He had a few things on employees here and there, but they were minor things: peccadillos with some of the Psychlo female clerks, drunkenness on the job leading to breakage, tapes of mutterings about foremen, personal letters smuggled into the teleportation of ore, but nothing big. This was not the kind of thing personal fortunes were easily built from. Yet here were thousands of Psychlos, and his experience as a security officer told him the odds in favor of finding blackmail material were large. The company did not hire angels. It hired miners and mining administrators and it hired them tough; in some cases, particularly on a planet like this– no favored spot– the company even winked at taking on ex-criminals. It was a criticism of himself, no less, that he could not get more blackmail than he had.
This Numph. Now there was one. He had potential leverage on Numph but
Terl did not know what it was. He knew it had something to do with the nephew Nipe in home office accounting. But Terl could not dig out what it really was. And so he dared not push it. The risk lay in pretending to be wise to it and then, by some slip, revealing he didn't have the data. The leverage would go up in smoke, for Numph would know Terl had nothing. So he had to use it so sparingly that it was almost no use at all. Blast!
As the days and weeks of winter went on, a new factor arose. His requests for information from the home planet were not being answered. Only that one scrap about Nipe, that was all. It was a trifle frightening. No answers. He could send green flash urgents until he wore out his pen and there wasn't even an acknowledgment.
He had even become sly and reported the discovery of a nonexistent hoard of arms. Actually it was just a couple
Of muzzle-loading bronze cannon some workman had dug up in a minesite on the overseas continent. But Terl had worded the report in such a way that it was alarming, although it could be retracted with no damage to himself: a routine, essential report. And no acknowledgment had come back. None.
He had investigated furiously to see whether other departmental reports got like treatment– they didn't. He had considered the possibility that Numph was removing reports from the teleportation box. Numph wasn't.
Home office knew he existed, that was for sure. They had confirmed the additional ten-year duty stretch, had noted Numph's commendation affirmative, and had added the clause of company optional extension. So they knew he was alive, and there could not possibly be any action being taken against him or he would have intercepted interrogatories about himself. There had been none.
So, without any hope of home office cooperation, it was obviously up to Terl to dig himself out. The ancient security maxim was ever present in his mind now: where a situation is needed but doesn't exist, make one.
His pockets bulged with button cameras and his skill in hiding them was expert. Every picto-recorder he could lay his paws on lined the shelves of his office– and he kept his door locked.
Just now he was glued to a scope, observing the garage interior. He was waiting for Zzt to go to lunch. In his belt Terl had the duplicate keys to the garage.
Open beside him was the book of company regulations relating to the conduct of personnel (Security Volume 989), and it was open to Article 34a-IV (Uniform Code of Penalties).
The article said: “Wherein and whereas theft viciously affects profits...” and there followed five pages of company theft penalties, “...and whereas and wherefore company personnel also have rights to their monies, bonuses, and possessions...” and there followed one page of different aspects of it, “...the theft of personal monies from the quarters of employees by employees, when duly evidenced, shall carry the penalty of vaporization.”
That was the key to Terl's present operation. It didn't say theft went on record. It didn't say a word about when it happened as related to when it was to be punished. The key items were “when duly evidenced” and “vaporization.” There was no judicial vaporization chamber on this planet, but that was no barrier. A blast gun could vaporize anyone with great thoroughness.
There were two other clauses in that book that were important: “All company executives of whatever grade shall uphold these regulations”; and “The enforcement of all such regulations shall be vested in the security officers, their assistants, deputies, and personnel.” The earlier one included Numph-he could not even squeak. The latter one meant Terl, the sole and only security officer– or deputy or assistant or personnel– on this planet.
Terl had spot-watched Zzt for a couple of days now and he knew where he kept his dirty workcoats and caps.
Aha, Zzt was leaving. Terl waited to make sure the transport chief did not come back because he had forgotten something. Good. He was gone.
With speed, but not to betray himself or alarm anyone by rushing if met in the halls, Terl went to the garage.
He let himself in with a duplicate key and went directly to the washroom. He took down a dirty workcoat and cap. He let himself out and locked the door behind him.
For days now Terl had also watched, with an artfully concealed button camera, the room of the smaller Chamco brother. He had found what he wanted. After work, the smaller Chamco brother habitually changed from his mine clothes in his room and put on a long coat he affected for dinner and an evening's gambling in the recreation area. More: the smaller Chamco brother always put and kept his cash in the cup of an antique drinking horn that hung on the wall of his room.
Terl now scanned the minesite patiently. He finally spotted the smaller Chamco brother exiting from the compound, finished with lunch, and boarding the bus to the teleportation transshipment area where he worked. Good. Terl also scanned the compound corridors. They were empty in the berthing areas during work time.
Working fast, Terl looked from a stilled picto-recorder frame of Zzt to the mirror before him and began to apply makeup. He thickened his eyebones, added length to his fangs, roughed the fur on his cheeks, and labored to get the resemblance exact. What a master of skills one had to be in security.
Made up, he donned the workcoat and cap.
He took five hundred credits in bills from his own wallet. The top one he marked: “Good luck!” very plainly. He scribbled several different names on it with different pens.
He connected a remote control to a picto-recorder that was registering the Chamco room, checked everything, and checked the mirror too.
One more look at the live view of the garage. Yes, Zzt was back, puttering around with a big motor. That would keep him busy for a while.
Terl sped down the corridors of the berthing compound. He entered the smaller Chamco brother's room with a passkey. He checked the drinking horn on the wall. Yes, it had money in it. He put in the five hundred credits. He went back to the door. Ready!
He touched the remote control in his pocket, imitating the rolling walk of Zzt, he went over to the drinking horn and with stealthy movements took out the five hundred credits, looked around as though fearful of being observed, counted the money– the marked bill plainly in view– and then crept out of the room, closing and locking the door.
A berthing attendant saw him from a distance and he ducked.
He got back to his room and swiftly removed the makeup. He put the five hundred credits back in his wallet.
When the screen showed him Zzt had gone for dinner, he returned the cap and workcoat to the washroom.
Back in his own quarters, Terl rubbed his paws.
Leverage. Leverage. Stage one of this lever was done, and he was going to pull it and good.
Chapter 3