I stared after him, and the thought suddenly struck me that not once had _I_ considered quitting, ever. Somehow, the thought disturbed me.

Abruptly the public address speaker boomed.

"Attention," Starza's voice crackled. "To the Guild agent, wherever he may be. Today you murdered thirty-seven Terms. Is this your altruism? Is this your vaunted justice?" He went on, his voice like organ music, sweeping away all doubt, making you proud and glad to be a part of Amalgamated, part of Production, when quite suddenly his voice choked off. Simultaneously another voice ripped through the hall. A cold ironic whisper, lashing at the mind.

"_Altruism, yes. But not as you conceive it. Today you pa.s.sed your own judgment. You have twenty-four hours to evacuate before this Plant is destroyed. The verdict is final._"

The dining hall echoed with moans. Hands leaned to agonized temples. The thoughtcaster again, on a wide band frequency. Through the pain I was conscious of Starza's voice. The Guild was trying to bluff us. We wouldn't let them. I stumbled out of the hall, my teeth chattering, took the lift down to the first level, and got outside, to walk free in the park.

Here was Eden. Giant conifers and ferns wove a cool green pattern of delight, and the laughter of the crystal fountains soothed. Terms had fashioned this garden, had created a poem in living green, a quiet fugue of _oneness_, each leaf blending exquisitely with the next, the unity, the perfect whole. For one weak moment I let the pattern seep insidiously into me, and then, ashamed, focused my eyes on that jarring splash of white in the center of the garden. The ten-foot model of the Amalgamated X-3M, squat with power, lifting on her stern jets. A symbol of Amalgamated's strength, the indomitable spirit of mankind, beauty born of pure utility. Oddly, a half-remembered poem of the Ancients flitted through my brain:

_Dirty British Coaster with her salt-caked smokestack, b.u.t.ting through the Channel on the mad March days--_

That was man.

On an infinity of planets he had met resistance, through force, through guile--even through beauty. And he had conquered. I drew a slow deep breath and sat on one of the benches, staring up at the gigantic horseshoe of the factory, hearing the muted hum of the atomics.

Twenty-four hours.

I tried to run through my axioms, and I was suddenly terrified. I couldn't remember them! That d.a.m.ned thoughtcaster. Twice in one day.

Perhaps there was some gradual neural disintegration. My head hurt terribly. Tomorrow I'd go to Psych for a checkup. I thought about that marble villa in Venusport, and about my bank account. Not enough.

Another year, just one more year, and I could retire, at thirty-four. I thought about the Venusian twilights, and the turquoise mists off the Deeps, and wondered dully if I'd ever see Venus or the Earth again.

I saw Fern, walking among the conifers, her face a pale mask of strain.

"You heard it, Jake?"

I nodded.

We sat in the aquamarine twilight, and Fern was shivering, and I put my arm around her.

"Looks like altruism is a relative thing," I said. "What _do_ they want?"

"Uncontaminated Terms," she said bitterly. "No science, no stars, no wars and no progress. A big beautiful planet-mind, the Term mind, forever static, forever dead."

"It's a bluff," I said. "Our little fanatic's stalling for time, hoping to stampede us while he finds another way."

"For example?"

"Why do you think we insist on basic English for all Terms? Supposing a foreman should start jabbering Terminese during an operation. The Terms would revert, we'd have a line shutdown. They can't adjust--say!" A random thought was nibbling at my brain. "Where was Carmody this morning? Just before I reeled in?"

Her fine brows knitted. "Why, he went--oh, Jake, surely you don't think--?"

"Went where?"

"Down the hall. Towards Personnel."

"Towards the conference hall, you mean. He never even examined Harvey!"

"It wasn't necessary," she said uncomfortably. "Don just wanted to verify his stability index."

"Sure! So he stood outside the conference hall and put a whammy on me--"

Fern was smiling. I scowled. "It fits. It has to be him."

"Or Tichnat," she said. "Or Starza. Or me."

I stared at her. "You'd do." My voice shook. "You were gone three months. They could have got to you."

Her rich, warm laughter sifted through the twilight, and I wanted to hit her. "They did," she gurgled, "but I've decided to relent, Jake. I'll spare the plant on one condition--that you take me to the Term festival tomorrow night."

I grunted. "Carmody working overtime, I suppose?"

"If the plant's still standing."

I changed the subject.

Two hours later Starza called a council of war.

The conference room was crammed with quivering executives. Starza carefully let the tension build to a shrill crescendo before he said:

"One of you gentlemen is a Guild mindless-controlled."

Ragged silence. Starza's smile was very faint.

"You gave us an ultimatum. But destroying this plant is an admission of failure you're not willing to make--yet. You'll try another tack. You're just beginning to discover that this environment we've created for the Terms is superior to the primitive jungle. Tichnat!"

Tichnat stepped forward. His antennae were a proud, brilliant gold.

"Do you want a shutdown?" Starza asked softly.

"Are we fools?" Tichnat clicked. "To lose what we've gained? To return to our tribe? To be destroyed?"

Starza's calm gaze caressed each face, probing. "You see? Stalemate.

Whoever you are, _you're bluffing_. Tomorrow our conveyor speeds return to normal. You'll do nothing. You may try to agitate the Terms, but they're satisfied--"

One of the superintendents cleared his throat. "Look," he said unsteadily, "sometimes you can't afford to call a bluff."

Starza said pleasantly, "Any resignations will be accepted right now.

You can wait safely in the Term village until next week's freighter arrives. No repercussions, I promise."

The lie was blatant. Carmody stood by the door, his smile strained. It was all too obvious what would happen to any resignees.

"None?" Starza's brows rose. "I'm proud of you. That's it, gentlemen."

The next day was a frenetic nightmare. My cost dropped, but it didn't matter. That was one day when the best company man became a clock-watcher. Line foremen, department heads, cracked under the strain, and were summarily removed to Psych. Carmody and staff worked overtime.

[Ill.u.s.tration]