Don looked up directly into them and went into his routine, the routine he had practiced so much with his two coaches.
He said, slowly and distinctly, “The project at hand is the extraction of the radioactives, the ores on the Jupiter satellites and perhaps the Saturn satellite, Titan. This endeavor is the highest top priority in the defense program.”
He paused impressively before continuing.
“It is a job that cannot be done in slipshod, haphazard manner. The system’s need for radioactives cannot be overstressed.
“In short, fellow humans, we must allow nothing to stand in the way of an all out, unified, effort to do this job quickly and efficiently. My associates and I have formed a corporation to manage this crash program. We invite all to participate by purchasing stock. I will not speak of profits, fellow humans, because in this emergency we all scorn them. However, as I say, you are invited to participate.
“Some of the preliminary mining concessions are at present in the hands of individuals or small corporations. It will be necessary that these turn over their holdings to our single all embracing organization for the sake of efficiency. Our experts will evaluate such holdings and recompense the owners.”
Don Mathers paused again for emphasis.
“This is no time for quibbling. All must come in. If there are those who put private gain before the needs of the system, then pressures must be found to be exerted against them. Public opinion will not allow them to profit while the fate of the Solar System is in the balance.
“We will need thousands and tens of thousands of trained workers to operate our mines, our mills, our refineries. In the past, skilled labor on the satellites was used to double or triple the wage rates on Earth. I need only repeat, this is no time for personal gain and quibbling. The corporation announces proudly that it will pay only prevailing Earth rates. We will not insult our employees by “bribing’ them to patriotism through higher wages.”
There was more, along the same lines.
It was all taken very well. Indeed, it was taken with universal enthusiasm.
Si Mullens leaked the fact that the interplanetary hero was taking no salary whatsoever for his contributions.
XVI
Mathers spent the next weeks, the next months, in what was. seemingly a chaos of interviews, speeches and press releases, though many of the last he never saw. The efficient Si Mullens turned them out wholesale, and was more apt to check them, before release, with Demming or Rostoff rather than Don.
Actually, Rostoff and Demming remained in the background. They never allowed themselves to be seen in Don’s company in public, or even when news people were around. They went to considerable effort and expense to suppress any news stories about their being affiliated with the corporation. It wasn’t as hard as all that to do. Between the two of them, they had large financial interests in most of the important media. Those news outlets which they didn’t personally control, largely belonged to fellow members of the financial elite who owed them favors, or possibly not adverse to accumulating some credit with the two men who had already become the wealthiest magnates in the system. No matter what field you were in, it was most likely that sooner or later you’d have some reason to call upon Demming and or Rostoff.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, perhaps, if he could have spent more of his time in a haze of alcohol, but his binges were restricted to after-hours. He had to maintain his Boy Scout image. Supposedly, he didn’t drink, he didn’t smoke, and the sighing matrons, un-weds and virgins of the solar system could go to bed at night and dream of marrying—or at least having an affair with—Don Mathers. He was a bachelor. The secret of Alicia was as well kept as that of Eva Braun and her relationship with Hitler.
It wasn’t all strawberries and cream by a long shot.
A couple of months after the initial announcement, he was politely invited to Demming’s office, his innermost, most private, sanctum sanctorum.
There Sam Frankle was introduced. Don was aware of him, though not in any detail. President of the One Big Union, once a common copper miner, he had evidently fought his way up through union politics—sometimes with his heavy, merciless fists. He was beetle-browed, broken-nosed, and there were obvious scars on his dark face. In this age of plastic surgery, Don wondered? He supposed it was part of the other’s image. He was extremely popular with the workers he led, supposedly continuously fighting for their rights.
Frankle took the space hero in, his eyes less than friendly. He was not the hero worshipping type, obviously.
Present were Demming, Rostoff and the unassuming Dirck Bosch, and all three were empty of face.
Don said, after becoming properly seated, “What can I do for you, Mr. Frankle?”
“They call me Bull Frankle, and I want to know what the shit’s going on.”
Don looked from Demming to Rostoff and could tell nothing from their expressions, although both were alert of eye. He looked back at the union leader. “I don’t believe I follow you, ah, Bull.”
The tough man said, “Look, Mr. Interplanetary Hero, let me tell you some of the facts of life. Unions are big business. Like any other kind of big business they exist to make money for the people who own, or control them. For instance, Lawrence Demming’s Interplanetary Conglomerate doesn’t exist for the people who work in it, several hundred thousands. It exists for him.”
“Get to the point, Bull,” Rostoff said.
“That is the point. I want to know my
“I’m not up on all this,” Don said weakly. He didn’t know what it was all about.
“That’s why I’m briefing you,” the other said impatiently. “I know you’re not up on it. But you’re asking these funkers to work at Earth-side pay, when things are such up there they can’t even bring their families up, most of them, and it’s pretty damn slim living and it’s a damn sight more dangerous than working on Earth. Okay. So what is it the One Big Union is going to do for them? From what you say, nothing.”
Don looked at his two supposed partners.
Demming said flatly, “We must all sacrifice together in these times.”
Bull Frankle didn’t even bother to laugh. “I want in,” he said. “And I also have to have something to throw my boys, otherwise they drop out of the organization. Don’t you characters get the point? Everybody’s got to get something, or they start looking somewheres else. Now what can I promise my boys, so they’ll want to stay in the union?”
“And so that you can continue milking them of dues,” Rostoff said, thinking it out.
“Okay, put it that way if you wanta get on a snotty level. I thought we were all practical men around here.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Demming wheezed thoughtfully. “You make the problem clear. Hmmm. Max?”
Maximilian Rostoff said, “How about this? As a result of the efforts of Samuel Frankle, President of the One Big Union, the government of the Solar System League has ruled that any worker on any planet or satellite off Earth shall receive two year’s credit toward any pensions, social security, that sort of thing, for each year he spends off Earth. A very patriotic step, highly endorsed by the bearer of the Galactic Medal of Honor. All this through the efforts of the One Big Union, and, frankly, costing our corporation not one extra pseudo-cent.”
Demming and Frankle looked at him in admiration.
Frankle said, “Okay, that seems to cover that part of it, if you can swing it, and, through Mathers, here, I assume you can. Now, where’s my in?”
Don wasn’t following too well. He wished that he could get a double shot of something or other. But he said, “What in?”
