Exploiter's End

this environment we've created for theTerms is superior to the primitive jungle. Tichnat!"

  Tichnat stepped forward. His antennae were a proud, brilliant gold.

  "Do you want a shutdown?" Starza asked softly.

  "Are we fools?" Tichnat clicked. "To lose what we've gained? To returnto our tribe? To be destroyed?"

  Starza's calm gaze caressed each face, probing. "You see? Stalemate.Whoever you are, _you're bluffing_. Tomorrow our conveyor speeds returnto normal. You'll do nothing. You may try to agitate the Terms, butthey're satisfied--"

  One of the superintendents cleared his throat. "Look," he saidunsteadily, "sometimes you can't afford to call a bluff."

  Starza said pleasantly, "Any resignations will be accepted right now.You can wait safely in the Term village until next week's freighterarrives. No repercussions, I promise."

  The lie was blatant. Carmody stood by the door, his smile strained. Itwas all too obvious what would happen to any resignees.

  "None?" Starza's brows rose. "I'm proud of you. That's it, gentlemen."

  The next day was a frenetic nightmare. My cost dropped, but it didn'tmatter. That was one day when the best company man became aclock-watcher. Line foremen, department heads, cracked under the strain,and were summarily removed to Psych. Carmody and staff worked overtime.

  I toiled feverishly over operation schedules, the crazily fluctuatingcost charts. My headache was gone, but I still couldn't remember myaxioms! I felt guilty over not going to Psych, but there just wasn't thetime.

  Hell, _I'd_ never needed indoctrination. I was an Amalgamated manthrough and through. Finally I grabbed an engineering manual, leafedangrily through it--and sat there, empty and shaking.

  I'd gone insane.

  The words were gibberish. Oh, I could read them all right, but theydidn't make _sense_. What a filthy trick. Semantic block, Starza wouldcall it. I kept staring at the meaningless words, conscious of a tearingsense of loss. And I wanted to cry.

  Six o'clock was zero hour.

  Six o'clock came, and the factory held its collective breath whilenothing happened.

  At six-thirty Starza made a long speech over the public address. Aboutthe selfless spirit of man, helping the Terms reach the stars, about howwe would never admit defeat, and about how, after tonight, the Termfestival would be discontinued. The Terms had adopted mankind's culture,they had no further need of their effete native customs.

  At seven, Fern and I were walking past Administration towards thelighted square-mile enclosure of the Term village. Fern had never seen afestival.

  "A throwback," I said, "to their old tribal days. Their harvest, whenthey pay tribute to the Queen-Mother and pray for good crops and workwell done. It's their yearly substitute for _Stammverstand_. Back in thenative villages, whenever a Term's in trouble, he goes to the councilhut and the others join him in a silent, group telepathy. But we've justabout weaned them, angel! They'll be individuals soon."

  We walked down the deserted row of Term huts, past the council hall, tothe great stone amphitheatre, and sat with the other execs. Fern wasvery gay and cheerful, but I kept thinking about my axioms, trying tobring them back to life. I felt dead, all dead inside.

  Starza came up, frowning, and I congratulated him.

  "It's too pat, Jake, it worries me. Where's Carmody?"

  "Setting up those semantic reaction tests you gave him," Fern said.

  "But I never gave him--"

  Abruptly the lights snuffed out. At one end of the arena loomed atwelve-foot statue of a bloated Term, limned in a soft pale glow. TheQueen-Mother.

  The hush. Then the radiance.

  Slowly the Terms filed into the arena, rank upon rank of living flame.First the fighters, their antennae shining crimson and splendid againstthe tall night. Then the twins glows of blue that denoted the spinners,the weavers. The golden blaze of the harvesters. The lambent colorscrept through the air like a mood, like a dream, and deepened into ashimmering cataract of rainbow fire, a paean of light and glory thatwhirled and spun in a joyous rhythm as old as the race itself.

  Then--chaos.

  A blinding flare cascaded from the six-foot antennae of the statue. Theradiance grew, brighter than an atomic flare, more terrible than thesun. The Terms stood frozen. Beside me, Starza swore.

