“Animal,” said Terl, “you had better get to work if you know what is good for you.” Bluster sometimes made it even when one didn't have leverage.

“The winter weather,” said Jonnie in Psychlo, “is bad for the machine. At night and in rain or snow I keep it covered with a deerhide from my pack. But the dampness is not good for it. It is becoming tarnished.”

Terl almost laughed. It was so funny to hear this animal actually speaking Psychlo. True, there was some accent, probably Chinko. No, maybe not Chinko, since all the polite phrases, the "forgive-mes" and "pardon-mes" Terl had heard when he checked the records, were not there. Terl had never met a Chinko since they were all dead, but he had met a lot of subject races on other planets and they were carefully servile in their speech. As they should be.

“Animal,” said Terl, “you may know the words but you do not understand a proper attitude. Shall I demonstrate?”

Jonnie could have been launched on a flight to the bars with one sweep of those huge paws.

He drew himself up. “My name is not 'animal.' It is Jonnie Goodboy Tyler."

Terl absolutely gaped at him. The effrontery. The bald gall of this thing!

He hit him.

The collar almost broke Jonnie's neck as the rope brought him up short.

Terl stalked out of the cage and slammed the door. The ground shook like an earthquake as he stamped away.

He had almost reached the outer door of the compound when he stopped. He stood there, thinking.

Terl looked at the gray-white world, felt the cold glass of his face mask cutting his gaze. Blast this stinking planet.

He turned around and walked back to the cage. He opened the door and went over to the man-thing. He picked it up, wiped the blood off its neck with a handful of snow, and then put it standing in front of the table.

“My name,” said Terl, “is Terl. Now what were we talking about?” He knew leverage when he saw it.

But never in their association thereafter did he ever address Jonnie as anything other than “animal.” A Psychlo after all could not ignore the fact that his was the dominant race. The greatest race in all universes. And this man-thing-ugh.

Zzt was banging around in the transport repair shop, throwing down tools, discarding parts, and generally making an agitated din.

He caught sight of Terl standing nearby and he turned on him in an instant attack.

“Are you at the bottom of this pay cut?” demanded Zzt.

Mildly, Terl said, “That would be the accounting department, wouldn't it?'

“Why has be pay been cut?”

“It’s not just your pay, it's also mine and everybody else's," said Terl.

I‘ve got three times the work, no help, and now half the pay!”

“The planet is running at a loss, I’m told,” said Terl.

“And no bonuses,” said Zzt.

Terl frowned. This was not the time or place for a favor. Leverage. He had no leverage at all these days.

“Been a lot of machines blowing up lately,” said Terl.

Zzt stood and looked at him. There was more than a hint of threat in that. One never knew about this Terl.

“What do you want?” said Zzt. "I’m working on a project that could solve all this,” said Terl. “That could get our pay and bonuses back.”

Zzt ignored that. When a security chief sounded like he was doing favors, watch it.

“What do you want?” said Zzt. "If it's successful, we'd even get more pay and bonuses.”

“Look, I’m busy. You see these wrecks?”

“I want the load of a small mine car puller,” said Terl.

Zzt barked a sharp, sarcastic laugh. “There's one. Blew up yesterday down at the transshipment area. Take that.”

The small bladed vehicle had its whole canopy blown off and the green bloodstains had dried on its panel. It s interior wiring was charred.

“What I want is a small pulling truck,” said Terl. “A simple one.” Zzt went back to throwing tools and parts around. A couple narrowly missed Terl.

“Well?”

“You got a requisition?” said Zzt.

“Well-” began Terl.

“I thought so,” said Zzt. He stopped and looked at Terl. “You sure you haven't got anything to do with this pay cut?”

“Why?”

“Rumor around you were talking to the Planet Head.”

“Routine security.”

“Hah!”

Zzt attacked the wrecked, bladed vehicle with a hammer to remove the remains of its pressure canopy.

Terl walked away. Leverage. He had no leverage.

In deep gloom he stood in a hallway between domes, lost in thought. He did have a solution of sorts. And there were signs of unrest. He made a sudden decision.

A compound intercomm was near to hand. He took hold of it and called Numph.

"Terl here, Your Planetship. Could I have an appointment in about an hour?... I have something to show you...Thank you, Your Planetship. One hour.”

He hung up, pulled his face mask off a belt hook, donned it, and went outside. Soft snowflakes were drifting down.

At the cage he went straight over to the far end of the flexirope and untied it.

Jonnie had been working at the instruction machine and he watched Terl warily. Terl, coiling up the rope, did not fail to notice that the man-thing was now using the chair to sit in.

A bit arrogant but it was good news, really. The thing had one of its hides rigged to the bars to keep snow off a sleeping place. There was another one tented over the machine and work place.

Terl yanked at the rope. “Come along,” he said.

“You promised I could build a fire. Are we going out to get firewood?” asked Jonnie.

Terl yanked on the rope and forced Jonnie to follow him. He went straight to the old Chinko offices and booted open the door. Jonnie looked around the place with interest. They were not inside the domes. This was an air-filled place. Dust lay in a blanket and stirred as they walked through the interior. There were papers scattered about, even books. There were charts on the walls. Jonnie saw that this was where the desk and chair had come from, for many just like them stood about.

Terl opened a locker and brought out a face mask and bottle. He hauled Jonnie close to him and slammed the mask over his face.

Jonnie batted it off. It was quite large. It was also full of dust. Jonnie found a rag in the locker and wiped the mask out. He examined the fastenings and discovered they were adjustable.

Terl was rummaging around and finally came up with a small pump. He put a fresh power cartridge in the pump, connected it to the bottle, and began filling it with air.

“What is this?” asked Jonnie. “Shut up, animal.”

"If it is supposed to work like yours, why do you have different bottles?”

Terl kept on pumping up the air bottle. Jonnie threw down the mask and sat down against the locker door, looking the other way.

The amber eyes slitted. More mutiny, thought Terl. Leverage, leverage. He didn't have any.

“All right,” said Terl, disgusted. “That is a Chinko air mask. Chinkos breathed air. You breathe air. You have to have it to go in the compound or you'll die. My bottles contain proper breathe-gas and the compound domes are filled with breathe-gas, not air. Now, satisfied?”

“You can't breathe air,” said Jonnie.

Terl controlled himself. “You can't breathe breathe-gas! Psychlos come from a proper planet that has proper breathe-gas. You, animal, would die there. Put on that Chinko mask.”

“Did the Chinkos have to wear these in the compound?”

“I thought I told you.” “Where are the Chinkos?"

“Were, were,” said Terl, thinking he was correcting the thing's grammar. It already spoke with an accent. High and squeaky, too. Not a proper bass, irritating.

“They're not here anymore?” Terl was about to tell him to shut up when a streak of sadism took over. “No, they're not here anymore! The Chinkos are dead – the whole race of them. And you know why? Because they tried to strike. They refused to work and do as they were told.”