It wasn’t all strawberries and cream by a long shot.
A couple of months after the initial announcement, he was politely invited to Demming’s office, his innermost, most private, sanctum sanctorum.
There Sam Frankle was introduced. Don was aware of him, though not in any detail. President of the One Big Union, once a common copper miner, he had evidently fought his way up through union politics—sometimes with his heavy, merciless fists. He was beetle-browed, broken-nosed, and there were obvious scars on his dark face. In this age of plastic surgery, Don wondered? He supposed it was part of the other’s image. He was extremely popular with the workers he led, supposedly continuously fighting for their rights.
Frankle took the space hero in, his eyes less than friendly. He was not the hero worshipping type, obviously.
Present were Demming, Rostoff and the unassuming Dirck Bosch, and all three were empty of face.
Don said, after becoming properly seated, “What can I do for you, Mr. Frankle?”
“They call me Bull Frankle, and I want to know what the shit’s going on.”
Don looked from Demming to Rostoff and could tell nothing from their expressions, although both were alert of eye. He looked back at the union leader. “I don’t believe I follow you, ah, Bull.”
The tough man said, “Look, Mr. Interplanetary Hero, let me tell you some of the facts of life. Unions are big business. Like any other kind of big business they exist to make money for the people who own, or control them. For instance, Lawrence Demming’s Interplanetary Conglomerate doesn’t exist for the people who work in it, several hundred thousands. It exists for him.”
“Get to the point, Bull,” Rostoff said.
“That is the point. I want to know my in.” He looked at Don suspiciously. “You made a big talk to the marks, the suckers. Everybody’s got to sacrifice, including the workers on Callisto and so forth, all members of the One Big Union. Okay, some of them will take it. Most of them will take it. You say they shouldn’t get double wages, on account of working on the satellites. Okay, you want to know something? If they don’t get anything extra, as a result of the union being in there pitching for them, why should they keep membership in the union and pay out their dues?”
“I’m not up on all this,” Don said weakly. He didn’t know what it was all about.
“That’s why I’m briefing you,” the other said impatiently. “I know you’re not up on it. But you’re asking these funkers to work at Earth-side pay, when things are such up there they can’t even bring their families up, most of them, and it’s pretty damn slim living and it’s a damn sight more dangerous than working on Earth. Okay. So what is it the One Big Union is going to do for them? From what you say, nothing.”
Don looked at his two supposed partners.
Demming said flatly, “We must all sacrifice together in these times.”
Bull Frankle didn’t even bother to laugh. “I want in,” he said. “And I also have to have something to throw my boys, otherwise they drop out of the organization. Don’t you characters get the point? Everybody’s got to get something, or they start looking somewheres else. Now what can I promise my boys, so they’ll want to stay in the union?”
“And so that you can continue milking them of dues,” Rostoff said, thinking it out.
“Okay, put it that way if you wanta get on a snotty level. I thought we were all practical men around here.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Demming wheezed thoughtfully. “You make the problem clear. Hmmm. Max?”
Maximilian Rostoff said, “How about this? As a result of the efforts of Samuel Frankle, President of the One Big Union, the government of the Solar System League has ruled that any worker on any planet or satellite off Earth shall receive two year’s credit toward any pensions, social security, that sort of thing, for each year he spends off Earth. A very patriotic step, highly endorsed by the bearer of the Galactic Medal of Honor. All this through the efforts of the One Big Union, and, frankly, costing our corporation not one extra pseudo-cent.”
Demming and Frankle looked at him in admiration.
Frankle said, “Okay, that seems to cover that part of it, if you can swing it, and, through Mathers, here, I assume you can. Now, where’s my in?”
Don wasn’t following too well. He wished that he could get a double shot of something or other. But he said, “What in?”
Frankle looked at him as though he was completely around the corner.
“My in, my in.” He was exasperated. “What do I get out of it?”
Rostoff said smoothly, “I suggest, Bull, that in highest confidence we issue you one percent of the preferred stock of the Donal Mathers Radioactives Mining Corporation.”
The other grunted contempt. “The word’s already gone out that the dividends are going to be practically nothing. That you claim you’re plowing back practically everything you take in, into the corporation.”
Demming placed his fat hands over his fat belly and said, “That’s the common stock, Bull. We’re talking about the preferred. We’ve had to grease a few palms in Geneva, but the charter of this corporation is rather unique. In fact, as a result of Colonel Mathers’ recommendations it comes under the head of Solar System Security and anyone wanting to make a thorough investigation of it would have his work cut out.”
The labor leader grunted. “I see. I might’a known anything you two were connected with would have some fancy angles. One percent isn’t enough. I’ll need at least three.”
“Three!” Rostoff blurted. “Are you drivel-happy, Frankle?”
Don Mathers was getting only about half of this. He hadn’t known anything about a special charter that involved Solar System Security. He supposed that some of the endless papers he had signed without reading were involved.
Bull Frankle’s expression was one of disgust. “At least three. Damn it, Max Rostoff, I’ll have to spread it around but plenty, to keep my lieutenants in line. You don’t think I run this by myself, do you? The One Big Union controls over a billion workers. You want to keep them quiet, don’t you? No strikes, no slow-downs, no sit-downs, no nothing. Any trouble and my goons go in to quell it. I’m not just talking about the few tens of thousands on Mars and the satellites, though at the rate you’re going there’ll be shortly a damn sight more than that. I’m talking about all of your enterprises involved in this corporation to any extent whatsoever.” He looked at Demming. “Take your Interplanetary Lines, for instance. Your maintenance men are muttering about a strike. Okay. I’ll see there’s no strike.”
Rostoff and Demming looked at each other.
Rostoff said, “What do you say, Lawrence?”
Demming closed his eyes, but nodded.
Rostoff said, “It’s a deal. Three percent.”
The labor leader looked at Don suspiciously.
“Don’t he have a say?”
Rostoff said smoothly, “Colonel Mathers operates on other levels. He leaves business matters in our hands. That is, he can’t be bothered with details.”
Bull Frankle came to his feet after shooting Don a quick look of contempt. He said, “This is the biggest rip-off in history.”
Rostoff nodded as near to pleasantly as his face allowed. “We’ve already come to that conclusion, Bull. And using practically the same words.”
It was Si Mullens, Don’s energetic public relations head, who came up with the brainstorm which was to become the beginning of the end for the space hero.