The compleat collected s.., p.140
The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 140
Redmond, who had tried unsuccessfully to intervene, gave Nicholson the details. Harnrigg had been talking to Harvey, the easy-going Buyer of the Toys, about the ideal working conditions in Maintenance and had stated that relatively the staff in Toys were cowed and oppressed. Harvey had taken the remark to be a personal insult and, for the first time in seven years, had lost his temper. For ten minutes he matched Harnrigg decibel for decibel, and had proved to the e-t's complete satisfaction that his staff literally walked on him, and that if there were any oppressed minorities in this department it was himself and his charge assistant.
"... Harnrigg apologised humbly then," Redmond went on, "and Harvey mumbled something about having a headache and he probably needed glasses. Everything would have been all right then if Harnrigg hadn't insisted on abasing himself further. He said that if he ever came back to Toys he would be a model worker for Mr. Harvey. That he realised only now how much people had played on Mr. Harvey's good nature. And when his friends arrived he would see to it, if they came to Mr. Harvey's department, that they would be the same ..."
"Oh, no," said Nicholson faintly.
"Harvey asked what friends," Redmond continued. "When Harnrigg told him, the ceiling was all that kept him from going into orbit. Now it's all over the store. Every buyer in the place is up in arms, there's talk of running Harnrigg out, and of calling for a strike if other centaurs are brought in. Did you know that we're getting fifty more centaurs?"
"Yes!" said Nicholson savagely. "But nobody else was supposed to know, yet. And it is three, not fifty. Try and spread that around, will you. And get that unprintable Harnrigg up here at once!"
Telford or no Telford, Nicholson was going to go to war. And now, not in a century hence.
"WHY DID you have to blab about your friends coming?" Nicholson yelled before Harnrigg was past the door. "You must have known I wanted that kept quiet until I had places for them. Now the staff are hostile as well as the buyers and your friends are already on the way! Where the blazes am I going to put them when they do come ...?"
"Two of them," said Harnrigg timidly, "are interested in TV. They are repairmen—hams—rather than qualified engineers, but they could talk knowledgably about the new sets that we're getting. Since Earth has begun to copy our full-colour TV system the manufacturers are making a big thing out of the fact that the designs originated on our planet, and advertising their extra-terrestrial origin for all they're worth, I thought that it might tie in nicely with the advertising to have two centaurs selling the sets ..."
When Harnrigg had taken his rhetorical question literally and started answering it, Nicholson had been too startled to interrupt. Then the sense of the other's words began to penetrate and his rage cooled slightly, even though he realised that this was the effect that Harnrigg must be striving for. Dammit, he thought, the four-legged so-and-so is handling me ...!
He opened his mouth for a blast that would cut Harnrigg down to size again, but instead said, "What about the other one?"
"I don't know, sir," Harnrigg replied a little awkwardly. "You see, the third one is a girl."
Nicholson choked. He wondered wildly if he was going to be plagued with hand-holding centaurs, too. But before he could develop that thought further the phone rang. It was the Store Manager. Hammond wanted to know what all this was about the store importing cheap labour from the stars, the union district organiser was in his office threatening strike action, and what the blazes had Nicholson done now ...?
Covering the mouthpiece, Nicholson said, "Get out!" Then he began replying to the S.M.'s questions one by one.
Chapter Five
NEXT DAY feelings were still running high, though not against Harnrigg personally. There was a tension in the air that almost gave it a static charge and the staff were being too polite, keeping too busy and prone to gather too much into small, whispering groups. Some sort of diversion was needed.
Using as his reason the fact that Harnrigg no longer returned to the spaceport each midday, and in the circumstances not to build one would be needless cruelty, Nicholson requested and was granted permission to install washroom facilities for Harnrigg in the basement. The Maintenance section were to handle the job and work was to begin immediately. When that word got out practically everyone in the store found an excuse to visit the basement to see what a centaur washroom consisted of. But Harnrigg must have made some very good friends in Maintenance, because only men actually engaged on the installation were allowed near the place, and they were as evasive as Scotsmen on the subject of what goes on underneath the kilt.
