Subspace Explorers Part 4

In his shockingly cramped quarters Purves changed steel; s.h.i.+fted the position of his Sullivan's mounting bar; cut new foot-holes; kept on at his man-killing task until the set of powder-holes was in. Then he dismounted the heavy drill and, wriggling backwards, lugged it and its appurtenances out into the main stope to make room for the powderman.

As he straightened up, half paralyzed by the position and the strain of his recent labors, another big man lunged roughly against him.

"Wot tha h.e.l.l-sock me, w.i.l.l.ya?" the man roared, and swung his steel-backed timberman's glove against Purves' mouth and jaw.

Purves went down.

"Watcha tryin' to pull off, Frank?" the s.h.i.+ft-boss yelled, rus.h.i.+ng up and jerking his thumb toward the rise. "You know better'n that-fightin' underground. You're firedgo on top an' get yer time."

"Wha'd'ya mean, fired?" Frank growled. "He started it, the crumb. He slugged me first."

"You're a G.o.ddam liar," the powderman spoke up, setting his soft-leather bag of low explosive carefully down against the foot of the hanging wall. "I seen it. Purve didn't do nothin'. Not a G.o.ddam thing. Besides, he wasn't in no shape to. He didn't lift a finger. You socked him fer nothin'."

"Oh, yeah?" Frank sneered. "Stone blind all of a sudden, I guess? I leave it to tha rest of 'em= waving a ma.s.sive arm at the two mockers and the electrician, now standing idly by, "-if he didn't sock me first. They all seen it."

All three nodded, and the electrician said, positively, "Sure Purve socked him first. We all seen'im do it" Purves struggled to his feet. He shook off a glove, wiped his bleeding mouth, and stared for a moment at the blood-smeared back of his hand. Then, and still without a word, he bent over and picked up a three-foot length of inch-and-a-quarter steel.

"Hold it, Purve-hold it!" The s.h.i.+ft-boss put both hands against the big man's chest and pushed, and the atrocious weapon dropped with a clang to the hard-rock floor. "Tha.s.s better. They's somethin' d.a.m.n screwy here. It just don't jibe."

He crossed over to his telephone and dialed. "Say boss, what do I do when I fire a nape fer startin' a fight underground-an' he won't go out on top? An' three other b.a.s.t.a.r.ds say somethin' I saw good an' plain with my own eyes didn't hap... okay, I'll hold... okay... yeah... but listen. Mr. Speers' office! Tha.s.s takin' it awful high up, ain't it, just to fire a nogoodnik that... okay, okay, now you hold it." Turning his head, the s.h.i.+ft-boss said, "They want us all up on top an' they wanta know if you wanta go up under yer own air or will they send down some guards an' drag y'all tha way up there by yer G.o.ddam feet?"

They did not want to be dragged, so s.h.i.+ft Boss McGuire said, into the phone, "Okay, we're on our way up," and hung up.

The seven men wriggled down the rise-the steeply sloping pa.s.sage, about the diameter of a barrel, that was the only opening into the stope-to the tributary tunnel some three hundred feet below. As they were walking along this tunnel toward the main drift and its electric cars, Purves said: "You said it, Mac, about it's bein' a h.e.l.l of a long ways up to have to take firin' a louse like him. What'd they say?"

"Nothin'," McGuire said. "Nothin' at all."

"The higher the better," the electrician-who had done most of the talking up in the stope-growled. "The bigger the man we can get up to with this thing, the harder you three finkin' b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are goin' to get the boots put to ya. You ain't got a prayer. It's four to three, see?"

"Hold it, Purve-I said hold it!" McGuire shouted, grabbing the miner's right arm with both bands and hanging on-and Purves did stop his savage motion. "Like I said, Purve, this whole deal stinks. It don't add up noways. An' what surprised me most was that n.o.body up on top was surprised at all."

"Huh?" the electrician demanded, with a sudden change in manner and expression. "Why not? Why wasn't they?"

"I wouldn't know," the s.h.i.+ft-boss replied, quietly, "but we'll maybe find out when we get up there. But I'm tellin' you four apes somethin' right now. Shut up and stay shut up. If any one of you opens his trap just one more time I'll let Purve here push a mouthful of teeth down his G.o.ddam throat."

