Diplomat at Arms by Keith Laumer

and deep-water pumps that maintain the shore-line more or less constant;
we still keep our cities well inland. Then there are the oxygen generators, the
atmosphere filtration complex, vermin control, and so on. Glave in its natural
state is a rather hostile world.”
    “I’m surprised that your mines can support it all.”
    “Oh, they don’t.” Corasol shook his head. “Two hundred years
ago, when the company first opened up Glave, it was economical enough. Quintite
was a precious mineral in those days. Synthetics have long since taken over.
Even fully automated, the mines barely support the public services and welfare
system.”
    “I seem to recall a reference in the Post Report to the
effect that a Company petition to vacate its charter had been
denied . . .”
    Corasol
nodded, smiling wryly. “The CDT seemed to feel that as long as any of the
world’s residents desired to remain, the Company was constrained to oblige
them. The great majority departed long ago, of course—relocated to other
operational areas. Only the untrainables, living off welfare funds—and a
skeleton staff of single men to operate the technical installations—have stayed
on.”
    “What do you mean—untrainable?”
    “There’s always a certain percentage of any population with
the conviction that society is a conspiracy to deny them their rights. The
right to be totally ignorant of any useful knowledge seems to be the basic one.
Most societies can carry the burden of these drones—along with the criminal and
idiot classes—as mere minority problems. Here on Glave, they’ve constituted the
population—with the planet operated to maintain them. Some of them have opened
small businesses—of the kind that require only a native shrewdness and a
stomach for the popular tastes. Of course, they still regard any material
advantages possessed by the productive as flagrant evidence of discrimination.”
    “That explains the mechanics of the recent uprising,” Retief
said.
    The bottle clinked against glasses for a second round. “What
about the good corporal?” Retief asked. “Assuming he’s a strong swimmer, you
should be hearing from him soon.”
    Corasol glanced at his finger watch. “I imagine he’ll be
launching his gas attack any minute.”
    “The prospect doesn’t seem to bother you.”
    “Sozier is a clever enough chap in his own way,” Corasol
said. “But he has a bad habit of leaping to conclusions. He’s gotten hold of a
tank of what someone has told him is gas—as indeed it is. Hydrogen, for
industrial use. It seems the poor fellow is under the impression that anything
masquerading as gas will have a lethal effect.”
    “He may be right—if he pumps it in fast enough.”
    “Oh, he won’t be pumping it—not after approximately five
minutes from now.”
    “Hmmm. I think I’m beginning to see the light. ‘Power off at
sunset . . . ’”
    Corasol nodded. “I don’t think he realizes somehow that all
his vehicles are operating off broadcast power.”
    “Still, he has a good-sized crowd of hopefuls with him. How
do you plan to get through them?”
    “We don’t; we go under. There’s an extensive system of
service ways underlying the city; another detail which I believe has escaped
the corporal’s notice.”
    “You’ll be heading for the port?”
    “Yes—eventually. First, we have a few small chores to see to.
Sozier has quite a number of our technical men working at gun point to keep
various services going.”
    Retief nodded. “It won’t be easy breaking them out; I made a
fast tour of the city this afternoon; locked doors, armed guards—”
    “Oh, the locks are power-operated, too. Our fellows will know
what to do when the power fails. I think the sudden darkness will eliminate any
problem from the guards.”
    The lights flickered and died. The whine of the turbines was
suddenly noticeable, descending. Faint cries sounded from outside.
    Corasol switched on a small portable lantern. “All