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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24180-h.zip b/24180-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3761aef --- /dev/null +++ b/24180-h.zip diff --git a/24180-h/24180-h.htm b/24180-h/24180-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f3f7d9e --- /dev/null +++ b/24180-h/24180-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2295 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Alarm Clock, by Everett B. Cole</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + + + .tr { text-align:left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: solid black 1px;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-top: + 0.25em; margin-right: 0.5em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Alarm Clock, by Everett B. Cole, Illustrated +by Van Dongen</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Alarm Clock</p> +<p>Author: Everett B. Cole</p> +<p>Release Date: January 6, 2008 [eBook #24180]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALARM CLOCK***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="tr">Transcriber's note:<br /> +<br /> +This etext was produced from <i>Astounding Science Fiction</i>, +September, 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence +that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. </div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>ALARM CLOCK</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h2>By EVERETT B. COLE</h2> +<p> </p> + +<h2>Illustrated by Van Dongen</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Most useful high explosives, like ammonium nitrate, are +enormously violent ... once they're triggered. But they will +remain seemingly inert when beaten, burned, variously +punished—until the particular shock required comes +along....</i></p></div> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 50px;"> +<img src="images/image_01.jpg" height="50" alt="M" /> +</div> + +<p>any years had passed since the original country rock had been broken, +cut and set, to form solid pavement for the courtyard at Opertal +Prison. And over those years the stones had suffered change as +countless feet, scuffing and pressing against once rough edges, had +smoothed the bits of rock, burnishing their surfaces until the light +of the setting sun now reflected from them as from polished mosaic.</p> + +<p>As Stan Graham crossed the wide expanse from library to cell block, +his shoe soles added their small bit to the perfection of the age-old +polish.</p> + +<p>He looked up at the building ahead of him, noting the coarse, +weathered stone of the walls. The severe, vertical lines of the mass +reminded him of Kendall Hall, back at the Stellar Guard Academy. He +smiled wryly.</p> + +<p>There were, he told himself, differences. People rarely left this +place against their wishes. None had wanted to come here. Few had any +desire to stay. Whereas at the Academy—</p> + +<p>How, he wondered, had those other guys they'd booted out really felt? +None had complained—or even said much. They'd just packed their gear +and picked up their tickets. There had been no expression of +frustrated rage to approach his. Maybe there was something wrong with +him—some unknown fault that put him out of phase with all others.</p> + +<p>He hadn't liked it at all.</p> + +<p>His memory went back to his last conversation with Major Michaels. The +officer had listened, then shaken his head decisively.</p> + +<p>"Look, Graham, a re-examination wouldn't help. We just can't retain +you."</p> + +<p>"But I'm sure—"</p> + +<p>"No, it won't work. Your academic record isn't outstanding in any area +and Gravitics is one of the most important courses we've got."</p> + +<p>"But I don't see how I could have bugged it, sir. I got a good grade +on the final examination."</p> + +<p>"True, but there were several before that. And there were your daily +grades." Michaels glanced at the papers on his desk.</p> + +<p>"I can't say what went wrong, but I think you missed something, way +back at the beginning. After that, things got worse and you ran out of +time. This is a pretty competitive place, you know, and we probably +drop some pretty capable men, but that's the way it is."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I'm certain I know—"</p> + +<p>"It isn't enough to know. You've got to know better than a lot of +other people."</p> + +<p>Michaels got to his feet and came around the desk.</p> + +<p>"Look, there's no disgrace in getting an academic tossout from here. +You had to be way above average to get here. And very few people can +make it for one year, let alone three or four."</p> + +<p>He raised a hand as Stan started to speak.</p> + +<p>"I know. You think it looks as though you'd broken down somehow. You +didn't. From the day you came here, everyone looked for weaknesses. If +there'd been a flaw, they'd have found it—and they'd have been on you +till you came apart—or the flaw disappeared. We lose people that +way." He shrugged.</p> + +<p>"You didn't fall apart. They just got to you with some pretty rough +theory. You don't have to bow your head to anybody about that."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Stan looked at the heavily barred door before him.</p> + +<p>"No," he told himself, "I don't suppose I'm the galaxy's prize boob, +but I'm no high value shipment, either. I'm just some guy that not +only couldn't make the grade, but couldn't even make it home without +getting into trouble."</p> + +<p>He pushed the door aside and went into the building, pausing for an +instant between two monitor pillars. There was no warning buzz and he +continued on his way through a hallway.</p> + +<p>He barely noticed his surroundings. Once, when he had first been +brought here, he had studied the stone walls, the tiny, grilled +windows, the barred doors, with fascinated horror. But the feeling had +dulled. They were just depressingly familiar surroundings now.</p> + +<p>He stopped at a heavy metal grill and handed a slip through the bars. +A bored guard turned, dropped the paper into a slot, then glanced at a +viewplate. He nodded.</p> + +<p>"All right, forty-two ninety. You're on time. Back to your cell." He +punched a button and a gate slid aside.</p> + +<p>Stan glanced at the cell fronts as he walked. Men were going about +their affairs. A few glanced at him as he passed, then looked away. +Stan closed his eyes for an instant.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_02.jpg" width="600" height="580" alt="Image" /> +</div> + +<p>That much hadn't changed. At school, he had never been one with any of +the cadet groups. He had been accepted at first, then coolly +tolerated, then shunted to the outer edges.</p> + +<p>Oh, he'd had his friends, of course. There were those other oddballs, +like Winton and Morgan. But they'd gone. For one reason or another, +most of them had packed up and left long before he'd had his final +run-in with the academic board.</p> + +<p>And there had been Major Michaels. For a while, the officer had been +warm—friendly. Stan could remember pleasant chats—peaceful hours +spent in the major's comfortable quarters. And he could remember +parties, with some pretty swell people around.</p> + +<p>Then the older man had become a forbidding stranger. Stan had never +been able to think of a reason for that. Maybe it was because of the +decline in his academic work. Maybe he'd done something to offend. +Maybe—</p> + +<p>He shook the thoughts away, walked to a cell door, and stood waiting +till the guard touched the release button.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As Stan tossed his books on his bunk, Jak Holme raised his head and +looked across the cell.</p> + +<p>"More of them books?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Stan nodded. "Still trying to find out about this planet."</p> + +<p>"You trying to be some kinda big politician when you get out?" Holme +snorted.</p> + +<p>"Tell you, be better you try mixing with the guys, 'stead of pushing +'em around with that fancy talk, making 'em jump now and then, see. +You get along with 'em, you'll see. They'll tell you all you need. Be +working with some of 'em, too, remember?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't try to push anybody around." Stan perched on his bunk. +"Doesn't hurt anyone to study, though."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure." Holme grimaced. "Do you a lot of good, too. Guy's working +on some production run, it helps a lot he knows why all them big guys +in the history books did them things, huh?" He laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>"Sure it does! What they want, you should make that fabricator spit +out nice parts, see?" He swelled his chest.</p> + +<p>"Now me, I got my mind on my business, see. I get out of here, I +oughta make out pretty good." He looked around the cell.</p> + +<p>"Didn't get no parole, see, so I get all the training. Real good +trained machinist now, and I'm gonna walk out of here clean. Get a job +down at the space-yards.</p> + +<p>"Machinist helper, see? Then, soon's I been there a while, I'll get my +papers and go contract machinist. Real good money. Maybe you'd do +better, you try that."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>From the lower bunk, Big Carl Marlo laughed softly.</p> + +<p>"Sure, kid, sure. You got it all made, huh? Pretty quick, you own +Janzel Equipment, huh? Hah! Know what happens, you go outside?</p> + +<p>"Sure, they give you a job. Like you said, helper. They pay enough you +get a pad and slop to keep you alive. That's all you get."</p> + +<p>"Aw, now listen!" Holme started up.</p> + +<p>Marlo wagged his head. "You go for papers, see? Naw! Got no papers for +jailbirds. Staffman'll give you the word. He gets through pushing you +around, you go back, 'counta you don't know nothing else."</p> + +<p>He laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>"Gopher, that's you. You go fer this, and you go fer that. Slop and a +pad you get." He swung out of his bunk.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure, maybe they put you on a fabricator. Even let you set it up +for 'em. But that don't get you no extra pins."</p> + +<p>Holme shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Councilor gave me the word," he said stubbornly. "They need good +machinists."</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Marlo nodded. "Sure, they want graduates down at Talburg. But +they ain't paying 'em for no contract machinist when they can keep 'em +as helpers." He turned.</p> + +<p>"Ain't that right, Pete?"</p> + +<p>Karzer looked up from a bag he was packing.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, yeah, that's right, Carl. I know a few guys once, tried playing +the legit. Got kicked around, see? Low pay. Staffman hammering on 'em +all the time. Big joke when they try to get more for themselves.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, big joke. They get blamed, they bust something, see, so they +owe the company big money." He looked critically at a pair of socks.</p> + +<p>"So they get smart after a while. Dusted around the corner and went +back on the make. Do better that way, see?</p> + +<p>"Naw, they give you a lot of guff, you go to work outside, work hard, +keep your nose clean, you come out of parole and you're in the money. +It's sucker bait, is all. Don't go like that, see."</p> + +<p>Marlo came closer to Holme.</p> + +<p>"Naw, you go out clean, see, just like you say. Then you play it easy. +Get a good score and lay back for a while. Don't go pushing your luck.</p> + +<p>"That's how they hook me, see. I get too hungry. Get a nice touch, it +looks so good I gotta go back for seconds, and they're waiting. I +don't make that mistake again." He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Got me a nice pad, way up valley. Gonna hole up there. Go out, pull a +good job, then I lay around, maybe a year and think up another. Then, +when I'm all ready, I go out, pull a can or two open and lift what +they got back to the pad. Ain't gonna be no more of this scuffling +around, hitting a quick one and running out to spend the pins quick, +so's I can get in no traps."</p> + +<p>He looked at Holme thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I just now think of something, kid. You can make yourself a nice bit, +real easy. Don't cost hardly nothing to set up and there ain't much +risk. You work more'n a year, learning all about tools, huh? They +teach you all about making tools, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Sure." Holme laughed shortly. "Got to make all your own hand tools +before you get through. Why?"</p> + +<p>Marlo grinned broadly.</p> + +<p>"I could tell you a lotta guys, need real special tools. Need tools +you don't buy in no store, like maybe a good can opener a guy can +carry easy. And they pay real good, you make what they want and keep +your mouth shut." He rubbed his chin.</p> + +<p>"Nice," he went on. "Real nice. And all you need is maybe a few tools +you can buy anywhere. And maybe you gotta build up a little forge. Guy +knew his way around, he could make a nice pile that way."</p> + +<p>Stan looked at the man thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Sounds interesting," he broke in, "but suppose they find some +fabricator operator out in the woods, heating up metal instead of +working on a regular job? They'd be curious, don't you think? +Especially if the guy's already picked up a record."</p> + +<p>"Naw." Marlo turned toward him. "So he's a graduate—who ain't? See, +they show this guy up here, he's supposed to be a fabmeister. Only +maybe he don't like punching keys. Maybe he don't like to chase them +meters, huh? So maybe he'd rather use muscle hardware, see?" He +grinned.</p> + +<p>"Some guy sets himself up a shack up valley, see? Starts a fixit +joint. Looks real legit. Even with muscle hardware, he can put out +jobs faster'n them people can get parts from way down Talburg way, +see.</p> + +<p>"And he gets in with the joes, too. They got their troubles getting +things made up for 'em. So this guy gives them a hand. Even working +cheap, he picks up some change there, too, and one way or another, the +guy's got a living, see?" He glanced back at Holme.</p> + +<p>"Only now and then, here comes a few guys in the back door, they want +a special job, see, for real special pay. And there's your ice cream +and cake. And maybe a little stack for later on."</p> + +<p>"I don't know." Stan picked up a book. "I'd rather try playing 'em on +the table for a while. It might beat getting flashed and dropped back +in."</p> + +<p>Big Carl shrugged and crawled back into his bunk.</p> + +<p>"Aagh, can happen to anybody," he said. "Just keep this under your +hair. Smart kids like you can make out pretty good, you just use your +heads. Ain't nothing down Talburg way, though." He yawned.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've had it. Got into it with that Wanzor again, out on the +pile. Give one of them joes a boost, he gets three meters high." He +yawned again and turned toward the wall.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Stan flipped the pages of the book. He had still been unable to put +his finger on the point at which Kellonia had ceased to be a planet of +free citizens and become the planetary prison he had found himself on.</p> + +<p>There had been no sudden change—no dramatic incident, such as the +high spots in the history of his native Khloris. Here, things had just +drifted from freedom to servitude, with the people dropping their +rights as a man discards outworn clothing.</p> + +<p>He leaned back, lowering the book. Kell's planet, he remembered, had +been one of the first star colonies to be founded after the discovery +of the interstellar drive. Settlers had flocked to get passage to the +new, fertile world.</p> + +<p>During the first three hundred years, people had spread over the +planet, but the frontier stage had passed and the land of promise had +stabilized, adopted laws, embraced the arts and sciences. One by one, +frontier farms had given way to mechanized food-producing land, +worked by trained technical teams and administered by professional +management.</p> + +<p>Kellonia had entered the age of industrialized culture, with the large +individual owner a disappearing species.</p> + +<p>Unnoticed and unregretted, the easy freedom of the frontier was +discarded and lost. One by one, the rights enjoyed by the original +settlers became regarded as privileges. One by one, the privileges +were restricted, limited by license, eliminated as unsuitable or even +dangerous to the new Kellonian culture.</p> + +<p>Little by little, the large group became the individual of law and +culture, with the single person becoming a mere cipher.</p> + +<p>Members of groups—even members of the governing council itself—found +themselves unable to make any but the most minor decisions. Precedent +dictated each move. And precedent developed into iron-hard tradition.</p> + +<p>In fact, Stan thought, the culture seemed now to be completely +self-controlled—self-sustaining. The people were mere cells, who +conformed—or were eliminated.</p> + +<p>Again, he picked up the book, looking casually through its pages. +Detail was unimportant here. There was, he realized with a feeling of +frustration, only a sort of dull pattern, with no significant detail +apparent.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He awoke a little groggily, looked around the cell, then jumped +hastily out of his bunk. Usually he was awake before the bell rang.</p> + +<p>Pete Karzer was coming back from the washstand. He looked over.</p> + +<p>"You up, Graham?" he said in his whispery voice. "Hey, you know I'm +getting out this morning. Guess you'll want to swap blankets again, +huh?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, too. No use turning in a good blanket, is there?"</p> + +<p>"Don't make sense." Pete massaged the back of his neck.</p> + +<p>"Never could figure that swap," he said. "Don't get me wrong, it was +real good, being able to sleep warm, but you caught me good when I +tried to swipe that blanket of yours. Ain't never seen a guy move so +quick. And I ain't so dumb I don't know when I'm licked." He grinned +ruefully.</p> + +<p>"So I'm down, like I been hit with a singlejack. Then you go and hand +over a good blanket for that beat thing I been using. How come?"