MacKendrick's gloved hands were slimy with green blood but he moved in a very efficient and businesslike fashion until he had more than fifty little tags clipped to the nerve cords.
“Now for the answer!” said
MacKendrick. He sent pulses through the two nerves to which the bronze item had been attached.
It was difficult work. The room was cold. The corpse stank, having gone even mustier than the common, rank smell of a Psychlo.
MacKendrick stood up, a little tired. "I’m sorry to say that I don't think that piece of metal would cause any of these monsters to commit suicide.
But I can make a pretty good guess now as to what it does do.”
He pointed to his tags. “Taste and sexual impulses branch off from that one as near as I can tell. Emotion and action branch off from the other one there.
“This metal clip was installed when it was an infant. See the faint, ancient scars in this side of the skull. At that time the bones would be soft and would heal fast.”
“And what does it do?” said Angus.
“My guess,” said MacKendrick, “is that it short-circuits pleasure with action. Maybe they did it to make a Psychlo happy only when he was working. But– and I can't tell fully unless I dissect a lot of these nerves further down– I think its actual effect was to make a Psychlo enjoy cruel action.”
Suddenly Jonnie recalled an expression of Terl’s. He had seen him do something cruel and heard him mutter, “Delicious!”
“The effort,” said MacKendrick, “to make them industrious I think was miscalculated by their ancient metal specialists, and they made a race of true monsters.”
Everyone agreed with that.
“That wouldn't make them commit suicide to protect technology!” said Robert the Fox. “You got another corpse here. He was an assistant mine manager by his papers and got twice the pay of the one you just did. Get him on the table, man.”
MacKendrick got another table. He would have to picto-record and sketch the work he had just done.
They put the mammoth head of the second one on the machine. They had the setting now. And they looked into the dead brain of one who had been called Blow.
And Jonnie, who had been getting despondent, gruesome as this job was, suddenly smiled.
There were two metal pieces in this one's head!
The whir-flap of the machine took the recording and he rushed out to tear through the analysis code books.
There it was, bright and clear: silver!
When he reentered the room, MacKendrick, being practiced now, had the brain stripped down. He was spot-dyeing the connections of the second bit of metal before he took it out.
It was about three-quarters of an inch long. The lack of oxygen in a Psychlo blood stream had left it gleamingly bright. It was a cylinder. The nubs on each end were insulated from the silver.
Angus put it on the machine and it was hollow.
Jonnie made him adjust the equipment even more finely. There was a filament of some sort inside that cylinder.
They surmised they would find them in other executive corpses, so when MacKendrick had sterilized it, Jonnie cut it in half very delicately.
The inside of it resembled a component in remote controls but it was not a radio.
“I haven't identified these nerves,” said MacKendrick, “because I can't tell exactly what they go to right now. But I’ll work on it.”
“Could it be a thought wavelength vibrator?” asked Jonnie.
“A difference measurer?” said Angus. “Like difference of thought waves of another race?”
Jonnie would let them go on working on it, but he had a very good idea it was designed to release an impulse under certain conditions and that that impulse could cause attack and suicide.
“There's only one thing wrong,” said MacKendrick. “It was put in an infant. Getting it out of the head of a live, adult Psychlo, through all these bones, would be a task one could never guarantee the success of.” Then he saw the look of disappointment on their faces. “But I’ll try, I’ll try!” He didn't think it could be done. And he only had four Psychlos-and they looked like they were dying.
Part XIX
Chapter 1
Brown Limper Staffor chaired the Council meeting in a black mood.
There they sat before the raised platform in the capital room, wrangling, wrangling, wrangling. Disputing him, the senior Councilman of the planet. Objecting to his measures.
That black fellow from Africa! That yellow creature from Asia! That tan idiot from South America! That dull, bullheaded brute from Europe! Ugh, ugh, ugh, and UGH!
Didn't they realize he was doing the very best things that could be done for man? And wasn't he, Brown Limper Staffor, now representing five tribes since the Brigantes had come and he was indeed Senior Mayor America?
They were disputing the cost and contract terms of hiring the Brigantes. Of all things! The planet needed a defense force. And these clauses that he had so painstakingly sorted out– spending his valuable time hour after hour with that General Snith-were all necessary.
Senior Mayor Africa was challenging the pay. He was saying that one hundred credits per Brigante per day was excessive, that even Council members only got five credits a day, and that if they spread credits around this way they would make them worthless! Wrangle, wrangle, wrangle, taking up picky and unimportant points!
Brown Limper had been making good progress. He had the Council whittled down to five now, but it certainly looked like four too many!
He cudgeled his brains as to how to solve this dilemma.
Driven by Lars out to the Brigante suburb of the city that day, it is true he had been taken a bit aback by what the Brigante women were doing. Right in the streets and with no clothes on at any time. But General Snith, during their conference, had said they were just frolicking.
Coming back, Lars had been talking about that wonderful, wonderful military leader of ancient times named...Bitter?...no...Hitler?Yes,
Hitler. How he had been a champion of racial purity and moral uprightness. Racial purity didn't seem very interesting but “moral uprightness” had caught Brown Limper's attention. His father had always been a champion of it.
Sitting there listening to these endless arguments and objections, he recalled a conversation– purely social– he had had with that friendly creature, Terl. It had been on the subject of leverage.
If one had leverage, one could do pretty well what he pleased. Sound philosophy. Brown Limper had grasped that. He truly hoped Terl thought him an apt pupil, for he was very happy to have his friendship and help.
He sure didn't have any leverage on this Council! He tried to think of some way he could maneuver them into appointing himself and a secretary as the sole authority for the planet. He couldn't quite come up with anything and he pondered other things Terl had said: good, down-to-earth advice. Something about it being the right thing to do to pass a law and then arrest the violators or use their violations as leverage. Something like that.
It came to him in a flash.
He rapped for silence.
“We will table the resolution to accept the Brigante contract for now,” said Brown Limper in his best voice of authority.
They quieted down and Asia folded his robes with a gesture of– of what was that– defiance? Well, he'd take care of him!
“I have another measure,” said Brown Limper. “It has to do with morality.” And he proceeded to make a speech about morality being the backbone of all societies and that officials must be honest and true and that their conduct must be beyond reproach and that they must not be discovered in any scandalous situations or circumstances.