Farmer Philip - Riders of the Purple Wage

“Gnatcatcher will be getting a court order to tap our phone lines,” Netter said.

“How long before the taps are installed?”

“Within an hour.”

Netter cut off the phone and spoke to his partner. “Some vital data is missing from our prognosticator. We have to revise our plans. Quickly.”

Agrafan said, “I’m not sure that if we start Operation Trapdoor now, it’ll be successful.”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Also, Gnatcatcher is acting irrationally. He insists on speaking to us. Not just through the phone but face to face on the screen. He won’t take no for an answer. We…”

Agrafan answered the phone. He listened for a moment, then said. “Thank you, Goll.” To Netter, he said, “Goll just got a call from Gnatcatcher himself. Gnatcatcher says that we must talk to him face to face. He has to see us, even if only through the screen.”

“Why is he so adamant about visual contact?”

“Goll said that he thinks that Gnatcatcher suspects that we two don’t exist. Or perhaps he suspects that someone or some group has murdered us and is posing as us. Goll calls it the Howard Hughes syndrome.”

Netter sighed from a ventral tube and flapped his wings and wiggled his antennae. “Very well. Have Goll put us through to Gnatcatcher.”

“No, first we pull the lever,” Agrafan said. “One call to our chief representative in Wall Street, and it’s done.”

That having been accomplished, Agrafan made the arrangements for the video meeting. A minute later, Gnatcatcher’s face, now a near-purple, though it just looked dark on the infrared screen, appeared. But, on seeing what he thought was the two (actually, he was seeing a video simulation), his jaw dropped, his eyes bugged, and the purple changed to gray. Then the screen went blank.

“A very strange and unexpected reaction.” Netter said. “What could have caused him to cut us off?”

Agrafan said, “Obviously, we lack some data.”

They had been watching TV ever since the first sets had been sold. Their favorites were old movie films, and they especially liked the antics of two film comedians who had made all their pictures before TV had become a mundane reality. Agrafan and Netter saw a parallel between their own early bumblings and mistakes on Earth and those of the two comedians. Because of their empathizing, they had used the two comedians as models for the simulations. Until now, however, they had not been forced to use these. All contacts with the world outside their room had been by phone.

How were they to know that Gnatcatcher, when be was a child and still undehumanized by forty years of IRS employment, had often seen and loved the ancient tapes of two Hollywood comics?

Brown, Smith, and Jones, burdened with fifty pounds of computer printouts, had just entered Gnatcatcher’s office. Though the paper contained only a small fraction of the enormousness of what must be a communist plot, the three carried in their heads the summary of the terrifying and mind-spinning situation.

They were pale and tottery when they came through the door. Seeing Gnatcatcher’s corpselike skin and wild eyes, they became even whiter and weaker. “What’s the matter, boss?” they said in unison.

“Laurel and Hardy!” Gnatcatcher screamed.

“What?” the three said, again in unison.

Gnatcatcher did not explain. He roared. “Get me the White House! And get another court order! We’re invading the house!”

“The While House, sit?” Smith said faintly.

“No, you imbecile! The house of Agrafan and Netter! Have our men armed, ready to shoot at the first sign of resistance! Can you get hold of bazookas?”

Smith said. “Yes, sir,” and he staggered out to transmit the orders. First, though, he phoned Goll. The butler thanked him and said that another $200,000 would be in Smith’s mailbox by tomorrow.

It was left to Brown to explain the situation to Gnatcatcher. Stammering slightly, swallowing saliva that was not there, he said, “I’ve never heard of or encountered such a case before, sir. It’s absolutely unprecedented. I talked to their lawyers just before I came in; they explained the whole amazing business. They said that Agrafan and Netter are real patriots. They’ve been paying far more income tax, their businesses have, I mean, than they were required to pay. They—” He stopped.

“So what?” Gnatcatcher snarled. “We gave them the proper refund, didn’t we? Nobody can say we’re not honest. We always refund if we find we have to!”

“Well, it’s this way, sir. Since 1952, every property they own has paid twice what they should have paid!”

“How in hell could they do that? Why didn’t we catch it?”

Brown said, “Uh…their companies have been keeping two sets of books!”

Gnatcatcher’s face was speeding toward purple again.

“That’s illegal! We got them now!”

“No, sir, it’s not illegal to pay Uncle Sam twice what you should. The records we’ve seen showed one set of profits on which they paid taxes double what we should have gotten. Their other records, the ones we hadn’t seen until now, showed the true profits, the smaller ones.”

“I don’t believe this!” Gnatcatcher screamed. Then, calming a little, “So what? They’ve just made a big donation to the Treasury, that’s all!”

Very quietly, Brown said. “You forget what I said, sir. About the refund. They’re calling in the chips. They want every cent of their overpayment. There’s no time limit on it, sir, like there used to be. The good news is that they’re not asking for interest earned on the overpayment, though I don’t think it would do them any good to ask.”

“That’s fraud, collusion, and God knows what other hideous crimes against the state!” Gnatcatcher bellowed. “They can’t get away with it! We’ll take them to court! They’ll get bounced so quick—no way is—” He paused, struggled for breath, clutched his stomach, then said, “What is the total sum of this alleged overpayment?”

Brown opted out of answering by fainting. While he was being revived, agent Jones said, “Uh, the exact sum is eight hundred billion, ninety-six million, twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and three dollars and thirty cents, sir!”

It was Gnatcatcher’s turn to faint. When he came to, he muttered. “Rally around the flag, boys.”

A minute later, having recovered somewhat, he said, “We’ve got to squash this, nip it in the bud. It’s sheer nonsense, gibberish, mopery on a colossal scale. But the mere rumor that this situation existed would cause the stock market to crash. We’ll keep this quiet among us. men. And we’ll go out and burn the traitors’ house down! That’ll put a stop to it!”

“Their lawyers and whoever runs their empire for them know about this,” Jones said.

“None of their underlings’ll dare say a word about it or about a refund after I get through talking to them!” Gnatcatcher screamed. Still holding his belly, he said, “We’re going to storm their house, drag them out, doctors’ excuses or no excuses, slam them into jail, incognito! I mean incommunicado! Don’t argue with me!”

“Their civil rights, sir?” Brown said.

“This is war!” Gnatcatcher shouted. “I’ll get the President to declare a state of martial law, civil rights suspended during the emergency! Once he understands the full implications of this, even he, dumb as he is, will cooperate fully!”

The phone on Gnatcatcher’s desk rang. Brown punched a button, and a face appeared on the screen. “Speak of the devil,” Brown muttered. He turned. “The President, sir.”

It was too late. If the IRS did not pay the refund, or if it fought the case in court, every company controlled by Agrafan and Netter was to onload its stocks and declare bankruptcy. That meant that the stock market would topple with a roar far louder than it had made in 1929. The world would sink into Great Depression II. All funds for space exploration, especially those for the tremendously expensive Uranus project would be cut off. Another generation, perhaps two or three, would pass before Earth endangered the life-forms of the great green planet again.