Terl had persuaded the creature Staffor that what he needed was a true and reliable corps of troops for this place. Staffor had vehemently agreed– you couldn't trust those Scots, they were too sly and treacherous; you also shouldn't use cadets who seemed to have some damnable and misplaced admiration for that Tyler.

The Brigantes had come but Staffor seemed to be having trouble with the negotiation with them, so Terl had suggested their chief be sent down.

“Who are you?” repeated Terl in the mine radio. Did the creature speak Psychlo as was reported?

Yes, the next words were Psychlo, but a Psychlo spoken as though the thing had goo-food in its mouth. “The question be, who the crap crud be you?” said General Snith.

“I am Terl, the chief security officer of this planet.”

“Then what be you doing in a cage?”

“An observation post that keeps the humans out.”

“Ah,” said Snith, understanding. (Who did this Psychlo think he was fooling?)

“I understand,” said Terl, “that you have had some difficulty coming to terms.” (You crud brain: I pull you out of a jungle and you don't realize my power!)

“It be the back pay,” said Snith. It seemed quite natural to be talking to a Psychlo over a mine radio. He had never talked to one any other way. So maybe this interview was on the level after all. This Psychlo knew the proper form.

“Back pay?” said Terl. He could understand somebody being concerned about that, but he thought it was a barter system of explosive ingredients for humans.

“We was hired by the international bank,” said Snith. He knew his legends and he knew his rights, and he was very good at trading. Very good indeed. “At one hundred dollars a day per man. We ain't been paid.”

“How many men, how long?” said Terl.

“I calculate in rough figures one thousand men for, let's say, one thousand years.”

The rapid skill Terl had with mathematics told him this was 36,500 a year per man; 36,500,000 per year for all the men; and 36,500,000,000 in total. But he made a test. “Why,” said Terl, in a shocked voice, “that's more than a million!”

Snith nodded gravely. “Just so! They won't agree to it.” This Psychlo knew when he was in a boxed ambush. Maybe he could do business with him after all.

Terl had his answer. The piece of crap couldn't do common arithmetic! “You were hired, you say, by the international bank to take Kishangani of Haut-Zaire and then take Kinshasa and overthrow the government and wait for bank representatives to come in and negotiate for proper payment of loans. Is that right?”

Snith had said nothing of the sort, not in that detail. The legends were a trifle vague. But he realized abruptly that he was talking to somebody who really knew his business.

Terl always knew his business. He hadn't even bothered to review any of this. It was a security chief joke and had been for more than a thousand years on this planet. They had had all the details from a captured mercenary, properly interrogated over several days way back when; it had made delicious reading. “But your ancestors,” Terl bore on remorselessly, “only captured Kishangani. They never went on to capture Kinshasa.”

Snith had dimly known that, but he had hoped it wouldn't come up. His ancient forebears had been crudely interrupted by the Psychlo invasion. He wasn't sure what was coming now.

“You see,” said Terl, “the international bank has been taken over.” He hoped this crap brain would swallow this outrageous set of lies. “The Galactic Bank, located in the Gredides System, bought them out.”

"Gredides System?” gawped Snith.

“You know,” said Terl, “Universe Eight.” This much was true, where the Galactic Bank was. Always sweeten lies with a little truth.

“Ah,” said Snith, totally adrift. He better watch it. This Psychlo would swindle him. It had happened before. He was on the alert.

“And,” lied Terl, “you will be glad to know that it took over all obligations of the international bank and that includes yours.” This quick reversal almost spun Snith.

“So as one of the agents for the Galactic Bank,” (if he only were!) “I am authorized to pay you the back pay. But your ancestors only did half their job so you only get half the back pay. That would be five hundred thousand dollars.” He was wondering what a dollar was. "I’m sure that will be acceptable.”

Snith came out of his fog like a shot. He had expected nothing! “Yes,” he said deliberately, “I think I can persuade my men to accept that.” Creepo! That would be ten dollars a man and the rest for himself. Riches!

“Now is there any other trouble? Quarters? They found you quarters?”

Snith said yes, they'd given them a whole "serbub" in the town up there, a square mile of old houses and buildings in the outskirts. Bad repair, but palaces really.

“You should also insist on some uniforms,” said Terl. He was looking at this filthy creature over there in its monkey skins and crossed bandoliers of poisoned arrows and a diamond in a peaked leather cap. “You should also clean yourself up, comb your fur. Look more military.”

This was rank criticism! Snith became very cross. He himself was spit and polish and so was his unit. All twenty of his commandos, fifty men in each, properly officered, trained to the nth degree! (He slowed down, hoping they wouldn't notice it was only thirty-five to the commando these days, the food situation being what it had become.)

“And food?” said Terl.

Snith was startled. Could this Psychlo read his mind? “Food is bad!” said Snith. “There be plenty of dead bodies in those houses but they be old and dried and unfit to eat. There would got to be a clause in any future contract about better food!”

Belatedly, Terl remembered that these Brigantes were reputed cannibals, a fact that had lessened their trade with the minesite over the centuries. Sternly he said, “There can be no such clause!” His whole plan could be wrecked if they threw these creatures out. His studies, when he was doing the lode plan, had isolated some data in Chinko books indicating that these human animals curiously objected to cannibalism. He had at one time considered using the Brigantes for his gold plan but they had been far away, and also they might have run around yammering about no food due to the scarcity of humans in these parts.

“For the duration of this contract,” said Terl, “you will just have to put up with cattle as food.”

“It tastes funny,” said the Brigante chief. He was willing to concede the point. His brigade had had to eat an awful lot of water buffalo and monkey and elephant. But it wouldn't do to be too agreeable. Be a hard bargainer! “But all right, if the pay is good.”

Terl told him then that he himself intended to go back to Psychlo very soon and he would personally collect their back pay at the Galactic Bank and return it here. And that meanwhile they should hire on as the sentries and military force of this compound and the Council.

“You'll bring the back pay back?” said

Snith. “All half-million?"

“Yes, you have my word on it.”

The word of a Psychlo? Snith said, “I and six of my picked men will go with you to see that you do!”

Although Terl didn't know whether the imperial government would want to interrogate them– the imperial government would want a very important, knowledgeable man– he readily agreed. Who cared about what happened to Snith once Terl's plan was executed!

“Of course, and welcome,” smiled Terl. “Providing of course you help me all you can until we go. Anything else?”

Yes, there was. Snith fished out something and gingerly approached the cage. He laid it down between the temporarily de-electrified bars and withdrew as was proper.

Terl tugged his chain over and picked the item up.

“They want to pay us in that stuff,” said Snith. “It’s only printed on one side and I think it might be counterfeit!”