The Rival Rigelians

“You sound like a rabble rouser,” Mike Dean chuckled.

But she went on, doggedly. “Suppose it’s possible for a peasant or unskilled laborer, to get by on fifty crowns a day. Fine, you pay him one hundred crowns, and then tax him fifty. He thinks he’s paying taxes and gets all in a dither about their magnitude, but in actuality if taxes went up another ten crowns a day, you boys in the saddle would have to raise his pay. If his cost of living fell off, the governments you keep in power would undoubtedly raise his taxes to that extent. On an average, he gets a living wage, just enough to get by on, no more, no less, so taxes don’t really interest him.”

Mike Dean said dryly, “Save me your economics, Natalie. The fact of the matter is, Lou and I are in no position to finance a project as big as you’re talking about. We over-expanded, especially in textiles. Introducing the cotton gin was fine but things got steam rolling and before we knew it, we started producing cloth twice as fast as we can sell it. Everybody on this continent, who can afford a wardrobe, has a closet full of clothes.”

Natalie said impatiently, “Introduce fashion.”

“What?” He scowled at her.

She said, “I was joking, I suppose. But I’m surprised you haven’t already. Between you and Amschel Mayer, you’ve introduced just about every other gimmick that…”

“Wait a minute,” Dean said. “How do you mean, introduce fashion?”

“Fashion, fashion. Styles. So every woman on this continent has already got a closet full of clothes your textile products? Fine. Switch styles on them, drop the hemline five inches. Play it up in your publications. Have some of the big name theatrical people wear them. Introduce some fashion magazines. Make them feel as though they’re underprivileged if they can’t get a complete new wardrobe of the new styles.”

Dean was staring at her. “Zen! I think you’re right!”

Natalie muttered, “Forgive me, for I know not what I do.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, coming to her feet. She looked down at him and far in the back of her eyes there was an element of contempt. “Mike, we came here to develop this world, not just to exploit it.”

He looked up at her, defensively. “Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where one starts and the other ends.”

“In this particular case, it isn’t. My medical universities are at last beginning to turn out competent practitioners. I need those hospitals, Mike.”

“All right, all right, I’ll talk it over with Louis. Listen, Natalie, how about you taking a week or so off and getting this fashion thing going for us? Neither Louis nor I know…”

She snorted in fine disgust. “Some chance, you miserable cloddy. I can just see myself. Already I feel like a traitor to my sex.”

Mike Dean chuckled sourly. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

A secretary entered. “The Honorable Rosetti.”

Dean said, “Oh good. Show him in, Lange.”

“At once, Honorable Dean.” Lange left.

Natalie looked after the underling. “What’s he cringing about?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s an attitude you develop when you’ve got possibly three hundred crowns to your name.”

She frowned at him. “I hope you don’t encourage it. Wasn’t the theory that on Genoa we were going to advance by utilizing man’s freedoms? Plekhanov and Chessman are the advocates of the iron fist.”

He shrugged again, uncomfortably. “You don’t have to encourage it. It comes automatically.” He stood as Louis Rosetti entered the room.

Rosetti, one of the older of the Pedagogue’s complement, smiled at Natalie. “Nice to see you, Doc. We don’t get together often enough.”

“Hello, Louis,” she said wanly. “Not much time for social life.”

Dean said, “It’s not as nice as all that to see her. She’s trying to shake us down for enough to pay off this city-state’s national debt.”

Rosetti looked at her. “Why don’t you get after Mayer and Kennedy for a change? Didn’t Mike tell you we were hurting?”

“It wouldn’t be a change, Louis. I’m doing the same on their continent as I am here. If anything, my program is somewhat ahead over there.”

Dean said, “What’s up, Louis? I thought you were working on that series of distilleries.”

“Distilleries!” Natalie said.

Mike Dean looked at her impatiently. “What’s wrong with distilleries? It’s not as though we’re introducing alcohol. They’ve always had wine here.”

She shook her head. “I suppose it’s none of my affair. It seems to me, though, that we could first devote a few factories to medicinal products before getting around to stronger guzzle.”

Louis Rosetti, who was dressed in much the same manner as his colleague, made a motion toward the next room with his head. “Presbyter Doul is out there.”

“Who?”

“Doul, the Temple monk. He’s taking a dim view of our production of rum and vodka.”

“Is there a back way out of here?” Natalie said. “I’m having enough trouble with the Temple without tangling with any of them ranking as high as Presbyter.”