</p> + +<p>Stan shrugged. "I told you," he said. "Where I come from, it's a lot +colder than it is here, so I don't need a blanket. I'd have offered a +swap sooner, but I didn't want to look like some greasy doormat."</p> + +<p>"Wasn't no grease about that swap." Pete grinned and rubbed his neck +again. "I found out real quick who was the big man. Where'd you learn +that stuff anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, picked it up—here and there." Stan glanced down at the floor.</p> + +<p>There would be no point in explaining the intensive close combat +training he'd been put through at school. Such training would make no +sense to his cellmates. To the good citizens of Kellonia, it would +seem horrifyingly illegal. He glanced up again.</p> + +<p>"You know how it is," he went on. "A guy learns as he goes."</p> + +<p>Big Carl Marlo swung his legs over the side of his bunk.</p> + +<p>"Looks like you learned real good," he said. He examined Stan.</p> + +<p>"Pete tells me about this deal. I kinda miss the action this time, but +Pete tells me he's got the blanket and he's all set to plug you good, +you should maybe try a hassle.</p> + +<p>"Only all at once, you're on him. He feels a couple quick ones, then +he don't know nothing till next day. You can maybe do things like that +any time?"</p> + +<p>Stan shrugged. "Guy never knows what he can do till he tries. I know a +few other tricks, if that's what you mean."</p> + +<p>Marlo nodded. "Yeah. Know something, kid? Ain't no use you waste your +time being no fabricator nurse. You got a good profesh already, know +what I mean?"</p> + +<p>Stan looked at him questioningly.</p> + +<p>"Sure." Marlo nodded. "So you come here, like maybe you're a tourist, +see. But the joes get you and they bring you up here. Going to teach +you a trade—fabricator nurse, see. Only they don't know it but you're +one guy they don't have to teach, 'counta you got something better. +All you gotta do is find your way around."</p> + +<p>"I have? Do you really think...."</p> + +<p>"Sure. Look, there's a lot of antique big-timers around, see. These +old guys figure they need some guy can push the mugs. Pay real good, +too, and they couldn't care less you're a graduate. Maybe makes it +even better, see. You get in with one of those old guys, you got it +made. All legit, too. Oughta look into that, you get out."</p> + +<p>Stan smiled. "The first day I was on this planet, they went through my +bags while I was out looking over the town. They found a paper knife +and a couple of textbooks." He shrugged.</p> + +<p>"So I came back to the hotel and someone hit me with a flasher. I came +to in a cell." He glanced around.</p> + +<p>"Somebody finally told me they'd given me two to five years for +carrying a dangerous weapon and subversive literature. Now what would +I get if I went out and really messed some guy up?"</p> + +<p>Marlo waved a hand carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Depends on who you work for," he declared. "You got the right boss, +you get a bonus. Worse the guy's gaffed, the bigger the payoff, see?"</p> + +<p>Stan reached for his bag of toilet articles.</p> + +<p>"That's legitimate?"</p> + +<p>"Sure." Mario smiled expansively. "Happens all the time. Even the big +outfits need musclers. Staffmen, see? Sorta keep production up.</p> + +<p>"Lot of guys get real big jobs that way. Start out, they're Staff +Assistance Specialists, like they roust the mugs when they got to. +Then pretty quick, they're all dressed up fancy, running things. Real +good deal." He shrugged.</p> + +<p>"Need a heavy man once in a while, even in my business. Like maybe +some guy's got a good pad, he doesn't want a lot of prowlers shaking +up the neighbors. You know, gets the law too close, and a guy can't +work so good with a lot of joes hanging around. Might even decide to +make a search, then where'd you be?" He spread his hands.</p> + +<p>"But there's some Johnny Raw, keeps coming around. And maybe this is a +pretty rough boy, you can't get on him personal, see. So the only +answer, you get some good heavy guy to teach this ape some ethics. +Lotta staffmen pick up extra pins this way."</p> + +<p>"I think I get the idea. But suppose the law gets into this deal?"</p> + +<p>Marlo spread his hands. "Well, this is a civil case, see, so long as +the chump don't turn in his ticket. So, anything comes up, you put an +ambassador on the job. He talks to the determinators and the joes +don't worry you none. Just costs a little something, is all."</p> + +<p>Pete looked up from his packing, a smile twisting his face.</p> + +<p>"Only trouble, some of these big boys fall in love with their work. +This can get real troublesome, like I pick up this five to ten this +way.</p> + +<p>"See, they get this chump a couple too many. So, comes morning, he's +still in the street. Real tough swinging a parole, too. I'm in here +since five years, remember? So I'm real careful where I get muscle any +more."</p> + +<p>"Sounds interesting." Stan nodded thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Great Space and all the little Nebulae," he said to himself. "What +kind of a planet is this? Nothing in the histories about this sort of +thing." He walked over to the washstand.</p> + +<p>"Some day," he promised himself, "I'm going to get out of here. And +when I do, I'll set up camp by Guard Headquarters. And I'll needle +those big brains till they do something about this."</p> + +<p>There was, he remembered, one organization that should be able to do +more than a little in a case like this. He smiled to himself ruefully +as he thought of the almost legendary stories he had heard about the +Federation's Special Corps for Investigation.</p> + +<p>As he remembered the stories, though, corpsmen seemed to appear from +nowhere when there was serious trouble. No one ever seemed to call +them in. No one even knew how to get in touch with them. He shrugged.</p> + +<p>The men of the Special Corps, he remembered, were reputed to be +something in the superhuman line.</p> + +<p>For a large part of his life, he had dreamed of working with them, but +he had been unable to find any way of so much as applying for +membership in their select group. So, he'd done the next best thing. +He'd gone into the Stellar Guard. And he'd lasted only a little more +than three years.</p> + +<p>Somehow, he'd taken it from there. He was still a little hazy as to +how he'd managed to land in prison on Kell's planet. It had been a +mere stopover.</p> + +<p>There had been no trial. Obviously, they had searched his luggage at +the hotel, but there had been no discussion. He'd simply been beamed +into unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>After he'd gotten to Opertal, someone had told him the length of his +sentence and they'd assigned him to the prison machine shop, to learn +a useful trade and the duties of a citizen of Kellonia.</p> + +<p>He smiled wryly. They had taught him machinery. And they'd introduced +him to their culture. The trade was good. The culture—?</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>His memory slid back, past the prison—past the years in Kendall Hall, +and beyond.</p> + +<p>He was ten years old again.</p> + +<p>It was a sunny day in a park and Billy Darfield was holding forth.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," the boy was saying, "Dad told me about the time he met one of +them. They look just like anyone else. Only, when things go wrong, +there they are, just all at once. And when they tell you to do +something, you've had it." He closed his eyes dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, boy," he said happily, "how I'd love to be like that! Wouldn't it +be fun to tell old Winant, 'go off some place and drown yourself'?"</p> + +<p>Stan smiled incredulously. "Aw, I've heard a lot about the Special +Corps, too. They've just got a lot of authority, that's all. They can +call in the whole Stellar Guard if they need 'em. Who's going to get +wise with somebody that can do that?"</p> + +<p>Billy shook his head positively. "Dad told me all about them, and he +knows. He saw one of 'em chase a king right off his throne once. +Wasn't anybody to help him, either. They've got all they need, all by +themselves. Just have to tell people, that's all."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>With a jerk, Stan came to the present. He slopped water over his +hands.</p> + +<p>"Too bad I can't do something like that myself," he thought. "I'd like +to tell a few people to go out and drown themselves, right now." He +grinned ruefully.</p> + +<p>"Only one trouble. I can't. Probably just a lot of rumor, anyway."</p> + +<p>But there was something behind those stories of the Special Corps, he +was sure. They didn't get official publicity, but there were pages of +history that seemed somehow incomplete. There must have been someone +around with a lot more than the usual ability to get things done, but +whoever he had been, he was never mentioned.</p> + +<p>He shrugged and turned away from the washstand.</p> + +<p>"Hope that bell rings pretty soon," he told himself. "I'd better get +chow and go to work before I really go nuts."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/image_03.jpg" width="250" height="741" alt="Image" /> +</div> + +<p>A demonstrator had the back off from one of the big Lambert-Howell +sprayers. As the man started to point out a feed assembly, another +prisoner stepped directly in front of Graham.</p> + +<p>Stan shook his head impatiently and moved aside. Again, the man was in +front of him, blocking his view. Again, Stan moved.</p> + +<p>The third time the man blocked his view, Stan touched his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Chum," he said mildly, "how about holding still a while. The +rest of us would sort of like to see, too."</p> + +<p>For several seconds, the other froze. Then he whirled, to present a +scowling face.</p> + +<p>"Who you pushing around, little rat? Keep your greasy paws to +yourself, see." He turned again, then took a sudden, heavy step back.</p> + +<p>Stan moved his foot aside and the man's heel banged down on the stone +floor. For a heartbeat, Stan regarded the fellow consideringly, then +he shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Stay in orbit, remember?" he told himself. He moved aside, going to +the other side of the group around the fabricator.</p> + +<p>Now he remembered the man. Val Vernay had been working on the +fabricators when Stan had come to the shop.</p> + +<p>Somehow, he had never run an acceptable program, but he hung around +the demonstrations, unable to comprehend the explanations—resentful +of those who showed aptitude.</p> + +<p>He glanced aside as Stan moved, then pushed his way across until he +was again in front of the smaller man. Stan sighed resignedly.</p> + +<p>Again, the heavy foot crashed toward the rear. This time, the +temptation was too great. Deftly, Stan swung his toe through a small +arc, sweeping Vernay's ankle aside and putting the man off balance.</p> + +<p>He moved quickly away, further trapping the ankle and getting clear of +the flailing arms.</p> + +<p>For a breathless instant, Vernay tried to hop on one foot, his arms +windmilling as he fought to regain his balance. Then he crashed to the +floor, his head banging violently against the stones.</p> + +<p>Stan looked at the body in consternation. He had merely intended to +make the fellow look a little silly.</p> + +<p>"Hope he's got a hard head," he told himself.</p> + +<p>The workroom guard came up warily.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir." Stan managed a vaguely puzzled look. "First thing +I knew, he was swinging his arms all over the place. Then he went +down. Maybe he had a fit, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah." The guard was sardonic. "Yeah, maybe he had a fit. Well, no +more trouble out of him for a while." He raised his voice.</p> + +<p>"Hey, you over by the first-aid kit. Grab that stretcher."</p> + +<p>Big Carl Marlo was in his bunk when Stan came into the cell. He looked +up with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Hey, kid, you start at the top, huh?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"This Vernay, what else? Like I said, you start at the top. I didn't +think you got it when I told you about the muscle racket. How'd I know +you was already figuring something?" Marlo shook his head admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Real nice job, too. You take it easy, set this chump up, and there +you are. Only you get a real big fish. Think you can handle this guy +again?"</p> + +<p>Stan blinked. "Look," he said, "punch in some more data, will you? And +run it by real slow. I'm way off co-ordinates."</p> + +<p>"Huh? What you—Oh, I get you." Marlo frowned.</p> + +<p>"Now don't go telling me you don't know about this Vernay. Don't give +me you ain't figured how you can land a big job with Janzel Equipment. +You know me—Big Carl. I don't talk, remember?" He looked at the blank +expression on Stan's face.</p> + +<p>"Besides, there ain't a guy in the walls, don't figure this deal by +now. Man, you just don't know how many guys been watching that +Vernay."</p> + +<p>Stan walked across the cell and sat down on his bunk.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said patiently, "let's just say I'm some stupid kid from +off planet. Maybe I don't get things so well. Now, what's this all +about?"</p> + +<p>Marlo shrugged. "So all right, but for some guy don't know what he's +doing, you sure pick 'em pretty. Well, anyway, here's the layout.</p> + +<p>"See, this guy, Vernay, is one of Janzel's big strong-arms. Real salt +and butter guy. Been pushing them poor apes of theirs all over the +place, see. Don't know too much about the business, but they tell him +some mug's not putting out, Vernay goes over and bends the guy around +his machine a while, he should maybe work faster. See what I mean?"</p> + +<p>Stan frowned distastefully and Marlo held up a hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," he said. "This is what they pay this guy for. +But he gets to like his work too well, know what I mean? So here a +while back, he gets on some machine tender. Leans all over this poor +guy. Well, the fab nurse ends up turning in his tickets, and this, the +joes don't go for so good." He jerked a shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Janzel tries to kill the squawk, but it's no go. The joes push +the button and here's Vernay." He grinned.</p> + +<p>"They manage to get it knocked to some kinda manslaughter, but +Vernay's still got time to pick up, so they pull wires and get him up +here. It ain't no rest home, but it ain't no madhouse neither, like +some of them places." His eyes clouded.</p> + +<p>"Oogh, when I think of some of the holes—" He waved a hand.</p> + +<p>"So anyway, like you see, Vernay's got plenty of muscle, but he's kind +of low in the brain department. Maybe they thought something might +drill through the skull up here, but that don't work either. I guess +Janzel'd about as soon get another pretty boy, but they know they'll +lose too much face, they dump him right away.</p> + +<p>"Then you come along and just about split the chump's conk just so's +he'll stay out of your light, see?" He shook his head slowly.</p> + +<p>"Only thing, that don't solve nothing. He comes out of the bone-house +in a couple days, and he ain't gonna like you at all. See what I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Stan examined his fingernails.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," he repeated. "You make it all nice and clear." He got up and +went to the washstand.</p> + +<p>"Whatcha gonna do, Georgie, boy?" he chanted. "Guess I'll just have to +give him a free lesson in breakfalls. He won't like it too well, but +he could use lots of practice."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It took Vernay more than a couple of days to get out of the hospital. +As time went by, Stan became more and more conscious of the +speculative looks he was getting from prisoners and guards alike.</p> + +<p>He stood watching, as a maintenance engineer tore into the vitals of a +Lambert-Howell. Around him was space—a full meter on all sides. It +was, he realized, a distinction—symbolic accolade for anyone who had +the temerity to down a man like Vernay. It was also a gesture of +caution. No one was anxious to block the view of a man who had downed +a vicious fighter with an unobtrusive gesture. And no one was anxious +to be too close when Vernay might come by.</p> + +<p>What sort of man was Vernay, Stan wondered. Of course, he was familiar +with the appearance of the tall, blond. He could easily visualize the +insolent, sleepy looking eyes—the careless weave of the heavy +shoulders. And he'd heard a lot about the man's actions.</p> + +<p>But these could mean anything. Was the man actually as clumsy and +inept as he'd seemed? Was he simply a powerful oaf, who relied on pure +strength and savagery? Or was he a cunning fighter, who had made one +contemptuously careless mistake?</p> + +<p>"Well," the maintenance man was saying, "that's the way you set those +upper coils. Remember, each one has its own field angle, and you've +got to set 'em down to within a tenth of a degree. Otherwise, you'll +never get a sharp focus and your spray'll make a real mess." He swept +his glance over the group.</p> + +<p>"You use the manual when you set these things up," he added. "Don't go +depending on your memory. You can play some pretty dirty tricks on +yourself that way." He looked thoughtfully at the array of coils.</p> + +<p>"And don't go using any gravito clamps around these things when the +back's off. They don't like it. It makes 'em do nasty things." He +flipped his wrist up, looking at his watch.</p> + +<p>"All right, that's it. Let's go eat." He snapped a cover back in place +and swung down from the catwalk.</p> + +<p>Stan turned away. No tools to put away tonight, he thought. Didn't +need 'em all afternoon. He smiled. And no column to fall into, either. +This was the weekly free night.</p> + +<p>He walked out of the shop, following a group of prisoners through the +archway into the main yard. Another small group followed him, keeping +a decent interval behind.</p> + +<p>Someone drew a sharp breath.</p> + +<p>"Hey, look! Over there."</p> + +<p>Stan followed the direction indicated by a dozen abruptly turned +heads. Vernay was lounging in the shadow of the archway. He smiled +tigerishly and sauntered toward Stan. The group of prisoners melted +away, to form a rough semicircle. From somewhere, others were +appearing.