IV

Prince Queeth of Sugfarth had left the royal belt behind, and only a

plain band encircled his round little body as he trotted along, his

four legs making almost no sound. His double pair of thin arms and the

bird-like head on his long neck bobbled excitedly in time to his steps.

Once he stopped to glance across the black stone buildings of the city

as they shone in the dull red of the sun, toward the hill where his

father's palace was lighted brightly for the benefit of his Earth

guests. Queeth touched his ears together ceremoniously and then trotted

on, until he came to the back door of his group's gymnasium. He

whistled the code word and the door opened automatically.

The whole group was assembled, though it was past sleep week for most

of them. Their ears clicked together, but they waited silently as he

curled himself up in the official box. Then Krhal, the merchant

viscount, whistled questioningly. "This will have to be important,

Queeth."

The prince bobbed his ears emphatically. "It is. My father's guests

have all the news, and I learned everything. It won't be as long as we

thought." He paused, before delivering the big news. "The bipeds of

Kloomiria are going to attack Cathay. There'll be official war there

within two weeks!"

He saw them exchanging hasty signals, but again it was Krhal who voiced

their question. "And you think that is important, Queeth? What does it

offer us? Cathay is a human colony. Earth will have to declare war with

her. And with Earth's wealth, it will be over before we could arrive."

"Earth has already passed a resolution that neutrality will apply to

colonies as well as to other planets!"

This time the whistles were sharper. Krhal had difficulty believing it

at first. "So Earth really is afraid to fight? That must mean those

rumors that she has no fleet are true. Our ancestors thought so, and

even planned to attack her, before the humanoids defeated us. The

ancestor king believed that even a single ship fully armed might

conquer her."

"It could be," Queeth admitted. "But do you agree that this is the news

for which we've waited so long?"

There was a quick flutter of cars. "It's our duty," Krhal agreed. "In a

war between Cathay and Kloomiria, we can't remain neutral if we're ever

to serve our friends. Well, the ship is ready!"

That came as a surprise to Queeth. He knew the plans were well along,

but not that they were completed. As merchant viscount, and

second-degree adult, Krhal was entitled to a tenth of his father's

interests. He'd chosen the biggest freighter and the balance in fluid

assets, to the pleasure of his father--who believed he was planning an

honorable career of exploring.

"The conversion completed?" Queeth asked. "But the planet bombs--!"

"Earth supplied them on the last shipment. I explained on the order

that I was going to search uninhabited planets for minerals."

Queeth counted the group again, and was satisfied. There were enough.

With a ship of that size, fully staffed and armed, they would be a

welcome addition to any fleet. They might be enough to tip the balance

for victory, in fact. And while Cathay and Kloomiria lay a long way on

the other side of Earth's system, the drives were fast enough to cover

it in two weeks.

"Does your father know?" Krhal asked.

Queeth smirked. "Would you tell him? He still believes along with the

Earth ambassador that the warrior strain was ruined among our people

when we lost the war with the humanoids."

"Maybe it was," Krhal said doubtfully. "In four generations, it could

evolve again. And there are the books and traditions from which we

trained. If even a timid race such as those of Earth can produce

warriors like O'Neill--a mere poet--why can't the Sugfarth do better?

Particularly when Earth rebuilt factories for us to start our

shipbuilding anew."

"Then we join the war," the prince decided.

There was a series of assent signals from the group.

"Tonight," he suggested, and again there was only assent.

Krhal stood up, setting the course for the others. When the last had

risen, Queeth uncurled himself and rose from the box. "We'll have to

pass near Earth," he suggested as they filed out toward the hangars

where Krhal kept his ship. "Maybe we should show our intentions there!"

There was a sudden whistle of surprise. Then the assent was mounting

wildly. Queeth trotted ahead toward the warship, making his attack

plans over again as he realized he was a born leader who could command

such enthusiasm. He had been doubtful before, in spite of his study of

elementary statistical treatment of relationships.

The lights in the palace showed that the Earth guests were still

celebrating as the great, heavily-laden warship blasted up and headed

toward Earth.

V

Duke O'Neill found a corner of the lounge where no Earthman was near

and dropped down with the magazine and papers, trying to catch up on

the currents of the universe as they affected the six hundred connected

worlds. Most of the articles related to Earth alone, and he skipped

them. He found one on the set-up of the Outer Federation finally. The

humanoid planets there were in a pocket of alien worlds, and union had

been almost automatic. It was still loose, but it seemed to have sound

enough a basis.

