Planet of the Damned and Other Stories: A Science Fiction Anthology (Five Books in One Volume!) by Harry Harrison Page A

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 nodded.
    "Too slow." Costa withered the idea with his voice. "Fine in the long run, but of absolutely no value in an emergency." He began to pace back and forth. Too quickly. It was more of a bubbling-over than a relaxation. "Can't you isolate some recent key events that can be reversed?"
    "It's possible." Neel thought about it, quickly. "It wouldn't be a final answer, just a delaying action."
    "That's good enough. Tell me what to do."
    Neel flipped through his books of notes, checking off the Beta-13's. These were the reinforcers, the individuals and groups who were k-factor amplifiers. It was a long list which he cut down quickly by crossing off the low increment additions and multiple groups. Even while the list was incomplete, Neel began to notice a pattern. It was an unlikely one, but it was there. He isolated the motivator and did a frequency check. Then sat back and whistled softly.
    "We have a powerhouse here," he said, flipping the paper across the table. "Take this organization out of the equations and you might even knock us negative."
    "Society for the Protection of the Native Born," Costa read. "Doesn't sound