microphone again. “Show all the worlds under current consideration in flashing white,” he said, “and show me the fifty nearest human-controlled worlds as well.” He waited a moment, then turned to Nelson. “You see?” he said. “It's a new line of expansion that would add another dozen systems to our collection, and put about three dozen more under our sphere of influence.” “And my job?” asked Nelson.
“Leave the Lemm home planet alone,” said Landon, “but get the Lemm off the water worlds. Can you do it?”
“I suppose so,” said Nelson, scratching his bead. “If they're oxygen-breathers, it shouldn't be too hard to poison the air. A couple of really dirty bombs on each world...” “No bombs,” said Landon. “If I wanted a war, I'd send for the Navy.” “But they won't come,” Nelson pointed out. “Just the same, we don't want the Lemm figuring out what happened, or who is doing this.” “Okay,” said Nelson. “Same principle: poisoning the air. It'll take a little more work, but it can be done.” “Secretly?” Nelson nodded. “And I'll make it short-lived, something that will dissipate after a couple of years so we can move back in. Might as well put it on the solid worlds too,” he added. “It might confuse them, and it'll stop them from retreating there. About how many Lemm will I be killing?” “You don't want to know,” said Landon.
“No, I suppose not,” agreed Nelson.
“Any other questions?” asked the Director as he escorted Nelson back to his motorcart. “Just one,” said Nelson. “I'm doing this so we can move onto two worlds: Gamma Leporis IX and X. Yet your map projection showed seventeen new worlds.” “Eleven of those aquatic worlds are devoid of sentient life. And once the Lemm are driven off, I would imagine the ichthyoids would be happy to form an alliance with their saviors.”
“And if they're not?”
“Well,” said Landon with the trace of a grim smile about his lips, “if it comes down to cases, I would imagine Man can make a depth charge every bit as powerful as the Lemm's, wouldn't you?” Nelson nodded vigorously.
3: THE MINERS
...It was during the period of 370-390 G.E., that the Federation of Miners made its first tentative steps toward a position of fiscal and political power under the bold and visionary leadership of Jerim Coleman, a young legal student who took the cause of the miners as his own. Coleman, a deeply moral and religious man, was responsible for the heroic stands taken by the downtrodden miners of five major outworlds, including...
—
Coleman was met at the door by a Butterball. This was not totally unexpected. He knew that the miners usually made alliances with the native life forms, occasionally because of mutual need, more often from sheer loneliness and boredom. And he also knew enough to remain where he was until one of the miners showed up. Any species that could call Gamma Leporis IX—with its bitter cold, raging winds, dust storms, and oppressive gravity—
Coleman nodded.
“Well, come on in,” said the miner. “Don't mind Ferdy here. He's pretty docile, all things considered.” Coleman followed the man into the large auditorium. Most of the seats were filled. He estimated the crowd at 350, which was not a bad turnout, given a world population of 422. He walked immediately to the dais, laid his briefcase out on the podium, withdrew a sheaf of papers, and gratefully noted a cup of hot coffee on the shelf directly beneath the slanted board that was meant to hold his papers, but would doubtless end up supporting his elbows instead. He considered taking his coat off, but decided to wait until he felt just a bit warmer.
He took a sip of the coffee, checked the microphone, and faced his audience. “Gentlemen,” he said, and waited for the various conversations to subside. “I'm pleased to see such a good turnout. I'm glad you felt this meeting was important enough to leave your videos.” He had hoped
for a chuckle with that, and was gratified to note one spreading through the assemblage. Gamma Leporis
IX was more than a light-year from the nearest sending station. “Tell me,” he said, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together, “when does summer come around here?” “You're
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I'll get right down to business. My name is Jerim Coleman, and I represent the newly-formed Federation of Miners. At present, the Republic has 843 mining worlds, and our Federation has been accepted on well over half of them—and there are a lot we haven't made presentations to yet. I've asked to speak to you this evening because I'd like to tell you a little bit about ourselves, and try to offer you some concrete reasons why joining the Federation will prove to be in your best interests.”
He looked across the audience. So far, so good. Now for the silken hand disguised in a gauntlet of tempered steel.
“I know a number of stories have reached you concerning what membership in our organization entails, so I won't mince words. If you join, every one of you will be required to turn half his salary over to us for a period of five Earth years, and each of you will have to sign a contract guaranteeing that you will remain in the mining profession for a period of no less than fifteen years. You will also have to undergo extensive psychological conditioning.”
He waited for the reaction that he had seen so many times in so many similar meeting places. First silence, then a whispered muttering which quickly turned into a series of outraged curses, cries, and questions. He waited a full four minutes for the noise level to subside before continuing. “Gentlemen,” he said at last, “please give me your attention for a little while longer. I know most of the objections that you want to raise, and will try my best to answer them right now. After I'm through, I'll be open to questions from the floor. All I ask is that you hear me out. Besides,” he added, “if I get your blood boiling, it'll make the walk home a little easier.” There were a few grins at that, and one huge guffaw from somewhere to his left. “Your major objection is probably that no organization can possibly do enough for you to merit half your income. After all, no single vocational group is paid as well as you. Not that you don't deserve it: You're not pick-wielders, but highly trained specialists, responsible for survey work, controlling robotic miners, and refining the ores that you come up with, which makes you well-nigh irreplaceable. Your second objection concerns the fifteen-year contract. You are highly paid because, due to environmental conditions, your work is extremely hazardous, and therefore each of you—or most of you, anyway—hopes to make a killing and get back to civilization to spend some of those hard-earned credits. Am I correct in my assumptions?” There was a general nodding of heads.
“Good. Now, before I answer those and other objections, I'd like to spend a few minutes filling you in on the background of the Federation so that you may better realize exactly what it is that we have to offer. After all, we couldn't present such extreme conditions for membership unless we felt we could give you value received for time and money spent. And try to keep in the back of your minds the fact that
eighty-three percent of the mining worlds that have been offered membership have accepted.
“Now, with that in mind, let's take a brief look at the mining industry as it now exists. The Republic controls almost thirty-five hundred worlds; almost a quarter of them are devoted exclusively to mining. The Republic boasts some thirty-seven billion citizens; less than two million are miners. So what we basically have here is a situation in which less than one ten-thousandth of one percent of the Republic's population is controlling well over twenty percent of its territory. “And economically, the disparity is even greater. The Republic is powered almost exclusively by atomics; all but a fraction of their fissionable material comes from three hundred and seven mining worlds, of
