ether,” Train said, while they were getting ready to go to work.
“One ifs enough, why use three?” Deston countered. “But I got a lot better idea than that
one, especially since Bobby is just slightly allergic to killing people in job lots. We’ll find
out where they come from, ‘port each one of ’em back to his own house, tuck him gently
into his own bed and present all those nice subspacers to Fleet Admiral Guerdon Dann,
with the compliments of the University of Psionics-for a small consideration, of course.”
“Now you’re chirping, birdie!” Barbara exclaimed. “You do get an idea once in a while,
don’t you? That one is really a dilly. Ready, everybody? Let’s go.”
They went . . . and they studied . . . and the more they studied the more baffled they
became. The captains of the ships were, to a man, from Tellus. They were based on
Teneriffe.. . .
Deston shot the linked minds to the planet Teneriffe. The base was there-an immense
one-but that was all it was. Just a base. There were no facilities to build much of
anything; to say nothing of such an immense complex as would be necessary to produce
any important part of that fleet.
Few of the captains had even wondered where the war-ships had been built. What
difference did that make? That, or anything else pertaining to logistics or supply, was
none of their business.
The Vice-Admirals and Admirals had wondered; but, since they had not been told, none
of them had ever asked. Asking impertinent questions was a thing that simply was not
done.
The Fleet Admiral did not know; neither did the Base Commander on Teneriffe. They got
their orders via nondirectional subspace radio from the Company of the World= World,”
of course, meaning Earth. It wasn’t only a company, really, it was a new government, still
very QT and TS, that was going to take over Tellus and all the planets, they both
supposed. They had the power to do it, so why not? To any hard-nosed man of war
might is right, and if they wanted to play it cosy and call themselves The Company of the
World that was all right, too.
And as for the lower echelons …
“My … God. . . .” Cecily said slowly, aloud, into the dense silence that had lasted through
a long fifteen minutes of stupefied investigation. “The Eternal, Omniscient, Omnipotent,
Omnipresent Company created the World and the People on Company-Company Day,
that is-January First of the Year One. No other World nor any other People-capitalized,
please note, even in thought-ever were created or ever will be. Will some or one of you
nice people please tell me what in all the infinite reaches of all the incandescent and
viridescent hells of all total space we have got ourselves into now?” “I’ll never know,
Curly.” Deston, who had been holding his breath for a good two minutes, let it all out at
once. “And the poor dumb meatheads believe that comet-gas with every cell of their
minds . . . and take everything that’s going on right in stride-it’s all Company business
and as such is naturally incomprehensible to the mind of man . . . ‘My God!’ is correct,
Curly. Check.”
But look! Look in here!” Barbara put in, excitedly. “Not the caste system-above
it-Company Agents! Angels, suppose? Or something? None here with the Fleet; all back
on the World. Those spotlight-jewels gorgeous! I’d love to wear one of those myself.
Power packs, do you think?”
“Maybe,” Jones said. “That’s certainly something we’ll have to look into. But what do we
do now, Babe?”
“I know what I’m going to do-report to the boss in person-you people stay right here ’til I
get back.” Deston disappeared.
Maynard was alone, so Deston ‘ported himself unceremoniously into the private office. “I
don’t want even Doris in on this until you let her in,” he explained, then reported
everything.
As he listened, Maynard’s face turned gray.
“So you see, chief,” Deston concluded, “it’s an unholy mess. What was it you said? A
planet . . . `run for years in a way that would make the robber barons of old sick at the
stomach.’ You said it. You certainly said it. Have you got any idea as to who could be
monster enough to pull a stunt like that?”
“More than an idea, son. This explains a lot of things I’ve wondered about, but I couldn’t
let my mind run wild enough. Two of ’em are why Plastics, one of the biggest of the big,
never played ball, and how they got that way. It’s Plastics, and Lord Byron Punsunby is
head man.”
That makes sense, so I’ll do a flit. . . .”
“Not yet … that’s such a staggering thing . . . what year is it, of theirs?”
“Two hundred twenty six.”
“Um … um … m. Call it nine generations. At their breeding rate, with a start of only a few
hundred thousand, they’ll have population. The first three or four generations would know
something, but by falsification of records, history, and so on … and no press … brain-
washing and hypnosis … it could be done. Definitely. So they’ve had at least five
generations of . , . of .
“Of serfs. A perfect serf set-up.”
“Check. And one of their castes is of top-notch engineers who don’t know anything else
and put everything they’ve got into it. And castes of scientists and so on.”
“That’s right. As a ‘troncist I’m here to testify that that locket is one beautiful job of work.
Transmits everything except what the guy ate for breakfast, and maybe even that.”
“To Central Intelligence … each checked as frequently as desired . . . or even recorded .
. . God, what a system!” Maynard shook his head. “And those Company Agents. Special
castes, too. Charged, of course. Insulated boots. Magic no end. They could even live in a
charged environment.”
“Could be. I told you, it’s a mell of a hess.”
“One more thing. You’ve never thought of the real problem here, apparently. How can
we-how can anybody-rehabilitate any race that has been driven that far off coarse?”
Deston’s jaw dropped. “Huh? Wow! It’s a little soon, though isn’t it, to have to think about
that?”
“I’ll have to think about it, I’m afraid, whether I want to or not . . . but that’s more in my
department than yours, I suppose . . . well, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for reporting.
Good luck.”
“Leek, chief. ‘Bye,” and Deston ‘ported himself back into the main lounge of the Explorer.
Since the Plastics Building was one of the largest office buildings on Earth, it was very
easy to find; and it was even easier to find the blatantly magnificent private office of
“Lord” Byron Punsunby, the president of Plastics Incorporated. Deston got into his mind
and put it through the wringer. Punsunby knew a great deal that was new. He knew all
about the business end-by what devious routes the goods were smuggled into the
markets of Earth, how and through what underground channels they were sold, how
incredibly vast the hidden holdings of Plastics were, and how all this skullduggery had
been performed-but even he did not know the general direction from Sol of Plastics’
ultra-secret planet, The World, which had never been given a name.
It was and had always been Company policy that no Tellurian should know The World’s
coordinates. Only two living men were to know them; the Comptroller General of the
World, who came to Earth to report to Punsunby after the close of business of each of
The World’s calendar quarters; and the captain-who was also the only navigating
officer-of the one ship that ever made the direct run from The World to Earth and back.
There were only two records of those figures in existence; one in each of the personal
safe-deposit boxes of those two men.
Deston kept on reading. Yes, there were a few unscheduled vists; more than he liked of
late … he didn’t like to use subspace radio, it could be tapped … changing conditions …
trouble . . .
AM That was what Deston wanted. There hadn’t been enough generations yet to wipe
out all the genes of throwbacks to the independent, intractable type. Conditioning might
not hold; it was possible that some of them were even smart enough to pose as
tractable, although the electronicists swore that their instruments were far too sensitive
and comprehensive for that. Whatever the cause, in any case of real trouble checking the
lockets even once every day wasn’t enough. Occasionally Punsunby himself had to go to
The World to order whatever steps might have to be taken to be sure of the elimination
of all mals before too much harm was done.
Deston pulled back and set his jaw. “Now ain’ t that a damn something!” he gritted. “Well,