Space Lawyer (3 page)

Kerry had sobered fast enough. He demanded to see the captain at once. The captain was a man of few words. He cut short Kerry's flow of explanation. "Put this blasted swab into the brig," he roared, "without food or water until he's ready to work. And if be bothers me again, I'll make rocket fuel of him."

"Yes, sir," said Jem discreetly and yanked the indignant new cargo handler out of the captain's way before he could say or do something really rash.

"He can't talk to me that way," exclaimed Kerry. "I'm a lawyer and I'll see him and his blasted boss to—"

"Look, son," said Jem, who wasn't a bad fellow at heart. "Don't get yourself into a lather. "If you're really a lawyer—" "Of course I am."

"Then you ought to know something about space law. You signed articles back there in the saloon, and you're bound by them for the duration. A captain has power of life and death on a trip."

Kerry paused. "Yes, I know. I must have been drunk when I signed."

"You were," Jem told him feelingly. "The way you downed those
pullas—"

Kerry brightened. "O. K. I'll be a sport. I'll do the work. But as soon as the trip is over, I'll tell that roughneck captain a thing or two."

"Better not," advised Jem. "You'll be under him for a whole year."

"What?"

"I told you, you were drunk. That contract was Standard Form No. 6. One year on the spaceways."

Kerry's jaw went hard and his eyes blazed. "Old Fireball won't want
me
in his employ that long," he said grimly. "Not after what I had just got through telling him in his own office. Bring on your work, Jem."

It was brought on in a way that surprised even that lithe, athletically fit young man. But he didn't complain, and by the end of the voyage he was on good terms with most of the crew and particularly friendly with Jem. But even as he wrestled cargo and wiped smudgy designs on his perspiring forehead with the back of his hand, Kerry's mind was racing with schemes and plans.

The
Flying Meteor
had no sooner dropped into its landing cradle at Planets and discharged its cargo, and asteroidal leave been granted its crew for the space of a day, than Kerry Dale hustled over to the office of the Intersystem Communications Service.

A most superior young lady looked at his still-smudged countenance with a lofty air. She patted the back of her hair-do with violet manicured hand and said
yes?
with that certain intonation.

"Never mind the act," Kerry advised. "I want to send a spacegram to Simeon Kenton, of Kenton Space Enterprises, Megalon, Earth."

The young lady was indignant. Imagine a low-bred cargo shifter talking to her like that! She tried to freeze him with a glance, but the smudged young man refused to freeze. Whereupon she stared pointedly at his grimy hands, his single-zippered rubberoid spacesuit.

"The minimum for a spacegram to Earth is thirty Earth dollars," she said frigidly. "In
advance."

He grinned at her; and somehow his grin made her forget her superiority. "Don't let that get you down, sister," he smiled, leaning confidentially over the stellite desk. "This one's going collect."

"Oh!" she gasped, and the melting thing she called a heart congealed again. "As if Mr. Kenton would honor
your
space-gram. As representative of the Intersystem Communications Service I must definitely refuse to—"

He leaned closer to her. "Don't—" he whispered. "Don't what?"

"Don't refuse. Read Section 734, Subdivision 2, Clause A of the Interplanetary Code. It says that should an officer or employee of any communications service engaged in the transmission, transference or forwarding of interspace messages refuse to accept any message properly offered for such transmission, transference or forwarding by any company, individual or individuals, the said officer or employee shall be liable to a fine of ten thousand Earth dollars or fifteen thousand Mars standard units, one half of which shall be paid over to the aggrieved party. How would
you
like to pay that fine?" he asked her.

She was flabbergasted. A cargo wrestler, lowliest of spacemen, quoting law to her, with chapter and verse! Then she rallied the tattered remnants of her dignity. He must have read that in a communications office somewhere. By law that extract had to be posted prominently. She sniffed.

"That's silly," she said. "A message to be properly offered must be paid for."

"Of course! Kenton will pay for it."

"He won't," she retorted. "And, anyway, how do I know?"

"Section 258, Subdivision 6, Clause D, which says, in short, when a member of the crew of any spaceship is lawfully on voyage to any planet, satellite or asteroid, and an emergency arises, he may, at his employer's expense, send such space-grams, televised communications or other messages as may to him seem proper for the resolving of the emergency. I, my dear young lady, am a member of the crew of the
Flying Meteor,
just landed; said
Flying Meteor
belonging, as you ought to know, to old Simeon himself." Kerry fished out his identification tag, exhibited it. "Now do you, or don't you?"

"I . . . I suppose so," she said weakly. She was getting a bit
scared of this incredible space roustabout.

"Good!" He flung her a slip of paper. "Send this off. When the answer comes, send it on to the
Flying Meteor,
Landing Cradle No. 8."

By the time she started reading the message he was gone. As her eyes moved over the lines they became glassy, wild. She cried out: "You can't say anything like—" But she was talking to herself. The office was empty. In a panic she buzzed the visiscreen for her chief. He was out. All responsibility rested on her. Perhaps she should screen the main office on Mars. But that would take a few hours; and that terrible young man would quote another passage from the Code at her, relating to delays in transmission. Nervously she started the peculiar message on its way.

CHAPTER 3

SIMEON KENTON was engaged in another verbal bout with his daughter. It meant nothing. They both enjoyed it. Old Simeon fussed and fumed and Sally got her way. Which was as it should be.

This time it was about her getting a little space knockabout with a cruising range to the Moon. "It's ridiculous!" he yelled. "And downright dangerous. Why can't you use my piloted machine?"

"Because I don't like Ben Manners, that stodgy old pilot you insist on keeping. Manners, indeed! He hasn't the manners of an old goat."

Simeon was shocked. "Such language, Sally! I'm
surprised. Where do you learn such—"

He saw her impish twinkle and stopped in time. "Anyway," he added hastily, "it's dangerous."

