Wheels Within Wheels

II

Old Pete appeared somewhat shaken when he entered Jo’s office a few days later.

“I just saw a man,” he said, “walking down the hall with what looked like a space rat on his shoulder.”

Jo smiled. “That’s just what it was. His name is Sam Orzechowski and it seems he’s tamed the space rat. I’m trying to help him work up some commercial uses.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit down. We’ve got some information on Haas and deBloise.”

Old Pete leaned forward. “What have you found?”

“I don’t know just yet,” Jo replied. “I put one of the best investigators in the sector on the job. He just called to say that he’s got some interesting information.”

“Why didn’t he tell you when he called?”

“Larry Easly rarely says anything of interest when there’s a possibility that the wrong ears might hear it.”

“Well, then, when does he arrive?” Pete asked.

Jo shook her head. “He doesn’t. He never comes to this building. IBA uses his services quite often and frequent visits would give away the relationship. We’re to meet him tonight at the Casino.”

“Why there?”

“Because it’s a perfect meeting place. I make it a practice to visit the Casino once a week and he stops in whenever he’s on Ragna; that way no one thinks it’s strange when we run into each other now and then-especially since we’re both avid pokochess players.”

“I hope you’ve included me in your plans tonight,” Old Pete said. “I haven’t had a really good game of pokochess in years.”

“Of course you’re included,” Jo told him. “I want you along to question him on his information since you seem to have made a private study of deBloise and his activities.”

“Just his public life. I know nothing of his private affairs.”

“That’s a start,” Jo said.

Later that night, as they flittered toward the Casino, Jo turned to Old Pete. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“It’s about my father. You were the last person on Ragna to see him and were closest to him except for my mother. What kind of a man was he?”

Old Pete studied her for a moment. “You’re a lot like your grandfather,” he said finally. “Junior-your father-was different. He was never a very happy person; he was a born achiever, but his major problem was that he was born at the top, the heir apparent to IBA. He tried his best to make it with the company while your grandfather was alive, but after Joe died he became increasingly restless.” Old Pete’s mind drifted back to the day of Junior Finch’s departure.

“But where are you going?” Paxton asked.

Joe Finch, Jr. shrugged. “I haven’t really decided yet. It’s only for a year, Pete, and I’m sure IBA won’t miss me. You’ve been running the show ever since Dad’s death anyway.” He put his hand on Pete’s shoulder. They were close-Junior had called him “Uncle Pete” as a kid-and Pete now and then tended to take on a fatherly attitude. “I’m a big boy now, Pete. I’m thirty-three, I have a wife who understands and a ten-year-old daughter who’ll miss me but who’ll somehow survive a year without me.”

“I know what’s eating you, Joe,” Pete said gravely. “But can’t you climb a mountain, or something?”

Junior laughed. “I’ve no desire to be a mountain goat. I just don’t feel a part of IBA, that’s all. It’s not my company. I had nothing to do with its growth, or founding … it was just handed to me.”

“But the company has a lot of growing to do,” Pete said. “You could be part of that. Its future will ultimately depend on you, you know.”

“IBA’s present momentum will carry it another ten or twenty years with little help from anyone. I’ve got no qualms about taking out a year to go somewhere.”

“And do what?”

“I dunno … something.” He stuck out his hand. “Good-bye, Pete. I’ll contact you when I get where I’m going.”

Peter Paxton watched him walk off in the direction of one of the shuttle ramps, a man in the shadow of his father, the only son of Joe Finch trying to prove to himself that he was worthy of the title.

Junior didn’t know why he picked Jebinose. Maybe he had heard about their minor racial problem once and had tucked it into the back of his mind for future reference. Maybe he was drawn to situations in flux. Jebinose was in minor flux.

Jebinose was one of those mistakes that blot the early history of man’s interstellar colonization. In the old days of the splinter colonies, exploration teams were sent out to find Earth-class planets and now and then one of these teams became a little careless. A major criterion for colonizable classification was the absence of an “intelligent” native species. No one was quite sure just exactly what was meant by

“intelligent” but tool-making was the favorite rule of thumb for dividing the intelligent from unintelligent.

The Jebinose fiasco had nothing to do with interpretation of the rules. The fact of the matter is that Jebinose was given an “M” classification (Earth-type, suitable for settling) after the most cursory of examinations. The colonists were indeed surprised when they found out that they were sharing the planet with a tribe of primitive humanoids.

