That would hurt Leonard.  He identified himself with the Company.  It was something bigger and more powerful than he was, like God.

Victor Grego identified the Company with himself.  It was something big and powerful, like a vehicle, and he was at the controls.

“Leonard, a little criticism won’t hurt the Company,” he said.  “Not where it matters, on the dividends.  I’m afraid you’re too sensitive to criticism.  Where did Emmert get this story anyhow?  From your people?”

“No, absolutely not, Victor.  That’s what worries him.  It was this man Rainsford who started it.”

“Rainsford?”

“Dr. Bennett Rainsford, the naturalist.  Institute of Zeno-Sciences.  I never trusted any of those people; they always poke their noses into things, and the Institute always reports their findings to the Colonial Office.”

“I know who you mean now; little fellow with red whiskers, always looks as though he’d been sleeping in his clothes.  Why, of course the Zeno-Sciences people poke their noses into things, and of course they report their findings to the government.”  He was beginning to lose patience.  “I don’t see what all this is about, Leonard.  This man Rainsford just made a routine observation of meteorological effects.  I suggest you have your meteorologists check it, and if it’s correct pass it on to the news services along with your other scientific findings.”

“Nick Emmert thinks Rainsford is a Federation undercover agent.”

That made him laugh.  Of course there were undercover agents on Zarathustra, hundreds of them.  The Company had people here checking on him; he knew and accepted that.  So did the big stockholders, like Interstellar Explorations and the Banking Cartel and Terra Baldur-Marduk Spacelines.  Nick Emmert had his corps of spies and stool pigeons, and the Terran Federation had people here watching both him and Emmert.  Rainsford could be a Federation agent—­a roving naturalist would have a wonderful cover occupation.  But this Big Blackwater business was so utterly silly.  Nick Emmert had too much graft on his conscience; it was too bad that overloaded consciences couldn’t blow fuses.

“Suppose he is, Leonard.  What could he report on us?  We are a chartered company, and we have an excellent legal department, which keeps us safely inside our charter.  It is a very liberal charter, too.  This is a Class-III uninhabited planet; the Company owns the whole thing outright.  We can do anything we want as long as we don’t violate colonial law or the Federation Constitution.  As long as we don’t do that, Nick Emmert hasn’t anything to worry about.  Now forget this whole damned business, Leonard!” He was beginning to speak sharply, and Kellogg was looking hurt.  “I know you were concerned about injurious reports getting back to Terra, and that was quite commendable, but....”

By the time he got through, Kellogg was happy again.  Victor blanked the screen, leaned back in his chair and began laughing.  In a moment, the screen buzzed again.  When he snapped it on, his screen-girl said: