Endlich took Neely and the loaded basket close to the transparent side of the greenhouse, nearest the approaching roughnecks. There he removed Neely's oxygen helmet, hoping that, maybe, this might deter his friends a little from rupturing the plastic of the huge bubble and letting the air out. It was a feeble safeguard, for, in all probability, in case of such rupture, Neely would be rescued from death by smothering and cold and the boiling of his blood, simply by having his helmet slammed back on again.

Next, Endlich dumped the contents of the basket on the ground, inverted it, and sat Neely upon it. The big man had recovered consciousness enough to be merely groggy by now. Endlich slapped his battered face vigorously, to help clear his head--after having, of course, relieved him of the blaster at his belt.

Endlich left his own face-window open, so that the sounds of Neely's voice could penetrate to the mike of his own helmet phone, thus to be transmitted to the helmet phones of Neely's buddies.

Endlich was anything but calm inside, with the wild horde, as irresponsible in their present state of mind as a pack of idiot baboons, bearing down on him. But he forced his tone to be conversational when he spoke.

"h.e.l.lo, Neely," he said. "You mentioned you liked tomatoes. Maybe you were kidding. Anyhow I brought you along home with me, so you could have some. Here on the ground, right in front of you, is a whole bushel. The regular asteroids price--considering the trouble it takes to grow 'em, and the amount of dough a guy like you can make for himself out here, is five bucks apiece. But for you, right now, they're all free. Here, have a nice fresh, ripe one, Neely."

The big man glared at his captor for a second, after he had looked dazedly around. He would have leaped to his feet--except that the muzzle of his own blaster was leveled at the center of his chest, at a range of not over twenty inches. For a fleeting instant, Neely looked scared and prudent. Then he saw his pals, landing like a flock of birds, just beyond the transparent side of the greenhouse. And he heard their shouts, coming loudly from Endlich's helmet-phones:

"We come after you, Neely! We'll get the d.a.m.n yokel off your neck....

Come on, guys--let's turn the d.a.m.n place upside down!..."

Neely grew courageous--yes, maybe it did take a certain animal nerve to do what he did. His battered and bloodied lip curled.

"Whatdayuh think you're up to, Pun'kin-head!" he snarled slowly, his tone dripping contempt for the insanely foolish. He laughed sourly, "Haw-haw-haw." Then his face twisted into a confident and mocking leer.

To carry the mockery farther, a big paw reached out and grabbed the proffered tomato from Endlich's hand. "Sure--thanks. Anything to oblige!" He took a great bite from the fruit, clowning the action with a forced expression of relish. "Ummm!" he grunted. In danger, he was being the showman, playing for the approval of his pals. He was proving his comic coolness--that even now he was master of the situation, and was in no hurry to be rescued. "Come on, punk!" he ordered Endlich. "Where is the next one, seeing you're so generous? Be polite to your guest!"

Endlich handed him a second tomato. But as he did so, it seemed all the things he dreaded would happen were breathing down his back. For the faces that he glimpsed beyond the plastic showed the twisted expressions that betray the point where savage humor imperceptibly becomes murderous. A dozen blasters were leveled at him.

But the eyes of the men outside showed, too, the kind of interest that any odd procedure can command. They stood still for a moment, watching, commenting:

"Hey--Neely! See if you can down the next one with one bite!... Don't eat 'em all, Neely! Save some for us!..."

Endlich was following no complete plan. He had only the feeling that somewhere here there might be a dramatic touch that, by a long chance, would yield him a toehold on the situation. Without a word, he gave Neely a third tomato. Then a fourth and a fifth....

Neely kept gobbling and clowning.

Yeah--but can this sort of horseplay go on until one man has consumed an entire bushel of tomatoes? The question began to shine speculatively in the faces of the onlookers. It began to appeal to their wolfish sense of comedy. And it started to betray itself--in another manner--in Neely's face.

After the fifteenth tomato, he burped and balked. "That's enough kiddin'

around, Pun'kin-head," he growled. "Get away with your d.a.m.ned garden truck! I should be beatin' you to a grease-spot right this minute!

Why--I--"

Then Neely tried to lunge for the blaster. As Endlich squeezed the trigger, he turned the weapon aside a trifle, so that the beam of energy flicked past Neely's ear and splashed garden soil that turned incandescent, instantly.

John Endlich might have died in that moment, cut down from behind. That he wasn't probably meant that, from the position of complete underdog among the spectators, his popularity had risen some.

"Neely," he said with a grin, "how can you start beatin', when you ain't done eatin'? Neely--here I am, trying to be friendly and hospitable, and you aren't co-operating. A whole bushel of juicy tomatoes--symbols of civilization way the h.e.l.l out here in the asteroids--and you haven't even made a dent in 'em yet! What's the matter, Neely? Lose your appet.i.te? Here! Eat!..."

Endlich's tone was falsely persuasive. For there was a steely note of command in it. And the blaster in Endlich's hand was pointed straight at Neely's chest.

Neely's eyes began to look frightened and sullen. He shifted uncomfortably, and the bushel basket creaked under his weight. "You're yella as any d.a.m.n pun'kin!" he said loudly. "You don't fight fair!...

