Chapter 8

THE BATTLE OF NEW YORK SPACEPORT

Galactic Metals moved its main office from Earth to Galmetia. WarnOil's was already on

Newmars. InStell moved to Newmars. Many other very large firms moved from Earth to

various "outplanets." Thus, while there was a great deal of objection to the formation of

such a gigantic "trust" as METALS AND ENERGY, INCORPORATED, there was nothing

that WestHem's government could do about it. While GalMet was now a whollyowned

subsidiary of MetEnge, neither its name nor its operation had been changed in any way.

In GalMet's vast new building on Galmetia, President Upton Maynard sat at the head of

a conference table. At his left sat Executive Vice-President Eldon Smith and Comptroller

Desmond Phelps. At his right were Darrell Steams, head of GalMet's legal staff, and

Ward Q. Wilson, Chief Mediator of WestHem. Miss Champion sat at her desk, off to one

side. Wilson was speaking.

. . . no over-riding authority, of course, since MetEnge is a Newmars corporation and

GalMet's legal domicile and principal place of business is here on Galmetia. While such

tax evasion is not. . ."

"Let's keep the record straight, Mr. Wilson," Maynard said sharply. "Not evasion;

avoidance. Avoidance of Earth's ruthlessly confiscatory taxation was necessary to our

continued existence. Under such taxation our basic principle of operation, which the

founders of GalMet inaugurated over two hundred years ago, could not possibly have

remained implemented.

"Do you think it's accidental that we are the largest firm in existence? It isn't; it is due

absolutely to the fact that, very unlike capital in general, we have adhered strictly to the

Principle of Enlightened Self-Interest.

Simply stated, that Principle is: Don't be a hog. You make more, over the long pull, by

letting the other fellows make something, too. Most important, it's non-inflationary, even

though the standard of living is continually rising. If we had stayed on Earth and gone

along all these years with blind, stupid, greedy, grasping conventional Capital, what

would the price of steel have been today? What would the dollar have been worth?"

"Nevertheless, there has been some inflation. . ."

 "How well we know it!" Phelps, the moneyman, broke in. "Whose fault is it? Your

government's deficit spending-cradle-to-grave security-reckless, foolhardy installment

buying-the whole inflated credit situation. We, on the other hand, do not use credit. We

buy sight-draft attached-to-bill-of-lading and sell the same way. Hard money and cash on

the barrelhead. We have it before we spend it."

"I'm not saying that your principle hasn't worked very well for you, up to now. You haven't

had a real strike for half a century, until now. Not because of the stable dollar or of your

principle of operation, however, but simply because no union was strong enough to fight

you to a finish. Now, there is one. The UCM controls all copper mining and Burley

Hoadman controls the UCM. The situation, gentlemen, is now desperate; it is a civili-

zation-wide emergency. It is intolerable that all industry should come to a halt because of

your refusal to settle this strike. You know that all industry must have at least some new

copper to operate at all."

"We do," Maynard said. "You are saying that since Hoadman will not settle for anything

less than double the present scale-already tops-we must cave in and pay it? And

surrender to all the other unions that will jump onto the gravy train? That the subsequent

inevitable surge of inflation won't hurt? You know exactly what the spiral will be."

Wilson glanced at his microphone and said nothing.

Miss Champion entered a couple of pot-hooks in her notebook. Maynard went on:

"Your opinion is not for the record. I understand. This is an election year, and because

the dear pe-pul are getting out of hand the administration sent you here to tell us to give

Hoadman everything he wants-or else. They're junking financial stability completely to get

themselves re-elected."

"No, I was not going to. . ."

 "Not so crudely, of course; but nobody has put any pressure at all on Hoadman."

"We can't." Wilson spread his hands out helplessly and Miss Champion made a few more

marks in her book. "All popular sentiment is for the union and against you. You are

altogether too big."

"Or not big enough-yet," Maynard said, savagely. "Also, in the public mind, the salaries of

all you tycoons are altogether too high."

"High, hell!" Smith snarled. "How about Hoadman's take? He drags down more than all

four of us put together!"

