There were four men in the vehicle, and when one vaulted out and hurried toward the Hiln, two of the others, obviously personal bodyguards, sauntered after him. Vorish appraised the short, rotund figure and decided that it probably contained more muscle than one would suspect. The agility with which the man had left the vehicle was impressive, and obviously he worked in the sun. His bronzed complexion was one the pale-faced inhabitants of frigid worlds would regard with envy.
“Glad to meet you, Commander,” the man said. “I’m Wembling.”
They touched hands.
“Seems peaceful here,” Vorish remarked. “From my orders, I had the impression that the natives were keeping you under siege.”
“They are,” Wembling said bitterly. “They’re pulling every dirty trick they can get away with.”
Vorish murmured polite concern and looked about him again. He could see nothing that contradicted his first impression: Langri was a spectacularly beautiful, peaceful world.
Wembling chuckled, completely misinterpreting Vorish’s scowl. “Don’t let it worry you. We keep them pretty much under control in the daytime. Why don’t you give your men a few hours of leave—let them enjoy the beach and shake off their space tremors. And as soon as you settle in, Commander, come down to my office and I’ll show you what I want you to do.”
He turned away, carelessly tossed a gesture of farewell over his shoulder, and boarded his conveyance. He was driven off at once, and the guards had to pile unceremoniously into the moving vehicle.
Vorish turned and found Lieutenant Commander Smith grinning down at him from the ramp. “Who was that?” Smith demanded. “The Grand Admiral? He certainly seems to know what you’re supposed to be doing.”
“I’m glad someone knows what I’m supposed to be doing. I certainly don’t. Do you notice something peculiar about this situation?”
“I seem to detect a certain pronounced odoriferousness,” Smith remarked.
“Tell Macklie to scout around and talk with Wembling’s men and see if he can find out what’s going on here. I suppose I’ll have to go see the man. At a guess, he wants the entire crew of the Hiln for sentry duty. While I’m gone, take a patrol and circle the construction site. See what the security arrangements are and what problems we’re likely to encounter.”
One wall of Wembling’s office was an enormous map, and Wembling, with energetic gesticulations, explained what it was he wanted. He wanted a solid wall of men around his construction site, though it took him twenty minutes to say so.
Vorish heard him out, and then he politely informed Wembling that it wasn’t possible. “My men are capable,” he said, “but there aren’t enough of them, and thus far I haven’t been able to teach them to function in seven different places at once.”
“It’s your solemn duty to protect the lives and property of citizens of the Federation!” Wembling snapped.
“If Fleet Headquarters had meant for me to stand guard duty over an entire continent,” Vorish told him coldly, “it would have sent a larger force—say two ships. What you want would require ten divisions of troops and a billion credits’ worth of equipment and even that wouldn’t be foolproof. Why do you have sentries along the beach?”
“Sometimes the puggards sneak in from the sea. Can’t trust the unprincipled scoundrels for an instant. My men won’t work for me if they’re all the time in terror of their lives.”
Vorish turned in surprise. “I wasn’t aware of that. How many men have you lost?”
“Well—none, but that isn’t the natives’ fault.”
“Have they been damaging your equipment and materials?”
“Plenty. They manage to put two or three machines out of commission every day, and they keep sneaking in and stopping the work. It’d be a lot worse if I hadn’t imported a double work force just to guard the site. Commander, I’ve met a lot of different kinds of people in my lifetime, but never before have I encountered this measure of ingratitude. My whole project was started just to finance projects the natives need, and the first thing I built was a medical center for them, and they’re going to share in every penny of profit this place makes. In spite of that they’ve harassed us in every possible way right from the beginning. This is a multibillion-credit project, and I’ve backed it to the limit of my resources, and these ingrates are trying to ruin me. I resent that. Now—this is what I suggest. Each of us will assign a man to each sentry post on every shift. My men know what the natives are up to and how to handle them, and they’ll show your men what to do. I’ll tell my super to work out the details with you.”
“Do you have another map?” Vorish asked.
“Why, yes-”
“With the sentry posts marked on it?”
Wembling shook his head. “Never needed more than one.”
“That’s all right. We’ll probably want to shift them anyway. Send your super up to the Hiln with the map. We’ll ask him what we need to know, and then we’ll work out with him what we’re prepared to do.”
Smith returned from his inspection patrol and glumly remarked that it wasn’t the Space Navy Wembling wanted, but the Space Army—all of it. Vorish turned Wembling’s super over to him and left the two of them arguing about the sentry posts. He wanted to see the situation for himself.
He was standing on a lonely stretch of beach at the far end of the perimeter, looking out to sea, when Lieutenant Commander Macklie, his intelligence officer, caught up with him.
“You were right, sir,” Macklie said. “It’s a queer situation. These raids Wembling talked about—the natives usually sneak in one or two at a time. They lie down in front of a machine or grab ahold of something, and all the work has to stop until someone pries them loose and tosses them back into the forest.”
“Have any natives been hurt?” Vorish asked.
“No, sir. The men say Wembling is very strict about that. He knows that mistreating the natives, even when he thinks they deserve it, would bring him more trouble than he could handle.”
“He knows correctly.”
“Yes, sir. The natives may be aware of it, because they almost seem to be trying to get hurt. It’s got on the workers’ nerves— they never know when a native is going to pop up in front of them. They’re afraid if one did get hurt the others would come after them with poisoned weapons. This world is reputed to have some very wicked poisons. There’s a thorn that will kill a man almost instantly.”
“Have any of the workers been injured?”
“Several were abducted before Wembling got the idea of making them work in groups. The natives returned them unharmed. They stuffed them into giant gourds and rolled the gourds down the slope at the prefabs. Scared everyone half to death, especially the workers inside the gourds, but no one was hurt.”
“Sounds like some kind of childish prank,” Vorish observed.
“Yes, sir. From what I’ve seen of Wembling, sir, my sympathy is with the natives.”
“And mine. Unfortunately, I have orders. It’s just as well that the natives have a sense of humor. I’m afraid they’re going to need it.”
“Smith asked me to tell you we’ll have to assign the specialized ratings to guard duty or there won’t be enough men.”
“They’ll howl, I suppose.”
“No, sir, they won’t. A couple of hours on this beach each day are worth four times that in guard duty. I’ll scout around some more, sir.”