They had to see that Earth received all the
bracky she needed. It was only right to charge a fair price for it, but
they couldn't restrict it by withholding or overcharging. And they could
still gain their ends without blackmail.
Martian alkaloids were tricky things, and bracky smoke contained a
number of them. It would take Earth at least ten years to discover and
synthesize the right one--and it would still probably cost more than it
would to import the weed from Mars. As long as the source of that weed
was here, and in the hands of the colonials, there would be no danger of
Earth's bombing the planet.
Harkness got up to underscore a point Wilson had made. "The plague lived
a million years, and it won't disappear now. The jumping headache, or
Selznick's migraine, is unpleasant enough to make us reasonably sure
that there will be a steady consumption of the weed. Our problem will be
to keep the children from using too much of it, probably." He pulled a
weed out and lighted it, puckering his face as the smoke bit his
tongue. "I'm told that this gets to be an enjoyable habit. If I can
believe that, surely you can believe me when I say we don't have to
bargain with lives."
The village men were human, and most of them could remember the strain
they had been under when they expected those they loved to die at any
hour. It had made them crave vengeance, but now as they had a chance to
reexamine it, they began to find it harder to impose the horror of any
such threat on others.
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