The Sentinel - Arthur C. Clarke [71]
It was then that the Professor made one of his rare mistakes.
“You talk like a man who’s stolen the Mona Lisa from the Louvre and argues that nobody will miss it because of all the other paintings. This statue’s unique in a way that no terrestrial work of art can ever be. That’s why I’m determined to get it back.”
You should never, when you’re bargaining, make it obvious that you want something really badly. I saw the greedy glint in Mays’s eye and said to myself, “Uh-huh! He’s going to be tough.” And I remembered Fulton’s remark about calling Ganymede for a tanker.
“Give me half an hour to think it over,” said Mays, turning to the airlock.
“Very well,” replied the Professor stiffly. “Half an hour—no more.”
I must give Mays credit for brains. Within five minutes we saw his communications aerial start slewing round until it locked on Ganymede. Naturally we tried to listen in, but he had a scrambler. These newspaper men must trust each other.
The reply came back a few minutes later; that was scrambled, too. While we were waiting for the next development, we had another council of war. The Professor was now entering the stubborn, stop-at-nothing stage. He realized he’d miscalculated and that had made him fighting mad.
I think Mays must have been a little apprehensive, because he had reinforcements when he returned. Donald Hopkins, his pilot, came with him, looking rather uncomfortable.
“I’ve been able to fix things up, Professor,” he said smugly. “It will take me a little longer, but I can get back without your help if I have to. Still, I must admit that it will save a good deal of time and money if we can come to an agreement. I’ll tell you what. Give me back my fuel and I’ll return the other—er—souvenirs I’ve collected. But I insist on keeping Mona Lisa, even if it means I won’t get back to Ganymede until the middle of next week.”
The Professor then uttered a number of what are usually called deep-space oaths, though I can assure you they’re much the same as any other oaths. That seemed to relieve his feelings a lot and he became fiendishly friendly.
“My dear Mr. Mays,” he said, “You’re an unmitigated crook, and accordingly I’ve no compunction left in dealing with you. I’m prepared to use force, knowing that the law will justify me.”
Mays looked slightly alarmed, though not unduly so. We had moved to strategic positions round the door.
“Please don’t be so melodramatic,” he said haughtily. “This is the twenty-first century, not the Wild West back in 1800.”
“1880,” said Bill, who is a stickler for accuracy.
“I must ask you,” the Professor continued, “to consider yourself under detention while we decide what is to be done. Mr. Searle, take him to Cabin B.”
Mays sidled along the wall with a nervous laugh.
“Really, Professor, this is too childish! You can’t detain me against my will.” He glanced for support at the Captain of the “Henry Luce.”
Donald Hopkins dusted an imaginary speck of fluff from his uniform.
“I refuse,” he remarked for the benefit of all concerned, “to get involved in vulgar brawls.”
Mays gave him a venomous look and capitulated with bad grace. We saw that he had a good supply of reading matter, and locked him in.
When he was out of the way, the Professor turned to Hopkins, who was looking enviously at our fuel gauges.
“Can I take it, Captain,” he said politely, “that you don’t wish to get mixed up in any of your employer’s dirty business?”
“I’m neutral. My job is to fly the ship here and take her home. You can fight this out among yourselves.”
“Thank you. I think we understand each other perfectly. Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your ship and explained the situation. We’ll be calling you in a few minutes.”
Captain Hopkins made his way languidly to the door. As he was about to leave he turned to Searle.
“By the way, Kingsley,” he drawled. “Have you thought of torture? Do call me if you get round to it—I’ve some jolly interesting ideas.” Then he was gone, leaving us with our hostage.
I think the Professor had hoped he could do a direct exchange. If so, he