Before he'd finished saying it the squad ship had hopped into overdrive
and out again.
* * * * *
Sergeant Madden approved of the job. His son Timmy couldn't have done
better. Here was Planet IV before them, a little off to one side, as was
proper. They had run no risk of hitting in overdrive.
The distance was just about a quarter-million miles, if Krishnamurti's
Law predicting the size and distance of planets in a sol-type system was
reliable. The world was green and had icecaps. There should always be,
in a system of this kind, at least one oxygen-planet with a
nearly-terran-normal range of temperature. That usually meant green
plants and an ocean or two. There wasn't quite as much sea as usual, on
this planet, and therefore there were some extensive yellow areas that
must be desert. But it was a good, habitable world. Anybody whose home
it was would defend it fiercely.
"Hm-m-m," said Sergeant Madden. He took the ejector-tube lanyard in his
hand. He computed mentally. About a quarter-million miles, say. A second
and a half to alarm, down below. Five seconds more to verification.
Another five to believe it. Not less than twenty altogether to report
and get authority to fire. The Huks were a fighting race and presumably
organized, so they'd have a chain of command and decisions would be made
at the top. Army stuff, or navy. Not like the cops, where everybody knew
both the immediate and final purposes of any operation in progress, and
could act without waiting for orders.
It should be not less than thirty seconds before a firing key made
contact down below. As a matter of history, years ago the Huks had used
eighty-gravity rockets with tracking-heads and bust-bombs on them. These
Huks would hardly be behind the others in equipment. And back then, too,
Huks kept their rocket missiles out in orbit where they could flare into
eighty-gee acceleration without wasting time getting out to where an
enemy was. In their struggle against the cops two generations ago the
Huks had had to learn that fighting wasn't all drama and heroics. The
cops had taken the glamour out when they won. So the Huks wouldn't waste
time making fine gestures now. The squad ship had appeared off their
planet. It had not transmitted a code identification-signal the instant
it came out of overdrive. The Huks were hiding from the cops, so they'd
shoot.
"Hop on past," commanded Sergeant Madden, "the instant I jerk the
ejector lanyard. Don't fool around. Over the pole will do."
Patrolman Willis set the hop-timer. Twenty seconds. Twenty-two. Three.
Four.
"Hop!" said Sergeant Madden. As he spoke, he jerked the lanyard.
Before the syllable was finished, Patrolman Willis pressed hard on the
overdrive button. There came the always-nauseating sensation of going
into overdrive combined with the even more unpleasant sensation of
coming out of it. The squad ship was somewhere else.
A vast, curving whiteness hung catercornered in the sky. It was the
planet's icecap, upside down. Patrolman Willis had possibly cut it a
trifle too fine.
"Right," said the sergeant comfortably. "Now swing about to go back and
meet the _Aldeb_. But wait."
The stars and the monstrous white bowl reeled in their positions as the
ship turned. Sergeant Madden felt that he could spare seconds, here. He
ignored the polar regions of Sirene IV, hanging upside down to rearward
from the squad ship. Even a planetary alarm wouldn't get polar-area
observers set to fire in much less than forty seconds, and there'd have
to be some lag in response to instrument reports. It wouldn't be as if
trouble had been anticipated at just this time.
The squad ship steadied. Sergeant Madden looked with pleasurable
anticipation back to where the ship had come out of overdrive and
lingered for twenty-four seconds. Willis had moved the squad ship from
that position, but the sergeant had left a substitute. The small object
he'd dropped from the ejector tube now swelled and writhed and
struggled. In pure emptiness, a shape of metal foil inflated itself. It
was surprisingly large--almost the size of the squad ship. But in
emptiness the fraction of a cubic inch of normal-pressure gas would
inflate a foil bag against no resistance at all. This flimsy shape even
jerked into motion. Released gas poured out its back. There was no
resistance to acceleration save mass, which was negligible.
A sudden swirling cloud of vapor appeared where the squad ship's
substitute went mindlessly on its way. The vapor rushed toward the
space-marker.
