thunder. Barry Watson resumed his pacing. He signaled to the drummers who beat out another march. The phalanx moved forward slowly, and slowly went into an echelon formation, each division slightly ahead of the one following. Of necessity, the straight lines of the nomad and rebel front had to break.
The drums went boom, ah, boom, ah, boom, ah, boom.
The Tulan phalanx moved slowly, obliquely across the valley. The hedge of spears ruthlessly pressed the mass of enemy infantry before them.
The sergeants paced behind, shouting over the din. “Dress it up. You there, you’ve been hit, fall out to the rear.”
“I’m all right,” the wounded spearman snarled, battle lust in his voice.
“Fall out, I said,” the sergeant roared. “You there, take his place.”
The Tulan phalanx ground ahead.
One of the sergeants grinned wanly at Barry Watson as his men moved forward with the preciseness of the famed Rockettes of another era. “It’s working,” he said proudly.
Barry Watson snorted, “Don’t give me credit. It belongs to a man named Philip of Macedon, a long ways away in both space and time.”
Cogswell called, “Our right flank cavalry is falling back. Joe wants to know if you can send any support.”
Watson’s face went expressionless. “No,” he said flatly. “It’s got to hold. Tell Joe and the Khan it’s got to hold. Suggest they throw in those cavalry units they’re not sure of. The ones that threatened mutiny last week.”
Joe Chessman stood on the knoll flanked by the Khan’s ranking officers and the balance of the Earthmen. Natt Roberts was on the radio. He turned to the others and worriedly repeated the message.
Joe Chessman looked out over the valley. The thirty-thousand-man phalanx was pressing back the enemy infantry with the precision of a machine. He looked up the hillside at the point where the enemy cavalry was turning the right flank. Given cavalry behind the Tulan line and the battle was lost.
“Okay, boys,” Chessman growled sourly, “we’re in the clutch now. Hawkins!”
“Yeah,” the pilot said.
“See what you can do. Use what bombs you have including the napalm. Fly as low as you can in the way of scaring their horses.” He added sourly, “Avoiding scaring ours, if you can.”
“You’re the boss,” Hawkins said, and scurried off toward his scout plane.
Joe Chessman growled to the others, “When I was taking my degree in primitive society and primitive military tactics, I didn’t exactly have this in mind. Come on!”
It was the right thing to say. The other Earthmen laughed and took up their equipment, submachine guns, riot guns, a flame thrower, grenades, and followed him up the hill toward the fray.
Chessman said over his shoulder to Reif, “Khan, you’re in the saddle. You can keep in touch with both Watson and us on the radio.”
Reif hesitated only a moment. “There is no need for further direction of the battle from this point. A warrior is of more value now than a Khan. Come my son.” He caught up a double-barreled musket and followed the Earthmen. The ten years old Taller scurried after with a revolver.
Natt Roberts said, “If we can hold their cavalry for only another half hour, Watson’s phalanx will have their infantry pressed up against the pass they entered by. It took them three days to get through it, they’re not going to be able to get out in hours.”
“That’s the idea,” Joe Chessman said dourly, “Let’s go.”
VII.
Amschel Mayer was incensed.
“What’s got into Buchwald and MacDonald?” he spat.
Jerry Kennedy, attired as was his superior in fur trimmed Genoese robes, signaled one of the servants for a refilling of his glass and shrugged.
“I suppose it’s partly our own fault,” he said lightly. He sipped the wine, made a mental note to buy up the rest of this vintage for his cellars before young Mannerheim or someone else did so.
“Our fault!” Mayer glared.
The old boy was getting decreasingly tolerant as the years went by, Kennedy decided. He said soothingly, “You sent Peter and Fred over there to speed up local development. Well, that’s what they’re doing.”
“Are you insane!” Mayer squirmed in his chair. “Did you read this radiogram? They’ve squeezed out all my holdings in rubber, the fastest growing industry on the western continent. Why, millions are involved. Who do they think they are?”
Kennedy put down his glass and chuckled. “See here, Amschel, we’re developing this planet by encouraging free competition. Our contention is that under such a socio-economic system the best men are brought to the lead and benefit all society by the advances they make.”
“So! What has this got to do with MacDonald and Buchwald betraying my interests?”
“Don’t you see? Using your own theory, you have been set back by someone more efficiently competitive. Fred and Peter saw an opening and, in keeping with your instructions, moved in. It’s just coincidence that the rubber they took over was your property rather than some Genoese operator’s. If you were open to a loss there, then if they hadn’t taken over someone else could have. Possibly Baron Leonar or even Russ.”
“That reminds me,” Mayer snapped, “our Honorable Russ is getting too big for his britches in petroleum. Did you know he’s established a laboratory in Amerus? Has a hundred or more chemists working on new products.”
“Fine,” Kennedy said.
“Fine! What do you mean? Dean is our man in petroleum.”
“Look here, if Russ can develop the industry even faster than Mike Dean, let him go ahead. That’s all to our advantage.”
Mayer leaned forward and tapped his assistant emphatically on the knee. “Look here, yourself, Jerry Kennedy. At this stage we don’t want things getting out of our hands. A culture is in the hands of those who control the wealth; the means of production, distribution, communication. Theirs is the real power. I’ve made a point of spacing our men about the whole planet. Each specializes, though not exclusively. Gunther is our mining man, Dean heads petroleum, MacDonald shipping, Buchwald textiles, Rykov steel, and so forth. As fast as this planet can assimilate we push new inventions, new techniques, often whole new sciences, into use. Meanwhile, you and I sit back and dominate it all through that strongest of power mediums, finance.”
Jerry Kennedy nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about old man Russ taking over Dean’s domination of oil, though. Mike’s got the support of all the Pedagogue’s resources behind him. Besides, we’ve got to let these Genoese get into the act. The more the economy expands, the more capable men we need. As it is, I think we’re already spread a little too thin.”
Amschel Mayer had dropped the subject. He was reading the radiogram again and scowling his anger. “Well, this cooks MacDonald and Buchwald. I’ll break them.”
His