Wherefore the rest of the trip to the office of Superintendent Speers, the Big Noise of the Little Gem, was made in silence.

Charles Speers was a well-built, well-preserved man nearing sixty. His hair, although more white than brown, was still thick and bushy. His eyes, behind stainless-steelrimmed trifocals, were a clear, sharp gray. His narrow, close-clipped mustache was brown. When his visitors were all seated he pushed a b.u.t.ton on his desk, looked at the s.h.i.+ft-boss and said: "Mr. McGuire, please tell me what happened; exactly as you saw it happen." McGuire told him and he looked at the powderman. "Mr. Bailey, I realize that no two eyewitnesses ever see any event in precisely the same way, but have you anything of significance to add to or subtract from Mr. McGuire's statement of fact'?"

"No, sir. That's the way it went."

"Mr. Purves, did you or did you not strike the first blow?"

"I did not, sir. I'll swear to that. I didn't lift a finger-not 'til after, I mean. Then I lifted a piece of steel, but Mac here stopped me before I could hit him with it."

"Thank you. This is interesting. Very." Speers' voice was as clipped as his mustache. "No A,, Mr. Grover C. s.h.i.+elds -or whatever your real name may be-as a non-partic.i.p.ating witness and as spokesman apparent for the majority of those present at the scene of violence, please give me your version of the affair."

"They're lyin' in their teeth, all three of 'em," the electrician growled, sullenly. "But what's that real name' crack supposed to mean? An' say, are ya puttin' all this c.r.a.p on a record?"

"Certainly. Why not? However, this is not a court of law and you are not under oath, so go ahead."

"Not me. Not by a damsight, you fine-feathered slicker. Not without a mouthpiece, an' n.o.body else does, neither." "That's smart of you. And you're still sticking to the argot, eh, Mr.-ah-s.h.i.+elds?" The mine superintendent's smile was exactly as humorous as the edge of a cut throat razor. "Such camouflage is of course to be expected. Come over here to the desk, please. I would like to glance at your hands."

"Like bell you will!" s.h.i.+elds snarled, leaping to his feet. "We're gettin' tha h.e.l.l outa here right now!"

"Mr. Purves," Speers said, quietly, "I would like to look at that man's hands. Don't break him up any more than is necessary, but I want those hands flat on this desk, palms up."

Since s.h.i.+elds was already on his feet, he reached the desk and spread his hands out flat before Purves touched him, exclaiming as he (lid so, "An' that's on record, too, wise guy!"

"I'm afraid it may not be," Speers said, gently, shaking his head. "This machine is not a new model; it misses an item occasionally. But you see what I mean?" Speers paused, and from the ceiling above there came the almost inaudible click of a camera shutter. "When did those hands ever do any real work? Resume your seat, please." The alleged electrician did so. "I have here seven personnel cards, from which I will read certain data into the record. George J. McGuire, s.h.i.+ft Boss, length of service twenty four years, black spots-demerits, that is-nineteen. Clinton F. Bailey, Powderman, fifteen years, ten demerits. Grant H. Purves, Top Miner, twelve years, eight demerits. Each of these three has four or five times as many stars as black spots.

"On the other hand, John J. Smith, Mucker, forty three days and thirty three demerits. Thomas J. Jones, Mucker, twenty nine days and thirty one demerits. Frank D. Ormsby, Timberman, twelve days and twenty demerits. Grover C. s.h.i.+elds, Electrician, five days and eleven demerits. There are no stars in this group. These data speak for themselves. The discharge of Ormsby is sustained. I hereby discharge the other three-Sheilds, Smith, and Jones - myself. You four go back, change your clothes, pick up your own property, turn in company property, and leave.

Your termination papers and checks will be in the mail tonight. Get out."

They got.

Speers pressed a b.u.t.ton and his secretary, a gray-haired, chilled-steel virgin of fifty, came in. "Yes, sir?" "Please take Mr. Purves there," he pointed, "over across and let the doctors look at him."

"Oh, this ain't nothin'..." the miner began.

"It would be if I had it." Speers smiled; a genuine smile. "You do exactly what the doctors tell you to do. Okay?"

"Okay, sir. Thanks."

"And Miss Mills, he's on full time until they let him go back to work full time."