A star appeared. It was a strictly temporary star, but even from a
quarter-million-mile distance it was incredibly bright. It was a bomb,
blasting a metal-foil flimsy which the electronic brain of a
missile-rocket could only perceive as an unidentified and hence enemy
object. Bomb and rocket and flimsy metal foil turned together to
radioactive metal vapor.
Sergeant Madden knew professional admiration.
"Thirty-four seconds!" he said approvingly.
The Huks could not have expected the appearance of an enemy just here
and now. It was the first such appearance in all the planet's history.
They certainly looked for no consequences of the seizure of the
_Cerberus_, carefully managed as that had been. So to detonate a bomb
against an unexpected inimical object within thirty-four seconds after
its appearance was very good work indeed.
"Hm-m-m," said Sergeant Madden, "we've nothing more to do right now,
Willis. We'll go back to that hunk of ice you spotted comin' in, and
wait for the _Aldeb_."
Patrolman Willis obediently set the hop-timer and swung the squad ship
to a proper aiming. He pressed the overdrive button.
His manner, like that of Sergeant Madden, was the manner of someone
conducting a perfectly routine operation.
* * * * *
"If my son Timmy were with me on this job," said Sergeant Madden, "I'd
point out the inner meaning of the way we're going about handling it."
He reposed in his bucket-seat in the squad ship, which at that moment
lay aground not quite right-side-up close to the north pole of Sirene
VIII. The local sun was not in view. The squad ship's ports opened upon
the incredible brilliance of the galaxy as seen out of atmosphere. There
was no atmosphere here. It was all frozen. But there was a horizon, and
the light of the stars showed the miniature jungle of gas crystals.
Frozen gases--frozen to gas-ice--they were feathery. They were lacy.
They were infinitely delicate. They were frost in three dimensions.
"Yes, sir," said Patrolman Willis.
"The _Aldeb_'s due soon," said Sergeant Madden, "so I'll make it short.
The whole thing is that we are cops, and the Huks are soldiers. Which
means that they're after feeling important--after glamour. Every one of
'em figures it's necessary to be important. He craves it."
Patrolman Willis listened. He had a proximity detector out, which would
pick up any radiation caused by the cutting of magnetic lines of force
by any object. It made very tiny whining noises from time to time. If
anything from a Huk missile rocket to the salvage ship _Aldeb_
approached, however, the sound would be distinctive.
"Now that," said Sergeant Madden, "is the same thing that makes delinks.
A delink tries to matter in the world he lives in. It's a small world,
with only him and his close pals in it. So he struts before his pals. He
don't realize that anybody but him and his pals are human. See?"
"I know!" said Patrolman Willis with an edge to his voice. "Last month a
couple of delinks set a ground-truck running downhill, and jumped off
it, and--"
"True," said Sergeant Madden. He rumbled for a moment. "A soldier lives
in a bigger world he tries to matter in. He's protectin' that world and
being admired for it. In old, old days his world was maybe a day's march
across. Later it got to be continents. They tried to make it planets,
but it didn't work. But there've got to be enemies to protect a world
against, or a soldier isn't important. He's got no glamour. Y'see?"
"Yes, sir," said Willis.
"Then there's us cops," said Sergeant Madden wryly. "Mostly we join up
for the glamour. We think it's important to be a cop. But presently we
find we ain't admired. Then there's no more glamour--but we're still
important. A cop matters because he protects people against other people
that want to do things to 'em. Against characters that want to get
important by hurtin' 'em. Being a cop means you matter against all the
delinks and crooks an' fools and murderers who'd pull down civilization
in a minute if they could, just so they could be important because they
did it. But there's no glamour! We're not admired! We just do our job.
And if I sound sentimental, I mean it."
"Yes, sir," said Willis.
"There's a big picture in the big hall in Police Headquarters on Valdez
III," said the sergeant. "It's the story of the cops from the early days
when they wore helmets, and the days when they rode bicycles, and when
they drove ground-cars. There's not only cops, but civilians, in every
one of the panels, Willis. And if you look careful, you'll see that
there's one civilian in every panel that's thumbin' his nose at a cop."
"I've noticed," said Willis.