</p> + +<p>"So all right, little rat," Vernay said softly, "you've had a lot of +fun these last few days, eh? Big man around the yard, huh? Yeah! Well, +it's going to stop." He massaged his right hand with the thumb and +fingers of his left, then stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Real smart little fella," he added. "Knows all kinds of little +tricks. Got anything to say before I open you up for inspection?"</p> + +<p>Stan faced him, his feet a few inches apart, his knees slightly bent. +He folded his arms without interlacing them.</p> + +<p>"Look, Vernay," he said. "I'm not looking for any fight, but if you +force one, I'll break you all to pieces. I didn't mean to bust your +head the first time, but I can do it on purpose if I have to. Why +don't we just forget it?"</p> + +<p>Vernay looked dazed for an instant, then recovered and laughed +derisively.</p> + +<p>"You trying to crawl out and still look good? No, no. You made your +brags. Now we'll have a little dance." He took a step forward.</p> + +<p>"Come on, baby, just stay there. I'm going to unscrew your head."</p> + +<p>He came closer, then reached out, his hand open.</p> + +<p>Stan looked at the hand incredulously. No one could be that careless. +For an instant, he almost spun away from a suspected trap. Then he +decided the man was in no position for a counter. A try for a simple +hand hold couldn't do a bit of harm.</p> + +<p>His right hand darted up, gripping the outstretched hand before him. +He jerked down, clamped the hand with his left, then pressed up and +took a quick step forward.</p> + +<p>With a startled cry of pain, Vernay spun around and bent toward the +ground. Stan carried the motion through with a sudden surge that +forced the big man's face almost to the stones. Abruptly, Vernay +twisted and kicked, trying to tear away. There was a ripping noise and +he screamed thinly, then slumped to the pavement.</p> + +<p>Stan looked down at him in bewilderment. It had been too easy, he +thought. Something had to be wrong. The imprisoned hand twitched and +was flaccid. He let it go and stepped back.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds, Vernay lay quietly, then he struggled into violent +motion. He scrambled to get to his feet, his left hand groping at his +belt. Stan caught the glint of polished steel. He stepped quickly +around the man, poising himself.</p> + +<p>It was no use, he thought. This would have to be decisive. He brought +his two hands up to his shoulder, then swung them like an axe, +stepping into the swing as Vernay got his feet under him.</p> + +<p>The impact of the blow brought Vernay to a standing position. As the +man stood swaying, Stan swung his hands again.</p> + +<p>Vernay's back arched and for an instant he was rigid. Then he stumbled +forward, to pitch against the wall.</p> + +<p>Briefly, he was braced upright against the wall, his left hand high on +the stones, the scalpel glittering. Then the hand relaxed and the +sliver of steel clattered to the paving. Slowly, the man slid down, to +melt into a shapeless heap in the gutter.</p> + +<p>Stan sighed, then shook his head and wiped an arm across his eyes.</p> + +<p>There was a concerted sigh behind him.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead, kid," someone muttered. "Give him the boots. Big phony +hadda go trying a knife."</p> + +<p>Stan turned. "No use," he said wearily. "I just hope he's still +alive."</p> + +<p>"I don't get it," said someone. "He wants this guy alive?"</p> + +<p>Someone else laughed shortly. "Maybe he just likes to make it tough on +himself. Hey, look out! The joes."</p> + +<p>As the crowd faded into the nowhere from whence most of it had come, a +guard approached Stan warily.</p> + +<p>"Now, look, Graham," he said cautiously, "I gotta throw you in the +hole. You know that, huh?"</p> + +<p>Stan nodded listlessly.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," he said. "I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"Look, fellow, it won't be too long. He jumped you, so they'll have +you out of there real soon." The guard was apologetic.</p> + +<p>"Besides, they'll probably offer you his job at Janzel. Get you clear +out of here. Only don't give me a hard time. All you'll get is both of +us flashed."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, I know." Stan held out an arm. "Come on, let's go."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Stan watched as the chief test engineer waved a hand.</p> + +<p>"Two hundred twenty gravs," the man said. "Full swing completed on +both axes. That's it. Ease off your tractors."</p> + +<p>He looked closely at his panel of meters, then got off his stool and +stretched.</p> + +<p>"No evidence of strain. Looks as though all components are good." He +turned, looking at the test operators.</p> + +<p>"Let's get this place cleaned up."</p> + +<p>The sense of disorientation set up by the tractors was subsiding. Stan +got to his feet and looked at his companion.</p> + +<p>Dachmann nodded at him.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said slowly, "Golzer can get off the hook now. His run'll +be approved. Suppose we get back on the job."</p> + +<p>He led the way out of the blockhouse tunnel.</p> + +<p>A car was pulling up at the entrance. A heavy, square face looked from +a rear window and a large hand beckoned.</p> + +<p>"Dachmann, Graham. Over here."</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh." Dachmann sighed. "Here's trouble. Wizow doesn't come out +here unless he's got something."</p> + +<p>The blocky production chief looked coldly at them as they approached +the car.</p> + +<p>"It'll be a lot better," he growled, "if you two clear through my +office before you start wandering all over the grounds." He looked at +Stan.</p> + +<p>"Got a problem for you. Maybe we'll get some action out of you on this +one." He held out a few sheets of paper.</p> + +<p>"Hold up over in the components line." He jabbed at a sheet with a +forefinger.</p> + +<p>"Take a trip over there and kick it up." He glanced at Dachmann. "Got +another one for you."</p> + +<p>Stan took the papers, studying them. Then he looked up. There was very +little question as to the bottleneck here. Each material shortage +traced back to one machine. He frowned.</p> + +<p>"Maintenance people checked over that machine yet?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Wizow shrugged impassively. "You're a staffman," he said coldly. +"Been on parole to us long enough, you should know what to do, so I'm +not going to tell you how. Just get to the trouble and fix it. All I +want is production. Leave the smart talk to the technical people." He +turned.</p> + +<p>"Get in, Dachmann. I've got a headache for you."</p> + +<p>Stan examined the tabulated sheets again. The offending machine was in +building nine thirty-two. Number forty-one.</p> + +<p>He walked over to the parking lot and climbed on the skip-about he had +bought on his first pay day. The machine purred into life as he +touched a button and he raised the platform a few inches off the +ground, then spun about, to glide across the field toward block nine.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Fabricator number forty-one was a multiple. A single programming head +actuated eight spinaret assemblies, which could deliver completed +module assemblies into carriers in an almost continuous stream. It was +idling.</p> + +<p>Stan visualized the flow chart of the machine as he approached. Then +he paused. The operator was sitting at the programming punch, +carefully going over a long streamer of tape. Stan frowned and looked +at his watch. By this time, the tapes should be ready and the machine +in full operation. But this man was obviously still setting up.</p> + +<p>He continued to watch as the operator laboriously compared the tape +with a blueprint before him. There was something familiar in the +sharp, hungry-looking features. The fellow turned to look closely at +the print and Stan nodded.</p> + +<p>"Now I remember," he told himself. "Sornal. Wondered what happened to +him. Never saw him after the first day up in Opertal."</p> + +<p>Sornal came to the end of the tape, then scrabbled about and found the +beginning. He commenced rechecking against the print. Stan shook his +head in annoyance.</p> + +<p>"How many times is he going to have to check that thing?" he asked +himself. He walked toward the man.</p> + +<p>"Got trouble?"</p> + +<p>Sornal looked up, then cringed away from him.</p> + +<p>"I'll get it going right away," he whined. "Honest! Just want to make +sure everything's right."</p> + +<p>"You've already checked your tape. I've been watching you."</p> + +<p>Sornal flinched and looked away.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, but these things is tricky. You get some of this stuff out of +tolerance, it can wreck a whole ship. They got to be right."</p> + +<p>"So, why not a sample run-through? Then you can run test on a real +piece."</p> + +<p>"This is a very complicated device. Can't check those internal +tolerance without you put in on proof load. These got to be right the +first time."</p> + +<p>Stan shook his head wearily.</p> + +<p>"Look. Get up. I'll give your tape a run-through, then we'll pull a +sample and check it out. Got a helper?"</p> + +<p>"Some place around here." Sornal got out of his chair and stood, +looking at the floor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"><img src="images/image_04.jpg" width="600" height="469" alt="Image" /></span></div> + +<p>Stan picked up the tape and sat down.</p> + + + +<p>"All right, go find him then. And bring him over here while I run out +the sample. We can make with the talk after that."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The tape was perfect, with neither patch nor correction. Stan finally +raised his head, growling to himself.</p> + +<p>"Guy's competent enough at programming, anyway. Now, what's wrong with +him?"</p> + +<p>He snapped the power switch from stand-by to on, then waited as the +indicators came up. Delicately, he turned a couple of microdrive dials +till the needles settled on their red lines. Then he opened the +control head, poked the tape in, and punched the starter lever.</p> + +<p>The tape clicked steadily through the head. Stan kept his eyes moving +about as he checked the meters.</p> + +<p>The tape ran out of the head and dropped into the catcher basket and +hydraulics squished as a delivery arm set a small block on the sample +table. Stan picked it up, turning it over to examine it.</p> + +<p>It was a simple, rectangular block of black material, about the size +of a cigarette lighter. On five sides were intricate patterns of +silvery connector dots. An identifying number covered the sixth. +Inside, Stan knew, lay complex circuitry, traced into the insulation. +Tiny dots of alloy formed critical junctions, connected by minute, +sprayed-in threads of conductor material. He glanced around.</p> + +<p>Sornal watched anxiously. He looked at the little module block as +though it were alive and dangerous.</p> + +<p>"Here," Stan told him, "stick this in the test jig and run it."</p> + +<p>Sornal carefully set the block into an aperture, then reached for a +switch. His hand seemed to freeze on the switch for a moment, then he +looked back at Stan and snapped it on. Needles rose from their pins, +flickered, then steadied.</p> + +<p>Sornal appeared to gain a little confidence. He turned a dial, noted +the readings on a few meters, then twisted another dial. Finally, he +faced around.</p> + +<p>"Looks all right," he said reluctantly, "only—"</p> + +<p>"Looks all right, period." Stan turned to the helper.</p> + +<p>"Get that machine rolling," he ordered. "And keep your eyes on those +meters. Let's get this run finished right." He moved his head.</p> + +<p>"Come on, friend, I'll buy you a mug of tea."</p> + +<p>Sornal backed away.</p> + +<p>"You ain't gonna—Look, ain't I seen you some place before? Look, I +just—"</p> + +<p>"I said I'd buy you a mug of tea. Then, we'll talk, and that's all. I +mean it."</p> + +<p>"I just got outta—Listen, I can't take it so good any more, see?"</p> + +<p>"Don't worry. We aren't going to have any games this morning. Come on, +let's go."</p> + +<p>When Sornal started talking, the flow of words was almost continuous.</p> + +<p>He had come to Kellonia almost four years before, on a standard +one-year contract. For over twenty years, he'd moved around, working +in space-yards over the galaxy. He'd worked on short contracts, +banking his profits on his home planet. And he'd planned to finally +return to his original home on Thorwald, use his considerable savings +to buy a small business, and settle down to semi-retirement.</p> + +<p>But an offer of highly attractive rates had brought him to Kellonia +for one last contract with Janzel.</p> + +<p>"They got my papers somewhere around here," he said, "only I can't get +'em back any more." He shook his head wearily and went on.</p> + +<p>Everything had gone smoothly for the first half of his contract +period. He'd drawn impressively large checks and deposited them. And +after thinking it over, he had indicated he would like an extension.</p> + +<p>"That was when they nailed me down," he said. "There was just that one +bad run, only that was the job that sneaked through the inspection and +went bust at Proof."</p> + +<p>"Blowup?"</p> + +<p>Sornal grinned sourly.</p> + +<p>"Blowup, you want to know? Even took out one of the tractor supports. +Real mess. Oh, you think they weren't mad about that!"</p> + +<p>"You say there was just one bad run? Then everything came out normally +again?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. I ran a check, see? Test sample was perfect Beautiful. So then +the power went off for a while. Crew was working around. Well, they +found the trouble and cleared it, just before lunch time. I went ahead +and finished my run. It was only ten gyro assemblies—control job.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—guess they were out of balance. Maybe the shaft alloys +came out wrong. Anyway, I finished the run and went for chow. Came +back and set up a new run."</p> + +<p>He stared into his cup.</p> + +<p>"Along about quitting time, they came after me. Mister, I don't like +to think of that! I been beat up a lot since, but them's just little +reminders. Those guys really enjoyed their work!"</p> + +<p>Sornal shuddered and set his cup down. Finally, he sighed and +continued.</p> + +<p>He had left the hospital, muttering grim threats of the legal action +he would take. And he'd limped over to file a complaint at the +Federation Residency.</p> + +<p>"I didn't get there. Next thing I knew, I was in some cell." He looked +up at Stan.</p> + +<p>"Now I know where I see you. You're in that van, going out of some +jail."</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Stan nodded, looking at his own empty cup.</p> + +<p>"Tell me something," he said slowly. "When that maintenance crew was +working around your machine, did they have a gravito clamp!"</p> + +<p>"Clamp? Yeah ... yeah, I suppose they might have. Use 'em a lot around +here when they've got heavy stuff, and those guys had a lot of stuff +to move."</p> + +<p>"I see. Wonder if the field head got pointed at your machine?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think ... I dunno, I didn't watch 'em close." Sornal looked +sharply at Stan.</p> + +<p>"You mean, they mighta—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what could cause a temporary misflow?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah!" Sornal bobbed his head slowly. "Funny I didn't think of that."</p> + +<p>"So anyway, you went up to Opertal?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Had me for evasion of obligation. Said I owed the company +plenty for the damage done by the blowup. Claimed I'd tried to run +out.</p> + +<p>"They wouldn't let me in the machine shop up there. Had me out hauling +stuff for the landscape crew. Then, they paroled me back here. Back to +the machines again, only I ain't a contract man any more. Junior +machinist. Oh, it's better than helper, I guess, only they don't pay +much." Sornal pushed himself away from the table.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to be real careful with my work from now on," he said. +"They got me for quite a while, but that sentence'll run out one of +these days. I'll get me out of parole and pay off that claim, then I'm +getting out of here. They aren't hanging another one on me."</p> + +<p>"Only one trouble," Stan told him. "You're getting so careful, you're +setting yourself up."</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. They'll tack you down for malingering if you don't watch it." +Stan got to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what you do. Run things just as you did when you were a +contract man. Only one thing—if any crew comes around, pull a sample +after they leave. And check it. You know how to check for magnetic and +gravitic deviations. Do that, then go ahead with your run. Now go back +to your machine. I'm going to do a little work."</p> + +<p>He strode out of the refreshment room, watched Sornal as he took over +the production run, then swung around and walked over to the Personnel +office.</p> + +<p>"Like to see the package on a man named Sornal," he told the clerk.</p> + +<p>The man hesitated. "We aren't supposed to release a whole file. I can +look up any specific information for you."</p> + +<p>Stan frowned. "Don't argue with me. I want to see this guy's package. +Need his complete history. Now get it."</p> + +<p>The clerk started to make an objection, then turned and went to the +files. He flipped an index, then punched a combination of numbers on +his selector. Finally, he came back with a folder.</p> + +<p>Stan took it and flopped it open on the counter.</p> + +<p>"All right, now just stay here while I go through this. I'll give it +back in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>He looked through the records, looking closely at one exhibit.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" he told himself silently.</p> + +<p>"Eleven thousand, six hundred ninety-two interstells. Only way he'll +ever pay that off is by making a big dent in his savings."</p> + +<p>He flipped the paper over, noting the details of the determination of +responsibility.