The K-Factor | Page 6

pulling a folder of papers
out of the file. "Before we left I drew up a list of current magazines and
newspapers I would need. You can start on these. I'll have a sampling
program 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.
Both men grabbed what food and sleep they could. The computers
gulped down Neel's figures and spat out tape-reels of answers that
demanded even more facts. Costa and his unseen helpers were kept
busy supplying the material.

Only one thing broke the ordered labors of the week. Neel blinked
twice at Costa before his equation-fogged brain assimilated an
immediate and personal 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 of
observation," Costa marveled. "I had the feeling that if I came in here
stark naked, you wouldn't notice it."
"I ... I get involved," Neel said. Dropping the papers on a table and
kneading the tired furrow between his eyes. "Get wrapped up in the
computation. Sorry. I tend to forget about people."
"Don't feel sorry to me," Costa said. "You're right. Doing the job. I'm
supposed to help you, not pose for the before picture in Home Hospital
ads. Anyway--how are we doing? Is there going to be a war? Certainly
seems like one brewing outside. I've seen two people lynched who were
only suspected of being Earthies."
"Looks don't mean a thing," Neel said, opening two beers. "Remember
the analogy of the pile. It boils liquid metal and cooks out energy from
the infrared right through to hard radiation. Yet it keeps on generating
power at a nice, steady rate. But your A-bomb at zero minus one
second looks as harmless as a fallen log. It's the k-factor that counts,
not surface appearance. This planet may look like a dictator's dream of
glory, 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't tell about it yet. You never can until the computation is complete.
There's a temptation to try and guess from the first figures, but they're
meaningless. Like trying to predict the winner of a horse race by
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 taking
away all delusions."
Behind them the computer thunked and was suddenly still.
"This is it," Neel said, and pulled out the tape. He ran it quickly through
his fingers, mumbling under his breath. Just once he stopped and set
some figures into his hand computer. The result flashed in the window
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 an
approximation. But there is no definite point on the scale where war
has to break out. Just a going and going until, somewhere along the
line--"
"I know. Gone." Costa said, reaching for his gun. He slid it into his side
pocket. "Now it's time to stop looking and start doing. What do I do?"
"Going to kill War Marshal Lommeord?" Neel asked distastefully. "I
thought we had settled that you can't stop a war by assassinating the top
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 to
Earth 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 Adao
Costa of the past week. All of his muscles were hard with the restrained
energy of an animal crouching to leap. The gun, ready in his pocket,
had a suddenly new significance. Neel looked away, reaching around

for words. 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 the theory 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 population
curves. Isolate individuals and groups, then effect status and location
changes--"
"You mean get a lot of guys to take jobs in other towns through the
commercial agents?"
Neel