Marley's Chain

you couldn't stand cigarettes? Saidthey were for women, a man should smoke a good cigar. You finallyconverted me."

  Tam grinned, suddenly feeling the warmth of the old friendshipswelling Back. "Yes, I remember. You were smoking that rotten corncob,then, because old Prof Tenley smoked one that you could smell in theback of the room, and in those days the Prof could do no wrong--"

  Dave Hawke grinned broadly, settled back in his chair as he lit thecigar. "Yes, I remember. Still got that corncob around somewhere--" heshook his head, his eyes dreamy. "Good old Prof Tenley! One in amillion--there was an honest man, Tam. They don't have them like thatin the colleges these days. Wonder what happened to the old goat?"

  "He was killed," said Tam, softly. "Just after the war. Got caught ina Revolt riot, and he was shot down."

  Dave looked at him, his eyes suddenly sad. "A lot of honest men wentdown in those riots, didn't they? That was the worst part of theRevolt. There wasn't any provision made for the honest men, the reallygood men." He stopped, and regarded Tam closely. "What's the trouble,Tam? If you'd been going to make a friendly call, you'd have done ityears ago. You know this office has always been open to you--"

  Tam stared at his shoe, carefully choosing his words, lining them upin his mind, a frown creasing his forehead. "I'll lay it on the line,"he said in a low voice. "I'm in a spot. That passage to the Ringswasn't voluntary. I was shanghaied onto a freighter, and had to workfor eight years without pay to get passage back. I'm broke, and I'mhungry, and I need to see a doctor--"

  "Well, hell!" the big man exploded. "Why didn't you holler sooner?Look, Tam--we've been friends for a long time. You know better than tohesitate." He fished for his wallet. "Here, I can let you have as muchas you need--couple hundred?"

  "No, no--That's not what I'm getting at." Tam felt his face flush withembarrassment. "I need a job, Dave. I need one bad."

  Dave sat back, and his feet came off the desk abruptly. He didn't lookat Tam. "I see," he said softly. "A job--" He stared at the ceilingfor a moment. "Tell you what," he said. "The government's opening anew uranium mine in a month or so--going to be a big project, they'llneed lots of men--on Mercury--"

  Tam's eyes fell, a lump growing in his throat. "Mercury," he repeateddully.

  "Why, sure, Tam--good pay, chance for promotion."

  "I'd be dead in six months on Mercury." Tam's eyes met Dave's, tryingto conceal the pain. "You know that as well as I do, Dave--"

  Dave looked away. "Oh, the docs don't know what they're talkingabout--"

  "You know perfectly well that they do. I couldn't even stand Venusvery long. I need a job on Mars, Dave--or on Earth."

  "Yes," said Dave Hawke sadly, "I guess you're right." He lookedstraight at Tam, his eyes sorrowful. "The truth is, I can't help you.I'd like to, but I can't. There's nothing I can do."

  Tam stared, the pain of disillusionment sweeping through him. "Nothingyou can do!" he exploded. "But you're the _director_ of this bureau!You know every job open on every one of the planets--"

  "I know. And I have to help get them filled. But I can't make anyonehire, Tam. I can send applicants, and recommendations, until I'm bluein the face, but I can't make a company hire--" He paused, staring atTam. "Oh, hell," he snarled, suddenly, his face darkening. "Let's faceit, Tam. They won't hire you. Nobody will hire you. You're a Sharkie,and that's all there is to it, they aren't hiring Sharkies. Andthere's nothing I can do to make them."

  Tam sat as if he had been struck, the color draining from his face."But the law--Dave, you know there's a law. They _have_ to hire us, ifwe apply first, and have the necessary qualifications."

  The big man shrugged, uneasily. "Sure, there's a law, but who's goingto enforce it?"

  Tam looked at him, a desperate tightness in his throat. "_You_ couldenforce it. You could if you wanted to."

  * * * * *

  The big man stared at him for a moment, then dropped his eyes, lookeddown at the desk. Somehow this big body seemed smaller, lessimpressive. "I can't do it, Tam. I just can't."