  This wasn't in the script.

  That colossal voice.

  Ear-snapping clicks, and liquid vowels. Terminese. The forbidden tongue.The voice blared. I caught most of it.

  "_Children, you have sinned. You are defiled with the taint of alienmonsters. You have failed the Queen-Mother. Return, my children, returnto your tribes. Return to the tabernacle of unity, the one-in-all, theQueen-Mother! For in death there is life, and there is joy inimmolation. Return!_"

  Lastly, the climax. That last shattering hunk of propaganda that wouldhave been so tritely amusing if it hadn't been so terrifying.

  "_You have nothing to lose but your chains._"

  The giant antennae faded to a liquid silver. The silver of hope, offorgiveness.

  For a moment I was blind. I felt Fern trembling against me. The execswere chattering like frightened sheep. Then I could see. I saw Starza.He was moving down the aisle, cursing in a tight, dull monotone.

  I followed him down into the arena. The Terms stood shriveled, mute.Starza was fumbling at the base of the statue, and he said in a thickhorrible voice, "Look." The loudspeaker. The coiled wiring.

  The Terms stirred.

  Starza leaped to the lap of the statue. He bawled, "Listen! This issacrilege! You have been victims of a hoax--"

  Not listening, they filed in silent groups out of the arena. Theirantennae were the color of ashes. Starza jumped down. He pounded afterthem. He was shouting at Los Tichnat.

  "I know," Tichnat droned. He kept walking. "You are right. It does notmatter that you are right. The Queen-Mother called."

  "Listen," Starza mouthed. "It was a fraud, a trick. You can't--"

  "We must." Tichnat paused. For a long moment the great faceted eyesstared somberly. "It was a splendid dream, the thing you offered us. Butthis is the final reality. And yours is but a dream."

  He tramped stolidly on, after the others. The council hall door closed.

  Starza clawed at the door. It opened. He was too late. They sat silentlyaround the great table, the faceted eyes dead, the antennae coruscatingindigo, now green, now rose. Communion. The meshing of minds. Starzashouted at them. Stillness.

  Starza looked blindly at me. He was shaking. "Carmody," he said."Carmody knows the Term mind. He can do something. Come on," he said.

  * * * * *

  We found Carmody in his quarters, methodically packing. His eyebrowsrose as we burst in. "Did you gentlemen ever try knocking?"

  Starza just looked at him. Carmody drew a long breath. "You'll find myresignation on your desk, Dave."

  "Ah?" Starza's voice was very soft.

  "It's only a question of time," Carmody said. "Call it the rat desertingthe ship if you like, but I'm through."

  Starza was smiling, a fat man's smile. "So you really think you can pullit off," he whispered.

  Carmody shrugged, and Starza calmly took out a sonic pistol and shot himin the belly.

  A sonic blast hemorrhages. It rends the capillaries, ploughs the fleshinto a flaccid collection of shattered nerve fibers and ruined arteries.It's a rotten way to die.

  Starza watched Carmody thrash himself to death on the floor. I turnedaway.

  "For the record, Jake, he made a full confession. We both heard him."

  "Just for the record," I said.

  "It had to be him," Starza said. "That thoughtcaster blast yesterdaymorning made reference to your study on the Term. Only Harvey andCarmody knew about that. It couldn't have been Harvey. He cut his throatthis morning.

  "I've decided," Starza said. "This is a Type L planet, after all. Thenatives are chronically unstable. Hostile, in fact. Pursuant to SolarRegulation 3, we have the right to enforce marti
al law. It should be sixmonths before an investigation. Meanwhile--"

  "We'll get production," I said.

  "We'll get production." He wiped his forehead, relaxed. "I'll send in afull report tonight. Better turn in, Jake," he said kindly. "I'll needyou in the morning."

  I turned in.

  You lie awake, staring into the blackness. It gnaws.

  My head throbbed. I should have felt a triumphant relief, but I couldnot remember my axioms, and I felt a sick dull hate for the thing theGuild spy Carmody had done to me. What happens when you strip a man ofeverything he believes in?

  He remembers other things.

  Those memories came trooping back