"Maybe it'll work out," he said lightly. "I hate to think of living in
a place run by these guys, but I'm willing to give it an honest try.
Keep your chin up, kitten."
* * * * *
The road became steeper, and the settlers slipped and grunted and
struggled behind the carts. Near the crest, in a field to the right
of the road, four people were working, apparently cutting and binding
grain. As the column of settlers approached, the workers glanced up,
said something to each other, and bent to their work again.
"Look at that," growled Red Brace. "We come across practically half the
universe to reach this place, and all we get is a cockeyed glance out
of the corner of their eyes."
"Well, you aren't exactly a pretty sight," Harvey said.
But it _was_ strange, he thought--this indifference, this lack of
curiosity. Here, for the first time in two years, were newcomers from
distant Earth. Didn't they want to hear the news, hear about the
blight, ask questions about relatives and friends? Could anybody be
that uninterested?
At the crest of the rise, the guides paused, and the settlers leaned
against their carts or sat on the ground to rest. In the valley below
were little clumps of houses, long, low buildings, arranged in groups
of three and four, with a hundred yards or so between each group. Off
to the right, a hill, steep and lofty, stood alone in the rolling
plain. Almost at the summit, in a cleft in the rock, was a building
shaped like a semicircle, topped with a slim spire. Its walls seemed
mostly windows. They glinted golden in the warm light.
"And who lives up there, I wonder," said Red Brace.
"I could make a guess," Harvey said.
"Mr. Big. A nice, cozy spot where he can sit all day and spit down
everybody else's throat."
"I'm sure," Harvey said, "the gentleman never does anything as
inelegant as that."
The clusters of buildings had looked close. It took fully an hour
before the settlers reached them. By that time, they were hot and
thirsty and dispirited. As they went up the village street, the guides
pointed out the numbered houses, and the settlers assigned to them
left the column and carried their luggage inside. Most of them were
inside only a few minutes before they came to the doorways to stare
unhappily at each other. They had found that the houses, made of wood
and plaster, each consisted of three boxy rooms containing a few sticks
of crudely made furniture. Nothing was painted. There was no glass in
the windows. The beds consisted of four posts with mattresses of woven
vines.
"What did you expect--innersprings?" Harvey said. "Remember--Colonel
Baker never said you'd get innersprings on this planet. The man never
told you a lie."
The toilets were tiny out-houses, a hundred yards away in the field.
"Oh, dear," Ruth said.
"Well, you can't expect the man to transport sewer pipe to Paradise,"
Harvey said grimly.
He stood in the doorway and waited until the guides had deposited the
last of the settlers and were started on their return trip. Harvey
called to them as they came by. They glanced at him blankly, said
something to each other, and kept on walking. Harvey leaped to the
street, raced after them, grabbed them by the shoulders and spun them
both around. "When I talk to somebody, I expect an answer," he said
savagely.
The two guides looked at him with worn, emotionless eyes. They stood
there, shoulders drooping slightly in a weirdly identical posture.
"What's this all about?" Harvey said, subduing his voice with
difficulty. He waited. Nothing came out of them. "Do you work for
Baker? Don't you have farms like the rest of us?"
The stocky one's mouth twisted slightly. Then he spoke. "We have
farms," he said in a low, sullen voice. "We are also guides. We
couldn't work our farms all the way. We had to do extra work to meet
our payments."
Harvey stared at them. "Payments for what? Didn't you pay for the farms
before you came here?"
"Payments for the oxygen," said the stocky man.
"What do you mean?"
A weak, sardonic smile edged across their faces. "They weren't told,"
the tall man said.
Harvey boiled over. He grabbed one man by the throat. "Told what,
goddamn you? Talk!"
The pale eyes stared into his. The sardonic smile stayed on the
man's lips. "Told that you'll have to work all day, every day, dawn
to dark"--his voice hardened viciously--"to pay for the oxygen you
breathe." His smile widened as he saw the alarm in Harvey's face.
Harvey loosened his grip, but the man kept his face close to his. "You
see that tube of oxygen on your back? That will last you one day. When
you get a new one, you will owe a hundred credits. Do you understand
now? You'll never be able to stop working, because you can't get ahead
of that hundred credits a day, you just about make it if you work all
day--and you have to make it, do you understand, you fool?--you have
to, if you want your oxygen tomorrow, if you want to breathe."
Harvey watched dazedly as the two guides turned and started away down
the road, and then, abruptly, the stocky one looked back and yelled
back, "You're slaves! All of you! You're the same as us! You're slaves!"