"Yes, sir. Come with me, young man," and she led the big miner out of the room.

Still smiling, Speers turned to the two remaining men. "Are you wondering what this is all about, or do you know?'

"I could maybe guess, if there'd been any UCM organizers around," McGuire said, "but I ain't heard of any. Have you, Clint?"

"Uh-uh." The powderman shook his head. "I been kinda expectin' some, but there ain't been even a rumble yet." "Those four men were undoubtedly UCM goons. They will claim that Ormsby was a.s.saulted and that all four of them were fired because of talking about unionization -for merely sounding out our people's att.i.tude toward unionization. Tomorrow, or the next day at latest, the UCM will bottle us up tight with a picket line."

"But it'd be a G.o.ddam lie!" Bailey protested.

"Sure it would," McGuire agreed. "But they've pulled some awful raw stuff before now an' got away with it. D'you think they can get away with it here, Mr. Speers?"

"That's the jackpot question. With the Labor Relations Board, yes. Higher up, it depends... but I want to do a little sounding out myself. When we close down, we'll try to place everyone somewhere, of course; but in the event of a very long shut-down, McGuire, how would you like to go out to one of the outplanets?"

"I couldn't. I don't know nothin' but copper-minin'." "I mean at copper mining."

"Huh?" The s.h.i.+ft-boss was so amazed as to forget temporarily that he was talking to the Big Boss. "They ain't none. They ain't gonna be none. The UCM won't stand fer none."

"But suppose there were some?"

"You mean a knock-down-'n'-drag-out fight with UCM?"

"Precisely."

McGuire pondered this shockingly revolutionary thought for a long, minute, his callused right palm rasping against the stiff stubble on his chin. "I still couldn't," he decided, finally. "Not just 'cause the union'd win, neither. I like it a h.e.l.l of a lot better here on Earth. If I was young an' single, maybe. But I ain't so young yet-he was all of forty two years old, "-an' three of tha kids're still home vet an' my old woman'd raise h.e.l.l an' put a chunk under it. Besides, me an' her both like to know where we're at. So when they get us organized I'll join tha union an' work 'til I'm sixty an' then retire an' live easy on my pension an' old-age benefits. Thataway I'll know all tha time just where I'm at."

"I see." Speers' voice was almost a sigh. "And you, Bailey?"

"Not fer me," the powdermen said, with no hesitation at all. "George chirped it-" be jerked his left thumb at the s.h.i.+ft-boss, "-about wantin' to know where yer at. I got nothin' much against tha union. It costs, but between it an' tha outplanets I'll take the UCM any day in tha week. Hoady Hoadman takes care of his men, an' out on tha outplanets ya never know what's gonna happen. Yer takin' awful big chances all tha time. Too G.o.ddam big."

"I see, and thanks, both of you. Call Personnel about replacements and go ahead as usual-until you run into a picket line. That is all for now."

As the two men left Speers' office he flipped the switch of his squawk box. "Get me GalMet, please. Maynard's FirSec, Miss Champ..."

"Miss Champion!" The switchboard girl committed the almost incredible offense of interrupting the Super. "Herself?"

"Herself," Speers said, dryly. "As I was about to say, the pa.s.sword in this case is as follows: 'Gem-Little-Operation'. In that order, please."

"Oh-excuse me, sir, please. I'll get right at it."

It took seven minutes, but finally Miss Champion's face appeared upon Speers' screen; a face startlingly young and startlingly comely to be that of one of the top Fir Secs of all Earth.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Speers." Her contralto voice was as smooth and as rich as whipping cream. "It has broken, then?"

"Yes. Four men made themselves so obnoxious that we-had to discharge them just now. There has been no talk whatever of unionization as yet, but I expect a picket line tomorrow."

"Thanks for letting us know so promptly, Mr. Speers. I can't get at him myself for fifteen minutes or so yet, but I'll tell him at the earliest possible moment." "That'll be fine, Miss Champion. Good-bye."

Chapter 5 COUNTER-ORGANIZATION.

MISS CHAMPION did not wait for Maynard to tell her what to do about the Little Gem situation. She acted. She sent out seven coded subgrams, to seven different planets. Then, on her own electric typewriter, she wrote two short notes, also in code. She addressed and sealed two envelopes-herself. She pushed a b.u.t.ton. A girl came into her office. Miss Champion said, "Here are two letters, Bessie. One is to Hatfield of InStell, the other to Lansing of WarnOil. Each is to be delivered by special messenger. Delivery is to be strictly-personal-signature-required. Thanks."