No one knows too much about the early colonial history of Jebinose. The splinter colony that landed there was conspicuous only by reason of its particular ineptitude at the task of colonization. But for the Vanek, not a single member would have survived a decade.

The Vanek are an alien enigma. They are quiet, humble, peaceful, fatalistic. They are few in number, in tensely religious and welcomed all newcomers to their fold. They are humanoid with blue-gray skin and long spindly arms. Their civilization had reached a plateau in its development and they were quite willing to let it remain there. They swallowed up the colonists.

The cross-breeding phenomenon between human and Vanek has yet to be explained. There are many theories but not one has received general acceptance. No matter … it worked. The Jebinose colony, as in the case of many other splinter colonies, was completely forgotten until the new Federation tried to order the chaos of the omnidirectional human migration. By the time it was rediscovered, human and Vanek genes had been pooled into a homogeneous mixture.

Much heated debate ensued. Some argued that since the original colony had been completely absorbed, resettlement would, in effect, be interference with an alien culture. Others argued that the Vanek were now part human and thus had a right to Terran technology … and besides, Jebinose was favorably situated in regard to the emerging trade routes.

Jebinose was resettled.

The Vanek had settled in one of the agricultural regions and it was through this area that Junior wandered. Eventually he came upon the town of Danzer. It was a tiny place consisting of eight buildings, a general store-restaurant among them. Locals and Vaneks peopled the dirt street that ran down the middle of the town. On each side of the street ran a raised wooden boardwalk; Junior found a shady spot on one of these and sat down.

He had been walking for days and was bone weary. A cool breeze helped evaporate the sweat beading his face. A middle-aged man glanced at him from across the street and then came over for a closer look.

“You’re new around here, I believe,” he said to Junior, as he stuck out his hand. “I’m Marvin Heber and I like to know everyone around.”

Joe shook the hand. “My name’s Junior Finch and I’m very new around here.”

“Just moved in, huh?”

“No, I’m just wandering around the region to see what I can see.” The man was friendly but nosey so Junior decided to play it safe and be as oblique as possible. “Lot of virgin land left around here.”

Marvin Heber nodded and eyed the newcomer. “If you want to settle, I’m sure we can find a place for you.”

As Junior was trying to think of what to say next, an elderly, spindle-armed beggar in a dusty robe came up to him and asked for alms. His skin was bluish gray. Junior dropped a few small coins in the proffered alms bowl. “Wheels within wheels, bendreth, ” said the beggar.

“Was that a Vanek?” he asked as the beggar walked away. “I’ve heard they’re common in this region, but that’s the first one I’ve seen since I arrived.”

“They keep pretty much to themselves and only come into town to buy supplies now and then.

There’s always a beggar or two about, however.”

Junior said nothing but looked sincerely interested. He recognized Heber for a talker and was quite ready to prove a willing audience.

“They spend most of their time fooling around on their reservation, meditating and carving their little statues.”

“What little statues are those?” Junior asked.

Heber took this opportunity to sit down and share Junior’s shade. “You won’t see any around here.

Some company in the city buys them up as fast as the Vanek can turn them out and sells them as curios-`Handmade by alien half-breeds.’ They’re pretty popular over most of the settled galaxy. The Vanek have no financial worries, no, sir.”

“Then why do they beg?”

Heber shrugged. “It’s somehow mixed up in their religion which nobody really understands. You heard him say, ‘Wheels within wheels’ after you gave him some coins.”

“Yeah,” Junior said. “Then he said, `bendreth: What does that mean?”

“Not much. Bendreth is the Vanek equivalent of `sir’ or `madam.’ They say that to just about everybody. `Wheels within wheels’ has something to do with their religion. According to tradition, a wise old Vanek philospher with an unpronounceable name came up with the theory that the universe was a conglomeration of wheels, wheels within wheels within wheels within wheels. It got to the point where the only answer, or comment, he would make about anything was a simple ‘Wheels within wheels.’ It’s a very fatalistic philosophy; they believe that everything works out in the end so they rarely take any decisive action. They figure the wheels will turn full circle without their help.” He paused.

“Did you notice the crack in the begging bowl, by the way?”

Junior nodded. “Looked like it had been broken and then glued back together.”

“That’s part of the religion, too. You see, that old philosopher went to a banquet once-this was in the ancient days when the Vanek were rather barbaric-and the chief of the tribe sought to question him on his philosophy. Of course the only answer he could get was ‘Wheels within wheels.’ This annoyed the chief but he contained his anger until they all sat down at the eating table. During the meal it is said that the old philosopher uttered his favorite phrase over two hundred fifty times. The chief finally flew off the handle and broke a heavy earthen salad bowl over the old man’s head, killing him. So now all the Vanek beggars carry an earthen salad bowl that they have broken and then repaired as a sign that the old man did not die in vain.”

