"The skillet".
That's what the display chart said, when I clicked on the dot nearest the point where I lost the signal. "The skillet". What a stupid name for an asteroid. But that's where the tracer plot said he went, so that's where I headed.
Looking at the image, I guess I see why some half-drunk dude gave it that name. It's basically a flat, round disk, with this ridiculous brown stem sticking out one end, like some sorta wooden handle.
Kinda stupid name, I thought, because skillets generally have some kind of rim around them , and this one didn't - it just tapered out to a very thin edge. The edge was just a thin sliver - a ridge, all around, except for where the handle was. Well, maybe "skillet" wasn't such a bad name, after all. There's no way on the surface to get from top side to bottom side, unless you go over the handle.
According to the computer, the side he landed on had a big, round bump on it, at about 6-o-clock from the handle. In the computer image, the dome was yellowish, and the topside looked a lot like a fried egg. Sunny-side up. The white part - I mean the surrounding stuff, it was more green than white, and sorta grayish - well it covered most of the surface. Outside the fried egg, the round edge was a dull gray, like most of the plain old rocks I seen in the belt.
I didn't want to see the topside directly. He might see me, if I did. So I came up underneath, rotating slowly so that the disk was always between me and him. [+++ ? wait for him to leave, then view it & plant underneath.]
I gotta make it look like I got here first. He might have pictures, or he might have planted a monitor, so I don't want to show up coming in later. best if I stay underneath, on the bottom side. Looks sort of like a big, fluffy pancake. With a slice cut out of it. Like a pizza. Or a "pac-man" character.
The pancake was a bluish shade. A color I once heard somebody call "cyan" - which sounds like poison to me. All in all, "the skillet" was pretty disgusting. Preliminary surveys said there was nothing much on it. But maybe Jordie knew something I didn't.
I'm gonna plant my transponder right there, at the top of that steep cliff that leads down to the edge near the handle. Cliff must be more than a Kilometer high. Might make a good place to stand up a cargo vault. Just a skosh to the left, I think. Yup. Right there. Push the button, now. Bingo! Got it on the first shot.
The transponder's planted on the rock. I'll head straight out, below the skillet, keeping it behind me for a while, just in case he's monitoring. Then all I gotta do is go straight back to Ceres, and file my claim personally.
Claim law is funny, that way. Personal claim takes precedence over a radio claim. I betcha he beamed his right in, soon as he planted his transponder. Code says he's gotta encrypt the transponder code in the message, and then provide the public key to have it activated.
But radio claims have a 7-day waiting period. I can get back to Ceres way before that, and file my own claim directly. That way, they'll verify mine first.
I can sell my ship, and pick up some mining gear on Ceres. Small stuff, so's I can bring it along with me on the mail boat.
Funny, they still call it a "mail boat". The supply ship don't deliver any mail, no more. Not with radio and hyper-email. But some names never change, even when the reason's gone. Geez, they still call it "dialing", even tho phones haven't had a real, circular "dial" for over a century.
When I got to Ceres, things didn't go nearly as smooth as I thought they would. I filed my claim, all right, and they verified the transponder placement right away. Then they gave me a temporary certificate, but I had to check back for a final one.
I sold my ship for more'n I'd paid for it, and booked passage on the next mail boat. I bought a full complement of mining gear, including a small surface hauler that I could take along as cargo, and a nice set of the latest, intelligent "snake" drills. These "snakes" have sensors up front, so as to follow a vein of whatever ore they're set to, twisting and turning if necessary, sucking up only good ore and not junk rock. Miracles of modern science: sure makes life a whole lot easier for folks like me.
Then, I got this here notice calling me down to the Claims Commission offices. Seems the situation was not so "open and shut" as my shyster said it would be. His radio claim was valid, too, even tho mine was filed personally, before the 7-day wait period. Oh, mine was stronger, and I had clear title, at least to the area surronding my transponder. But they said the conflicting claims would have to be "adjudicated".
Wind up was that an "Arbitrator" would be shipping out on the same mail boat, with me. We'd have a "Claims Settlement Conference" right there, on the rock.
...
Mail boat was leavin' tomorrow, and there wasn't anything left to do, so I wandered down to Jack's to kill the evening.
Jack's. Jack's Asteroid. The best damn saloon on Ceres or anywhere else in the belt. It's where most of the prospectors hand out, at least when they're between busts and strikes.
And Jack's is where it all started, only a week ago. Lemme begin at the beginnin...
I was back on Ceres, after three straight wildcat claims that
just barely yielded enuf to pay for my expenses digging out the ore.
Pretty much wasted my time,
and after more than a year I was right back where I started.
when I left my gal on Ganamede
and went out to the belt one last time to make my fortune.
Right back where I started: just another prospector,
with "a gleam & a dream"
and just barely enuf of a stake left
to try his luck picking out one more rock.
Trouble is I warn't much good at picking rocks.
And now, with claim fees doubled again,
I pretty much knew this would be my last chance.
I figured I needed more of an edge to make it.
And then I stumbled across a situation
that just might give me that edge. And then some.
Pal of mine told me about this fella
who they say has "the best nose for rock"
in the entire belt.
Don't know how they do it,
but some of these old timers
have a natural sense for telling
an asteroid that's got hidden treasures inside,
like rare metals or pitchblende,
from one that's nothing bur rock or iron.
The good rockhounds always go out alone.
They hate to partner up.
Mostly, they strike it rich a few times,
then they disappear.
They don't even rent themselves out, neither.
Once they make their dream,
the ship on outa the belt.
Some go to Titan,
or Ganamede, where I come from.
A few of them actually migrate to Earth.
Beats me why anybody'd go and do that!
It's crowdeder'n Hell, there. Hotter, too.
It's wet, most places.
And the gravity's a bitch!
Still, the surest way for a guy like me
to strike it rich
is to somehow get one of these rockhounds
to find me a real good claim.
I'm damn good at mining.
Amd I'm a fair pilot, too.
But what's the use of all that flying and digging
if there ain't much ore down there to dig up?
(Ya dig?)
Well, that was my state of mind when this here Jordy fella
sort of fell into my lap,
and pointed me to the claim of my dreams.
Course, he didn't actually "fall" into my lap.
I just arranged to be at the right place at the right time,
after doing a little preparation and - shall we say - "research".
Then he just sorta pointed me to the claim.
++++++++++++++
...
As the mailboat approached, I began to make out Jordy's base camp, just above the edge of the yellow dome. (It seemed obvious to pick the handle for "North" or 12-o-clock, and to think of the "fried egg" as being on the "top" side of the skillet. The yolk sat there at about 6-o-clock, or due South; with the camp just north of it.)
Even though I was the only one staying, it seemed like just about all of the passengers had their noses pressed up to a viewport as we closed in, and I heard more than one of them mumble something about "sunny side up".
Next to me, by coincidence, was Mr. Finch, the Arbitrator. He would be descending with me, to conduct a "claims settlement meeting" right there on "the handle". I knew my claim was solid, so I had already paid the engineering company to set up the footings for my vault. Maybe, with a little bit of luck, I could get the whole rock, but at least I'd have clear title to the bottom half. That's what the lawyer told me.