Part 2

"This, of course, is an outrage, Gentlemen," he said. "But before I can do anything, I'll have to check both your claims." He indicated the file cabinets. "It may take a little time but I'll get at it right away. As a matter of fact I believe they're serving lunch at the mess hall now. Why don't you all have lunch and come back in about an hour. I'll know more about the situation then."

Leon Stubbs shuffled through some papers on the desk, indicating dismissal. The two men joined their families in the anteroom.

After an awkward silence, Bruce Whiting and his family excused themselves, leaving the Marshall's alone.

"What did he say, Claude? Tell me! What did he say?"

"He doesn't know yet, honey. He's checking the claims. We're supposed to come back in an hour."

"But it will be all right, won't it. It's got to be all right!"

"I don't know, Joan. So help me, I don't know.... We can't both have the land. That's for sure. One of us will have to settle for someplace else."

"Suppose we _did_ have to take another tract, Claude. Would you be disappointed--I mean, really disappointed.... After all, isn't the important thing the fact that we're here?"

Claude managed a smile. "I suppose so," he admitted. "It's just that it comes as sort of a letdown. For almost seven years now we've been looking at the pictures of _this_ land. We knew where we'd build the house, what portion we'd farm.... I know every tree, every square inch of it.... And now--"

"But there's other land. We've only seen a small portion of the planet."

He shook his head.

"Not like this. This claim has everything. What's more, Whiting knows it. That's why he'll fight us on it all the way."

"They seem like nice people. Claude. Couldn't we talk to them ... make some sort of deal?"

"A deal? What sort of deal?"

"A hundred acres is a lot of land--an awful lot of land.... Maybe the Whitings would--"

"Uh uh. No good. I've already felt him out on that. I had the same idea last night, so I came right out and asked him if he'd settle for fifty acres apiece.... He refused. Oh, he was nice enough about it. But he gave me to understand it was all or nothing with him."

"I'm hungry," Billy said.

Claude looked at his wife. "So am I. Let's go over to the mess hall. That's where the Whitings went, I think."

"Claude?"

"Yes, Joan."

"Let's not sit with them, if we meet them there."

"All right, honey. Let's not."

They were halfway to the door when Leon Stubbs came out of the inner office. He smiled.

"Mind stepping inside a moment?" he said.

When Claude hesitated, he added: "Perhaps Mrs. Marshall had better come in too."

They followed him inside where the Director indicated two chairs alongside the desk.

"I've been checking your claims," he said. "And since you were still here, I didn't think it advisable to prolong the suspense."

Claude glanced at his wife.

"You mean it's all right ... the land is ours?"

The Director sat down and spread open a pair of folders on the desk. For a long while he stared at them--comparing them. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Marshall. I'm afraid it isn't all right."

"But our claim. It's valid, isn't it?"

Leon Stubbs ran a hand through his greying hair. "I don't know," he said. "Naturally the fault for processing duplicate claims lies with the colonization bureau in Washington. Eventually, I suppose it will be up to them to decide on the disposition of this case.... However, because of the time-lag in communications, I have full authority to pass down temporary decisions in matters of this type.... And because Mr. Whiting's claim is dated several days ahead of yours, I must in all fairness award the land to him.... You and your wife can appeal that decision of course."

"We'll appeal, Mr. Stubbs," Claude said angrily. "After all, this mess is the government's fault. Not ours! It's up to them to straighten it out."

"That's up to you," Leon Stubbs said. "Although I'm sure you realize that in the meantime you'll have to make some temporary arrangements."

"Temporary arrangements?"

"Yes, Mr. Marshall. Even assuming the government decides in your favor--which I doubt--you'll have to live _somewhere_ while the case is being processed.... And that will take some time."

"How long?"

Leon Stubbs shuffled through the papers again.

"You know about the time-lag, don't you?"

"No. What about the time-lag?"

The Director met his stare. "I thought you knew. Actually the only communication we have with Terra short of space travel, is by short wave radio, and radio waves as you may know travel at approximately the speed of light. Since we are approximately 4.4 light-years away from Earth, a round trip message to Washington would take about nine years. This of course does not take into consideration the time needed to process your case."

Claude kept watching the Director's face while he spoke. He _looked_ like an honest man. To all intents and purposes he was simply a public servant performing a distasteful duty. Yet there was something about his voice that had an all-too-familiar ring.... Something that hinted he was leading up to an offer.

Claude cleared his throat. "All right, Mr. Stubbs. So you've convinced me of the futility of appealing the claim. What now?"

Leon Stubbs bit off the end of a cigar and lit it before answering.

"I've arranged to give you and your family an alternate claim, Mr. Marshall. Of course it isn't quite as desirable as the original one. But under the circumstances--" He let the sentence trail off.

"I see," Claude said. "And where is this alternate claim?"

Stubbs examined the end of his cigar.

"It's on the other side of the planet, Mr. Marshall. I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do."

At his elbow, Claude caught the sharp intake of his wife's breath.

"It really isn't _too_ bad," the Director went on. "Many of the reports about the cold-side have been exaggerated."

"I'm sure they have," Claude said bitterly. "I'm sure it's just the place to bring up a nine-year-old boy."

"Please Mr. Marshall. Don't be bitter. It isn't my fault."

Claude got up placing his palms on the edge of the metal desk. He leaned forward till his face was only inches away from the Director's cigar, and said: "Isn't it?"