"Remember it," said Sergeant Madden. "It bears on what we've got to do
to handle these Huks. Soldiers couldn't do what we've got to. They'd
fight, to be admired. We can't. It'd spoil our job. We've got to
persuade 'em to behave themselves."
Then he frowned, as if he were dissatisfied with what he'd said. He
shook his head and made an impatient gesture.
"No good," he said vexedly. "You can't say it. Hm-m-m ... I'll nap a
while until the _Aldeb_ gets here."
He settled back to doze.
Patrolman Willis regarded him with an odd expression. They were aground
on Sirene VIII, on which no human ship had ever landed before them, and
they had stirred up a hornet's nest on Sirene IV, which had orbital
eighty-gee rocket missiles in orbit around it with bust bomb heads and
all the other advantages of civilization. The _Aldeb_ was on the way
with a fifteen-man crew. And seventeen men, altogether, must pit
themselves against an embattled planet with all its population ready and
perhaps eager for war. Their errand was to secure the release of human
prisoners and the surrender of a seized spaceship from a proud and
desperate race.
It did not look promising. Sergeant Madden did not look like the kind of
genius who could carry it through. Dozing, with his chin tilted forward
on his chest, he looked hopelessly commonplace.
* * * * *
The skipper of the _Aldeb_ came over to the squad ship, because Sergeant
Madden loathed spacesuits and there was no air on Sirene VIII. Patrolman
Willis watched as the skipper came wading through the lacy, breast-high
gas-frost. It seemed a pity for such infinitely delicate and beautiful
objects to be broken and crushed.
The sergeant unlocked the lock-door and spoke into a microphone when he
heard the skipper stamping on the steel lock-flooring.
"Brush yourself off," commanded the sergeant, "and sweep the stuff
outside. Part of its methane and there's some ammonia in those
crystals."
There was a suitable pause. The outer door closed. The lock filled with
air, and gas-crystal fragments turned to reeking vapor as they warmed.
The skipper bled them out and refilled the lock. Then he came inside. He
opened his face plate.
"Well?"
"There's Huks here," Sergeant Madden told him, "their hair in a braid
and all set to go. They popped off a marker I stuck out for them to
shoot at in thirty-four seconds by the clock. Bright boys, these Huks!
They don't wait to ask questions. When they see something, they shoot at
it."
The skipper tilted back his helmet and said beseechingly:
"Scratch my head, will you?"
When Patrolman Willis reached out his hand, the skipper revolved his
head under it until the itchy place was scratched. Most men itch
instantly they are unable to scratch. The skipper's space gloves were
sprouting whiskers of moisture-frost now.
"Thanks," he said gratefully. "What are you going to do, sergeant?"
"Open communication with 'em," said the sergeant, heavily.
The skipper waited. Opening communication with someone who shoots on
detector-contact may be difficult.
"I figure," rumbled the sergeant, "they're a lot like delinks. A cop can
figure how they think, but they can't figure how a cop thinks."
"Such as?" asked the skipper.
"They can't understand anybody not tryin' to be important," said
Sergeant Madden. "It baffles 'em."
"What's that got to do with the people on the _Cerberus_?" demanded the
skipper. "It's our job to get them and the _Cerberus_ back on the way to
port!"
"I know!" conceded Sergeant Madden, "and the girl my son Timmy's going
to marry is one of them. But I don't think we'll have much trouble. Have
you got any multipoly plastic on the _Aldeb_?"
The skipper nodded, blankly. Multipoly plastic is a substance as
anomalous as its name. It is a multiple polymer of something-or-other
which stretches very accommodatingly to a surprising expanse, and then
suddenly stops stretching. When it stops, it has a high and obstinate
tensile strength. All ships carry it for temporary repairs, because it
will seal off anything. A one-mill thickness will hold fifteen pounds
pressure. Ships have been known to come down for landing with bubbles of
multipoly glistening out of holes in their hulls. A salvage ship,
especially, would carry an ample supply. A minor convenience in its use
is the fact that a detonator-cap set off at any part of it starts a wave
of disintegration which is too slow to be an explosion and cleans up the
mess made in its application.
"Naturally I've got it," said the skipper. "What do you want with it?"