So, within a very few days after UCM's picket line had sealed the Little Gem mine as tight as a bottle, fourteen men and one woman met in GalMet's palatial conference room in the Metals Building, in New York City on Earth. Men representing such a tremendous aggregate of power had never before met in any one room. Maynard called the meeting to order, then said: "Many of you know most of the others here, but most of you do not know us all. Please stand as I introduce you. The lady first, of course. Miss Champion, my First Secretary."

The lady, seated at a small desk off to one side of the great table, rose to her feet, bowed gracefully-not directly toward the camera-and resumed her position.

"Bryce of Metals." A slender man of fifty, with an unruly shock of graying black hair, rose, nodded, and sat down.

"Wellington of Construction." A tall, loose-jointed, sandy-haired man did the same.

"Zeckendorff of the Stockmen... Stelling of Grain... Killingsworth of the Producers... Raymer of Transportation... Holbrook of Communications... these seven men are the presidents of the seven largest organizations of the Planetsmen-the organized production and service men and women of ninety five planets.

"Will you stand up, please, Mr. Speers?... Superintendent Speers, of the Little Gem; now being struck, one of the very few non-union copper mines in existence. Speers is sitting on a situation that very well may develop into the gravest crisis our civilization has ever known.

"Next, Admiral Guerdon Dann of Interstellar... who may or may not, depending pretty largely upon the outcome of this meeting, become our Galaxians' Secretary of War."

There was a concerted gasp at this, and Maynard smiled grimly. "I speak advisedly. Each of us knows something, but not one of us knows it all. The whole, I think, will shock us all.

"DuPuy of Warner Oil... represents the law; Interplanetary Law in particular.

"Phelps of Galactic Metals... is our money man. "Hatfield of Interstellar... Lansing of Warner Oil... and I, Maynard of Galactic Metals... represent top management.

"Now to business. For almost two hundred years most managements have adhered to the Principle of Enlightened Self-Interest; so that, while both automation and pay-per-man-hour increased, production per man-hour increased at such a rate-especially on the planets -that there was no inflation. In fact, just slightly the opposite; for over a hundred and fifty years the purchasing power of the dollar showed a slight rising trend.

"Then, for reasons upon which there is no agreement -each faction arguing its case according to its own bias -the economic situation began to deteriorate and inflation set in. It has been spiraling. For instance, of the present price of copper, about two dollars and a half a pound, only twenty five cents is... Phelps?"

Rate One, Anaconda, electrolytic, FOB smelter," the moneyman said, "is two point four five seven dollars per pound. This breaks down into: labor, one hundred four point six cents; taxes, ninety three point nine cents; all other costs, twenty four point nine cents; mark-up, twenty two point three cents."

Almost everyone looked surprised; many of the men whistled.

Maynard smiled wryly and went on, "Thanks, Desmond. Copper is of course an extreme case; the extreme case. That is because it is the only important metal, and one of the very few items of our entire economy, that is produced exclusively on Tellus. There are two reasons for this. First, automation cannot be economically applied to copper mining on Tellus or anywhere else we know of; there are no known lodes or deposits big enough. Second, the UCM is the only union that has been able to enforce the dictum that its craft shall be confined absolutely to Tellus.

"So far, I have stated facts, with no attempt to allocate responsibility or blame. I will now begin to prophesy. Information has been obtained, from sources which need not be named." Most of the men chuckled; only a few of them only smiled, "... which leads us to believe as follows: "Burley Hoadman is in trouble in his UCM-internal trouble. There are several local leaders, one in particular being very strong, who do not like him hogging so much of the gravy for himself. They want to get their own snouts into the gravy trough, and are gathering a lot of votes. The best way he can consolidate his position is by making a spectacular play. The Little Gem affair is his opening wedge. If he can make us fight this issue very hard, he will pull a WestHem-wide copper strike. He will refuse to settle that strike for less than a seventy five or one hundred percent increase in scale. Since the UCM's scale is already the highest in existence, that will make him a tin G.o.d on wheels.

