The Luckiest Man in Denv
By SIMON EISNER
Illustrated by EMSH
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction June 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
To get the break of his life, all Reuben had to
do was turn the death trap into a jackpot!
May's man Reuben, of the eighty-third level, Atomist, knew there wassomething wrong when the binoculars flashed and then went opaque.Inwardly he cursed, hoping that he had not committed himself toanything. Outwardly he was unperturbed. He handed the binoculars backto Rudolph's man Almon, of the eighty-ninth level, Maintainer, with asmile.
"They aren't very good," he said.
Almon put them to his own eyes, glanced over the parapet and sworemildly. "Blacker than the heart of a crazy Angel, eh? Never mind;here's another pair."
This pair was unremarkable. Through it, Reuben studied the thousandsetbacks and penthouses, of Denv that ranged themselves below. He wastoo worried to enjoy his first sight of the vista from the eighty-ninthlevel, but he let out a murmur of appreciation. Now to get away fromthis suddenly sinister fellow and try to puzzle it out.
"Could we—?" he asked cryptically, with a little upward jerk of hischin.
"It's better not to," Almon said hastily, taking the glasses from hishands. "What if somebody with stars happened to see, you know? How'dyou like it if you saw some impudent fellow peering up at you?"
"He wouldn't dare!" said Reuben, pretending to be stupid and indignant,and joined a moment later in Almon's sympathetic laughter.
"Never mind," said Almon. "We are young. Some day, who knows? Perhapswe shall look from the ninety-fifth level, or the hundredth."
Though Reuben knew that the Maintainer was no friend of his, thegenerous words sent blood hammering through his veins; ambition for amoment.
He pulled a long face and told Almon: "Let us hope so. Thank you forbeing my host. Now I must return to my quarters."
He left the windy parapet for the serene luxury of aneighty-ninth-level corridor and descended slow moving stairs throughgradually less luxurious levels to his own Spartan floor. Selene waswaiting, smiling, as he stepped off the stairs.
She was decked out nicely—too nicely. She wore a steely hued corseletand a touch of scent; her hair was dressed long. The combinationappealed to him, and instantly he was on his guard. Why had she gone tothe trouble of learning his tastes? What was she up to? After all, shewas Griffin's woman.
"Coming down?" she asked, awed. "Where have you been?"
"The eighty-ninth, as a guest of that fellow Almon. The vista isimmense."
"I've never been...." she murmured, and then said decisively: "Youbelong up there. And higher. Griffin laughs at me, but he's a fool.Last night in chamber we got to talking about you, I don't know how,and he finally became quite angry and said he didn't want to hearanother word." She smiled wickedly. "I was revenged, though."
Blank-faced, he said: "You must be a good hand at revenge, Selene, andat stirring up the need for it."
The slight hardening of her smile meant that he had scored and hehurried by with a rather formal salutation.
Burn him for an Angelo, but she was easy enough to take! The contrastof the metallic garment with her soft, white skin was disturbing, andher long hair suggested things. It was hard to think of her as schemingso