The Complete LaNague

  “What was that all about?” Larry asked.

  Old Pete shook his head in admiration. “My boy, you’ve just seen the largest conglomerate in Occupied Space knocked on its ear! And your lady friend here is the one responsible for the whole thing!”

  “I had a lot of help from Andy… couldn’t have done it without him, in fact.”

  Larry struggled to a sitting position. “Now wait a minute! Why does everybody seem to know what’s going on here except me? And how did Andy get involved?”

  Jo slipped into the chair next to the vidphone. “I said I’d explain, so let’s start with the Restructurists. The main thrust of all their activities and all their rhetoric is to get the Federation into the free market and start exercising some controls on the interstellar economy – that’s where real power lies. But the LaNague Charter prevents the Federation from doing anything of the sort. So, the Restructurists must find a way to nullify the charter, and the only way to do that is to activate the emergency clause.”

  “If you remember your Federation history, Larry,” Old Pete added, “that’s the clause that temporarily voids the entire charter and thus all the limits on the Federation as a government. LaNague disowned it, even though it was designed to be activated only in times of threat to the Fed and its member planets; he wanted no emergency powers at all and fought tooth and nail against the clause. But he was ignored and it was tacked on against his protests.”

  “I vaguely remember learning something about that once,” Larry said, “but it’s not exactly recent history.”

  “Maybe not,” Jo replied, “but it’s very important history to the Restructurists. They’ve had their eyes on the emergency clause for a long time – it’s the one weak spot in the charter. And this time they figured they’d found the way to get to it. The Haas warp gate was going to be the trigger to activate the emergency clause.”

  She leaned forward and alternated her gaze between Larry and Old Pete. “Now comes the tricky part. DeBloise and his circle were pouring enormous amounts of money into the warp gate and pushing Haas to market it prematurely – before the final improvements which would have made it a truly revolutionary product. No intelligent investor would do such a thing; it was financial suicide. And since deBloise is anything but a fool, I could interpret the situation only one way: the Restructurists wanted the gate to be a tremendous commercial failure.

  “Why would they want to do that? It baffled me until two things clicked: Haas’s statement about military contracts and Old Pete’s joking reference to the Tarks. That’s when I knew what deBloise was up to.”

  “I think I’m beginning to see,” said Old Pete with a slow smile.

  “I’m not!” Larry snapped. “What have Tarks and warp gates got to do with the Federation charter?”

  “The Tarks are on their way to becoming a big problem,” Jo explained. “There are numerous areas of conflict between Terran and Tarkan interests, and the list lengthens each year. Keeping that in mind, and considering the potential military uses of the gate in a wartime situation, you can see what a perfect lever it could be against the emergency clause.

  “Let me give you the scenario as I believe it was planned. DeBloise and the other Restructurists involved were going to push the gate onto the market prematurely and wait for the inevitable: Star Ways would drop the price on its warp unit and suck off most of Haas’s potential customers. When the Haas company collapsed, SW would make a nice offer to lease production rights to the gate – an offer that would make Haas richer than he’d ever dreamed. But Denver Haas, like a spoiled child, would take his ball and go home.

  “That’s when the deBloise circle would leap into action. They’d rush before the various defense committees and claim that continued sale and development of the warp gate was an essential preparation against the inevitable day when the Federation clashes violently with the Tarkan Empire.

  They’d claim that unregulated competition was depriving the Federation of the gate and would demand invocation of the emergency clause in order to intervene against SW and save the gate.

  “It would be difficult to oppose them if they managed to generate enough fear. Not only would they be screaming ‘security,’ but they’d be painting the emotional picture of a huge conglomerate destroying a tiny company and the entire Federation suffering as a result of it. I’m sure they’d have got some sort of economic control out of it.”

  “And that would have been the beginning of the end,” Old Pete said.

  “Right. So I took aim at the one variable they figured to be a constant – Star Ways. Conglomerates are less susceptible to changes in the market, but they’re by no means immune. With Andy Tella’s help, I was able to put a few dents in two of SW’s major subsidiaries. There’s no way it can wage a successful price war against Haas now.”

