Authors: Hubbard,L. Ron
Terl was in a furious burst of activity. He hardly slept. He left the kerbango alone. The doom of years of exile on this cursed planet haunted him; each time he slowed his pace he collided with the horrible thought and it jabbed him into even greater efforts.
Leverage, leverage! He conceived himself to be a pauper in leverage.
He had a few things on employees here and there, but they were minor things: peccadillos with some of the Psychlo female clerks, drunkenness on the job leading to breakage, tapes of mutterings about foremen, personal letters smuggled into the teleportation of ore, but nothing big. This was not the kind of thing personal fortunes were easily built from. Yet here were thousands of Psychlos, and his experience as a security officer told him the odds in favor of finding blackmail material were large. The company did not hire angels. It hired miners and mining administrators and it hired them tough; in some cases, particularly on a planet like this- no favored spot- the company even winked at taking on ex-criminals. It was a criticism of himself, no less, that he could not get more blackmail than he had.
This Numph. Now there was one. He had potential leverage on Numph but
Terl did not know what it was. He knew it had something to do with the nephew Nipe in home office accounting. But Terl could not dig out what it really was. And so he dared not push it. The risk lay in pretending to be wise to it and then, by some slip, revealing he didn’t have the data. The leverage would go up in smoke, for Numph would know Terl had nothing. So he had to use it so sparingly that it was almost no use at all. Blast!
As the days and weeks of winter went on, a new factor arose. His requests for information from the home planet were not being answered. Only that one scrap about Nipe, that was all. It was a trifle frightening. No answers. He could send green flash urgents until he wore out his pen and there wasn’t even an acknowledgment.
He had even become sly and reported the discovery of a nonexistent hoard of arms. Actually it was just a couple
Of muzzle-loading bronze cannon some workman had dug up in a minesite on the overseas continent. But Terl had worded the report in such a way that it was alarming, although it could be retracted with no damage to himself: a routine, essential report. And no acknowledgment had come back. None.
He had investigated furiously to see whether other departmental reports got like treatment- they didn’t. He
had considered the possibility that Numph was removing reports from the teleportation box. Numph wasn’t.
Home office knew he existed, that was for sure. They had confirmed the additional ten-year duty stretch, had noted Numph’s commendation affirmative, and had added the clause of company optional extension. So they knew he was alive, and there could not possibly be any action being taken against him or he would have intercepted interrogatories about himself. There had been none.
So, without any hope of home office cooperation, it was obviously up to Terl to dig himself out. The ancient security maxim was ever present in his mind now: where a situation is needed but doesn’t exist, make one.
His pockets bulged with button cameras and his skill in hiding them was expert. Every picto-recorder he could lay his paws on lined the shelves of his office- and he kept his door locked.
Just now he was glued to a scope, observing the garage interior. He was waiting for Zzt to go to lunch. In his belt Terl had the duplicate keys to the garage.
Open beside him was the book of company regulations relating to the conduct of personnel (Security Volume 989), and it was open to Article 34a-IV (Uniform Code of Penalties).
The article said: “Wherein and whereas theft viciously affects profits…” and there followed five pages of company theft penalties, “…and whereas and wherefore company personnel also have rights to their monies, bonuses, and possessions…” and there followed one page of different aspects of it, “…the theft of personal monies from the quarters of employees by employees, when duly evidenced, shall carry the penalty of vaporization.”
That was the key to Terl’s present operation. It didn’t say theft went on record. It didn’t say a word about when it happened as related to when it was to be punished. The key items were “when duly evidenced” and “vaporization.” There was no judicial vaporization chamber on this planet, but that was no barrier. A blast gun could vaporize anyone with great thoroughness.
There were two other clauses in that book that were important: “All company executives of whatever grade shall uphold these regulations”; and “The enforcement of all such regulations shall be vested in the security officers, their assistants, deputies, and personnel.” The earlier one included Numph-he could not even squeak. The latter one meant Terl, the sole and only security officer- or deputy or assistant or personnel- on this planet.
Terl had spot-watched Zzt for a couple of days now and he knew where he kept his dirty workcoats and caps.
Aha, Zzt was leaving. Terl waited to make sure the transport chief did not come back because he had forgotten something. Good. He was gone.
With speed, but not to betray himself or alarm anyone by rushing if met in the halls, Terl went to the garage.
He let himself in with a duplicate key and went directly to the washroom. He took down a dirty workcoat and cap. He let himself out and locked the door behind him.
For days now Terl had also watched, with an artfully concealed button camera, the room of the smaller Chamco brother. He had found what he wanted. After work, the smaller Chamco brother habitually changed from his mine clothes in his room and put on a long coat he affected for dinner and an evening’s gambling in the recreation area. More: the smaller Chamco brother always put and kept his cash in the cup of an antique drinking horn that hung on the wall of his room.
