Ride the Crepe Ring

Socrates still sweated, but he was all business now. "Of course it's safe. All my ships are war-surplus two-man cruisers, all twenty of them. You trust the Space Navy, don't you?"

"Naturally, naturally." Farquhart lit a cigar. "But what do you do with those ships?"

"We ride the rings, that's what we do. Only A and B, of course. The Saturnian Merrygoround, that's what we have here. Someone's a licensed pilot, I let him take a ship up himself. Otherwise I provide pilots."

"But is it safe?"

"You bet it's safe! And fun--it's terrific. The whole ring system is a hundred and seventy-one thousand miles across, a big merrygoround. Ten thousand miles of outer ring, sixteen thousand miles of bright ring--all to play in. Billions of meteors, and all the tourists have to do is dodge 'em. Great fun."

"I don't want to be a stick in the mud, Mr. Smith, but, ah, what happens if someone doesn't dodge?"

"Not a chance. How could anyone miss? The ring-particles shine by reflected sunlight--you can see each one clear as hell, and you just avoid 'em, that's all. We don't go near the third ring, the crepe ring--not that dark baby. That could be dangerous. You know, the innermost ring, only seven thousand miles from Saturn itself. That's dark as the inside of a Plutonian catacomb. I thought of a resort there at first, but it's too damned far--"

Farquhart stood up. "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time. Tell you what I'll do, Smith. I'll stick around three, four days, and watch some of your tourists. I'll be fair about the whole thing--if it's safe, excellent: if not--" He shrugged. "You got quarters for me, Smith?"

Socrates started to tell him of the wonderful accommodations, thought better of it, checked on a domette vacancy, and gave Farquhart his key. "I'll see you," the short fat man said.

Socrates mopped his brow.

She was as tall for a girl as Socrates was for a man, and the long cascade of her golden hair didn't need sunlight to make it gleam. She was the prettiest thing in Mimas, and that included Socrates' glossy new domettes. But it was because of her that he perspired.

"Please go away," he said. "Grow up in someone else's tourist haven, Norma, like a good girl. If you hadn't decided to see what was in the sponge grottoes of Callisto I'd still have my business there. If you hadn't--"

"Bygones are bygones, Smitty. That's a good boy. But not quite. I see your good friend Percival Farquhart is back--"

"Is that what the P. stands for? Percival, hah-hah."

"I wouldn't talk, Socrates. I wouldn't talk at all."

"Okay, okay. But look--there's a liner for Ceres tonight. I'll buy you a ticket. The Interplanetary Fair--"

"I already saw it. Stinks. Besides, I have a roundtrip ticket good for two years, so you don't have to buy me anything. You just mind your business, and I'll mind mine. All I want to do is ride the rings."

"Well, I'll take you up tonight. Then will you leave?"

"Hell, no. You're not taking me anywhere. Didn't you know I got my pilot's license?"

"Oh, no. Don't tell me it's come to that. They didn't give you a license!"

"Oh yes they did. Fifth try this year, and I finally made it. Nice young inspector, took me out to dinner afterwards. First they set his arm, but it wasn't my fault. Those damn asteroids can really pop up out of nowhere. Well, Smitty, which is my domette?"

Socrates sighed. He had no choice. If he didn't let her stay she'd make it her business to talk to Farquhart before she left. Then Farquhart would say the place was unsafe because she had a license. And yet Socrates wouldn't let her ride the rings. As simple as that.

He gave her a key. "Here. But do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"At least don't go up without letting me know. I want to be nearby. Please--"

She nodded and skipped out of the room, laughing.

Socrates knew that if you stayed in the two bright rings, and if you kept within the prescribed speed limit of three miles a second in the rings, you'd be all right. But not Norma. She'd hop her rockets to seven at the very least, and even though the sun blazed off each meteor in the rings with the reflecting brilliance of a beacon, she'd be sure to find some way to get into trouble--

Socrates wondered which would be better. If he murdered Norma her social set would bring every detective in the System to Mimas, and if he murdered Farquhart he'd have the government on his hands.