</p> + +<p>As he examined the payroll data, he nodded. It all balanced out +nicely. They'd get several years of production out of the man for bare +subsistence.</p> + +<p>"Very neat," he told himself.</p> + +<p>He closed the folder and handed it back to the clerk.</p> + +<p>"All right, that's all I need." He glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Guess I'll check out for lunch."</p> + +<p>He walked out of the office. This one, he thought, could be broken +wide open by a Guard investigation. Sornal would get his freedom, and +there might be sizable damages.</p> + +<p>"Now it would be nice," Stan muttered, "if I could work out something +for myself."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Guard sergeant was an old-timer—and a methodical man. He listened +impassively, then reached under his desk. For a few seconds, his hand +was hidden, then he picked up a pen.</p> + +<p>"Now, let's get this straight. What did you say your name was?"</p> + +<p>"Graham. Stanley Graham. I—"</p> + +<p>The sergeant had pulled a form to him. He bent over, writing slowly.</p> + +<p>"Graham, Stanley. All right. Now, where do you live?"</p> + +<p>One by one, he went through the maze of blanks, insisting on getting +no other information than that called for by the specific space he was +working on. Finally, he put down the pen and leaned back.</p> + +<p>"All right, now how about this other man you mention?" He pulled +another form to him.</p> + +<p>Stan was becoming a trifle impatient. He answered the questions on +Sornal, managing to furnish information for most of the blank spaces +on the sergeant's form.</p> + +<p>The man dragged a still different form to him.</p> + +<p>"All right, now what's this exact complaint?"</p> + +<p>Stan went through Sornal's history, quoting figures and dates from the +Personnel files he had read. The sergeant listened noncommittally, +stopping him frequently to get repetitions.</p> + +<p>At last, he looked up.</p> + +<p>"Got any documents to back up this story?"</p> + +<p>Stan coughed impatiently.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not. I can't pull a file out of Personnel and just +carry it up here. It's on file, though. I just got through reading the +working file and there's a private file on the guy, too, that would +really bust things wide open."</p> + +<p>The sergeant smiled sourly.</p> + +<p>"Maybe it would. I suppose they'd pull it right out and hand it over, +too."</p> + +<p>He spun his chair around and fished a book from a shelf behind his +desk.</p> + +<p>"Here." He put the book on the corner of the desk. "Here is the +regulation on this sort of situation."</p> + +<p>He pointed out words, one at a time.</p> + +<p>It was a long regulation, filled with complex terminology. It forbade +seizure of records in any manner not definitely authorized by local +statute. The sergeant went through it, getting full value from each +word.</p> + +<p>At last his finger came away from the page.</p> + +<p>"Those are private records, you're talking about. On this planet, the +law protects corporate records to the fullest extent. We'd have to +have positive evidence that an incriminating document was in +existence. We'd have to define its location and content within fairly +narrow limits. Then we'd have to go before a local determinator and +request authority for an examination of that document."</p> + +<p>He slammed the book shut.</p> + +<p>"And if we failed to find the document in question, or if it wasn't +actually incriminating, the injured corporation could slap us with a +juicy damage claim." He looked at Stan coldly.</p> + +<p>"If you want, I can get the local statute and let you look that over, +too." He paused briefly and non-expectantly.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand, we are obligated to protect the interests of +galactic citizens." He looked pointedly at the insigne on Stan's +pocket, then held out a tablet.</p> + +<p>"Here. Suppose you sit down over there at that table and write out the +complaint in your own handwriting. I'll pass it along."</p> + +<p>Stan looked at the tablet for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Oh—Suppose I manage to get copies of the records on this. Do you +think you could do anything then?"</p> + +<p>"If you can bring in documentary evidence, that'll make a case; we'll +take action, of course. That's what we're here for." The sergeant +tapped impassively on the tablet.</p> + +<p>"Want to make a written statement?"</p> + +<p>"Skip it," Stan told him wearily, "I don't want to waste any more +time."</p> + +<p>As he turned away, he thought he noticed a faint flicker of +disappointment on the sergeant's face before the man bent over his +desk.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He hardly noticed his surroundings as he walked back into the +Personnel building.</p> + +<p>At first, there was a dull resentment—a free-floating rage—which +failed to find focus, but sought for outlet in any direction.</p> + +<p>The trouble was, he thought, in the formal way of doing things. It +didn't really matter, he told himself, whether anything really got +done or not—so long as an approved routine was followed.</p> + +<p>Only the wrong people used direct, effective methods.</p> + +<p>The anger remained nondirectional, simply swelling and surging in all +directions at once. There were too many targets and it was a torturing +pressure, rather than a dynamic force.</p> + +<p>He thought of his brief explosion, then grunted in self-ridicule. He'd +implied he could just pick up Sornal's record file, bring it in, and +throw it before that sergeant. And for just a flash, he'd really +thought of it as a simple possibility.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," he told himself, "one of those Special Corpsmen could do +something like that, but I don't see any of them around, trying it."</p> + +<p>He looked around, startled. Somehow, he had passed the gate, +identified himself, parked the skip-about, and come inside—all +without remembering his actions.</p> + +<p>"Well," he asked himself, "what do I do now? Just become some sort of +thing?"</p> + +<p>He walked into the outer office and a clerk looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Graham. The chief wants to see you." She touched a button and +a gate opened.</p> + +<p>"You know the way."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I do. Wonder what he wants."</p> + +<p>The woman shook her head and returned to her work.</p> + +<p>"He didn't say. Just said to tell you to see him when you came in."</p> + +<p>Stan walked through the short corridor, stopping in front of a door. +Down in the corner of the pebbled glass, neat, small letters spelled +out the name—H. R. Mauson.</p> + +<p>He tapped on the glass.</p> + +<p>"Come in." The Personnel chief glanced up as the door opened.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Stanley. Sit down."</p> + +<p>Stan lowered himself to the padded seat, then leaned back. It was one +of those deep armchairs which invite relaxation.</p> + +<p>The official touched a button, then leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Stanley," he said gently, "what were you doing in the +Federation Building a few minutes ago?"</p> + +<p>Stan tried to lift a hand in a casual gesture, but it seemed stuck to +the chair. He exerted more force, then twisted his body. But his arms +and legs refused to move away from the upholstery. Mauson smiled.</p> + +<p>"Just a little precaution, Stanley. A gravito unit, you see. It may be +unnecessary, but you do have a reputation for a certain—shall we say, +competence. Although you have never demonstrated your abilities here, +I see no reason for taking foolish chances." His smile faded.</p> + +<p>"Now, suppose you tell me all about that visit you made to the +Federation Building."</p> + +<p>Stan forced himself to relax. Have to be careful, he thought. He +forced a grin to his face.</p> + +<p>"Lunch," he said casually. "The Interstellar Room has a reputation all +over Talburg, you know." He laughed easily.</p> + +<p>"Truth is, I got sort of homesick. Got a sudden urge to have a good +dish of <i>delsau</i>. It's a sort of preserve we really enjoy at home."</p> + +<p>"Now, now." Mauson closed his eyes. "Try again. You should be able to +do better than that." He tapped at some notes.</p> + +<p>"You were assigned to straighten out that man, Sornal, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was, and I did." Stan found he had enough freedom to move his +head. "He was just suffering from—"</p> + +<p>Mauson coughed dryly. "I have a report on that, too. You fed him some +tea, talked for a while, then left him."</p> + +<p>Again, he tapped at his notes.</p> + +<p>"Then you came here and demanded the man's Personnel file. You read +that and went directly to the Federation Building. Now, I'm not a +completely stupid man. Don't try to make me believe you just wanted +some exotic food."</p> + +<p>He poked a switch.</p> + +<p>"Wizow, will you step in here, please?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mauson?" The blocky production chief loomed through a door.</p> + +<p>He glanced at Stan.</p> + +<p>"Oh. You got him in here, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Oh, he came in by himself. But now, he's trying to be a little +coy. Suppose you reason with him."</p> + +<p>"Pleasure."</p> + +<p>Wizow strode forward to stand over the chair. He struck one hand into +the palm of the other, twisting his wrist at each blow. For the first +time since Stan had known him, he had a faint smile on his face.</p> + +<p>"I don't like you, Graham," he said. "I didn't like you the first time +I saw you, and you haven't done a thing to change that first +impression.</p> + +<p>"Thought you had something funny about you, the way you've always +coddled the workmen. Looked as though you were running some sort of +popularity contest." Again, he punched his palm.</p> + +<p>"And then, there were those suggestions of yours. Smart words—always +pushing the wrong people off balance, like other staffmen." The smile +became one-sided.</p> + +<p>"You know, you haven't made yourself too popular around here. Not with +the people that count. I've been getting complaints.</p> + +<p>"A good staffman doesn't act the way you do. Good man sees to it the +workers work. They don't have to like him—they just get on the job +when he's around. Know what'll happen if they slack off.</p> + +<p>"And a good staffman leaves the thinking to guys that get paid to do +it. He follows established procedure."</p> + +<p>He leaned close to Stan, frowning.</p> + +<p>"What are you? Some kind of Federation plant?"</p> + +<p>Abruptly, his right hand flashed out, to crash against Stan's cheek. A +heavy finger trailed across one eye, bringing a sudden spurt of tears. +The hand moved back, poised for a more solid blow.</p> + +<p>Stan's head bounced back against the chair, then forward again.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_05.jpg" width="600" height="468" alt="Image" /> +</div> + +<p>And the diffuse fury in him coalesced and burst into novalike flame. +It had a single target. It focused. He glared at the big man.</p> + +<p>"Those hands," he snapped. "Get them to your side!</p> + +<p>"Now, get over into that corner. Move when I tell you!"</p> + +<p>For an instant, Wizow stood immobile. The frown faded, leaving the +heavy face empty.</p> + +<p>He tried to raise his hand again, then gave a little sob of hopeless +rage and moved back, one slow, reluctant step at a time, until he was +wedged into a corner of the room.</p> + +<p>"That's good," Stan told him. "Now stay there. And keep quiet."</p> + +<p>He turned toward Mauson.</p> + +<p>"You. Turn off that gravito unit. Then sit still."</p> + +<p>He pushed himself out of the chair as the constraining force was +removed.</p> + +<p>"Now," he growled, "you can kick it in again. Give it a little power, +too, while you're at it." He wheeled around.</p> + +<p>"All right," he snapped at Wizow, "turn around. Get into that chair."</p> + +<p>He watched as the big body was pressed into the cushions. Wizow's face +showed strain. Stan went around Mauson's desk.</p> + +<p>"I said a little power." He reached down and gave the gravito control +an abrupt twist.</p> + +<p>Wizow's mouth popped open, agony showing in his eyes. Stan grinned +tightly and eased off on the knob.</p> + +<p>"I really should spin this thing up to a proof load," he said. "Might +be interesting to see what kind of an assembly job they did on you. +But we'll just leave you this way. All you've got to do is keep quiet. +You're deaf, dumb, and blind, you understand?" He turned on Mauson.</p> + +<p>"Now, for you—" His voice trailed off.</p> + +<p>The man was sitting like a puppet whose controlling strings had been +cut. Stan's blazing fury started to burn down.</p> + +<p>These minds, he suddenly realized, had been virtually paralyzed. He +didn't need anything to tie them down. All he had to do was point his +finger. They'd jump. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Funny," he told himself. "All you have to do is be a little forceful. +Why didn't somebody tell me about this?" He looked calculatingly at +Mauson.</p> + +<p>"Tell you what we're gonna do," he said rhythmically. "Get your car +over here. You know, the shielded job. We don't want anyone snapping +at us with flashers." His voice hardened.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he ordered, "get on that box. Tell 'em you want that car."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As the car rolled down the street, he leaned forward a little.</p> + +<p>"All right, driver," he said peremptorily, "when we get to the +Federation Building, swing into the official driveway."</p> + +<p>The driver moved his head slightly. Stan sat back, waiting.</p> + +<p>He looked at the building fronts as they swept past. When he'd first +come here, he'd noticed the clean beauty of the city. And he's been +unable to understand the indefinable warning he'd felt. But now—he'd +looked beneath the surface.</p> + +<p>The car slowed. A guard was flagging them down at the building +entrance. Stan touched a window control.</p> + +<p>"Stand aside, Guardsman," he ordered. "We're coming in." He flicked +the window control again.</p> + +<p>"Keep going, driver," he ordered. "You can let us out inside. Then +find a place to park, and wait."</p> + +<p>Another guard came toward them as the car rolled to a stop.</p> + +<p>"Hey," he protested, "this is—"</p> + +<p>Stan looked at him coldly.</p> + +<p>"Which way to the Guard commander's office?"</p> + +<p>The man pointed. "Elevator over there. Fifth floor. But—"</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask for a story. Get our driver into a parking space and +keep him there." Stan turned to Mauson.</p> + +<p>"All right. Get out."</p> + +<p>He shepherded the man into the elevator and out again. In the hall, he +glanced around, then walked through a doorway.</p> + +<p>A middle-aged guardsman looked at him inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Can I do something for you gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. We want to see the commander."</p> + +<p>The guardsman smiled. "Well, now, perhaps—"</p> + +<p>Stan looked at him sternly.</p> + +<p>"I've had my quota of runarounds today. I said we want to see the +commander. Now, all you have to do is take us to him. Move!"</p> + +<p>The smile faded. For an instant, the man seemed about to rebel. Then +he turned.</p> + +<p>"This way," he said evenly. He led the way through a large room, then +tapped at a door on the other side.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>The voice was vaguely familiar to Stan. He frowned, trying to place +it.</p> + +<p>"Two men to see you, sir. Seems a little urgent."</p> + +<p>"Oh? Well, bring them in."</p> + +<p>Stan relaxed. This was getting easier, he thought. Now he could get +these people to take Mauson before a determinator. His statements +would furnish plenty of evidence for a full search of Janzel's +Personnel files.</p> + +<p>He jerked his head at Mauson.</p> + +<p>"Inside."</p> + +<p>He waited as the man stepped through the door, then followed.</p> + +<p>A slender man was standing behind a wide desk.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said calmly. "Welcome home, Graham. Glad you could make +it."</p> + +<p>"Major Michaels!" Stan forgot everything he had planned to say.</p> + +<p>The other smiled. "Let's say Agent Michaels," he corrected. "Special +Corpsmen don't have actual Guard rank. Most of us got thrown out of +the Academy in the first couple of years."</p> + +<p>He glanced at the guardsman, then flicked a finger out to point at +Mauson.</p> + +<p>"Take this down and put it away somewhere till we need it, deSilva. +Graham and I have some talking to do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." The middle-aged man turned toward Stan.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, sir." He jerked a thumb at Mauson.</p> + +<p>"Come on, you. March."</p> + +<p>Michaels held up a hand as Stan opened his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he said quietly. "DeSilva is quite capable of handling +that one. Take care of three or four more like him if he had to. +Pretty good man." He reached for a box on his desk.</p> + +<p>"Here," he said. "Light up. Got a few things to talk about."</p> + +<p>"But I've got—"</p> + +<p>"It can wait. Wall put the whole story on the tape when you were +talking to him downstairs. We've been sweating you out."</p> + +<p>"You've been sweating me out? I had to practically force my way up +here."</p> + +<p>"That you did." Michaels took a cigarette from the box, started to put +it in his mouth, then pointed it at Stan.</p> + +<p>"That's normal procedure. You've heard of the Special Corps for +Investigation, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But—"</p> + +<p>"Ever think of being a corpsman yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. You know that—we've talked about it. But I never could—"</p> + +<p>"That's right." Michaels waved the cigarette. "We don't have +recruiting offices. All our people have to force their way in. Tell +me, do you know anything about the history of this planet?"</p> + +<p>Stan clenched his teeth. Somehow, he had lost the initiative in this +interview. He took a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"Look," he said decisively, "I—"</p> + +<p>"Later." Michaels shook his head. "You are familiar with this culture +by now, then?"