The animal had then staked out the other three horses, using a plaited type of rope that had come from the packs. One particular horse tried to follow the man-thing around, nudging with its nose. It struck Terl very odd that the man-thing talked to it, that the man-thing had also talked to the wounded horse. Very peculiar. Terl couldn't understand the language and listened intently to see whether the horses talked back. Maybe they did. Supersonic? They must say something, because the man-thing sometimes answered them. Was it a different tongue than the man-thing used to the two female creatures in the cage? Terl guessed there might be several such languages. Well, it was no matter and not important. He was no Chinko, he decided, with contempt for the old race.
Terl had next been distracted by the screen views of the animal when it mounted up on a horse and went down to the work area. From what he could see via the button camera the animal wore, the Psychlo workmen ignored him after a brief glance. The machines went right on tearing around as always.
The man-thing rode up to Ker. Terl got very interested and turned up the volume. Ker tried to edge away.
The animal said something peculiar: “It’s not your fault.”
Ker stopped backing up. He looked confused.
“I forgive you,” said the animal.
Ker just stood there staring. Terl couldn't get a very good look at Ker due to the shadows of the dome Ker wore, but it seemed to Terl that Ker looked relieved. Terl took careful note of that as a sort of trick: it was not the kind of behavior he had ever thought about.
And then Terl really was startled. The animal borrowed a blade machine from Ker. Char came over and objected, and Ker waved him off. The animal tied the horse to trail after the machine and drove the vehicle back up to the plateau. Ker had looked positively threatening at Char. Had the animal started a fight between the two Psychlos? How had the animal managed that?
Well, Terl thought, he was just imagining things, and the screen views had been jumpy and the sound very flawed due to the roar of machinery. And Terl went back to the real puzzle of Numph.
The next time Terl remembered to check, he saw that the animal had used the blade machine to knock down a half-dozen trees and pile them up near the cage. It was using the blade controls to axe up the trees in lengths. Terl was pleased it could operate a machine like that. It would have need of such skill.
Terl got involved with bauxite quotations through the galaxies and didn't pay any more attention until nearly nightfall.
The animal had returned the blade machine and was now almost finished with a fence. It had built a fence of sorts all around the cage! Terl was puzzled until he remembered the animal's saying the horses might touch the bars. Of course! It was protecting the females from flash in case the horses short-circuited the bars.
After another hour of studying prices, Terl got his face mask and went down to the cage area.
He found that the animal had built itself a little hut from the tree branches and now had the instruction machine and table and packs in it and was kindling a fire in front of it. Terl hadn't really recognized that man-things could create houses without dressed timber or stones.
The man-thing got a branch burning and, with some other things in its hand, went over to the cage. It had left a zigzag opening before the door– to bar the horses and still let a man-thing through.
Terl threw a switch and cut off the juice to the bars and let the animal in the cage. It handed the female the burning brand, put down some other things, came out again, and got some wood and took it in.
It was very uninteresting to Terl. He noted idly that the females had cleaned up the old robes, dismantled the meat-drying rack, and neatened the place up. He checked their collars and leashes and the firmness of the pin to which they were tied. They shrank from him as if he were a disease. It amused him.
After he had pushed the animal out and was locking the cage door, from nowhere an idea hit him. Terl hastily turned on the juice again and went tearing back to his office.
Throwing down his face mask, Terl yanked a huge calculator into the center of the desk. Talons rattled on the key buttons. Reports to home office concerning ore tonnage shipped flashed on the screen and went into the calculator.
Ripping through the sales price publication and battering its data into the machine, working with an intense fury, Terl calculated the home office values of Earth ore shipped.
He stared at the screen. He sat back, stunned.
The operational cost of Intergalactic on Earth and the current market value of the ore shipped told one incredible fact. Not only were Earth operations not losing money, but ore-sold values were five hundred times the operating cost. This planet was incredibly profitable.
Economy wave! By the crap nebula, for this planet could afford to pay five, ten, or fifteen times the wages and bonuses.
Yet Numph had cut them. It was quite one thing for the company to make an enormous profit. But it was quite another for Numph to lie about it.
Late into the night Terl worked. He went over every report Numph had sent to the home office in past months. They seemed very usual, very much in order. The pay columns, however, were a bit fishy. They listed the employee's name and grade and then said simply, “Usual pay for grade” in a symbol form, and under bonuses they said, “As designated.” Very funny sort of accounting.
One could say, of course, that this mine area was not an administration center and was short of personnel and that the home office should finish the reports– after all, the home office accounting section was not only well staffed but also totally automated. Here they just handed out the credits across a pay table to the employees; a lot of them couldn't write anyway, and there were no signed receipts. It was this omission that made it necessary to return bodies of workers killed.
Then, about midnight, Terl found something funny about the vehicle reports. Vehicles in use for each five-day work period were customarily reported by their serial numbers. The first oddity was that Nymph was reporting vehicles in use. Hardly a function for the Planetary Head– but
Terl knew Numph's writing.
