Mack Reynolds - The Rival Rigelians

When they returned to their places, Louis Rosetti was scowling in thought. “You sure that was a good idea, Mike?”

His companion pulled a snowy handkerchief from an inner pocket and wiped his forehead. “I don’t know. That molly has had the wine monopoly tied up in his family so long that they think any guzzle is their private preserve.”

Rosetti said, “The question is, will he stay bribed?”

“I hope long enough for our new drinks to become so popular he won’t be able to blow the whistle on us.”

“But suppose he does?”

Dean grinned at him. “A million crowns is a lot of money. That check was made out to Presbyter Doul, personally. When he cashes it, we will have the check. Supposedly, temple monks take the oath of poverty. Our friend Doul is going to look very sick indeed if, on making the charges against us, there are some counter-charges of misappropriating of funds.”

Louis Rosetti looked at him doubtfully. “I hope you’re not getting too fancy, Mike.”

Mike Dean laughed it away.

Amschel Mayer was incensed.

“What’s got into Buchwald and MacDonald?” he spat.

Jerry Kennedy, attired as was his superior in fur trimmed Genoese robes, signaled one of the servants for a refilling of his glass. Then he shugged.

“I suppose it’s partly our own fault,” he said lightly. He sipped the wine the servant had poured from a long-necked dusty bottle and made a mental note to buy up the rest of this vintage for his cellars before young Mannerheim or someone else did.

“Our fault!” Mayer glared. He shook the report he held in his right hand at the other.

The old boy was getting decreasingly tolerant as the years went by, Kennedy decided. He said soothingly, “You sent Peter and Fred over there to speed up local development. Well, that’s what they’re doing.”

“Are you insane?” Mayer squirmed in his chair. “Did you read this radiogram? They’ve squeezed out all my holdings in rubber, the fastest growing industry on the southern continent. Why, millions are involved. Who do they think they are?”

Kennedy put down his glass and chuckled. “See here, Amschel, we’re developing this planet by encouraging free competition. Our contention is that under such socio-economic systems the best men are brought to the lead and benefit all society by the advances they make.”

“Sol What has this got to do with MacDonald and Buchwald betraying my interests.?”

“Don’t you see? Using your own theory, you have been set back by someone more efficiently competitive. Fred and Peter saw an opening and, in keeping with your instructions, moved in. It’s just coincidence that the rubber they took over was your property rather than some Genoese operator’s. If you were open to a loss there, then if they hadn’t taken over someone else could have. Possibly Baron Leonar, or even Russ.”

“That reminds me,” Mayer snapped. “Our Honorable Russ is getting too big for his britches in petroleum. Did you know he’s established a laboratory in Amerus? Has a hundred or more chemists working on new products.”

Jerry Kennedy finished his wine and motioned to the servant to fill his glass still once again. He said to his older companion, “Fine.”

“Fine! What do you mean? Dean is our man in petroleum.”

“Look here, if Russ can develop the industry faster than Mike Dean, let him go ahead. That’s all to our advantage.”

Mayer leaned forward and tapped his assistant emphatically on the knee. “Look here, yourself, Jerome Kennedy. At this stage, we don’t want things getting out of our hands. A culture is in the hands of those who control the wealth; the means of production, distribution, communication. Theirs is the real power. I’ve made a point of spacing our team about the whole planet. Gunther is in mines, Dean heads petroleum among other things, MacDonald shipping, Buchwald steel, Rosetti distilling, Doctor Wieliczka medicine, and so forth. As fast as this planet can assimilate, we push new inventions, new techniques, often whole new sciences, into use. Meanwhile, you and I sit back and dominate it all through the strongest of power mediums, finance.”

Jerry Kennedy nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about old man Russ taking over Dean’s domination of oil, though. Mike’s got the support of all the Pedagogue’s resources behind him. Besides, we’ve got to let these Genoese get into the act. The more the economy expands, the more capable men we need. As it is, I think we’re already spread a little too thin.”

Amschel Mayer had dropped the subject. He was reading the radiogram again and scowling his anger. “This cooks MacDonald and Buchwald. I’ll break them.”

His assistant took another pull at his drink, and raised his eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not going to put up with my subordinates going against my interests.”

“In this case, what can you do about it? Business is business.”

“You hold quite a bit of their paper, don’t you?” The older man’s voice held a sly quality.

“You know that. Most of our team’s finances funnel through my hands.”

“We’ll close them out. They’ve become too concerned with their wealth. They’ve forgotten why the Pedagogue was sent here. I’ll break them, Jerry. They’ll come crawling. Perhaps I’ll send them back to the Pedagogue . Make them stay aboard as a permanent crew.”

Kennedy shrugged. “Well, Peter MacDonald is going to hate that. He’s developed into quite a high playboy—gourmet food, women, one of the most lavish estates on the southern continent.”

“Ha!” Mayer snorted. “Let him go back to ship’s rations and crews’ quarters.”

A servant entered the lushly furnished room and announced: “The Honorable Gunther calling on the Honorables Mayer and Kennedy.”

“Show him in, of course,” Mayer ordered. Martin Gunther, for once his calm ruffled, hurried into the room. “Rykov,” he blurted. “He’s disappeared. The barons have probably got him!”

Amschel Mayer shot to his feet. “That’s the end,” he swore shrilly. “Only in the west have the barons held out. I thought we’d slowly wear them down, take over their powers bit by bit. But this does it. This means we fight!”

He spun to Kennedy.

“Jerry, make preparations to take a trip out to the Pedagogue . You know the extent of Genoa’s industrial progress. Seek out the most advanced weapons this technology could produce.”

Kennedy put down his glass, and came to his own feet, shocked by Gunther’s words. “But, Amschel, do you think it’s wise to start an intercontinental war? Remember, we’ve been helping to industrialize the west, too. It’s almost as advanced as our continent. Their war potential isn’t weak.”

“Nevertheless,” Mayer snapped, “we’ve got to break the backs of the barons and the Temple monks. Get messages off to Baron Leonar and young Mannerheim, to Russ and Olderman. We’ll want them to put pressure on their local politicians. What we need is a continental alliance for this war.”

Gunther said, “Should I get in touch with Rosetti and Dean? They’re still over there.”

Mayer hesitated. “No,” he said. “Well keep Mike and Louis informed but they’d better stay where they are. We’ll still want our men in the basic positions of higher power when we’ve won.”

“They might get hurt,” Gunther scowled. “The barons might get them too. I’m not so sure about their cover. The Temple’s got a lot of strings out. They might know we’re all interconnected.”

“Nonsense. Mike and Louis can take care of themselves.”

Jerry Kennedy was upset. He was not by nature a man of violence. He said, “Are you sure about this war, chief? Isn’t a conflict of this size apt to hold up our overall plans?”