Junior shook his head in wonder. “They must be strange folk. Do the local Terrans get along with them?”

“I guess ‘get along’ is about the only way you could put it,” Heber admitted. “There’s no open animosity between the two groups, but there’s no friendship either. The Vanek float in and out of town and have no effect on the Terrans. I guess there are cases where the Vanek are discriminated against by the Terrans, but it’s a passive thing. Most Terrans have little or no respect for the Vanek because the Vanek don’t seem to care about respect and do nothing to engender it.

“It’s not racial enmity as many outsiders might think.” He cast a significant glance at Junior as he said this. “The fact that the Vanek are partially alien has little to do with it; that’s a minor difference. There’re other differences.”

“Like what?” Junior asked.

“For one thing there’s no first-person singular pronoun in the Vanek language. Some people thought this was a sign of group consciousness but that was disproved. It’s just that they don’t think of themselves as individuals. This makes it hard for Terrans to relate to them as individuals and thus it’s hard to respect them as individuals.”

“So it comes right back to a lack of respect again,” Junior observed.

“Right! But try to convince the legislators in the capital about that! They’re getting together a bill to combat the so-called discrimination against the Vanek, and it looks like it’ll pass, too. But that won’t make Terrans respect the Vanek and that’s where the real problem lies.” He kicked a stone out into the middle of the street. “Damn fools in the capital probably don’t even know what a Vanek looks like! Just trying to make political names for themselves!”

“But if it helps the Vanek get more equality-” Junior began.

“Lip-service equality!” Heber declared angrily. “A forced equality that might well cause resentment on the part of the Terran locals. I don’t want to see that. No, Mr. Finch. If equality’s going to come to Danzer and other places like it, it’s gotta come from the locals, not from the capital!”

Junior made no comment. The man had a good point, but one could never know whether it was sincerely meant or just an excuse to oppose some legislation that interfered with his racial prejudices. He noted that Heber made no alternative proposals.

Heber glanced at the sun. “Well, time for me to get back to my job,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m the_government in town, you might say … mayor, sheriff, judge, notary, and so on.” He smiled.

“Nice to have met you, Mr. Finch.”

“Nice to have met you, Mr. Heber,” said Junior. And he meant it Heber was a pleasant man, but Junior wondered why he had taken so much time to explain the TerranVanek situation to him. Politics, maybe. If enough outsiders could be turned against the pending Integration Bill, maybe it wouldn’t pass. Whatever his reasons, Heber had been very informative.

Junior walked across the dusty street to the general store. A land-rover passed close behind him as he crossed. Ground transportation was common here, possibly because flitters were too expensive to buy, run and service. It was hard work living off the land on Jebinose and the rewards were minimal. The farmlands were a depressed area as far as economics went. That would help explain a part of the poor TerranVanek relations; the Terrans were in control as far as numbers and technology were concerned and they owned all the businesses. But the Vanek held a superior economic position through the sale of their crude little statuettes. The Terrans broke their backs to keep their heads above water, while the Vanek did quite well by merely sitting around and whittling. The situation was tailor-made to generate resentment.

He approached the general store-restaurant building. The foodstuffs and supplies piled out front in their shiny, colorful plastic, or alloy, containers struck an odd contrast to the weather-beaten wood of the store. All the buildings in Danzer were handmade of local wood; prefab probably cost too much.

A hand-lettered sign proclaiming that Bill Jeffers was the proprietor hung over the doorway and Junior’s nostrils were assailed by a barrage of smells as he passed under it. Everything from fertilizer to frying food vied for the attention of his olfactory nerve.

His retinas had not yet adjusted to the diminished light of the store interior and Junior bumped into someone just inside the door. Straining his eyes and blinking, he saw that it was a young Vanek.

“Sorry,” he said. “Can’t see too well in here just yet.” He made his way to the main counter in the back, not noticing the intense gaze he was receiving from the Vanek.

“Yes, sir!” said the burly bear of a man behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like something to eat. What’s on the menu?”

The big man winked. “You must he new around here. You don’t get a meal here, you get the meal: local beef, local potatoes and local greens.”

“All right then,” Junior said with a shrug. “Let me have the meal.”

“Good. I’m Bill Jeffers, by the way,” the man said and stuck out a paw.

