After Towers' departure, Horsip remained on the warship that housed the Supreme Staff. He had his own room and his own office, but spent much of his time working on a special three-man committee formed to keep track of the Earthmen's activities.
General Maklin and General Roffis sat with Horsip amidst growing stacks of papers, which they read with profanity and bafflement.
Horsip exasperatedly read of one Q. Zoffit, who had illegally bartered a Class VI landing-boat for a "classic Packard in mint condition."
General Roffis smoothed back the thick white fur of his head and neck.
"While you were on this planet, Horsip, did you happen to have any experience with a . . . ah . . ." Roffis glanced at a document flattened onto his desk—" 'glorious sun-drenched quarter acre on the warm sandy shores of a hidden inlet on Florida's unspoiled west coast, all conveniences, golf course, pool, garbage pick-up, and exclusive clubhouse'?"
Horsip looked blank. "No, sir, I never ran into anything like that."
"XXth Rest and Recuperation Battalion," said Roffis, "purchased some of these 'sun-drenched quarter acres' for a rest and recuperation center for IInd Western Occupation Command."
Maklin scowled. " 'Purchased'? Why not requisition them?"
"According to this document, the commanding officer intended to do just that, but got into a conversation with the 'sales manager' of the HiDry Land Reclamation Corporation, and the result was that the battalion bought the land 'on time.' " Roffis glanced at Horsip. "What is 'on time'?"
"I suppose . . . h'm . . . 'on time' would mean 'without delay,' wouldn't it?"
"To get the 'down payment,' the commanding officer got talked into going to a 'loan company.' "
"Loan company," said Horsip. "That sounds like a usurer."
"This outfit," said Roffis, "charged 25 percent. The battalion pledged its space transport as 'collateral' for the loan."
Maklin growled, "Then what happened?"
"The battalion couldn't repay the loan—naturally, where would they get local currency, unless they stole it—so, the loan company claimed the transport. Then the HiDry Land Reclamation Corporation 'repossessed' the 'sun-drenched quarter acres.' The result is that the Earthmen have the space transport, and the XXth Rest and Recuperation Battalion has insect bites, sunburn, and three men 'presumed eaten up by alligators.' "
Horsip nodded moodily.
"That sounds familiar."
Roffis said, "When we have dealings with these Earthmen we get carried off in a basket."
"Yes, sir."
"How do they do it?"
"When they get through talking, everything looks different."
"How do they accomplish that?"
"They seem to emphasize one point, and slant everything to build up that point."
"Do they see what we overlook? Or do they take some unimportant aspect and puff it up out of proportion?"
"I think they emphasize whatever favors their argument."
"Then they have a weakness. If they restricted themselves to truth, they would be strong. With this procedure, they will take up false positions."
"Still, they pull our men off-base."
Maklin's eyes glinted. "They won't pull all of us off-base."
General Roffis said, "Nevertheless, we have a serious problem. They have gulled our men into giving up valuable space-ships in return for—let's see—fancy ground-cars, cabin cruisers, vacation trailers, sauna baths, undeveloped real estate, a 'private ocean backyard swimming pool' . . ." Roffis looked up. "This isn't very promising."
Maklin growled, "And all this is against regulations. Every one of these transactions is a capital offense. Yet the punishment is light. Here, for instance, is a report on an individual who traded a supply ship for a 'Complete Library of the Works of the Leaders of World Communism.' On going into this further, I find that 'communism' is a scheme for overthrowing one ruling class to install another. What did the fellow want with this collection anyway?"
Roffis tossed his list on the desk.
"What we have here is trouble, now and in the future, on a scale we never saw before."
"We could eliminate some of it," said Maklin. "Hang the offenders. Then we'll have an end to this business."
Roffis picked up a slip of light-blue paper, and read aloud: "All offenses relative to the providing of space transportation to the local inhabitants will be dealt with leniently, as it is High Policy to disperse the Earthmen as rapidly as possible throughout the Integral Union . . .' "
Maklin said, "Argit is behind that. All right, disperse them. But this means of doing it violates discipline!"
Horsip was again getting that sensation he'd first had on Earth—the feeling of struggling uphill through layers of glue.
Roffis looked as if had a headache. He glanced at the stacks of unread reports.
"Horsip, you've had experience with these Earthmen. What do you think of our policy?"
"It won't work. I thought at first that it would, but I don't think so now."
"Why?"
"The Earthmen are too smart. Somehow they'll take over the Integral Union."
"But they'd have to get control of the High Council. The High Council hasn't got an Earthman on it."
"No, sir, but they may not do it that way."
Maklin snarled, "I've run into three separate reports here on how to overthrow governments. It looks to me as if they've had practice."
Roffis massaged his chin. "There must be some way to put the Council on guard—"
There was a rap on the door, and Maklin called, "Come in!"
Half a dozen armed guards came in, escorting an officer and a sergeant. The officer saluted, and put an envelope and receipt form on Horsip's desk.
Horsip signed, and officer and escort went out.
Horsip broke the heavy wax seal, and took out a sheet of thick paper, to read:
By Command
The High Council
Distribution:
One (1) copy to Chairman, the Supreme Staff.
One (1) copy to Earth Surveillance
Subcommittee of the Supreme Staff, through
General Klide Horsip.
One (1) copy to the Commanding Officer, Special Group "B."
Circulation:
All members present of the Supreme Staff;
C.O. and C. of S., Special Group "B."
Disposition:
Read and return, within the day of receipt.
(1) Open Zone—That portion marked in red on the enclosed section charts.
This zone will be open to penetration by the inhabitants of the planet Earth.
(2) Sealed Zone—That portion left unmarked on the enclosed section charts. Earthmen will be discouraged from entering this zone. Any Earthman who enters this zone will be killed and his body and effects destroyed.
The punishment for disobedience to any of the above commands will be death, preceded or not preceded at the discretion of the High Council by whatever degree of torture may be deemed to suit the offense.
The purpose of these commands is to restrict the influence of the inhabitants of the planet Earth to a limited, although vast, region, so that the nature of that influence may be determined before permitting it to extend over the whole of the Integral Union.
Any failure to obey the spirit as well as the substance of these commands will be dealt with summarily, as the existence of the race is at stake.
By command of the High Council,
J. Roggil
Vice-Chairman
Horsip whistled.
Maklin, reading over Horsip's shoulder, grunted. Roffis said approvingly, "They aren't asleep."
"But," said Maklin, "just how do we keep the Earthmen from getting information that's so widespread?"