Sergeant Madden told him. Painfully. Painstakingly.
"The tough part," said the skipper, "is making 'em go out an ejector
tube. But I've got fourteen good men. Give me two hours for the first
batch. We'll make up the second while you're placing them."
Sergeant Madden nodded.
The skipper went into the lock and closed the door behind him. After a
moment Patrolman Willis saw him wading through the incredibly delicate
and fragile gas-ice crystals. Then the _Aldeb_'s lock swallowed him.
* * * * *
The odd thing about the Huk business was the minute scale of the things
that happened, compared to the background in which they took place. The
squad ship, for example, lifted off Sirene VIII for the second time.
She'd been out once and come back for the second batch of multipoly
objects. Sirene VIII was not a giant planet, by any means, but it was a
respectable six thousand miles in diameter. The squad ship's sixty feet
of length was a mote so minute by comparison that no comparison was
possible.
She headed in toward the sun. She winked out of existence into
overdrive. She headed toward Sirene IV, in quadrature, where missile
rockets floated in orbit awaiting the coming of any enemy. The distance
to be traveled was roughly one and a half light-hours--some twelve
astronomical units of ninety-three million miles each.
The squad ship covered that distance in a negligible length of time. It
popped into normality about two hundred thousand miles out from the Huk
home-world. It seemed insolently to remain there. In a matter of seconds
it appeared at another place--a hundred fifty thousand miles out, but
off to one side. It seemed arrogantly to remain there, too--in a second
place at the same time. Then it appeared, with the arbitrary effect a
ship does give when coming out of overdrive, at a third place a hundred
seventy-five thousand miles from the planet. At a fourth place barely
eighty thousand miles short of collision with the Huk world. At a fifth
place. A sixth. Each time it appeared, it seemed to remain in plain,
challenging, insolent view, without ceasing to exist at the spots where
it had appeared previously. In much less than a minute, the seeming of a
sizable squadron of small human ships had popped out of emptiness and
lay off the Huk home world at distances ranging from eighty thousand
miles to three times as much.
Suddenly, light flashed intolerably in emptiness. It was in contact with
one of the seeming squad ships, which ceased to be. But immediately two
more ships appeared at widely different spots. A second flash--giant and
terrible nearby--a pin point of light among the stars. Another
ostensible human ship vanished in atomic flame--but still another
appeared magically from nowhere. A third and then a fourth flash. Three
more within successive seconds.
Squad ships continued to appear as if by necromancy, and space near the
planet was streaked by flarings of white vapor as eighty-gee rockets
hurled themselves to destruction against the invading objects. As each
bomb went off, its light was brighter than the sun. But each was a mere
flicker in enormousness. They flashed, and flashed--Each was a bomb
turning forty kilograms of matter into pure, raw, raging destruction.
Each was devastation sufficient to destroy the greatest city the galaxy
ever knew.
But in that appalling emptiness they were mere scintillations. In the
background of a solar system's vastness they made all the doings of men
and Huks alike seem ludicrous.
For a long time--perhaps five minutes, perhaps ten--the flashings which
were the most terrible of all weapons continued. Each flash destroyed
something which, in scale, was less than a dust mote. But more motes
appeared, and more and more and more.
And presently the flashes grew infrequent. The threads of vapor which
led to each grew longer. In a little while they came from halfway around
the planet. Then squad ships appeared even there. And immediately pin
points of intolerable brilliance destroyed them--yet never as fast as
they appeared.
Finally there came ten seconds in which no atomic flame ravened in
emptiness. One more glitter. Fifteen seconds. Twenty. Thirty seconds
without a flashing of atomic explosive--
The surviving objects which appeared to be squad ships hung in space.
They moved without plan. They swam through space without destination.
Presently the most unobservant of watches must have perceived that their
movement was random. That they were not driven. That they had no
purpose. That they were not squad ships but targets--and not even robot
targets--set out for the missile rockets of the Huk planet to expend
themselves on.
The missile rockets had expended themselves.
So Sergeant Madden opened communication with the Huks.
