by Keith Laumer
IV
Retief stepped to the machine, dropped the coin.
"If you want to change your mind," the man said, "you can back out now.All it'll cost you is the chip you dropped."
Retief reached through the hole, took the grip. It was leather paddedhand-filling. He squeezed it. There was a click and bright lights sprangup. The crowd ah!-ed. The globe began to twirl lazily. The four-inchhole at its top was plainly visible.
"If ever the hole gets in position it will empty very quickly," Magnansaid, hopefully.
Suddenly, a brilliant white light flooded the glass cage. A sound wentup from the spectators.
"Quick, drop a chip," someone called.
"You've only got ten seconds...."
"Let go!" Magnan yelped.
Retief sat silent, holding the grip, frowning up at the weight. Theglobe twirled faster now. Then the bright white light winked off.
"A bluff!" Magnan gasped.
"That's risky, stranger," the gray-templed man said.
The globe was turning rapidly now, oscillating from side to side. Thehole seemed to travel in a wavering loop, dipping lower, swinging uphigh, then down again.
"It has to move to the bottom soon," Magnan said. "Slow it down."
"The slower it goes, the longer it takes to get to the bottom," someonesaid.
There was a crackle and Retief stiffened. Magnan heard a sharp intake ofbreath. The globe slowed, and Retief shook his head, blinking.
The broad-shouldered man glanced at a meter.
"You took pretty near a full jolt, that time," he said.
The hole in the globe was tracing an oblique course now, swinging to thecenter, then below.
"A little longer," Magnan said.
"That's the best speed I ever seen on the Slam ball," someone said. "Howmuch longer can he hold it?"
Magnan looked at Retief's knuckles. They showed white against the grip.The globe tilted farther, swung around, then down; two chips fell out,clattered down a chute and into a box.
"We're ahead," Magnan said. "Let's quit."
Retief shook his head. The globe rotated, dipped again; three chipsfell.
"She's ready," someone called.
"It's bound to hit soon," another voice added excitedly. "Come on,Mister!"
"Slow down," Magnan said. "So it won't move past too quickly."
"Speed it up, before that lead block gets you," someone called.
The hole swung high, over the top, then down the side. Chips rained outof the hole, six, eight....
"Next pass," a voice called.
The white light flooded the cage. The globe whirled; the hole slid overthe top, down, down.... A chip fell, two more....
Retief half rose, clamped his jaw and crushed the grip. Sparks flew. Theglobe slowed, chips spewing. It stopped, swung back, weighted by themass of chips at the bottom, and stopped again with the hole centered.
Chips cascaded down the chute, filled the box before Retief, spilled onthe floor. The crowd yelled.
Retief released the grip and withdrew his arm at the same instant thatthe lead block slammed down.
"Good lord," Magnan said. "I felt that through the floor."
Retief turned to the broad-shouldered man.
"This game's all right for beginners," he said. "But I'd like to talk areally big gamble. Why don't we go to your office, Mr. Zorn?"
* * * * *
"Your proposition interests me," Zorn said, grinding out the stump ofhis dope stick in a brass ashtray. "But there's some angles to this Ihaven't mentioned yet."
"You're a gambler, Zorn, not a suicide," Retief said. "Take what I'veoffered. The other idea was fancier, I agree, but it won't work."
"How do I know you birds aren't lying?" Zorn snarled. He stood up,strode up and down the room. "You walk in here and tell me I'll have atask force on my neck, that the Corps won't recognize my regime. Maybeyou're right. But I've got other contacts. They say different." Hewhirled, stared at Retief.
"I have pretty good assurance that once I put it over, the Corps willhave to recognize me as the legal government of Petreac. They won'tmeddle in internal affairs."
"Nonsense," Magnan spoke up. "The Corps will never deal with a pack ofcriminals calling themselves--"
"Watch your language, you!" Zorn rasped.
"I'll admit Mr. Magnan's point is a little weak," Retief said. "Butyou're overlooking something. You plan to murder a dozen or so officersof the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne along with the local wheels. Thecorps won't overlook that. It can't."
"Their tough luck they're in the middle," Zorn muttered.
"Our offer is extremely generous, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said. "The postyou'll get will pay you very well indeed. As against the certain failureof your planned coup, the choice should be simple."
Zorn eyed Magnan. "Offering me a job--it sounds phony as hell. I thoughtyou birds were goody-goody diplomats."
"It's time you knew," Retief said. "There's no phonier business in theGalaxy than diplomacy."
