Garlock decided, after the long story had been told.

"Have somebody get hold of Bundy and ask him to come out."

"Get _hold_ of him!" Banks snorted. "He's here. Twenty-four hours a day.

Eating sandwiches and cat-napping on chairs in the lobby. All you have to do is unseal that door."

Garlock flung the door wide. Bundy rushed in, followed by a more-or-less steady stream of some fifty other top-bracket newspeople, both men and women.

"Well, Garlock, perhaps _you_ will give us some screens-down facts?"

Bundy asked, angrily.

"I'll give you _all_ the screens-down...."

"Clee!" "You're crazy!" "You can't!" "Don't!" Belle and all the Operators protested at once.

Ignoring the objections, Garlock cut his s.h.i.+eld to half and gave the whole group a true account of everything that had happened in the galaxy. Then, while they were all too stunned to speak, a grin of saturnine amus.e.m.e.nt spread over his dark, five-o'clock-shadowed face.

"You pestiferous gnats insisted on grabbing the ball," he sneered. "Now let's see you run with it."

Bundy came out of his trance. "_What_ a story!" he yelled. "We'll plaster it...."

"Yeah," Garlock said, dryly. "_What_ a story. Exactly."

"Oh." Bundy deflated suddenly. "You'll have to prove it--demonstrate it--of course."

"Of course? You tickle me. Not only do I not have to prove it, I won't.

I won't even confirm it."

Bundy glared at Garlock, then whirled on Banks. "If you don't give me this in shape to use, you'll never get another line or mention anywhere!"

"Oh, no?" For the first time in his professional life Banks gloated, openly and avidly. "From now on, my friend, who is in the saddle? Who is going to come to whom? Oh, _brother_!"

When the fuming newsmen had gone, Garlock said, "It'll leak, of course."

"Of course," Banks agreed. "'It is rumored ...' 'from a usually reliable source ...' and so on. Nothing definite, but each one of them will want to put out the first and biggest."

"That's what I figured. It'll have to break sometime and I thought easing it out would be best ... but wait a minute...." he thought for two solid minutes. "But we're going to need a lot of money, and we're just about broke, aren't we?" This thought was addressed to Frank Macey, the Galaxians' treasurer.

"Worse than broke--much worse."

"I could loan you a couple of credits, Frank," Belle said, brightly.

"But go ahead, Clee."

"People like to be sidewalk superintendents. Suppose they could watch the construction of an outpost so far away that n.o.body ever dreamed of ever getting there. Could you do anything with that, Jerry?"

"_Could I! Just!_" and Banks, went into a rhapsody.

"That's the first good idea any one of you crackpots has had for five years," Macey said, suddenly. "But wouldn't transportation of material and so on present problems?"

"No; just buying it," Garlock said, soberly. "Oh, rather, paying for it."

"No trouble there...."

"What?" Belle exclaimed. "'No trouble,' it says here in fine print? How the old skinflint has changed--instead of screaming his head off about spending money he's actually _offering_ to. Frank, I'll loan you _three_ credits!"

"Hush, honey-chile, the men-folks are talking man-business. Look, Clee.

We'll use the _Pleiades_ at first, while we're building a regular transport. A hundred pa.s.sengers per trip, one thousand credits one way...."

"Wow!" Belle put in. "Our ex-skinflint is now a bare-faced, legally-protected robber."

"By no means, Belle," Evans said. "How much would that be per mile?"