was true, but it was carefullycalculated to mislead.
"I see," said the Resident. "It would appear to me that it would besimpler to inform the people that he has done no such thing; that,indeed, his work has conferred immense benefits upon your race. Butthat is your own affair. At any rate, he is in no danger here."
He didn't need to say anything else. Jackson knew the hint was anorder and that he wouldn't get any farther with his squad.
McLeod spoke up. "Subject to your permission, sir, I would like tohave Mr. Jackson with me."
The Galactic Resident smiled. "Of course, professor. Come in, both ofyou." He turned and led the way through the inner door.
* * * * *
Nobody bothered to search either of them, not even though they mustknow that Jackson was carrying a gun. McLeod was fairly certain thatthe gun would be useless to Jackson if he tried to assert hisauthority with it. If Clem had been able to render the U.B.I.'seavesdropping apparatus inoperable, it was highly probable that theGalactic Resident would have some means of taking care of weapons.
"There are only a few formalities to go through," the Resident saidpleasantly, indicating chairs with a gesture. The room he had led themto didn't look much different from that which would be expected in anytastefully furnished apartment in New York or Honolulu.
McLeod and Jackson sat down in a couple of comfortable easy-chairswhile the Resident went around a large desk and sat down in a swivelchair behind it. He smiled a little and looked at McLeod. "Hm-m-m. Ah,yes. Very good." It was as though he had received information of somekind on an unknown subject through an unknown channel, McLeod thought.Evidently that was true, for his next words were: "You are not underthe influence of drugs nor hypnotic compulsion, I see. Excellent,professor. Is it your desire that this check be converted to cash?" Hemade a small gesture. "You have only to express it, you see. It wouldbe difficult to explain it to you, but rest assured that such anexpression of will--while you are sitting in that chair--is impressedupon the structure of the check itself and is the equivalent of asignature. Except, of course, that it is unforgeable."
"May I ask a few questions first?" McLeod said.
"Certainly, professor. I am here to answer your questions."
"This money--is it free and clear, or are there Galactic taxes topay?"
If the Galactic Resident had had eyebrows, it is likely that theywould have lifted in surprise. "My dear professor! Aside from the factthat we run our ... er ... government in an entirely different manner,we would consider it quite immoral to take what a man earns withoutgiving services of an exact kind. I will charge you five credits forthis validation, since I am rendering a service. The bank will take afull tenth of a percent in this case because of the inconvenience ofshipping cash over that long distance. The rest is yours to do with asyou see fit."
_Fifty-five credits out of fifty thousand_, McLeod thought. _Not badat all._ Aloud, he asked: "Could I, for instance, open a bank accountor buy a ticket on a star-ship?"
"Why not? As I said, it is your money. You have earned it honestly;you may spend it honestly."
Jackson was staring at McLeod, but he said nothing.
"Tell me, sir," McLeod said, "how does the success of my book comparewith the success of most books in the galaxy?"
"Quite favorably, I understand," said the Resident. "The usual incomefrom a successful book is about five thousand credits a year. Some runeven less than that. I'm not too familiar with the publishingbusiness, you understand, but that is my impression. You are, byGalactic standards, a very wealthy man, professor. Fifty thousand ayear is by no means a median income."
"Fifty thousand a _year_?"
"Yes. About that. I understand that in the publishing business one candepend on a life income that does not vary much from the initialperiod. If a book is successful in one area of the galaxy it will beequally successful in others."
"How long does it take to saturate the market?" McLeod asked with atouch of awe.
"Saturate the--? Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Well, let's see. Most publishinghouses can't handle the advertising and marketing on more than athousand planets at once--the job becomes too unwieldy. That wouldindicate that you sold an average of a million copies per planet,which is unusual but not ... ah ... miraculous. That is why you candepend on future sales, you see; over a thousand planets thedifferences in planetary tastes averages out.
"Now if your publishers continue to expand the publication at the rateof a thousand planets a year, your book should easily last for anothercentury. They can't really expand that rapidly, of course, since thesales on the planets they have already covered will continue withdiminishing success over the next several years. Actually, yourpublishers will continue to put a billion books a year on the marketand expand to new planets at a rate that will balance the loss ofsales on the planets where it has already run its course. Yes,professor, you will have a good income for life."
"What about my heirs?"
"Heirs?" The Galactic Resident blinked. "I'm afraid I don't quitefollow you."
"My relatives. Anyone who will inherit my property after my death."
The Resident still looked puzzled. "What about them?"
"How long can they go on collecting? When does the copyright run out?"
The Galactic Resident's puzzlement vanished. "Oh my dear professor!Surely you see that it is impossible to ... er ... inherit money onehasn't earned! The income stops with your death. Your children or yourwife have done nothing to earn that money. Why should it continue tobe paid out after the earner has died? If you wish to make provisionsfor such persons during your lifetime, that is your business, but theprovisions must be made out of money you have already earned."
"Who does get the income, then?" McLeod asked.
The Galactic Resident looked thoughtful. "Well, the best I can explain toyou without going into arduous detail is to say that our ... er ...government gets it. 'Government' is not really the proper word in thiscontext, since we have no government as you think of it. Let us merely saythat such monies pass into a common exchequer from which ... er ... publicservants like myself are paid."
McLeod had a vision of a British Crown Officer trying to explain to aNew Guinea tribesman what he meant when he said that taxes go to theCrown. The tribesman would probably wonder why the Chief of theEnglish Tribe kept cowrie shells under his hat.