* * * * *
"These Huks," observed Sergeant Madden as the squad ship descended to
the Huk planet's surface, "they must've had a share in the scrapping
eighty years ago. They've got everything the old-time Huks had. They've
even got recordings of human talk from civilian human prisoners of years
gone by. And they kept somebody able to talk it--for when they fought
with us!"
Patrolman Willis did not answer. He had a strange expression on his
face. At the moment they were already within the Huk home-planet's
atmosphere. From time to time a heavily accented voice gave curt
instructions. It was a Huk voice, telling Patrolman Willis how to guide
the squad ship to ground where--under truce--Sergeant Madden might hold
conference with Huk authorities.
"_Hold the course_," said the voice. "_That is r-right. Do as you are._"
The horizon had ceased to be curved minutes ago. Now the ground rose
gradually. The ground was green. Large green growths clustered off to
one side of the flat area where the ship was to alight. They were the
equivalent of trees on this planet. Undoubtedly there were equivalents
of grass and shrubs, and seed-bearing and root-propagating vegetation,
and Huks would make use of some seeds and roots for food. Because in
order to have a civilization one has to have a larger food-supply than
can be provided by even the thriftiest of grazing animals. But the Huks
or their ancestors would need to have been flesh-eaters also, for brains
to be useful in hunting and therefore for mental activity to be
recognized as useful. A vegetarian community can maintain a
civilization, but it has to start off on meat.
A clump of ground-cars waited for the squad ship's landing. The ship
touched, delicately. Sergeant Madden rumbled and got out of his chair.
Patrolman Willis looked at him uneasily.
"Huh!" said Sergeant Madden. "Of course you can come. You want them to
think we're bluffing? No. Nothing to fight with. The Huks think our
fleet's set to do the fighting."
He undogged the exit door and went out through the small vestibule which
was also the ship's air lock. Patrolman Willis joined him out-of-doors.
The air was fresh. The sky was blue. Clouds floated in the sky, and
growing things gave off a not-unpleasant odor, and a breeze blew
uncertainly. But such things happen on appropriate planets in most
sol-type solar systems.
Huks came toward them. Stiffly. Defiantly. The most conspicuous
difference between Huks and humans was of degree. Huks grew hair all
over their heads, instead of only parts of it. But they wore garments,
and some of the garments were identical and impressive, so they could be
guessed to be uniforms.
"How-do," said the voice that had guided the ship down. "We are r-ready
to listen to your message."
Sergeant Madden said heavily:
"We humans believe you Huks have got a good fleet. We believe you've got
a good army. We know you've got good rockets and a fighting force that's
worth a lot to us. We want to make a treaty for you to take over and
defend as much territory as you're able to, against some characters
heading this way from the Coalsack region."
Silence. The interpreter translated, and the Huks muttered astonishedly
among themselves. The interpreter received instructions.
"Do you mean others of our r-race?" he demanded haughtily. "Members of
our own r-race who r-return to r-recover their home worlds from humans?"
"Hell, no!" said Sergeant Madden dourly. "If you can get in contact with
them and bring them back, they can have their former planets back and
more besides--if they'll defend 'em. We're stretched thin. We didn't
come here to fight your fleet. We came to ask it to join us."
More mutterings. The interpreter faced about.
"This surpr-rises us," he said darkly. "We know of no danger in the
direction you speak of. Per-rhaps we would wish to make fr-riends with
that danger instead of you!"
Sergeant Madden snorted.
"You're welcome!" Then he said sardonically: "If you're able to reach us
after you try, the offer stands. Join us, and you'll give your own
commands and make your own decisions. We'll co-operate with you. But you
won't make friends with the characters I'm talking about! Not hardly!"
More hurried discussions still. The interpreter, defiantly: "And if we
r-refuse to join you?"
Sergeant Madden shrugged.
"Nothing. You'll fight on your own, anyhow. So will we. If we joined up
we could both fight better. I came to try to arrange so we'd both be
stronger. We need you. You need us."
