Astounding Science Fiction (British Edition), April 1944 — page 62: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

60 “Thank Heaven for that! Spill it.” “DU’s a sort of exchange, you know. They farm out jobs. This one—it’s a big office building to be constructed in down- town Manhattan. Only the contractor hasn’t been able to start yet. There’s a lot of dough tied up in the deal, and there’s a whispering campaign that’s hurt the DU stock.” “Keep talking.” Arnie went on. “I got all the info I could, in case. There were two firms bidding on the job.” “Who?” “Ajax, and somebody named—” “Not Smith?” “That’s it,” Arnie said. “Thaddeus Smith. S-m-e-i-t-h, he spells it.” There was a long pause. “S-m-e-i-t-h,” Gallegher repeated at last. “So that’s why the girl at DU couldn’t . . . eh? Oh, noth- ing. I ought to have guessed it.’ Sure. When he’d asked Cuff whether Fatty spelled his name with an e or an i, the alderman had said both. Smeith. Ha! “Smeith got the contract,” Arnie con- tinued. “He underbid Ajax. However, Ajax has political pull. They got some alderman to clamp down and apply an old statute that put the kibosh on Smeith. He can’t do a thing.” “Why not?” “Because,” Arnie said, “the law won't permit him to block Manhattan traffic. It’s a question of air rights. Smeith’s client—or DU’s client, rather—bought the property lately, but air rights over it had been leased for a ninety-nine-year period to Transworld Strato. The stratoliners have their hangar just beyond that property, and you know they’re not gyros. They need a straightaway course for a bit before they can angle up. Well, their right of way runs right over the property. Their lease is good. For ninety- nine years they’ve got the right to use the air over that land, above and over fifty feet above ground level.” Gallegher squinted thoughtfully. “How could Smeith expect to put up a building there, then?” “The new owner possesses the property from fifty feet above soil down to the center of the earth. Savvy? A big eighty- story building—most of it underground. It’s been done before, but not against political pull. If Smeith fails to fulfill his contract, the job goes to Ajax—and Ajax is hand-in- glove with that alderman.” “Yeah. Max Cuff,” Gallegher said. “I’ve met the lug. Still—what’s this statute you ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION mentioned?” “An old one, pretty much obsolete, but still on the books. It’s legal. I checked. You can’t interfere with downtown traffic, or upset the stagger system of transport.” “Well?” “If you dig a hole for an eighty- ene building,” Arnie said, “you get a lot of dirt and rock. How can you haul it away without upsetting traffic? I didn’t try to figure out how many tons have to be removed.” “I see,’ Gallegher said softly. “So there it is, on a platinum platter. Smeith took the contract. Now he’s stymied. He can’t get rid of the dirt he’ll be excavat- ing, and pretty soon Ajax will take over and wangle a permit to truck out the material.” “How—if Smeith can’t?” “Remember the alderman? Well, a few weeks ago some of the streets downtown were blocked off, for repairs. Traffic was re- routed—right by that building site. It’s been siphoned off there, and it’s so crowded that dirt trucks would tangle up the whole busi- ness. Of course it’s temporary’—Arnie laughed shortly—“‘temporary until Smeith is forced out. Then the traffic will be rerouted again, and Ajax can wangle their permit.” “Oh.” Gallegher looked over his shoulder at the machine. “There may be a way— The door buzzer rang. Narcissus made a gesture of inquiry. Gallegher said, “Do me another favor, Arnie. I want to get Smeith down here to my lab, quick.” ‘All right, vise him.” “His visor’s tapped. I don’t dare. Can you hop over and bring him here, right away?” Arnie sighed. “I certainly earn my com- missions the hard way. But O.K.” He faded. Gallegher listened to the door buzzer, frowned, and nodded to the robot. “See who it is. I doubt if Cuff would try anything now, but—well, find out. I'll be in this closet.” He stood in the dark, waiting, straining his ears, and wondering. Smeith—he had solved Smeith’s probdem. The machine ate dirt. The only effective way to get rid of earth without running the risk of a nitrogen explosion. Eight hundred credits, on account, for a device or a method that would eliminate enough earth—safely—to provide space for an underground office building, a structure that had to be mostly subterranean because of prior-leased air rights. Fair enough. Only—where did that dirt go? Comicbooolk (©