  "They'd have to listen to you!" Tam's face was eager. "You've gotenough power to put it across--the court would _have_ to stick to thelaw--"

  "I can't do it." Dave drew nervously on his cigar, and the light inhis eyes seemed duller, now. "If it were just me, I wouldn't hesitatea minute. But I've got a wife, a family. I can't jeopardize them--"

  "Dave, you know it would be the right thing."

  "Oh, the right thing be damned! I can't go out on a limb, I tell you.There's nothing I can do. I can let you have money, Tam, as much asyou need--I could help you set up in business, maybe, or anything--butI can't stick my neck out like that."

  Tam sat stiffly, coldness seeping down into his legs. Deep in hisheart he had known that this was what he had dreaded, not the fear ofrebuff, not the fear of being snubbed, unrecognized, turned out. Thatwould have been nothing, compared to this change in the honest,forthright, fearless Dave Hawke he had once known. "What's happened,Dave? Back in the old days you would have leaped at such a chance. Iwould have--the shoe was on the other foot then. We talked, Dave,don't you remember how we talked? We were friends, you can't forgetthat. I _know_ you, I _know_ what you believe, what you think. How canyou let yourself down?"

  Dave Hawke's eyes avoided Tam's. "Times have changed. Those were thegood old days, back when everybody was happy, almost. Everybody but meand a few others--at least, it looked that way to you. But those daysare gone. They'll never come back. This is a reaction period, and thereaction is bitter. There isn't any place for fighters now, the worldis just the way people want it, and nobody can change it. What do youexpect me to do?" He stopped, his heavy face contorted, a line ofperspiration on his forehead. "I hate it," he said finally, "but myhands are tied. I can't do anything. That's the way things are--"

  "But _why_?" Tam Peters was standing, eyes blazing, staring down atthe big man behind the desk, the bitterness of long, weary yearstearing into his voice, almost blinding him. "_Why is that the waythings are?_ What have I done? Why do we have this mess, where a manisn't worth any more than the color of his skin--"

  Dave Hawke slammed his fist on the desk, and his voice roared out inthe close air of the office. "Because it was coming!" he bellowed."It's been coming and now it's here--and there's nothing on God'searth can be done about it!"

  Tam's jaw sagged, and he stared at the man behind the desk."Dave--think what you're saying, Dave--"

  "I know right well what I'm saying," Dave Hawke roared, his eyesburning bitterly. "Oh, you have no idea how long I've thought, thefight I've had with myself, the sacrifices I've had to make. Youweren't born like I was, you weren't raised on the wrong side of thefence--well, there was an old, old Christmas story that I used toread. Years ago, before they burned the Sharkie books. It was about anevil man who went through life cheating people, hating and hurtingpeople, and when he died, he found that every evil deed he had everdone had become a link in a heavy iron chain, tied and shackled to hiswaist. And he wore that chain he had built up, and he had to drag it,and drag it, from one eternity to the next--his name was Marley,remember?"

  "Dave, you're not making sense--"

  "Oh, yes, all kinds of sense. Because you Sharkies have a chain, too.You started forging it around your ankles back in the classical MiddleAges of Earth. Year by year you built it up, link by link, built itstronger, heavier. You could have stopped it any time you chose, butyou didn't ever think of that. You spread over the world, building upyour chain, assuming that things would always be just the way theywere, just the way you wanted them to be."

  The big man stopped, breathing heavily, a sudden sadness creeping intohis eyes, his voice taking on a softer tone. "You were such fools," hesaid softly. "You waxed and grew strong, and clever, and confident,and the more power you had, the more you wanted. You fought wars, andthen bigger and better wars, until you couldn't be satisfied withgunpowder and TNT any longer. And finally you divided your world intotwo armed camps, and brought Fury out of her box,
fought with thepower of the atoms themselves, you clever Sharkies--and when the dustsettled, and cooled off, there weren't very many of you left. Lots ofus--it was your war, remember--but not very many of you. Of coursethere