The Planetoid of Peril
By Paul Ernst
[Transcriber' Note: This etext was produced from Astounding StoriesNovember 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He pointed it at the incredible body.
Undaunted by crazy tales of an indestructible presence on AsteroidZ-40, Harley 2Q14N20 sets out alone to face and master it.
Harley 2Q14N20 stopped for a moment outside the great dome of theCelestial Developments Company. Moodily he stared at their asteroiddevelopment chart. It showed, as was to be expected, the pick of thelatest asteroid subdivision projects: the Celestial DevelopmentsCompany, established far back in 2045, would handle none but the verybest. Small chance of his finding anything here!
However, as he gazed at the chart, hope came suddenly to his face, andhis heart beat high under his sapphire blue tunic. There was an asteroidleft for sale there—one blank space among the myriad, pink-letteredSold symbols. Could it be that here was the chance he had been huntingso desperately?
He bent closer, to read the description of the sphere, and the hopefaded gradually from his countenance. According to its orbit andlocation, and the spectroscopic table of its mineral resources, it was achoice planetoid indeed. Of course such a rich little sphere, listed forsale by the luxurious Celestial Developments Company, would cost farmore than he could ever rake together to pay for an asteroid.
Shaking his head, he adjusted his gravity regulator to give him about apound and a half of weight, and started to float on. Then, his lipstwisting at his own absurd hopefulness, he stopped again; and afteranother moment of indecision turned into the archway that led to theconcern's great main office. After all, it wouldn't hurt to inquire theprice, even though he knew in advance it would be beyond his humblemeans.
A youngster in the pale green of the one-bar neophyte in businesspromptly glided toward him.
"Something for you to-day, sir?" he asked politely.
"Yes," said Harley. "I'm looking around for a planetoid; want to get aplace of my own out a way from Earth. Something, you understand, thatmay turn out to be a profitable investment as well as furnishing anexclusive home-site. I see on your chart that you have a sphere left forsale, in the Red Belt, so I came in to ask about it."
"Ah, you mean asteroid Z-40," said the youngster, gazing with enviousrespect at the ten-bar insignia, with the crossed Sco drills, thatproclaimed Harley to be a mining engineer of the highest rank. "Yes,that is still for sale. A splendid sphere, sir; and listed at aremarkably low figure. Half a million dollars."
"Half a million dollars!" exclaimed Harley. It was an incredibly smallsum: scarcely the yearly salary of an unskilled laborer. "Are you surethat's right?"
"Yes, that's the correct figure. Down payment of a third, and theremaining two thirds to be paid out of the exploitation profits—"
Here the conversation was interrupted by an elderly, grey-haired manwith the six-bar dollar-mark insignia of a business executive on hispurple tunic. He had been standing nearby, and at the mention ofasteroid Z-40 had looked up alertly. He glided to the two with a frownon his forehead, and spoke a few curt words to the neophyte, who slunkaway.
"Sorry, sir," he said to Harley. "Z-40 isn't for sale."
"But your young man just told me that it was," replied Hartley, loath togive up wh