Junior shook hands and introduced himself.

“Staying around here long, Mr. Finch?” Jeffers asked.

Junior shook his head. “No. Just wandering about the area.” Again the questions about who you were and how long you were staying.

Jeffers nodded and then looked over Junior’s shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

“The meal, bendreth,” said a sibilant voice behind him. Junior turned to face the Vanek he had accidentally jostled on his way in.

“Hello,” he said with a nod.

“Good day, bendreth,” replied the Vanek. He was young and slight with piercing black eyes.

“How are you today?” Junior asked in a lame effort to make conversation. The Vanek interested him and he wanted very much to get into a conversation with one. But finding a common ground for a discussion was no easy matter.

“We are mostly well,” came the reply. Junior noted the plural pronoun and remembered what Heber had told him. It might help to open a conversation.

“‘I’ve heard that the Vanek always use the word ‘we’ in the place of ‘I’ and I’ve been wondering why that is so.”

“It is the way we are,” came the impassive reply. “Our teachers say we are all one on the Great Wheel. Maybe that is so, we do not know. All we know is that we have always spoken thus and no doubt we always shall. There is no Vanek word for a single man.”

“That’s too bad,” Junior said without thinking.

“Why do you say that, bendreth?” The Vanek was showing some interest now.

Junior would have to come up with a tactful yet honest answer. “Well, I’ve always thought that a race progressed through the actions of individuals. The progress of the Vanek seems to have been terribly slow. I mean, you’ve gone nowhere in the past few centuries. Maybe that’s the result for having the word I’ absent from your functional vocabulary.”

The Vanek eyed him closely and was about to speak when the meals arrived. Each paid for his meal and Junior expected the Vanek to follow him to one of the small tables situated in the corner. Instead the alien turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Junior asked.

“Outside. To eat.”

“It’s too hot out there. We’ll sit at one of these tables.”

The Vanek hesitated and glanced around. The store was empty and Jeffers had disappeared into the back. Wordlessly, he followed Junior to a table.

Both were hungry and once seated they began to eat. After swallowing two mouthfuls, Junior said,

“Now, what were you about to say?”

The Vanek looked up and chewed thoughtfully. “You may be right. Once we might have said that we have progressed as far as we desire but that doesn’t hold true any more. The Vanek seem to have proved quite willing to accept the benefits of a civilization technologically far superior to their own. So perhaps it has not been by desire that our culture has been stagnated. But it is our culture and-”

“Hey!” came a shout from behind the counter. “What’s he doing in here?” It was Jeffers. He was pointing to the Vanek.

Without looking around, the Vanek picked up his plate and walked out the door. Junior watched in stunned silence.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “I was talking to him!”

“We don’t allow any Vaneks to eat in here,” Jeffers told him.

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t, that’s why!”

Junior could feel himself getting angry. He tried to put a lid on it. “Just who are the ‘we’ you’re referring to?”

“Me!” said Jeffers as he came around from behind the counter and approached Junior’s table. “It’s my place and I’ve got a right to call the shots in my own place!”

“Nobody said you didn’t only … only you could treat him with a certain amount of human dignity.” He winced at the triteness of his word.

“He’s a half-breed!”

“Then how about half the amount of dignity you’d accord a human? How’s that sound?”

Jeffers’s eyes narrowed. “Are you one of those meddlers from the capital?”

“No,” Junior said, dropping his fork into his mashed potatoes and lifting the plate. “I arrived on the planet about a week ago.”

“Then you’re not even from Jebinose!” Jeffers laughed. “You’re a foreigner!”

“Aren’t we all,” Junior remarked as he walked out the door.

The Vanek was seated on the boardwalk finishing his meal. Junior sat down beside him but put his own plate aside. He was choked with what he knew to be self-righteous anger and couldn’t eat. He tried to cool himself back to rationality.

“Is it always that way?” he asked finally.

The Vanek nodded. “Yes, but it is his store.”

“I know it’s his store,” Junior said, “but we’re going to change his attitude and I think I know just the way.”

The Vanek gave him a questioning glance.

“You’re going to take me to your tribe, or camp, or whatever it’s called and we’re going to put some pressure on Mr. Jeffers.” Junior was speaking of economic pressure, of course. Economic pressure was a household word as far as the Finch family was concerned.

And so it began. Junior had found something unexpected in the young Vanek’s attitude, had read it in the flick of a gaze, the twist of a mouth. For all their outward indifference, their detached air, the Vanek were keenly aware of the discrimination they faced daily in the Terran towns. Junior had seen through the facade and this gave him an incentive to do something about the situation.