"You know I've a Class A license, dad. If the Space-Inspection thinks I'm competent enough to go to Jupiter, I certainly don't see why—"

The visiscreen buzzed. "Message for Mr. Simeon Kenton; message for Mr. Simeon Kenton."

Simeon flung the switch into receptor range. "O. K. Go ahead."

The Megalon operator of the Intersystem Communications Service appeared on the screen. He looked nervous. "It's from Planets, sir."

"Ha! Must be the
Flying Meteor.
Shoot!"

"It . . . it's collect, sir."

"The devil! Since when does Captain Ball send collect? Don't he carry enough funds?"

"Maybe there's trouble," Sally suggested.

"The devil you say!" Simeon was startled. The
Flying Meteor
carried a valuable cargo. "Well, go on there, you!" he roared into the screen. "Don't be keeping me on tenterhooks.

What's it say?"

The operator was plainly ill at ease. He cleared his throat.

"This . . . uh . . . message uh . . . our company takes no responsibility for—"

"Who the blazes asks you to?" roared Simeon. "It's for me; not for you! Now, hurry up, or by the beard of the comet—" The operator began to read hastily.

Simeon Kenton,

Kenton Space Enterprises,

Megalon, Earth.

Dear Old Fireball:

Ha Ha Ha. So you thought you fired me? Take another guess. Back in your employ in crew of
Flying Meteor.
Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here. And don't think you can fire me again. I have ironclad contract for one whole year. I can't stop laughing.

Kerry Dale

Sally began to snicker as the operator gulped on and on. Simeon's face turned a mottled red. His angelic whiskers and the thin white wisps on his head grew so electric she could almost see the sparks jumping from one to the other. "Stop!" he roared.

The operator stopped.

"Is he really back on your payroll, father?" Sally asked innocently.

He glared at her. "Quiet! Of all the insufferable impudence, the ratgosted, blatherskited ripscullion!"

"Father, your language! It's not even English!"

The operator said timidly: "Any reply, Mr. Kenton?" Simeon whirled on the screen. "No!" he shouted. "I mean yes! Take this message. 'Kerry Dale, wherever the blazes you are, you're not—' "

The operator paused in his writing. "Uh—is
that
the address?"

"It ought to be. Bah! You know the blamed added address, don't you? Then put it in and stop interrupting me.

Kerry Dale,

Et Cetera, Et Cetera.

You're fired and I mean fired. To blazes with your contract! I'll fight you all the way up to the Council and down again.

KENTON

"There, that will hold the young flipdoodle. Back in my employ, huh!"

"I wonder," murmured Sally.

"Wonder on."

"I wonder if he doesn't
want
you to fire him. He looked like a pretty smart young man to me. In that case, knowing you as who doesn't—that would be just the kind of a spacegram to—"

Simeon looked startled. "By gravy, Sally, maybe you're right!

Hey there!" he yelled into the screen. "Skip that reply. Take another, addressed:

Captain Zachariah Ball,

Flying Meteor,

Planets, Ceres.

Have you young squirt in crew name of Kerry Dale? If so, reply full details.

KENTON

A few hours later came the answer. Sally had waited for it. She was intensely interested. She told herself it was because she enjoyed watching her esteemed, lovable old parent fuss and fume, and because no one had ever dared stand up to him as this young man was doing. If there was anything deeper in her interest, she wouldn't admit it even to herself.

Captain Ball was brief and to the point.

Kerry Dale member of crew
Flying Meteor.
Cargo handler, Standard Contract No. 6. Signed up Megalon while drunk. Good man but always arguing about rights. Regular space lawyer. Soon take it out of him.

BALL

Old Simeon rubbed his hands softly. His eyes gleamed. "Cargo handler, hey? The toughest, orneriest job in the whole

System. Old Fireball, am I?"

He snapped the office of his lawyer in chief onto the screen.

"Yes, sir?" Horn inquired respectfully.

"About our employment contract, Form No. 6, how iron-clad is it?"

Horn stroked his jowls complacently. "Not a loophole, sir; from our point of view, that is. We just redrafted it six months ago. The Kenton Space Enterprises binds the employee to everything and is bound practically to nothing."

"Can the employee break it?"

"Break it!" Horn chuckled. "Not unless he wants to pay triple his wages as and for liquidated damages, and be enjoined for the space of five years thereafter from engaging in
any
gainful employment. Oh, it was carefully drawn, I assure you." Kenton rubbed his hands very hard now. "Good! Excellent!

I must say it was about time you began to earn that outrageous salary I'm paying you."

Horn preened himself. Coming from Simeon Kenton, this was indeed praise! "Well, sir, I'm glad you think—"

Suspicion glowed suddenly in Simeon's eye. "Hey, wait a moment. Did you personally draw that contract?"

Horn deflated. "Well . . . uh . . . that is—" he stammered.

"Ahhh! It was that dingdratted Dale, wasn't it?" "Well . . . uh . . . you see—"

But Kenton had already wiped him off the screen with a violent gesture.

"There, you see," Sally exclaimed happily. "Everything's worked out just fine. Kerry Dale's back in your employ whether he wants to or not. All you have to do is put it up to him.

Come back to your legal department,
with
a raise, or stay on as cargo handler. Surely he'll—"

She stopped. When her parent looked as unbearably angelic as he did right now, he had something particularly devilish up his sleeve. She was right.

"Oh, no, child. Kerry Dale is staying right where he is. He made a contract and he's going to live up to it."

Sally suddenly felt sick. This was no longer fun. The thought of that very determined, intent young man, whom she had seen only once and who hadn't even looked that once at her, wrestling with staggering loads and living in grubby spaceship holds for a year did things inside of her.