Suddenly Terl found a vehicle he knew was not in use. It was one of twenty battle planes he had had returned from other minesites: those twenty sat outside in a nearby field, there being no room left in the garage. Yet there it was: “Battle Plane 3-450-967 G." Numph had noted it in use for the past period.
On report after report, Terl examined those in-use listings. He noticed that they varied in position from one to another; the sequence was different in every report.
Terl smelled code.
By dawning light he had it.
Using serial numbers of the countless vehicles on the planet, one could choose the last three digits and, by plain substitution of numbers for letters, write pretty much what one pleased.
With expanding joy he read the first message he had decoded. It said: “No complaints here. Bank difference as usual.”
Terl did another calculation.
He was exuberant. These reports went to Nipe, Numph's nephew in home-office accounting. The total pay and bonuses of Earth should have been around one hundred sixty-seven million Galactic credits. Actually no bonuses were being paid and only half the salary.
It meant that Nipe, on home planet, was reporting full pay and bonuses and was banking to the personal account of himself and Numph close to one hundred million Galactic credits a year. Their own combined pay would not exceed C75,000. Their swindle was making them nearly one hundred million a year.
There was the evidence: the code, the incomplete accounts.
Terl's office shook as he paced back and forth, hugging himself.
Then he paused. How about making Numph and Nipe cut him in? They would. They would have to.
But no. Good as he was as a security chief, Terl realized that if he could untangle the scheme so could somebody else. It was big money but dangerous money. Nipe and Numph stood a fair chance of failure, and if caught they would be vaporized out of hand
. Terl wanted no part of that. So far he was not culpable. He could not be blamed for not catching on, for it was not part of his department to do accounting. No complaints had come his way. He had written orders from
Numph to be alert for mutiny, but no orders from anyone to police home office.
No, Terl would be content with his own one hundred million, thank you. It was very smooth. He had it all worked out. It was not company ore. No company employees would be used. He could call it an experiment and even show he was ordered to do it. Nothing would go into company records. The last little part of it was risky– getting it to home planet– but he could even worm out of that if caught. And he wouldn't be caught.
Let Numph and Nipe have their fortune– and their risk. He would preserve these records just long enough to convince Numph if he needed to, and then he would destroy them.
Oh, did he look forward to his next interview with Numph!
Chapter 2
“I see you have acquired some more animals,” said Numph querulously the next afternoon.
A jolly Terl had gotten the interview with a bit of persuasion. He was not popular with Numph's office staff. And he definitely didn't seem very popular with Numph.
The Planetary Director sat there behind his upholstered desk. He was not looking at Terl but gazing with distaste upon the awesome mountain scenery in the distance.
“Just as you authorized,” said Terl.
“Humph,” said Numph. “You know, I really don't see any traces of this mutiny of yours.”
Terl had put a cautionary paw across his own mouthbones. Numph noticed it and turned to face him.
The security chief had brought a lot of papers and some equipment with him. He now raised a warning talon to Numph and then reached down and picked up the equipment.
Numph watched while the security chief passed a probe all over the office, up along the curving canopy beams, beside the edges of the rug, over the desk, and even under the chair arms. Each time Numph sought to question, Terl put up a cautionary talon. Plainly the security chief was making sure there were no button cameras or picto-recorder diaphragms anywhere about.
Terl looked through the canopy and examined the outside carefully. No one was around. Finally he smiled in reassurance and sat down.
“I don't like that recon drone crashing by every morning,” said Numph. “It gives me a headache.”
Terl made a notation. “I will change its course at once, Your Planetship."
“And these animals,” said Numph. “You're getting a positive zoo out there. Just this morning Char said you had added six more!”
“Well, actually,” said Terl, “the project requires more than fifty. Also some machines to train them and authorization-”
“Absolutely not!” said Numph.
“It will save the company a great deal of money and increase its profits-”
"Terl, I am going to issue an order to vaporize those things. If home office were to hear-'
“It’s confidential,” said Terl. “It’s a surprise. How grateful they will be when they see their payroll and bonuses shrink and their profits soar.”
Numph frowned, feeling himself on very sure ground. Terl knew the blunder he had made before. Numph, left to his own crooked course, would have enormously increased the number of personnel brought here from Psychlo. Every extra employee greatly padded Numph's pocket.
“I have other ways of increasing ore shipments,” said Numph. “I am considering doubling our work force with employees from home planet. There are plenty out of work there.”
“But that will reduce profits,” said Terl innocently. “You told me yourself that profits were a battle just now.”
“More ore, more profits,” said Numph belligerently. “And they go on half-pay when they arrive. That's final.”
“Now these authorizations I have here,” said Terl, undisturbed, “to train up a native, indigenous work force-'
“Did you hear me?” said Numph angrily.
