industry-planned program. I wanted to concentrate everything on steel. Otherwise, we might not catch up with Genoa as quickly as we figured.”
Barry Watson gestured with a hand in quick irritation. “Look here, Chessman, don’t we get through to you? Whether or not we build up a steel capacity as large as Amschel Mayer’s isn’t important now. Simple survival is. Everything’s at stake.”
“Don’t talk to me that way, Barry,” Chessman growled truculently. “I’ll make the decisions. I’ll do the thinking around here.” He looked at Reif in speculation. “How much of the Tulan army is loyal—to me?”
The aging Tulan looked at Watson before turning back to Joe Chessman. “All of the Tulan army is loyal—to me.”
Evidently, Joe Chessman hadn’t picked up the final two words, or, if so, he ignored them. “Good!” he said. He pushed some of the dispatches on his desk aside, letting them flutter to the floor. He bared a field map. “If we crush half a dozen of the local communes…crush them hard! Then the others…”
Watson said very slowly and so low as hardly to be heard, “You didn’t bother to listen, Chessman. We told you, all that’s needed is a spark.”
Isobel said, “Joe, honey, you don’t have to take that tone of voice from Barry.” She sloshed some more fluid into her glass from a decanter on the small table next to her.
They all ignored her.
Joe Chessman sat back in his chair, looked at them all again, one by one. Re-evaluating. For a moment, the facial tic stopped and his eyes held the old alertness.
“I see,” he said. “And you all recommend capitulation to the demands of these potential rebels?”
“It’s our only chance,” Hawkins said. “We don’t even know it’ll work. There’s always the chance if we throw them a few crumbs they’ll want the whole loaf. You’ve got to remember that some of them have been living for twenty-five years or more under this pressure. The valve is about to blow.”
“I see,” Chessman grunted. “And what else? I can see in your faces there’s something else.”
The three Earthmen didn’t answer. Their eyes shifted.
Joe Chessman looked to young Taller and then to Reif. “What else?” he demanded.
“We need a scapegoat,” Reif said without expression.
Joe Chessman thought about that. He looked at Barry Watson again.
Isobel said petulantly, “What’ya mean, a scapegoat?”
“Shut up,” Chessman growled.
Watson said, “The whole Texcocan State is about to topple. Not only do we have to give them immediate reform, but we’re going to have to blame the past hardships and mistakes on somebody. Somebody has to take the rap, be thrown to the wolves. If not, maybe we’ll all wind up taking the blame.”
“Ah,” Chessman said. His red-rimmed eyes went around them again, thoughtfully. “We should be able to dig up a few local chieftains and some of the Security Police heads. Or, would it be better to drag some of the old rebels out of the concentration camps and give them a big public trial? Accuse them of sabotaging the State’s plans.”
They shook their heads.
“What’s all this about?” Isobel said petulantly. “What’re you all talking about so grimly. Let’s all have a nice big drink. It’s too glum around this damn palace.”
“It has to be somebody big,” Natt Roberts said thickly. “A few of my Security Police won’t do it.”
Joe Chessman’s eyes went to Reif. “The Khan is the highest ranking Texcocan of all,” he said, finally. “The Khan and some Security Police heads would satisfy them.”
Reif’s face was as frigid as the Earthman’s. He said, “I am afraid not, Joseph Chessman. You are Number One. It is your statue that is in every commune square. It is your portrait that hangs in every distribution center, every messhall, every schoolroom. You are the Number One—as you have so often pointed out to us. My title, Khan of all the People, has become meaningless.”
Isobel shrilled. “Joe! Call your guards!” Joe Chessman spat out a curse, fumbled the gun into his hand and fired before the Tulan soldiers could get to him. In a moment they had wrested the weapon from his hand and had his arms bound. It was too late.
Reif had been thrown backward two paces by the blast of the heavy calibered gun. Now he held a palm over his belly and staggered to a chair. He collapsed into it, looked at his son, let a wash of amusement pass over his face, said, “Khan,” meaninglessly, and died.
Isobel, squealing dismay, scurried from her chair and to his side. She knelt, her hands went out, suddenly professional.
She looked up, a strangeness in her eyes. “He’s dead,” she said.
Natt Roberts shrilled at Chessman: “You fool! We were going to give you a big, theatrical trial. Sentence you to prison, and then, later, claim you’d died in your cell and smuggle you out to the
Watson snapped to the guards. “Take him outside and shoot him!”
Isobel, her eyes wide, put the back of her hand to her mouth. “Barry!” she squealed.
The Tulans began dragging the snarling, cursing Chessman to the door.
Taller said, “A moment, please.”
Watson, Roberts, Hawkins and Isobel Sanchez looked at him.
Taller said, “This, perhaps, can be done more effectively.”
His voice was completely emotionless. “This man has killed both my father and grandfather, both of them Khans of Tula, elected heads of the most powerful city on all Texcoco, before the coming of you from First Earth.”
The guards hesitated. Barry Watson detained them with a motion of his hand.
Taller said, “I suggest you turn him over to me, to be dealt with in the traditional way of the People.”
“No,” Chessman said hoarsely. “Barry, Dick, Natt. Send me back to the
They didn’t bother to look in his direction. Roberts muttered savagely, “We told you, all that was needed was a spark. Now you’ve killed the Khan, the most popular man on Texcoco. There’s no way of saving you.”
Isobel’s eyes were darting. They were narrowed and speculative.
Taller said, “None of you have studied our traditions, our customs. But now, perhaps, you will understand the added effect of my taking charge. It will be more…profitable. This manner of using the downfall of this…this power-mad murderer.”
Chessman said desperately, “Look, Barry, Natt. If you have to, shoot me. At least give me a man’s death. Remember those human sacrifices the Tulans had when we first arrived? Can you imagine what went on in those temples? Barry, Dick—for old time’s sake, boys!”
Barry Watson said to Taller, “He’s yours. If this doesn’t take the pressure off us, nothing will.”
X
Mike Dean was on the run.
Swearing, he flung open the door of his office and barged through. He came to an abrupt halt. His secretary, Lange, was bent over the heavy ornate iron safe that sat in one comer. The other heard him, swung around quickly, a hand streaking for a pocket.
Dean’s gun was out first, but he didn’t fire.
He said breathlessly, “The rats are deserting, eh? Don’t bring that shooter out, Lange.”
The secretary stood erect. “What do you want?”
Mike Dean grunted cynical amusement. “Evidently the same thing you do. Get over against that wall.”
The Earthman came up behind the other and nudged him with the short-barreled gun. “Lean up against the wall with both hands, your legs spread, you funker.”
The secretary snarled. “You can’t do this!”
Dean snorted wry amusement again. “Famous last words,” he muttered. He quickly frisked the other,