"You'd better take it, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said.
"Don't push me, Junior!" Zorn said. "You two walk into my headquartersempty-handed and big-mouthed. I don't know what I'm talking to you for.The answer is no. N-I-X, no!"
"Who are you afraid of?" Retief said softly.
Zorn glared at him.
"Where do you get that 'afraid' routine? I'm top man here!"
"Don't kid around, Zorn. Somebody's got you under their thumb. I can seeyou squirming from here."
* * * * *
"What if I let your boys alone?" Zorn said suddenly. "The Corps won'thave anything to say then, huh?"
"The Corps has plans for Petreac, Zorn. You aren't part of them. Arevolution right now isn't part of them. Having the Potentate and thewhole Nenni caste slaughtered isn't part of them. Do I make myselfclear?"
"Listen," Zorn said urgently, pulling a chair around. "I'll tell youguys a few things. You ever heard of a world they call Rotune?"
"Certainly," Magnan said. "It's a near neighbor of yours. Anotherbackward--that is, emergent--"
"Okay," Zorn said. "You guys think I'm a piker, do you? Well, let mewise you up. The Federal Junta on Rotune is backing my play. I'll berecognized by Rotune, and the Rotune fleet will stand by in case I needany help. I'll present the CDT with what you call a _fait accompli_."
"What does Rotune get out of this? I thought they were your traditionalenemies."
"Don't get me wrong. I've got no use for Rotune; but our interestshappen to coincide right now."
"Do they?" Retief smiled grimly. "You can spot a sucker as soon as hecomes through that door out there--but you go for a deal like this!"
"What do you mean?" Zorn looked angrily at Retief. "It's fool-proof."
"After you get in power, you'll be fast friends with Rotune, is thatit?"
"Friends, hell! Just give me time to get set, and I'll square a fewthings with that--"
"Exactly. And what do you suppose they have in mind for you?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Why is Rotune interested in your take-over?"
Zorn studied Retief's face. "I'll tell you why," he said. "It's youbirds. You and your trade agreement. You're here to tie Petreac intosome kind of trade combine. That cuts Rotune out. Well, we're doing allright out here. We don't need any commitments to a lot of fancy-pants onthe other side of the Galaxy."
"That's what Rotune has sold you, eh?" Retief said, smiling.
"Sold, nothing!"
* * * * *
Zorn ground out his dope-stick, lit another. He snorted angrily.
"Okay; what's your idea?" he asked after a moment.
"You know what Petreac is getting in the way of imports as a result ofthe agreement?"
"Sure. A lot of junk."
"To be specific," Retief said, "there'll be 50,000 Tatone B-3 drywashers; 100,000 Glo-float motile lamps; 100,000 Earthworm Minor
gardencultivators; 25,000 Veco space heaters; and 75,000 replacement elementsfor Ford Monomeg drives."
"Like I said. A lot of junk."
Retief leaned back, looking sardonically at Zorn, "Here's the gimmick,Zorn," he said. "The Corps is getting a little tired of Petreac andRotune carrying on their two-penny war out here. Your privateers have anasty habit of picking on innocent bystanders. After studying bothsides, the Corps has decided Petreac would be a little easier to dobusiness with. So this trade agreement was worked out. The Corps can'topenly sponsor an arms shipment to a belligerent. But personalappliances are another story."
"So what do we do--plow 'em under with back-yard cultivators?" Zornlooked at Retief, puzzled. "What's the point?"
"You take the sealed monitor unit from the washer, the repeller fieldgenerator from the lamp, the converter control from the cultivator, etcetera, et cetera. You fit these together according to some very simpleinstructions. Presto! You have one hundred thousand Standard-class Yhand blasters. Just the thing to turn the tide in a stalemated warfought with obsolete arms."
"Good lord!" Magnan said. "Retief, are you--"
"I have to tell him," Retief said. "He has to know what he's putting hisneck into."
"Weapons, hey?" Zorn said. "And Rotune knows about it?"
"Sure they know about it. It's not too hard to figure out. And there'smore. They want the CDT delegation included in the massacre for areason. It will put Petreac out of the picture; the trade agreement willgo to Rotune; and you and your new regime will find yourselves lookingdown the muzzles of your own blasters."
Zorn threw his dope-stick to the floor with a snarl.
"I should have smelled something when that Rotune smoothie made hispitch." Zorn looked at his watch.
"I've got two hundred armed men in the palace. We've got about fortyminutes to get over there before the rocket goes up."