He strode away, leaving Wembling to glare after him. “But he thinks I’m bluffing,” Vorish told Smith afterward. “I notice he has the machines pointed at the village. Some people can’t resist calling a bluff, even if they know it’ll explode when touched.”
“I hope you realize that you’re sticking your neck out,” Smith said.
“A naval commander who’s afraid to stick his neck out isn’t worth a damn.”
When the machines broke through into the village clearing, Vorish had his men waiting. He stood with Smith on the high ground near the lauding field and watched Wembling waddle up to a work crew, gesture, and step back. A machine edged forward and smashed the nearest hut. Vorish signaled his own men into action. An armed navy squad moved down the slope, weapons at the ready, and took possession of the village. The machines clanked to a stop, and as Vorish and Smith approached, Wembling stormed to meet them.
“Did you get the natives’ permission for this?” Vorish demanded.
It cost Wembling an effort to master his rage. “I have a charter. How I use it is none of your business.”
“I think it is,” Vorish said. “Shall we have a legal test? Maybe the court will award you the value of the huts.” He turned to Smith. “Place these men under protective arrest and stop all work on the construction site. A sacred place has been desecrated, and we’ll have to use the utmost care to prevent a native revolt.”
He went back to his quarters on the Hiln and worked on his report. Smith came in later, grinning broadly.
“Well, it’s done,” he said. “Wembling is confined to quarters. His project is closed down and his entire force has an indefinite vacation. The workers are delighted and Wembling is apoplectic. Are you sure that’s what you wanted?”
“That’s what I wanted. There’s a massive conspiracy to cover up Wembling’s shenanigans here, and I know of only one person who has enough influence, and is capable of making enough noise, to force headquarters to take action.”
“Who’s that?”
“Wembling. You and I have to use the chain of command. He can broadcast complaints in all directions, at the top of his voice. If he gets mad enough, he will.”
“He’s mad enough. He’s sending messages furiously. I was going to suggest closing his com center.”
Vorish shook his head. “I want every message he sends to go through promptly. About the time headquarters grasps the significance of my report, his complaints will hit it from a dozen different directions. I’d like to see it Z Langri this time!”
Wembling’s work had been at a dead halt for three weeks when Vorish next called at the native village. Talitha Warr had taken over a large dwelling to use as a children’s hospital, and he saw her at work there, though she was much too preoccupied with her young charges to notice him.
He wondered if Hort had told her of the sober preliminary report from the Hiln’s medical staff: the children in Hort’s experiment were indeed undernourished, all of them, and as far as the staff could determine, navy rations did nothing to correct that. The experiment was continuing, but the staff was disposed to give Hort’s theory a qualified endorsement: the natives were so thoroughly adapted to their diet of koluf that only a very similar food could successfully supplement their diets. The staff now was attempting to figure out what might constitute a similar food.
In the grove of trees at the top of the avenue, Fornri and Aric Hort were seated in gourd chairs talking quietly. They made Vorish welcome and called for another chair and drinking gourds. Nearby, several elderly natives lay talking in hammocks that swung gently in the sea breeze. Vorish noted their leisurely conversation and long, meditative silences and reflected on the wisdom of the natives in placing the burden of leadership on Fornri and not on the Elder. The menace of a Wembling could not be coped with by the hammock talk of the elderly.
Fornri said anxiously, “Is it true that you will suffer harm from helping us?”
“I’ll be threatened with all kinds of dire consequences,” Vorish said. “I already have been, by Wembling, as recently as this morning. The worst that’s likely to happen is that I’ll be recalled and spoken to sternly. Anything more serious would require a public airing of this mess, which is the last thing Wembling’s friends want.”
“The commander is an optimist,” Aric Hort said. “He’s bought time for your precious Plan, and he may pay for it with his naval career. There’s an admiral on the way here, and his first action will be to turn Wembling and his men loose and arrest Commander Vorish.”
“This particular admiral is an old friend of mine,” Vorish said with a smile. “If he arrests me, he’ll do it affectionately.”
Hort gestured disgustedly. “If Wembling has anything to say about it—and he will—he’ll have the commander’s ears on a platter, barbecued. I’d feel much better about this if you’d made some use of the time that he bought. If your Plan is to hold out and harass Wembling until he goes away, I promise you that he won’t.”
Leaving the village, Hort and Vorish found Talitha Warr sitting at the edge of the beach. She had been gazing morosely out to sea. “I can’t understand it,” she said. “The sick list grows longer every day.”
Hort had been in a savage mood throughout the interview with Fornri, and now he turned on her furiously. “You can’t understand it? You mean you still can’t see what is happening? Are you blind?”
“What—what do you mean?”
“An entire population is in the preliminary stages of starvation, and you can’t understand why the sick list grows. Do you know how many koluf this village caught yesterday? Just two, and they were small. Normally it takes sixteen to twenty to feed a village this size. Try eating one eighth of your usual diet and see how your strength lasts.”
She tried to meet his eyes and failed. For a suspenseful moment she stared at the lines her foot was drawing in the moist sand. Then she got to her feet and walked toward the village.
Hort called after her, “Where are you going?”
She did not answer. Vorish and Hort exchanged glances and followed after her. She went to the large dwelling she was using for a hospital, and they waited outside while she moved slowly from one child to another. When she emerged her face was white.
“I was blind,” she whispered.
“Have you looked at the old people lately?” Hort demanded. “The koluf hunters have to keep up their strength—hunting koluf is a tremendous physical struggle, and there’d be instantaneous starvation the moment the hunters became weak. The hunters eat first, and the old people who contribute the least and have the least to lose eat last. They lie in their hammocks and wait for death. Haven’t you noticed that a fire of death is almost a nightly occurrence at every village?”
“I was blind,” she whispered again. “But why didn’t Dr. Fenell recognize it?”
“Malnutrition isn’t a civilized disease. He probably never saw a case before.”
“Uncle will have to import food for the natives.”
“It’s too late,” Hort said. “That should have been thought of before the construction started. Commander Vorish’s doctor has been trying to feed navy rations to native children. He hasn’t been able to find a food that gives them a significant amount of nourishment. Humans accustomed to eating nothing but koluf can’t assimilate other foods.”
Talitha buried her face in her hands. “It’s my fault. I suggested the resort to Uncle. I talked him into it.”
“Maybe you did or maybe you didn’t,” Hort said grimly, “but I don’t think anyone is going to talk him out of it.”
Vorish turned out an honor guard when Admiral Milford Corning arrived on the command cruiser Maldaro. The admiral, a crusty, fussy little officer whose men affectionately called him—out of his hearing—“the Old Woman,” paused at the top of the ramp to receive Vorish’s salute, and then he marched down and touched hands with him.