Certainly. Read it here if you wish. I like to get things settled—the sooner the better. Sit down, young man and read. You can rouse me when you’re finished.” He turned his attention to the papers on his desk and within seconds was completely oblivious of Kennon, his face set in the rapt trancelike expression of a trained rapid reader.
Kennon watched for a moment as sheets of paper passed through Alexander’s hands to be added to the pile at the opposite end of the desk. The man would do better, he thought, if he would have his staff transcribe the papers to microfilm that could be read through an interval-timed scanner. He might suggest that later. As for now, he shrugged and seated himself in the chair beside the desk. The quiet was broken only by the rustle of paper as the two rapt-faced men turned page after page with mechanical regularity.
Finally Kennon turned the last page, paused, blinked, and performed the necessary mental gymnastics to orient his time sense. Alexander, he noticed, was still engrossed, sunk in his autohypnotic trance. Kennon waited until he had finished the legal folder which he was reading and then gently intruded upon Alexander’s concentration.
Alexander looked up blankly and then went through the same mental gyrations Kennon had performed a few minutes before. His eyes focused and became hard and alert.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think of it?”
“I think it’s the damnedest, trickiest, most unilateral piece of legalistics I’ve ever seen,” Kennon said bluntly. “If that’s the best you can offer, I wouldn’t touch the job with a pair of forceps.”
Alexander smiled. “I see you read the fine print,” he said. There was quiet amusement in his voice. “So you don’t like the contract?”
“No sensible man would. I’m damned if I’ll sign commitment papers just to get a job. No wonder you’re having trouble getting professional help. If your contracts are all like that it’s’ a wonder anyone works for you.”
“We have no complaints from our employees,” Alexander said stiffly.
“How could you? If they signed that contract you’d have a perfect right to muzzle them.”
“There are other applicants for this post,” Alexander said.
“Then get one of them. I wouldn’t be interested.”
“A spaceman’s ticket is a good thing to have,” Alexander said idly. “It’s a useful ace in the hole. Besides, you have had three other job offers—all of which are good even though they don’t pay fifteen Ems a year.”
Kennon did a quick double take. Alexander’s investigative staff was better than good. It was uncanny.
“But seriously, Dr. Kennon, I am pleased that you do not like that contract. Frankly, I wouldn’t consider employing you if you did.”
“Sir?”
“That contract is a screen. It weeds out the careless, the fools, and the unfit in one operation. A man who would sign a thing like that has no place in my organization.” Alexander chuckled at Kennon’s blank expression. “I see you have had no experience with screening contracts.”
“I haven’t,” Kennon admitted. “On Beta the tests are formal. The Medico-Psych Division supervises them.”
“Different worlds, different methods,” Alexander observed. “But they’re all directed toward the same goal. Here we aren’t so civilized. We depend more on personal judgment.” He took another contract from one of the drawers of his desk. “Take a look at this. I think you’ll be more satisfied.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll read it now,” Kennon said.
Alexander nodded.
* * *
“It’s fair enough,” Kennon said, “except for Article Twelve.”
“The personal privilege section?
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s the contract. You can take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it,” Kennon said. “Thank you for your time.” He rose to his feet, smiled at Alexander, and turned to the door. “Don’t bother to call your receptionist,” he said. “I can find my way out.”
“Just a minute, Doctor,” Alexander said. He was standing behind the desk, holding out his hand.
“Another test?” Kennon inquired.
Alexander nodded. “The critical one,” he said. “Do you want the job?”
“Of course.”
“Without knowing more about it?”
“The contract is adequate. It defines my duties.”
“And you think you can handle them?”
“I know I can.”
“I notice,” Alexander observed, “that you didn’t object to other provisions.”
“No, sir. They’re pretty rigid, but for the salary you are paying I figure you should have some rights. Certainly you have the right to protect your interests. But that Article Twelve is a direct violation of everything a human being should hold sacred besides being a violation of the Peeper Laws. I’d never sign a contract that didn’t carry a full Peeper rider.”
“That’s quite a bit.”
“That’s the minimum,” Kennon corrected. “Naturally, I won’t object to mnemonic erasure of matters pertaining to your business once my contract’s completed and I leave your employment. But until then there will be no conditioning, no erasures, no taps, no snoopers, and no checkups other than the regular periodic psychans. I’ll consult with you on vacation time and will arrange it to suit your convenience. I’ll even agree to emergency recall, but that’s the limit.” Kennon’s voice was flat.
“You realize I’m agreeing to give you a great deal of personal liberty,” Alexander said. “How can I protect myself?”
“I’ll sign a contingency rider,” Kennon said, “if you will specify precisely what security matters I am not to reveal.”
“I accept,” Alexander said. “Consider yourself hired.” He touched a button on his desk. “Prepare a standard 2-A contract for Dr. Jac Kennon’s signature. And attach two riders, a full P-P-yes, no exceptions—and a security-leak contingency, Form 287-C. Yes—that’s right—that one. And strike out all provisions of Article Twelve which conflict with the Peeper Laws. Yes. Now—and finish it as soon as you can.” He touched another button. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “I hope you’ll enjoy being a member of our group.”
“I think I shall,” Kennon said. “You know, sir, I would have waived part of that last demand if you had cared to argue.”
“I know it,” Alexander said. “But what concessions I could have wrung from you would be relatively unimportant beside