"Whether or not it is true, that point is irrelevant. The pertinent fact is that Senator

Wrigley of California is preparing a bill to annex both Newmars and Galmetia to the

Western Hemisphere."

Smith whistled. "Brother/ They went a hell of a long ways out after that one!"

Wilson said nothing.

Steams stared thoughtfully at the mediator, then said, "It's unconstitutional. Obviously. It

violates every principle of Interplanetary law."

Better yet, it's unenforceable," Smith said. "Admiral Porter knows as well as we do that

his handful of tomato-juice cans wouldn't stand the chance of the proverbial nitrocellulose

cat in hell."

"One more thing," Maynard said. "Ninety five other planets wouldn't like it, either. Have

you thought about what a good, solid boycott would do to Earth?"

"The possibility has been considered, and the consensus is that there can be no effective

boycott. Labor will hold . . ."

"Hold it!" Maynard snapped. "You know-at least you should-that the organizations of the

Planetsmen are no more like the labor unions of Tellus than black is like white. They are

in favor of automation. They want change. They want advancement by ability, not

seniority. As opposed to that attitude, what do your unions want, Mr. Wilson?"

Wilson pursed his lips in hesitation and Smith said, "I'll answer that for you, then, Mr.

Wilson. They want security, period, but they don't want to have to earn it. They want

everything handed to them on a platter. Advancement by seniority only-all they have to

do is stay alive. No changes allowed except more pay and more benefits for fewer hours

of exactly the same work. Strictly serf labor and that's the way they like it. Security, hell!

It's exactly the same kind of security, if they had brains enough to realize it, as they'd

have in jail."

"It has been computed," Wilson said, ignoring Smith's barbed opinion, "that in an

emergency outplanet Labor ,will support that of Earth. Furthermore, public opinion is very

strongly opposed to such gigantic trusts, combines, and monopolies as you are. And

finally, at the worst, the inevitable litigation would take a long time, which would ... ?"

Wilson paused, delicately.

"It would," Maynard agreed, grimly. "It would cramp us plenty and cost us plenty; and the

administration could and would pull a lot of other stuff just as slimy."

Wilson neither confirmed nor denied the statement and Maynard went on. "Okay. We'll

sign up for everything Hoadman demands; even the voice in management and the

feather-bedding. Also, well make the wage scales and fringe benefits retroactive to

cover all hours worked on and after July first."

"May I ask why? They might yield that one point." "Why should they?" Smith sneered.

"It's just out of the goodness of our hearts. You may quote me on that" "And that isn't

all," Maynard went on. "We wanted a three-year contract, but Hoadman wouldn't add a

day to his one-year position. So we'll do even better than that. Type a memo, please,

Miss Champion. What we've said, and add, `Cancellable by either party on ten days'

notice in writing'!"

"What?" The mediator was shaken out of his calm. When Maynard handed him the

signed memorandum he handled it as though it might bite. Just what have you robber

barons got up your sleeves?"

"Nothing but our arms," Smith assured him. "What could we have? Haven't your spies

kept you informed of our every move?"

(No outsider as yet knew anything about Project Belmark, which was ready to go into full

production.)

"I don't like this at all-not any part of it," Wilson said, thoughtfully. "I don't think I will

recommend signing any contract containing a cancellation clause. Even though I can't see

it, I know there's a hook in it somewhere . . . and I think I know what it is ... but Hoadman

is perfectly sure that ... ?"

"Go ahead, ask me," Smith said. "I'll answer-I'm not under oath. You smell something

because you can think. Hoadman can't. Even if he could, and even if there were a hook in

the thing, he'll grab it. He'll have to. If he doesn't, the miners will throw him out on his ear.

Besides, he'll love it. Imagine the headlines= BURLEY HOADMAN, GIANT BRAIN OF

LABOR, BRINGS MIGHTY GALMET TO ITS KNEES'."

"Mr. Maynard," Wilson said, "please erase Mr. Smith's remarks and this sentence from

the record."

