The small gray man had the sweater on now. It was quite soft and warm. He touched it and felt a little sad.
He had told those military men that it was politically inadvisable to try to operate in the Highlands of Scotland and he thought they had listened. But just a week ago he had gone down to get some more peppermint and the old woman was gone. The house was closed up. The dog was gone. The cow was gone. There seemed to be no sign of violence but then you never knew with these military men: they could be very sneaky and thorough at times. He had dug up a few sprigs of mint from under the snow but was quite troubled. Anything like sentiment was a foreign thing to him. But he had felt troubled nonetheless.
These military men! They were so obsessed with finally smashing up this planet that they were quite restless when asked to wait for his courier.
They got such silly ideas. They had noted that every plane and every installation down there now seemed to have a little creature in an orange-yellow robe. They couldn't understand the messages now being sent on the planet's radios. They had tried language machines and none worked. Then they tried all their coding and scrambling machines and none worked. All the messages seemed to begin and end with "Om mani padme om," like a sort of chant.
That place in southern Africa near the big dam– the one the terrestrials had used to lure in and trap two raiding parties– was being all cleared out and it gave them their first clue. A pagoda-like structure– several in fact– were being erected. They found in some old reference texts that the design was a “religious temple.” So the military men had agreed that the planet had now experienced a new political upheaval. Some religious zealots had taken over. Religions were very dangerous– they inflamed people. Any sensible government and its military should stamp them out. But they were not concerned with politics and religion just now. They would wait.
The small gray man turned his attention from the terrestrial craft to the combined force. It had increased in number now to thirteen. New arrivals. Other races. They had brought the news that there was a hundred-million-credit prize offered now to the ship or ships that discovered the one. Thus they were more eager to raid and collect evidence than they were to gut the planet.
Half-Captain Rogodeter Snowl had become quite incensed with this place, obsessed with it in fact. But his military sense was telling him that he was outnumbered by the rest of the combined force, and he had left a couple of weeks ago to return to his planet and bring up additional war vessels. It would get quite crowded in the orbits. His own captain had asked the small gray man whether he could draw off a bit from the rest. This was going to be an awful mess when these military men “found out” and could split the prize and then gut the planet. The small gray man had agreed.
He returned to idly watching the terrestrial ship. It seemed to be finished now, possibly had a full hold. It was slowly going down into the atmosphere, making its way to the African base.
Chapter 4
Jonnie watched Stormalong's old orbit miner come in. A sentry turned off the atmosphere armor shield and let the plane through, and they turned it back on. There was always a faint sizzle from it when the power went on, but after that it was silent. Aside from some luckless birds and insects that hit it and sometimes left a feather or feelers, one wouldn't know it was there. All pilots had had to be warned and a complex set of guard signals had had to be developed lest some pilot crash his ship.
Stormalong put the old ship alongside a metal pulverizer. The Psychlos used a device which first “softened” metal by breaking down its molecular cohesion and then let it go through armored rollers that really tore it apart and smashed it. The result was a metal powder so fine that if one threw a handful into the air, a lot of it stayed there like fine dust. The Psychlos needed it that way for part of their fuel and ammunition processes.
Using the ship's own cranes, the copilot began unloading the “catch” into the metal pulverizer. Stormalong got out and came over. "Fifty-five tons this trip,” he said smugly. “There's plenty up there, trapped in orbit. Think we'll need any more?”
Jonnie wasn't sure. He had been onto other things. They walked down into the compound to verify.
One of the Buddhist communicators came up. They had a way of moving which always intrigued Jonnie. They would put their right hand into their left sleeve and their left hand into their right sleeve and then they would move their feet in a sort of fast trot-shuffle. Their shoulders didn't bob. The result made them look like they were floating or scooting. Until yesterday many had continued to wear their reddish-yellow robes; these and their shaven heads made them too easy to single out from above. A huge batch of packages and uniforms had come in from Ivan: people there had been reworking cloth sent to them from some looms now operating in Luxembourg. They were green uniforms with an armored, aluminum helmet, also green. Jonnie supposed that all their forces would be in these soon. The Buddhist was wearing his now. He bowed– always a bow– and handed Jonnie a package. He was so very sorry. There was so much in, distribution was delayed. Jonnie bowed back. It was contagious.
He and Stormalong walked on through the compound looking for Angus. Jonnie was opening his package. It was from Ivan. A helmet. Plain green like everyone else's. Ear pads put on that would lift. There was a letter (some
Coordinator had written it for Ivan) on top of the helmet:
Dear Marshal Jonnie:
Your village people arrived and are very happy and so are we. Dr. Allen got the old man Jimson off some weed he was eating and he looks like he will live. Your people all say how do you do, hello. Tom Smiley also says how do you do, hello. Your horses got shipped over here and they are now learning to speak Russian (joke). But they are fine. I worked on Blodgett and she can run pretty good now. You must always look after horses. We got the Buddhist library down deep now and it's safe. On the helmet, I wish I could tell you I had an angel visit me the night before you left that told me you had to wear it. Your letter thanking me is received with embarrassment. I was not trying to save your life but would anytime, anyway. So I can't accept your gratitude. It was no angel. I just knew that in those high mountains you can freeze your (scratched out) ears off. This helmet is less conspicuous. I didn't even put a star on it. Give my best to Chrissie when you write. I hope somebody is looking after your clothes.
Your comrade, Ivan
(Colonel Commanding Russian base until you can dig up some Americans)
It was a nice helmet and it fit. There were a couple of small creases on it they hadn't quite rubbed out. Ivan must have fired some shots at it to make sure it would stop bullets.
There was also a package of ammunition for the AK 47s. Jonnie had advised them to bore a hole in the ends and put some thermit explosive powder in them so they would be used against Tolneps. They said it worked and they were converting.
Stormalong and Jonnie had arrived at the “meteorite powder washing area.” Four Psychlo females were working hard, sloshing pans of metal powder around in huge tubs of mercury. They were gloved and clothed to protect them from mercury poisoning.