His defiant, pleading look.
I blew smoke rings at the visicom and finally said, "Since you were
sixteen, you've dreamed of this. Elimination tests, the weeding out, ten
thousand other smart, hungry kids fighting you for this job." I tasted
the words. "When your contract's up you can write your own ticket
anywhere in the system."
He blurted: "I came here full of ideas about the wonderful work
Amalgamated was doing to advance backward civilizations. Sure, the Terms
have a union. They're paid at standard galactic rates for spacecraft
assembly. But you make them live in that village. It costs to run that
village. You give it to them with one hand and take it back with the
other. All the time you're holding out the promise of racial
advancement, individuality, some day the Terms will reach the stars.
Nuts!"
"That's Guild propaganda," I said softly.
"The Guild is just a bogey you created to keep the Intersolar
Spacecrafters Union in line. There's a Venusport liner due in next week.
When it leaves I'll be on it!"
I played Dutch Uncle. I told him he wasn't used to Terminorb's
one-and-a-half gravs, that this was just a hangover from the three to
five oxygen ratio he wasn't used to. But he said no. Finally I shrugged,
scribbled something on an AVO and handed it to him. "All right, Harvey,"
I said mildly. "Take this down to Carmody, in Psych. He'll give you a
clearance."
Harvey's face went white. "Since when do you go to Psych for a
clearance?"
I pressed a stud under the desk and two Analysts came in. I told them
what to do and Harvey screamed; he fought and bit and clawed, he mouthed
unutterable things about what we were doing to the Terms until I chopped
him mercifully behind the ear.
"Poor devil," panted one of the Analysts. "Obviously insufficient
indoctrination, sir. Would you mind if I spent an hour in Psych for
reorientation? He--he upset me."
My eyes stung with pride. Sam had loyalty plus. "Sure thing, Sam. You'd
better go too, Barney. He said some pretty ugly things."
[Illustration]
They dragged Harvey out and I went over to the visicom, punched a
button. I was trembling with an icy rage as Carmody's lean hawk face
swam into view. "Hello, Jake," he said languidly. "How's Cost?"
I told him curtly about Harvey. "Another weak sister," I rasped. "Can't
you screen them any more? Didn't you note his stability index? I'm going
to report this to Starza, Don."
"Relax," Carmody smiled. "Those things happen, Jake. We'll do a few
gentle things with scalpel and narcosynthesis, and he'll be back in a
week, real eager, the perfect cost analyst."
I'd never liked Carmody. He was so smug; he didn't realize the
_sacredness_ of his position. I said coldly, "Put Miss Davis on."
Carmody's grin was knowing. The screen flickered, and Fern's face came
into focus. Her moist red lips parted, and I shivered, looking at her,
even on a visicom screen. The shining glory of her hair, those cool
green eyes. Three months hadn't made a difference.
"How was little old Earth?" I said awkwardly.
"Wonderful!" She was radiant. "I'll see you for lunch."
"Today's grievance day. Dinner?"
"I promised Don," she said demurely.