  “That’s all fine and good,” Larry mused, “but without you the gate would have been lost. That doesn’t say much for the free market.”

  “It says that the market deplores stupidity!” Old Pete replied in a loud voice. “It would be damn stupid for anyone to push the gate onto the market before the final refinements were perfected. Anyone with the idea of profiting from an investment would have waited. You forget – deBloise wanted the gate to flop; his profit was to be political, not financial.

  “But enough of this talk. It’s all worked out for the best. The Federation charter is safe, the warp gate will be on the market when we need it, and a certain murderer has received a long-delayed sentence. I think we should celebrate!”

  “Not yet,” Jo said, her facial muscles tightening and her eyes going crystalline. “Not until I’ve personally seen Elson deBloise thrown out of the Federation.”

  “You’re not going without me!” Old Pete said.

  Epilogue

  THEY ARRIVED AT FED CENTRAL just in time. The ethics committee had not delayed a moment after receiving Proska’s package of damning proof. Its members confronted deBloise with the evidence that he was directly responsible for the murder of another man in order to further his own political career.

  DeBloise, of course, denied everything, calling it a plot instigated by the various anti-Restructurist factions within the Federation. The ethics committee was unmoved and decided that the evidence would be presented to the entire General Council at its next session. DeBloise asked, and was granted, permission to address the Council before the charges and evidence were presented.

  Jo and Old Pete arrived in time to catch the tail end of his speech:

  “…that this is not government! We have tried to demonstrate this fact to you, but all in vain. We have tried for years, for centuries, to open your eyes, but you refuse to see. You refuse to see the chaos of the non-system of non-government in which you dwell. We have tried to bring order to this near-anarchy but you have repeatedly refused it.

  “And now…”

  He let those two words hang in the air. He was using his considerable oratory talents to the fullest, knowing his performance was being recorded, knowing it would be played and replayed on vid news all over Occupied Space.

  “And now you have stooped to smearing my reputation! Do you really believe that the other progressive members of this body would accept the trumped-up charges against me as true? They are not fools! They recognize a cynical plot when they see one! We have caucused for days, we of the Restructurist movement, and after much soul searching and heated debate, after innumerable subspace messages to the planets we represent, a decision has been reached.”

  Again, he paused for full effect, then:

  “The worlds that stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the Restructurist movement have decided that they can no longer be a party to this insane chaos you call a Federation!

  “Be it known,” he said into the rising tumult from the floor, “that we are seceding from the Federation – seceding from anarchy into order. Travel in the trade lanes through our sectors is here now restricted to ships of those companies that seek and receive prior approval
from the new Restructurist Union. Unauthorized craft infringing upon our territories will be seized. We shall fire on sight at any craft bearing the emblem of the LaNague Federation. From this day on, we govern our own!”

  With a dramatic swirl of his cape, Elson deBloise descended from the podium and strode down the central aisle of the General Council assembly hail. As he moved, other Restructurists, Philo Barth and Doyl Catera among them, rose and followed him. The rest of the Council watched in stunned silence.

  Jo and Old Pete were standing by the main door to the assembly hall as deBloise passed. He glanced at Jo as he strode by but paid her no more attention than he did any other spectator. With the collapse of Teblinko and Star Drive on the stock exchange, his scheme to use the Haas gate against the Federation charter was voided; and with the delivery of Proska’s blackmail package to the ethics committee, his personal freedom, as well as his public career, were about to suffer a similar fate. A Restructurist-Federation split was the only way to salvage anything.

  And so he passed within a half-meter of Josephine Finch, never realizing that this tame-looking female had blasted all his plans, all his lifetime dreams of power to ruins. She was just another tourist and his glance flicked away as he went by.

  A vid reporter was scrambling around the antechamber to the assembly hall looking for reactions to this startling, historic announcement. He spied Jo and Old Pete and approached at a trot.

