One could say, of course, that this mine area was not an administration center and was short of personnel and that the home office should finish the reports– after all, the home office accounting section was not only well staffed but also totally automated. Here they just handed out the credits across a pay table to the employees; a lot of them couldn't write anyway, and there were no signed receipts. It was this omission that made it necessary to return bodies of workers killed.

Then, about midnight, Terl found something funny about the vehicle reports. Vehicles in use for each five-day work period were customarily reported by their serial numbers. The first oddity was that Nymph was reporting vehicles in use. Hardly a function for the Planetary Head– but

Terl knew Numph's writing.

Suddenly Terl found a vehicle he knew was not in use. It was one of twenty battle planes he had had returned from other minesites: those twenty sat outside in a nearby field, there being no room left in the garage. Yet there it was: “Battle Plane 3-450-967 G." Numph had noted it in use for the past period.

On report after report, Terl examined those in-use listings. He noticed that they varied in position from one to another; the sequence was different in every report.

Terl smelled code.

By dawning light he had it.

Using serial numbers of the countless vehicles on the planet, one could choose the last three digits and, by plain substitution of numbers for letters, write pretty much what one pleased.

With expanding joy he read the first message he had decoded. It said: “No complaints here. Bank difference as usual.”

Terl did another calculation.

He was exuberant. These reports went to Nipe, Numph's nephew in home-office accounting. The total pay and bonuses of Earth should have been around one hundred sixty-seven million Galactic credits. Actually no bonuses were being paid and only half the salary.

It meant that Nipe, on home planet, was reporting full pay and bonuses and was banking to the personal account of himself and Numph close to one hundred million Galactic credits a year. Their own combined pay would not exceed C75,000. Their swindle was making them nearly one hundred million a year.

There was the evidence: the code, the incomplete accounts.

Terl's office shook as he paced back and forth, hugging himself.

Then he paused. How about making Numph and Nipe cut him in? They would. They would have to.

But no. Good as he was as a security chief, Terl realized that if he could untangle the scheme so could somebody else. It was big money but dangerous money. Nipe and Numph stood a fair chance of failure, and if caught they would be vaporized out of hand. Terl wanted no part of that. So far he was not culpable. He could not be blamed for not catching on, for it was not part of his department to do accounting. No complaints had come his way. He had written orders from

Numph to be alert for mutiny, but no orders from anyone to police home office.

No, Terl would be content with his own one hundred million, thank you. It was very smooth. He had it all worked out. It was not company ore. No company employees would be used. He could call it an experiment and even show he was ordered to do it. Nothing would go into company records. The last little part of it was risky– getting it to home planet– but he could even worm out of that if caught. And he wouldn't be caught.

Let Numph and Nipe have their fortune– and their risk. He would preserve these records just long enough to convince Numph if he needed to, and then he would destroy them.

Oh, did he look forward to his next interview with Numph!

“I see you have acquired some more animals,” said Numph querulously the next afternoon.

A jolly Terl had gotten the interview with a bit of persuasion. He was not popular with Numph's office staff. And he definitely didn't seem very popular with Numph.

The Planetary Director sat there behind his upholstered desk. He was not looking at Terl but gazing with distaste upon the awesome mountain scenery in the distance.

“Just as you authorized,” said Terl.

“Humph,” said Numph. “You know, I really don't see any traces of this mutiny of yours.”

Terl had put a cautionary paw across his own mouthbones. Numph noticed it and turned to face him.

The security chief had brought a lot of papers and some equipment with him. He now raised a warning talon to Numph and then reached down and picked up the equipment.

Numph watched while the security chief passed a probe all over the office, up along the curving canopy beams, beside the edges of the rug, over the desk, and even under the chair arms. Each time Numph sought to question, Terl put up a cautionary talon. Plainly the security chief was making sure there were no button cameras or picto-recorder diaphragms anywhere about.

Terl looked through the canopy and examined the outside carefully. No one was around. Finally he smiled in reassurance and sat down.

“I don't like that recon drone crashing by every morning,” said Numph. “It gives me a headache.”

Terl made a notation. “I will change its course at once, Your Planetship."

“And these animals,” said Numph. “You're getting a positive zoo out there. Just this morning Char said you had added six more!”

“Well, actually,” said Terl, “the project requires more than fifty. Also some machines to train them and authorization-”

“Absolutely not!” said Numph.

“It will save the company a great deal of money and increase its profits-”

"Terl, I am going to issue an order to vaporize those things. If home office were to hear-'

“It’s confidential,” said Terl. “It’s a surprise. How grateful they will be when they see their payroll and bonuses shrink and their profits soar.”

Numph frowned, feeling himself on very sure ground. Terl knew the blunder he had made before. Numph, left to his own crooked course, would have enormously increased the number of personnel brought here from Psychlo. Every extra employee greatly padded Numph's pocket.

“I have other ways of increasing ore shipments,” said Numph. “I am considering doubling our work force with employees from home planet. There are plenty out of work there.”

“But that will reduce profits,” said Terl innocently. “You told me yourself that profits were a battle just now.”

“More ore, more profits,” said Numph belligerently. “And they go on half-pay when they arrive. That's final.”

“Now these authorizations I have here,” said Terl, undisturbed, “to train up a native, indigenous work force-'

“Did you hear me?” said Numph angrily.

“Oh, yes, I heard you,” smiled Terl. “My concern is for the company and the increase of its profits.”

“You imply mine is not?” challenged

Numph.

Terl laid his work papers on the desk in front of Numph. At first the Planetary Director started to sweep them away with a paw. Then he sat suddenly still, frozen. His eyes stared. His paws began to tremble. He read the profit estimations. He read the circled absence of actual pay information. He read the vehicle numbers, and then he read the message, “No complaints here. Bank difference as usual.”

Numph looked up at Terl. Staring, frozen terror crept into his eyes.

“By company regulations,” said Terl, “I have the right to replace you.”

Numph was staring at the gun in Terl's belt. His eyes were hypnotized with shock.

“But actually, I don't care much for administration. I can see that someone in your position, faced with growing old and with no future, might find other ways to solve his problems. I am very understanding.”

Numph's terror-filled eyes lifted to Terl's chest, waiting.

“The crimes of someone on home planet are not in my duty sphere,” said Terl.