But the staff had something to speculate on, and the humorists among them had a field day which lasted the best part of a week. Nicholson was able to use that time to scotch the exaggerated rumours which had been going about, and even to regain some of the ground he had lost with the anti-centaur Buyers. He was working on the head of the Radio and TV department when the PA broke off its background music with the announcement that he was wanted in the Store Manager's office.
Commander Telford and the S.M. were there when he arrived.
"I met the Commander as he was coming in," Hammond said half-accusingly, "and brought him here. He was going to wait for you in your office, imagine that!" The implication in his tone was that such an important person must feel slighted at having to wait in Nicholson's small and relatively dingy office. "This is Surgeon-Commander Telford, the Director of a group studying centaur-human relations and the man responsible for Harnrigg and the others coming here. Commander Telford, this is my Personal Manager, Mr. Nichol—"
"Hi, Joe," said Nicholson, solely for the purpose of seeing what affect such familiarity towards a space Commander would have on the S.M. Hammond was stricken speechless, and Nicholson could not say whether he was more shocked by the familiarity or by the fact that his Personal Manager was on first name terms with the other.
"HELLO, Arthur," said Telford, catching the ball neatly. "I have just been telling your chief that my group has decided that for the next four or five years Coop's store will receive all centaur immigrants. They will probably arrive at the rate of three a year. But only, you understand, if we are assured that they will be reasonably happy working here. Can you absorb that number in your ...?"
"He'll have to!" Hammond broke in. "It's his job to do so, and if he falls down on it I can find another Personnel Manager."
Telford looked uncomfortable. He said, "I don't think he can be blamed too much for failing to solve what is a unique and extremely difficult problem." He turned to Nicholson. "How have you been making out?"
Nicholson knew that he would have exerted himself to the utmost on the problem purely for the reasons which Telford had given him, and Hammond's threat of the sack only angered him. If he hadn't had what he thought was the answer to the problem, now would have been the perfect time to duck out of it by telling Hammond what to do with his job. But Nicholson had been doing some heavy thinking over the past few days and he thought he had the problem licked. The whole thing could go sour on him at any time, of course, especially if there was another set-back like the one a week ago. Harnrigg had to stay out of trouble until Nicholson put his plan into effect.
But it was a nice feeling to have a part in stopping a war, even one that was a century off and might never have happened anyway ...
HE WAS on the point of answering Telford's question when the S.M.'s intercom bleeped and an excited voice shouted, "Sir! I can't find Mr. Nicholson and there's a riot in the Dugout! They've locked the door but you can hear them all over the ground floor, Harnrigg anyway. Mr. Redmond says will he send for an ambulance, and the Police ...?"
"No!" Nicholson yelled, before Hammond could react. "Stay right where you are, I'm coming down!" Cursing horribly he headed for the elevator, with Telford and the S.M. close behind him.
The man who had phoned met them on the ground floor and ran with them towards the basement stairs. He said breathlessly, "Mr. Redmond is trying to get through to them. Why can't I get some of the men and help him break down the door? H-Harnrigg's gone mad! Listen to him, he must be murdering all around him. No lousy centaur is going to—"
"Don't do or say anything until I know what has happened!" Nicholson snapped at him. "It may not be what it seems ..."
The noise of human shouts was loud even here, and the sounds which Harnrigg was making were something which Nicholson had never heard him make before, and thanked God for it. Altogether it sounded like a bloody massacre, and Nicholson thought that his last remark had been stupid. But still he clung to the hope that the violence going on under his feet was some mistake, that he was dreaming or that there would be an innocent explanation.
Redmond did not hear them as they came down the stairs. He had thoughtfully sent to Hardware for an axe and had just about finished demolishing the door. It swung open as they came level with him.
