There was nothing on the TV. Warner began to complain that their employers had violated their contract. Rick privately agreed, but he saw no point in talking about it. If the Shalnuksis were listening, he didn't want them thinking in those terms. Finally Elliot shut Warner up.
A couple of troopers got roaring drunk, and Rick had to post guards at the door to the liquor compartment. The problem was-whom did he trust? Discipline was going to hell, and there wasn't much he could do about it.
Another forty hours went by.
"Ten minutes." The voice sounded through their compartment. "You have ten minutes to prepare for no gravity. Ten minutes."
There was netting in the storerooms, and they put the loose equipment under that, but they kept their weapons. No one wanted ship's doors between them and their rifles.
The acceleration stopped, and they were in free fall, but not for long. The ship moved in short jerks. Then there was a deep tone — nothing like the warning tones they had heard from the speakers. This was a deep thrum that sounded through the whole ship, as if the ship itself were vibrating to the noise.
Rick's vision blurred. He could see, but not well, as if he were looking through heavy astigmatic lenses. The thrumming note got louder and increased in pitch. Then, gradually, the note died away and his vision returned. They began to feel weight again, more than before — almost a full Earth gravity.
The TV set came on. It showed Karreeel seated in his highchair. He looked almost comical, and some of the troops laughed nervously.
Then they crowded around shouting obscenities. There was no response. Instead, Karreeel began to speak in a flat monotone.
"I regret that this is a recorded message," the alien said. "Please listen carefully."
"Shut up," Rick ordered. The babble died, but he missed the first words.
"…was unavoidable. You are now on your way to Tran, and you cannot regret your lack of proper equipment more than we do. Your success is important to us, and only great need forces us to send you with so little preparation." The alien spoke in a calm and detached manner, but Rick noticed that the mouth and nose slits flared more than they had during the interview in Agzaral's office.
"We will provide you with as much information as possible. The pilot of this vessel is of your species, and he has tapes of what we know of local conditions. He will translate the information and provide you with copies of the planetary surveys.
"You will be aboard the transport ship for approximately forty of your days. During that time the acceleration will be increased to that of Paradise to accustom you to the gravity you will find there.
"I regret that most of the information on local languages is very old, but doubtless you will learn those currently in use. You may need only one. We are interested in only a small area of the planet. You will also be given all the information required to plant and harvest the crops. The cultivation of the surinomaz is complex, and it is important that you follow instructions exactly. The harvest will be valuable to us, and thus to you. When next we visit Paradise, we will bring luxuries and necessities. You need have no concern, provided that you have grown what we require and are prepared to furnish it to us.
"Of course you must understand that if you have nothing to sell us, we will have nothing to sell to you.
"We wish you great success."
The screen went blank. Then a human face appeared.
The man was not as dark as Agzaral, and his eyes were lighter in color, but there was a faint resemblance to Agzaral even so. His voice had no accent at all. "You can call me Les,' "he said. "I'm the pilot. I'll try to answer questions."
"Take us back!" Warner shouted. "You have no right to change our contract! We enlisted under specified conditions and you have changed them. We quit!"
The pilot laughed. "You'll do it on Tran, then. I don't think anybody ever jumped ship in phase drive before, but you're welcome to try. Unfortunately, there's no known way you can report to us on what happens. Telepathy? Are you telepathic?"
"That's enough, Warner," Rick said. "Elliot, sit on him if that's what it takes."
"Sir." Sergeant Elliot grinned. This was the first thing he'd completely understood since they left the Moon, and he was eager to be useful.
"Equipment," Rick said. "We don't have what we need-we don't even know what we need."
"Yeah, that's too bad," Les said. "Karreeel is very sorry about that. You see, we got word that a shipload of government people had just come out of phase drive and was about to make a visit. That would have delayed your trip for months, maybe longer. Might have canceled it entirely. This ship is under charter to Karreeel's trading company, and you wouldn't believe what it would have cost to have it sit idle all that time."
"But-we don't know what to do when we get there," Rick protested.
"You'll get all the information you need," Les said. "Well, all we have, anyway. Look, this has all been done before. You'll manage."
"This is absurd," Andrй Parsons said. "How do you expect us to establish control of an area and raise crops with almost no equipment and very little ammunition?"
"Don't know," the pilot said. "But you'd better try. Karreeel will keep his part of the bargain, but he won't trade with you if you've got nothing to trade."
"But it makes so little sense," Parsons said. "If they wish this crop, why send us with inadequate gear?"
"Well, it's too bad," Les said. "But his outfit can afford the loss. What they couldn't afford was the time they'd lose if you were still around when the Commission people arrived. You wouldn't have liked that much either. Hearings, committee meetings, more hearings, and all the time they'd insist they were interested only in what was best for you."
"Can't you explain some of this?" Rick asked. "Somehow you people don't act the way we always thought an interstellar civilization would-"
The pilot laughed. "I've read some of your speculations. Why did you think we'd be so different from you? Or that we'd treat Earth any different from the way the English treated India? Excuse me, I've got work to do. Among other things, I have to translate all this stuff."
"Can't a computer do that?" Rick asked. "Yeah, but it's not as easy as you think. Have to set up the right programs for it. I'll be back." The screen went blank again.
Andrй Parsons looked thoughtful. "What was it that the East India Company called native soldiers?"
"Sepoys," Rick said.
Parsons nodded. "Sepoys. Well, now we know our status."
3
The computer control system was complex, but eventually Gwen was able to use it for simple tasks, such as calling up pictures and documents. A good thing, too, she told herself. Otherwise she'd be bored to distraction.
Not with Les, of course. He was attentive and kind. He spent hours preparing dinners to be served in a romantic setting, with exotic music from a dozen worlds, wines and liqueurs from as many more, so that their evenings-and nights! — were more exciting than anything she could imagine.
But that was a few hours a day. You can spend only so much of your time being charmed. Or in bed, she told herself. Les had his work; he was translating documents for the mercenaries. That left her with mornings and afternoons (ship time, of course; since they had left the solar system there was nothing to be seen outside the ship-no star or sun to mark days or seasons) with nothing to do. Les wouldn't let her talk to the mercenaries; they weren't to know she was aboard. He insisted on that.
Which left her curious. Who were they? Why were they going to a primitive world called Tran?