the evidence.
If Earth Central hadn't figured that the corporation owed it somebillion megacredits in back taxes, he wouldn't be here. He had beendragged from his job in the General Accounting Office, for every fieldman and ex-field man was needed to conduct the sweeping investigation.Every facet of the sprawling IC operation was being checked. Even minorand out-of-the-way spots like Antar were on the list--spots thatnormally demanded a cursory once-over by a second-class businesstechnician.
* * * * *
Superficially, Antar had the dull unimportance of an early penetration.There were the usual trading posts, pilot plants, wholesale and retailtrade, and tourist and recreation centers--all designed to accustom thenative inhabitants to the presence of Earthmen and their works--and setthem up for the commercial kill, after they had acquired a taste for theproducts of civilization. But although the total manpower and physicalplant for a world of this size was right, its distribution was wrong.
A technician probably wouldn't see it, but to an agent who had dealtwith corporate operations for nearly a quarter of a century, the setupfelt wrong. It was not designed for maximum return. TheVaornia-Lagash-Timargh triangle held even more men and material thenPrime Base. That didn't make sense. It was inefficient, and IC was notnoted for inefficiency.
Not being oriented criminally, Albert found out IC's real reason forconcentration in this area only by absent-mindedly lighting a cigaretteone day in Vaornia. He had realized almost instantly that this was agross breach of outworld ethics and had thrown the cigarette away. Itlanded between a pair of Vaornese walking by.
The two goggled at the cigarette, sniffed the smoke rising from it, andwith simultaneous whistles of surprise bent over to pick it up. Theirheads collided with some force. The cigarette tore in their greedy graspas they hissed hatefully at each other for a moment, before turninghostile glares in his direction. From their expressions, they thoughtthis was a low Earthie trick to rob them of their dignity. Then theystalked off, their neck scales ruffled in anger, shreds of the cigarettestill clutched in their hands.
Even Albert couldn't miss the implications. His tossing the butt awayhad produced the same reaction as a deck of morphine on a group of humanaddicts. Since IC wouldn't corrupt a susceptible race with tobacco whenthere were much cheaper legal ways, the logical answer was that itwasn't expensive on this planet--which argued that Antar was being setup for plantation operations--in which case tobacco addiction was anecessary prerequisite and the concentration of IC population madesense.
Now tobacco, as any Earthman knew, was the only monopoly in theConfederation, and Earth had maintained that monopoly by treaty and byforce, despite numerous efforts to break it. There were some goodreasons for the policy, ranging all the way from vice control to taxableincome, but the latter was by far the most important. The revenuesupported a considerable section of Earth Central as well as the hugebattle fleet that maintained peace and order along the spacelanes andbetween the worlds.
But a light-weight, high-profit item like tobacco was a constanttemptation to any sharp operator who cared more for money than for law,and IC filled that definition perfectly. In the Tax Section's book, theInterworld Corporation was a corner-cutting, profit-grabbing chiseler.Its basic character had been the same for three centuries, despite allthe complete turnovers in staff. Albert grinned wryly. The old-timerswere right when they made corporations legal persons.
Cigarettes which cost five credits to produce and sold for as high astwo hundred would always interest a crook, and, as a consequence, EarthCentral was always investigating reports of illegal plantations. Theywere found and destroyed eventually, and the owners punished. But thecatch lay in the word "eventually." And if the operator was acorporation, no regulatory agency in its right mind would dare apply thefull punitive power of the law. In that direction lay political suicide,for nearly half the population of Earth got dividends or salaries fromthem.
That, of course, was the trouble with corporations. They invariably grewtoo big and too powerful. But to break them up as the Ancients did wasto destroy their efficiency. What was really needed was a corporateconscience.
Albert chuckled. That was a nice unproductive thought.
* * * * *
Fred Kemmer received the news that Albert had been taken to detentionwith a philosophic calm that lasted for nearly half an hour. By morning,the man would be turned over to the Patrol in Prime Base. The Patrolwould support the charge that Albert was an undesirable tourist and sendhim home to Earth.