The Director didn't answer. Instead he got up and walked over to the open window. For ten full seconds he stared out at the lush valley that flanked the spaceport. Then he turned.

"You want my advice, Mr. Marshall?"

Claude shrugged his shoulders.

"Go home," Leon Stubbs said. "You can't bring up a boy on the cold-side. It just wouldn't work."

"But we just got here," Joan said. "We sold everything we had to come here!"

Stubbs nodded. "I know," he said. He indicated the folders. "It's all there in your records. Six years ago you left Terra with six-thousand credits. But surely with that kind of money you could get a fresh start almost anywhere."

"But we want to stay here, Mr. Stubbs."

Stubbs took a drag out of the cigar.

"I know," he said woodenly.

Claude remained silent, regarding the conversation carefully. A pattern was beginning to form now--a familiar pattern. He walked over to where the Director was standing.

"Perhaps you could make a suggestion, Mr. Stubbs. Surely there must be opportunities on _this_ side of the planet for a man with six-thousand credits?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're getting at," Leon Stubbs said.

"I think you do, Mr. Stubbs," Claude retorted. "I think we're both getting at the same thing. Suppose we dispense with the subtleties and get down to cases."

The Director sat down at the desk pyramiding his fingertips.

"Very well, Mr. Marshall," he said. "I'll be blunt. It's occurred to me that if the date on your claim were changed, the land would naturally be yours. The difficulty of course lies in the fact that there are duplicate records on Terra and we'd have to take care of the man who handles them. Otherwise the discrepancy would show up eventually. Actually, I want nothing for myself but these people in Washington--"

"Yeah, I know," Claude interrupted. "It's someone else who's getting the money. It's _always_ someone else who's getting the money."

"It would take quite a bit, I'm afraid," the Director said ignoring the sarcasm.

"How much?"

The Director stubbed out the end of his cigar. "About five thousand," he said. "Yes. Five thousand ought to do it."

Claude looked at his wife.

And she looked back at him.

Outside, Billy had tired of the seven-year-old magazine and was hammering on the door for admittance.

"Can we have a few minutes to think it over?" Claude said.

"Certainly," Stubbs said amiably. "And I want to make it quite clear, Mr. Marshall, that this money is not for me. There's this fellow--"

"Yeah, I know. There's this fellow in Washington. Come on Joan. Let's step outside a moment."

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, Leon Stubbs answered their knock and ushered them to the desk chairs. After they were seated, he said: "I take it you've talked it over."

Claude nodded. "Yes, Mr. Stubbs. My wife and I talked it over and we came to a decision."

"I'm glad," the Director said. "And may I say I think you're doing a wise thing. Centifor's a beautiful place. Simply beautiful...."

"Yes it is," Claude agreed. "It is beautiful. That's why we'd like to see it stay that way."

The Director raised an eyebrow.

"My wife and I talked it over," Claude went on, "and we decided that taking someone else's land whether it's done by theft, force, or bribery is wrong. We thought of this place as something fresh and clean. We thought all those tests we took were designed to keep people like you out of here. Now it appears we were mistaken. We've talked it over, Mr. Stubbs, and we've decided to go back to Earth and expose you."

"But you can't," the Director said. "You've--"

"Yes we can," Claude said. "The ships go back practically empty. A return berth will be no trouble at all. We're returning on the first ship out."

"Perhaps we could make a better deal," Stubbs said. "Perhaps five thousand is too much. Perhaps--"

"No. No deals! Let's go Joan."

They went outside, into the fresh warm sunshine, staring at the torpedo shaped spaceship standing in the clearance area half-a-mile away.

They'd just started toward it, when a jeep squealed up alongside them. Bruce Whiting was at the wheel.

"Hi," he said. "Hop in. I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks," Claude said without bitterness. He helped his wife and son into the rear seat and climbed in beside the driver.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he said as the other man threw the vehicle into gear. "Stubbs tells me the land is yours now."

The driver nodded, inching down on the accelerator. The vehicle leaped forward. At seventy miles an hour, they swooped past the spaceship and the knot of people standing in the shadow of the rudder stanchions.

"Hey. Slow up!" Claude yelled. "We're getting off here. We're booking return passage on that ship!"

Whiting didn't answer.

The low slung buildings of the clearance area leaped up at them and passed into the background. They were heading into open country now.

"Whiting! Turn around. We're staying here in the clearance area!"

Whiting's foot slacked off the accelerator. The speedometer dropped to fifty. But the vehicle kept moving into open country. The man at the wheel flicked a look at Claude and smiled.

"Congratulations, Mr. Marshall," he said. "You've passed the final test."

"Test? I don't understand."

"Let me explain then," Bruce Whiting said. "In the first place my name isn't Whiting.... It's Reed--Paul Reed. I work for the government. This final test--the one you just went through--was designed to weed out any undesirables who might have slipped through our screening processes back on Earth."

"You mean this whole build up was just a test?"

The other man nodded. "We give it to every new arrival here. Now that you've passed, I'm driving you out to your homestead site."

Claude looked back at the newly-arrived spaceship and the tiny figures who were huddled at its base.

"All those people," he said. "You mean they still have to go through what we did?"

The driver shook his head.

"No. Those people are going back to Earth. You see, Mr. Marshall, those are the people who offered Leon Stubbs the bribe."