“I beg to differ, sir,” said Coleman. “Respectfully, of course. But if the Republic wasn't scared out of its wits, I think our problem would have been handled at a lower level.” “Your only problem is your so-called Federation!” snapped the Secretary. “And I'm not going tohandle it, I'm going to grind it into the dirt!” “I think not,” said Coleman. “May I sit down while we discuss it?” “No!” bellowed the Secretary. “You may not sit down, and we will not discuss it! Had you come in here like a reasonable man, I'd have been happy to talk with you. But no, you toss a list of ultimatums on my desk and demand that the Republic knuckle under to a bunch of hooligans.” “Had I acted like a reasonable man,” said Coleman, “and had I not come prepared with a list of
demands which are absolutely nonnegotiable, I wouldn't be here. I'd be cooling my heels in office after
office while everyone in the government hoped the problem would go away. My very presence here attests to the efficacy of our methods.” “Who the hell are you, anyway?"’ demanded the Secretary. “You're no miner. How did you come to be part of this organization? And where is the Federation's headquarters? Who are its officers?” “I don't believe that I'm going to tell you,” said Coleman calmly. “None of that information could possibly help our cause, and I can certainly conceive of numerous ways by which releasing any further facts about ourselves could only work to our detriment.” “In what way?”
“It is not inconceivable that knowledge of our headquarters would precipitate an immediate attack on them,” said Coleman. “We have absolutely no intention of using force, but we do intend to protect our existence. Our power is economic and moral, not military.” “You're about to learn just how unmilitary your power is,” said the Secretary. “When is this galaxy-wide strike supposed to take place?”
“At midnight, Earth time.”
The Secretary pressed one button from among the multitude on his intercom set. “I want the 27th Fleet sent to Spica II immediately. At precisely midnight, Earth time, they will demand that the miners turn over fifty tons of iron. Should the miners refuse to do so, they are to take whatever action is deemed expedient to secure the iron. Is that understood?” He flicked off the switch without waiting for a reply. “All right, Mr. Coleman. Now let's see just how much gumption your Federation has.” Coleman pulled a small transistorized communication device out of his pocket and activated it. “This is Coleman.” He waited until his voiceprint had been cleared. “It's Spica II, tonight. Get a camera there on the double.” He replaced the communicator in his pocket and looked up at the Secretary with what he hoped was a confident smile. “It's your move now, sir.” “You talk about this as if it were a chess game, instead of a crime of treason against the Republic,” said the Secretary. “But since you've made the ground rules, I hope you'll be willing to play by them.” He flicked on the intercom again. “Intercept and detain all ships traveling within one parsec of the Spica system for the next five days.” He looked steadily at Coleman. “Still think you have a chance?” “Tell me when you're ready to agree publicly to our demands,” said Coleman. He turned and left the office.
At exactly midnight, the Federation of Miners went on strike. At eleven minutes after midnight, the flagship of the 27th Fleet demanded that the miners of Spica II relinquish their daily quota of iron.
At twelve minutes after midnight, the miners refused. At fourteen minutes after midnight, the 27th Fleet gave the miners a ten-minute ultimatum, after which they stated that they would take the iron by force and arrest the miners.
At twenty-two minutes after midnight, the seventy-two miners who formed the total population of Spica
II gathered by the largest single refinery on the planet and set off a series of three nuclear bombs. And at three minutes after one in the morning, Coleman was ushered into the Secretary's office under armed guard.
“Just what the hell are you trying to prove?” demanded the Secretary, who had obviously just been aroused from a sound sleep.
“We're not trying to prove anything,” said Coleman. “We're trying to win something: our rights. These miners have undergone three hours of intense hypnotic conditioning every day for more than a decade, and are fully prepared to die for their rights if need be. In fact, they are so completely conditioned that they have no choice in the matter; any opposition by the Republic will trigger this reaction. I assure you that there can and will be no weakening of our resolve.” “Dammit, you're the best-paid men in the Republic!'’ “Not in relation to the service we render to the Republic,” said Coleman. “Are you ready to agree to our demands yet?”
“You can blow every last mining world to hell before we'll submit to this kind of coercion!” snapped the Secretary.
“I doubt that, sir,” said Coleman. “Once the Republic discovers how deeply these miners believe in their cause...”
“The public won't find out a damned thing,” said the Secretary. “We stopped your ship, and we'll stop every other ship that attempts to approach a mining world.” “Then ultimately your own conscience will force you to yield to us,” said Coleman. “Get him out of here,” said the Secretary disgustedly. “Is he under arrest?” asked one of the military aids. “Hell, yes! Charge him with treason and lock him up!” Coleman was escorted to an electrified cell. He was well fed and was treated with the utmost cordiality. Each morning he was allowed to view the newstapes. He could find nothing about the results of the strike, nor even any acknowledgment of its existence, but he knew it would be continuing. The Republic could get along without the mining worlds for a week or two, possibly three. But then all interstellar traffic would come grinding to a halt. Before long the hospitals would be screaming for supplies. They'd be the first to feel the pinch, and for that he was sorry; but they'd be followed in short order by the huge spacecraft cartels, and they'd scream good and loud. Even the Secretary couldn't keep the lid on this for too much longer.
He spent exactly nineteen days, six hours, and twenty-four minutes in prison. Then he was once again ushered into the Secretary's presence.
The Secretary seemed to have aged perceptibly since the last time he had seen him. There were deep,
heavy lines around his eyes, and his pendulous jowls seemed to sag even more.
“If you ever had any friends on Praesepe II and VI, Alphard XVII, or Altair V, you'll never see them again. I hope that makes you happy.”
“It makes me very sad,” said Coleman sincerely. “And I know their deaths must weigh heavily on the conscience of the Republic.”
“How aboutyour conscience?” said the Secretary. “Doesn't the fact that well over four thousand patients have died because your strike has prevented our hospitals from getting vital materials bother you at all?” “I deeply regret their deaths,” said Coleman carefully. “But our stand has been taken. We are totally committed to our cause, and too many of us have died to back down now. If the Republic cares for either the rights of its miners or the lives of its patients, it has the wherewithal to end the strike this very minute.”
“I told you before: We will not yield to threats.” “We can wait,” said Coleman. “Time is on our side. Not even you, with all the resources of the Republic behind you, can keep this quiet for much longer. If you'd made it public to begin with, you might have been able to stir up sentiment for your side. But now the miners of five worlds are dead, and not a single member of the military has been harmed. Where do you think the public's sentiment will rest?” “What's to stop us from surrounding every remaining mining world and moving in after every last miner blows himself to bits?”