"That we've been fools."
Sims sighed. "That's nothing new. We've been fools since the day we
left Earth to try and conquer the stars."
"That's not what I mean, sir. I mean that we've been going at this
Niobe business the wrong way. What we need is to understand the
natives, instead of trying to understand the planet."
"Out of the mouths of babes and probationers--" Sims said with gentle
irony.
"It pays off," Lanceford replied doggedly. "Take my case. I've found
out why the natives are insect-proof!"
"That's a new wrinkle. Can you prove it?"
"Certainly. I came the last hundred miles in shorts."
"What happened to your suit?"
"Kron destroyed it accidentally."
"Accidentally--hah!" Sims snorted. "Niobians never do things
accidentally."
* * * * *
Lanceford looked sharply at the director. The observation carried a
wealth of implications that his sharpened senses were quick to grasp.
"Then you know the natives aren't simple savages, the way we were
taught in Basic Training?"
"Of course! They're a non-technical Class V at the very least--maybe
higher. Somehow they've never oriented their civilization along
mechanical lines, or maybe they tried it once and found it wanting.
But no one in the upper echelons has ever thought they were stupid or
uncivilized."
"Then why--"
"Later," Sims said. "You're entitled to an explanation, but right
now I'd appreciate it if you'd finish your statement. What makes the
natives insect-proof?"
"Vorkum."
"That gunk?"
"That's the repellent."
"In more ways than one," Sims said.
"It's not so bad after you get used to it. It just smells awful at
first."
"That's an understatement, if I ever heard one."
* * * * *
"Perhaps the lab can analyze it and find the active principle,"
Lanceford said hopefully.
"If they do, I'll bet it is distilled quintessence of skunk," Sims
replied gloomily. "I'll be willing to bet that our native friends tried
that trick ages ago and gave it up for a bad job. They're pretty fair
biochemists as well as being philosophers."
"Could be," Lanceford said thoughtfully. "I never thought of that."
"You'd better start thinking all the time. These lads are _smart_.
Why do you think we have this complicated rigmarole about native
relations and respect? Man, we're running scared. We don't want to
lose this planet, and anything less than the kid-glove treatment would
be sheer suicide until we learn how far we can go. These natives have
an organization that'd knock your eye out. I didn't believe it myself
until I got the proof. As you learn more about it, you'll understand
what I mean. We're dealing with an ecological _unit_ on this planet!"
"But I thought--"
"That you were here to explore a primitive world?"
"Wasn't that what I was trained for?"
"No. We can do that sort of thing with a couple of geodetic cruisers.
We don't need men trekking through the jungles to assay a world's
physical resources. That business went out of date during the Dark
Ages. There's a better reason than that for these treks."
"Like what?"
"You asked the question. Now answer it," Sims said. "You have enough
data."
Lanceford thought for a moment "I can see one reason," he said slowly.
"Yes?"
"The trek could be a test. It could be used to determine whether or
not the probationer was a survival type--a sort of final examination
before he's turned loose in a responsible job here in the BEE."
* * * * *
Sims smiled. "Bull's-eye! It's part of the speedup--a pretty brutal
part, but one that can't be helped if we want to get this planet
in line quickly enough to stop the riot that's brewing in the
Confederation. It's as much for Niobe's good as ours, because the
Confederation wants that gerontin like an alcoholic wants another
drink--and they're not going to wait for normal exploration and
development. That's why the treks. It's a tough course. Failure can and
often does mean death. Usually we can pull a misfit out in time, but
not always. If you live through the trek and we don't have to pull you
out, though, you've proved yourself a survival type--and you're over
the first hurdle.
"Then we check with your guide and anyone you happen to meet en route.
The natives are very cooperative about such things. If you pass their
evaluation, you're ready to join the club. It's been forming ever since
we landed here two years ago, but it's still pretty exclusive. It's the
nucleus of the BEE's mission here, the one that'll get things rolling
with the gerontin plantations. We'll know about you in a few more
minutes after the Cyb Unit gets through processing your data." Sims
grinned at the thunderstruck youngster.
Lanceford nodded glumly. "I'll probably fail. I sure didn't use my
head. I never caught the significance of the trek, I failed to deduce
the reason for the insect-repellent qualities of the natives, and I
missed the implications of their culture until I had almost reached
Base. Those things are obvious. Any analytical brain would have figured
them out."
"They're only obvious when you know what you're looking for," Sims said
gently. "Personally, I think you did an excellent job, considering the
handicaps you have faced. And the discovery of the vorkum was masterly."
Lanceford blushed. "I hate to admit it, but Kron literally shoved the
stuff down my throat."
"I didn't mean the _method_ by which you learned that vorkum was the
stuff we've been searching for," Sims said. "I meant the _results_ you
obtained. Results are what count in this business. Call it luck if you
wish, but there is more to it than that. Some people are just naturally
lucky and those are the sort we need here. They're survival types. A
lot is going to depend on having those so-called lucky people in the
right places when we settle Niobe's status in the Confederation."
He paused as the message tube beside his desk burped a faint hiss of
compressed air and a carrier dropped out into the receiving basket.
"Somehow I think that this is your membership card to the club," he
said. He read it, smiled, and passed the sheet to Lanceford. "And now,
Arthur, before I appoint you as a Niobe Staff member, I'd like to know
one thing."
"What is that, sir?"
"Just why in the name of hell did you bring that pack in here with you?
I've just realized where that smell is coming from!"
"I didn't dare leave it anywhere," Lanceford said. "Someone might have
thrown it down a disposal chute."
"I wouldn't blame them. That's vorkum you have in there, isn't it?"