CHAPTER II
Kennon was startled by the speed with which his letters were answered.Accustomed to the slower pace of Beta he had expected a week wouldelapse before the first reply, but within twenty-four hours nine of histwelve inquiries were returned. Five expressed the expected "Thank youbut I feel that your asking salary is a bit high in view of your lackof experience." Three were frankly interested and requested a personalinterview. And the last was the letter, outstanding in its quietlyostentatious folder-the reply from Box V-9.
"Would Dr. Kennon call at 10 A.M. tomorrow at the offices ofOutworld Enterprises Incorporated and bring this letter and suitableidentifications?" Kennon chuckled. Would he? There was no question aboutit. The address, 200 Central Avenue, was only a few blocks away. Infact, he could see the building from his window, a tall functional blockof durilium and plastic, soaring above the others on the street, thesunlight gleaming off its clean square lines. He eyed it curiously,wondering what he would find inside.
* * *
The receptionist took his I.D. and the letter, scanned them briefly,and slipped them into one of the message tubes beside her desk. "It willonly be a moment, Doctor," she said impersonally. "Would you care to sitdown? '"
"Thank you," he said. The minute, reflected, could easily be an hour. Butshe was right. It was only a minute until the message tube clickedand popped a capsule onto the girl's desk. She opened it, and removedKennon's I.D. and a small yellow plastic rectangle. Her eyes widened atthe sight of the plastic card.
"Here you are, Doctor. Take shaft number one. Slip the card into thescanner slot and you'll be taken to the correct floor. The offices youwant will be at the end of the corridor to the left. You'll find anyother data you may need on the card in case you get lost." She looked athim with a curious mixture of surprise and respect as she handed him thecontents of the message tube.
Kennon murmured an acknowledgment, took the card and his I.D., andentered the grav-shaft. There was the usual moment of heaviness asthe shaft whisked him upward and deposited him in front of a thicklycarpeted corridor.
Executive level, Kennon thought as he followed the receptionist'sdirections. No wonder she had looked respectful. But what was he doinghere? The employment of a veterinarian wasn't important enough to demandthe attention of a senior executive. The personnel section could handlethe details of his application as well as not. He shrugged. Perhapsveterinarians were more important on Kardon. He didn't know a thingabout this world's customs.
He opened the unmarked door at the end of the corridor, entered a smallreception room, smiled uncertainly at the woman behind the desk, andreceived an answering smile in return.
Come right in, Dr. Kennon. Mr. Alexander is waiting for you.
Alexander! The entrepreneur himself! Why? Numb with surprise Kennonwatched the woman open the intercom on her desk.
"Sir, Dr. Kennon is here," she said.
"Bring him in," a smooth voice replied from the speaker. Alexander X. M.Alexander, President of Outworld Enterprises--a lean, dark, wolfish manin his early sixties--eyed Kennon with a flat predatory intentness thatwas oddly disquieting. His stare combined the analytical inspectionof the pathologist, the probing curiosity of the psychiatrist, and theweighing appraisal of the butcher. Kennon's thoughts about Alexander'syouth vanished that instant. Those eyes belonged to a leader on thebattlefield of galactic business.
Kennon felt the conditioned respect for authority surge through him ina smothering wave. Grimly he fought it down, knowing it was a sign ofweakness that would do him no good in the interview which lay ahead.
"So you're Kennon," Alexander said. His lingua franca was clean andaccentless. "I expected someone older."
"Frankly, sir, so did I," Kennon replied.
Alexander smiled, an oddly pleasant smile that transformed the hardstraight lines in his face into friendly curves. "Business, Dr. Kennon,is not the sole property of age."
"Nor is a veterinary degree," Kennon replied.
"True. But one thinks of a Betan as someone ancient and sedate."
"Ours is an old planet--but we still have new generations."
"A fact most of us outsiders find hard to believe," Alexander said. "Ipicture your world as an ironclad society crystallized by age and custominto something rigid and in flexible."
"You would be wrong to do so," Kennon said. "Even though we are culturalintroverts there is plenty of dynamism within our society."
"How is it that you happen to be out here on the edge of civilization?"
"I never said I was like my society," Kennon grinned. "Actually Isuppose I'm one of the proverbial bad apples."
"There's more to it than that," Alexander said. "Your early yearsprobably influenced you."
Kennon looked sharply at the entrepreneur. How much did the man reallyknow about him? "I suppose so," he said indifferently.
Alexander looked pleased. "But even with your childhood experiencesthere must be an atavistic streak in you--a throwback to youradventurous Earth forebears who settled your world?"
Kennon shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. I really don't know. Actually,I've never thought about it. It merely seemed to me that an undevelopedworld offered more opportunity."
