Slave Planet, Laurence M. Janifer [i love reading books .TXT] 📗

MRS. GORDON: They've all been talking about it, how those poor things have to work and work until they drop, and they don't even get paid for it or anything.

MRS. BRANDON: What do you mean, don't get paid? Of course they get paid. You have to get paid when you work, don't you?

MRS. GORDON: Not those poor things. They're slaves.

MRS. BRANDON: Slaves? Like in the olden times?

MRS. G.: That's what they say. Everybody's talking about it.

MRS. B.: Well. Why don't they do something about it, then, the ones that are like that? I mean, there's always something you can do.

MRS. G.: They're just being forced to work until they absolutely drop, is what I hear. And all for a bunch of people who just lord it over them with guns and everything. You see, these beings—they're green, not like us, but they have feelings, too—

MRS. B.: Of course they do, Fellacia.

MRS. G.: Well. They don't have much education, hardly know anything. So when people with guns come in, you see, there just isn't anything they can do about it.

MRS. B.: Why are they let, then?

MRS. G.: Who, the people with guns? Well, nobody lets them, not just like that. It's just like we only found out about it now.

MRS. B.: I didn't hear a word on the news.

MRS. G.: You listen tonight and you'll hear a word, Gwen dear.

MRS. B.: Oh, my. That sounds like there's something up. Now, what have you been doing?

MRS. G.: Don't you think it's right, for these poor beings? I mean, no pay and nothing at all but work, work, work until they absolutely drop?

MRS. B.: What have you been doing? I mean, what can any one person do? Of course it's terrible and all that, but—

MRS. G.: We talked it over. I mean the group I belong to, you know. On Wednesday. Because all of us had heard something about it, you see, and so we brought it up and discussed it. And it's absolutely true.

MRS. B.: How can you be sure of a thing like that?

MRS. G.: We found out—

MRS. B.: When it isn't even on the news or anything.

MRS. G.: We found out that people have been talking from other places, too. Downtown and even in the suburbs.

MRS. B.: Oh. Then it must be—but what can you do, after all? It's not as if we were in the government or anything.

MRS. G.: Don't you worry about that. There's something you can do and it's not hard, either. And it has an effect. A definite effect, they say.

MRS. B.: You mean collecting money? To send them?

MRS. G.: Money won't do them any good. No. What we need is the government, to do something about this.

MRS. B.: It's easy to talk.

MRS. G.: And we can get the government to do something, too. If there are enough of us—and there will be.

MRS. B.: I should think anybody who hears about these people, Fellacia—

MRS. G.: Well, they're not people, exactly.

MRS. B.: What difference does that make? They need help, don't they? And we can give them help. If you really have an idea?

MRS. G.: We discussed it all. And we've been writing letters.

MRS. B.: Letters? Just letters?

MRS. G.: If a Senator gets enough letters, he has to do something, doesn't he? Because the letters are from the people who vote for him, you see?

MRS. B.: But that means a lot of letters.

MRS. G.: We've had everybody sending postcards. Fifteen or twenty each. That mounts up awfully fast, Gwen dear.

MRS. B.: But just postcards—

MRS. G.: And telephone calls, where that's possible. And visits. And starting even more talk everywhere. Just everywhere.

MRS. B.: Do you really think it's going to work? I mean, it seems like so little.

MRS. G.: It's going to work. It's got to.

MRS. B.: What are they working at? I mean the—the slaves.

MRS. G.: They're being forced, Gwen dear. Absolutely forced to work.

MRS. B.: Yes, dear, but what at? What do they do?

MRS. G.: I don't see where that makes any difference. Actually, nobody has been very clear on the details. But the details don't matter, do they, Gwen dear? The important thing is, we have to do something.

MRS. B.: You're right, Fellacia. And I'll—

MRS. G.: Of course I'm right.

MRS. B.: I'll start right in with the postcards. A lot of them.

MRS. G.: And don't forget to tell other people. As many as you can manage. We need all the help we can get—and so do the slaves.

The days passed and the training went on, boring and repetitious as each man tried to hammer into the obdurate head of an Albert just enough about his own particular section of machinery so that he could run it capably and call for help in case of emergencies. And, though every man on Fruyling's World disliked every moment of the job, the job was necessary, and went on: though they, too, were slaves to a great master, none thought of rebelling. For the name of the master was necessity, and economic law, and from that rule there are no rebels. The days passed evenly and the work went slowly on.

And then the training was finished. The new Alberts went on a daily work-schedule, supervised only by the spy-sets and an occasional, deliberately random visit from a master. The visits were necessary, too: the Alberts had not the sophistication to react to a spy-set, and personal supervision was needed to convince them they were still being watched, they still had to work. A master came, a master saw them working: that, they could understand.

That—and the punishments. These went under the name of discipline, and had three grades. The Belbis beams administered all three, by means of a slight readjustment in the ray. It was angled as widely as possible, and the dispersed beam, carefully controlled, acted directly on the nervous system.

Cadnan, troubled by Marvor's threats and by his own continuing thoughts of Dara, was a trifle absent-minded and a little slower than standard. He drew punishment twice, both times in the first grade only. Albin administered both punishments, explaining to his partner Derbis that he didn't mind doing it—and, besides, someone had to.

Sometimes Dodd thought of Albin giving out discipline, and of all of his life on Fruyling's World, in terms of a sign he had once seen. It had been a joke, he remembered that clearly, but it was no more a joke now than the words which flashed nearly ignored at the back of his mind. Once or twice he had imagined this new sign hanging luridly over the entire planet, posted there in the name of profit, in the name