"By no means. Hoadman will of course listen to this supposedly top secret recording, and

to hear this bit may-just conceivably-be good for what ails him."

Wilson wriggled uncomfortably and Miss Champion wrote another line of shorthand.

Discussion continued for another hour or so, after which Wilson took his leave.

The union signed, in spite of Wilson's objections, because Burley Hoadman knew that

copper mining could not be automated except at prohibitive cost. Then Hoadman

announced to THE PRESS:

"This shows what a really tightly organized union can do. We are perfectly free to keep

ahead of the cost of living and we'll keep it that way, since we can tie them up again any

time we please."

Everything remained quiet then-except for some rumblings in other unions, none of which

had time to develop into serious strikes-for a couple of weeks. Then GalMet cancelled its

contract with the UCM. Simultaneously it announced a reduction in the price of copper to

eleven point three six one cents per pound FOB spaceport and began to supply all its

competitors with all the copper they wanted. (It did not develop until later that Ajax,

Revere, and all other large producers were merging with MetEnge). All mines worked by

United Copper Miners shut down. Salaried people were transferred. All machinery was

scrapped. All properties and buildings were either sold or simply abandoned. Then

Maynard talked to the reporters who had for many days been demanding a statement.

"In an economy subscribing fully to the Principle of Enlightened Self-Interest neither

stupidly avaricious capital nor serf labor would exist. Nor would such a corrupt

government as we now have. While it may be true that any people deserves the

government it gets, this three-pronged blight now threatening all civilization is intolerable

and something must be done about it. We have begun doing something about it by

making an example of Burley Hoadman and his unconscionably greedy United Copper

Miners, who..."

"One question, Mr. Maynard!" a reporter broke in. "In using the word `we' do you claim

to be represent. . . "I claim nothing!" Maynard snapped. "I state as a fact that I am

speaking for the Galaxians-the free men and women and the intelligent capital of the

planets. These two component halves of production, eternally irreconcilable on Earth,

work together on the planets for the best good of all. To resume: the closed copper

mines will not be re-opened. There will never, in the foreseeable future, be any

employment anywhere for the skilled craftsmen known as copper miners. We have

deliberately automated the entire craft out of existence.

"We do not know whether Hoadman will believe this statement or not. Nor do we care. If

he wishes to use up his union's funds in supporting the men in idleness rather than in

expediting their absorption into other industries, that is his privilege.

"It has been threatened that other unions will, in spite of contractual obligations, walk out

in sympathy with the UCM, to enforce Hoadman's demand that we pay four men

double-scale wages to sit on cushioned chairs and play stud poker while one machine

does the work. In reply to these threats I say now that we are prepared to cope with

such retaliation at any level of action required.

"We are ready even for a complete general strike by all the unions of WestHem. In that

case all imports to and all exports from Earth will stop. Earth will stew in its own juice

until the vast majority of WestHem's people, the unorganized people, decide to get

themselves out of the mess into which, by their own stupidity, laziness, and lack of

interest, they got themselves.

This blast was broadcast immediately; and in less than an hour Antonio Grimes,

president of the Brotherhood of Professional Drivers, was on Miss Champion's com,

demanding access to Maynard.

Since she was expecting the call, he was put on at once.

"Good morning, Mr. Maynard," he began. He was a short man, inclined to fat, with heavy

jowls and small, piercing eyes. At the table with him were his three major lieutenants

and-not much to Maynard's surprise -WestHem's Secretary of Labor Deissner and Chief

Mediator Wilson. "You overlooked the fact that nothing can replace the truck and the

freight-copter. The situation, however, is not beyond repair. For a nominal sum, say a

quarter-mega, I might not pull the boys off tomorrow morning.

"The trouble with you, Grimes," Maynard said, quietly, "is that while you're smart, clever,

and cunning, you can't really think. You haven't got the brain for it."

"That crack'll cost you, Big Shot!" Grimes roared, shedding in the instant his veneer of

gentility. "I'll show you who's got a brain, you. . ."