"I see. And if I am imprisoned for crime?" he asked.
"The payments are suspended until the ... er ... rehabilitation iscomplete. That is, until you are legally released."
"Is there anything else that can stop the payments?"
"Not unless the publishing company fails--which is highly unlikely. Ofcourse, a man under hypnotic compulsion or drugs is not consideredlegally responsible, so he cannot transact any legal business while heis in that state, but the checks are merely held for him until thatimpediment is removed."
"I see." McLeod nodded.
He knew perfectly well that he no more understood the entire workingsof the Galactic civilization than that New Guinea tribesman understoodthe civilization of Great Britain, but he also knew that he understoodmore of it than Jackson, for instance, did. McLeod had been able toforesee a little of what the Resident had said.
"Would you do me the service, sir," McLeod said, "of opening a bankaccount for me in some local bank?"
"Yes, of course. As Resident, I am empowered to transact business foryou at your request. My fees are quite reasonable. All checks willhave to go through me, of course, but ... hm-m-m ... I think in thiscase a twentieth of a per cent would be appropriate. You will behandling fairly large amounts. If that is your wish, I shall soarrange it."
"Hey!" Jackson found his tongue. "The Earth Union Government has aclaim on that! McLeod owes forty-nine thousand Galactic credits inincome taxes!"
If the Galactic Resident was shocked at the intimation that theGalactic "government" would take earned money from a man, theannouncement that Earth's government did so was no surpri
se to him atall. "If that is so, I am certain that Professor McLeod will behave asa law-abiding citizen. He can authorize a check for that amount, andit will be honored by his bank. We have no desire to interfere withlocal customs."
"I am certain that I can come to an equitable arrangement with theEarth authorities," said McLeod, rising from his chair. "Is thereanything I have to sign or--"
"No, no. You have expressed your will. Thank you, Professor McLeod; itis a pleasure to do business with you."
"Thank you. The pleasure is mutual. Come on, Jackson, we don't need tobother the Resident any more just now."
"But--"
"Come on, I said! I want a few words with you!" McLeod insisted.
Jackson sensed that there would be no point in arguing any furtherwith the Resident, but he followed McLeod out into the bright Hawaiiansunshine with a dull glow of anger burning in his cheeks. Accompaniedby the squad, they climbed into the car and left.
* * * * *
As soon as they were well away from the Residence, Jackson grabbedMcLeod by the lapel of his jacket. "All right, humorist! What was theidea of that? Are you trying to make things hard for yourself?"
"No, but _you_ are," McLeod said in a cold voice. "Get your hands offme. I may get you fired anyway, just because you're a louse, but ifyou keep acting like this, I'll see that they toss you into solitaryand toss the key away."
"What are you talking about?" But he released his hold.
"Just think about it, Jackson. The Government can't get its hands onthat money unless I permit it. As I said, we'll arrive at an equitablearrangement. And that will be a damn sight less than ninety-eightpercent of my earnings, believe me."
"If you refuse to pay, we'll--" He stopped suddenly.
"--Throw me in jail?" McLeod shook his head. "You can't get moneywhile I'm in jail."
"We'll wait," said Jackson firmly. "After a little while in a cell,you'll listen to reason and will sign those checks."
"You don't think very well, do you, Jackson? To 'sign' a check, I haveto go to the Galactic Resident. As soon as you take me to him, Iauthorize a check to buy me a ticket for some nice planet where thereare no income taxes."
Jackson opened his mouth and shut it again, frowning.
"Think about it, Jackson," McLeod continued. "Nobody can get thatmoney from me without my consent. Now it so happens that I want tohelp Earth; I have a certain perverse fondness for the human race,even though it is inconceivably backward by Galactic standards. Wehave about as much chance of ever becoming of any importance on theGalactic scale as the Australian aborigine has of becoming importantin world politics, but a few thousand years of evolution may bring outa few individuals who have the ability to do something. I'm not sure.But I'm damned if I'll let the boneheads run all over me while theytake my money.
"I happen to be, at the moment--and through sheer luck--Earth's onlynatural resource as far as the galaxy is concerned. Sure you can putme in jail. You can kill me if you want. But that won't give you themoney. I am the goose that lays the golden eggs. But I'm not such agoose that I'm going to let you boot me in the tail while you stealthe gold.
"Earth has no other source of income. None. Tourists are few and farbetween and they spend almost nothing. As long as I am alive and ingood health and out of prison, Earth will have a nice steady income offifty thousand Galactic credits a year.
"Earth, I said. Not the Government, except indirectly. I intend to seethat my money isn't confiscated." He had a few other plans, too, buthe saw no necessity of mentioning them to Jackson.
"If I don't like the way the Government behaves, I'll simply shut offthe source of supply. Understand, Jackson?"
"Um-m-m," said Jackson. He understood, he didn't like it, and hedidn't know what to do about it.
"One of the first things we're going to do is start a little'information' flowing," McLeod said. "I don't care to live on a planetwhere everybody hates my guts, so, as the Resident suggested, we'regoing to have to start a propaganda campaign to counteract the onethat denounced me. For that, I'll want to talk to someone a littlehigher in the Government. You'd better take me to the head of theU.B.I. He'll know who I should speak to for that purpose."
Jackson still looked dazed, but it had evidently penetrated thatMcLeod had the upper hand. "Wha ... er ... what did you say, sir?" heasked, partially coming out of his daze.
McLeod sighed.
"Take me to your leader," he said patiently.
* * * * *
A World by the Tale Page 5