But the philosophic calm departed with a frantic leap when Shifazreported Johnson's inspection of the oiled-silk pouch. Raw tobacco wassomething that shouldn't be within a thousand parsects of Antar; itsinference would be obvious even to an investigator interested only intax revenues. Kemmer swore at the native. The entire operation wouldhave to be aborted now and his dreams of promotion would vanish.
"It wasn't my supply," Shifaz protested. "I was carrying it down toKaras at the mating market. He demands a pack every time he puts a showon for your silly Earthie tourists."
"You should have concealed it better."
"How was I to know that chubby slob was coming back alive? And who'dhave figured that he could handle me?"
"I've told you time and again that Earthmen are tough customers whenthey get mad, but you had to learn it the hard way. Now we're all in thesoup. The Patrol doesn't like illicit tobacco planters. Tobacco isresponsible for their pay."
"But he's still in your hands and he couldn't have had time to transmithis information," Shifaz said. "You can still kill him."
Kemmer's face cleared. Sure, that was it. Delay informing the Patrol andknock the snoop off. The operation and Kemmer's future were still safe.But it irked him that he had panicked instead of thinking. It just wentto show how being involved in major crime ruined the judgment. He'd haveJohnson fixed up with a nice hearty meal--and he'd see that it wasdelivered personally. At this late date, he couldn't afford the risk oftrusting a subordinate.
Kemmer's glower became a smile. The snoop's dossier indicated that heliked to eat. He should die happy.
* * * * *
With a faint click, a loaded tray passed through a slot in the rear wallof Albert Johnson's cell.
The sight and smell of Earthly cooking reminded him that he hadn'tanything to eat for hours. His mouth watered as he lifted the tray andcarried it to the cot. At least IC wasn't going to let him starve todeath, and if this was any indication of the way they treated prisoners,an IC jail was the best place to be on this whole planet.
Since it takes a little time for substances to diffuse across theintestinal epithelium and enter the circulation, the Zark had somewarning of what was about to happen from the behavior of the epithelialcells lining Albert's gut. As a result, a considerable amount of thealkaloid was stopped before it entered Albert's body--but some did passthrough, for the Zark was not omnipotent.
For nearly five minutes after finishing the meal, Albert felt normallyfull and comfortable. Then hell broke loose. Most of the food came backwith explosive violence and cramps bent him double. The Zark turned tothe neutralization and elimination of the poison. Absorptive surfaceswere sealed off, body fluids poured into the intestinal tract, andanti-substances formed out of Albert's energy reserve to neutralizewhatever alkaloid remained.
None of the Zark's protective measures were normal to Albert's body, andwith the abrupt depletion of blood glucose to supply the energy the Zarkrequired, Albert passed into hypoglycemic shock. The Zark regrettedthat, but it had no time to utilize his other less readily availableenergy sources. In fact, there was no time for anything except the mostelemental protective measures. Consequently the convulsions,tachycardia, and coma had to be ignored.
Albert's spasms were mercifully short, but when the Zark was finished,he lay unconscious on the floor, his body twitching with incoordinatespasms, while a frightened guard called in an alarm to the medics.
The Zark quivered with its own particular brand of nausea. It had notbeen hurt by the alkaloid, but the pain of its host left it sick withself-loathing. That it had established itself in a life-form thatcasually ingested deadly poisons was no excuse. It should have been morealert, more sensitive to the host's deficiencies. It had saved his life,which was some compensation, and there was much that could be done inthe way of restorative and corrective measures that would prevent such athing from occurring again--but the Zark was unhappy as it set abouthelping Albert's liver metabolize fat to glucose and restore blood sugarlevels.
* * * * *
The medic was puzzled. She had seen some peculiar conditions at thisstation, but hypoglycemic shock was something new. And, being unsure ofherself, she ordered Albert into the infirmary for
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