The K-Factor Read online

the 3L's and theirfalse conclusions. Remember that politics in the old days was all We areangels and They are devils. This was literally believed. In the historyof mankind there has yet to be a war that wasn't backed by the officialclergy on each side. And each declared that God was on their side. Whichleaves You Know Who as prime supporter of the enemy. This theory is nomore valid than the one that a single man can lead a country into war,followed by the inference that a well-timed assassination can save thepeace."

  "That doesn't sound too unreasonable," Costa said.

  "Of course not. All of the old ideas sound good. They have asimple-minded simplicity that anyone can understand. That doesn't makethem true. Kill a war-minded dictator and nothing changes. Theviolence-orientated society, the factors that produced it, the militaryparty that represents it--none of these are changed. The k-factorremains the same."

  "There's that word again. Do I get a definition yet?"

  Neel smiled. "Of course. The k-factor is one of the many factors thatinterrelate in a society. Abstractly it is no more important than theother odd thousand we work with. But in practice it is the only one wetry to alter."

  "The k-factor is the war factor," Adao Costa said. All the humor wasgone now.

  "That's a good enough name for it," Neel said, grinding out hishalf-smoked cigarette. "If a society has a positive k-factor, even aslight one that stays positive, then you are going to have a war. Ourplanetary operators have two jobs. First to gather and interpret data.Secondly to keep the k-factor negative."

  They were both on their feet now, moved by the same emotion.

  "And Himmel has a positive one that stays positive," Costa said. NeelSidorak nodded agreement. "Then let's get into the ship and get going,"he said.

  * * * * *

  It was a fast trip and a faster landing. The UN cruiser cut its enginesand dropped like a rock in free fall. Night rain washed the ports andthe computer cut in the maximum permissible blast for the minimum timethat would reduce their speed to zero at zero altitude. Deceleration saton their chests and squeezed their bones to rubber. Something crunchedheavily under their stern at the exact instant the drive cut out. Costawas unbelted and out the door while Neel was still feeling his insidesshiver back into shape.

  The unloading had an organized rhythm that rejected Neel. He finallyrealized he could help best by standing back out of the way while thecrewmen grav-lifted the heavy cases out through the cargo port, into theblackness of the rain-lashed woods. Adao Costa supervised this andseemed to know what he was doing. A signal rating wearing earphonesstood to one side of the lock chanting numbers that sounded likedetector fixes. There was apparently enough time to unloadeverything--but none to spare. Things got close towards the end.

  Neel was suddenly bustled out into the rain and the last two crates wereliterally thrown out after him. He plowed through the mud to the edge ofthe clearing and had just enough time to cover his face before thetake-off blast burst out like a new sun.

  "Sit down and relax," Costa told him. "Everything is in the green sofar. The ship wasn't spotted on the way down. Now all we have to do iswait for transportation."

  In theory at least, Adao Costa was Neel's assistant. In practice he tookcomplete charge of moving their equipment and getting it under cover inthe capital city of Kitezh. Men and trucks appeared to help them, andvanished as soon as their work was done. Within twenty hours they wereinstalled in a large loft, all of the machines uncrated and plugged in.Neel took a no-sleep and began tuning checks on all the circuits, gladof something to do. Costa locked the heavy door behind their last silenthelper, then dropped gratefully onto one of the bedding rolls.

  "How did the gadgets hold up?" he asked.

  "I'm finding out now. They're built to take punishment--but beingdropped twelve feet into mud soup, then getting baked by rockets isn'tin the original specs."

  "They crate things well these days," Costa said unworriedly, sucking ona bottle of the famous Himmelian beer. "When do you go to work?"

  "We're working right now," Neel told him, pulling a folder of papers outof the file. "Before we left I drew up a list of current magazines andnewspapers I would need. You can start on these. I'll have a samplingprogram planned by the time you get back."

  Costa groaned hollowly and reached for the papers.

  * * * * *

  Once the survey was in operation it went ahead of its own momentum. Bothmen grabbed what food and sleep they could. The computers gulped downNeel's figures and spat out tape-reels of answers that demanded evenmore facts. Costa and his unseen helpers were kept busy supplying thematerial.

  Only one thing broke the ordered labors of the week. Neel blinked twiceat Costa before his equation-fogged brain assimilated an immediate andpersonal factor.

  "You've a bandage on your head," he said. "A _blood-stained_ bandage!"

  "A little trouble in the streets. Mobs. And that's an incredible feat ofobservation," Costa marveled. "I had the feeling that if I came in herestark naked, you wouldn't notice it."

  "I ... I get involved," Neel said. Dropping the papers on a table andkneading the tired furrow between his eyes. "Get wrapped up in thecomputation. Sorry. I tend to forget about people."

  "Don't feel sorry to me," Costa said. "You're right. Doing the job. I'msupposed to help you, not pose for the _before_ picture in Home Hospitalads. Anyway--how are we doing? Is there going to be a war? Certainlyseems like one brewing outside. I've seen two people lynched who wereonly suspected of being Earthies."