</p> + +<p>"Well ... yes. I've read some history ... a little law."</p> + +<p>"Good. Saves me a lot of talk. You know, sometimes we run into a +situation that can be corrected by a single, deft stroke. Makes things +very pleasant. We send in an agent—or two or six. The necessary gets +done, and somebody writes up a nice, neat report." He toyed with the +cigarette lighter.</p> + +<p>"But this thing isn't like that. We've got a long, monotonous job of +routine plugging to do. We've got to bust a hard-shelled system +without hurting too many of the people within it. And we've been at it +for a while. We think we've made some progress, but we've still got a +lot of snakes to kill.</p> + +<p>"But even bad situations have their good points. At least, this place +is a good training ground for probationers."</p> + +<p>"Probationers?"</p> + +<p>"Right. Probationers who don't even know they're being tested." He +smiled.</p> + +<p>"People with the qualifications for Senior Agent are hard to get. Most +of them are latent—asleep. We can't expect them to walk in—we have +to find them. Then we have to wake them up. It can be tricky."</p> + +<p>He lit his cigarette, eying Stan thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you've heard some of the stories that fly around about the +Corps. The truth of the matter is, the Senior Agent isn't any +superman. He's just a normal human being with a couple of extra +quirks."</p> + +<p>He held up a finger.</p> + +<p>"First, he's trouble prone. A nasty situation attracts him much as a +flame attracts a moth.</p> + +<p>"There are a lot of people like that. Most of them are always getting +themselves clobbered. The agent usually doesn't."</p> + +<p>He held up a second finger.</p> + +<p>"Because he has a compensating ability. When he turns on the pressure, +people do just as he tells them—most people, that is." He sighed.</p> + +<p>"That's the latent ability. Sometimes full control is buried so deeply +it takes something like a major catastrophe to wake the guy up to the +fact he can use it." He smiled wryly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he pushes people around once in a while—makes 'em uneasy when +he's around—makes himself unpopular. But he's got no control. He's +got to be awakened."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—"</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh. It sounds simple, but it isn't." Michaels shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You don't just snap a finger in front of this fellow. You've got to +provide him with real trouble. Pile it on him—until he gets so much +pressure built up that he snaps himself into action. Makes a place +like this useful."</p> + +<p>"I begin to see. You mean all this stuff I've been going through was +sort of a glorified alarm clock?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You could put it that way. That, and a trial assignment as a +junior agent. Still want to be a Special Corpsman?"</p> + +<p>Stan looked around the office consideringly, then got to his feet.</p> + +<p>"I stood it without knowing what was going on. Even had a little fun +once in a while. Maybe I could learn to like it if I knew what I was +doing." He shrugged.</p> + +<p>"What's next?"</p> + +<p>Michaels shoved a stack of papers toward him.</p> + +<p>"Administrative details. You just can't get away from them." He took a +pen from his desk.</p> + +<p>"After you sign all these, I'll get a couple of people in here for +witnesses while we give you your oath.</p> + +<p>"It's practically painless."</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALARM CLOCK***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 24180-h.txt or 24180-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/1/8/24180">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/1/8/24180</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Cole, Illustrated +by Van Dongen + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Alarm Clock + + +Author: Everett B. Cole + + + +Release Date: January 6, 2008 [eBook #24180] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALARM CLOCK*** + + +E-text prepared by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht, and the +Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team +(https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 24180-h.htm or 24180-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/1/8/24180/24180-h/24180-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/1/8/24180/24180-h.zip) + + +Transcriber's note: + + This e-text was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_, + September, 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any + evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was + renewed. + + + + + +ALARM CLOCK + +by + +EVERETT B. COLE + +Illustrated by Van Dongen + + + + + + + + _Most useful high explosives, like ammonium nitrate, are + enormously violent ... once they're triggered. But they will + remain seemingly inert when beaten, burned, variously + punished--until the particular shock required comes + along...._ + + + +Many years had passed since the original country rock had been broken, +cut and set, to form solid pavement for the courtyard at Opertal +Prison. And over those years the stones had suffered change as +countless feet, scuffing and pressing against once rough edges, had +smoothed the bits of rock, burnishing their surfaces until the light +of the setting sun now reflected from them as from polished mosaic. + +As Stan Graham crossed the wide expanse from library to cell block, +his shoe soles added their small bit to the perfection of the age-old +polish. + +He looked up at the building ahead of him, noting the coarse, +weathered stone of the walls. The severe, vertical lines of the mass +reminded him of Kendall Hall, back at the Stellar Guard Academy. He +smiled wryly. + +There were, he told himself, differences. People rarely left this +place against their wishes. None had wanted to come here. Few had any +desire to stay. Whereas at the Academy-- + +How, he wondered, had those other guys they'd booted out really felt? +None had complained--or even said much. They'd just packed their gear +and picked up their tickets. There had been no expression of +frustrated rage to approach his. Maybe there was something wrong with +him--some unknown fault that put him out of phase with all others. + +He hadn't liked it at all. + +His memory went back to his last conversation with Major Michaels. The +officer had listened, then shaken his head decisively. + +"Look, Graham, a re-examination wouldn't help. We just can't retain +you." + +"But I'm sure--" + +"No, it won't work. Your academic record isn't outstanding in any area +and Gravitics is one of the most important courses we've got." + +"But I don't see how I could have bugged it, sir. I got a good grade +on the final examination." + +"True, but there were several before that. And there were your daily +grades." Michaels glanced at the papers on his desk. + +"I can't say what went wrong, but I think you missed something, way +back at the beginning. After that, things got worse and you ran out of +time. This is a pretty competitive place, you know, and we probably +drop some pretty capable men, but that's the way it is." + +"Sir, I'm certain I know--" + +"It isn't enough to know. You've got to know better than a lot of +other people." + +Michaels got to his feet and came around the desk. + +"Look, there's no disgrace in getting an academic tossout from here. +You had to be way above average to get here. And very few people can +make it for one year, let alone three or four." + +He raised a hand as Stan started to speak. + +"I know. You think it looks as though you'd broken down somehow. You +didn't. From the day you came here, everyone looked for weaknesses. If +there'd been a flaw, they'd have found it--and they'd have been on you +till you came apart--or the flaw disappeared. We lose people that +way." He shrugged. + +"You didn't fall apart. They just got to you with some pretty rough +theory. You don't have to bow your head to anybody about that." + + * * * * * + +Stan looked at the heavily barred door before him. + +"No," he told himself, "I don't suppose I'm the galaxy's prize boob, +but I'm no high value shipment, either. I'm just some guy that not +only couldn't make the grade, but couldn't even make it home without +getting into trouble." + +He pushed the door aside and went into the building, pausing for an +instant between two monitor pillars. There was no warning buzz and he +continued on his way through a hallway. + +He barely noticed his surroundings. Once, when he had first been +brought here, he had studied the stone walls, the tiny, grilled +windows, the barred doors, with fascinated horror. But the feeling had +dulled. They were just depressingly familiar surroundings now. + +He stopped at a heavy metal grill and handed a slip through the bars. +A bored guard turned, dropped the paper into a slot, then glanced at a +viewplate. He nodded. + +"All right, forty-two ninety. You're on time. Back to your cell." He +punched a button and a gate slid aside. + +Stan glanced at the cell fronts as he walked. Men were going about +their affairs. A few glanced at him as he passed, then looked away. +Stan closed his eyes for an instant. + +[Illustration] + +That much hadn't changed. At school, he had never been one with any of +the cadet groups. He had been accepted at first, then coolly +tolerated, then shunted to the outer edges. + +Oh, he'd had his friends, of course. There were those other oddballs, +like Winton and Morgan. But they'd gone. For one reason or another, +most of them had packed up and left long before he'd had his final +run-in with the academic board. + +And there had been Major Michaels. For a while, the officer had been +warm--friendly. Stan could remember pleasant chats--peaceful hours +spent in the major's comfortable quarters. And he could remember +parties, with some pretty swell people around. + +Then the older man had become a forbidding stranger. Stan had never +been able to think of a reason for that. Maybe it was because of the +decline in his academic work. Maybe he'd done something to offend. +Maybe-- + +He shook the thoughts away, walked to a cell door, and stood waiting +till the guard touched the release button. + + * * * * * + +As Stan tossed his books on his bunk, Jak Holme raised his head and +looked across the cell. + +"More of them books?" + +"Yeah." Stan nodded. "Still trying to find out about this planet." + +"You trying to be some kinda big politician when you get out?" Holme +snorted. + +"Tell you, be better you try mixing with the guys, 'stead of pushing +'em around with that fancy talk, making 'em jump now and then, see. +You get along with 'em, you'll see. They'll tell you all you need. Be +working with some of 'em, too, remember?" + +"Oh, I don't try to push anybody around." Stan perched on his bunk. +"Doesn't hurt anyone to study, though." + +"Oh, sure." Holme grimaced. "Do you a lot of good, too. Guy's working +on some production run, it helps a lot he knows why all them big guys +in the history books did them things, huh?" He laughed derisively. + +"Sure it does! What they want, you should make that fabricator spit +out nice parts, see?" He swelled his chest. + +"Now me, I got my mind on my business, see. I get out of here, I +oughta make out pretty good." He looked around the cell. + +"Didn't get no parole, see, so I get all the training. Real good +trained machinist now, and I'm gonna walk out of here clean. Get a job +down at the space-yards. + +"Machinist helper, see? Then, soon's I been there a while, I'll get my +papers and go contract machinist. Real good money. Maybe you'd do +better, you try that." + + * * * * * + +From the lower bunk, Big Carl Marlo laughed softly. + +"Sure, kid, sure. You got it all made, huh? Pretty quick, you own +Janzel Equipment, huh? Hah! Know what happens, you go outside? + +"Sure, they give you a job. Like you said, helper. They pay enough you +get a pad and slop to keep you alive. That's all you get." + +"Aw, now listen!" Holme started up. + +Marlo wagged his head. "You go for papers, see? Naw! Got no papers for +jailbirds. Staffman'll give you the word. He gets through pushing you +around, you go back, 'counta you don't know nothing else." + +He laughed shortly. + +"Gopher, that's you. You go fer this, and you go fer that. Slop and a +pad you get." He swung out of his bunk. + +"Oh, sure, maybe they put you on a fabricator. Even let you set it up +for 'em. But that don't get you no extra pins." + +Holme shook his head. + +"Councilor gave me the word," he said stubbornly. "They need good +machinists." + +"Yeah." Marlo nodded. "Sure, they want graduates down at Talburg. But +they ain't paying 'em for no contract machinist when they can keep 'em +as helpers." He turned. + +"Ain't that right, Pete?" + +Karzer looked up from a bag he was packing. + +"Yeah, yeah, that's right, Carl. I know a few guys once, tried playing +the legit. Got kicked around, see? Low pay. Staffman hammering on 'em +all the time. Big joke when they try to get more for themselves. + +"Yeah, big joke. They get blamed, they bust something, see, so they +owe the company big money." He looked critically at a pair of socks. + +"So they get smart after a while. Dusted around the corner and went +back on the make. Do better that way, see? + +"Naw, they give you a lot of guff, you go to work outside, work hard, +keep your nose clean, you come out of parole and you're in the money. +It's sucker bait, is all. Don't go like that, see." + +Marlo came closer to Holme. + +"Naw, you go out clean, see, just like you say. Then you play it easy. +Get a good score and lay back for a while. Don't go pushing your luck. + +"That's how they hook me, see. I get too hungry. Get a nice touch, it +looks so good I gotta go back for seconds, and they're waiting. I +don't make that mistake again." He shook his head. + +"Got me a nice pad, way up valley. Gonna hole up there. Go out, pull a +good job, then I lay around, maybe a year and think up another. Then, +when I'm all ready, I go out, pull a can or two open and lift what +they got back to the pad. Ain't gonna be no more of this scuffling +around, hitting a quick one and running out to spend the pins quick, +so's I can get in no traps." + +He looked at Holme thoughtfully. + +"I just now think of something, kid. You can make yourself a nice bit, +real easy. Don't cost hardly nothing to set up and there ain't much +risk. You work more'n a year, learning all about tools, huh? They +teach you all about making tools, huh?" + +"Sure." Holme laughed shortly. "Got to make all your own hand tools +before you get through. Why?" + +Marlo grinned broadly. + +"I could tell you a lotta guys, need real special tools. Need tools +you don't buy in no store, like maybe a good can opener a guy can +carry easy. And they pay real good, you make what they want and keep +your mouth shut." He rubbed his chin. + +"Nice," he went on. "Real nice. And all you need is maybe a few tools +you can buy anywhere. And maybe you gotta build up a little forge. Guy +knew his way around, he could make a nice pile that way." + +Stan looked at the man thoughtfully. + +"Sounds interesting," he broke in, "but suppose they find some +fabricator operator out in the woods, heating up metal instead of +working on a regular job? They'd be curious, don't you think? +Especially if the guy's already picked up a record." + +"Naw." Marlo turned toward him. "So he's a graduate--who ain't? See, +they show this guy up here, he's supposed to be a fabmeister. Only +maybe he don't like punching keys. Maybe he don't like to chase them +meters, huh? So maybe he'd rather use muscle hardware, see?" He +grinned. + +"Some guy sets himself up a shack up valley, see? Starts a fixit +joint. Looks real legit. Even with muscle hardware, he can put out +jobs faster'n them people can get parts from way down Talburg way, +see. + +"And he gets in with the joes, too. They got their troubles getting +things made up for 'em. So this guy gives them a hand. Even working +cheap, he picks up some change there, too, and one way or another, the +guy's got a living, see?" He glanced back at Holme. + +"Only now and then, here comes a few guys in the back door, they want +a special job, see, for real special pay. And there's your ice cream +and cake. And maybe a little stack for later on." + +"I don't know." Stan picked up a book. "I'd rather try playing 'em on +the table for a while. It might beat getting flashed and dropped back +in." + +Big Carl shrugged and crawled back into his bunk. + +"Aagh, can happen to anybody," he said. "Just keep this under your +hair. Smart kids like you can make out pretty good, you just use your +heads. Ain't nothing down Talburg way, though." He yawned. + +"Well, I've had it. Got into it with that Wanzor again, out on the +pile. Give one of them joes a boost, he gets three meters high." He +yawned again and turned toward the wall. + + * * * * * + +Stan flipped the pages of the book. He had still been unable to put +his finger on the point at which Kellonia had ceased to be a planet of +free citizens and become the planetary prison he had found himself on. + +There had been no sudden change--no dramatic incident, such as the +high spots in the history of his native Khloris. Here, things had just +drifted from freedom to servitude, with the people dropping their +rights as a man discards outworn clothing. + +He leaned back, lowering the book. Kell's planet, he remembered, had +been one of the first star colonies to be founded after the discovery +of the interstellar drive. Settlers had flocked to get passage to the +new, fertile world. + +During the first three hundred years, people had spread over the +planet, but the frontier stage had passed and the land of promise had +stabilized, adopted laws, embraced the arts and sciences. One by one, +frontier farms had given way to mechanized food-producing land, +worked by trained technical teams and administered by professional +management. + +Kellonia had entered the age of industrialized culture, with the large +individual owner a disappearing species. + +Unnoticed and unregretted, the easy freedom of the frontier was +discarded and lost. One by one, the rights enjoyed by the original +settlers became regarded as privileges. One by one, the privileges +were restricted, limited by license, eliminated as