Horsip looked inside the envelope, and fished out a set of charts on fine paper. As he leafed through the charts, gradually a picture began to form in his mind. The Council, in dividing the Integral Union, had made use of every hazard and particularly large distance separating one part of the Union from another, to pass a border between two regions in such a way that passage from one region to another not only would appear difficult and unattractive to one not used to space travel, but also that the loss of a ship on such a route would seem understandable.
Roffis straightened. "Maybe it is possible."
Maklin nodded. "This is a masterpiece. This Open Zone even has roughly the shape of the whole territory. It's only the scale that's off."
Roffis reread the orders.
"If they've prepared everything this carefully, a trip to an information center would probably convince an Earthman that he had the facts. But what do we do about scholars who know differently?"
Maklin said, "They must have thought of that. What we have to do is to make sure our own arrangements don't give us away. For instance, we've already got this Earthman, Towers, on the Staff with us. He has a perfect right to see our documents and charts."
Roffis said, "We'll have to split the Staff, one part for the Open Zone, and one for the Sealed Zone. The Records Section will have to be split too."
"This could make trouble."
"These Earthmen could make more."
"Well, if Towers should fail, we'll dump him."
Some weeks later, Horsip, methodically working through new reports, pulled out one titled:
Rebellion on Centralis II
Handy Methods and Devices
by Able Hunter.
Able Hunter, of course, was John Towers' code name. Horsip flipped pages, and nodded approval. The report gave the facts plainly and then stopped.
Horsip cleared his throat.
"Towers hasn't fallen on his face yet."
He handed the report to Roffis and Maklin.
As they read, Horsip had a vision of what cooperation with the Earthmen could mean.
While gripped with this enthusiasm, his gaze happened to fall on the upturned title of an unread report:
Entrapment Into Communist Cells—
A Serious and Growing Problem
What is Communism?
The headache that had disappeared with Towers' report came back as Horsip looked over this document. Then there came a sharp rap at the door.
Maklin barked, "Come in!"
Armed guards entered to present Horsip with a sealed envelope.
Horsip drew out a crisp slip of paper reading:
By Command
The High Council
The High Council requires the presence of General Klide Horsip, at once, to report his experiences on the planet Earth, and recent relations between the Integral Union and the inhabitants of the planet Earth.
J. Roggil
Vice-Chairman
The High Council
The High Council was on board a massive warship designed for their use, accompanied by a formidable fleet. Horsip walked down a corridor lined with guards, passed through a door emblazoned with the emblem of Centra in gold, and found himself suddenly in a small room in which sixteen men sat around an H-shaped table, hard at work. One of the men glanced up.
"Ah, General Horsip. Pull up a chair."
In a daze, Horsip heard himself introduced, replied to the brief comments, smiles, and intent glances, then he was seated at an end of the H, explaining Earth to the man who had greeted him, and whose name Horsip in his confusion had already forgotten.
"Then," the member of the High Council was saying, "you believe the Earthmen, on the average, are more intelligent than our own men?"
"No question of that, sir."
"You have no doubt of it?"
"None, sir."
"Now in what way are they more intelligent?"
Horsip sat blankly, aware of his questioner's keen gaze, but unable to grasp the question. Then his experiences on Earth came back to him.
"You mean, sir, is it a question of some special skill—"
"Exactly. Intelligence is not an undifferentiated quality, any more than physical strength. If you feel that the Earthmen are the same as we are mentally, but stronger in every respect, why say so. I want your impression of the strong and weak points mentally."
"They seem to have two strong points—but it may be that they boil down to one—their ability to make clever devices, and their ability with words. Their weak point . . ." Horsip groped around, and shook his head. "I can't think of any weak point."
"You feel that their strong point is a technical skill in handling words, and in handling tools and materials?"
"Yes, sir."
His questioner was intently still for a moment, then sat back.
"Now, Horsip, let's hear your experiences on their planet. I am familiar with your reports, but I'd like to hear it firsthand. Please be frank, and complete. I want your feelings, as well as what happened, and I don't care how long it takes. I want the full account."
Horsip, faltering at first, then gathering confidence as the memories came back, told of his first sight of the planet, and of his irritation with Moffis' description of the difficulties. He described the confident arrival of the Planetary Integration staff, their brisk plans for integrating the planet, and their troubles later on. He described the recovery of the Earthmen's military power, their revolt, and the struggle it took to put that down. At last he described the most recent reports, which fit in with past experience.
Now and then during the long account, Horsip was vaguely aware of continuing activity around him. But his listener, silent and intent, seemed to miss not a word as people came and went, as notes passed around the table, as at a far end of the H a huge map was unrolled and intently examined. A sense of harmony and singleness of purpose was gradually borne in on Horsip. Through the seeming confusion, there seemed to loom underlying order. Then at last he came to the end of his account.
"That," he said, "is all I can tell you, sir. It seems to me that the Earthmen cut deeper than we do, their people are smarter, and they tie us in knots." Horsip glanced around, and added wonderingly, "But I don't think they would tie many people in this room in knots."
For an instant Horsip saw the High Council as the Earthmen might see it, and even so, the Council looked formidable.
Some sense of nagging apprehension suddenly evaporated. The name of the man opposite him popped into his head. Jeron Roggil. The names of the people he had been introduced to came back. He had a sudden feeling of confidence.
Roggil said, "Earth may have a higher average intelligence, but Centra has a far greater population. In such a population, the number of outstanding intellects is greater, and we value such intellects. Moreover, from what you tell me, the Earthmen do have a weakness."
"What's that, sir?"
"A man who does not have much money, Horsip, but who is sensible, tries to use that money wisely. He learns to distinguish between what is truly useful and satisfying, and what rouses his desire but gives no real benefit. A person who has much money is in a different situation. If he is so inclined, he can spend freely, and acquire all manner of possessions. What is showy but worthless does not deprive him of something useful. He can have both. What's more, he may not realize, since he is not driven to analyze the situation, what it is that gives him satisfaction. A fool's money may surpass by a hundred or even a thousand times, at the beginning, the money at the disposal of a wise man. And yet—despite this difference—the difference in actual use and satisfaction is nowhere near so great, because a wise man in such a situation will use his money to the greatest effect, while the fool will waste his. Is this not so?"
"Truth," said Horsip, nodding.