HARNRIGG was in the middle of a struggling, punching mob of Maintenance staff, invisible but deafeningly audible. There were a few bodies lying about on the fringe of the mob, most of them holding their heads, and one man was crawling about on his hands and knees and splattering the floor with blood from his nose. There was a lot of loose money and spilled playing cards on the floor, too. But he was relieved to see that so far nobody had been killed.
"Stop this!" Nicholson thundered. "Stop at once!"
Nobody heard him. Harnrigg was making too much noise.
"They're killing him!" Telford shouted into his ear, and dived into the struggling mass of bodies. Redmond and Nicholson followed, forming the wings of a flying V. Nicholson did not waste time trying to separate any of the fighters, he merely shoved them out of the way or tripped them up. Telford and the floor supervisor were less sneaky in their approach and suffered considerably; both had split lips by the time they reached Harnrigg.
The e-t was prancing furiously about, his heavy tail protruding from the tatters of his new overalls and whipping about viciously. The furry covering made it resemble a sandbag rather than a club as a weapon, Nicholson thought as it thumped him in the back and knocked him to his knees. Harnrigg was also flailing away with both hands and roaring his head off. Nicholson shouted again but still could not make himself heard. Telford caught his eye, shook his head viciously, and dived across Harnrigg's back.
Nicholson saw his hands prodding rapidly into the fur along Harnrigg's spine, then he balled one of his fists suddenly and swung it down. Harnrigg jerked convulsively, keeled over onto his side and lay gazing along the floor with a bewildered expression in his eyes.
"That's dirty fighting!" yelled a burly maintenance man, and swung at Telford. The Commander ducked sideways and the blow skidded off his cheek-bone. Nicholson shouted, "Quiet! That's enough!" This time they heard him.
"Redmond, get the medical kit," Nicholson said briskly. "And any of you men who have been injured, line up here and we'll have a look at you. Commander, will you attend to the ones on the floor?"
"I'm a psychologist, mostly," Telford growled, fingering his raw cheek. But he moved to obey. Nicholson returned to the shattered door to speak to the Store Manager. This was a horrible mess, and what little hope there was in it lay in him being able to handle it alone. He had to get rid of the S.M.
"I don't want you to think I'm ordering you around, sir," he said respectfully, "but I need someone at the head of the stairs to keep everybody out until I can find out exactly what has happened. Someone with authority, a level head and the power to command obedience and confidence, who can quell any tendency towards panic among the staff up there ..."
WHEN HAMMOND left, Redmond came up to him. He said, "None of the men are hospital cases. Apparently we arrived before things got out of hand."
Before he could reply, Telford came across to report. "Bloody noses, minor cuts and bruises is all," the Commander said soberly. "Cold compresses, sticking plaster and aspirin is what they need. But how will this affect the Harnrigg business?"
The extra-terrestrial came wobbling over to them at that point, apparently none the worse for Telford's judo punch. He began, "I'm sorry, Mr. Nicholson ..."
"Not another word!" said Nicholson sharply. He pointed to a door leading into a large storeroom and snapped, "Go in there and wait. You men with nothing wrong with you, wait there also. When we've attended to your friends I'm going to get to the bottom of this." He turned and began applying surgical tape to the face of no less a person than the junior maintenance engineer of the section. As the man was turning to go he added, "I don't want it to be said that I was unfair about this business, that I questioned any of you while you were still dazed or otherwise mentally confused. So I'm going to give you all fifteen minutes to gather your wits so that you may realise the seriousness of your position.
"You are all," he went on grimly, "guilty of two crimes which, together with dishonesty, make up the three which bring with them the penalty of instant dismissal; fighting, and gambling for money. The penalty applies to human and non-humans alike."
A few minutes later the rest of the men had been taped up and sent into the storeroom with the others. A rising hum of talk came through the thick door, frequently interspersed with Harnrigg's louder tones, reached a crescendo, died and rose again. Nicholson paced up and down nervously, kicking at the loose cards and money lying around on the floor, and not daring to think much beyond the next fifteen minutes.
The noise coming through the door was building up to a new high.