"It does," Alexander said. "But it also offers more work. If you'refiguring that you can get along on the minimum physical effort requiredon the Central Worlds, you have a shock coming."
"I'm not that innocent," Kennon said. "But I am not so stupid that Ican't apply modifications of Betan techniques to worlds as new as this."
Alexander chuckled. "I like you," he said suddenly. "Here read this andsee if you'd care to work for me." He picked a contract form from one ofthe piles of paper on his desk and handed it to Kennon. "This is oneof our standard work contracts. Take it back to your hotel and check itover. I'll expect to see you at this time tomorrow."
"Why waste time?" Kennon said. "The rapid-reading technique originatedon Beta. I can tell you in fifteen minutes."
"Hmm. Certainly. Read it here if you wish. I like to get thingssettled--the sooner the better. Sit down, young man and read. You canrouse me when you're finished." He turned his attention to the papers onhis desk and within seconds was completely oblivious of Kennon, his faceset in the rapt trancelike expression of a trained rapid reader.
Kennon watched for a moment as sheets of paper passed throughAlexander's hands to be added to the pile at the opposite end of thedesk. The man would do better, he thought, if he would have his stafftranscribe the papers to microfilm that could be read through aninterval-timed scanner. He might suggest that later. As for now, heshrugged and seated himself in the chair beside the desk. The quiet wasbroken only by the rustle of paper as the two rapt-faced men turned pageafter page with mechanical regularity.
Finally Kennon turned the last page, paused, blinked, and performedthe necessary mental gymnastics to orient his time sense. Alexander, henoticed, was still engrossed, sunk in his autohypnotic trance. Kennonwaited until he had finished the legal folder which he was reading andthen gently intruded upon Alexander's concentration.
Alexander looked up blankly and then went through the same mentalgyrations Kennon had performed a few minutes before. His eyes focusedand became hard and alert.
"Well?" he asked. "What do you think of it?"
"I think it's the damnedest, trickiest, most unilateral piece oflegalistics I've ever seen," Kennon said bluntly. "If that's the bestyou can offer, I wouldn't touch the job with a pair of forceps."
Alexander smiled. "I see you read the fine print," he said. There wasquiet amusement in his voice. "So you don't like the contract?"
"No sensible man would. I'm damned if I'll sign commitment papers justto get a job. No wonder you're having trouble getting professional help.If your contracts are all like that it's' a wonder anyone works foryou."
"We have no complaints from our employees," Alexander said stiffly.
"How could you? If they signed that contract you'd have a perfect rightto muzzle them."
/> "There are other applicants for this post," Alexander said.
"Then get one of them. I wouldn't be interested."
"A spaceman's ticket is a good thing to have," Alexander said idly."It's a useful ace in the hole. Besides, you have had three other joboffers--all of which are good even though they don't pay fifteen Ems ayear."
Kennon did a quick double take. Alexander's investigative staff wasbetter than good. It was uncanny.
"But seriously, Dr. Kennon, I am pleased that you do not like thatcontract. Frankly, I wouldn't consider employing you if you did."
"Sir?"
"That contract is a screen. It weeds out the careless, the fools, andthe unfit in one operation. A man who would sign a thing like thathas no place in my organization." Alexander chuckled at Kennon's blankexpression. "I see you have had no experience with screening contracts."
"I haven't," Kennon admitted. "On Beta the tests are formal. TheMedico-Psych Division supervises them."
"Different worlds, different methods," Alexander observed. "But they'reall directed toward the same goal. Here we aren't so civilized. Wedepend more on personal judgment." He took another contract from one ofthe drawers of his desk. "Take a look at this. I think you'll be moresatisfied."
"If you don't mind, I'll read it now," Kennon said.
Alexander nodded.
* * *
"It's fair enough," Kennon said, "except for Article Twelve."
"The personal privilege section?
"Yes."
"Well, that's the contract. You can take it or leave it."
"I'll leave it," Kennon said. "Thank you for your time." He rose to hisfeet, smiled at Alexander, and turned to the door. "Don't bother to callyour receptionist," he said. "I can find my way out."
"Just a minute, Doctor," Alexander said. He was standing behind thedesk, holding out his hand.
"Another test?" Kennon inquired.
Alexander nodded. "The critical one," he said. "Do you want the job?"
"Of course."
"Without knowing more about it?"
"The contract is adequate. It defines my duties."
"And you think you can handle them?"
"I know I can."
"I notice," Alexander observed, "that you didn't object to otherprovisions."
"No, sir. They're pretty rigid, but for the salary you are paying Ifigure you should have some rights. Certainly you have the right toprotect your interests. But that Article Twelve is a direct violation ofeverything a human being should hold sacred besides being a violationof the Peeper Laws. I'd never sign a contract that didn't carry a fullPeeper rider."