"Well, Horsip, we should not be made overconfident by the fact, but from what you have said, it appears to me that these Earthmen are like rich men, in that they have much brainpower—more by far than they strictly need—and the larger part of them have not analyzed what they should spend their brainpower on. They do not use it methodically and consistently, as we are compelled by brute necessity to do. They squander it. Look at this General Towers you speak of. If he were a Centran, he would be on the High Council, never doubt it. We may put him there yet. Already his ability has been recognized, and he is a member of the Supreme Staff. But, with the Earthmen, rather than recognize such ability, his competitors use their mental skill to confuse the issue. We have obtained a good deal of information on the history of the Earthmen. Horsip, the recorded instances in which superior Earthmen, of no matter what degree of ability, have been beaten into the muck by jealous competitors would make you dizzy. The Earthmen squander their mental wealth. They do it as a group, and the bulk of them seem to do it as individuals."
"Nevertheless, sir, when they have as much as they have—"
Roggil nodded intently.
"True, Horsip. But we must bear in mind that there are, in effect, two different kinds of brainpower. One is what we ordinarily think of as brainpower—raw intelligence. The other is that directing faculty that guides the use of raw brainpower. Both levels must be considered, and we are not inferior on this second level. Moreover, very few contests are contests of intelligence alone. The elements of will, and of pure physical power, for instance, cannot be ignored."
Horsip thought it over. "Truth. But—having fought them—that does not give me as much comfort as it might."
Roggil smiled. "We must certainly do our best. One of the most important things is to keep close track of these Earthmen, and what they are doing. We want an organization devoted entirely to that job. I can think of no one better fitted to head it than you, and you will have a free hand in setting it up."
Roggil reached around to a set of pigeonholes against the wall behind him, and handed Horsip a slip of crisp white paper.
Horsip read:
By Command
The High Council
By command of the High Council, each and every person without exception in the Integral Union, whatever his rank may be, is required to assist General Klide Horsip in the gathering of information concerning the activities of new citizens of the Integral Union, that their activities be mutually beneficial to the Union and to themselves.
The High Council holds this commission to be of such importance that in carrying it out General Horsip is empowered to act with the inviolable authority of a Full Member of the High Council.
By command of the High Council,
J. Roggil
Vice-Chairman
Horsip swallowed, and looked up at Roggil.
Roggil said seriously, "What we are giving you, Horsip, is no perfumed hammock of sweet flowers, believe me. But the job is urgent, and we aim to see that you get cooperation. As you are a member of the Supreme Staff, few would dare block you. If you should run into opposition on the Staff itself, however, the work could be stopped. In such a case you have the authority to do whatever you choose. You need justify your actions to no one but us. And all we are interested in is results. We want a clear picture of what these Earthmen are doing, and we will have it, or the firing squads will go to work."
On the way back in his ship, Horsip worked out the organization he wanted, and decided that what he needed more than anything else was someone he could trust absolutely. At once he thought of Moffis, his military deputy back on Earth.
Once back in his office, Horsip glanced over the bank of phones on the wall, each connected to a different department, and picked up the phone marked "Personnel."
A small voice said, "Personnel, Major Dratig."
"General Horsip speaking. I'd like to know the whereabouts of General Brak Moffis, formerly Military Overseer of the planet Earth."
"Just a moment, sir." There was a sound of file drawers sliding out, and of paper being riffled. "General Moffis is now assigned to the personal staff of General Dorp Takkit of the Supreme Staff as a confidential adviser."
Horsip looked blank. "Confidential adviser?"
"That's what it says here, sir."
"What might that be?"
"I don't know, sir. I never heard of it before."
"How can I get in touch with General Moffis?"
"You'd have to ask General Takkit, sir."
"Is there," growled Horsip, "some reason why I can't reach Moffis direct?"
"Well, sir . . . there's nothing listed here."
"I see. Thank you."
"Yes, sir."
Horsip's teeth bared in a snarl. He was taking down a second phone when there came a rap on the door.
Horsip looked around. "Come in!"
The bull-necked General Maklin stepped in, leather belt and insignia shining.
"Sorry to bother you, Horsip. I can come back later."
"This can wait, sir."
"I'll take the molk by the horns, Horsip," said Maklin. "We're all curious to know what the Council had to say."
"The Council wanted me to set up an organization to keep an eye on the Earthmen."
Maklin looked approving.
"How did they seem?"
"All business, sir."
"Then, at least, there's no softness there. Well, Horsip, I won't take your time. I imagine you're setting things up already."
"Trying to, sir."
"What's wrong?"
"Someone has a man I need."
"Who?"
Horsip hesitated.
Maklin pinned him with his gaze.
Horsip explained the situation.
"Takkit?" Maklin's face darkened. "What does he want with a confidential adviser. What he needs is a brain." Then he shook his head. "Once they get on Takkit's personal staff, Horsip, you don't see them again. He gets them working on some private fantasy, and that's the end of them."
"Moffis is just the man I need."
"That won't bother Takkit."
Horsip reached around to his bank of phones, and took down one marked "Sup. St.—Takkit."
A voice spoke, cool and remote:
"Office of Colonel Noffel, Staff Secretary to General Takkit."
Horsip growled, "General Klide Horsip speaking. May I speak to General Takkit?"
"General Takkit is not available."
"Then may I speak to General Moffis?"
"Who?"
"General Brak Moffis."
"Just a moment . . . Now, just what is your name again?"
Across the desk, Maklin, overhearing this, growled under his breath.
Horsip said shortly, "Who am I talking to?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Who are you?" snarled Horsip.
There was a click, a buzz, and a new voice.
"Colonel Noffel speaking."
Horsip said evenly, "This is General Klide Horsip."
"Oh, yes, General Horsip. Congratulations on your appointment to the Staff. General Takkit is tied up, I'm afraid, and won't be free today. If there's anything I can do for you, General Horsip, please feel free to ask. Call me Radge."
Horsip opened his mouth and shut it. He took a fresh grip on the phone. "I want to speak to General Takkit about General Brak Moffis. Moffis is a confidential adviser, as I understand it, to General Takkit."
Noffel's voice became wary.
"What did you wish to speak to General Takkit about General Moffis for, General Horsip?"
"I'll make that clear to General Takkit."
"I'm afraid I may not have made the situation clear myself, General Horsip. General Takkit is most particular regarding the protection of his personal staff from outside distractions. I'm afraid if you should raise this question with General Takkit, you might run into—there might be a good deal of—a certain unpleasantness which could all be avoided by simply mentioning the matter to me . . . You see?"
Horsip said shortly, "I want to ask General Moffis to work with me in an organiza—"
"Quite out of the question, I'm afraid. General Moffis' time is fully taken up at present. . . . And for the foreseeable future, I might add."
"This organization is—"
"No. I'm very sorry, General Horsip. This is a matter of standing policy."
Horsip spoke very politely.
"The High Council has given direct orders to set up this organization. The matter is urgent."