  “Pardon me,” he said breathlessly, “but I’d like to know what you think about the Restructurist secession.” He pointed the vid recorder plate at Old Pete. “Do you think there’s a chance of war?”

  “Hardly,” Old Pete replied slowly. “It’s a bold move, all right – certainly a surprising one – but to talk of ‘war’ is a little melodramatic. Oh, I’m sure there’ll be skirmishes over resource planets. But these will no doubt be referred to as ‘battles.’ I foresee nothing on a large scale.”

  “Yes. Well, uh...thank you, sir,” the reporter said, obviously displeased. Calm, rational answers were of no value to a good vid newscast – they slowed up the pace. He turned to Jo in the hope of finding a little feminine hysteria.

  “How about you, miss? Do you think there was really a plot to assassinate Elson deBloise’s character?”

  Jo’s mouth twisted mischievously as she spoke in a solemn tone. “Wheels within wheels, bendreth.”

  Then she linked her arm with Old Pete’s and together they walked toward the exit, laughing.

  It is given that the Tarkan Empire would never have initiated the Terran-Tarkan War if it had not been tempted by the inflamed rhetoric and spectacle of a civil war between the Federation and the Restructurist Union.

  It is also given that the Restructurist secession from the Federation was precipitated when serious criminal charges were brought against Elson deBloise, the movement’s most prominent member at that time. Restructurist apologists today say that the charges were false and never proven; other students of the period think otherwise. Both camps, however, agree on this: after the secession, the packet of evidence against deBloise was forwarded to Jebinose but mysteriously disappeared on the way.

  One thing is certain: the contents of that packet significantly altered the course of human history.

  from Stars for Sale:

  An Economic History of Occupied Space

  by Emmerz Fent

 

  Ratman

  Since its purpose was neither to load nor unload cargo, his converted tramp freighter was directed to a landing pad at the far end of the field where it wouldn't get in the way. Orz, red-haired and of average height and build though somewhat stoop-shouldered, didn't mind. As long as he was in the general area his efficiency would be unimpaired.

  When the viewscreen picked up an approaching ground car, Orz snapped his fingers and a half-kilo space rat leaped from the control console to his shoulder.

  “Let's go, 62,” he said to his favorite employee.

  The space rat grasped the fabric of his master's shirt tightly in his tiny paws and lashed his tail about nervously. He didn't like meeting strangers, but it was part of his job; his master had found that there was a definite psychological advantage in appearing with a space rat on his shoulder.

  Orz and 62 reached the hatch just as the ground car pulled up alongside. They scrutinized the two occupants as the freighter's loading ramp descended.

  The first to debark was a portly little man wearing a stylish orange tunic that should have been two sizes larger. His companion probably weighed as much but was taller and better proportioned.

  Orz's long legs carried him swiftly down the ramp after it had settled and the portly one came forward to meet him.

  “Mr. Samuel Orzechowski?” he asked, mangling the pronunciation.

  Orz smiled. “That's right, but you can call me Sam, or Orz, or, as some people prefer, Ratman.” And being a client, he thought, you'll no doubt choose the last one.

  “Well,” the little man replied, “I guess ‘Ratman’ will do. I'm Aaron Lesno, president of the Traders League, and this is Evan Rabb, our treasurer,” he said, indicating the man beside him.

  “Welcome to Neeka,” said Lesno.

  “Could I ask you something, Ratman?” Rabb hastily interjected. He couldn't take his eyes off 62. “Is that a space rat?”

  “A small one,” Orz nodded. “A baby, really.”

  “Aren't you afraid of…”

  “Of losing my ear?” he grinned. “Not at all. I imagine you two and the rest of the League are somewhat in the dark as to my methods, and you've probably got a lot of questions. I've found it best in the past to get everyone together and explain things to everybody at once. It saves me time and you money.”

  “An excellent idea!” Lesno agreed. “We've all been anxiously awaiting your arrival… Well,” he corrected himself with a glance at Rabb, “almost all… but I'm sure there would be no problem in getting everyone together.”

