«Um-m-m.» Hurulta’s heavy blue face contracted in a scowl. It was hard to think clearly, when he had to keep fighting down the germ of panic that screamed far down within him. «Yes. A good idea. But quantitatively insufficient. The Patrol can’t possibly smuggle enough of them here to make any significant trouble.»
«No, lord. Just nuisance value. Like everything they’ve done so far, isn’t it… if I may make bold to speak.»
Hurulta turned and walked out of the room. Gyreion—hm-m-m. A tough nut to crack, that world—but worth while. If enough of those hoppers could be turned loose on an enemy planet—why, it was the ultimate in psychological warfare!
The League planets—a decadent bunch. They couldn’t stand up long to such fear. They’d be ready to surrender to the first warship that came along.
Meanwhile, it was necessary to cut off the Patrol’s access to Gyreion. Wouldn’t take too big a force for an effective occupation; the natives weren’t fighters. Once their fears had been calmed, they would be quite harmless—to Ulugan.
This time, my friend, he thought with a savage glee, this time you’ve finally overreached yourself!
Wing Alak was getting bored. He didn’t have much to do now but sit in his flagship and read the reports of his scouts and radio monitors. He welcomed the newcomer who had arrived with the last courier ship from home, even if it did mean a struggle.
Jorel Meinz entered the vessel and followed Alak down a long corridor. His nose wrinkled a bit at the many odors that filled it. The crew of the battlewagon all came from terrestroid planets, but they had their characteristic smells and their own styles of cooking; no ventilation system could quite purify the air. But then, he reminded himself, a Terran probably didn’t smell any better to them.
Alak’s cabin was a spacious one, sybaritically furnished. One large viewport showed the eerie hugeness of space, the rest of the room seemed devoted to human comfort just to offset that chilling spectacle. The Patrolman waited till he was alone with his guest before pouring out drinks.
«Scotch,» he said. «It may not mean much to you, but out here it’s a real luxury.»
«The Patrol seems to do itself well,» observed Meinz.
«Quite,» nodded Alak. «When you’re out for months or years at a time, surrounded by total alienness, every comfort means a lot. It’s pure superstition that the being with a low standard of living is hardier.» He lifted his glass and sipped appreciatively.
«Are you sure you won’t be found out here?» asked Meinz. «I imagine the enemy is ripping holes in space, hunting for you.»
Alak grinned, which made him more than ever resemble a fox. «No doubt they are,» he said. «The harder they search, the better I like it, since it means a useless waste of their time, men, and materiel. Several thousand cubic light-years makes a pretty effective concealment. Anyway, if by some freak they should blunder across us, we need only run for it.»
Meinz scowled. «That’s what I’m here about,» he said brusquely.
«Aren’t they satisfied at home with my conduct of the operation?»
«Frankly, no. Now I’m on your side, Alak. I was the one who pushed that approval through Parliament. But that was almost a year ago, and so far you’ve reported no results at all. Your dispatches have been so much meaningless verbiage. Finally certain political groups hired an investigating force of their own. They sent out observers—»
«A wonder they weren’t nabbed, Hurulta has an efficient Intelligence Service and Secret Police.»
«Well, they weren’t. They saw enough to send them hightailing back home, and the stink it’s raised on Terra—»
«Ah-hah! That explains it. Hurulta must have foreseen that result and let the observers do as they pleased. He’s a canny lad, that old blueface.»
«Well, you must admit there’s some justification for the complaints,» said Meinz with a hint of bitterness. «The authorization was of doubtful legality in the first place, and could only be justified at the next Council meeting if there were solid results to show. Instead, you’ve dawdled out here, skulking I might say. You haven’t fought one battle, not so much as a skirmish. You’ve let Ulugan occupy no less than seven planets besides Tukatan—»
«At last reports, it was about twenty,» said Alak blandly. «We’ve got them scared, you see. They’re grabbing everything that might conceivably be of value to us.»
«In other words,» said Meinz, «you’re pushing them in exactly the direction they want to go.»
«Correct.»
«Now look, Alak, I came out here myself, and it’s a long troublesome journey, to get your side of it. I have to tell them something at home, or they’ll pass a recall order in spite of everything I can do. Now I’m not even sure if I would resist such a move.»
«Give me credit for some sense,» urged Alak. «I can’t tell you everything. The real reason why we operate this way is a Patrol secret. Let’s just say, which is true enough, that outright war is cruel and expensive, and that I don’t even think we could win one.»
«But what are you doing then, man?»
«Just sitting here,» laughed Alak. «Sitting here drinking Scotch, and letting nature take its course.»
The medical officer halted at the entrance to the tent. The steady, endless rain dripped off his shoulders and made a puddle about his muddy feet. By the one glaring lamp inside, he noticed that the fungus had begun to devour this tent, too. It would be a rag before the eight-day was out. And you couldn’t live in the metal barracks left by the Patrolmen—they were bake-ovens, and air-conditioning units rotted and rusted too fast to be of help.
He saluted wearily. The commandant of Garvish Base looked up from his game of galanzu solitaire. «What is it?» he asked listlessly.
«Fifteen more men down with fever, sir,» said the medical officer. «And ten of the earlier cases are dead.»
The commandant nodded. Light gleamed off his wet bald head. The blue face was haggard, unhealthily flushed, and the smart uniform was a sodden ruin. «The sanitators don’t work, eh?» he asked.
«Not against this stuff, sir,» said the doctor. «It seems to be a virus which isn’t bothered by the vibrations, but I haven’t been able to isolate it yet.»
«We just aren’t built for this climate.» The commandant wagged his head, and one shaky hand reached for a bottle. «We’re cold-world dwellers.»
A beast screamed out in the jungle. «Poison plants got several more this eight-day,» said the doctor.
«I know. I’ve begged and pleaded with headquarters to send us air domes and space armor. But they claim it’s needed elsewhere.»
A faint hope flickered in the medical officer’s eyes. «When that planet Umung really gets to producing—»
«Yes, yes. But we’ll probably be dead then, you and I.» The commandant shivered. «I feel cold.» His voice was suddenly high and thin.
«Sir—» The doctor took a nervous step forward. «Sir, let me look at you—»
The commandant stood up. For a moment he leaned on the table, then something buckled within him and he went toppling to the floor.
There was forest, endless forest, and beyond it the plains and mountains and sea, and all of it was full of death.
The Patrol wound slowly through the woods. Every detector they had was straining itself—metal, mental pulses, the thermal radiation of living bodies. But still eyes were restless, shifting under the big square helmets, and hands strayed nervously toward guns.
In an armored car near the middle of the column, the Ulugani Patrol chief was sounding off to his aide. «It’s no good,» he said. «These Hwari are just too tough for us.»
«They can’t stand up to us, sir,» said the aide. «Not in open battle.»