"Shut up and listen!" Maynard snapped. "If you had had any fraction of a brain you would

have known that we knew exactly what you would do."

"Like hell you knew! If you did you wouldn't've . . ." Grimes paused; it became evident

that his train of thought had all of a sudden been derailed.

"The only question is, how big a battle do you want for an opener? All over WestHem at

once, or just one spaceport at first, to see what we have? If you can think at all you'd

better start doing it, because the bigger a flop you make the deader you'll be when it's

over."

"Comet-gas! You can't scare me!" "I can't? That's nice."

"Who'd want to shoot the whole wad at once? One at a time; one day apart. Tomorrow

morning I seal New York Spaceport so tight a cockroach can't get in or out."

"And we'll open it. Here's your one and only warning. Before we send our freight-copters

in. . ."

Just how do you think you'll get any copters off the ground?"

"Wait and see. Before a copter lofts we'll come in on the ground. East on Carter Avenue.

Through Gate Twelve. Along Way Twelve to the Cygnus. I'm telling you this because I

don't want our machines to kill anybody. They'll be fully automatic, so programmed that

we won't be able to stop them ourselves. Hence any goons along that designated route

who can't get out of the way in time will be committing suicide. If you shoot down any of

our copters your gun-crews will be killed. That is all."

"Hot-dog!" Grimes gloated. "Drawing us a map-handing it to us on a platted What you'll

run into along.."

Miss Champion flipped a switch and the screen went blank.

Carter Avenue became a very busy street. The biggest and heaviest trucks available,

loaded to capacity with broken concrete and rock, were jammed into that avenue,

blocking it solidly-pavement, parkway, and sidewalk-from building wall to building wall for

one full mile. Riflemen with magnums sat at windows; fifty-caliber machine-guns and

forty-millimeter quick-firing rifles peered down from roofs; anti-tank weapons of all kinds

commanded every yard of that soon-to-be-disputed mile.

Grimes and his strategists had expected a fleet of heavy tanks. What appeared,

however, exceeded their expectations by ten raised to a power. They were-in a

way-tanks; but tanks of a size, type, and heft never before seen on Earth. There were

only two of them; but each one was twenty feet high, sixty feet wide, and a hundred and

eighty feet long. They were not going fast, but when they reached the barricade, side by

side and a couple of feet apart, they did not even pause. Both front ends reared up as

one, but they did not climb very high. Under that terrific tonnage the blocking trucks were

crushed flat; the steel of their structures and the concrete and stone of their loads

subsided noisily to form a compacted mass only a few feet thick.

Guns of all calibers yammered and thundered, but there was nothing to shoot at except

blankly invulnerable expanses of immensely thick high-alloy armor-plate.

Flames-throwers, flammable gels, and incendiaries were of no avail. Inside those

monstrosities there was nothing of life, nor anything to be harmed by any ordinary heat.

Nor did those monstrous tanks fight back-then. Gate Twelve was narrower than the

avenue; its anchorages were eight-foot-square pillars of reenforced concrete.

Nevertheless the two super-tanks did not slow down; and, after they had passed, the

places where those hugely massive abutments had been were scarcely to be

distinguished from the rest of the scarred and beaten way.

Suddenly there was a terrific explosion, followed by horizontal sheets of fiercely-driven

pulverized pavement and soil. Then another, and fifteen more. But not even the heaviest

mines could stop those land-going superdreadnoughts. They wallowed a little in the

craters, but that was all. They were simply too big and too heavy and too stable to lift or

to tip over; their belly armor was twelve inches thick and was buttressed and braced

internally to withstand anything short of atomic energy. Nor could their treads be blown;

since all that was exposed to blast were their stubby, sharply pyramidal, immensely

strong driving teeth.

Along Way Twelve the strike-breakers rumbled, and up to GalMet's subspacer Cygnus.

They stopped. A GalMet copper began to descend, to pick up its load of copper. There

was a blast of anti-aircraft fire. The copper disintegrated in air.

