Vorish saw Aric Hort only on the infrequent occasions when he wanted information. The only natives he saw were those captured on the construction site. He politely declined invitations to native festivals, just as he declined Wembling’s social invitations. The air of impending tragedy at the native villages, and the natives’ blind faith in a futile Plan, disconcerted him. He easily could have become too sympathetic to them. On the other hand, Wembling was able to exude charm and infectious enthusiasm when he chose, and too much exposure easily could have biased Vorish in the opposite direction.
He saw himself as the impartial referee in a dispute, and if he got too familiar with either party, that impartiality might suffer. It disturbed him deeply that he was increasingly convinced that Wembling was right: the resort would be a splendid asset for Langri and its people. Hort’s and the natives’ fears undoubtedly were silly bugaboos that would be forgotten without regret once the benefits of the resort became a reality.
Concerning the shamefully violated treaty, though, he had no choice but to fight fiercely for justice and a full restoration of the natives’ control of their own destiny.
The dilemma seemed irreconcilable.
Because the natives were declining something that obviously would benefit them greatly, perhaps the resort should be forced upon them, as one forced a child to take the medicine he needed. On the other hand, Aric Hort, an anthropologist, stoutly maintained that whole populations had been destroyed by such stupid benevolence, and he could cite which ones they were.
If Wembling’s activities were interfering with the natives in any way, Vorish couldn’t detect it. The hunting fleets went out daily, and the invitations to attend the natives’ feasts and festivals arrived with monotonous regularity. He could not share Hort’s belief that the resort posed a threat to the natives’ existence.
And yet there had been a treaty, and there was such a thing as honor—the Federation’s and the Space Navy’s. And if the resort offered benefits for the natives, Vorish wasn’t overlooking the fact that it would benefit Wembling much more. The treaty had to be reinstated, following which Wembling could do what he should have done in the first place: convince the natives about those lavish benefits, and build the resort with their consent. Perhaps they would let him have ten per cent, in which case it would be interesting to see if he still considered that share as munificent as he had when he was offering it to the natives.
As Hort predicted, headquarters had ignored Vorish’s report on the treaty. When he politely asked what action was being taken, headquarters gave him a polite Z in response: “We assume authority and responsibility.”
Then Hort came to see him and spoke tersely, and when he left one of Vorish’s worries had been restored: the natives they thought were participating in the food test had been cheating. They ate little if any of the navy food and continued to eat native food, and the test was a farce.
“They claim they were so hungry they had to,” Hort said glumly. “That ought to tell us something. I hope so, because it’s as much as we’re likely to learn.”
If Hort could find volunteers who seemed to understand the experiment, they would try again. He was not optimistic about his success. A native accustomed to koluf meat would have to be a genuine martyr to agree to subsist on Space Navy rations, even in a short experiment.
While Vorish was still meditating this restored worry, Wembling came with a request for expanding the protective perimeter around the construction site. He wanted to enlarge it. He also wanted to begin work at a new construction site far down the coast.
Vorish brusquely refused. He had insufficient men for the area they were screening now. Further, he was becoming concerned about them. They had been vegetating on this paradise planet long enough. Specialists who didn’t use their skills soon stopped being specialists. It was time he took the Hiln back into space where it belonged.
Talitha Warr invited him to dinner at the medical center. Vorish persuaded himself that this was neutral ground and went, and the food she served was delectable beyond description.
“It’s koluf,” she explained. “It’s the staple of the natives’ diet—imagine a diet with a staple like that! But never ask to see a live one, or your koluf palate will be ruined for months.”
The next day Vorish sent for Aric Hort and inquired as to the possibility of obtaining enough koluf for an occasional navy meal.
Hort regarded him with horror. “I keep telling you that the natives don’t have enough for themselves. Don’t you believe me?”
“I somehow never made the connection,” Vorish confessed. “I know it’s their principal food—we talked about that—but Miss Warr was serving it, and—”
“The hospital has a priority, but the food supplied to it is supposed to be for the sick. And because Talitha always gets anything she asks for, she won’t believe there’s a shortage.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. I know the natives aren’t getting enough to eat. The koluf catch is down at least a fourth. They’re starving, but so slowly that it’s hardly noticeable. As the catch continues to drop, which it will, they’ll starve more quickly. We must find a dietary supplement. I’d like to try another experiment.”
“What sort of experiment?”
“Since some of your men are living in Wembling’s dormitories, could we bring a few native children to the Hiln for a short stay? They could be fed nothing but navy food—they couldn’t cheat if we kept them on the ship—and perhaps we could learn something.”
“Perhaps,” Vorish agreed. “Find out if the natives are willing, and I’ll find out whether my medical staff would object to running a nursery for a few days.”
The medical staff didn’t object; the natives did. They saw no need for such an experiment. They had their Plan. Hort promised to continue his efforts to persuade them.
First there was the violated treaty, and then there was Vorish’s report that headquarters had tried to Z out of existence, and now the independent world of Langri had sunk so low that the natives were unable to confer privately with their attorneys. Wembling monitored their communications center and read all of their messages. They were afraid to send letter mail on his supply ships, because they knew that he would read that, too.
Lieutenant Commander Smith discussed the problem with Fornri, and then he brought it to Vorish.
“The natives certainly have a legal right to private communication with their attorneys,” Vorish said, “but since headquarters maintains that no Langri problem exists, it wouldn’t be wise to involve ourselves in an official solution to a nonexistent problem.”
“How about a private solution?” Smith suggested. “I’ll send the communications as coming from myself, and I’ll ask the attorneys to suggest some way in which they could be representing me— just in case anyone inquires. As for their letters to the natives, they can double-wrap them and address the outer to me. I’ll pledge to deliver the inner one unopened.”
“Good idea,” Vorish said. “There’s no naval regulation that forbids your forwarding a friend’s mail.”
“Too bad headquarters Z’d your report. I thought they’d have to react one way or the other—either with a public fuss or with a private order to keep your mouth shut.”
“They will,” Vorish promised grimly. “Wembling was in this morning, and he took me for a tour of the territory he wants to add to the construction site. Know what he intends to put there? A golf course! This afternoon I’ll see Fornri about it. And yes— I’m certain I can get a reaction to my report.”