unsuitable or even +dangerous to the new Kellonian culture. + +Little by little, the large group became the individual of law and +culture, with the single person becoming a mere cipher. + +Members of groups--even members of the governing council itself--found +themselves unable to make any but the most minor decisions. Precedent +dictated each move. And precedent developed into iron-hard tradition. + +In fact, Stan thought, the culture seemed now to be completely +self-controlled--self-sustaining. The people were mere cells, who +conformed--or were eliminated. + +Again, he picked up the book, looking casually through its pages. +Detail was unimportant here. There was, he realized with a feeling of +frustration, only a sort of dull pattern, with no significant detail +apparent. + + * * * * * + +He awoke a little groggily, looked around the cell, then jumped +hastily out of his bunk. Usually he was awake before the bell rang. + +Pete Karzer was coming back from the washstand. He looked over. + +"You up, Graham?" he said in his whispery voice. "Hey, you know I'm +getting out this morning. Guess you'll want to swap blankets again, +huh?" + +"That's right, too. No use turning in a good blanket, is there?" + +"Don't make sense." Pete massaged the back of his neck. + +"Never could figure that swap," he said. "Don't get me wrong, it was +real good, being able to sleep warm, but you caught me good when I +tried to swipe that blanket of yours. Ain't never seen a guy move so +quick. And I ain't so dumb I don't know when I'm licked." He grinned +ruefully. + +"So I'm down, like I been hit with a singlejack. Then you go and hand +over a good blanket for that beat thing I been using. How come?" + +Stan shrugged. "I told you," he said. "Where I come from, it's a lot +colder than it is here, so I don't need a blanket. I'd have offered a +swap sooner, but I didn't want to look like some greasy doormat." + +"Wasn't no grease about that swap." Pete grinned and rubbed his neck +again. "I found out real quick who was the big man. Where'd you learn +that stuff anyway?" + +"Oh, picked it up--here and there." Stan glanced down at the floor. + +There would be no point in explaining the intensive close combat +training he'd been put through at school. Such training would make no +sense to his cellmates. To the good citizens of Kellonia, it would +seem horrifyingly illegal. He glanced up again. + +"You know how it is," he went on. "A guy learns as he goes." + +Big Carl Marlo swung his legs over the side of his bunk. + +"Looks like you learned real good," he said. He examined Stan. + +"Pete tells me about this deal. I kinda miss the action this time, but +Pete tells me he's got the blanket and he's all set to plug you good, +you should maybe try a hassle. + +"Only all at once, you're on him. He feels a couple quick ones, then +he don't know nothing till next day. You can maybe do things like that +any time?" + +Stan shrugged. "Guy never knows what he can do till he tries. I know a +few other tricks, if that's what you mean." + +Marlo nodded. "Yeah. Know something, kid? Ain't no use you waste your +time being no fabricator nurse. You got a good profesh already, know +what I mean?" + +Stan looked at him questioningly. + +"Sure." Marlo nodded. "So you come here, like maybe you're a tourist, +see. But the joes get you and they bring you up here. Going to teach +you a trade--fabricator nurse, see. Only they don't know it but you're +one guy they don't have to teach, 'counta you got something better. +All you gotta do is find your way around." + +"I have? Do you really think...." + +"Sure. Look, there's a lot of antique big-timers around, see. These +old guys figure they need some guy can push the mugs. Pay real good, +too, and they couldn't care less you're a graduate. Maybe makes it +even better, see. You get in with one of those old guys, you got it +made. All legit, too. Oughta look into that, you get out." + +Stan smiled. "The first day I was on this planet, they went through my +bags while I was out looking over the town. They found a paper knife +and a couple of textbooks." He shrugged. + +"So I came back to the hotel and someone hit me with a flasher. I came +to in a cell." He glanced around. + +"Somebody finally told me they'd given me two to five years for +carrying a dangerous weapon and subversive literature. Now what would +I get if I went out and really messed some guy up?" + +Marlo waved a hand carelessly. + +"Depends on who you work for," he declared. "You got the right boss, +you get a bonus. Worse the guy's gaffed, the bigger the payoff, see?" + +Stan reached for his bag of toilet articles. + +"That's legitimate?" + +"Sure." Mario smiled expansively. "Happens all the time. Even the big +outfits need musclers. Staffmen, see? Sorta keep production up. + +"Lot of guys get real big jobs that way. Start out, they're Staff +Assistance Specialists, like they roust the mugs when they got to. +Then pretty quick, they're all dressed up fancy, running things. Real +good deal." He shrugged. + +"Need a heavy man once in a while, even in my business. Like maybe +some guy's got a good pad, he doesn't want a lot of prowlers shaking +up the neighbors. You know, gets the law too close, and a guy can't +work so good with a lot of joes hanging around. Might even decide to +make a search, then where'd you be?" He spread his hands. + +"But there's some Johnny Raw, keeps coming around. And maybe this is a +pretty rough boy, you can't get on him personal, see. So the only +answer, you get some good heavy guy to teach this ape some ethics. +Lotta staffmen pick up extra pins this way." + +"I think I get the idea. But suppose the law gets into this deal?" + +Marlo spread his hands. "Well, this is a civil case, see, so long as +the chump don't turn in his ticket. So, anything comes up, you put an +ambassador on the job. He talks to the determinators and the joes +don't worry you none. Just costs a little something, is all." + +Pete looked up from his packing, a smile twisting his face. + +"Only trouble, some of these big boys fall in love with their work. +This can get real troublesome, like I pick up this five to ten this +way. + +"See, they get this chump a couple too many. So, comes morning, he's +still in the street. Real tough swinging a parole, too. I'm in here +since five years, remember? So I'm real careful where I get muscle any +more." + +"Sounds interesting." Stan nodded thoughtfully. + +"Great Space and all the little Nebulae," he said to himself. "What +kind of a planet is this? Nothing in the histories about this sort of +thing." He walked over to the washstand. + +"Some day," he promised himself, "I'm going to get out of here. And +when I do, I'll set up camp by Guard Headquarters. And I'll needle +those big brains till they do something about this." + +There was, he remembered, one organization that should be able to do +more than a little in a case like this. He smiled to himself ruefully +as he thought of the almost legendary stories he had heard about the +Federation's Special Corps for Investigation. + +As he remembered the stories, though, corpsmen seemed to appear from +nowhere when there was serious trouble. No one ever seemed to call +them in. No one even knew how to get in touch with them. He shrugged. + +The men of the Special Corps, he remembered, were reputed to be +something in the superhuman line. + +For a large part of his life, he had dreamed of working with them, but +he had been unable to find any way of so much as applying for +membership in their select group. So, he'd done the next best thing. +He'd gone into the Stellar Guard. And he'd lasted only a little more +than three years. + +Somehow, he'd taken it from there. He was still a little hazy as to +how he'd managed to land in prison on Kell's planet. It had been a +mere stopover. + +There had been no trial. Obviously, they had searched his luggage at +the hotel, but there had been no discussion. He'd simply been beamed +into unconsciousness. + +After he'd gotten to Opertal, someone had told him the length of his +sentence and they'd assigned him to the prison machine shop, to learn +a useful trade and the duties of a citizen of Kellonia. + +He smiled wryly. They had taught him machinery. And they'd introduced +him to their culture. The trade was good. The culture--? + + * * * * * + +His memory slid back, past the prison--past the years in Kendall Hall, +and beyond. + +He was ten years old again. + +It was a sunny day in a park and Billy Darfield was holding forth. + +"Yeah," the boy was saying, "Dad told me about the time he met one of +them. They look just like anyone else. Only, when things go wrong, +there they are, just all at once. And when they tell you to do +something, you've had it." He closed his eyes dreamily. + +"Oh, boy," he said happily, "how I'd love to be like that! Wouldn't it +be fun to tell old Winant, 'go off some place and drown yourself'?" + +Stan smiled incredulously. "Aw, I've heard a lot about the Special +Corps, too. They've just got a lot of authority, that's all. They can +call in the whole Stellar Guard if they need 'em. Who's going to get +wise with somebody that can do that?" + +Billy shook his head positively. "Dad told me all about them, and he +knows. He saw one of 'em chase a king right off his throne once. +Wasn't anybody to help him, either. They've got all they need, all by +themselves. Just have to tell people, that's all." + + * * * * * + +With a jerk, Stan came to the present. He slopped water over his +hands. + +"Too bad I can't do something like that myself," he thought. "I'd like +to tell a few people to go out and drown themselves, right now." He +grinned ruefully. + +"Only one trouble. I can't. Probably just a lot of rumor, anyway." + +But there was something behind those stories of the Special Corps, he +was sure. They didn't get official publicity, but there were pages of +history that seemed somehow incomplete. There must have been someone +around with a lot more than the usual ability to get things done, but +whoever he had been, he was never mentioned. + +He shrugged and turned away from the washstand. + +"Hope that bell rings pretty soon," he told himself. "I'd better get +chow and go to work before I really go nuts." + +[Illustration] + +A demonstrator had the back off from one of the big Lambert-Howell +sprayers. As the man started to point out a feed assembly, another +prisoner stepped directly in front of Graham. + +Stan shook his head impatiently and moved aside. Again, the man was in +front of him, blocking his view. Again, Stan moved. + +The third time the man blocked his view, Stan touched his shoulder. + +"Hey, Chum," he said mildly, "how about holding still a while. The +rest of us would sort of like to see, too." + +For several seconds, the other froze. Then he whirled, to present a +scowling face. + +"Who you pushing around, little rat? Keep your greasy paws to +yourself, see." He turned again, then took a sudden, heavy step back. + +Stan moved his foot aside and the man's heel banged down on the stone +floor. For a heartbeat, Stan regarded the fellow consideringly, then +he shook his head. + +"Stay in orbit, remember?" he told himself. He moved aside, going to +the other side of the group around the fabricator. + +Now he remembered the man. Val Vernay had been working on the +fabricators when Stan had come to the shop. + +Somehow, he had never run an acceptable program, but he hung around +the demonstrations, unable to comprehend the explanations--resentful +of those who showed aptitude. + +He glanced aside as Stan moved, then pushed his way across until he +was again in front of the smaller man. Stan sighed resignedly. + +Again, the heavy foot crashed toward the rear. This time, the +temptation was too great. Deftly, Stan swung his toe through a small +arc, sweeping Vernay's ankle aside and putting the man off balance. + +He moved quickly away, further trapping the ankle and getting clear of +the flailing arms. + +For a breathless instant, Vernay tried to hop on one foot, his arms +windmilling as he fought to regain his balance. Then he crashed to the +floor, his head banging violently against the stones. + +Stan looked at the body in consternation. He had merely intended to +make the fellow look a little silly. + +"Hope he's got a hard head," he told himself. + +The workroom guard came up warily. + +"What's all this?" + +"I don't know, sir." Stan managed a vaguely puzzled look. "First thing +I knew, he was swinging his arms all over the place. Then he went +down. Maybe he had a fit, huh?" + +"Yeah." The guard was sardonic. "Yeah, maybe he had a fit. Well, no +more trouble out of him for a while." He raised his voice. + +"Hey, you over by the first-aid kit. Grab that stretcher." + +Big Carl Marlo was in his bunk when Stan came into the cell. He looked +up with a grin. + +"Hey, kid, you start at the top, huh?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"This Vernay, what else? Like I said, you start at the top. I didn't +think you got it when I told you about the muscle racket. How'd I know +you was already figuring something?" Marlo shook his head admiringly. + +"Real nice job, too. You take it easy, set this chump up, and there +you are. Only you get a real big fish. Think you can handle this guy +again?" + +Stan blinked. "Look," he said, "punch in some more data, will you? And +run it by real slow. I'm way off co-ordinates." + +"Huh? What you--Oh, I get you." Marlo frowned. + +"Now don't go telling me you don't know about this Vernay. Don't give +me you ain't figured how you can land a big job with Janzel Equipment. +You know me--Big Carl. I don't talk, remember?" He looked at the blank +expression on Stan's face. + +"Besides, there ain't a guy in the walls, don't figure this deal by +now. Man, you just don't know how many guys been watching that +Vernay." + +Stan walked across the cell and sat down on his bunk. + +"Look," he said patiently, "let's just say I'm some stupid kid from +off planet. Maybe I don't get things so well. Now, what's this all +about?" + +Marlo shrugged. "So all right, but for some guy don't know what he's +doing, you sure pick 'em pretty. Well, anyway, here's the layout. + +"See, this guy, Vernay, is one of Janzel's big strong-arms. Real salt +and butter guy. Been pushing them poor apes of theirs all over the +place, see. Don't know too much about the business, but they tell him +some mug's not putting out, Vernay goes over and bends the guy around +his machine a while, he should maybe work faster. See what I mean?" + +Stan frowned distastefully and Marlo held up a hand. + +"Oh, that's all right," he said. "This is what they pay this guy for. +But he gets to like his work too well, know what I mean? So here a +while back, he gets on some machine tender. Leans all over this poor +guy. Well, the fab nurse ends up turning in his tickets, and this, the +joes don't go for so good." He jerked a shoulder. + +"Oh, Janzel tries to kill the squawk, but it's no go. The joes push +the button and here's Vernay." He grinned. + +"They manage to get it knocked to some kinda manslaughter, but +Vernay's still got time to pick up, so they pull wires and get him up +here. It ain't no rest home, but it ain't no madhouse neither, like +some of them places." His eyes clouded. + +"Oogh, when I think of some of the holes--" He waved a hand. + +"So anyway, like you see, Vernay's got plenty of muscle, but he's kind +of low in the brain department. Maybe they thought something might +drill through the skull up here, but that don't work either. I guess +Janzel'd about as soon get another pretty boy, but they know they'll +lose too much face, they dump him right away. + +"Then you come along and just about split the chump's conk just so's +he'll stay out of your light, see?" He shook his head slowly. + +"Only thing, that don't solve nothing. He comes out of the bone-house +in a couple days, and he ain't gonna like you at all. See what I +mean?" + +"Yeah." Stan examined his fingernails. + +"Yeah," he repeated. "You make it all nice and clear." He got up and +went to the washstand. + +"Whatcha gonna do, Georgie, boy?" he chanted. "Guess I'll just have to +give him a free lesson in breakfalls. He won't like it too well, but +he could use lots of practice." + + * * * * * + +It took Vernay more than a couple of days to get out of the hospital. +As time went by, Stan became more and more conscious of the +speculative looks he was getting from prisoners and guards alike. + +He stood watching, as a maintenance engineer tore into the vitals of a +Lambert-Howell. Around him was space--a full meter on all sides. It +was, he realized, a distinction--symbolic accolade for anyone who had +the temerity to down a man like Vernay. It was also a gesture of +caution. No one was anxious to block the view of a man who had downed +a vicious fighter with an unobtrusive gesture. And no one was anxious +to be too close when Vernay might come by. + +What sort of man was Vernay, Stan wondered. Of course, he was familiar +with the appearance of the tall, blond. He could easily visualize the +insolent, sleepy looking eyes--the careless weave of the heavy +shoulders. And he'd heard a lot about the man's actions. + +But these could mean anything. Was the man actually as clumsy and +inept as he'd seemed? Was he simply a powerful oaf, who relied on pure +strength and savagery? Or was he a cunning fighter, who had made one +contemptuously careless mistake? + +"Well," the maintenance man was saying, "that's the way you set those +upper coils. Remember, each one has its own field angle, and you've +got to set 'em down to within a tenth of a degree. Otherwise, you'll +never get a sharp focus and your spray'll make a real mess." He swept +his glance over the group. + +"You use the manual when you set these things up," he added. "Don't go +depending on your memory. You can play some pretty dirty tricks on +yourself that way." He looked thoughtfully at the array of coils. + +"And don't go using any gravito clamps around these things when the +back's off. They don't like it. It makes 'em do nasty things." He +flipped his wrist up, looking at his watch. + +"All right, that's it. Let's go eat." He snapped a cover back in place +and swung down from the catwalk. + +Stan turned away. No tools to put away tonight, he thought. Didn't +need 'em all afternoon. He smiled. And no column to fall into, either. +This was the weekly free night. + +He walked out of the shop, following a group of prisoners through the +archway