  "Looks don't mean a thing," Neel said, opening two beers. "Remember theanalogy of the pile. It boils liquid metal and cooks out energy from theinfrared right through to hard radiation. Yet it keeps on generatingpower at a nice, steady rate. But your A-bomb at zero minus one secondlooks as harmless as a fallen log. It's the k-factor that counts, notsurface appearance. This planet may look like a dictator's dream ofglory, but as long as we're reading in the negative things are fine."

  "And how are things? How's our little k-factor?"

  "Coming out soon," Neel said, pointing at the humming computer. "Can'ttell about it yet. You never can until the computation is complete.There's a temptation to try and guess from the first figures, butthey're meaningless. Like trying to predict the winner of a horse raceby looking at the starters lined up at the gate."

  "Lots of people think they can."

  "Let them. There are few enough pleasures in this life without takingaway all delusions."

  Behind them the computer thunked and was suddenly still.

  "This is it," Neel said, and pulled out the tape. He ran it quicklythrough his fingers, mumbling under his breath. Just once he stopped andset some figures into his hand computer. The result flashed in thewindow and he stared at it, unmoving.

  "Good? Bad? What is it?"

  Neel raised his head and his eyes were ten years older.

  "Positive. Bad. Much worse than it was when we left Earth."

  "How much time do we have?"

  "Don't know for certain," Neel shrugged. "I can set it up and get anapproximation. But there is no definite point on the scale where war_has_ to break out. Just a going and going until, somewhere along theline--"

  "I know. Gone." Costa said, reaching for his gun. He slid it into hisside pocket. "Now it's time to stop looking and start doing. What do Ido?"

  "Going to kill War Marshal Lommeord?" Neel asked distastefully. "Ithought we had settled that you can't stop a war by assassinating thetop man."

  "We also settled that _something_ can be done to change the k-factor.The gun is for my own protection. While you're radioing results back toEarth and they're feeling bad about it, I'm going to be doing something.Now _you_ tell me what that something is."

  This was a different man from the relaxed and quietly efficient AdaoCosta of the past week. All of his muscles were hard with the restrainedenergy of an animal crouching to leap. The gun, ready in his pocket, hada suddenly new significance. Neel looked away
, reaching around forwords. This was all very alien to him and suddenly a little frightening.It was one thing to work out a k-problem in class, and discuss thetheory of correction.

  It was something entirely different to direct the operation.

  "Well?" Costa's voice knifed through his thoughts.

  "You can ... well ... it's possible to change one of the peak populationcurves. Isolate individuals and groups, then effect status and locationchanges--"

  "You mean get a lot of guys to take jobs in other towns through thecommercial agents?"

  Neel nodded.

  "Too slow." Costa withered the idea with his voice. "Fine in the longrun, but of absolutely no value in an emergency." He began to pace backand forth. Too quickly. It was more of a bubbling-over than arelaxation. "Can't you isolate some recent key events that can bereversed?"

  "It's possible." Neel thought about it, quickly. "It wouldn't be a finalanswer, just a delaying action."

  "That's good enough. Tell me what to do."

  Neel flipped through his books of notes, checking off the Beta-13's.These were the reinforcers, the individuals and groups who were k-factoramplifiers. It was a long list which he cut down quickly by crossing offthe low increment additions and multiple groups. Even while the list wasincomplete, Neel began to notice a pattern. It was an unlikely one, butit was there. He isolated the motivator and did a frequency check. Thensat back and whistled softly.

  "We have a powerhouse here," he said, flipping the paper across thetable. "Take this organization out of the equations and you might evenknock us negative."

  "Society for the Protection of the Native Born," Costa read. "Doesn'tsound like very important. Who or what are they?"

  "Proof positive of the law of averages. It's possible to be dealt aroyal flush in a hand of cards, but it isn't very common. It's just aspossible for a bunch of simpletons to set up an organization for onepurpose, and have it turn out to be a supercharged, high-frequencyk-factor amplifier. That's what's happened with this infernal S.P.N.B. Aseedy little social club, dedicated to jingoists with low I.Q.'s. Withthe war scare they have managed to get hold of a few credits. They haveprobably been telling the same inflated stories for years about thediscrimination against natives of this fair planet, but no one hasreally cared. Now they have a chance to get their news releases andfaked pix out in quantity. Just at a time when the public is ripe fortheir brand of nonsense. Putting this bunch out of business will be agood day's work."

  "Won't there be repercussions?" Costa asked. "If they are this importantand throw so much weight around--won't it look suspicious if they aresuddenly shut up. Like an obvious move by the enemy?"

  "Not at all. That might be true if, for instance, you blew up theheadquarters of the War Party. It would certainly be taken as anaggressive move. But no one really knows or cares about this Society ofthe Half-baked Native Born. There might be reaction and interest ifattention was drawn to them. But if some accident or act of nature wereto put them out of business, that would be the end of it."

  Costa was snapping his lighter on and off as he listened to Neel,staring at the flame. He closed it and held it up. "I believe inaccidents. I believe that even in our fireproof age, fires still occur.Buildings still burn down. And if a burnt building just happened to beoccupied by the S.P.N.B.--just one tenant of many--and their offices andrecords were destroyed; that would be of very little interest to anyoneexcept the fire brigade."

  "You're a born criminal," Neel told him. "I'm glad we're on the sameside. That's your department and I leave it to you. I'll just listen forthe news flashes. Meanwhile I have one little errand to take care of."

  The words stopped Costa, who was almost out the door. He turned stifflyto look at Neel putting papers into an envelope. Yet Costa spokenaturally, letting none of his feelings through into his voice.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To see Hengly, the planetary operator here. Abravanel told me to stayaway from him, to run an entirely new basic survey. Well we've done thatnow, and pinpointed some of the trouble areas as well. I can stopfeeling guilty about poaching another man's territory and let him knowwhat's going on."

  "No. Stay away from Hengly," Costa said. "The last thing in the world wewant to do, is to be seen near him. There's a chance that he ... well... might be compromised."

  "What do you mean!" Neel snapped. "Hengly's a friend of mine, agraduate--"

  "He might also be surrounded ten deep by the secret police. Did you stopto think about _that_?"

  Neel hadn't thought about it, and his anger vanished when he did. Costadrove the point home.

  "Societics has been a well kept secret for over two centuries. It maystill be a secret--or bits of it might have leaked out. And even if theHimmelians know nothing about Societics, they have certainly heard ofespionage. They know the UN has agents on their world, they might thinkHengly is one of them. This is all speculation, of course, but we dohave one fact--this Society of Native Boobs we turned up. _We_ had notrouble finding them. If Hengly had reliable field men, he should knowabout them, too. The only reason he hasn't is because he isn't gettingthe information. Which means he's compromised."

  Reaching back for a chair, Neel fell heavily into it. "You're right ...of course! I never realized."

  "Good," Costa said. "We'll do something to help Hengly tomorrow, butthis operation comes first. Sit tight. Get some rest. And don't open thedoor for anyone except me."

  * * * * *

  It had been a long job--and a tiring one--but it was almost over. Neelallowed himself the luxury of a long yawn, then shuffled over to thecase of rations they had brought. He stripped the seal from somethingoptimistically labeled CHICKEN DINNER--it tasted just like the algae ithad been made from--and boiled some coffee while it was heating.

  And all the time he was doing these prosaic tasks his mind was turningan indigestible fact over and over. It wasn't a conscious process, butit was nevertheless going on. The automatic mechanism of his brain ranit back and forth like a half heard tune, searching for its name. Neelwas tired, or he would have reacted sooner. The idea finally penetrated.One fact he had taken for granted was an obvious impossibility.

  The coffee splashed to the floor as he jumped to his feet.

  "It's wrong ... it _has_ to be wrong!" he said aloud, grabbing up thepapers. Computations and graphs dropped and were trampled into thespilled coffee. When he finally found the one he wanted his hands wereshaking as he flipped through it. The synopsis of Hengly's reports forthe past five years. The gradual rise and fall of the k-factor frommonth to month. There were no sharp breaks in the curve or gaps in thesupporting equations.

  Societics isn't an exact science. But it's exact enough to know when itis working with incomplete or false information. If Hengly had been keptin the dark about the S.P.N.B., he would also have been misinformedabout other factors. This kind of alteration of survey would _have_ toshow in the equations.

  It didn't.

  Time was running out and Neel had to act. But what to do? He must warnAdao Costa. And the records here had to be protected. Or better yetdestroyed. There was a power in these machines and charts that couldn'tbe allowed to fall into nationalist hands. But what could be done aboutit?

  In all the welter of equipment and containers, there was one solid,heavy box that he had never opened. It belonged to Costa, and the UN manhad never unlocked it in his presence. Neel looked at the heavy claspson it and felt defeat. But when he pulled at the lid, wondering what todo next, it fell open. It hadn't been sealed. Costa wasn't the kind ofman who did things by accident. He had looked forward to the time whenNeel might need what was in this box, and had it ready.

  Inside was just what Neel expected. Grenades, guns, some smoothlypolished devices that held an aura of violence. Looking at them, Neelhad an overwhelming sensation of defeat. His life was dedicated to peaceand the furthering of peace. He hated the violence that seemed inborn inman, and detested all the hypocritical rationalizations, such as
theends justifying the means. All of his training and personal inclinationswere against it.

  And he reached down and removed the blunt, black gun.

  There was one other thing he recognized in the compact arsenal--a timebomb. There had been lectures on this mechanism in school, since thefact was clearly recognized that a time might come when equipment hadto be destroyed rather than fall into the wrong hands. He had never seenone since, but he had learned the lesson well. Neel pushed the openchest nearer to his instruments and set the bomb dial for fifteenminutes. He slipped the gun into his pocket, started the fuse, andcarefully locked the door when he left.

  The bridges were burned. Now he had to find Adao Costa.

  This entire operation was outside of his experience and knowledge. Hecould think of no plan that could possibly make things easier or safer.All he could do was head for the offices of the Society for theProtection of the Native Born and hope he could catch Adao before he raninto any trouble.

  * * * * *

  Two blocks away from the address he heard the sirens. Trying to act asnatural as the other pedestrians, he turned to look as the armored carsand trucks hurtled by. Packed