He convinced the young Vanek to take him to the local Vanek leaders so he could present his plan.

The scheme was simplicity itself. If Jeffers would not allow a Vanek to eat in his store, then no Vanek should spend a cent in that store. Since the Vanek made up a good fifty percent of the local buying public, they could cripple Jeffers’ profits in no time.

The Vanek leaders quickly agreed to the plan and a very self-satisfied Junior Finch spent the night in a nearby field. The morning held some surprises, however, when he returned to town; for as he approached Jeffers’s store, two Vanek emerged carrying sacks of foodstuffs.

Junior had overlooked one simple fact: Jeffers’s store was the only place within a twenty-mile radius where you could buy food. He would have to think of another way to put pressure on Jeffers.

There were two options: the Vanek could either open their own store, or they could find a way to buy food from a store twenty miles away. The first was out; the Vanek were not cut out for shopkeeping.

That left buying in another town as the only solution.

Junior started walking. It took him over six hours to reach Zarico, the nearest town. As he entered the town he had an intense sensation of deja vu; it was as if he had traveled in a tremendous circle and wound up right back in Danzer. The buildings were amazingly similar to those in Danzer; there was even a general store-restaurant.

The attitudes were similar, too. Vincent Peck, the owner, allowed no Vanek to eat in his store. But Junior changed his mind … it took two hours of hard talking, a half-gallon of local wine and endless repetitions of Junior’s promise to incease sales by at least fifty percent if only he’d let the Vanek eat lunch in his store.

Peck finally agreed. He wasn’t exactly crazy about the Vanek, but he was a businessman first and increased sales meant increased profits. This was the plan: Junior would use Peck’s lorry to ferry the Vanek back and forth from Danzer for a two-week trial; if the plan turned out to be worth his while, Peck would continue to cooperate.

Apparently Peck found it very worthwhile for after the trial period he offered Junior a salary to keep on driving the lorry. Jeffers and many other Danzer citizens resented this intrusion into their affairs by an outsider, but Marvin Heber was overjoyed; he went so far as to inform the news media.

This was a mixed blessing: it resulted in the anonymous donation of a bus for transport of the Vanek from Danzer to Zarico and back, but it also heightened the local resentment toward Junior-the people of Danzer felt that the rest of the planet was laughing at them. And one night a couple of locals in their cups administered a mild beating to Junior. But there was no real harm done.

Finally, one of the legislators from the capital paid a visit to Junior and invited him to speak before the legislature on behalf of the Integration Bill. As Junior turned him down-explaining that the success of his venture in Danzer would prove the bill unnecessary-Bill Jeffers walked up and capitulated. He had tried to hold out but it was useless; he was beaten. His business could not survive without the Vanek and so they could eat lunch in his store from that day forward.

Junior and Jeffers left the legislator to his own devices while they went off to drink to harmony and higher profits in Danzer.

Next morning, Junior was found lying in the alley next to Jeffers’s store. He was dead, a Vanek ceremonial dagger implanted in his heart.

No one for a moment believed that the Vanek were responsible for the act, even when they confessed to it. No Vanek had ever been known to lie, but this instance was considered an exception, especially since they buried Junior themselves with full rights and honors, a ceremony accorded only to the wisest and most beloved of their own race. They were not killers and certainly wouldn’t kill a man they loved so. Marvin Heber came to the conclusion that the Vanek were lying out of fear and so he looked for a human agent. He found none.

And as is so often the case, the ghost of Junior Finch was tearfully used to obtain enough votes to pass the Integration Bill, the very bill he had tried to prove unnecessary.

“IBA sent out its own investigators, of course,” Old Pete said as they pulled into the Casino, “but they could uncover nothing new. Either the murderer was a human, who did a perfect cover-up job, or your father actually was killed by the Vanek-a highly unlikely possibility.

“And, as you know,” he concluded, “we left your father’s body in its grave on Jebinose. It somehow belonged there.”

Jo nodded. She had not asked for a full recounting of the events on Jebinose, but Old Pete had obviously made a careful investigation and the details had given her a fuller picture of her father’s character than she had ever got from her mother. She was glad she had asked.

Alighting from the flitter they were greeted by an elaborately costumed doorman to whom Jo was obviously a familiar figure. He bowed them into the front entrance.