into the main yard. Another small group followed him, keeping +a decent interval behind. + +Someone drew a sharp breath. + +"Hey, look! Over there." + +Stan followed the direction indicated by a dozen abruptly turned +heads. Vernay was lounging in the shadow of the archway. He smiled +tigerishly and sauntered toward Stan. The group of prisoners melted +away, to form a rough semicircle. From somewhere, others were +appearing. + +"So all right, little rat," Vernay said softly, "you've had a lot of +fun these last few days, eh? Big man around the yard, huh? Yeah! Well, +it's going to stop." He massaged his right hand with the thumb and +fingers of his left, then stretched out his arms, flexing his fingers. + +"Real smart little fella," he added. "Knows all kinds of little +tricks. Got anything to say before I open you up for inspection?" + +Stan faced him, his feet a few inches apart, his knees slightly bent. +He folded his arms without interlacing them. + +"Look, Vernay," he said. "I'm not looking for any fight, but if you +force one, I'll break you all to pieces. I didn't mean to bust your +head the first time, but I can do it on purpose if I have to. Why +don't we just forget it?" + +Vernay looked dazed for an instant, then recovered and laughed +derisively. + +"You trying to crawl out and still look good? No, no. You made your +brags. Now we'll have a little dance." He took a step forward. + +"Come on, baby, just stay there. I'm going to unscrew your head." + +He came closer, then reached out, his hand open. + +Stan looked at the hand incredulously. No one could be that careless. +For an instant, he almost spun away from a suspected trap. Then he +decided the man was in no position for a counter. A try for a simple +hand hold couldn't do a bit of harm. + +His right hand darted up, gripping the outstretched hand before him. +He jerked down, clamped the hand with his left, then pressed up and +took a quick step forward. + +With a startled cry of pain, Vernay spun around and bent toward the +ground. Stan carried the motion through with a sudden surge that +forced the big man's face almost to the stones. Abruptly, Vernay +twisted and kicked, trying to tear away. There was a ripping noise and +he screamed thinly, then slumped to the pavement. + +Stan looked down at him in bewilderment. It had been too easy, he +thought. Something had to be wrong. The imprisoned hand twitched and +was flaccid. He let it go and stepped back. + +For a few seconds, Vernay lay quietly, then he struggled into violent +motion. He scrambled to get to his feet, his left hand groping at his +belt. Stan caught the glint of polished steel. He stepped quickly +around the man, poising himself. + +It was no use, he thought. This would have to be decisive. He brought +his two hands up to his shoulder, then swung them like an axe, +stepping into the swing as Vernay got his feet under him. + +The impact of the blow brought Vernay to a standing position. As the +man stood swaying, Stan swung his hands again. + +Vernay's back arched and for an instant he was rigid. Then he stumbled +forward, to pitch against the wall. + +Briefly, he was braced upright against the wall, his left hand high on +the stones, the scalpel glittering. Then the hand relaxed and the +sliver of steel clattered to the paving. Slowly, the man slid down, to +melt into a shapeless heap in the gutter. + +Stan sighed, then shook his head and wiped an arm across his eyes. + +There was a concerted sigh behind him. + +"Go ahead, kid," someone muttered. "Give him the boots. Big phony +hadda go trying a knife." + +Stan turned. "No use," he said wearily. "I just hope he's still +alive." + +"I don't get it," said someone. "He wants this guy alive?" + +Someone else laughed shortly. "Maybe he just likes to make it tough on +himself. Hey, look out! The joes." + +As the crowd faded into the nowhere from whence most of it had come, a +guard approached Stan warily. + +"Now, look, Graham," he said cautiously, "I gotta throw you in the +hole. You know that, huh?" + +Stan nodded listlessly. + +"Yeah," he said. "I suppose so." + +"Look, fellow, it won't be too long. He jumped you, so they'll have +you out of there real soon." The guard was apologetic. + +"Besides, they'll probably offer you his job at Janzel. Get you clear +out of here. Only don't give me a hard time. All you'll get is both of +us flashed." + +"Yeah, I know." Stan held out an arm. "Come on, let's go." + + * * * * * + +Stan watched as the chief test engineer waved a hand. + +"Two hundred twenty gravs," the man said. "Full swing completed on +both axes. That's it. Ease off your tractors." + +He looked closely at his panel of meters, then got off his stool and +stretched. + +"No evidence of strain. Looks as though all components are good." He +turned, looking at the test operators. + +"Let's get this place cleaned up." + +The sense of disorientation set up by the tractors was subsiding. Stan +got to his feet and looked at his companion. + +Dachmann nodded at him. + +"Well," he said slowly, "Golzer can get off the hook now. His run'll +be approved. Suppose we get back on the job." + +He led the way out of the blockhouse tunnel. + +A car was pulling up at the entrance. A heavy, square face looked from +a rear window and a large hand beckoned. + +"Dachmann, Graham. Over here." + +"Oh, oh." Dachmann sighed. "Here's trouble. Wizow doesn't come out +here unless he's got something." + +The blocky production chief looked coldly at them as they approached +the car. + +"It'll be a lot better," he growled, "if you two clear through my +office before you start wandering all over the grounds." He looked at +Stan. + +"Got a problem for you. Maybe we'll get some action out of you on this +one." He held out a few sheets of paper. + +"Hold up over in the components line." He jabbed at a sheet with a +forefinger. + +"Take a trip over there and kick it up." He glanced at Dachmann. "Got +another one for you." + +Stan took the papers, studying them. Then he looked up. There was very +little question as to the bottleneck here. Each material shortage +traced back to one machine. He frowned. + +"Maintenance people checked over that machine yet?" he asked. + +Wizow shrugged impassively. "You're a staffman," he said coldly. +"Been on parole to us long enough, you should know what to do, so I'm +not going to tell you how. Just get to the trouble and fix it. All I +want is production. Leave the smart talk to the technical people." He +turned. + +"Get in, Dachmann. I've got a headache for you." + +Stan examined the tabulated sheets again. The offending machine was in +building nine thirty-two. Number forty-one. + +He walked over to the parking lot and climbed on the skip-about he had +bought on his first pay day. The machine purred into life as he +touched a button and he raised the platform a few inches off the +ground, then spun about, to glide across the field toward block nine. + + * * * * * + +Fabricator number forty-one was a multiple. A single programming head +actuated eight spinaret assemblies, which could deliver completed +module assemblies into carriers in an almost continuous stream. It was +idling. + +Stan visualized the flow chart of the machine as he approached. Then +he paused. The operator was sitting at the programming punch, +carefully going over a long streamer of tape. Stan frowned and looked +at his watch. By this time, the tapes should be ready and the machine +in full operation. But this man was obviously still setting up. + +He continued to watch as the operator laboriously compared the tape +with a blueprint before him. There was something familiar in the +sharp, hungry-looking features. The fellow turned to look closely at +the print and Stan nodded. + +"Now I remember," he told himself. "Sornal. Wondered what happened to +him. Never saw him after the first day up in Opertal." + +Sornal came to the end of the tape, then scrabbled about and found the +beginning. He commenced rechecking against the print. Stan shook his +head in annoyance. + +"How many times is he going to have to check that thing?" he asked +himself. He walked toward the man. + +"Got trouble?" + +Sornal looked up, then cringed away from him. + +"I'll get it going right away," he whined. "Honest! Just want to make +sure everything's right." + +"You've already checked your tape. I've been watching you." + +Sornal flinched and looked away. + +"Yeah, but these things is tricky. You get some of this stuff out of +tolerance, it can wreck a whole ship. They got to be right." + +"So, why not a sample run-through? Then you can run test on a real +piece." + +"This is a very complicated device. Can't check those internal +tolerance without you put in on proof load. These got to be right the +first time." + +Stan shook his head wearily. + +"Look. Get up. I'll give your tape a run-through, then we'll pull a +sample and check it out. Got a helper?" + +"Some place around here." Sornal got out of his chair and stood, +looking at the floor. + +Stan picked up the tape and sat down. + +[Illustration] + +"All right, go find him then. And bring him over here while I run out +the sample. We can make with the talk after that." + + * * * * * + +The tape was perfect, with neither patch nor correction. Stan finally +raised his head, growling to himself. + +"Guy's competent enough at programming, anyway. Now, what's wrong with +him?" + +He snapped the power switch from stand-by to on, then waited as the +indicators came up. Delicately, he turned a couple of microdrive dials +till the needles settled on their red lines. Then he opened the +control head, poked the tape in, and punched the starter lever. + +The tape clicked steadily through the head. Stan kept his eyes moving +about as he checked the meters. + +The tape ran out of the head and dropped into the catcher basket and +hydraulics squished as a delivery arm set a small block on the sample +table. Stan picked it up, turning it over to examine it. + +It was a simple, rectangular block of black material, about the size +of a cigarette lighter. On five sides were intricate patterns of +silvery connector dots. An identifying number covered the sixth. +Inside, Stan knew, lay complex circuitry, traced into the insulation. +Tiny dots of alloy formed critical junctions, connected by minute, +sprayed-in threads of conductor material. He glanced around. + +Sornal watched anxiously. He looked at the little module block as +though it were alive and dangerous. + +"Here," Stan told him, "stick this in the test jig and run it." + +Sornal carefully set the block into an aperture, then reached for a +switch. His hand seemed to freeze on the switch for a moment, then he +looked back at Stan and snapped it on. Needles rose from their pins, +flickered, then steadied. + +Sornal appeared to gain a little confidence. He turned a dial, noted +the readings on a few meters, then twisted another dial. Finally, he +faced around. + +"Looks all right," he said reluctantly, "only--" + +"Looks all right, period." Stan turned to the helper. + +"Get that machine rolling," he ordered. "And keep your eyes on those +meters. Let's get this run finished right." He moved his head. + +"Come on, friend, I'll buy you a mug of tea." + +Sornal backed away. + +"You ain't gonna--Look, ain't I seen you some place before? Look, I +just--" + +"I said I'd buy you a mug of tea. Then, we'll talk, and that's all. I +mean it." + +"I just got outta--Listen, I can't take it so good any more, see?" + +"Don't worry. We aren't going to have any games this morning. Come on, +let's go." + +When Sornal started talking, the flow of words was almost continuous. + +He had come to Kellonia almost four years before, on a standard +one-year contract. For over twenty years, he'd moved around, working +in space-yards over the galaxy. He'd worked on short contracts, +banking his profits on his home planet. And he'd planned to finally +return to his original home on Thorwald, use his considerable savings +to buy a small business, and settle down to semi-retirement. + +But an offer of highly attractive rates had brought him to Kellonia +for one last contract with Janzel. + +"They got my papers somewhere around here," he said, "only I can't get +'em back any more." He shook his head wearily and went on. + +Everything had gone smoothly for the first half of his contract +period. He'd drawn impressively large checks and deposited them. And +after thinking it over, he had indicated he would like an extension. + +"That was when they nailed me down," he said. "There was just that one +bad run, only that was the job that sneaked through the inspection and +went bust at Proof." + +"Blowup?" + +Sornal grinned sourly. + +"Blowup, you want to know? Even took out one of the tractor supports. +Real mess. Oh, you think they weren't mad about that!" + +"You say there was just one bad run? Then everything came out normally +again?" + +"Yeah. I ran a check, see? Test sample was perfect Beautiful. So then +the power went off for a while. Crew was working around. Well, they +found the trouble and cleared it, just before lunch time. I went ahead +and finished my run. It was only ten gyro assemblies--control job. + +"I don't know--guess they were out of balance. Maybe the shaft alloys +came out wrong. Anyway, I finished the run and went for chow. Came +back and set up a new run." + +He stared into his cup. + +"Along about quitting time, they came after me. Mister, I don't like +to think of that! I been beat up a lot since, but them's just little +reminders. Those guys really enjoyed their work!" + +Sornal shuddered and set his cup down. Finally, he sighed and +continued. + +He had left the hospital, muttering grim threats of the legal action +he would take. And he'd limped over to file a complaint at the +Federation Residency. + +"I didn't get there. Next thing I knew, I was in some cell." He looked +up at Stan. + +"Now I know where I see you. You're in that van, going out of some +jail." + +"Yeah." Stan nodded, looking at his own empty cup. + +"Tell me something," he said slowly. "When that maintenance crew was +working around your machine, did they have a gravito clamp!" + +"Clamp? Yeah ... yeah, I suppose they might have. Use 'em a lot around +here when they've got heavy stuff, and those guys had a lot of stuff +to move." + +"I see. Wonder if the field head got pointed at your machine?" + +"I don't think ... I dunno, I didn't watch 'em close." Sornal looked +sharply at Stan. + +"You mean, they mighta--" + +"Well, what could cause a temporary misflow?" + +"Yeah!" Sornal bobbed his head slowly. "Funny I didn't think of that." + +"So anyway, you went up to Opertal?" + +"Yeah. Had me for evasion of obligation. Said I owed the company +plenty for the damage done by the blowup. Claimed I'd tried to run +out. + +"They wouldn't let me in the machine shop up there. Had me out hauling +stuff for the landscape crew. Then, they paroled me back here. Back to +the machines again, only I ain't a contract man any more. Junior +machinist. Oh, it's better than helper, I guess, only they don't pay +much." Sornal pushed himself away from the table. + +"I'm going to be real careful with my work from now on," he said. +"They got me for quite a while, but that sentence'll run out one of +these days. I'll get me out of parole and pay off that claim, then I'm +getting out of here. They aren't hanging another one on me." + +"Only one trouble," Stan told him. "You're getting so careful, you're +setting yourself up." + +"Huh?" + +"Yeah. They'll tack you down for malingering if you don't watch it." +Stan got to his feet. + +"Tell you what you do. Run things just as you did when you were a +contract man. Only one thing--if any crew comes around, pull a sample +after they leave. And check it. You know how to check for magnetic and +gravitic deviations. Do that, then go ahead with your run. Now go back +to your machine. I'm going to do a little work." + +He strode out of the refreshment room, watched Sornal as he took over +the production run, then swung around and walked over to the Personnel +office. + +"Like to see the package on a man named Sornal," he told the clerk. + +The man hesitated. "We aren't supposed to release a whole file. I can +look up any specific information for you." + +Stan frowned. "Don't argue with me. I want to see this guy's package. +Need his complete history. Now get it." + +The clerk started to make an objection, then turned and went to the +files. He flipped an index, then punched a combination of numbers on +his selector. Finally, he came back with a folder. + +Stan took it and flopped it open on the counter. + +"All right, now just stay here while I go through this. I'll give it +back in a few minutes." + +He looked through the records, looking closely at one exhibit. + +"Wow!" he told himself silently. + +"Eleven thousand, six hundred ninety-two interstells. Only way he'll +ever pay that off is by making a big dent in his savings." + +He flipped the paper over, noting the details of the determination of +responsibility. + +As he examined the payroll data, he nodded. It all balanced out +nicely. They'd get several years of production out of the man for bare +subsistence. + +"Very neat," he told himself. + +He closed the folder and handed it back to the clerk. + +"All right, that's all I need." He glanced at the clock. + +"Guess I'll check out for lunch." + +He walked out of the office. This one, he thought, could be broken +wide open by a Guard investigation. Sornal would get his freedom, and +there might be sizable damages. + +"Now it would be nice," Stan muttered, "if I could work out something +for myself." + + * * * * * + +The Guard sergeant was an old-timer--and a methodical man. He listened +impassively, then reached under his desk. For a few seconds, his hand +was hidden, then he picked up a pen. + +"Now, let's get this straight. What did you say your name was?" + +"Graham. Stanley Graham. I--" + +The sergeant had pulled a form to him. He bent over, writing slowly. + +"Graham, Stanley. All right. Now, where do you live?" + +One by one, he went through the maze of blanks, insisting on getting +no other information than that called for by the specific space he was +working on. Finally, he put down the pen and leaned back. + +"All right, now how about this other man you mention?" He pulled +another form to him. + +Stan was becoming a trifle impatient. He answered the questions on +Sornal, managing to furnish information for most of the blank spaces +on the sergeant's form. + +The man dragged a still