“Going to protest the order?”
Dallman shook his head. “I’d lose the argument, and what if something happened to this party while I was protesting? Obviously it’s someone important enough to risk losing a battle cruiser.”
The Rirga came gently to rest a thousand meters down the shore from the survey ships. After the routine scientific tests, a security unit made a meticulous search of the landing area, and Protz led a patrol to investigate the survey ships under the cover of alert Rirga gunners.
Dallman was waiting at the top of the ramp when he returned. “There’s no sign of any trouble,” Protz said. “It looks as if the scratchers’ crews just parked the ships and walked off and left them.”
“Notify headquarters,” Dallman said. “If you want my opinion, either this is something very simple, or else we have a major space mystery on our hands.”
Protz returned to the control room, and Dallman strolled down the ramp and headed for the beach, sniffing the sea air hungrily. “Beautiful!” he murmured. “Where has this world been all my life?”
His communications officer had trailed after him with portable equipment, mortally offended that a naval officer would conduct a military operation from anywhere but his ship’s command station. He said, “Commander Protz, sir.”
Dallman, who was admiring the sea, did not bother to turn around. “Let’s hear it.”
The officer said, “Go ahead, sir,” and directed Protz’s voice at Dallman.
“That native village is recently deserted, sir,” Protz said. “I’d suggest consolidation of patrols for a probe in that direction. If the natives have captured the scratchers’ crews, they’ll have enough weapons to give a small patrol a nasty surprise.”
“Do so,” Dallman said.
He strolled along the beach until he reached the point where Rirga sentries had established a perimeter. The communications officer, still following after him, announced suddenly, “Sir—we’ve found a native!”
“The Rirga ought to be able to cope with one native without harassing its commanding officer,” Dallman said pleasantly.
“Perhaps I should say he found us, sir. He walked right into the perimeter—none of the outposts saw him—and he says he wants to speak with the captain.”
Dallman turned and stared at him. “He wants to speak—any particular language?”
“He speaks Galactic, sir. They want to know what they should do with him.”
“I suppose we’ll have to pretend that he’s someone important. Tell them to set up some props, and I’ll receive him formally. Does Commander Protz know about this?”
The communications officer flushed. “Commander Protz says it’s probably the local game warden, come to complain because the scratcher crews went fishing without a license.”
Dallman returned to the Rirga and donned a ribbon-bedecked dress uniform. Then he went to the control room to observe the native on the viewing screen before he stepped forth to meet him in person. The young man was intelligent-looking and a model of bodily perfection, though he wore only a loincloth of doubtful manufacture. If he felt any nervousness about meeting the Rirga’s captain, he was concealing it.
Protz entered and asked, “Ready to go, sir?”
“I’m having a look at the native,” Dallman told him. “Odd to find humans already in residence on such a remote world, isn’t it? Lost colonies forgotten because of war or some other catastrophe have always been favorite scope subjects, but I’ve never heard of it actually happening.”
“This place is too remote for it anyway,” Protz said.
“I don’t know about that. Historians think none of the old suspended-animation colonies survived, but one of the ships could have run off course and deposited a colony here. Or a private expedition could have landed and been unwilling or unable to leave. The equipment it brought would wear out, the ship would be disassembled for the metal, and if the colony found no metals here or didn’t have the know-how to mine and smelter them, its descendants would have to survive as a primitive society. After a few hundred years they’d be as much ‘natives’ as an indigenous population would be. Anthropologists will be fascinated. Did you notify headquarters? Then let’s go talk with him.”
Dallman marched down the ramp, and as he approached the props he saw the members of the honor guard struggling to keep their faces straight. He had to restrain a smile of his own. A naval captain in full dress uniform ceremoniously receiving a native in loincloth offered a study in incongruities worth pondering.
The props were upholstered sections from the ship’s lounge. They had been assembled into a circle in a shaded location a short distance from the ship. In the center were chairs and a conference table, the whole looking strangely out of place in that sylvan setting, but Dallman hoped that the native would be impressed into amicability if that happened to be what the situation required.
The honor guard presented arms as Dallman approached. The native stood calmly surrounded by grinning officers. Dallman scowled at them, and the grinning stopped.
The native stepped to meet him. “I greet you. I am Fornri.”
“I’m Captain Dallman,” Dallman responded. He came to attention and snapped off a full salute. Then he stepped aside and gestured graciously. An officer opened a door in the circle of props, and Fornri stepped through and turned as Dallman and Protz followed him.
He ignored the proffered chair and faced Dallman with splendid dignity. “It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that you and the personnel of your ship are under arrest,” he announced.
Dallman sat down heavily. He looked blankly at Protz, who grinned and winked. The native had spoken in a firm tone of voice, and beyond the circle the waiting officers were struggling to contain their laughter.
A semi-nude native possessed of not so much as a dull spear had calmly walked in and placed the Rirga under arrest. It was a gag worth retelling—if anyone would believe it.
Dallman said angrily, “Stop it! This is a serious matter.” The laughter stopped. Dallman turned to Fornri. “What are the charges?”
The native recited tonelessly, “Failure to land at a proper immigration point with official clearance, landing in a restricted area, avoidance of customs and quarantine, suspicion of smuggling, and bearing arms without legal authority. Follow me, please, and I’ll lead you to your detention area.”
Dallman turned on his officers again. “You will kindly stop that idiotic grinning,” he snapped.
The grinning stopped.
“This man represents civil authority,” Dallman went on. “Unless there are special arrangements to the contrary, military personnel are subject to civil law.” He asked the native, “Does this world have a central government?”
“It does,” the native said.
“Do you have the personnel of the survey ships under detention?”
“We do.”
“May I have permission to inform my superiors as to the charges?”
“On two conditions. All weapons that have been brought from your ship are considered confiscated; and no one except yourself will be permitted to return to the ship.”
“May I request an immediate court hearing?”
“Certainly.”
Dallman turned to Protz. “Order the men to stack arms at whatever place he indicates.”
“You can’t be serious!” Protz exclaimed, a note of hysteria in his voice. “One native in a loincloth—what would happen if we just packed up and left?”
“Probably nothing,” Dallman said, “but several hundred independent worlds would have convulsions if they found out about it. The Federation’s obligations toward every independent world are written into a lot of treaties.”