“I don’t know,” Amalfi said. “I don’t like it. On the surface, it looks as though the Proctors hope to scare us off the planet as soon as the contract expires, and then collect all the money we’ve paid the serfs—with the cops to back them up. But when you look closely at it, it’s crazy. Once the cops find out the identity of IMT—and it won’t take them long—they’ll break up both cities, and be glad of the chance.”
Karst said: “Is this because IMT was the Okie city that did… what was done … on Thor V?”
Amalfi suddenly found that he was having difficulty in keeping his Adam’s apple where it belonged. “Let that pass, Karst,” he growled. “We’re not going to import that story into the Cloud. That should have been cut from your learning tape.”
“I know it now,” Karst said calmly. “And I am not surprised. The Proctors never change.”
“Forget it. Forget it, do you hear? Forget everything. Karst, can you go back to being a dumb serf for a night?”
“Go back to my land?” Karst said. “It would be awkward. My wife must have a new man by now—”
“No, not back to your land. I want to go with Heldon and look at his spindizzies, as soon as he says the word. I’ll need to take some heavy equipment, and I’ll need some help. Will you come along?”
Hazleton raised his eyebrows. “You won’t fool Heldon, boss.”
“I think I will. Of course he knows that we’ve educated some of the serfs, but that’s not a thing he can actually see when he looks at it; his whole background is against it. He just isn’t accustomed to thinking of serfs as intelligent. He knows we have thousands of them here, and yet he isn’t really afraid of that idea. He thinks we may arm them, make a mob of them. He can’t begin to imagine that a serf can learn something better than how to handle a sidearm—something better, and far more dangerous.”
“How can you be sure?” Hazleton said.