advocating it hadn't been a captain himself. At least,
it would have disenfranchised all Ravick's permanently unemployed
"unemployed hunters." The only trouble was, there was no conceivable
way of getting it passed. It was too much like trying to curtail the
powers of Parliament by act of Parliament.

The gang from the street level started coming up, and scattered in
twos and threes around the hall, ready for trouble. I'd put on my
radio when I'd joined the Kivelsons and Oscar, and I kept it on,
circulating around and letting it listen to the conversations. The
Ravick people were either saying nothing or arguing that Belsher was
doing the best he could, and if Kapstaad wouldn't pay more than
thirty-five centisols, it wasn't his fault. Finally, the call bell for
the meeting began clanging, and the crowd began sliding over toward
the elevators and escalators.

The meeting room was on the floor above, at the front of the building,
beyond a narrow hall and a door at which a couple of Ravick henchmen
wearing guns and sergeant-at-arms brassards were making everybody
check their knives and pistols. They passed me by without getting my
arsenal, which consisted of a sleep-gas projector camouflaged as a
jumbo-sized lighter and twenty sols in two rolls of forty quarter sols
each. One of these inside a fist can make a big difference.

Ravick and Belsher and the secretary of the Co-op, who was a little
scrawny henpecked-husband type who never had an opinion of his own in
his life, were all sitting back of a big desk on a dais in front.
After as many of the crowd who could had found seats and the rest,
including the Press, were standing in the rear, Ravick pounded with
the chunk of monster tusk he used for a gavel and called the meeting
to order.

"There's a bunch of old business," he said, "but I'm going to rule
that aside for the moment. We have with us this evening our
representative on Terra, Mr. Leo Belsher, whom I wish to present. Mr.
Belsher."

Belsher got up. Ravick started clapping his hands to indicate that
applause was in order. A few of his zombies clapped their hands;
everybody else was quiet. Belsher held up a hand.

"Please don't applaud," he begged. "What I have to tell you isn't
anything to applaud about."

"You're tootin' well right it isn't!" somebody directly in front of me
said, very distinctly.

"I'm very sorry to have to bring this news to you, but the fact is
that Kapstaad Chemical Products, Ltd.,