"That's quite a bit."
"That's the minimum," Kennon corrected. "Naturally, I won't objectto mnemonic erasure of matters pertaining to your business once mycontract's completed and I leave your employment. But until then therewill be no conditioning, no erasures, no taps, no snoopers, and nocheckups other than the regular periodic psychans. I'll consult with youon vacation time and will arrange it to suit your convenience. I'll evenagree to emergency recall, but that's the limit." Kennon's voice wasflat.
"You realize I'm agreeing to give you a great deal of personal liberty,"Alexander said. "How can I protect myself?"
"I'll sign a contingency rider," Kennon said, "if you will specifyprecisely what security matters I am not to reveal."
"I accept," Alexander said. "Consider yourself hired." He toucheda button on his desk. "Prepare a standard 2-A contract for Dr.Jac Kennon's signature. And attach two riders, a full P-P-yes, noexceptions--and a security-leak contingency, Form 287-C. Yes--that'sright--that one. And strike out all provisions of Article Twelve whichconflict with the Peeper Laws. Yes. Now--and finish it as soon as youcan." He touched another button. "Well, that's that," he said. "I hopeyou'll enjoy being a member of our group."
"I think I shall," Kennon said. "You know, sir, I would have waived partof that last demand if you had cared to argue."
"I know it," Alexander said. "But what concessions I could have wrungfrom you would be relatively unimportant beside the fact that you wouldbe unhappy about them later. What little I could have won here, I'd loseelsewhere. And since I want you, I'd prefer to have you satisfied."
"I see," Kennon said. Actually he didn't see at all. He looked curiouslyat the entrepreneur. Alexander couldn't be as easy as he seemed.Objectivity and dispassionate weighing and balancing were nice traitsand very helpful ones, but in the bear pit of galactic business theywouldn't keep their owner alive for five minutes. The interworld tradesharks would have skinned him long ago and divided the stripped carcassof his company between them.
But Outworld was a "respected" company. The exchange reports saidso--which made Alexander a different breed of cat entirely. Still, hissurface was perfect--polished and impenetrable as a duralloy turret onone of the latest Brotherhood battleships. Kennon regretted he wasn't asensitive. It would be nice to know what Alexander really was.
"Tell me, sir," Kennon asked. "What are the real reasons that make youthink I'm the man you want?"
"And you're the young man who's so insistent on a personal privacyrider," Alexander chuckled. "However, there's no harm telling you. Thereare several reasons.
"You're from a culture whose name is a byword for moral integrity. Thatmakes you a good risk so far as your ethics are concerned. In additionyou're the product of one of the finest educational systems in thegalaxy-and you have proven your intelligence to my satisfaction. Youalso showed me that you weren't a spineless 'yes man.' And finally, youhave a spirit of adventure. Not one in a million of your people would dowhat you have done. What more could an entrepreneur ask of a prospectiveemployee?"
Kennon sighed and gave up. Alexander wasn't going to reveal a thing.
"All I hope," Alexander continued affably, "is that you'll find OutworldEnterprises as attractive as did your predecessor Dr. Williamson. He waswith us until he died last month--better than a hundred years."
"Died rather young, didn't he?"
"Not exactly, he was nearly four hundred when he joined us. Mygrandfather was essentially conservative. He liked older men, and OldDoc was one of his choices--a good one, too. He was worth every creditwe paid him."
"I'll try to do as well," Kennon said, "but I'd like to warn you that Ihave no intention of staying as long as he did. I want to build a clinicand I figure sixty thousand is about enough to get started."
"When will you veterinarians ever learn to be organization men?"Alexander asked. "You're as independent as tomcats."
Kennon grinned. "It's a breed characteristic, I guess."
Alexander shrugged. "Perhaps you'll change your mind after you've workedfor us."
"Possibly, but I doubt it."
"Tell me that five years from now," Alexander said--"Ah--here arethe contracts." He smiled at the trim secretary who entered the roomcarrying a stack of papers.
"The riders are as you asked, sir," the girl said.
"Good. Now, Doctor, if you please."
"You don't mind if I check them?" Kennon asked.
"Not at all. And when you're through, just leave them on thedesk--except for your copy, of course." Alexander scrawled his signatureon the bottom of each contract. "Don't disturb me. I'll be in contactwith you. Leave your whereabouts with your hotel." He turned to thepapers in front of him, and then looked up for the last time. "Just onemore thing," he said. "You impress me as a cautious man. It would bejust as well if you carried your caution with you when you leave thisroom."
Kennon nodded, and Alexander turned back to his work.