Exploiter's End

ulcer gulch, the conference room.

  Lure a termite away from his tribe. Promise him the stars. Make him busthis thorax on an assembly line. He makes a wonderful worker, withreflexes twice as fast as a human's, but he still isn't an individual.Even when putting a spaceship together, he's still part of the tribe,part of a glowing symphony of color and motion. That's bad forproduction. Accent on individuality, that was the keynote. The Terms andtheir union representatives could argue a grievance right to the letterof the contract, but when it came to production standards we had them.Terminorb IV was ninety light-years from the system, and the Termscouldn't afford a home office time and motion analyst. It wasn't worthit. Terms were expendable.

  Los Tichnat was committeeman at large for the Term local. He sat regallyat the head of the conference table, seven gleaming chitinous feet ofhim, with his softly pulsating antennae and faceted eyes, and said in aclicking, humorless voice, "The first item is a second-stage grievance.Brother Nadkek, in final assembly, was laid off for one day. Reason: Hemissed an operation. The grievance, of course, is a mere formality. Youwill deny it."

  Dave Starza winked at me from behind horn-rimmed glasses. He sat likesome great bland Buddha, Director of Industrial Relations, genius inouter psychology, ruthless, soft-spoken, anticipator of alien trends. Hesaid in that beautiful velvet voice, "Ordinarily, yes. In this caseNadkek wished to ask his foreman about omitting a welding phase of theoperation. While the suggestion was declined, Nadkek showed unmistakableinitiative." Starza stressed the word. "We appreciate his interest inthe job. He will receive pay for the lost day."

  Around the table, antennae flashed amazed colors. A precedent had beenset. Interest in the job transcended even the Contract.

  "Management _sustains_ the grievance?" Tichnat droned incredulously.

  "Of course," Starza said.

  Nadkek left the conference room, his antennae a puzzled mauve.

  "Next," Starza said pontifically.

  The next grievance was simply that a foreman had spoken harshly to aTerm. The Term resented it. In his tribe he had been a fighter, primeguardian of the Queen-Mother. Fighters could not be reprimanded as couldspinners or workers.

  Starza and Tichnat split hairs while I dozed and thought about Fern.

  Starza finally promised to reprimand the foreman. It was lovely, the wayhe thumped on the table, aflame with righteousness, his voice goldenthunder, the martyr, hurt by Tichnat's unfairness, yet so eager tocompromise, to be fair. The next grievance was work standards. Starzalooked at me. This one mattered. This was cost.

  I pulled out my study proofs, said, "Radnor, in final assembly.Consistently in the hole. Rating, seventy-four percent--"

  "_The operation was too tight, Jake. Admit it!_"

  The thought uncoiled darkly, thundering and reverberating in thehorrified caverns of my brain.

  A thoughtcaster. So the Guild had thoughtcasters now. The Guild hadfinally come.

  I sat in the dank silence, shaking. A drop of ice crawled slowly down mytemple. I stared around the conference table at Starza's frown, at thoseTerm faces, the great faceted eyes.

  "We gave this worker every chance," I said, licking my lips. "We put himon another operation. He still couldn't cut it. Even though we've gotproduction to meet, we still give as many chances--"

  The thought slashed. It grew into a soundless roar.

  "_Stop it, Jake! Tell them how Amalgamated, under the cloak ofliberation, is strangling the Terms with an alien culture. Tell themwhat a mockery their contract really is! Tell them about that Term youcondemned this morning!_"

  I fought it. Feeling the blood run from my lip, I fought it. I'd seenstrong men driven insane by a thoughtcaster within seconds. My stabilityindex was six point three. Damned high. I fought it. I got to my feet.The room reeled. Those damned Term faces. The shining antennae. Istumbled towards the door. The thought became a whiplash of molten fury.

  "_Uphold that grievance, Jake! Tell them the truth. Admit the standardwas impossible to meet--_"

  I slammed the door. The voice stopped.

  My skull was a shattered fly-wheel, a sunburst of agony. I was retching.I stumbled down the corridor to Psych. Fern was there. I was screamingat her. The Guild was here. They had thoughtcasters. My brain wasmelting. Fern was white-faced. She had a hypo. I didn't feel it. Thelast thing I saw was the glimmer of tears in her green eyes.