"And you are to head this new organization?"
"That's right."
"You are certainly to be congratulated, General Horsip. Permit me to be the first to extend my felicitations to you on this auspicious assignment. But as a new member of the Supreme Staff, you are, of course, junior to General Takkit."
"That's beside the point."
"Not at all. This is quite central to the issue. You wish to—forgive the term—'raid' General Takkit's staff for personnel. General Takkit is your superior officer. Moreover, General Takkit has a prior claim on the individual in question. You wish to use this assignment you have been given by the High Council as a lever to—forgive me—'pry' General Moffis loose from General Takkit's personal staff, disregarding both General Takkit's superior rank and his prior claim on the man in question. We've experienced this sort of thing before. General Takkit's policy is quite clear. Your request, if it is a request, is refused. Pardon me if I speak frankly, General Horsip, but you see, it is much better that I make this clear than that General Takkit be disturbed with this matter . . . Was there anything else?"
Inside Horsip, something wound tighter and tighter, and then snapped.
Horsip suddenly felt very relaxed and at ease.
Horsip said, quietly, "Get Takkit on this line, Colonel."
"The general does not wish—"
"I don't care what he wishes. Get him."
"General Takkit is in confer—"
"Where?"
"In his conference room, and left explicit—"
"Is he in easy reach?"
"Physically, I suppose, but—"
"Get Takkit on this phone."
"The general left specific ord—"
"I don't care what he left. I said get him, and you will get him," said Horsip, pleased that he could be quiet and reasonable about this, "or I will step down the hall and get him myself."
Horsip took down another phone marked "Provost."
A brisk voice came out:
"Provost Marshal's office. Major Rokkis speaking."
Across the desk, General Maklin looked alarmed.
From General Takkit's phone, Colonel Noffel's voice said, with a faint quaver, "I certainly can't carry out this request. It is contrary to General Takkit's specific order."
Horsip spoke into the phone marked "Provost."
"Send a section of guards to my office, equipped to smash down a door."
"Yes, sir! At once!"
From Takkit's phone, Noffel's voice cried, "What? What?"
Horsip hung up the phone marked "Provost," and spoke to Noffel.
"You have now put General Takkit in the position of refusing to cooperate with an order of the High Council. Just incidentally, you are defying me by calling a direct order a request. Get Takkit to that phone or face the consequences."
There was silence from Takkit's phone, and then a heavy tramp of feet in the corridor. There was a rap on Horsip's door.
"Captain Bokkil! Guard Section B, at your command, sir!"
Maklin said urgently, "Listen, Horsip, do you know what you're doing?"
"Come in," called Horsip. He pulled open a drawer of his desk, and took out Roggil's order. As the burly captain saluted, Horsip held out the order. "Here's my authority. Now, just wait a minute, while I see if I have to use it."
"Yes, sir!" The captain read the order, saluted, leaned into the hall, and shouted, "Splat-gunners to the front! Hurry up with that ram!"
A grating voice spoke from Takkit's phone:
"This is Dorp Takkit speaking. I will say this only once. Your request is refused. That is final."
There was a click.
Horsip turned to the guard captain. "Knock on General Takkit's door. If they don't open, order it opened in the name of the High Council. If they refuse, smash it down. Ask General Takkit to get on the phone to me here, and if he refuses, put him under arrest, by authority of the High Council, and bring him down here."
A few minutes later, the guards smashed down the door, and dragged a furious Takkit into Horsip's office.
Horsip showed the struggling Takkit the order signed by Roggil, and Takkit knocked it from his hand. Horsip read it, and Takkit shouted so loudly that neither he nor anyone else could hear it. Takkit commanded the guards to release him, and one of them, awed by Takkit's rank and fury, let go. The guard captain himself pinned Takkit's arms, and Maklin, picking up the paper from where Horsip had set it on the desk, read it, his eyes widened, and his face suddenly lit with pleasure. He sucked in a deep breath, and faced Takkit.
"AT-TEN-SHUNN!"
Takkit looked blank, snapped to attention by reflex action, and Maklin said cheerfully, "Takkit, you are in disobedience to the High Council. In just a few minutes, I am going to be on the direct code to the High Council, to accuse you of actions contrary to an order of the High Council. That will mean an accusation before the Council. Now, read this paper."
Takkit, pale and trembling, stared at Roggil's order.
"I wasn't told this!"
"That certainly isn't my fault. All I know is what I've seen here, right before my eyes, and what I've heard over the phone. In this matter, General Horsip is clearly acting as a Full Member of the High Council. You have refused to cooperate, defied him, hung up on him, and knocked the order of the High Council to the floor, and shouted it down when it was read to you. By so doing, you have defied the High Council. You have also struggled with guards acting on authority of the High Council."
"But I didn't know!" screamed Takkit.
"Unfortunate," said Maklin. "If an ordinary soldier defies your order, can he defend himself by claiming that he kept his eyes squinted so he didn't see your insignia of rank, and shouted you down so you couldn't tell him who you were? Of course not. But you can explain all that later, in your defense, at the same time that you explain why it is so important to keep General Moffis tied up on your staff when Full Member of the High Council Horsip needs him on the High Council's work."
Takkit said desperately, "He can have him!"
"Very generous," said Maklin. "You mean it's not so important that you keep him? In any case, Member of the High Council Horsip has only to give the command, and Moffis is reassigned to his organization regardless of what you choose to do. Each member of the High Council stands further above you than you stand above the lowest recruit in the rear rank of the punishment detail." Maklin turned respectfully to Horsip. "Sir, I am going to accuse this man, and request a full Council investigation while I am at it. I want to respectfully suggest that you release him now on his own recognizance, if he promises to end his defiance to the Council. He is going to be rearrested shortly, anyway, to face the accusation."
Horsip said, "Do you agree, General Takkit, to end your defiance of the High Council?"
Takkit swallowed. "Yes . . . I mean . . ." He looked blank.
Horsip nodded to the guards. "In that case, release him."
Takkit reeled out into the corridor. The guard captain saluted Horsip in awe, and stepped outside with his men. The door shut. Maklin turned to Horsip, but before Maklin could speak, Horsip said, "Sir, now that's out of the way, do you actually plan to accuse Takkit—"
"Don't you call me 'sir,' " said Maklin, smiling. "Yes, sir, of course I'm going to accuse him. I'd do more than that to get that walking disaster off the Supreme Staff. That cretin has done more damage by his absurdities than anyone else has ever dreamed of doing. Thanks to this, I've finally got the boob by the throat, and I won't let go till I drag him to the ground or the High Council itself pries me loose. At the very least, I'm going to get the lid off this special staff of his." Maklin beamed and stepped to the door.
