The main problem, Jonnie said, was protecting what was left of the human race; they were no longer very numerous; a wide attack by the visitors or a counterattack by Psychlo could, either one, finish them as a race forever. Jonnie, as soon as they landed, was going to leave for Russia to begin to handle this point.
Would Sir Robert, Jonnie concluded, take a few local protective measures which Jonnie then named.
Robert the Fox said he was honored and certainly would. Such things were easily done, but did Jonnie much care what happened to any visitors who might wander down?
Jonnie said no. And Sir Robert smiled.
Part XXII
Chapter 1
The Bolbod punchcraft was quite clear on the screen. Cylindrical, a small miniature of the Bolbod war vessel from which it came, it was about to make its landing near the dam.
The small gray man sat in his small gray office and watched. He was mildly interested in a detached sort of way.
He was very glad he had asked his communications officer to install the racks and extra screens. A Jambitchow war vessel had joined them– commanded by an officer in glittering gold scales and eyes where his mouth ought to be– had been informed of the situation, had been told that they didn't know yet whether this was the one, had agreed to join the combined force, and was now in orbit with the rest. The Jambitchow face was now on its own viewscreen, watching, like the rest, the outcome of this “punch” as the Bolbod called it. Six screens, five of them with intent faces, the sixth carrying the long-range view of this raid.
For the last few days the small gray man had felt much better. It had been a good idea to go down and see that old woman again. She was certain it could not have been her yarb tea that had caused his indigestion. Had he drunk anything in some heathen country? Well, never mind, drink this “buttermilk.”
He had drunk the buttermilk. It was quite cold and good to taste and shortly his indigestion had greatly eased. But the old woman had not let it go at that. A cousin in some distant past had sent some plants to some ancestors of hers and they were still flourishing up the hill near the spring. It was called “peppermint” and she would go get some, and she had, steering a bit wide around the parked spaceship. The green leaves had a pleasant aroma and he had chewed some, and astonishingly, his indigestion eased even more! She had given him a whole pocketful of the leaves.
The small gray man had tried to pay her but she wouldn't have it; she said it was just the neighborly thing to do. He had persisted however, and she finally said, well, there was a Swedish colony up the coast she was never able to talk to, and that thing around his neck, the one he talked into and it talked English, would it talk Swedish? He'd been happy to give it to her– he had several– and had changed its microplates while sitting pleasantly on a bench outside her door with both the dog and the cow seemingly quite interested in what he was doing. It had been a pleasant afternoon.
The Bolbod punchcraft banged down near the overgrown walkway at the dam. They were carrying a demolition kit.
“I thought this was just a probe,” said the Hawvin. “Didn't we agree they were just to discover what those people had done down at that dam?” They had watched the terrestrial antics around them, had seen them blow up a bunch of trees, and their curiosity had been greatly aroused.
No heat had accompanied the eruption of trees and nothing had burned. "If we use demolition on the dam, it could become political.”
“I command my own crew,” rumbled the Bolbod on his screen. That was the trouble with combined forces, everyone tried to run everybody else's ship! But combined force had been his idea so he couldn't say much more.
There had been three Bolbod crewmen in the punchcraft. The first one, carrying the demolition kit, was followed at some distance by the other two.
The faces on the viewscreens were very intent as they followed this operation. It was their first probe down to the surface. The small gray man had tended to advise against it but this was a military matter. They all knew that one must test the enemy's defenses.
The leading Bolbod was now about fifty feet from the powerhouse door. The roar of the spillway was coming back up the infrabeam, very strong. That was an awfully big dam.
Abruptly there was a flash!
A rolling ball of flame rocketed skyward.
The image on the screen jittered from the concussion.
The first Bolbod had vanished, blown to bits. Whatever he tripped had also detonated his own demolition kit.
The other two Bolbods who had been well behind him had been knocked flat.
“Aha!” said the Hockner super-lieutenant as though he had known it all the time.
But the “aha!” wasn't for the explosion. A marine attack plane that a moment before hadn't been on their screens landed clear of the explosion area. A small unit of people leaped out.
Swedes, thought the small gray man, seeing their blonde hair. Led by a black-bearded young officer in kilts who carried a claymore and a blast pistol.
A ramp went down on the attack plane's side and a forklift rolled to the ground.
The Swedes had some chains in their hands and were wrapping up the two recumbent Bolbods. Thin little shouts of command were coming back up the infrabeam, almost engulfed by the roar of the dam spillway.
The Scot officer was trying to find pieces of the exploded Bolbod, picking up items of bloody cloth. He seemed to find something. He put it in a bag and waved to the forklift. They now put the huge Bolbod bodies into the plane with the forklift. The lift came back and put the punchcraft inside.
The plane took off and went back north. The terrestrial group went into the powerhouse and vanished from sight.
The faces on the viewscreens were hard to read. They were grappling with this situation.
They didn't have too much time to ponder for their second probe was now in progress, and infrabeams shifted to the snowy crest of Mount Elgon which gleamed above the clouds far below.
It had annoyed them to see an old device they took to be an ancient radio telescope mounted up there. It seemed to be tracking them as they orbited.
A Hockner probe ship with five Hockners had been assigned to disable the device. And there was the Hockner probe now, nearing its destination. A Hockner probe carried no artillery itself but the men did. The noseless, overly ornamented crew members were visible under the probe canopy. It was little more than a sled and was jet-powered. There seemed to be very high winds and it was having
trouble setting down on a broad, icy shoulder of the peak. There was a precipice there that dropped down into the clouds. Yes, it was a high wind; plumes of snow were blowing away from the peak. Just ahead of them but set well back from the edge was the offending radio telescope. Beyond that object, out of the view of the probecraft, a glacier fell away.
The faces watching it on their separate screens were quite different in reactions. It was taking the probecraft so long to get down to a landing, going out and back again time after time, that their attention was drifting.
The Tolnep half-captain was doing some calculations about slave prices. He knew an air planet where you could get a thousand credits a slave if you could get them there alive. He estimated that he had a potential here of about fifteen thousand, landed live, out of maybe thirty thousand shipped. That was fifteen million Galactic credits. His nineteen percent of that, the prize money he would get personally, would be two million, eight hundred fifty thousand credits. His loaners were owed fifty-two thousand, eight hundred sixty credits in gambling debts (the reason he was happy to undertake a very long cruise) and this left him two million, seven hundred ninety-seven thousand, one hundred forty credits.