The Stars My Destination

by Alfred Bester

“There’s been a change,” Dagenham said dryly. “Last time we talked your dialogue consisted entirely of ‘Go to hell.’” “Go to hell, Dagenham, if it’ll make you feel any better.” “Your repartee’s improved; your speech, too. You’ve changed,” Dagenham said. “Changed a damned sight too much and a damned sight too fast. I don’t like it. What’s happened to you?” “I’ve been going to night school.” “You’ve had ten months in this night school.” “Ten months!” Foyle echoed in amazement. “That long?” “Ten months without sight and without sound. Ten months in solitary. You ought to be broke.” “Oh, I’m broke, all right.” “You ought to be whining. I was right. You’re unusual. At this rate it’s going to take too long. We can’t wait. I’d like to make a new offer.” “Make it.” “Ten per cent of Nomad’s bullion. Two million.” “Two million!” Foyle exclaimed. “Why didn’t you offer that in the first place?” “Because I didn’t know your caliber. Is it a deal?” “Almost. Not yet.” “What else?” “I get out of Gouffre Martel.” “Naturally.” “And someone else, too.” “It can be arranged.” Dagenham’s voice sharpened. “Anything else?” “I get access to Presteign’s files.” “Out of the question. Are you insane? Be reasonable.” “His shipping files.” “What for?” “A list of personnel aboard one of his ships.” “Oh.” Dagenham’s eagerness revived. “That, I can arrange. Anything else?” “No.” “Then it’s a deal.” Dagenham was delighted.