Retief patted Chip on the shoulder.
"Don't worry about your sanity, old timer," he said. "That's exactly what they're doing."
6
"We've never tried to make a secret of it," Tove said. "But we haven't advertised it, either."
"It really isn't much," Bo Bergman said. "Not a mutant ability, our scholars say. Rather, it's a skill we've stumbled on, a closer empathy. We are few, and far from the old home world. We've had to learn to break down the walls we had built around our minds."
"Can you read the Soetti?" Retief asked.
Tove shook his head. "They're very different from us. It's painful to touch their minds. We can only sense the subvocalized thoughts of a human mind."
"We've seen very few of the Soetti," Bo Bergman said. "Their ships have landed and taken on stores. They say little to us, but we've felt their contempt. They envy us our worlds. They come from a cold land."
"Anne-Marie says you have a plan of defense," Relief said. "A sort of suicide squadron idea, followed by guerilla warfare."
"It's the best we can devise, Retief. If there aren't too many of them, it might work."
Retief shook his head. "It might delay matters-but not much."
"Perhaps. But our remote control equipment is excellent. And we have plenty of ships, albeit unarmed. And our people know how to live on the slopes-and how to shoot."
"There are too many of them, Tove," Retief said. "They breed like flies and, according to some sources, they mature in a matter of months. They've been feeling their way into the sector for years now. Set up outposts on a thousand or so minor planets-cold ones, the kind they like. They want your worlds because they need living space."
"At least, your warning makes it possible for us to muster some show of force, Retief," Bo Bergman said. "That is better than death by ambush."
"Retief must not be trapped here," Anne-Marie said. "His small boat is useless now. He must have a ship."
"Of course," Tove said. "And-"
"My mission here-" Retief said.
"Retief," a voice called. "A message for you. The operator has phoned up a gram."
Retief unfolded the slip of paper. It was short, in verbal code, and signed by Magnan.
"You are recalled herewith," he read. "Assignment canceled. Agreement concluded with Soetti relinquishing all claims so-called Jorgensen system. Utmost importance that under no repeat no circumstances classified intelligence regarding Soetti be divulged to locals. Advise you depart instanter. Soetti occupation imminent."
Retief looked thoughtfully at the scrap of paper, then crumpled it and dropped it on the floor. He turned to Bo Bergman, took a tiny reel of tape from his pocket.
"This contains information," he said. "The Soetti attack plan, a defensive plan, instructions for the conversion of a standard antiacceleration unit into a potent weapon. If you have a screen handy, we'd better get started. We have about seventy-two hours."
In the Briefing Room at Svea Tower, Tove snapped off the projector.
"Our plan would have been worthless against that," he said. "We assumed they'd make their strike from a standard in-line formation. This scheme of hitting all our settlements simultaneously, in a random order from all points-we'd have been helpless."
"It's perfect for this defensive plan," Bo Bergman said. "Assuming this antiac trick works."
"It works," Retief said. "I hope you've got plenty of heavy power lead available."
"We export copper," Tove said.
"We'll assign about two hundred vessels to each settlement. Linked up, they should throw up quite a field."
"It ought to be effective up to about fifteen miles, I'd estimate," Tove said. "If it works as it's supposed to."
A red light flashed on the communications panel. Tove went to it, flipped a key.
"Tower, Tove here," he said.
"I've got a ship on the scope, Tove," a voice said. "There's nothing scheduled. ACI 228 bypassed at 1600…"
"Just one?"
"A lone ship, coming in on a bearing of 291/456/653. On manual, I'd say."
"How does this track key in with the idea of ACI 228 making a manual correction for a missed automatic approach?" Retief asked.
Tove talked to the tower, got a reply.
"That's it," he said.
"How long before he touches down?"
Tove glanced at the lighted chart. "Perhaps eight minutes."
"Any guns here?"
Tove shook his head.
"If that's old two-twenty-eight, she ain't got but the one fifty-mm rifle," Chip said. "She cain't figure on jumpin' the whole planet."
"Hard to say what she figures on," Retief said. "Mr. Tony will be in a mood for drastic measures."
"I wonder what kind o' deal the skunks got with the Sweaties." Chip said. "Prob'ly he gits to scavenge, after the Sweaties kill off the Jorgensens."
"He's upset about our leaving him without saying good-bye, Chip," Retief said. "And you left the door hanging open, too."
Chip cackled. "Old Mr. Tony didn't look so good to the Sweaties now, hey, mister?"
Retief turned to Bo Bergman.
"Chip's right," he said. "A Soetti died on the ship, and a tourist got through the cordon. Tony's out to redeem himself."
"He's on final now," the tower operator said. "Still no contact."
"We'll know soon enough what he has in mind," Tove said.
"Let's take a look."
Outside, the four men watched the point of fire grow, evolve into a ship ponderously settling to rest.
The drive faded and cut; silence fell.
Inside the Briefing Room, the speaker called out. Bo Bergman went inside, talked to the tower, motioned to the others.
"-over to you," the speaker was saying. There was a crackling moment of silence; then another voice.
"-illegal entry. Send the two of them out. I'll see to it they're dealt with."
Tove flipped a key. "Switch me direct to the ship," he said.
"Right."
"You on ACI two-twenty-eight," Tove said. "Who are you?"
"What's that to you?"
"You weren't cleared to berth here. Do you have an emergency aboard?"
"Never mind that, you," the speaker rumbled. "I tracked the bird in. I got the lifeboat on the screen now. They haven't gone far in nine hours. Let's have 'em."
"You're wasting your time," Tove said.
There was a momentary silence.
"You think so, hah?" the speaker blared. "I'll put it to you straight. I see two guys on their way out in one minute, or I open up."
"He's bluffin'," Chip said. "The popgun won't bear on us."
"Take a look out the window," Retief said.
In the white glare of the moonlight, a loading cover swung open at the stern of the ship, dropped down and formed a sloping ramp. A squat and massive shape appeared in the opening, trundled down onto the snow-swept tarmac.
Chip whistled. "I told you the Captain was slippery," he muttered. "Where the devil'd he git that at?"
"What is it?" Tove asked.
"A tank," Retief said. "A museum piece, by the look of it."
"I'll say," Chip said. "That's a Bolo Resartus, Model M. Built mebbe two hunderd years ago in Concordiat times. Packs a wallop, too, I'll tell ye."
The tank wheeled, brought a gun muzzle to bear in the base of the tower.
"Send 'em out," the speaker growled. "Or I blast 'em out."
"One round in here, and I've had a wasted trip," Retief said. "I'd better go out."
"Wait a minute, mister," Chip said, "I got the glimmerin's of an idear."
"I'll stall them," Tove said. He keyed the mike.
"ACI two-twenty-eight, what's your authority for this demand?"