Gray Lensman by E. E. "doc" Smith

Author:E. E. "doc" Smith [Smith, E. E. "doc"]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Classics, War, Sci-Fi
ISBN: 9781882968121
Amazon: 1882968123
Barnesnoble: 1882968123
Goodreads: 826525
Publisher: Old Earth Books
Published: 1940-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

"Business before pleasure," Kinnison replied, tersely. "Pretty good, yes.

Here's some

stuff I don't need any more that I aim to sell. What'll you gimme for it?"

The dealer inspected the suits and instruments, then bored a keen stare into the miner's

eyes; a scrutiny under which Kinnison neither flushed nor wavered.

"Two hundred and fifty credits for the lot," Strongheart decided.

"Best you can do?"

"Tops. Take it or leave it,"

"QX, they're yours. Gimme it."

"Why, this just starts our business, don't it? Ain't you got cores? Sure you have."

"Yeah, but not for no"—doubly and unprintably qualified —"damn robber. I like a louse,

but you suit me altogether too damn well. Them suits alone, just as they lay, are worth a

thousand."

"So what? For why go to insult me, a business man? Sure I can't give what that stuff is

worth—who could? You ought to know how I got to get rid of hot goods. You killed, ain't it, the

guys what owned it, so how could I treat it except like it's hot? Now be your age—don't burn out

no jets," as the Lensman turned with a blistering, sizzling deep-space oath. "I know they shot

first, they always do, but how does that change things? But keep your shirt on yet, I don't tell

nobody nothing. For why should I? How could I make any money on hot stuff if I talk too much

with my mouth, huh? But on cores, that's something else again. Meteors is legitimate

merchandise, and I pay you as much as anybody, maybe more."

"QX," and Kinnison tossed over his cores. He had sold the bandits' space-suits and

equipment deliberately, in order to minimize further killing.

This was his first visit to Miners' Rest, but he intended to become an habitue of the place;

and before he would be accepted as a "regular" he knew that he would have to prove his quality.

Buckos and bullies would be sure to try him out. This way was much better. The tale would

spread; and any gunman who had drilled two hi-jackers, dead-center through the face-plates, was

not one to be challenged lightly. He might have to kill one or two, but not many, nor frequently.

And the fellow was honest enough in his buying of the metal. His Spaldings cut honest

cores—Kinnison put micrometers on them to be sure of that fact. He did not underread his

torsiometer, and he weighed the meteors upon certified balances. He used Galactic Standard

average-value-density tables, and offered exactly half of the calculated average value; which,

Kinnison knew, was fair enough. By taking his metal to a mint or a rare-metals station of the

Patrol, any miner could get the precise value of any meteor, as shown by detailed analysis.

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