“Yes. He refuses to serve us.”
She shrugged warm shoulders. “It’s his right. Everyone has the right to refuse. That’s freedom, isn’t it?”
“We call it mutiny,” said Gleed.
“Don’t be so childish,” she reproved. She stood up, moved away. “You wait here. I’ll go see Seth.”
“I don’t get this,” admitted Gleed, when she had passed out of earshot. “According to that fat fella in the delicatessen, their technique is to give us the cold shoulder until we run away in a huff. But this dame acts friendly. She’s…she’s—” He stopped while he sought for a suitable word, found it and said, “She’s un-Gandian.”
“Not so,” Harrison contradicted. “They’ve the right to say, ‘I won’t.’ She’s practicing it.”
“By gosh, yes! I hadn’t thought of that. They can work it any way they like, and please themselves.”
“Sure.” He dropped his voice. “Here she comes.”
Resuming her seat, she primped her hair, said, “Seth will serve us personally.”
“Another traitor,” remarked Gleed with a grin.
“On one condition,” she went on. “You two must wait and have a talk with him before you leave.”
“Cheap at the price,” Harrison decided. A thought struck him and he asked, “Does this mean you’ll have to kill several obs for all three of us?”
“Only one for myself.”
“How come?”
“Seth’s got ideas of his own. He doesn’t feel happy about Anti-gands any more than does anyone else.”
“And so?”
“But he’s got the missionary instinct. He doesn’t agree entirely with the idea of giving all Antigands the ghost-treatment. He thinks it should be reserved only for those too stubborn or stupid to be converted.” She smiled at Gleed, making his top hairs quiver. “Seth thinks that any intelligent Antigand is a would-be Gand.”
“What is a Gand, anyway?” asked Harrison.
“An inhabitant of this world, of course.”
“I mean, where did they dig up the name?”
“From Gandhi,” she said.
Harrison frowned in puzzlement. “Who the deuce was he?”
“An ancient Terran. The one who invented The Weapon.”
“Never heard of him.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she remarked.
“Doesn’t it?” He felt a little irritated. “Let me tell you that these days we Terrans get as good an education as—”
“Calm down, Jim.” She made it more soothing by pronouncing it “Jeem.”
“All I mean is that ten to one he’s been blanked out of your history books. He might have given you unwanted ideas, see? You couldn’t be expected to know what you’ve been deprived of the chance to learn.”
“If you mean that Terran history is censored, I don’t believe it,” he asserted.
“It’s your right to refuse to believe. That’s freedom, isn’t it?”
“Up to a point. A man has duties. He’s no right to refuse those.”
“No?” She raised tantalizing eyebrows, delicately curved. “Who defines those duties—himself, or somebody else?”
“His superiors, most times.”
“No man is superior to another. No man has the right to define another man’s duties.” She paused, eying him speculatively. “If anyone on Terra exercises such idiotic power, it is only because idiots permit him. They fear freedom. They prefer to be told. They like being ordered around. What men!”
“I shouldn’t listen to you,” protested Gleed, chipping in. His leathery face was flushed. “You’re as naughty as you’re pretty.”
“Afraid of your own thoughts?” she jibed, pointedly ignoring his compliment
He went redder. “Not on your life. But I—” His voice trailed off as Seth arrived with three loaded plates and dumped them on the table.
“See you afterward,” reminded Seth. He was medium-sized, with thin features and sharp, quick-moving eyes. “Got something to say to you.”
Seth joined them shortly after the end of the meal. Taking a chair, he wiped condensed steam off his face, looked them over.
“How much do you two know?”