"It's a pity it didn't work out," Telford said sadly. "You tried hard, I know, but even I know that a store can't have this sort of thing going on. You'll fire him, of course, but don't you think you'd better keep an eye on those people in there? You said yourself that most of them will lose their jobs over this, and if they decide that Harnrigg is the cause of it they might turn nasty. If they injure him seriously it could mean the first Interstellar Incident ..."
Nicholson walked up and down again without speaking, then he said, "Look around, you can almost see what happened. I bet they let him play poker for the first time, and he had beginner's luck—otherwise there would have been no fight. Somebody, a loser of course, remembered that rumour about him being telepathic and accused him of cheating, maybe hit him. But Harnrigg has a lot of friends down here, so the riot started. Trouble is, will I be able to prove all this?
"You see," Nicholson went on quickly before Telford could speak, "this wasn't the usual sort of fracas where anything goes. There were no boots, clubs or hooves used, only fists. Apparently even his enemies did not want to hurt him too much. You remember that character who slugged you because you gave him that rabbit punch in the back? If rough types like those could mutually agree to rules for a free fight maybe they could agree—"
"Listen to them!" said Telford urgently. "Even if the worst of them didn't want to hurt him then, now it's different. Now they're all going to be fired. They'll kill him for sure!"
Nicholson shook his head. "I know what I'm doing, I think," he said worriedly. "Anyway, their fifteen minutes are up."
WHEN HE entered the storeroom the Maintenance staff were ranged against the opposite wall, with Harnrigg slightly front and centre. Obviously he was to be their spokesman. Considering his growing reputation for winning arguments recently, Nicholson thought drily, the e-t was the only logical choice. If Harnrigg couldn't talk them out of this fix nobody could.
Harnrigg made the opening move.
"This trouble is entirely my fault, sir," he said miserably. "It came about through my ignorance, and also through the mistaken kindness of my friends here ..."
"I'm getting a little tired of hearing that everything is entirely your fault," Nicholson broke in. "Maybe it pleases you to be a martyr, I don't know, but the free-for-all we have just witnessed was not being fought solely by you, and the gambling which preceded it required more than one participant."
"But we weren't gambling," Harnrigg boomed passionately. His eyes were large and soft and sincere. "I brought the playing cards in with me seeking instruction in their use, and thought that perhaps some of my friends would be able to help. My interest is purely academic, I assure you. Commander Telford knows that we have nothing resembling cards on my home planet."
Telford nodded dumbly. Redmond seemed in danger of choking to death at the thought of the Maintenance people merely explaining cards to anyone. And Nicholson was thinking, What a beautiful liar he is. If only he can keep it up.
"There was a large amount of money lying around," Nicholson said coldly. "Proof, I submit, of gambling."
"It must have been shaken out of our pockets during the fighting—"
"So there was fighting?"
Harnrigg shook his head ponderously. "Not exactly, sir. Fighting among the staff is an offence punishable by instant dismissal, I understand. But I am intensely curious about all forms of Earthly activities, not only music, literature and drama. Car-racing, for instance, chess, and the theory of cards. I realise now that I should not have talked my friends into demonstrating for me during working hours, but out of politeness to an extra-terrestrial they agreed.
"You see, sir, just recently I've become interested in boxing ..."
"You mean to say," said Nicholson witheringly, "that all these people were merely showing you how to box?"
Harnrigg remained silent, but all the battered and bloody faces behind him nodded or otherwise signalled assent.
NICHOLSON kept sternly to his role of Public Prosecutor, but one who was forced by circumstances to break off the cross-questioning temporarily. Inwardly he was jubilant. He said, "This story appears somewhat fantastic, but I haven't the time to go into obvious flaws at the moment. Mr. Hammond is upstairs trying to keep the staff from leaving in panic, they don't know what has been happening here and suspect that you are running berserk. It is more important, just now, that I help him calm them down. But rest assured that I'll get to the bottom of this. The day after tomorrow I'll hold a full investigation which will last, if necessary, for a week!"