  “What did you mean by ‘almost all’?” Orz asked.

  Rabb spoke up. “One of our more influential members was vehemently opposed to the idea of retaining you.”

  “Oh, really? Why?”

  “Have no fear, Ratman,” Lesno assured him with a smile, “he'll let you know why at the meeting tonight.”

  “Fair enough,” Orz said. “Can someone come back and pick me up in a few hours for the meeting?”

  “Why not come with us now and let us show you around a bit?” Lesno offered.

  Orz shook his head and gestured over his shoulder to the ship. “Sorry… feeding time.”

  Rabb and Lesno stiffened and glanced nervously from 62 to the open hatch. “Yes, quite,” Lesno muttered. “Very well, then, we'll have someone call for you in, say, three hours.”

  “That'll be fine.” This settled, the two-man welcoming committee lost little time in putting some distance between themselves and the squat little freighter.

  “Seem like pretty decent fellows,” Orz told 62 as he made his way up the ramp and down the central corridor. As they approached the rat room, 62 began to prance excitedly on his master's shoulder and was literally doing a dance by the time Orz hit the door release.

  His several hundred fellow employees inside took up the same excited dance at the sound of the door sliding open. The cages were arranged five high along the walls of the long, narrow room. They were simple, steel-sided boxes with front doors of quarter-inch steel mesh; each was self-cleaning, had its own water supply, and was equipped with an automatic feeder.

  But Orz had never trusted automatic feeders, so now he went from cage to cage and shoved food pellets through the tiny feeding hole in the front of each. He had to be nimble, for the rats were greedy and anxious and a fingertip could easily be mistaken for a pellet. His practiced eye decided how much each rat should get. This was important: A rat became fat and lazy if overfed and would gnaw his way out of the cage if underfed. A rat in either condition was of little use to Ratman.

  Fift
y cages stood open and empty and Orz placed a few pellets in each. 62 was frantic by now so he decided to give the little fellow something before he jumped off his shoulder and into one of the empty cages. The rat rose up on his hind legs, snatched the pellet from Orz's proffering fingers with his tiny, handlike paws, and began to gnaw noisily and voraciously.

  Three hours later, Orz flipped a particular switch on the console, checked to make sure the door to the rat room was open, then headed for the hatch. There, after casting an eye through the dusk at the approaching ground car, he secured the hatch, but opened a small panel at its bottom. With 62 perched watchfully upon his shoulder, he was waiting at the bottom of the ramp when the car arrived.

  Lesno was alone inside. “Well, Ratman,” he said with a smile, “everybody's waiting, so–” then he spotted 62 and his face fell. “Does he have to come along? I mean, he won't get too excited, will he?”

  “Don't worry,” Orz replied, sliding into his seat, “he won't bite you.” To lessen the man's anxiety he made a point of keeping 62 on his far shoulder.

  “Your advertising literature was quite timely,” Lesno remarked as they got under way, hoping conversation would take his mind off those two beady eyes peering at him around the back of his passenger's head. “The rat problem was reaching its peak when we received it. I trust that wasn't just coincidence.”

  “No coincidence at all. I keep my ear to the ground and word got around that there was a space rat plague on Neeka. I figured you could use my services.”

  Lesno nodded. “We had heard a few stories about you but didn't know whether to believe them or not. Your advertising claims were quite impressive. I just hope you can live up to them.”

  About twenty exporters and importers were waiting in the conference room on the second floor of the Traders League office complex. It was a motley group of discordant colors, shapes, sizes, and ages. Lesno entered ahead of Orz and lost no time in bringing the meeting to order.

  “We all know why we're here,” he said, tapping the gavel twice, “so there's really no use in wasting time with introductions.” He pointed to Orz. “The creature on this man's shoulder is introduction enough: Ratman has arrived and he's going to tell us something about himself and about space rats.” So saying, he relinquished the podium.