I came out of Harold's office hugging an offer of 11.5 million dollars to my chest on a tablet. I was choked up with triumph and disappointment. I had certainly gotten more out of OMC than what Dynacorp had offered me... but in my fantasies, I'd imagined millions more being tossed around. Fifteen million, twenty million... who knew what I was worth?
I went back to my bunk and tried to plan out what I'd say to Dynacorp. Could I get more out of them? Probably, I figured, maybe I could get another half a million. Maybe they'd have me for twelve million. I wondered if that would be a record. Jack Lipstein, best orehound in history! The thing was, though, I wasn't really sure I wanted to work for Dynacorp. I didn't know anything about them, of course, but that was the problem. What if they expected more from me than what I was already giving to OMC? What if they wanted me to do something I liked even less than what I was doing now? What if it was even more dangerous? For twelve million, did it really matter?
Since I knew I wouldn't be working with him much longer, I decided to I might as well just get Terry's opinion.
We were digging out a little pocket of platinum on a knobby rock I could have sworn I'd visited when I first got up here and not found anything. But who knows? The rock was really friable and there was dust and chips around us everywhere, making it hard to see what we were doing, which was pretty tiring. We decided to take a break and chew a little juice back at the hopper.
I felt pretty good after I'd had a few bites, tired and relaxed at the same time, so I just told him, "I got an offer of 11.5 million from OMC and can maybe get more from Dynacorp... I just want your opinion, which one do you think I'd get more out of working for?"
Terry didn't even take a second to think. "Jack, you'll get more out of working with me. I told you that."
"Why do you--I don't even know what you mean," I said. "I'm making pretty lame money, all I have up here is a tiny little bunk and about five possessions, honestly, I bust my butt out here all day and hardly ever get any acknowledgement, from you or anybody else... you tell me what I'm getting out of this!"
"There you go," said Terry.
"There I go, what?" I jerked the juice nozzle off my helmet so I could stare at him.
"I wish you could hear yourself, Jack, I really do. I tell you, Danny Engall was a little dense at first too, but I don't think I've ever met a man who had just your combination of talent and pure blockheadedness. And I don't know how else to--"
"Who the hell is Danny Engall?" I shouted, on my feet without having made a decision to stand up. I was suddenly afraid I was going to cry.
Terry laughed, that scumball. "He was just a guy we had here before, all right? I don't know why you keep bringing him up."
"You keep bringing him up! You keep comparing me to him! Everybody does. I'm supposed to be the next Danny Engall, I'm supposed to be the best at what I do, heck, I'm supposed to love what I do, but I still have to drag myself out of bed every morning!"
He'd stopped laughing. He leaned forward a little. "Look... all right, I'm sorry, Jack." He took a breath. "You know I never apologize. But I am, all right, I'm sorry, I'm not always the best teacher."
I kept waiting for him to continue and he didn't. So I sat down.
"I don't know what to tell you," he said at last, "so I'll just ask you something my teacher once asked me. Who do you hate more, me or yourself? Give me the truth."
"You!" I said, with a little more anger than I meant.
Terry nodded. "Good." He had a little smile.
I felt somehow like a little valve had opened in my chest and let some of the pressure out. I was confused. But I didn't feel as angry. I looked away from him and out the door of the hopper and then I saw it, a little spire of rock that was very familiar to me.
"We were here before," I said. "Before I met you. Didn't find anything."
"I'm not surprised," said Terry. And then, after a long pause, "You've gotten exponentially better since I met you."
"It's all right. You don't have to say it. I get it." I glanced at him and he was grinning again. "I still don't know what to do. Twelve million dollars a year is a lot of money."
"Jack--" he began sharply, then stopped. "Jack... I just asked you who you hated more. Who would you hate more if you signed that contract? Either one of those contracts?"
I looked down. I knew the answer, I just didn't want to say it. "But I don't like this job," I said to the floor. "I don't like being here. I don't like orehounding, damn it, I don't care how good I am at it."
"I know that, dummy!" said Terry. "You think you're going to like it any better for twelve million? They going to pay you to like your job?"
Something was flipping over in my chest.
"You got how many more years on your contract here with OMC, three? I've already told you fifteen times what's the best way you could use those years. You really think it matters whether you like what you're doing? I'm sorry I'm so bad at getting you to understand me, I really am. But you tell me what would be smarter than using this time to tune every cell in your body to maximum awareness? And don't think it matters that it's platinum you're looking for. I swear, sometimes you're just clueless."
"But Danny Engall signed with Dynacorp..."
"Will you let go of Danny Engall? He was just this guy."
"I thought you were being selfish," I said. "Just wanted to have one more great trainee to your name."
Terry shrugged. "Who wouldn't want that? But really, Jack, if fame was all I wanted, I'd spend every day by myself in the Hatch Patch. Why should I come out here and torture myself trying to get basic rock smarts through your thick skull? Why should I turn down promotions? You tell me."
I stared back out the door of the hopper. I was afraid I was going to start crying, again, but for even stupider reasons than before. I wished I'd brought the contracts with me so I could tear them up that instant. I just thought of Mojo, for some reason, how amazing it was to have been able to work with that dog, that once-in-a-lifetime dog. I didn't know how a guy could be so lucky.
So that was what happened three years ago and now, you know, I'm still working with Terry and I still don't like prospecting for platinum. Well, I like some parts of it, I like seeing just how big the ore pocket is and thinking about the platinum being processed and going into electronics and things in people's homes and bodies. Wedding rings. I wouldn't say that Terry is a great friend, not so much, but we still watch poker together most evenings and I tolerate whisky, and I can't even imagine never working with him or seeing him again. But my contract is up next week and I'm going back to Earth.
We're heading back to the Hatch Patch today, just for a lark, just for the sake of old times. We don't talk the whole way in and we don't talk once we land. This asteroid is huge, another that makes you feel almost like you're on a planet or a moon, with its own faint gravity and its own horizon in the distance. I can see Orion on the horizon. Terry heads off in one direction and I in another, and I know he's there just a word away, he will be in my ear instantly if he finds anything, but we're silent. I want to go back to Chicago when I land, I want to see snow again... I have a brother-in-law who runs a catering business and he always needs help. When I lived there he must have asked me five times if I'd take a job with him. And God, I am going to be happy to never see another asteroid in my life. So happy.
As for Terry, I don't know. I don't think we'll write. Why would we write? We have nothing in common. But I'm going back to Earth about a ton lighter than when I came, and it's not just because he makes me wrestle that drill around everywhere. I have nothing to say. So we finish up the day in silence, and then next week I go live my life.
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