If Earth had been willing to come out of its shell and risk some of its

fat trading profits, there could have been an even stronger union that

would have driven war-like thoughts out of the minds of all the aliens.

Instead, she seemed to be equally interested in building up her

potential enemies and ruining her friends. Duke had watched a showing

of new films on the work being done on Throm the night before, and he

was still sick from it. Throm had lost the war, but by a military

defeat, not by thirty-one unprotected raids on all her surface. She

still had landing fields equipped for Earth ships, and the big

freighters were dropping down regularly, spewing out foods, equipment

and even heavy machinery for her rebuilding. Throm was already on the

road back. Meloa had to wait until she could pull herself up enough to

build fields.

Duke turned his eyes to the port. The ship had stopped at Clovis on the

way back to Earth. From where he sat, he could see almost Earth-like

skyscrapers stretching up in a great city. The landing field was huge,

and there were rows on rows of factories building more of the

freighters that stubbed the field.

It seemed impossible, when he remembered that only forty years had

passed since Djamboula's suicide raid had finally defeated the fungoid

creatures of the planet and since the survivors' vows to repay all

Earthmen for their defeat. They were a prolific race, of course--but

without help from Earth, the factories would be shacks and the rockets

and high-drive ships would be only memories.

He wondered how many were cursing their ancestors for making the

mistake of attacking a neighboring humanoid planet instead of Earth,

only two days away on high drive. By now, they knew that Earth was

defenseless. And yet, they seemed content to go on with their vows

forgotten. Duke couldn't believe it. Down underground, beyond Earth

inspection, they could have vast stockpiles of weapons, ready to

install in their ships within days.

How could Earth risk it, unless she had her own stock of hidden ships

and weapons? Yet if she did, he was sure that it would have been

impossible not to use them in defense of the colony of Cathay.

He stared out, watching the crewmen mixing with the repulsive alien

natives, laughing as they worked side by side. There must be some

factor he didn't understand, but he'd never found it--nor did he know

anyone who had guessed it.

He stirred, uncomfortable with his own thoughts. But it wasn't fear for

Earth that bothered him. It was simply that sooner or later some alien

race would risk whatever unknown power the others feared. If the aliens

won, the vast potential power of Earth would then be turned against all

the humanoid races of the universe. Humanity could be driven from the

galaxy.

He turned the pages, idly glancing at the headlines. It was hard to

realize that the paper wasn't right off the presses of Earth; it must

have been brought out to Clovis on the latest ship. He checked the

date, and frowned in surprise. According to the rough calendar he'd

kept, it was the current date. Somewhere he must have lost track of two

days. How much else had he lost sight of during the long years of war?

A diagram caught his attention almost at once as he turned to another

magazine. It was of a behemoth ship, bigger than any he had ever seen,

and built like the dream of a battleship, though it was listed as a

freighter. He scanned it, mentally converting it. With a few like that,

Meloa could have won during the first year.

Then he swore as he saw it was part of an article on the progress of

some alien world known as Sugfarth--by the article, a world of former

warriors, once dedicated to the complete elimination of humanoids!

* * * * *

He saw Flannery coming along the deck at that moment, and he picked up

the magazine, heading for his cabin. He'd ignored previous summons on

the thin excuse of not feeling well. He had no desire to talk with

Earthmen. It was bad enough to take their charity back to Earth and to

have to stay on the planet until he could sign on with the Outer

Federation. His memories were ugly enough, without having them

refreshed.

But Flannery caught him as he was opening the door to his cabin. The

director was huge, with heavy, strong features and a body that looked

too robust for the white hair and the age that showed around his eyes.

His voice was tired, however, showing his years more plainly than his

looks.

"Captain O'Neill," he said quickly. "Stop jousting with windmills. It's

time you grew up. Besides, I've got a job for you."

"Does my charity passage demand an interview, director?" Duke asked.

The other showed no offense, unfortunately. He smiled wryly. "If I

choose, it does. I'm in command of this ship, as well as head of the

Foreign Office. May I come in?"

"I can't keep you out," Duke admitted. He dropped onto the couch,

sprawling out, while the other found the single chair.

Flannery picked up the magazine and glanced through it. "So you're

interested in the Outer Federation?" he asked. "Don't be. It doesn't

have a chance. In a week or so, you'll see it shot. And I don't mean

we'll wreck it. They've picked their own doom, against all the advice

we could give them. Care to have a drink sent down while we talk?"