"Well, Don sort of asked--"
I tried to laugh it off and Fern said she'd see me later and the screen
went blank and I sat there shaking.
The screen flickered again. Starza's great moon face smiled at me and
said sweetly, "We're ready to start grieving."
I picked up the time studies that were death sentences for two Terms,
and went down the hall to ulcer gulch, the conference room.
Lure a termite away from his tribe. Promise him the stars. Make him bust
his thorax on an assembly line. He makes a wonderful worker, with
reflexes twice as fast as a human's, but he still isn't an individual.
Even when putting a spaceship together, he's still part of the tribe,
part of a glowing symphony of color and motion. That's bad for
production. Accent on individuality, that was the keynote. The Terms and
their union representatives could argue a grievance right to the letter
of the contract, but when it came to production standards we had them.
Terminorb IV was ninety light-years from the system, and the Terms
couldn't afford a home office time and motion analyst. It wasn't worth
it. Terms were expendable.
Los Tichnat was committeeman at large for the Term local. He sat regally
at the head of the conference table, seven gleaming chitinous feet of
him, with his softly pulsating antennae and faceted eyes, and said in a
clicking, humorless voice, "The first item is a second-stage grievance.
Brother Nadkek, in final assembly, was laid off for one day. Reason: He
missed an operation. The grievance, of course, is a mere formality. You
will deny it."
Dave Starza winked at me from behind horn-rimmed glasses. He sat like
some great bland Buddha, Director of Industrial Relations, genius in
outer psychology, ruthless, soft-spoken, anticipator of alien trends. He
said in that beautiful velvet voice, "Ordinarily, yes. In this case
Nadkek wished to ask his foreman about omitting a welding phase of the
operation. While the suggestion was declined, Nadkek showed unmistakable
initiative." Starza stressed the word. "We appreciate his interest in
the job. He will receive pay for the lost day."
Around the table, antennae flashed amazed colors. A precedent had been
set. Interest in the job transcended even the Contract.
"Management _sustains_ the grievance?" Tichnat droned incredulously.
"Of course," Starza said.
Nadkek left the conference room, his antennae a puzzled mauve.
"Next," Starza said pontifically.
The next grievance was simply that a foreman had spoken harshly to a
Term. The Term resented it. In his tribe he had been a fighter, prime
guardian of the Queen-Mother. Fighters could not be reprimanded as could
spinners or workers.
Starza and Tichnat split hairs while I dozed and thought about Fern.
Starza finally promised to reprimand the foreman. It was lovely, the way
he thumped on the table, aflame with righteousness, his voice golden
thunder, the martyr, hurt by Tichnat's unfairness, yet so eager to
compromise, to be fair. The next grievance was work standards. Starza
looked at me. This one mattered. This was cost.
I pulled out my study proofs, said, "Radnor, in final assembly.
Consistently in the hole. Rating, seventy-four percent--"
"_The operation was too tight, Jake. Admit it!_"
The thought uncoiled darkly, thundering and reverberating in the
horrified caverns of my brain.
A thoughtcaster. So the Guild had thoughtcasters now. The Guild had
finally come.
I sat in the dank silence, shaking. A drop of ice crawled slowly down my
temple. I stared around the conference table at Starza's frown, at those
Term faces, the great faceted eyes.
"We gave this worker every chance," I said, licking my lips. "We put him
on another operation. He still couldn't cut it. Even though we've got
production to meet, we still give as many chances--"
The thought slashed. It grew into a soundless roar.
"_Stop it, Jake! Tell them how Amalgamated, under the cloak of
liberation, is strangling the Terms with an alien culture. Tell them
what a mockery their contract really is! Tell them about that Term you
condemned this morning!_"
I fought it. Feeling the blood run from my lip, I fought it. I'd seen
strong men driven insane by a thoughtcaster within seconds. My stability
index was six point three. Damned high. I fought it. I got to my feet.
The room reeled. Those damned Term faces. The shining antennae. I
stumbled towards the door. The thought became a whiplash of molten fury.
"_Uphold that grievance, Jake! Tell them the truth. Admit the standard
was impossible to meet--_"