“Good luck, General Horsip. I expect to be back once the investigation is over.”
Maklin, smiling cheerfully, saluted, went out, and shut the door.
Horsip took a deep breath, and reached for the phone marked, “Sup. St.—Takkit.”
A voice stammered, “C-Colonel Noffel, Staff Secretary to General Takkit.”
In the background was an uproar like distracted animals loose in a barnyard.
Horsip cleared his throat.
“General Horsip speaking. Is General Moffis there?”
“I . . . He . . . General Takkit doesn’t wish—”
“I think,” said Horsip, “General Takkit might be willing. Ask him, why don’t you?”
A moment later, Takkit’s voice carried, “Yes! Yes! He can talk to him!”
Moffis’ voice came over the line, weary and disgusted.
“Brak Moffis speaking.”
“Klide Horsip. My office is just down the hall, Moffis. It has the number eleven on the door. I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’ll be right there, sir.”
* * *
Moffis came in, wearing a uniform complete with loops of blue and green cord around the shoulders, purple lapels with golden sunbursts in the centers, and a large star-shaped emblem on the left side of the jacket below the decorations.
Horsip looked blank.
Moffis growled, “This wasn’t my idea, sir.”
“Is Takkit out of his head?”
“In my opinion, yes. But all I know is, I got orders to come here, and Takkit told me I was in charge of his ‘liaison with the situation on Earth.’ Aside from writing reports and giving my opinion on all kinds of questions about Earth, I might as well have been in cold storage.”
“Questions like what?”
“What was the decisive battle that broke Earth’s resistance? How did Earth recover? Would the Earthmen accept a Centran as leader if his rank were high enough? How would the strength of Earth compare with Centra if allowed to develop uninterrupted for five years? Ten years? Can Earthmen be hired as fighters? For how much?” Moffis shook his head in disgust.
Horsip considered it, frowning, then shrugged.
“How were things on Earth after I left?”
Moffis looked uncomfortable.
“On the surface, everything seemed all right.”
“The Earthmen were busy, were they?”
“Yes, that and—the impression I got was that the ground was turning to quicksand under my feet.”
“What do you think will result from letting the Earthmen loose in the Integral Union.”
“Trouble.”
“Would you like to help me keep track of them?”
Moffis looked interested.
“How would we do that?”
Horsip described his talk with Roggil of the High Council.
“You see, Moffis, I need someone I know I can trust, who understands these Earthmen . . . How about it?”
“Fine,” said Moffis.
Horsip got out his rough draft on the organization, and began to explain it.
* * *
To get his organization set up took less time than Horsip had expected. Word got around that Takkit had gotten in Horsip’s way—and look what happened to Takkit. Takkit’s effects, meanwhile, were being sent to his family, which marvelously expedited the cooperation that Horsip received. Then General Maklin came back, strongly commended by the High Council, to add the blowtorch of his personality to the work. The organization was set up and functioning well ahead of schedule, housed in a special converted warship that accompanied the Supreme Staff.
Horsip glanced at Moffis.
“Well, Moffis, now let’s take a firsthand look at what the Earthmen are doing. There’s nothing like seeing for yourself, and I have just the planet for us. Look at the summary on this report.”
Moffis looked over Horsip’s shoulder to read:
Summary: The situation on Adrok IV: In short, then, the situation on this planet since the arrival of the Earthmen is almost unbelievable. All over the planet there are Earthmen setting up what they call “dealerships.” A dealership is an arrangement for selling things made by somebody else, and distributed by still other people. Since all of these people have to make a living from the sale of the thing, it is not clear how the price can be held down, but apparently this is done by making the most of the economies of production in bulk. A factory for Earth-type vehicles has already been set up, and is now going full-blast. No one can figure out what is happening, but the Earthmen with the dealerships are all getting rich.
At the same time, however, other Earthmen have made their way to the planet, and on arrival have been afflicted with ills never heard of here before. They are on poor relief already, and no matter how fast the relief is poured to them, they get poorer all the time.
Meanwhile, there are rumors of something called a “communist cell.” What “communists” are is not clear yet. There is also a “revival movement” sweeping the rural parts of the planet, although what is being revived has never in the memory of any living individual ever existed here before.
In short, the situation on this planet is incomprehensible, and it is getting more incomprehensible fast.
* * *
Horsip glanced at Moffis.
Moffis nodded.
“That sounds like it, all right.”
Horsip and Moffis headed for Adrok IV.
* * *
Horsip and Morris intended to tour the planet by the iron road, stopping at various places to look into the things mentioned in the reports. But they were rudely disillusioned after stepping off the space-liner.
“The iron road?” said the man behind the ticket agent’s window in the spaceport building. “Ah, la, the iron road. Yes, we did use to have connections all over the planet linking all the cities and even the towns, and connecting with Meridian and Big Hook spaceports. But,” he glanced at Horsip’s uniform thoughtfully—Horsip, as a disguise, was wearing a colonel’s uniform, and Moffis a major’s uniform, with regulation sidearms—”but,” he repeated, lowering his voice, and glancing around, “that was before the coming of the Earthmen—no criticism, you understand. But, from right here, I could sell you a ticket to Big Hook or to some hamlet off in back of Molk Junction. All you had to do was climb aboard, then settle back and take her easy. Every now and then, you might have to climb off of one rail-wagon and onto another—but where’s the strain in that? Eh? Well, it’s all different now. Just take a look out that window over there, and you’ll see what I mean.”
Horsip and Moffis took a look out, to see through a cloud of dust a number of traveling four-wheeled machines of various sizes and shapes. There went one like a wagon with no loadbeast. Here came a thing like an overgrown shiny insect, no more than four feet high at the top, and, as Horsip watched, the front end dropped into a big pothole, and despite new clouds of dust as the rear wheels spun, that was where it stayed. Through the dust loomed a monster truck, billowing clouds of black smoke from a vertical pipe, with big, lighted searchlights mounted on the front and on both running boards. The driver was leaning out and peering over a searchlight into the rolling murk as the truck headed straight for the little vehicle, whose driver leaned out the window, waved his arms, shouted, then, as a huge wheel loomed overhead, sprang out and ran. He had barely got started when he stopped to do a desperate dance out of the way of a long black vehicle that rumbled through the dust carrying what looked like a huge horizontal cylindrical tank. Once that was gone, a number of smaller vehicles rushed past, trailing clouds of gray smoke that mingled with the dust.
“H’m,” said Horsip, going back to the ticket agent’s window. “Do you mean to say that the iron road has been replaced by that?”
“Yes, sir. . . . Oh, you can still get a connection from Big Hook to Meridian if you want. But how do you get to Big Hook? Eh? You drive to Big Hook, that’s how. Every time a passenger ship comes down or takes off, that is what we have out there, and on the big roadways it’s worse.”
“Is there at least the spur line from here to town?”
“No, sir. To get to town we have a—heh—’convenience-bus’ that pulls up just outside the door where that crowd is waiting. Don’t get on in back, sir. Get up front with the driver. It costs a little more, but, believe me, it’s worth it.”
Horsip and Moffis carried their bags outside, and breathed through their handkerchiefs.
“Not a very happy start,” snarled Horsip.
“No, sir,” said Moffis. “What’s that?”
A kind of monster ground-car loomed through the dust, headlights glaring. It bounced over a protruding rock in the road, and slammed to a stop in front of them. A large sign running the length of the top proclaimed: “One Way—50- Round Trip—95.” The front of the vehicle was enclosed, and the rear was a long platform like a flat-bed wagon. Running lengthwise down the center of the platform was a long brass rail, about waist-high. Above this was a flat roof, and above the roof was the sign proclaiming the price.