MacCauley nodded. "China. Got to know some of the people there. Got kind of chummy with one of them; she gave me a present when I left, as a keepsake. A string of what they call "cash." It's a kind of money they used to use; square pieces of copper with holes in the middle. Had 'em strung together and sewn onto a belt. Well, you know how Palladians feel about copper." His eyes crinkled again. "That was a pretty good keepsake—not worth much, but it bought my life."

Both men were silent for a while. Then, "What are your plans now, MacCauley? I've recommended you for promotion, to fill Kittrell's job on Pallas. You'll get a higher rating, more pay—and all the time in the world to yourself."

MacCauley shook his head. "Sorry, Major," he said, "But that's not what I want. My plans are extra-special. Say," he went on, sitting down and staring earnestly at Copeland, "have you ever heard the story of how Manhattan Island—that's part of New York City—was bought from the ancient Indians? Twenty-four dollars' worth of junk beads—that's what they paid the Indians for it. Now the land is worth billions of dollars—a square foot of it brings the best part of a million."

"So?" The major was interested but lacked comprehension. "What's that got to do with your resignation?"

MacCauley smiled. "A lot," he answered. "Did it ever occur to you that intelligent salesmanship can do wonders? And did you ever think of the possibilities that you could realize on Pallas with—say—a couple of dozen thousand dollars' worth of copper and other metal junk?"

The major looked startled. "No—not till now," he added, understanding dawning. "And what you're going to do is—?"

"What I'm going to do," MacCauley beamed, "is convert reward money into junk. And then, Major, I'll begin to convert the junk—into a kingdom. I'm going to buy up a world—a wide-open world—with a boatload of scrap metal!"

 Prev. P 18/18