* * * * *
There was a pause. Patrolman Willis swallowed. At five-million-mile
intervals, in a circle fifty million miles across with the Huk world as
its center, objects floated in space. Patrolman Willis knew about them,
because he and Sergeant Madden had put them there immediately after the
missile rockets ceased to explode. He knew what they were, and his spine
crawled at the thought of what would happen if the Huks found out. But
the distant objects were at the limit of certain range for detection
devices. The planet's instruments could just barely pick them up. They
subtended so small a fraction of a thousandth of a second of arc that no
information could be had about them.
But they acted like a monstrous space fleet, ready to pour down
war-headed missiles in such numbers as to smother the planet in atomic
flame. Patrolman Willis could not imagine admitting that such a supposed
fleet needed another fleet to help it. A military man, bluffing as
Sergeant Madden bluffed, would not have dared offer any terms less
onerous than abject surrender. But Sergeant Madden was a cop. It was not
his purpose to make anybody surrender. His job was, ultimately, to make
them behave.
The Huks conferred. The conference was lengthy. The interpreter turned
to Sergeant Madden and spoke with vast dignity and caginess:
"When do you r-require an answer?"
"We don't," grunted Sergeant Madden. "When you make up your minds, send
a ship to Varenga III. We'll give you the information we've got. That's
whether you fight with us or independent. You'll fight, once you meet
these characters! We don't worry about that! Just ... we can do better
together." Then he said: "Have you got the co-ordinates for Varenga? I
don't know what you call it in your language."
"We have them," said the interpreter, still suspiciously.
"Right!" said Sergeant Madden. "That's all. We came here to tell you
this. Let us know when you make up your minds. Now we'll go back."
He turned as if to trudge back to the squad ship. And this, of course,
was the moment when the difference between a military and a cop mind was
greatest. A military man, with the defenses of the planet smashed--or
exhausted--and an apparent overwhelming force behind him, would have
tried to get the _Cerberus_ and its company turned over to him either by
implied or explicit threats. Sergeant Madden did not mention them. But
he had made it necessary for the Huks to do something.
They'd been shocked to numbness by the discovery that humans knew of
their presence on Sirene IV. They'd been made aghast by the brisk and
competent nullification of their eighty-gee rocket defenses. They'd been
appalled by the appearance of a space fleet which--if it had been a
space fleet--could have blasted the planet to a cinder. And then they
were bewildered that the humans asked no submission--not even promises
from them.
There was only one conclusion to be drawn. It was that if the humans
were willing to be friendly, it would be a good idea to agree. Another
idea followed. A grand gesture by Huks would be an even better idea.
"Wait!" said the interpreter. He turned. A momentary further discussion
among the Huks. The interpreter turned back.
"There is a ship here," he said uneasily. "It is a human ship. There are
humans in it. The ship is disabled."
Sergeant Madden affected surprise.
"Yeah? How come?"
"It ar-rived two days ago," said the interpreter. Then he plunged. "We
br-rought it. We have a mine on what you call Pr-rocyron Three. The
human ship landed, because it was disabled. It discovered our ship and
our mine there. We wished to keep the mine secret. Because the humans
had found out our secret, we br-rought them here. And the ship. It is
disabled."
"Hm-m-m," said Sergeant Madden. "I'll send a repair-boat down to fix
whatever's the matter with it. Of course you won't mind." He turned
away, and turned back. "One of the solar systems we'd like you to take
over and defend," he observed, "is Procyron. I haven't a list of the
others, but when your ship comes over to Varenga it'll be ready. Talk
our repair-boat down, will you? We'll appreciate anything you can do to
help get the ship back out in space with its passengers, but our
repair-boat can manage."
He waved his hand negligently and went back to the squad ship. He got
in. Patrolman Willis followed him.
"Take her up," said Sergeant Madden.
The squad ship fell toward the sky. Sergeant Madden said satisfiedly:
"That went off pretty good. From now on it's just routine."
* * * * *
There was a bubble in emptiness. It was a large bubble, as such things
go. It was nearly a thousand feet in diameter, and it was made of
multipoly plastic which is nearly as anomalous as its name. The bubble
contained almost an ounce of helium. It had a three-inch small box at
one point on its surface. It floated some twenty-five million miles from
the Huk planet, and five million miles from another bubble which was its
identical twin. It could reflect detector-pulses. In so doing it
impersonated a giant fighting ship.