This time, however, GalMet struck back. Gun-ports snapped open along the nearer

behemoth's grim side and a dozen one-hundred-five-millimeter shells lobbed in high arcs

across the few hundreds of yards of intervening distance. They exploded, and a few

parts recognizable as arms, legs, and heads, together with uncountable grisly scraps of

flesh and bone, were mingled with the shattered remains of the anti-aircraft battery.

That ended it.

In Maynard's conference room this time there were, in addition to the GalMet men,

Lansing and DuPuy of Warner Oil, Hatfield and Spehn of Interstellar, and seven other

men. With Grimes and his minions, were, as before, Deissner and Wilson of WestHem.

Secretary of Labor Deissner looked once at the fourteen men seated at Maynard's table

and his ruddy complexion paled.

"Have you had enough, Grimes, or do you want to go the route?" Maynard asked. "You

may be able to hold your Drivers after this one beating, but one more will plow you

under."

"You're murderers now and you'll hang!" Grimes snarled.

"What will you use for law, fat-head?"

"To hell with law. I've got WestHem's law in my pants pocket and you'll hang higher than .

. ."

"Close your fat mouth, Tony," Deissner said, bruskly. "With WarnOil, InStell, and all the

labor of the outplanets in on this, it may be a little . . ." He paused.

"You're wrong, Deissner, it'll be much worse," Smith sneered. "Your computations will all

have to be recomputed."

After a short silence Maynard said, "Mr. Secretary; besides Warn Oil and InStell, I see

that you recognize the presidents of the seven largest organizations of the Planetsmen.

Mr. Bryce, President of the Metalsmen, has something to say."

And fiery little Bryce said it. "This Committee of Seven, of which I am the chairman,

represents the Planetsmen, the organized production and service personnel of the ninety

five planets of the Galactic Federation. Our present trip has two purposes. First, here on

Galmetia, to tell you Tellurians that the organized personnel of the planets-not the

nut-planets, you will note, but the planets-will not support the purely Tellurian institution of

serf labor. We do no featherbedding and we will not support the practice anywhere. We

welcome any innovation that will produce more goods or services at lower cost by using

our brains more and our muscles less.

"Our second objective is to let the people of Tellus know that there is plenty of room on

the planets for any of them who want to advance by using their brains and their abilities

instead of being coddled, protected, and imprisoned from the cradle to the grave."

There was a moment of tense silence; then Maynard said, "That was very well put,

Egbert; thanks. Now, Grimes, as to your having WestHem s law in your pants pocket.

You haven't, but the hoodlums, gangsters, and racketeers who are your bosses do have

it in theirs. We Galaxians-the combined personnel and capital of the planets-know exactly

what WestHem's law is: a hood-bossed, hood-riddled mob of abysmally corrupt snolly-

gosters. We also know that static, greedy capital is as bad as-yes, even worse than-serf

labor. Therefore we Galaxians have formed a new government, the Galactic Federation;

that, among other things, will not-I repeat, NOT -permit any spiral of inflation."

But some inflation is now necessary!" Deissner protested.

"It is not. We're not asking you; we're telling you. If you do not stabilize the dollar we will

stabilize it for you." "Delusions of grandeur, eh? How do you think you can?"

"By isolating Earth until the resulting panic puts the dollar back where it belongs. Earth

can't stand a blockade. The planets can, and would much rather have a complete

severance from Earth than have a dollar that will not mail a letter from one town to the

next. Hence we of the Galactic Federation hereby serve notice upon the governments

and upon the peoples of Earth: it will be either a stable dollar or a strict blockade of

every item of commerce except food. Take your choice."

"Serve notice!" Deissner gasped. "Surely you don't mean ... you can't possibly mean . . ."

"We do mean. Just that." Maynard smiled; a thin, cold smile. "This has not been a secret

meeting. You tell 'em, Steve."

And Stevens Spehn, Executive Vice-President of vast Interstellar, told them. "This whole

conference has been on every channel, line, wavelength and station that InStell

operates-ether and subether, radio and teevee, tri-di and flat, in black-and-white and in

color." And Miss Champion flipped her switch.