Ruth, wide-eyed, was waiting at the doorway for him, when he came back.
"You heard them?" Harvey said shakily.
"I heard," Ruth said in a quiet voice.
"Lord, what did I get you into?"
She put a hand on his arm. "There's nothing to grieve about. If we find
that things just don't work out, we'll stick it out for two years and
save up enough for our return passage."
Harvey looked at her brokenly. "If what they say is true, how can you
save anything?"
* * * * *
Of course, Harvey reflected afterward, the guide could have been
talking nonsense, he could have been some sort of nut. So Harvey said
nothing about his encounter to the other settlers. But after three
days, everybody knew the true conditions of their existence. The story
was made explicit by the little debit-and-credit book that each settler
was given. Every evening a caravan of Baker's men, pulling carts,
came down the road, collected what the settlers had harvested during
the day, and marked the credits in their books. Those who worked from
dawn to dusk usually managed to achieve 100 credits. A few went over
100--three, four, or five credits over--and were told that if they kept
this rate up, why, in six months or so, they'd have enough credits to
buy some clothes at the central commissary. Several settlers fell short
each day. They got particular attention from the man who collected the
depleted oxygen tanks from the settlers and handed each a new one.
"We're not cutting anybody's oxygen off--not right away," he said. "But
if I were you, I'd get working--fast. The Colonel looks these accounts
over every night. He doesn't like anybody getting far in arrears."
Dr. Lurie, who, with his wife, had averaged only 96 credits on each of
the first three days, spoke up puzzledly. "Do you mean--do you mean you
actually let people--asphyxiate?"
The leader gave a nasty grin. "I didn't say that--I just said we don't
give them any more oxygen. What they do after that is _their_ business."
"Is that right?" growled Red Brace. He moved slowly through to the
front of the crowd and then, with a lunge, grabbed the leader by the
throat. "I'm just going to squeeze, and squeeze," he gritted, "and what
happens to you is _your_ business."
Harvey leaped forward and grabbed Brace's arms. "Let go, Red!" he
yelled. "Let go!"
Brace jammed him aside with a jerk of his big shoulders. Harvey leaped
at him again. "For God's sake, Red, this isn't the one--it's not his
fault!" He yanked at Brace's arms. It was like yanking an oak. Harvey
stepped back, his mouth grim, and slammed his fist into Brace's jaw.
Red Brace staggered. The caravan leader slipped from his hands and
oozed down on the ground, gasping weakly. Red Brace's fists tightened
and he turned on Harvey. "Goddam you, you want to get yourself killed?"
They stood there, glowering at each other, breathing hard. "The guy is
only one of Baker's slaves," Harvey said. "Why were you taking it out
on him?"
The caravan leader was on his feet now. "That's what I was trying to
tell him," he said weakly. "I'm only carrying out orders. I've got to
work my place and work for Baker, too, to make up my credits. You know
how long I'd last if I didn't carry out orders."
"Okay, okay," Harvey said, suddenly sick of the whole thing. "We've got
our oxygen, we've got our lecture. Now take off."
The settlers watched Baker's men move to their wagons, like a troop of
horses, and slowly set out up the road.
"All right," Red Brace growled abruptly, "I'm sorry. But you didn't
have any call to take a poke at me."
"You were about to kill the guy," Harvey snapped.
"All right, all right, I said I'm sorry. It was the wrong guy. Now
let's go after the right one."
In the center of the settlement, at the side of the road, was a yellow
wooden booth, marked COM, for communications. A loudspeaker on the
roof brought messages from the central office. Inside the booth was a
microphone and other electronic apparatus. Dr. Lurie sat down before
the microphone and pressed the Call button. He cleared his throat.
"I--we want to talk to Colonel Baker personally," he said.
* * * * *
In a large circular room, with a huge curving window overlooking the
golden valley, sat Colonel Martin E. Baker, sipping a Scotch highball.
It was a weak highball; Colonel Baker really didn't enjoy drinking. But
his doctor had told him, on the periodic physical he had taken during
his last visit to Earth, that a mild drink before dinner might help
overcome his dyspepsia. "Tenseness," the doctor had said. "You've got
to relax more." This seemed preposterous to Colonel Baker, who always
thought himself to be a very relaxed person, but there was no denying
the dyspepsia--it was there all the time--and he was willing to try
anything that might ameliorate it.
When the gentle buzzer sounded and the red light glowed on the
communications set, Colonel Baker went over to it, flipped the switch
and leaned back in his reclining chair.