"Good luck, General Horsip. I expect to be back once the investigation is over."
Maklin, smiling cheerfully, saluted, went out, and shut the door.
Horsip took a deep breath, and reached for the phone marked, "Sup. St.—Takkit."
A voice stammered, "C-Colonel Noffel, Staff Secretary to General Takkit."
In the background was an uproar like distracted animals loose in a barnyard.
Horsip cleared his throat.
"General Horsip speaking. Is General Moffis there?"
"I . . . He . . . General Takkit doesn't wish—"
"I think," said Horsip, "General Takkit might be willing. Ask him, why don't you?"
A moment later, Takkit's voice carried, "Yes! Yes! He can talk to him!"
Moffis' voice came over the line, weary and disgusted.
"Brak Moffis speaking."
"Klide Horsip. My office is just down the hall, Moffis. It has the number eleven on the door. I'd like to talk to you."
"I'll be right there, sir."
Moffis came in, wearing a uniform complete with loops of blue and green cord around the shoulders, purple lapels with golden sunbursts in the centers, and a large star-shaped emblem on the left side of the jacket below the decorations.
Horsip looked blank.
Moffis growled, "This wasn't my idea, sir."
"Is Takkit out of his head?"
"In my opinion, yes. But all I know is, I got orders to come here, and Takkit told me I was in charge of his 'liaison with the situation on Earth.' Aside from writing reports and giving my opinion on all kinds of questions about Earth, I might as well have been in cold storage."
"Questions like what?"
"What was the decisive battle that broke Earth's resistance? How did Earth recover? Would the Earthmen accept a Centran as leader if his rank were high enough? How would the strength of Earth compare with Centra if allowed to develop uninterrupted for five years? Ten years? Can Earthmen be hired as fighters? For how much?" Moffis shook his head in disgust.
Horsip considered it, frowning, then shrugged.
"How were things on Earth after I left?"
Moffis looked uncomfortable.
"On the surface, everything seemed all right."
"The Earthmen were busy, were they?"
"Yes, that and—the impression I got was that the ground was turning to quicksand under my feet."
"What do you think will result from letting the Earthmen loose in the Integral Union."
"Trouble."
"Would you like to help me keep track of them?"
Moffis looked interested.
"How would we do that?"
Horsip described his talk with Roggil of the High Council.
"You see, Moffis, I need someone I know I can trust, who understands these Earthmen . . . How about it?"
"Fine," said Moffis.
Horsip got out his rough draft on the organization, and began to explain it.
To get his organization set up took less time than Horsip had expected. Word got around that Takkit had gotten in Horsip's way—and look what happened to Takkit. Takkit's effects, meanwhile, were being sent to his family, which marvelously expedited the cooperation that Horsip received. Then General Maklin came back, strongly commended by the High Council, to add the blowtorch of his personality to the work. The organization was set up and functioning well ahead of schedule, housed in a special converted warship that accompanied the Supreme Staff.
Horsip glanced at Moffis.
"Well, Moffis, now let's take a firsthand look at what the Earthmen are doing. There's nothing like seeing for yourself, and I have just the planet for us. Look at the summary on this report."
Moffis looked over Horsip's shoulder to read:
Summary: The situation on Adrok IV: In short, then, the situation on this planet since the arrival of the Earthmen is almost unbelievable. All over the planet there are Earthmen setting up what they call "dealerships." A dealership is an arrangement for selling things made by somebody else, and distributed by still other people. Since all of these people have to make a living from the sale of the thing, it is not clear how the price can be held down, but apparently this is done by making the most of the economies of production in bulk. A factory for Earth-type vehicles has already been set up, and is now going full-blast. No one can figure out what is happening, but the Earthmen with the dealerships are all getting rich.
At the same time, however, other Earthmen have made their way to the planet, and on arrival have been afflicted with ills never heard of here before. They are on poor relief already, and no matter how fast the relief is poured to them, they get poorer all the time.
Meanwhile, there are rumors of something called a "communist cell." What "communists" are is not clear yet. There is also a "revival movement" sweeping the rural parts of the planet, although what is being revived has never in the memory of any living individual ever existed here before.
In short, the situation on this planet is incomprehensible, and it is getting more incomprehensible fast.
Horsip glanced at Moffis.
Moffis nodded.
"That sounds like it, all right."
Horsip and Moffis headed for Adrok IV.
Horsip and Morris intended to tour the planet by the iron road, stopping at various places to look into the things mentioned in the reports. But they were rudely disillusioned after stepping off the space-liner.
"The iron road?" said the man behind the ticket agent's window in the spaceport building. "Ah, la, the iron road. Yes, we did use to have connections all over the planet linking all the cities and even the towns, and connecting with Meridian and Big Hook spaceports. But," he glanced at Horsip's uniform thoughtfully—Horsip, as a disguise, was wearing a colonel's uniform, and Moffis a major's uniform, with regulation sidearms—"but," he repeated, lowering his voice, and glancing around, "that was before the coming of the Earthmen—no criticism, you understand. But, from right here, I could sell you a ticket to Big Hook or to some hamlet off in back of Molk Junction. All you had to do was climb aboard, then settle back and take her easy. Every now and then, you might have to climb off of one rail-wagon and onto another—but where's the strain in that? Eh? Well, it's all different now. Just take a look out that window over there, and you'll see what I mean."
Horsip and Moffis took a look out, to see through a cloud of dust a number of traveling four-wheeled machines of various sizes and shapes. There went one like a wagon with no loadbeast. Here came a thing like an overgrown shiny insect, no more than four feet high at the top, and, as Horsip watched, the front end dropped into a big pothole, and despite new clouds of dust as the rear wheels spun, that was where it stayed. Through the dust loomed a monster truck, billowing clouds of black smoke from a vertical pipe, with big, lighted searchlights mounted on the front and on both running boards. The driver was leaning out and peering over a searchlight into the rolling murk as the truck headed straight for the little vehicle, whose driver leaned out the window, waved his arms, shouted, then, as a huge wheel loomed overhead, sprang out and ran. He had barely got started when he stopped to do a desperate dance out of the way of a long black vehicle that rumbled through the dust carrying what looked like a huge horizontal cylindrical tank. Once that was gone, a number of smaller vehicles rushed past, trailing clouds of gray smoke that mingled with the dust.
"H'm," said Horsip, going back to the ticket agent's window. "Do you mean to say that the iron road has been replaced by that?"
