An hour later, Keg Johnson was making some quiet trading and slowly but surely gaining control over the manufacturing village of Fabriville. The market was steady and strong. The traders worked noisily and eagerly, tossing millions back and forth with the flick of a finger. It was a normal scene, this work of theirs, and when it was done, they would take their usual way home to a quiet evening beside a roaring fireplace.
But this was surface quiet. Deep down below there was a minuscule vortex that churned and throbbed, and other, equally minute forces fought the vortex—and strove in a battle that was lost before it began.
Terran Electric bought a full page advertisement in every paper. A five-minute commercial assailed the ears from every radio that listened to the Interplanetary Network. A full column emerged from the morning news-facsimile machines. Terran Electric, it said, was announcing the most modern line of household electrical appliances. Everything from deep-freezers to super-cookers. Everything from cigarette lighters to doorbell chimes.
The prices they quoted were devastating.
But on page seventeen, hidden among the financial and labor-situation news, was a tiny, three-line squib that told the story to those who knew the truth. Terran Electric had just released sixty percent of their production-line labor.
Don Channing caught the squib, and headed for Evanston less than fifteen minutes after reading it.
Unannounced, Don Channing entered Kingman's office and perched himself on the end of Kingman's desk. His bright blue eyes met Kingman's lowering brown eyes in a challenge.
"Meaning?" asked Kingman.
"You utter fool," snapped Don. He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke at Kingman, making the other cough.