"Yes?" said Baker pleasantly. He was rather tickled with the
arrangement that permitted him to watch the faces of people who were
unaware of the television camera focused on them.
"Sir," said Dr. Lurie in a strained voice, "there has been--there is--a
good deal of dissatisfaction in our group. This system of credits
doesn't seem equitable. Some of us find it extremely difficult to amass
a hundred credits a day, and yet that is the amount we are charged for
our daily tube of oxygen. Now, sir, we believe it would be fair if you
reduced the charge for the oxygen, to, shall we say, eighty credits?"
Baker took another sip of his highball. "Impossible," he said. "I'm
sorry, but it's impossible."
He watched Dr. Lurie's face go through some nervous gyrations. "Why,
sir?"
"The economy of this entire settlement was carefully worked out with
the counsel of economists," Colonel Baker said. "You realize that we
just can't step in and change one part without upsetting the entire
pattern. We can't tinker--it's too hazardous."
"But, sir, we find that we're just working for our respiratory needs,
so to speak. That, plus the little food we consume ourselves from what
we harvest. Oxygen and food--isn't there any possibility of our earning
anything more?"
"There have been settlers who have amassed enough credits to import
some things from Earth. It's all a matter of the rate of work.
Incidentally, I've noticed your production figures, Dr. Lurie. I
wouldn't keep on this way, if I were you. Deficits pile up. The
situation can become dangerous faster than you imagine."
Even over the televiewer, Baker could see Dr. Lurie's face pale. A
hand suddenly appeared, pushing Dr. Lurie aside. The big face of the
redhead, Brace, appeared on the screen.
"Listen, Baker," he roared, "if we don't get a better deal, we'll
strike. You won't get a damn thing out of us. And what the hell're you
going to do about that?"
Baker sipped his Scotch and smiled. "You're all free agents," he said
gently. "Far be it for me to attempt to dictate your behavior. You're
at liberty to do as you please."
Dr. Lurie's voice came over in a tense whisper. "He'll cut off our
oxygen!"
"He wouldn't dare," Brace snarled. "Nobody goes and kills a couple of
hundred people."
Baker chuckled loud enough for the settlers to hear. "If that is all,
gentlemen, good day," he said, and flicked a switch. But it was only a
one-way switch, shutting off sound from his direction but permitting
him to see and hear the settlers. Their talk didn't go on very long
before Baker could see that Brace had lost--the thought of not seeing
the oxygen wagons come along in the evening was too frightening.
"All right, you jerks," Red Brace shouted, "I'll go after him myself."
He strode off up the road. Harvey Flanders ran after him. Baker could
see, but not hear, the heated colloquy as the two men walked on, and
then, finally, Brace turned around and came back, and the two men
disappeared inside Flanders' house.
Baker flicked a switch. Carsing's face appeared on the screen, with a
brisk, "Yes, sir?"
"Might be some trouble the next couple of days--perhaps even tonight,"
Baker said. "Double-check the infrared warning system, will you?"
"Yes, sir."
Baker went back to his highball, feeling rather pleasant.
* * * * *
Late that night, in Harvey Flanders' house, a long discussion went on
among Harvey, Brace, Dr. Lurie, and the Schweitzer twins.
"I went over it in detail with some of the old-timers here," Harvey
said. "I also did some personal scouting, and everything they said
seems to be true. Here's the setup:
"Our idea of raiding the commissary for a lot of oxygen tanks is out.
They don't keep any stock; there's never more than a single day's
supply for the settlement. Of course, we can't make off with that,
unless we want to kill off everybody else.
"The oxygen plant itself is right up there on the hill, next to Baker's
house. That's the key to his control, and he keeps it right under
his thumb. Nobody--I mean nobody--except Carsing ever goes up there.
They've got an endless belt system for taking up the empty tanks and
sending back the full ones to the commissary."
"That makes the whole thing simple," Red Brace said impatiently. "We
go up there, knock off Baker and Carsing, and take over the oxygen
factory."
"It's not that simple," Harvey said. "I imagine the old boy has a way
of keeping strangers out. The story I get is that he's got some sort of
electronic telescope, and he sits up there all day watching everything
that's going on. You're not going to sneak up on him, exactly."
Brace stood up. "The longer we sit and talk, the more time he has to
get set for us. Anybody coming with me?" He looked around. "Frankly, I
don't give a damn if anybody comes or not. You'd only be in the way,
anyway."
He headed for the doorway.
"Red, you can't go off half-cocked like this," Harvey pleaded.
"So long," said Brace and went out into the cloudy night.