"Yes, sir. . . . Oh, you can still get a connection from Big Hook to Meridian if you want. But how do you get to Big Hook? Eh? You drive to Big Hook, that's how. Every time a passenger ship comes down or takes off, that is what we have out there, and on the big roadways it's worse."
"Is there at least the spur line from here to town?"
"No, sir. To get to town we have a—heh—'convenience-bus' that pulls up just outside the door where that crowd is waiting. Don't get on in back, sir. Get up front with the driver. It costs a little more, but, believe me, it's worth it."
Horsip and Moffis carried their bags outside, and breathed through their handkerchiefs.
"Not a very happy start," snarled Horsip.
"No, sir," said Moffis. "What's that?"
A kind of monster ground-car loomed through the dust, headlights glaring. It bounced over a protruding rock in the road, and slammed to a stop in front of them. A large sign running the length of the top proclaimed: "One Way—50- Round Trip—95." The front of the vehicle was enclosed, and the rear was a long platform like a flat-bed wagon. Running lengthwise down the center of the platform was a long brass rail, about waist-high. Above this was a flat roof, and above the roof was the sign proclaiming the price.
There was a Blat! Blat! from the horn, and the engine roared.
The crowd swarmed aboard, and a head thrust out the side window.
"Not much room in back, gents. Double price up front."
With a shock, Horsip recognized that the driver was an Earthman.
Horsip glanced back at the crowd clinging to the brass rail with one hand and their baggage with the other, and climbed in the front. Moffis got in after him and slammed the door. The driver bent over the controls, there was a roar, a rumble, and the vehicle jerked forward. He manipulated a long lever, there was a clash of metal, the vehicle picked up speed, slowed to avoid a big pothole, gathered speed with another adjustment of the lever, and bounded along the road with shouts and screams from behind.
The driver thrust a hand toward Horsip. "One way, or round trip?"
"One way," said Horsip.
"That's two, even. Plus thirty-five in advance for the tip, and then I'll help you off with your bags when we get there. I could see you were first-class gents when I pulled up. That's two thirty-five total, and I can't make no change. Any bill you got over two will do it."
Moffis growled under his breath. Horsip reached into an inside jacket pocket and took out a worn leather change purse. He undid the drawstring, and drew out two small twelve-sided silver coins, which he put in the driver's hand.
"We'll carry out the bags," he said, pulled the drawstring tight, and put the purse back in his pocket. "What's wrong with the iron road?"
The driver slid the money into his pocket, and looked at Horsip sidewise.
"Price of progress."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Hard to say. That's out of my line." He studied Horsip's uniform. "Not many troops on this planet, are there? You just here for a little vacation?"
"Weapons procurement," said Horsip, vaguely.
"Oh? How's that?"
"In line of duty," growled Horsip.
"What's that mean?"
"Just what it says."
"You going to buy weapons here?"
"Do you have any to sell?"
"Well, now, that depends."
"On what?"
"Price you care to pay, and how much red tape there is."
For an instant Horsip didn't realize what had happened. Then it dawned on him that the driver had been talking Centran, practically without an accent, and then had used two words Horsip wasn't familiar with: "red tape." Those words must be in some Earth tongue.
Horsip took a guess at the meaning. "This would be an official sale, with all the necessary formalities."
The driver looked uncomfortable.
"Can't help you, then."
While talking, they streaked past a stand of second-growth trees and several farms, detoured a pugnacious-looking molk with lowered horns, and now, looking up the road, Horsip could see that they were approaching the outskirts of the city. Smaller plots were becoming the rule, with the houses closer together, and barns and outbuildings more rare. They rounded a curve, to pass a tall narrow metal frame.
"Oil well," said the driver. "Want to get into that line myself, if I can scrape a stake together. . . . You gents interested in a fast shot at a small bundle?" He nodded toward a large gray wooden building with a sign out front:
THE DAILY TRUMPET
None Bigger—None Better
Top Circulation
All the News—Fit or Unfit—
THE TRUMPET PRINTS IT!
"Any place they sell that paper can fix you up."
"I see," said Horsip, who didn't see at all, but didn't want to reveal his ignorance. Ignorance looked expensive on this planet.
A pall of smoke now dimmed the view, and they passed a number of huge buildings. Many tracks of iron road led through a high fence to the buildings, outside of which a gigantic lot was filled with glittering new ground-cars.
The driver leaned over, and hissed, "Railroad from the spaceport would have had to cross these lines. . . . That's what happened to it."
"Oh."
"Can't get in the way of progress," said the driver. "You can't lick 'em, join 'em. You change your mind on those guns, let me know." He swerved around a corner, and soon they were going down the main street of a considerable Centran city, past houses four and five stories high.
The vehicle slammed to a stop.
The driver leaned out. "Everybody off!" He glanced at Horsip and Moffis. "Kind of keep your eyes open when you get off here, gents."
Moffis shoved open the door, and Horsip followed, keeping a tight grip on his bag. As they stepped to the sidewalk, a uniformed individual with six rows of ribbons, straggly fur on his face, and a hideous scar, stepped forward holding out a helmet with coins in it.
"Wounded on Earth and Centralis. Twenty years in the line. If you'll just give—"
Moffis gave a snarl, his left hand shot out, gripped the upper end of the "scar," and stripped it off like a length of flypaper. He knocked the imitation veteran back against the granite front of the nearest building.
Horsip caught a blur of motion, and turned to see someone start off with Moffis' bag.
Horsip jerked his service pistol from its holster. "Stop, thief!" The thief did not stop. Horsip fired one shot.
There was a scream, and then another movement caught Horsip's gaze.
Behind Moffis' back, a pickpocket expertly cut open Moffis' trouser pocket and removed the wallet. Horsip cracked the pickpocket over the head. As he stepped forward, Horsip's suitcase became light in his hand.
He whirled, to find an individual directly behind him holding a piece of uniform in one hand, and a knife in the other; right beside this individual, a second put a pair of powerful snippers back in his pocket as he bent to pick up Horsip's bag, the handle of which was still in Horsip's left hand.
Horsip muttered to himself, shot the pickpocket in the shoulder and the thief in the leg. He broke the gun open, reloaded it, and looked around.
The thieves he had shot were now on the ground. One was smearing blood on his face. Another was tearing his clothes to bits.
Moffis finished ripping combat badges and ribbons from the imitation veteran's uniform, looked around, and discovered that his suitcase was gone.
Horsip nodded toward the farthest of the thieves, who had now reduced himself to a ragged shambles, and was rolling around spitting out foam, and rubbing blood on his face.
Moffis stared.
