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      This One Problem

      by M. C. Pease

       Piracy in the past has acquired the gaudy technicolor of high romance. In the present, piracy is as tawdry as tabloid headlines. But piracy in the far future, when presented as vividly as in this story, can be scary stuff.

       The shortest distance between two points may be the long way around—and a path of dishonor may well turn into the high road to virtue.

      Marc Polder, Resident Comptroller of Torran, strolled idly down the dusty littered path that passed for a street. In the half-light of the pint-sized moon overhead the town looked almost romantic. One day, when civilization had at last been brought to these Asteroid bases, memory would make Torran heroic. But now, with the fact before the eyes, it was merely dirty and squalid. Only the scum of the Solar System called it home.

      Idly Marc Polder pushed a swinging door aside and entered what passed on Torran for a restaurant. Pushing his way through the tables until he saw his only aide, Female Personnel Manager Lee Treynor, he sat down.

      “What’s new?” he asked.

      “Not a thing.” But for a certain softness of voice and curve of unmade-up lips, Lee could have passed for a boy. Her light hair was short, she wore a man’s coveralls. She added, “Only the usual murder, arson and brigandage that you don’t want to hear about.”

      “Don’t let such trifles get you down,” said Marc with a crooked half-smile.

      “I’m fed up,” the girl said shortly. “I must have been still wet behind the ears when I agreed to come out here two months ago. I thought I was going to help establish a place where decent people could live and work. So far I’ve just watched my boss swig Venerian swamp beer with the worst elements in town, and do nothing about the lawlessness that runs riot all over the place.”

      “Look, lady,” Marc answered gently, “I certainly admire those lofty sentiments of yours. I admit they are maybe what ought to be. But the way I see it they just don’t fit the facts. Out here the Federation space fleet is supposed to be the big stick. Only right now it’s off playing mumbly-peg with the Venerians.

      “The Big Wheels seem to think there’ll be a shooting war in a couple of months. There’s only three or four destroyers left in the whole damn Asteroid Belt. And without the big stick behind me I’m not hankering to commit suicide by looking for trouble.”

      Marc smiled again ruefully. “What I can do I try to do,” he added with sudden earnestness. “I figure the most important thing is to protect the Asteroid Development Company so they can buy the nuclear ore the Astrodites bring in. Without that ore the Federation’s going to be in a hell of a fix if it actually does come to war. And along with that there’s the matter of guarding the stuff the Navy’s got stored here.” He waved toward the Navy warehouse that could be seen outside the window.

      “Listening to and fraternizing with the characters you call the biggest crooks in town,” the comptroller went on with a shrug, “I’ve a chance at getting tipped off in advance to anything that may make trouble for our interests. As long as I ignore their rackets they accept me in their midst, talk freely with me around. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to stop something when you know the score beforehand.”

      The young woman’s lips parted as if she seemed about to say something. Then they closed in a thin line. Obviously she was not happy with Marc Polder’s explanation. She was too young to be willing to compromise her ideals, no matter how potent the logic of necessity.

      She was about to leave the table when the shrill screams of a distant whistle sliced through the noise of the crowd. Voices broke off in mid-sentence and bodies froze into immobility. As the siren’s piercing tones faded the restaurant’s customers looked at one another in silent terror. Then, as the shock wore off and unanswered questions were beginning to fly, a man suddenly ran in through the revolving doors.

      “Raiders!” he gasped. “The listening gear’s picked up a signal that’s not from any Astrodite or destroyer. Signal Corps figures it’s a pirate!”

      There was a mad rush for the doors and seconds later the place was empty except for Marc Polder, still sitting calmly at the table drinking his beer, and Lee Treynor who sat watching him.

      “What are you going to do?” she finally asked.

      “I don’t know. What can I do?” Marc said.

      “Good heavens!” the girl exploded. “Are you just going to sit there guzzling beer while pirates take over the town?” She stared at him incredulously.

      “What do you suggest I do?” the comptroller asked. “We haven’t anything to fight with. There’s no way we can get help. As far as I can see there’s nothing we can do—not yet anyway.” He calmly lifted his glass.

      “You mean we’re just going to sit here?” the girl gaped.

      “Sure. The others left to hide their money and valuables. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

      “What about that stuff the Navy has cached in their warehouse?” Lee asked. “That new rocket fuel their destroyers use when they need a little extra push. Isn’t that worth hiding?”

      “The hyper-degenerate-thorium, you mean? I’d like to hide that somewhere,” Marc conceded. “But where do you hide ten tons of stuff in five minutes? Besides, it wouldn’t do the raiders any good. Too hot. It’ll burn out their jets. They’d go up like an A-bomb two minutes after they threw it on. They know that. Only thing they could do with it is sell it to Venus. Not that that would be bad. Shortage of H.D.T.’s may be the chief reason why there’s been no war started yet. But for now there’s nothing you and I can do.” Calmly he lit a cigarette.

      “Of course,” he went on, smiling, “we could bum a ride out with some of the company men. No doubt they’re all hightailing it away from here in their space-buggies.”

      “I’m surprised,” Lee said with a trace of sarcasm, “that you’re not doing just that, leaving me and the other women to the beasts!”

      Marc eyed her unblinkingly. “You know as well as I do that most of the females on this asteroid take pirates in their stride. They might even welcome a change of partners. As for you”—he paused—“you stick close to me and keep your pretty mouth shut. I think we’ll manage somehow.”

      In silence they walked back to the comptroller’s office.

      “Marc,” Lee said as they entered, “what about the new radar? Maybe we could get a message out with it, in code or something.”

      “What?” Marc turned, astonished. “You want to play our only hole-card on an off-chance like that? There aren’t more than four or five people here who even know it’s been set up on the other side of the asteroid. There’s hardly a chance the raiders will find out about it. And you want to blast the news at them!” He looked disgusted.

      The girl said stubbornly, “You can’t just give up without a fight. And that’s our only weapon.”

      “Look,” Marc said grimly, “that’s only a second-hand destroyer radar, so it wouldn’t carry far. No. I’m not going to use it on any such harebrained scheme as that. And if you breathe a word about it I’ll take you apart.” He added with a faint smile, “Not that that wouldn’t be a pleasure.”

      Looking at him she knew he meant the tender joke and the knowledge helped her.

      “I