  * * * * *

  "... the neuron flow." Starza's voice. "No two alike. Like fingerprints.What a pity they can't refine the transmittal waves."

  I tried to open my eyes.

  "The Guild atomized Solar's plant on Proycon," Carmody's voice saidquietly. "It's just a question of time, Dave."

  "No," Starza said thoughtfully. "Proycon was a sweatshop. I think maybethey're hinting that our production standards are a trifle rough. Look,his eyelids fluttered. Bet you he takes refuge in amnesia."

  "You lose." My voice was an iron groan.

  We were in Starza's office. Carmody peered at me with a clinical eye. "Itook the liberty of narcosynthesis while you were out, Jake. You told usall about it. How do you feel?"

  I told them how I felt, in spades.

  "I want my vacation now," I said. "I've accrued seven months. I'm goingto Venus," I said.

  "Now, now," Starza said. "Mustn't desert the sinking ship, Jake." I shutmy eyes. His voice was soothing oil. "Jake, the Guild as a whole doesn'tknow of this plant. Guild agents are free-lancers, in the full sense ofthe word. They exercise their own initiative, and only report to GuildHQ when the job is done."

  "Then," Carmody said, "if we can find out who--"

  "Precisely." Starza's eyes were veiled. "Incidentally, Don, you've beengone the last four days. Why?"

  Carmody regarded him steadily. "Recruiting. You knew that."

  "Yet you brought back only a dozen Terms."

  Carmody drew a slow deep breath. "Word's gotten around, Dave. Thetribes have finally forgotten their petty wars and united against acommon enemy. Us! Any Term that exhibits undesirable traits ofindividuality is now destroyed. I think a dozen was a good haul."

  "You had the whole planet."

  Carmody's grin was diamond hard. "You think maybe I spent a few hoursunder a Guild mind-control? Is that it?"

  Starza said, "On your way out, send Los Tichnat in."

  Carmody flushed. "Tichnat's the one and you know it! But if he's not--ifyou haven't run down the spy by tomorrow--you can accept my resignation.I saw what they left of Proycon."

  The door slammed behind him. Starza smiled at me. "What do you think,Jake?"

  "Tichnat. The second I got out of there, the thoughtcaster stopped."

  "Doesn't mean a thing. They can beam through solid rock. Hundred-footradius."

  "No exploitation," I mused.

  "Fanatics," Starza said. "They'd impede the progress of man. Sacrificeman's rightful place in the cosmos for the sake of--crawling things!We'll fight them, Jake!"

  Tichnat entered. He stood stiffly before Starza's desk, his antennae acheerful emerald.

  Starza said carefully, "What do you know about the Guild?"

  "Impractical visionaries," Tichnat clicked. "Lovers of statis,well-meaning fools. They approached me yesterday."

  A vein throbbed purple in Starza's forehead. Yet he kept his voice soft."And you didn't report it?"

  "And precipitate a crisis?" Tichnat sounded amused. "I was asked if mypeople were being persecuted. Had I answered in the affirmative theremight have been repercussions, perhaps a sequel to Proycon. Oh yes, weknow of Proycon. Your foremen are sometimes indiscreet."

  "Who was the agent?" Starza breathed.

  "Should I tell you, and disrupt the status quo? You would destroy theagent. In retaliation, the Guild might destroy this plant."

  "Impossible! Guild agents have no such authority--"

  "A chance I cannot afford to take." Tichnat was adamant.

  "Amalgamated," Starza prodded, "offers a standing reward of one hundredthous
and solar credits for apprehension of any Guild agent. Your villagecould use those credits. You could equip an atomic lab. You couldmaintain your own research staff--"

  "Stop it." The antennae throbbed brilliantly.

  "We are your friends, Tichnat."

  "Symbiosis, I believe is the word," Tichnat clicked dryly. "You need us.We need your science. We need your terrifying concept of individuality.We need to lose our old ways. The dance of harvest time. TheQueen-Mother. One by one the rituals drop away. The old life, the goodtribal life, is dying.