Horsip said, "I shot him, Moffis. He was making off with your bag."
"What's he doing now?"
"Don't ask me."
As Moffis came back with his bag, a small man emerged from the crowd wearing a tag reading "Press," and bent beside the nearer thief. A second person, taller and carrying a camera, pushed through the crowd. The man wearing the "Press" tag spoke sympathetically to the thief.
"What happened, fella?"
The thief said eagerly, "It was terrible. One of them held me while the other shot me and beat me up. I got a real wound. Do you suppose you could get a doctor?"
"Not now. What happened?"
"Will this come out with my name on it and everything?"
"Sure, don't worry."
"Can I sue?"
"Of course you can sue. Come on, come on, let's have it! I haven't got all day!"
"This hurts awful."
"It can wait. Here we go. What happened, fella? Did the beasts get you? Speak right into the mike."
"Yeah. They . . . they shot me. They held me. They beat me. I . . . I'm weak."
The Centran reporter raised the microphone, and spoke into it smoothly. "In the Integral Union, here in a main thoroughfare of a principal city on the planet, even here citizens are not safe from the attacks of the murderers. They learned to kill on foreign planets, and now they bring their blood-lust home with them. . . . Fella, I don't know what to say to you. I . . . I guess all of us are guilty. . . ."
Moffis glanced at Horsip.
"Which one is the thief?"
"The one on the ground."
Moffis looked baffled.
The Centran reporter gestured to the photographer, and rose from beside the thief.
"Yes, we all are guilty, for allowing beasts to walk among us like men. There!" He pointed dramatically at Horsip and Moffis.
"There they are!" cried the reporter. "The kill-crazed murderers! This time the people must rise against the cowards!"
There was a murmur from the crowd.
Moffis gave a start.
"Cowards?"
He dumped his bag on the sidewalk, and stepped forward.
The Centran reporter backed up into the crowd.
The crowd looked interested, and shoved him forward.
"Wait a minute," said the reporter. He glanced at the photographer. "Help!"
The photographer eagerly raised his camera.
Moffis smashed the reporter on the jaw, knocking him back into the crowd. The crowd, cheering, heaved him forward, and Moffis knocked him flat.
Someone pushed past Horsip, and from his long brown robes, Horsip recognized a Centran monk.
The monk, tall and severe, loomed over Moffis, who gave a guilty start.
The monk looked at the outstretched reporter, then smiled benignly upon Moffis. "Son, do not let me disturb your righteous work."
He turned to Horsip. "I see you are both new here, my sons. If you will get your baggage together, perhaps I can be of assistance."
Horsip, who could use any assistance anyone could offer, nodded agreement. He and Moffis got their bags.
The monk looked grimly at the reporter, then glanced at the pickpocket and thieves.
"So, this is the latest benefit you have derived from the search after money without work? Put your ingenuity to use finding a way you can help someone, then sell your service to him. . . . And, why not pray a little now and then? What hurt can it do?"
The pickpocket and thieves looked embarrassed and muttered incoherently.
The monk nodded to Horsip and Moffis.
"This way, my sons. As you see, I have no truck with these new inventions, but use sensible transportation which should suffice for any man."
Horsip, carrying his bag under one arm, waited till the traffic let up, then followed across the street, with Moffis right behind him. On the far side waited a four-wheeled coach drawn by a creature whose long powerful body appeared built to deliver dazzling bursts of speed. Its large paws were armed with sharp, partially retracted claws, and, as it cleaned its short black fur, its blood-red tongue licked out past teeth like daggers.
The monk opened the door on the left side of the coach.
"After you, my sons."
Horsip uneasily climbed in, but Moffis paused. "Your . . . ah . . . loadbeast, Reverend Father—what breed is that?"
The monk beamed. "That, my son, is a man-eating gnath. Gnaths, you know, are said to be killers by nature. Their reflexes are so fast it is impossible to follow their motions. Their teeth are very strong, of a hardness which rivals diamond. The jaws have compound leverage, with an action similar to a ratchet, and can bring terrible pressure to bear on the prey. Few zoos can hold the gnath. It has been known to chew steel bars into bits to exercise its jaws. See the size of its head? It is highly intelligent, but much of that head is skull, of unusual thickness, armored with the substance that makes its teeth so tough. A single gnath has been known to slaughter almost a whole company of soldiers before one managed to hit the heart with a lucky shot. The ribs of the animal are flat, they overlap, and, like the rest of its bone, they are exceptionally hard and tough, so that the bullet must penetrate the abdomen at just the right angle to reach the heart. Since the gnath moves so fast, it is, of course, difficult to make this shot while being attacked by the beast."
Moffis uneasily put his hand to his holster, then let go with a dazed look.
The monk, beaming benignly, said, "I have raised this gnath from a cub, feeding it vegetables and milk, and radiating thoughts of universal love and brotherhood in its presence. By kind treatment, its manners have been transformed." He lowered his voice. "Get in, brother, or the bystanders over there—what are left of them—may think you do not trust the Great One to protect you."
The monk followed Moffis in, shut the door, and swung around a kind of semicircular latch that snicked into its rests like a bolt.
He seated himself, and took the reins, which went out two vertical slits under the thick front window. He gave the reins a light shake.
The gnath leaned forward.
The carriage jerked into motion.
The gnath lazily stretched out his legs. The carriage rolled briskly behind.
After traveling some time in silence, the monk said, "There are now those on this planet who would not hesitate to take advantage of the Brotherhood. . . . Look there!"
Up ahead, the huge factory was coming into view. An elaborate ground-car, with a silver bird on the front end, was starting out onto the road.
The monk slapped the reins.
The gnath leaned into the harness. The carriage picked up speed.
Up ahead, the ground-car came to an abrupt stop, backed, turned, and headed for the factory, a cloud of dust stretching behind it.
The gnath sniffed and growled as he passed through the dust cloud from the car.
The monk slowed, to turn off onto a narrower road.
"That ground-car back there," he said, "belongs to the manager of the factory. Some weeks ago he tried to force me off the road." The monk gave a spare smile. "He was not yet acquainted with the nature of the gnath."
Horsip thought this over in silence. Such conduct, toward the Holy Brotherhood, was almost inconceivable.
"Is it only the factory manager who is responsible or—"
"It is anyone who submits to the teachings of the Earthmen."
"Perhaps there is some misunderst—"
"Bah! We understand each other well enough. Either the Earthmen's system or ours must break, and they well know it. Yet, bad as the Earthmen are, they are as nothing compared to our own people, once converted to their ways. That gossip-mongering 'reporter' is an example of it. We had an Earth reporter here not long ago, teaching how it was done. The fellow was unbearable. But not as unbearable as our own men when they do the same thing. The Earthmen have some restraint."
