"Get out of here, you insane swineherd, before I throw you out!" Haydin bellowed.
"Not so loud sir," Bron cautioned. "You may be overheard. Here is my identification." He held out a plastic rectangle.
"I know who you are, so what difference—"
"Not this identification. You did ask the Patrol for aid on this planet, didn't you?"
"What do you know about that?" The Governor's eyes widened at the thought. "You mean to say you have something to do with them?"
"My identification," Bron said, snapping to attention and handing over the card.
Governor Haydin grabbed it with both hands. " 'P.I.G.,' " he read. "What's that?" Then he answered his own question in a hoarse voice as he read the next line.
" 'Porcine Interstellar Guard'! Is this some kind of joke?"
"Not at all, Governor. The Guard has only been recently organized and activated. Knowledge of its activities has heretofore been confined to command levels, where its operational configurations are top secret."
"All of a sudden you don't sound like a pig farmer anymore."
"I am a pig farmer, Governor. But I have a degree in animal husbandry, a doctorate in galactic politics, and a black belt in judo. The pig farmer is used for field cover."
"Then you're the answer to my distress message to the Patrol?"
"That's correct. I can't give you any classified details, but you must surely know how thin the Patrol is spread these days — and will be for years to come. When a new planet is opened up it extends Earth's sphere of influence in a linear direction — but the volume of space that must be controlled is the cube of that distance."
"You wouldn't mind translating that into English, would you?"
"Happily." Bron looked around and spotted a bowl of fruit on the table. He took out two round red pieces and held them up. "This piece of fruit is a sphere of influence. If Earth is at the center of the fruit, spaceships can fly out in any direction to the skin of the fruit, and all of the fruit inside this sphere must be watched by Earth. All right, let's say that another planet is opened up. The spacer flies in a straight line away from Earth, this far." He held his fingers up to show a distance as long as the diameter of one of the pieces of fruit. "That is a linear distance, in a line; but the Patrol doesn't just patrol in straight lines." He put the second fruit next to the first so that they touched. "The Patrol now has to be responsible for the entire area inside this second fruit, a three-dimensional distance, because spacers do not always follow the same routes, and they go to different destinations. The job is a big one and getting bigger all the time."
"I see what you mean," the Governor said, studying the fruit for a moment, then putting it back into the bowl.
"That's the core of our problem. The Patrol must operate between all the planets, and the volume of space that this comprises is beyond imagining. Someday, it is hoped, there will be enough Patrol vessels to fill this volume so that a cruiser can answer any call for help. But as it stands now, other means of assistance must be found. A number of projects are being instigated, and P.I.G. is one of the first to go operational. You've seen my unit. We can travel by any form of commercial transportation, so we can operate without Patrol assistance. We carry rations, but if need be are self-supporting. We are equipped to handle almost any tactical situation."
Haydin was trying to understand, but it was still all too much for him. "I hear what you're saying. Still" — he faltered—"still, all you have is a herd of pigs."
Bron grabbed his temper hard, and his eyes narrowed to slits with the effort. "Would you have felt better if I had landed with a pack of wolves? Would that have given you some sense of security?"
"Well, I do admit that it would look a good deal different. I could see some sense in that."
"Can you? In spite of the fact that a wolf — or wolves — in their natural state will run from a full-grown wild boar without ever considering attacking him? And I have a mutated boar out there that will take on any six wolves and produce six torn wolfskins in about as many minutes. Do you doubt that?"
"It's not a matter of doubt. But you have to admit that there is something… I don't know. . ludicrous, maybe, about a herd of pigs."
"That observation is not exactly original," Bron said in a toneless, arctic voice. "In fact, that is the reason I take the whole herd rather than just boars, and why I do the dumb-farmer bit. People take no notice and it helps my investigation. Which is also why I am seeing you at night like this. I don't want to blow my cover until I have to."
"That's one thing you won't have to worry about. Our problem doesn't involve any of the settlers."
"What exactly is your problem? Your message wasn't exactly clear on that point."
Governor Haydin looked uncomfortable. He wriggled a bit, then examined Bron's identification again. "I'll have to check this before I can tell you anything."
"Please do."
There was a fluoroscope on the end table, and Haydin made a thorough job of comparing the normally invisible pattern with the code book he took from his safe. Finally, almost reluctantly, he handed back the card. "It's authentic," he said.
Bron slipped the card back into his pocket. "Now, what is the trouble?" he asked.
Haydin looked at the small pig that was curled up on the rug, snoring happily. "It's ghosts," he said in a barely audible voice.
"And you're the one who laughs at pigs?"
"There's no need to get offensive," the Governor answered hotly. "I know it sounds strange, but there it is. We call them — or the phenomenon—'ghosts' because we don't know anything about it. Whether it's supernatural or not is anyone's guess, but it's sure not physical." He turned to the map on the wall and tapped a yellowish-tan area that stood out from the surrounding green. "Right here, the Ghost Plateau — that's where the trouble is."
"What sort of trouble?"
"It's hard to say — just a feeling mostly. Ever since this planet was settled, going on fifteen years now, people haven't liked to go near the plateau, even though it lies almost directly outside the city. It doesn't feel right up there, somehow. Even the animals stay away. And people have disappeared there and no trace has ever been found of them."
Bron looked at the map, following the yellow gradient outline with his finger. "Hasn't it been explored?" he asked.
"Of course, in the first survey. And copters still fly over it, and nothing out of the way is ever seen. But only in daylight. No one has ever flown or driven or walked on the Ghost Plateau during the night and lived to tell about it. Nor has a single body ever been found."
The Governor's voice was heavy with grief; there was no doubt that he meant what he said.
"Has anything ever been done about this?" Bron asked.
"Yes. We've learned to stay away. This is not Earth, Mr. Wurber, no matter in how many ways it resembles it. It is an alien planet with alien life on it, and this human settlement is just a pinprick in the planet's hide. Who knows what. . creatures are out there in the night? We are settlers, not adventurers. We have learned to avoid the plateau, at least at night, and we have never had that kind of trouble anywhere else."
"Then why have you called on the Patrol?"
"Because we made a mistake. The old-timers don't talk much these days about the plateau, and a lot of the newcomers believe that the stories are just. . stories. Some of us had even begun to doubt our own memories. In any case, a prospecting team wanted to look for some new mine sites, and the only untouched area near the city is on the plateau. In spite of our misgivings the team went out, led by an engineer name of Huw Davies."
"Any relation to your assistant?"