The Casino consisted of a number of large rooms, each devoted to particular games of chance. Jo headed directly for the pokochess parlor. This was her favorite game, a game of chance and skill in which each player was “dealt” a king, three pawns and five other randomly selected pieces. The two players could place wagers on the outcome at any point during the course of the game. Pokochess was not very popular with the Casino because the house could make money only when a guest played the house “pro.” But the game was the current rage on Ragna and a pokochess parlor was found to be a good draw; patrons could use the Casino’s parlor for a small fee per game.

Larry Easly was sitting at one of the tables with an associate. Easly could have been a very distinguished looking man if he had wanted to be, but the nature of his profession demanded a somewhat nondescript appearance. And so he made certain that his clothes, his posture, the cut of his hair, everything about him invited anonymity. He was a detective and very, very good at his work.

He looked up and saw Jo and Old Pete approaching. With a smile, he rose and greeted them.

Introductions were made all around and the four of them seated themselves around the table. After a bit of polite conversation, Easly’s assistant, Deggs, excused himself to make a call.

“What’s the news, Larry?” Jo asked. “We’ll discuss that first and then I’ll give you a rematch at pokochess … and I hope you do better this time.”

Easly nodded. “O.K. First off, I found out a good deal about this Denver Haas you’re interested in.

He’s a physical engineer who has recently developed something he calls a ‘warp gate’ and he’s ready to go into production.”

Noting the questioning stares, he explained. “It seems that Haas has eliminated the necessity for an individual warp unit on every interstellar ship. He’s also found a way to make trips of almost any distance in one jump. All you have to do is set up two gates-one at each end-and go through one and come out the other.”

“Teleportation!” Old Pete exclaimed.

“Not at all,” Easly said. “The ship in question travels in warp just like ships do now, but the advantage lies in the fact that the ship merely follows a beam between the gates in a single hop. It’s quicker and you can send ships through one after the other and the ships need be equipped only with tube drive. Do you realize what this will do for interstellar trade?”

Pete frowned. “I know what it can do … but I also see some problems.”

“I see them, too,” Jo said.

Easly was puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked, looking to Jo.

“I’m talking about getting the product off the ground.” Old Pete nodded in agreement with Jo. She continued. “The device is a definite fortune-maker, but it will take a while before it starts to pay off. You see, every single ship in every merchant fleet is equipped with its own warper, so a warp gate is of no value to those fleets, at least not yet. They won’t start buying warp gates until they start replacing some of their ships.”

Old Pete summed it up. “In other words, the warp gates will be phased in only as fast as the individual warpers can be phased out.”

“And that may not be fast enough for Mr. Haas’s little company,” Jo added.

“And what does that mean?” Easly asked.

“Star Ways,” was the extent of Jo’s reply but Easly understood.

“But what’s the connection between Haas and deBloise?” Pete asked.

“Money,” Easly said. “DeBloise is financing Haas but for some reason he wants his name kept out of it; he’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to cover any connection between Haas and himself. The same goes for the others who are in on the deal.”

“Who are they?” Paxton asked. “The list reads like a who’s who of the Restructurist movement. The cover job has been excellent, by the way. I couldn’t prove to any court that deBloise is behind Haas. My informants have assured me that they’ll deny every word they’ve said if they’re brought into court.”

“Well, at least we know he’s behind it,” Jo mused. She turned to Old Pete. “What do you think? I’d be tempted to forget the whole thing except for the cover-up; that makes me suspicious.”

Paxton shook his head. “I really don’t know what to do next. Maybe Mr. Easly could send one of his men to Jebinose to just sort of sniff around and-”

“Jebinose!” Jo exclaimed. “What’s Jebinose got to do with this?”

“Didn’t you know?” Old Pete said with surprise. “That’s deBloise’s home planet.”

Jo was shocked. “I knew he represented that sector, but I never dreamed he was from Jebinose itself.”

“Yes, he was born there. As a matter of fact, he was principal sponsor of the Integration Bill when your father was there. As another matter of fact, he pleaded for the bill’s passage with the cry that Junior Finch must not have died in vain!”

Jo shook her head. “I never realized …” Her face suddenly hardened, “Larry, I want you to go to Jebinose personally and look into deBloise and see what you can find, if anything. And you might check out a town named Danzer while you’re at it.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get IBA involved in any political matters,” Old Pete remarked in a slightly bantering tone.

“This political matter just might become a personal matter,” Jo replied.

Old Pete leaned back in his chair and tried unsuccessfully to prevent a very satisfied smile from creasing his face.