“Oh, yes, I heard you,” smiled Terl. “My concern is for the company and the increase of its profits.”
“You imply mine is not?” challenged
Numph.
Terl laid his work papers on the desk in front of Numph. At first the Planetary Director started to sweep them away with a paw. Then he sat suddenly still, frozen. His eyes stared. His paws began to tremble. He read the profit estimations. He read the circled absence of actual pay information. He read the vehicle numbers, and then he read the message, “No complaints here. Bank difference as usual.”
Numph looked up at Terl. Staring, frozen terror crept into his eyes.
“By company regulations,” said Terl, “I have the right to replace you.”
Numph was staring at the gun in Terl's belt. His eyes were hypnotized with shock.
“But actually, I don't care much for administration. I can see that someone in your position, faced with growing old and with no future, might find other ways to solve his problems. I am very understanding.”
Numph's terror-filled eyes lifted to Terl's chest, waiting.
“The crimes of someone on home planet are not in my duty sphere,” said Terl.
There was a flicker in Numph's eyes. Incredulity.
“You have always been a good administrator,” continued Terl. “Mainly because you let other employees do exactly what they think best serves company interests."
He swept up the evidence. “Out of regard for you, these will be put away where none can see them– unless something happens to me, of course. I will report nothing to home office. I know nothing about this. Even if you say I do, there will be no evidence and you won't be believed. If you get vaporized because of it, it will be entirely because of mistakes you make on other lines. They will not include me.”
Terl got up, followed by Numph's stricken eyes.
A huge sheaf of requisitions and order forms was laid on Numph's desk. “For your signature!” said Terl.
They were blank. They were undated. They were forms from the Planetary Director's own office.
Numph started to say, “But they're blank. You could put anything on these. Personal money, machines, mines, change operations, even transfer yourself off the planet!” But his voice wouldn't work. And then he realized that his brain wouldn't function either.
The pen was pushed between his claws, and for the next fifteen minutes Numph signed his name over and over and over again, slowly, almost witlessly.
Terl picked up the sheaf of signed blanks. He would be very sure that none of these got loose while they were not filled in!
“All for the good of the company,” said Terl. He was smiling. He put the thick sheaf in a securely locked case, put the evidence in a big envelope, picked up his equipment. “To remove you would ruin the career of a valuable employee. As your friend I can only seek to minimize damage to the company. I am pleased to tell you that you are in no danger of any kind from me. You must believe that. I am a faithful company employee but I protect my friends.”
He gave a little bow and left.
Numph sat like a dumped sack of ore, nerveless, incapable of reaction.
Only one thought kept going round and round and round in his head. The security chief was an untouchable demon, a demon who, forever after, could do exactly as he wished. Numph never thought of even trying to stop him. He was and forever after would be in the complete power of Terl. He was too paralyzed to even think of warning Nipe. From here on out, Terl would be the real head of this planet, doing exactly as he pleased.
Chapter 3
It had been a good hunt and Jonnie was going back to the compound.
That morning he had looked with sorrow at the dejected bearing of the two girls. What little they could do to clean up their squalid cage they had done. They had tried to put on bright faces when he talked to them through the two barricades. Pattie had come out of it a bit more, but she hadn't laughed when he told her she would marry the king of the mountains– it was an old personal
joke. She had suddenly burst into tears, and Chrissie, trying to comfort her, had begun to cry too.
Something had to cheer them up or at least keep them busy, Jonnie thought.
He got the horses and with Windsplitter stepping out had ridden away from the compound. Dancer and the third horse– named Old Pork after his habit of grunting– trailed behind. Blodgett was better, but it would be some time before the wounded horse could run.
Jonnie was looking for deer. With venison to smoke and a hide to tan and strip, the girls would get their minds off their worries.
Some of his own guilt and bitterness dimmed as he raced across the plain,
Windsplitter eager, the other two pounding along behind. The wind had wiped some of his pessimism away. The illusion of freedom stimulated him. Perhaps there was hope.
He had done better than one deer. He had come hammering into an arroyo and found himself within feet of antelope. And shortly after, one cleaned antelope was on the back of old Pork.
Not a half-hour later he had gotten his deer, a young buck.
With both pack horses laden and trailing behind him, he was looking for kinnikinnick, a wild plant that gave good flavor to venison. It was really too early for the berries to form, but the leaves were good.
His attention was drawn to a humming sound far behind him. He halted, examining the sky. There it was, a tiny dot getting bigger. It was heading either toward him or toward the compound.
The horses had gotten used to machinery sounds, and there was not much to choose at the moment between the buzz overhead and the mutter of noise in the compound not three miles ahead of them.
Jonnie's curiosity turned to a feeling of unrest. Where was that object going? It was very low, not traveling very fast now.
Suddenly he knew it was heading for him.
There had been a row of planes in a field near the compound. Twenty of them that Terl had ferried in and left in the open. This was one of them.
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