Terl now scanned the minesite patiently. He finally spotted the smaller Chamco brother exiting from the compound, finished with lunch, and boarding the bus to the teleportation transshipment area where he worked. Good. Terl also scanned the compound corridors. They were empty in the berthing areas during work time.
Working fast, Terl looked from a stilled picto-recorder frame of Zzt to the mirror before him and began to apply makeup. He thickened his eyebones, added length to his fangs, roughed the fur on his cheeks, and labored to get the resemblance exact. What a master of skills one had to be in security.
Made up, he donned the workcoat and cap.
He took five hundred credits in bills from his own wallet. The top one he marked: “Good luck!” very plainly. He scribbled several different names on it with different pens.
He connected a remote control to a picto-recorder that was registering the Chamco room, checked everything, and checked the mirror too.
One more look at the live view of the garage. Yes, Zzt was back, puttering around with a big motor. That would keep him busy for a while.
Terl sped down the corridors of the berthing compound. He entered the smaller Chamco brother’s room with a passkey. He checked the drinking horn on the wall. Yes, it had money in it. He put in the five hundred credits. He went back to the door. Ready!
He touched the remote control in his pocket, imitating the rolling walk of Zzt, he went over to the drinking horn and with stealthy movements took out the five hundred credits, looked around as though fearful of being observed, counted the money- the marked bill plainly in view- and then crept out of the room, closing and locking the door.
A berthing attendant saw him from a distance and he ducked.
He got back to his room and swiftly removed the makeup. He put the five hundred credits back in his wallet.
When the screen showed him Zzt had gone for dinner, he returned the cap and workcoat to the washroom.
Back in his own quarters, Terl rubbed his paws.
Leverage. Leverage. Stage one of this lever was done, and he was going to pull it and good.
It was a night that was long remembered by the employees in the recreation area of the minesite.
They were not unused to seeing Terl drunk, but tonight- well! The attendant shoveled panful after panful of kerbango at him and he took them all.
Terl had begun the evening looking depressed, and that was understandable since he wasn’t very popular lately- if he ever had been. Char had watched him slit-eyed for a while, but Terl was obviously just bent on getting drunk. Finally Terl seemed to rouse himself and did a bit of paw-gripping- a game whose object was to see which player couldn’t stand it any more and let go- with some of the mine managers. Terl had lost in every case; he was getting drunker and drunker.
And now Terl was heckling the smaller Chamco brother into a game of rings. It was a gambling game. A player took a ring and put it on the back of the paw and then with the other paw snapped it off and sailed it at a board. The board had pegs with numbers, the bigger numbers all around the edges. The one that got the biggest number won. Then stakes were put up again and another round occurred.
The smaller Chamco brother hadn’t wanted to take him on. Terl was usually very good at rings. Then his drunken condition became too alluring and the Chamco let himself be persuaded.
They started by putting up ten-credit bets- steep enough for the recreation area. Chamco got a ninety and Terl a sixteen.
Terl insisted upon raising the bets and the Chamco couldn’t refuse, of course.
The ring shot by the smaller Chamco brother sizzled through the atmosphere and clanged over a four peg. The Chamco groaned. Anything could beat that. And lately he had been saving his money. When he got home- in just a few months now- he was going to buy a wife. And this bet had been thirty credits!
Terl went through contortions of motions, put the ring on the back of his paw, sighted across it, and then with the other paw sent it like a ray blast at the board. A three! Terl lost.
As the winner, the smaller Chamco brother couldn’t quit. And Terl had taken another pan of kerbango, leering around at the interested gallery, and upped the bets.
The onlookers placed some side bets of their own. Terl was reeling drunk. He did have a reputation with this game, which made the odds lower, but he was so obviously drunk that he even faced the wrong direction and had to be turned in the right one.
The smaller Chamco brother got fifty. Terl got two. “Ah, no, you don’t quit now,” Terl said. “The winner can’t quit.” His words were slurred. “I bet…l bet one hun -…hundred credits.”
Well, with pay halved and bonuses gone, nobody was going to object to winning easy money, and the smaller
Chamco went along.
The audience roared at Terl’s bungling as loss after loss occurred. And the smaller Chamco brother found himself standing there with four hundred fifty credits.
Terl reeled over to the attendant and got another saucepan of kerbango. As he drank it he went through his pockets, turning them out one by one. Finally he came up with a single bill, a bit crumpled and marked all over. “My good-luck money,” sobbed Terl.
He lurched over to the firing position in front of the board. “Chamco Two, just one more crap-little bet. You see this bill?”
The smaller Chamco brother looked the bill over. It was a good-luck bill. Mine employees taking off for far places after a final party sometimes exchanged good-luck bills. Everybody signed everybody else’s bill. And this had a dozen signatures on it.