Guys--what's the matter with you? Get this nut with the blaster offa me!..."

"Hmm--yella," Endlich seemed to muse. "Maybe not as yella as you were once--coming around here at night with a whole gang, not so long ago--"

"Call _me_ yella?" Nelly hollered. "Why, you lousy d.a.m.n yokel, if you didn't have that blaster--"

Endlich said grimly, "But I got it, friend!" He sent a stream of energy from the blaster right past Neely's head, so close that a shock of the other's hair smoked and curled into black wisps. "And watch your language--my wife and kids can hear you--"

Neely's thick shoulders hunched. He ducked nervously, rubbing his head--and for the first time there was a hint of genuine alarm in his voice. "All right," he growled, "all right! Take it easy--"

Something deep within John Endlich relaxed--a cold tight knot seemed to unwind--for, at that moment, he knew that Neely was beginning to lose.

The big man's evident discomfort and fear were the marks of weakness--to his followers at least; and with them, he could never be a leader, again. Moreover, he had allowed himself to be maneuvered into the position of being the b.u.t.t of a practical joke, that, by his own code, must be followed up, to its nasty, if interesting, outcome. The spectators began to resemble Romans at the circus, with Neely the victim. And the victim's downfall was tragically swift.

"Come on, Neely! You heard what Pun'kins said," somebody yelled.

"Jeez--a whole bushel. Let's see how many you can eat, Neely.... d.a.m.ned if this ain't gonna be rich! Don't let us down, Neely! n.o.body's hurtin'

yuh. All you have to do is eat--all them nice tamadas.... Hey, Neely--if that bushel ain't enough for you, I'll personally buy you another, at the reg'lar price. Haw-haw-haw.... Lucky Neely! Look at him! Having a swell banquet. Better than if he was home.... Haw-haw-haw.... Come on, Pun'kins--make him eat!..."

Yeah, under certain conditions human nature can be pretty fickle.

Wonderingly, John Endlich felt himself to be respected--the Top Man. The guy who had shown courage and ingenuity, and was winning, by the harsh code of men who had been roughened and soured by s.p.a.ce--by life among the asteroids.

For a little while then, he had to be hard. He thrust another tomato toward Neely, at the same time directing a thin stream from the blaster just past the big nose. Neely ate six more tomatoes with a will, his eyes popping, sweat streaming down his forehead.

Endlich's next blaster-stream barely missed Neely's booted toe. The persuasive shot was worth fifty-five more dollars in garden fruit consumed. The crowd gave with mock cheers and bravos, and demanded more action.

"That makes thirty-two.... Come on, Neely--that's just a good start. You got a long, long ways to go.... Come on, Pun'kins--bet you can stuff fifty into him...."

To goad Neely on in this ludicrous and savage game, Endlich next just scorched the metal at Neely's shoulder. It isn't to be said that Endlich didn't enjoy his revenge--for all the anguish and real danger that Neely had caused him. But as this fierce yet childish sport went on, and the going turned really rough for the big asteroid miner, Endlich's anger began to be mixed with self-disgust. He'd always be a hot-tempered guy; he couldn't help that. But now, satisfaction, and a hopeful glimpse of peace ahead, burned the fury out of him and touched him with shame.

Still, for a little more, he had to go on. Again and again, as before, he used that blaster. But, as he did so, he talked, ramblingly, knowing that the audience, too, would hear what he said. Maybe, in a way, it was a lecture; but he couldn't help that:

"Have another tomato, Neely. Sorry to do things like this--but it's your own way. So why should you complain? Funny, ain't it? A man can get even too many tomatoes. Civilized tomatoes. Part of something most guys around here have been homesick for, for a long time.... Maybe that's what has been most of the trouble out here in the asteroids. Not enough civilization. On Earth we were used to certain standards--in spite of being rough enough there, too. Here, the traces got kicked over. But on this side of Vesta, an idea begins to soak in: This used to be nice country--blue sky, trees growing. Some of that is coming back, Neely.

And order with it. Because, deep in our guts, that's what we all want.

And fresh vegetables'll help.... Have another tomato, Neely. Or should we call it enough, guys?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Endlich's voice was steely ... "Sorry to do things like this--but it's your way!"_]

"Neely, you ain't gonna quit now?" somebody guffawed. "You're doin'

almost good. Haw-haw!"

Neely's face was purple. His eyes were bloodshot. His mouth hung partly open. "Gawd--no--please!" he croaked.

An embarra.s.sed hush fell over the crowd. Back home on Earth, they had all been more-or-less average men. Finally someone said, expressing the intrusion among them of the better dignity of man:

"Aw--let the poor dope go...."

Then and there, John Endlich sold what was left of his first bushel of tomatoes. One of his customers--the once loud-mouthed Schmidt--even said, rather stiffly, "Pun'kins--you're all right."

And these guys were the real roughnecks of the mining camp.

Is it necessary to mention that, as they were leaving, Neely lost his pride completely, soiling the inside of his helmet's face-window so that he could scarcely see out of it? That, amid the raucous laughter of his companions, which still sounded slightly self-conscious and pitying.