mass industries, schools, medical assistance. In return, of course, for a certain amount of taxes, military levies and so forth.”
Martin Gunther said softly, “I recall reading of the commune system as a student, but I fail to remember the supposed advantages.”
Chessman growled, “They’re obvious. You have a unit of tens of thousands of persons. Instead of living in individual houses, each with a man working while the woman cooks and takes care of the home, all live in community houses and take their meals in messhalls. The children are cared for by trained nurses. During the season all physically capable adults go out en masse to work the fields. When the harvest has been taken in, the farmer does not hole up for the winter but is occupied in local industrial projects, or in road or dam building. The commune’s labor is never idle.”
Kennedy shuddered involuntarily.
Chessman looked at him coldly. “It means quick progress. Meanwhile, we go through each commune and from earliest youth, locate those members who are suited to higher studies. We bring them into State schools where they get as much education as they can assimilate—more than is available in commune schools. These are the Texcocans we are training in the sciences.”
“The march to the anthill,” Amschel Mayer muttered.
Chessman eyed him scornfully. “You amuse me, old man. You with your talk of building an economy with a system of free competition. Our Texcocans are sacrificing today but their children will live in abundance. Even today, no one starves, no one goes without shelter nor medical care.” Chessman twisted his mouth wryly. “We have found that hungry, cold or sick people cannot work efficiently.”
He stared challengingly at the Genoese leader. “Can you honestly say that there are no starving people in Genoa? No inadequately housed, no sick without hope of adequate medicine? Do you have economic setbacks in which poorly planned production goes amuck and depressions follow with mass unemployment?”
“Nevertheless,” Mayer said with unwonted calm, “our society is still far ahead of yours. A mere handful of your bureaucracy and military chiefs enjoy the good things of life. There are tens of thousands on Genoa who have them. Free competition has its weaknesses, perhaps, but it provides a greater good for a greater number of persons.”
Joe Chessman came to his feet. “We’ll see,” he said stolidly. “In ten years, Mayer, we’ll consider the position of both planets once again.”
“Ten years it is,” Mayer snapped back at him.
Jerry Kennedy saluted with his glass. “Cheers,” he said.
* * * *
On the return to Genoa Amschel Mayer said to Kennedy, “Are you sober enough to assimilate something serious?”
“Sure, chief, of course.”
“Hm-m-m. Well then, begin taking the steps necessary for us to place a few men on Texcoco in the way of, ah, intelligence agents.”
“You mean some of our team?” Kennedy said, startled.
“No, of course not. We can’t spare them, and, besides, there’d be too big a chance of recognition and exposure. Some of our more trusted Genoese. Make the monetary reward enough to attract their services.” He looked at his lieutenants significantly. “I think you’ll agree that it might not be a bad idea to keep our eyes on the developments on Texcoco.”
* * * *
On the way back to Texcoco, Barry Watson said to his chief, “What do you think of putting some security men on Genoa, just to keep tabs?”
“Why?”
Watson looked at his fingers, nibbled at a hangnail. “It just seems to me it wouldn’t hurt any.”
Chessman snorted.
Dick Hawkins said, “I think Barry’s right. They can bear watching. Besides in another decade or so they’ll realize we’re going to beat them. Mayer’s ego isn’t going to take that. He’d go to just about any extreme to keep from losing face back on Earth.”
Natt Roberts said worriedly, “I think they’re right, Joe. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to have a few Security men over there. My department could train them and we’d ferry them over in this space boat.”
“I’ll make the decisions,” Chessman growled at them. “I’ll think about this. It’s just possible that you’re right though.”
Behind them, Reif looked thoughtfully at his teen-age son.
IX.
Down the long palace corridor strode Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins, Natt Roberts, the aging Reif and his son Taller, now in the prime of manhood. Their faces were equally wan from long hours without sleep. Half a dozen Tulan infantrymen brought up their rear.
As they passed Security Police guards, to left and right, eyes took in their weapons, openly carried. But such eyes shifted and the guards remained at their posts. Only one sergeant opened his mouth in protest. “Sir,” he said to Watson, hesitantly, “you are entering Number One’s presence armed.”
“Shut up,” Natt Roberts rapped at him.
Reif said, “That will be all, sergeant.”
The Security Police sergeant looked emptily after them as they progressed down the corridor.
Together, Watson and Reif motioned aside the two Tulan soldiers who stood before the door of their destination, and pushed inward without knocking.
Joe Chessman looked up wearily from his map and dispatch laden desk. For a moment his hand went to the heavy military revolver at his right but when he realized the identity of his callers, it fell away.
“What’s up now?” he said, his voice on the verge of cracking.
Watson acted as spokesman. “It’s everywhere the same. The communes are on the fine edge of revolt. They’ve been pushed too far; they’ve got to the point where they just don’t give a damn. A spark and all Texcoco goes up in flames.”
Reif said coldly, “We need immediate reforms. They’ve got to be pacified. An immediate announcement of more consumer goods, fewer State taxes, above all a relaxation of Security Police pressures. Given immediate promise of these, we might maintain ourselves.”
Joe Chessman’s sullen face was twitching at the right corner of his mouth. Young Taller made no attempt to disguise his contempt at the other’s weakness in time of stress.
Chessman’s eyes went around the half circle of them. “This is the only alternative? It’ll slow up our heavy industry program. We might not catch up with Genoa as quickly as planned.”
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. 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.” He said to Reif, “How much of the Tulan army is loyal?”
The aging Tulan looked at Watson before turning back to Joe Chessman. “All of the Tulan army is loyal—to me.”
“Good!” Chessman 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.”
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 their demands?”
“It’s our only