“I’m betting my good-luck bill,” said Terl. “But you got to promise you won’t spend it and that you’ll trade it back to me on payday if I…I lose it?”
The smaller Chamco brother had gotten money-hungry by now. He was picking up nearly two weeks’ pay, and the wage cuts had hurt. Yes, he’d promise to do that.
As winner, the smaller Chamco brother went first. He had never been very good at rings. He fired and ouch! It was a one. Anything, but anything, would beat it.
Terl stared at it. He went drunkenly forward and looked at it closely. He reeled back to the firing line, faced the wrong way, had to be turned, and then zip! He got off a sizzler.
It hit the blank wall.
With that, Terl passed out. The attendant, helped by the Chamcos and Char and couple of others, got Terl on a banquet serving trolley that groaned and bent. They wheeled him in a triumphal parade to his quarters, got the key out of his pocket, brought him in, and dumped him on the floor. They were pretty drunk, too, and they went away chanting the funeral dirge of the Psychlos in a most feeling way.
When they were gone, Terl crawled to the door and closed and locked it.
He had taken counter-kerbango pills after dinner, and all he had to do now was get rid of the excess, which he did, tickling his throat with a talon over the wash basin.
Quietly then, with great satisfaction, he undressed and got into bed and had a beautiful sleep full of beautiful dreams concerning the beautiful future of Terl.
Jonnie heard the monster enter the cage and close the door.
In the past few weeks Jonnie’s hands and face had healed and his hair; eyebrows, and beard had grown out. His reflection in the water from the snow he had melted in a pan told him that. He couldn’t see any scars on his hands but they still looked red where they had been burned.
He was wrapped in a robe, facing away from the door, and he didn’t look around. He had worked late with the instruction machine.
“Look over here, animal,” said Terl. “See what I brought you.”
There was something different in the monster’s voice. It seemed jovial if that were possible. Jonnie sat up and looked.
Terl was holding up four rats by their tails. Lately the nearby rat population had been cut down and Terl had been shooting rabbits and bringing them in, a very welcome change indeed. Yet here were more rats and the monster thought it was a favor.
Jonnie lay down again. Terl threw the rats over by the fire. One wasn’t quite dead and started to crawl away. Terl flashed his handgun from its holster and blew its head off.
Jonnie sat up. Terl was putting the gun away.
“Trouble with you, animal,” said Terl, “you have no sense of appreciation. Have you finished the discs on basic electronics?”
Actually, Jonnie had. Terl had brought the discs weeks ago, along with some discs on higher mathematics. He didn’t bother to answer.
“Anybody that could be fooled by remote controls couldn’t ever really operate machines,” said Terl. He had harped on this before, omitting the truth that it was he who had been fooled.
“Well, here are some other texts. And you better wrap your rat brain around them if you ever expect to handle machines- mining machines.”
Terl threw three books at him. They looked huge but they were featherweight. One hit Jonnie but he caught the other two. He looked at them. They were Psychlo texts, not Chinko translations. One was Control Systems for Beginning Engineers. Another was Electronic Chemistry. The third was Power and its Transmission. Jonnie wanted the books. Knowledge was the key out of captivity. But he put the books down and looked at Terl.
“Get those into your rat brain and you won’t be sending machines over cliffs,” said Terl. Then he came nearer and sat down in the chair. He looked closely at Jonnie. “When are you really going to start cooperating?”
Jonnie knew this was a very dangerous monster, a monster that wanted something that hadn’t been named.
“Maybe never,” said Jonnie.
Terl sat back, watching Jonnie closely. “Well, never mind, animal. I see you pretty well recovered from your burns. Your fur is growing back.” Jonnie knew Terl had no interest in that and wondered what was coming next.
“You know, animal,” said Terl, “you sure had me fooled that first day.” Terl’s eyes were watchful but he seemed to be just rambling along. “I thought you were four-legged!” He laughed very falsely. “It sure was a surprise when you fell apart into two animals.” He laughed again, amber eyes very cunning. “Wonder what happened to that horse.”
Before he could stop himself, Jonnie experienced a wave of sorrow over Windsplitter. He choked it off instantly.
Terl looked at him. Then he got up and wandered over to the cage door. To himself Terl was thinking: the horse is a key to this. He had been right. The animal was attached emotionally to that horse. Leverage, leverage. It came in many guises and its use was power.
Terl appeared to be laughing. “You sure had me fooled that first day. Well, I’ve got to be going. Get busy on those books, rat brain.” He went out. “That’s a good one; ratbrain.”
Jonnie sat staring after him. He knew he had betrayed something. And he knew Terl was up to something. But what? Was Windsplitter alive?
Uneasy, Jonnie built up the fire and began to look over the books. And then he was gripped in a sudden wave of excitement: he had found “uranium” listed in the index of Electronic Chemistry.