different form to him. + +"All right, now what's this exact complaint?" + +Stan went through Sornal's history, quoting figures and dates from the +Personnel files he had read. The sergeant listened noncommittally, +stopping him frequently to get repetitions. + +At last, he looked up. + +"Got any documents to back up this story?" + +Stan coughed impatiently. + +"No, of course not. I can't pull a file out of Personnel and just +carry it up here. It's on file, though. I just got through reading the +working file and there's a private file on the guy, too, that would +really bust things wide open." + +The sergeant smiled sourly. + +"Maybe it would. I suppose they'd pull it right out and hand it over, +too." + +He spun his chair around and fished a book from a shelf behind his +desk. + +"Here." He put the book on the corner of the desk. "Here is the +regulation on this sort of situation." + +He pointed out words, one at a time. + +It was a long regulation, filled with complex terminology. It forbade +seizure of records in any manner not definitely authorized by local +statute. The sergeant went through it, getting full value from each +word. + +At last his finger came away from the page. + +"Those are private records, you're talking about. On this planet, the +law protects corporate records to the fullest extent. We'd have to +have positive evidence that an incriminating document was in +existence. We'd have to define its location and content within fairly +narrow limits. Then we'd have to go before a local determinator and +request authority for an examination of that document." + +He slammed the book shut. + +"And if we failed to find the document in question, or if it wasn't +actually incriminating, the injured corporation could slap us with a +juicy damage claim." He looked at Stan coldly. + +"If you want, I can get the local statute and let you look that over, +too." He paused briefly and non-expectantly. + +"On the other hand, we are obligated to protect the interests of +galactic citizens." He looked pointedly at the insigne on Stan's +pocket, then held out a tablet. + +"Here. Suppose you sit down over there at that table and write out the +complaint in your own handwriting. I'll pass it along." + +Stan looked at the tablet for a moment. + +"Oh--Suppose I manage to get copies of the records on this. Do you +think you could do anything then?" + +"If you can bring in documentary evidence, that'll make a case; we'll +take action, of course. That's what we're here for." The sergeant +tapped impassively on the tablet. + +"Want to make a written statement?" + +"Skip it," Stan told him wearily, "I don't want to waste any more +time." + +As he turned away, he thought he noticed a faint flicker of +disappointment on the sergeant's face before the man bent over his +desk. + + * * * * * + +He hardly noticed his surroundings as he walked back into the +Personnel building. + +At first, there was a dull resentment--a free-floating rage--which +failed to find focus, but sought for outlet in any direction. + +The trouble was, he thought, in the formal way of doing things. It +didn't really matter, he told himself, whether anything really got +done or not--so long as an approved routine was followed. + +Only the wrong people used direct, effective methods. + +The anger remained nondirectional, simply swelling and surging in all +directions at once. There were too many targets and it was a torturing +pressure, rather than a dynamic force. + +He thought of his brief explosion, then grunted in self-ridicule. He'd +implied he could just pick up Sornal's record file, bring it in, and +throw it before that sergeant. And for just a flash, he'd really +thought of it as a simple possibility. + +"Maybe," he told himself, "one of those Special Corpsmen could do +something like that, but I don't see any of them around, trying it." + +He looked around, startled. Somehow, he had passed the gate, +identified himself, parked the skip-about, and come inside--all +without remembering his actions. + +"Well," he asked himself, "what do I do now? Just become some sort of +thing?" + +He walked into the outer office and a clerk looked up at him. + +"Oh, Mr. Graham. The chief wants to see you." She touched a button and +a gate opened. + +"You know the way." + +"Yes. I do. Wonder what he wants." + +The woman shook her head and returned to her work. + +"He didn't say. Just said to tell you to see him when you came in." + +Stan walked through the short corridor, stopping in front of a door. +Down in the corner of the pebbled glass, neat, small letters spelled +out the name--H. R. Mauson. + +He tapped on the glass. + +"Come in." The Personnel chief glanced up as the door opened. + +"Oh, Stanley. Sit down." + +Stan lowered himself to the padded seat, then leaned back. It was one +of those deep armchairs which invite relaxation. + +The official touched a button, then leaned forward. + +"Tell me, Stanley," he said gently, "what were you doing in the +Federation Building a few minutes ago?" + +Stan tried to lift a hand in a casual gesture, but it seemed stuck to +the chair. He exerted more force, then twisted his body. But his arms +and legs refused to move away from the upholstery. Mauson smiled. + +"Just a little precaution, Stanley. A gravito unit, you see. It may be +unnecessary, but you do have a reputation for a certain--shall we say, +competence. Although you have never demonstrated your abilities here, +I see no reason for taking foolish chances." His smile faded. + +"Now, suppose you tell me all about that visit you made to the +Federation Building." + +Stan forced himself to relax. Have to be careful, he thought. He +forced a grin to his face. + +"Lunch," he said casually. "The Interstellar Room has a reputation all +over Talburg, you know." He laughed easily. + +"Truth is, I got sort of homesick. Got a sudden urge to have a good +dish of _delsau_. It's a sort of preserve we really enjoy at home." + +"Now, now." Mauson closed his eyes. "Try again. You should be able to +do better than that." He tapped at some notes. + +"You were assigned to straighten out that man, Sornal, weren't you?" + +"Yes. I was, and I did." Stan found he had enough freedom to move his +head. "He was just suffering from--" + +Mauson coughed dryly. "I have a report on that, too. You fed him some +tea, talked for a while, then left him." + +Again, he tapped at his notes. + +"Then you came here and demanded the man's Personnel file. You read +that and went directly to the Federation Building. Now, I'm not a +completely stupid man. Don't try to make me believe you just wanted +some exotic food." + +He poked a switch. + +"Wizow, will you step in here, please?" + +"Yes, Mauson?" The blocky production chief loomed through a door. + +He glanced at Stan. + +"Oh. You got him in here, then?" + +"Yes. Oh, he came in by himself. But now, he's trying to be a little +coy. Suppose you reason with him." + +"Pleasure." + +Wizow strode forward to stand over the chair. He struck one hand into +the palm of the other, twisting his wrist at each blow. For the first +time since Stan had known him, he had a faint smile on his face. + +"I don't like you, Graham," he said. "I didn't like you the first time +I saw you, and you haven't done a thing to change that first +impression. + +"Thought you had something funny about you, the way you've always +coddled the workmen. Looked as though you were running some sort of +popularity contest." Again, he punched his palm. + +"And then, there were those suggestions of yours. Smart words--always +pushing the wrong people off balance, like other staffmen." The smile +became one-sided. + +"You know, you haven't made yourself too popular around here. Not with +the people that count. I've been getting complaints. + +"A good staffman doesn't act the way you do. Good man sees to it the +workers work. They don't have to like him--they just get on the job +when he's around. Know what'll happen if they slack off. + +"And a good staffman leaves the thinking to guys that get paid to do +it. He follows established procedure." + +He leaned close to Stan, frowning. + +"What are you? Some kind of Federation plant?" + +Abruptly, his right hand flashed out, to crash against Stan's cheek. A +heavy finger trailed across one eye, bringing a sudden spurt of tears. +The hand moved back, poised for a more solid blow. + +Stan's head bounced back against the chair, then forward again. + +[Illustration] + +And the diffuse fury in him coalesced and burst into novalike flame. +It had a single target. It focused. He glared at the big man. + +"Those hands," he snapped. "Get them to your side! + +"Now, get over into that corner. Move when I tell you!" + +For an instant, Wizow stood immobile. The frown faded, leaving the +heavy face empty. + +He tried to raise his hand again, then gave a little sob of hopeless +rage and moved back, one slow, reluctant step at a time, until he was +wedged into a corner of the room. + +"That's good," Stan told him. "Now stay there. And keep quiet." + +He turned toward Mauson. + +"You. Turn off that gravito unit. Then sit still." + +He pushed himself out of the chair as the constraining force was +removed. + +"Now," he growled, "you can kick it in again. Give it a little power, +too, while you're at it." He wheeled around. + +"All right," he snapped at Wizow, "turn around. Get into that chair." + +He watched as the big body was pressed into the cushions. Wizow's face +showed strain. Stan went around Mauson's desk. + +"I said a little power." He reached down and gave the gravito control +an abrupt twist. + +Wizow's mouth popped open, agony showing in his eyes. Stan grinned +tightly and eased off on the knob. + +"I really should spin this thing up to a proof load," he said. "Might +be interesting to see what kind of an assembly job they did on you. +But we'll just leave you this way. All you've got to do is keep quiet. +You're deaf, dumb, and blind, you understand?" He turned on Mauson. + +"Now, for you--" His voice trailed off. + +The man was sitting like a puppet whose controlling strings had been +cut. Stan's blazing fury started to burn down. + +These minds, he suddenly realized, had been virtually paralyzed. He +didn't need anything to tie them down. All he had to do was point his +finger. They'd jump. He shook his head. + +"Funny," he told himself. "All you have to do is be a little forceful. +Why didn't somebody tell me about this?" He looked calculatingly at +Mauson. + +"Tell you what we're gonna do," he said rhythmically. "Get your car +over here. You know, the shielded job. We don't want anyone snapping +at us with flashers." His voice hardened. + +"Come on," he ordered, "get on that box. Tell 'em you want that car." + + * * * * * + +As the car rolled down the street, he leaned forward a little. + +"All right, driver," he said peremptorily, "when we get to the +Federation Building, swing into the official driveway." + +The driver moved his head slightly. Stan sat back, waiting. + +He looked at the building fronts as they swept past. When he'd first +come here, he'd noticed the clean beauty of the city. And he's been +unable to understand the indefinable warning he'd felt. But now--he'd +looked beneath the surface. + +The car slowed. A guard was flagging them down at the building +entrance. Stan touched a window control. + +"Stand aside, Guardsman," he ordered. "We're coming in." He flicked +the window control again. + +"Keep going, driver," he ordered. "You can let us out inside. Then +find a place to park, and wait." + +Another guard came toward them as the car rolled to a stop. + +"Hey," he protested, "this is--" + +Stan looked at him coldly. + +"Which way to the Guard commander's office?" + +The man pointed. "Elevator over there. Fifth floor. But--" + +"I didn't ask for a story. Get our driver into a parking space and +keep him there." Stan turned to Mauson. + +"All right. Get out." + +He shepherded the man into the elevator and out again. In the hall, he +glanced around, then walked through a doorway. + +A middle-aged guardsman looked at him inquiringly. + +"Can I do something for you gentlemen?" + +"Yes. We want to see the commander." + +The guardsman smiled. "Well, now, perhaps--" + +Stan looked at him sternly. + +"I've had my quota of runarounds today. I said we want to see the +commander. Now, all you have to do is take us to him. Move!" + +The smile faded. For an instant, the man seemed about to rebel. Then +he turned. + +"This way," he said evenly. He led the way through a large room, then +tapped at a door on the other side. + +"Yes?" + +The voice was vaguely familiar to Stan. He frowned, trying to place +it. + +"Two men to see you, sir. Seems a little urgent." + +"Oh? Well, bring them in." + +Stan relaxed. This was getting easier, he thought. Now he could get +these people to take Mauson before a determinator. His statements +would furnish plenty of evidence for a full search of Janzel's +Personnel files. + +He jerked his head at Mauson. + +"Inside." + +He waited as the man stepped through the door, then followed. + +A slender man was standing behind a wide desk. + +"Well," he said calmly. "Welcome home, Graham. Glad you could make +it." + +"Major Michaels!" Stan forgot everything he had planned to say. + +The other smiled. "Let's say Agent Michaels," he corrected. "Special +Corpsmen don't have actual Guard rank. Most of us got thrown out of +the Academy in the first couple of years." + +He glanced at the guardsman, then flicked a finger out to point at +Mauson. + +"Take this down and put it away somewhere till we need it, deSilva. +Graham and I have some talking to do." + +"Yes, sir." The middle-aged man turned toward Stan. + +"Congratulations, sir." He jerked a thumb at Mauson. + +"Come on, you. March." + +Michaels held up a hand as Stan opened his mouth. + +"Never mind," he said quietly. "DeSilva is quite capable of handling +that one. Take care of three or four more like him if he had to. +Pretty good man." He reached for a box on his desk. + +"Here," he said. "Light up. Got a few things to talk about." + +"But I've got--" + +"It can wait. Wall put the whole story on the tape when you were +talking to him downstairs. We've been sweating you out." + +"You've been sweating me out? I had to practically force my way up +here." + +"That you did." Michaels took a cigarette from the box, started to put +it in his mouth, then pointed it at Stan. + +"That's normal procedure. You've heard of the Special Corps for +Investigation, I presume?" + +"Yes. But--" + +"Ever think of being a corpsman yourself?" + +"Of course. You know that--we've talked about it. But I never could--" + +"That's right." Michaels waved the cigarette. "We don't have +recruiting offices. All our people have to force their way in. Tell +me, do you know anything about the history of this planet?" + +Stan clenched his teeth. Somehow, he had lost the initiative in this +interview. He took a deep breath. + +"Look," he said decisively, "I--" + +"Later." Michaels shook his head. "You are familiar with this culture +by now, then?" + +"Well ... yes. I've read some history ... a little law." + +"Good. Saves me a lot of talk. You know, sometimes we run into a +situation that can be corrected by a single, deft stroke. Makes things +very pleasant. We send in an agent--or two or six. The necessary gets +done, and somebody writes up a nice, neat report." He toyed with the +cigarette lighter. + +"But this thing isn't like that. We've got a long, monotonous job of +routine plugging to do. We've got to bust a hard-shelled system +without hurting too many of the people within it. And we've been at it +for a while. We think we've made some progress, but we've still got a +lot of snakes to kill. + +"But even bad situations have their good points. At least, this place +is a good training ground for probationers." + +"Probationers?" + +"Right. Probationers who don't even know they're being tested." He +smiled. + +"People with the qualifications for Senior Agent are hard to get. Most +of them are latent--asleep. We can't expect them to walk in--we have +to find them. Then we have to wake them up. It can be tricky." + +He lit his cigarette, eying Stan thoughtfully. + +"I suppose you've heard some of the stories that fly around about the +Corps. The truth of the matter is, the Senior Agent isn't any +superman. He's just a normal human being with a couple of extra +quirks." + +He held up a finger. + +"First, he's trouble prone. A nasty situation attracts him much as a +flame attracts a moth. + +"There are a lot of people like that. Most of them are always getting +themselves clobbered. The agent usually doesn't." + +He held up a second finger. + +"Because he has a compensating ability. When he turns on the pressure, +people do just as he tells them--most people, that is." He sighed. + +"That's the latent ability. Sometimes full control is buried so deeply +it takes something like a major catastrophe to wake the guy up to the +fact he can use it." He smiled wryly. + +"Oh, he pushes people around once in a while--makes 'em uneasy when +he's around--makes himself unpopular. But he's got no control. He's +got to be awakened." + +"Yes, but--" + +"Uh-uh. It sounds simple, but it isn't." Michaels shook his head. + +"You don't just snap a finger in front of this fellow. You've got to +provide him with real trouble. Pile it on him--until he gets so much +pressure built up that he snaps himself into action. Makes a place +like this useful." + +"I begin to see. You mean all this stuff I've been going through was +sort of a glorified alarm clock?" + +"Yes. You could put it that way. That, and a trial assignment as a +junior agent. Still want to be a Special Corpsman?" + +Stan looked around the office consideringly, then got to his feet. + +"I stood it without knowing what was going on. Even had a little fun +once in a while. Maybe I could learn to like it if I knew what I was +doing." He shrugged. + +"What's next?" + +Michaels shoved a stack of papers toward him. + +"Administrative details. You just can't get away from them." He took a +pen from his desk. + +"After you sign all these, I'll get a couple of people in here for +witnesses while we give you your oath. + +"It's practically painless." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALARM CLOCK*** + + +******* This file should be named 24180.txt or 24180.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/1/8/24180 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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