"Yet they break down our ways?"
"Their theories twist facts, present the doer of evil as a harmless fellow, and the honest man who does his duty as some kind of fiend. They make the average person uncertain where to turn. He is hag-ridden by all their conflicting subtleties and false guides. I tell you, these Earthmen—"
Moffis gripped Horsip by the arm.
"Look—behind us."
Horsip turned. Coming along the road behind, an armored ground-car trailed a cloud of dust, and gained steadily on them. Behind it, at an angle, as if to block the other side of the road, came a second armored ground-car.
Horsip looked around. The road was narrow, bordered on both sides by rows of trees.
The armored cars closed the distance fast.
From the nearest of the cars came the flat commanding blast of a horn.
Moffis drew his gun.
The monk smiled. "No, my son, trust that those who do evil will be punished."
There was a slight bump, and the carriage tilted. Through the carriage's rear windows, only the flat gray tops of the armored cars could now be seen.
The ground-cars dropped back again, then surged forward.
The monk, watching, gripped the brake lever, drew it back with a loud ratcheting click, and shoved it over and back. He jerked a knotted cord on the dashboard, and gave a penetrating whistle.
With a loud scream from the wheels, the carriage slowed. The gnath bounded free of the traces. There was a thud-click, as padded meal shutters dropped over the windows.
The horn blast grew suddenly loud. There was a slam, a crash, and the carriage tipped heavily.
The world seemed to turn over as the carriage careened to a stop. There was the sound of smashing glass, screams and curses, and then a bloodthirsty roar that startled Horsip out of unconsciousness. The carriage was bobbing slightly, the inside dark. Horsip unlatched a shutter and looked out.
Jammed between two trees was one of the armored ground-cars. The other was on its back, wheels up, The gnath, one end of a metal plate in his mouth, rivets sticking out like torn threads, muscles standing out on his big forelimbs, slowly straightened up to a loud ik-ik-ik noise and the scream of straining metal.
There was a loud snap, and the gnath tossed the massive plate into the air. Gears and shafts flew in all directions. Then the gnath worried the engine out of the wreckage, peeled back the firewall, crouched, lashed his long tail, and insinuated his head into the ground-car's passenger compartment. There was the banging of a pistol, then screams.
Horsip tried to get up, saw the whole world turn end-for-end, and everything went black.
Somewhere there was a murmur of voices, the slam of a door. Horsip opened his eyes, to find himself looking up at the lower limbs of a big tree. Propping himself on one elbow, he could see a shambles of metal plates, gears, axles, a shaft with steering wheel on one end, wiring harness with the generator still attached, fan belts, coolant hoses, bandoliers of ammunition, strewn over the road, hanging from the lower branches of trees, or scattered in the grass. The largest piece he could see was a length of I-beam two feet long, with the sun glinting on a freshly sheared end.
A third ground-car, this one not armored, had stopped in the road, and Moffis was standing beside it talking to an individual with broad shoulders and brawny arms, who beamed expansively upon Moffis.
"Honored sir, I shall be happy to welcome you to my dwelling, and if your superior is hurt, we may summon a healer, as I have a long-talker hooked up right in my own house. I am off work for the day, and will help you all I can. Let's see, you say there was a whole ground-car here—in one piece—when the wreck happened?"
Horsip looked around, to see the carriage still in good shape, but with an outline in crushed wood at the rear. Looking at the carriage, Horsip became aware of a steely glint from underneath the splintered wood.
At the far end of the carriage, the gnath placidly cleaned itself, radiating contentment and well-being.
Horsip got to his feet, and saw the monk sitting up. Horsip helped him up. The monk's eyes glinted.
"There," he murmured, "is more work of the Earthmen. You see that fellow? Sark Rottik is a good honest workman, skilled at his craft. But if he has two brass halfpennies to scrape together, I will be surprised. . . . He has everything else, I'll grant."
The workman called, "Greeting, Reverend Father. What happened? It looks as if a junk wagon ran into you."
"The last I knew, there were two armored ground-cars behind us. Luckily, our workshops build strong."
"I see no one lying hurt from the other vehicle, at least," said Rottik.
"No?" The monk looked momentarily blank, glanced at the gnath, looked serious, and turned to Horsip and Moffis.
"I had intended to offer you hospitality. But . . . this situation requires attention. Perhaps . . ." He glanced questioningly at Sark Rottik, who beamed.
"I have already invited them. My ground-car is right here. We can go at once."
Horsip and Moffis said good-by to the preoccupied monk, and their new host ushered them to a ground-car with leather seats, folding top, and an impressive array of instruments. The ground-car gave a whine, then a howl, shoved them back in the seats, and was moving fast before Horsip could get the door shut. Rottik grinned.
"The Earthmen designed it, but I helped build it. Observe the floating action. The Earthmen are wonderful! . . . My house is just up ahead, conveniently close to my work."
They rounded a curve, shot up a side road, braked, rounded another curve, and there loomed in front of them a kind of palace, administration building, or headquarters of the planetary governor, with flagpole, swimming pool, mansion of gray stone trimmed with yellow wood, neatly mowed lawn, graveled walks, and avenues of flowering trees.
Radiating pride, Rottik drove up the broad driveway, to stop under an overhanging roof supported by stone pillars and wrought-iron lattice up which vines of purple flowers climbed.
As Horsip and Moffis stared around, Rottik got out, beaming, felt through his pockets, pulled out a small gold key ring, and bent briefly at a massive paneled door. The door swung noiselessly open.
Rottik grinned, and bowed to the speechless Horsip and Moffis.
"I am as yet unmarried, so that my hospitality is limited. But you will find the stocks of foods and beverages complete, as they came with the house. Also the linens. Everything is included on the Revolving All-Payment Plan. Please make yourself at home, and if you want anything, just ask for it. I am sure I have got it here somewhere."
A few minutes later, in a palatial guest room on the second floor, Horsip and Moffis stood at a big window.
"If this is what comes of cooperating with the Earthmen," said Moffis, "I can see why anyone would cooperate with them."
Horsip looked out at the water sparkling against the pale-green tiles of the swimming pool.
"I have to admit, Moffis . . ." He paused, frowning. "On the other hand, I wonder what a 'Revolving All-Payment Plan' is?"
Moffis looked thoughtfully at the walks, pool, bathhouse, green lawns, and statue of a demure female with water spurting out the top of her head.
"H'm," he said. "We will have to ask about that."