Something like an hour after the squad ship rose from Sirene IV, a
detonator-cap exploded in the three-inch box. It tore the box to atoms
and initiated a wave of disintegration in the plastic of the bubble. The
helium bubble-content escaped and was lost. The plastic itself turned to
gas and disappeared.
The bubble had been capable of exactly two actions. It could reflect
detector-pulses. In doing so, it had impersonated a giant fighting ship,
member of an irresistible fleet. It could also destroy itself. In so
doing, it impersonated a giant fighting ship--one of a fleet--going into
overdrive.
In rapid succession, all the bubbles which were members of a
non-existent fighting fleet winked out of existence about Sirene IV.
There were a great many of them, and no trace of any remained.
The last was long gone when a small salvage ship descended to the Huk
home planet. A heavily accented voice talked it down.
The salvage ship landed amid evidences of cordiality. The Huks were
extremely co-operative. They even supplied materials for the repair job
on the _Cerberus_, including landing rockets to be used in case of need.
But they weren't needed for take-off. The _Cerberus_ had been landed at
a Huk spaceport, which obligingly lifted it out to space again when its
drive had been replaced.
* * * * *
And the squad ship sped through emptiness at a not easily believable
multiple of the speed of light. Sergeant Madden dozed, while Patrolman
Willis performed such actions as were necessary for the progress of the
ship. They were very few. But Patrolman Willis thought feverishly.
After a long time Sergeant Madden waked, and blinked, and looked
benignly at Patrolman Willis.
"You'll be back with your wife soon, Willis," he said encouragingly.
"Yes, sir." Then the patrolman said explosively: "Sergeant! There's
nothing coming from the Coalsack way! There's nothing for the Huks to
fight!"
"True, at the moment," admitted Sergeant Madden, "but something could
come. Not likely--But you see, Willis, the Huks have had armed forces
for a long time. They've glamour. They're not ready to cut down and have
only cops, like us humans. It wouldn't be reasonable to tell 'em the
truth--that there's no need for their fighting men. They'd make a need!
So they'll stand guard happily against some kind of monstrosities we'll
have Special Cases invent for them. They'll stand guard zestful for
years and years! Didn't they do the same against us? But now they're
proud that even we humans, that they were scared of, ask them to help
us. So presently they'll send some Huks over to go through the Police
Academy, and then presently there'll be a sub-precinct station over
there, with Huks in charge, and ... why ... that'll be that."
"But they want planets--"
Sergeant Madden shrugged.
"There's plenty, Willis. The guess is six thousand million planets fit
for humans in this galaxy. And by the time we've used them up,
somebody'll have worked out a drive to take us to the next galaxy to
start all over. There's no need to worry about that! And for
immediate--does it occur to you how many men are going to start getting
rich because there's a brand-new planet that's got a lot of things we
humans would like to have, and wants to buy a lot of things the Huks
haven't got?"
Patrolman Willis subsided. But presently he said:
"Sergeant ... what'd you have done if they hadn't told you about the
_Cerberus_?"
Sergeant Madden snorted.
"It's unthinkable! We waltzed in there, and told them a tale, and showed
every sign of walkin' right out again without askin' them a thing. They
couldn't even tell us to go to hell, because it looked like we didn't
care what they said. It was insupportable, Willis! Characters that make
trouble, Willis, do it to feel important. And we'd left them without a
thing to tell us that was important enough to mention--unless they told
us about the _Cerberus_. We had 'em baffled. They needed to say
something, and that was the only thing they could say!"
He yawned.
"The _Aldeb_ reports everybody on the _Cerberus_ safe and sound, only
frightened, and the skipper said Timmy's girl was less scared than most.
I'm pleased. Timmy's getting married, and I wouldn't want my
grandchildren to have a scary mother!"
He looked at the squad ship's instruments. There was a long way yet to
travel.
"A-h-h-h! It's a dull business this, overdrive," he said somnolently.
"And it's amazing how much a man can sleep when everything's in hand,
and there's nothing ahead but a wedding and a few things like that. Just
routine, Willis. Just routine!"
He settled himself more comfortably as the squad ship went on home.