"There hasn't been a really important strike for over fifty years; and this one will not be important unless we ourselves make it so by putting up a real fight. Gentlemen, we have two, and only two, alternatives; we can surrender or we can fight.

"If we surrender, every other union in existence will demand a similar increase and the Labor Relations Board will grant it-and I don't need to tell you that WestHem's corrupt judiciary and government will support the LRB. Neither do I need to dwell upon what these events will do to the already vicious spiral of inflation.

"It's easy to say fight', but how far must we be prepared to go? The LRB will rule against us. We will appeal. While that appeal is pending, Hoadman will call all his copper miners out. That strike will be completely effective, and as all industry slows down the public will scream for GalMet's blood. All the ma.s.s media of WestHem will crucify me personally. As I said, we will lose the appeal-or perhaps, even before that, the government will seize the mines and give Hoadman everything he wants. In either case, if we stop at that point, we will be in even worse shape than if we had surrendered without fighting at all."

"But how much farther than that can we possibly go?" Zeckendorff demanded.

"I'm coming to that. If we fight at all, we must be prepared to go the full route. We'll drag the legal proceedings out as long as we can. Meanwhile well be developing copper mines on the planets. We have maps and your Metalsmen and Builders will be very good at that. We'll ram planetary copper down WestHem's collective throat. However, that ramming will not-he easy. The government is very strong and it will do its utmost to block every move we make. So the most logical conclusion is that we will have to form a government of the planets and declare our complete independence of Tellus.

"We are already calling ourselves the Galaxians; that would be as good a name as any for the new government. That would probably involve a ma.s.sive and effective blockade of Tellus, which in turn might cause the Nameless One of EastHem to launch his thermonuclear bombs. WestHem would retaliate, and it is distinctly possible that all Tellus might become a radioactive wasteland."

The silence, which had been deepening steadily, was broken by an explosive "Jesus Christ!" from peppery little Bryce of Metals.

"Precisely," Maynard went on. "That is why this meeting was called. This is-at least I think it will become-the first meeting of the Board of Directors of the Galaxians, a government which is to adhere strictly to the Principle of Enlightened Self-Interest.

"What we can accomplish remains to be seen. We will have to exert extreme caution; we must keep ahead of the opposition; above all, we must be able at all times to pull up short of ultimate catastrophe to Tellus.

"Whether or not we fight at all depends absolutely upon the att.i.tude of the Planetsmen. We must have solidarity. Hoadman expects the full support of Labor, even to the extremity of a general strike of all the unions of WestHem. This would necessitate the cooperation of the Planetsmen, and he expects even that. It is psychologically impossible for any man of Hoadman's stripe to understand that on the planets there is neither Capital nor Labor; that we Galaxians are all labor and are all capitalists. Hence it is clear that unless we are sure of virtual unanimity of all Galaxians we cannot fight Hoadman at all.

"I now ask the supremely vital question- Do the Planetsmen, the most important segment by far of the Galaxians, want to go the route for a stable dollar and all that it means? You seven may retire to a private room for discussion, if you like...

"But I see you don't need to," Maynard went on, as all seven men spoke practically at once, Holbrook of Communications being first by an instant. "Peter Holbrook, president of the a.s.sociated Wavesmen, has the floor."

Holbrook of Communications was the youngest man there. He was scarcely out of his twenties and was so deeply tanned that his crew-cut, sun-bleached hair seemed almost white. He looked like a -professional football player; or like the expert "pole-climber" he had been until a year before. He stood up, cleared his throat, and said, "You're right, Mr. Maynard, we don't need to discuss that point. We've thought about it and talked about it a lot. We have been and are highly concerned. But I'm not the one to talk about it here. I yield the floor to Mr. Egbert Bryce, President of the Society of Metalsmen, who has been coordinating us all along on this very thing."

You, Eggie?" Maynard asked, with a grin, and the tone of the meeting became less formal all of a sudden. I "And you never let me in on it?"

"Me," the wiry, intense Bryce agreed. "Naturally not. You're always beating somebody's ears down about presenting a half-developed program and ours isn't developed yet at all. But you've apparently made plans for a long time ahead."

"Plenty of them, but they're all fluid. Nothing to go into at this point. Go ahead."