each other to that extent. Your Mayor Amalfi was
told that it was illegal for the serfs to speak to your people, but
unfortunately it is illegal only for the serfs, not for your citizens. If we
cannot keep the serfs out of your city, you are under no obligation to do it
for us."
"A point you have saved me the trouble of making,"
Hazleton said.
"Quite so. I'll add also that when this revolution of
yours comes, I have no doubt but that you'll win it. I don't know what weapons
you can put into the hands of our serfs, but I assume that they are better than
anything we can muster. We haven't your technology. My fellows disagree with
me, but I am a realist."
"An interesting theory," Hazleton's voice said.
There was a brief pause. In the silence, a soft pattering sound became evident.
Hazleton's fingertips, Amalfi guessed, drumming on the desk top, as if with
amused impatience. Heldon's face remained impassive.
"The Proctors believe that they can hold what is
theirs," Heldon said at last. "If you overstay your contract, they
will go to war against you. They will be justified, but unfortunately Earth
justice is a long way away from here. You will win. My interest is to see that
we have a way of escape."
"Via spindizzy?"
"Precisely." Heldon permitted a stony smile to
stir the corners of his mouth. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Hazleton. If
it comes to war, I will fight as hard as any other Proctor to hold this world
of ours. I
come to you only because you can repair the spindizzies of
IMT. You needn't expect me to enter into any extensive treason on that
account."
Hazleton, it appeared, was being obdurately stupid. "I
fail to see why I should lift a finger for you," he said.
"Observe, please. The Proctors will fight, because they
believe that they must. It will probably be a hopeless fight, but it will do
your city some damage all the same. As a matter of fact, it will cripple your
city beyond repair, unless your luck is phenomenal. Now then: none of the
Proctors except one other man and myself know that the spindizzies of IMT are
still able to function. That means that they won't try to escape with them,
they'll try to knock you out instead. But with the machines in repair, and one
knowledgeable hand at the controls—"
"I see," Hazleton said. "You propose to put
IMT into flight while you can still get off the planet with a reasonably whole
city. In return you offer us the planet, and the chance that our own damages
will be minimal. Hm-m-m. It's interesting, anyhow. Suppose we take a look at
your spindizzies, and see if they're in operable condition. It's been a good
many years, without doubt, and untended machinery has a way of gumming up. If
they can still be operated at all, we'll talk about a deal. All right?"
"It will have to do," Heldon grumbled. Amalfi saw
in the Proctor's eyes a gleam of cold satisfaction which he recognized at once,
from having himself looked out through it often—though never in such a poor
state of concealment. He shut off the screen.
"Well?" the mayor said. "What's he up
to?"
"Trouble," Karst said slowly. "It would be
very foolish to give or trade him any advantage. His stated reasons are not his
real ones."
"Of course not," Amalfi said. "Whose are? Oh,
hello, Mark. What do you make of our friend?"
Hazleton stepped out of the lift shaft, bouncing lightly
once on the resilient concrete of the control-room floor. "He's
stupid," the city manager said, "but he's dangerous. He knows that
there's something he doesn't know. He also knows that we don't know what he's
driving at, and he's on his home grounds. It's a combination I don't care
for."
"I don't like it myself," Amalfi said. "When
the enemy starts giving away information, look out! Do you think the majority
of the Proctors really don't know that IMT has operable spindizzies?"
"I am sure they do not," Karst offered
tentatively. Both men turned to him. "The Proctors do not even believe
that you are here to capture the planet. At least,
told that it was illegal for the serfs to speak to your people, but
unfortunately it is illegal only for the serfs, not for your citizens. If we
cannot keep the serfs out of your city, you are under no obligation to do it
for us."
"A point you have saved me the trouble of making,"
Hazleton said.
"Quite so. I'll add also that when this revolution of
yours comes, I have no doubt but that you'll win it. I don't know what weapons
you can put into the hands of our serfs, but I assume that they are better than
anything we can muster. We haven't your technology. My fellows disagree with
me, but I am a realist."
"An interesting theory," Hazleton's voice said.
There was a brief pause. In the silence, a soft pattering sound became evident.
Hazleton's fingertips, Amalfi guessed, drumming on the desk top, as if with
amused impatience. Heldon's face remained impassive.
"The Proctors believe that they can hold what is
theirs," Heldon said at last. "If you overstay your contract, they
will go to war against you. They will be justified, but unfortunately Earth
justice is a long way away from here. You will win. My interest is to see that
we have a way of escape."
"Via spindizzy?"
"Precisely." Heldon permitted a stony smile to
stir the corners of his mouth. "I'll be honest with you, Mr. Hazleton. If
it comes to war, I will fight as hard as any other Proctor to hold this world
of ours. I
come to you only because you can repair the spindizzies of
IMT. You needn't expect me to enter into any extensive treason on that
account."
Hazleton, it appeared, was being obdurately stupid. "I
fail to see why I should lift a finger for you," he said.
"Observe, please. The Proctors will fight, because they
believe that they must. It will probably be a hopeless fight, but it will do
your city some damage all the same. As a matter of fact, it will cripple your
city beyond repair, unless your luck is phenomenal. Now then: none of the
Proctors except one other man and myself know that the spindizzies of IMT are
still able to function. That means that they won't try to escape with them,
they'll try to knock you out instead. But with the machines in repair, and one
knowledgeable hand at the controls—"
"I see," Hazleton said. "You propose to put
IMT into flight while you can still get off the planet with a reasonably whole
city. In return you offer us the planet, and the chance that our own damages
will be minimal. Hm-m-m. It's interesting, anyhow. Suppose we take a look at
your spindizzies, and see if they're in operable condition. It's been a good
many years, without doubt, and untended machinery has a way of gumming up. If
they can still be operated at all, we'll talk about a deal. All right?"
"It will have to do," Heldon grumbled. Amalfi saw
in the Proctor's eyes a gleam of cold satisfaction which he recognized at once,
from having himself looked out through it often—though never in such a poor
state of concealment. He shut off the screen.
"Well?" the mayor said. "What's he up
to?"
"Trouble," Karst said slowly. "It would be
very foolish to give or trade him any advantage. His stated reasons are not his
real ones."
"Of course not," Amalfi said. "Whose are? Oh,
hello, Mark. What do you make of our friend?"
Hazleton stepped out of the lift shaft, bouncing lightly
once on the resilient concrete of the control-room floor. "He's
stupid," the city manager said, "but he's dangerous. He knows that
there's something he doesn't know. He also knows that we don't know what he's
driving at, and he's on his home grounds. It's a combination I don't care
for."
"I don't like it myself," Amalfi said. "When
the enemy starts giving away information, look out! Do you think the majority
of the Proctors really don't know that IMT has operable spindizzies?"
"I am sure they do not," Karst offered
tentatively. Both men turned to him. "The Proctors do not even believe
that you are here to capture the planet. At least,
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