And that was the thought which was frightening.
Harl said, “All right.”
The men moved back. The contrivance descended into the pit. The chair of state descended until its dais rested on the floor, covering the pit. Harl said casually:
“How’d you make out, Thana? Does Link know some of the things you were wonderin’ about?”
“Most of them,” said Thana confidently. “Nearly all!”
It was less than an accurate statement, and Link wondered morosely why she made it. But then Harl pressed the button. The chair of state rose. The deep pit was revealed. The metal contrivance rose to floor-level. The pile of assorted fragments in the first hopper had practically vanished. The fruit and lettuce and peas in the second hopper were unchanged. The third hopper was full of an exact duplicate of the assortment of edibles in the middle one.
“We don’t need any more,” observed Harl. “Just clean up and—”
“Wait!” said Thana. “I was showing Link things, and he admired this shirt.”
She unfolded the garment she’d asked Link’s opinion on. It was a shirt. It was lavishly embroidered. Link opened his mouth, but Harl said indulgently, “All right.”
Thana put the shirt in the middle—sample—hopper. Then she said:
“He told me the knife you’ve got is the prettiest he’s seen, too!”
Harl said, “Sput!” His tone was not entirely pleased. Then he said, “I got to have manners, huh?”
“Of course,” said Thana.
With a grimace, Harl unbuckled his belt and handed the belt and knife to Thana. She put them into the middle hopper. Then she put bog-iron, wood, and the scraps of cloth from the treasury room into the raw materials place. She nodded confidently to her brother.
He pressed something, the chair of state sank down, following the duplier mechanism, the room looked normal for a moment, and then the chair of state rose up, the pit appeared, and then the duplier.
There was much less bog-iron in the materials hopper. There was some sand on the hopper bottom. The embroidered shirt and the knife and belt were, as they’d been before, in the middle hopper. Exact duplicates of both knife and shirt were in the third hopper.
Thana handed her brother his knife. She took out and put aside the sample garment. She spread out its duplicate and said to Link, “Do put it on! Please!”
Harl watched impatiently, as Link took off his own shirt and donned the embroidered one. He was embarrassed by his own decorative appearance in the new apparel. Thana picked up the shirt he’d taken off.
“Look! This is unduplied, Harl!” she said with extravagant admiration. “Have you ever seen anything so wonderful?”
“Sput!” said Harl angrily. “What you tryin’ to do?”
“I’m saying that this is a wonderful shirt,” said Thana, beaming. “It isn’t duplied. It’s the nicest, newest shirt I’ve ever seen. Don’t you think so? I dare you to lie and still pretend you’ve manners!”
Harl said, “Sput!” again, and then, “All right,” he admitted peevishly. “It’s true. I never saw a new, unduplied shirt before. It’s a nice shirt.”
Thana turned triumphantly to Link. He didn’t see any reason for triumph. But she waited, and waited. Harl glared at him. Suddenly, Link understood. He might be scheduled to hang, but he was expected to be mannerly.
“The shirt is yours,” he said dourly to Harl. “It’s a gift.”
Harl hesitated for what seemed a long time. Then, “Thanks,” he said reluctantly. “It’s a right nice guest-gift. I appreciate it.”
Thana looked radiant. She sent one of the retainers, standing by, for all the cloth on the treasury room shelves. She fairly glowed with enthusiasm. She put Link’s former shirt in the sample hopper and filled another with scraps, and sent the duplier down. It came up and there were two shirts. It went down again with two shirts in the sample hopper. When it came up there were four. The chair of state and the duplier went down and up and down and up and down and up. When the last morsel of raw material was exhausted, there were one hundred twenty-seven duplicates of Link’s own shirt, besides the original shirt itself.
“I guess that’ll do,” said Harl, ungraciously. “I’ll be sendin’ gifts to all my friends, and all my own fellas will have new shirts, an’ their wives’ll be takin’ ’em apart to make dresses and sheets and stuff.” He nodded to Link. “I appreciate that shirt a lot, Link. Thanks.”
He went away, and Link stirred stiffly. He’d watched the entire process. Objects could be duplicated without labor or skill or industry. He’d observed what his mind told him was the doom of human civilization unless he or Thistlethwaite were hanged. Or both. But now he saw something more. Even that would not preserve the galaxy from destroying itself by riches out of dupliers. Eventually, certainly, another ship must land on Sord Three. It might be by accident. But some day another ship would come. And then this same intolerable situation would exist again.
“I’ll see about dinner now,” said Thana. She turned warm, grateful, admiring eyes upon Link, and vanished.
Harl shook his head as she disappeared.
“Smart girl, that! I wouldn’t ha’ thought of usin’ manners to get your shirt off your back so’s I could admire it and have the first new cloth since the old days! Mighty smart girl, Link!”
Link said stiffly, “If you’re through with taking my shirt in vain, what now?”
Harl looked surprised. “Oh, you go off somewheres and set down and rest yourself, Link,” he said kindly. “I got things to do. Excuse me!”
He departed. Link was left alone in the great hall, morbidly weighing the alternatives, himself or Thistlethwaite or both of them hanged against the collapse of all the economy of all the galaxy, with wars, murders, lootings and rapine as a necessary consequence. He didn’t have to ask what Thistlethwaite had planned to trade for, on Sord Three. It was dupliers. And dupliers could obviously duplicate each other as well as more commonplace objects. Thistlethwaite wanted to make contact with Old Man Addison to trade unduplied objects for dupliers. Old Man Addison was evidently so disreputable a Householder that he would do business, if tempted. He’d provide a shipload of dupliers, especially duplied for the off-planet trade, in exchange for objects that dupliers couldn’t duplicate on Sord Three. It would seem to him an excellent bargain.
It would seem an excellent bargain to business men elsewhere, too, to pay a hundred million credits and half the profits for a duplier. Thistlethwaite was right. Carynths were garbage in comparative value. A business man could begin with the luxury trade and undersell all other supplies, dispensing duplied luxury items. Then he could undersell any manufacturer of any other line of goods. He could undersell normally grown foodstuffs. Any supplier of meat products. Any supplier of anything else men needed or desired. All factories would become unprofitable. They’d close. All working men would become unemployed. All wages would cease to move except into a duplier-owner’s pockets. And then there would be disaster, calamity, collapse, destruction, and hell to pay generally.
And Thistlethwaite couldn’t foresee it. He was incapable of looking beyond an immediate, enormously profitable deal.
Link scowled. He alone could envision the coming disaster. He alone could think of measures to prevent it. And he was supposed to be hanged presently for a speech about an imaginary barber! It was wrong! It was monstrous! He had to stay alive to save the galaxy from the otherwise inevitable!
There was an ufft seemingly asleep in the far corner of the hall. As Link approached, the ufft opened its eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell Harl you admired Thana when he said she was a smart girl?”