A friend and mentor quoted the passage below several years ago, and just this week I happened to stumble across the entire story. It's a great read.
"Well, just for a start, we've got the mightiest weapon ever thought up by the mind of man. We're Gands, see? So we don't need ships and guns and suchlike playthings. We've got something better. It's effective. There's no defense against it."
"I'd like to see it," Gleed challenged. Data on a new and exceptionally powerful weapon should be a good deal more valuable than the mayor's address. Grayder might be sufficiently overcome by the importancethereof to increase the take to five thousand credits. With a touch of sarcasm, he added, "But, of course, I can't expect you to give away secrets."
"There's nothing secret about it," said Jeff, very surprisingly. "You can have it for free any time you want. Any Gand would give it to you for the asking. Like to know why?"
"You bet."
"Because it works one way only. We can use it against you -- but you can't use it against us."
"There's no such thing. There's no weapon inventable which the other guy can't employ once he gets his hands on it and knows how to operate it."
"You sure?"
"Positive," said Gleed, with no hesitation whatever. "I've been in the space-service troops for twenty years and you can't fiddle a round that long without learning all about weapons from string bows to H-bombs. You're trying to kid me -- and it won't work. A one-way weapon is
impossible."
"Don't argue with him," Harrison suggested to Baines. "He'll never be convinced until he's shown."
"I can see that." Jeff Baines' face creased in a slow grin. "I told you that you could have our wonder weapon for the asking. Why don't you ask?"
"All right, I'm asking." Gleed put it without much enthusiasm. A weapon that would be presented on request, without even the necessity of first planting a minor ob, couldn't be so might after all. His imaginary five thousand credits shrank to five thence to none. "Hand it over and let me try it."
Swiveling heavily on his stool, Jeff reached to the wall, removed a small, shiny plaque from its hook, and passed it across the counter.
"You may keep it," he informed. "And much good may it do you."
Gleed examined it, turning it over and over between his fingers. It was nothing more than an oblong strip of substance resembling ivory. One side was polished and bare. The other bore three letters deeply engraved in bold style:
F-I.W.
Glancing up, his features puzzled, he said, "Call this a weapon?"
"Certainly."
"Then I don't get it." He passed the plaque to Harrison. "Do you?"
"No," Harrison had a good look at it and spoke to Baines. "What does the F-I.W. mean?"
"Initial-slang," informed Baines. "Made correct by common usage. It has become a worldwide motto. You'll see it all over the place, if you haven't noticed it already."
"I have spotted it here and there but attached no importance to it and thought nothing of it. I remember now I've seen it inscribed in several places, including Seth's and the fire depot."
"It was on the sides of that bus we couldn't empty," added Gleed. "Didn't mean anything to me."
"It means plenty," said Jeff. "*Freedom* -- *I* *Won't!*"
"That kills me," Gleed told him. "I'm stone dead already. I've dropped in my tracks." He watched Harrison thoughtfully pocketing the plaque. "A bit of abracadabra. What a weapon!"
"Ignorance is bliss," remarked Baines, strangely certain of himself. "Especially when you don't know that what you're playing with is the safety catch of something that goes bang."
"All right," challenged Gleed, taking him up on that. "Tell us how it works."
"I won't." The grin reappeared. Baines seemed highly satisfied about something.
"That's a fat lot of help." Gleed felt let down, especially over those momentarily hoped-for credits. "You boast about a one-way weapon, toss across a slip of stuff with three letters on it and then go dumb. Any guy can talk out the back of his neck. How about backing up your talk?"
"I won't," said Baines, his grin becoming broader than ever. He favored the onlooking Harrison with a fat, significant wink.
It made something spark vividly inside Harrison's mind. His jaw dropped and he took the plaque from his pocket, staring at it as if seeing it for the first time.
"Give it back to me," requested Baines, watching him.
Replacing it in his pocket, Harrison said very firmly, "I won't."
Baines chuckled. "Some folk catch on quicker than others."
Resenting that remark, Gleed held his hand out to Harrison. "Let's have another look at that thing."
"I won't," said Harrison, meeting him eye for eye.
"Hey, that's not the way--" Gleed's protesting voice died out. He stood there a moment, his optics slightly glassy while his brain performed several loops. Then, in hushed tones, he said, "Good grief!"
"Precisely," approved Baines. "Grief, and plenty of it. You were a bit slow on the uptake."
