"What's wrong with marrying a Terran trooper?"

Now the Ambassador interrupted. "My dear Colonel let us keep to the subject, for heaven's sake. We have something better to do than discuss the merits of Terran-Hygeian wedded bliss. What we have to consider are the terms on which representation may be established upon this planet." Then he turned to the Mayor. "Excuse me-I won't be a minute."

He went out, hurried to the lounge, found Lieutenant Deacon there. "Lieutenant, I'd like you to conduct the mayoral party here while we talk over their proposals in private. Seat them comfortably and provide them with drinks." He favored the other with a fat wink. "Plenty of drinks."

"Plenty?" repeated Deacon.

"That's what I said. These nudists are far too healthy, smug and self-satisfied for my liking. I think it might be a good thing if the Mayor had to be carried home blowing fumes through his whiskers. I hope you grasp my meaning, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Your Excellency-I'll tend to it."

Returning followed by Deacon, the Ambassador said to the Hygeians, "We'd like to discuss your conditions between ourselves, if you don't mind. The Lieutenant will take you to the lounge. We'll inform you of our decision as soon as possible."

Raising no objection, the Mayor and his men departed in the wake of Deacon. When they had gone, the Ambassador rubbed his hands together and spoke briskly.

"Let's not get side-tracked. There's only one question to answer-do we accept their proposition or do we not?"

"I don't like it," said Shelton moodily.

"Your reasons?"

"They're dictating terms to us instead of us to them."

"It's their world," offered Grayder.

"It'll be our grief if they're attacked from outside," Shelton retorted. "Since our strength is considerable while theirs is negligible the brunt of the battle will fall upon us. If they want Terran protection they should buy it at our price."

"You think there's a seller's market in protection, eh?" asked the Ambassador.

"Sure there is. We have the arms, ships and men. We have the industrial power, the productive capacity, the technical know-how. The Hygeians have nothing worth mentioning, not even clothes."

"That may be so," the Ambassador said. "But where's the seller's market without a buyer?"

"They're buying all right-otherwise they wouldn't have decided to accept our offer."

"I'm not so sure about that. I don't think they really consider themselves in danger of alien invasion or that they really want a mutual defense pact. I suspect that they're playing ball, within limits, in the hope of getting something out of it. It wouldn't surprise me if they didn't try to turn our own story against us; they'll use this hypothetical threat as an excuse to cadge machine-tools from us. Or anything else they need." The Ambassador looked at Grayder. "What are your views?"

"Half a loaf is better than no bread."

"I agree. This island they've offered us will be a Terran foothold even if a small, restricted one. At later date some pretext will be found for expanding it. After all, the authorities can't expect us to zoom around confiscating entire planets with the limited force on this one ship. If high policy requires that we get tough let them send out the fleet." He thought awhile, finished, "If we accept the Hygeian offer we'll have achieved what we were sent out to do. I'm in favor of accepting and leaving our powers-that-be to cope with any subsequent quibbles. What do you say?"

"We've two more planets yet to visit," reminded Grayder. "Nobody knows what complications we'll have to face on those. Or how much time it will take. The sooner we finish with this one and move on, the better."

"I can't outvote the two of you," said Shelton with bad grace.

"That makes it unanimous," declared the Ambassador. "Let us go tell them and join their drunken celebration."

Chapter 6.

The Mayor greeted them with, "You have strange ideas of hospitality." He pointed his pole at Deacon.

"He invited us to ruin our digestive tracts with alcohol."

"It's a Terran custom," explained the Ambassador, taken aback.

"I don't doubt that," responded the Mayor, accepting that Terrans were capable of any iniquity. "If it pleases you to degenerate into hopeless sots, that is wholly your own affair. But don't expect us to join you in such depravity. There is only one drink fit for a healthy mind in a healthy body." He turned to his councilors. "And what is that?"

"Pure, clear water," they chorused.

"You should examine water through a powerful microscope," the Ambassador suggested. "It looks like germ-soup."

"Probably it does-on Terra," agreed the Mayor. "And if this ship's tanks are full of the stuff you're welcome to it." He dismissed the unpleasant subject with a gesture, went on, "Have you reached a decision? What do you want me to tell our government?"

"We accept their offer."

"And how soon will you be ready to disembark the men and equipment?" "We'll have to transfer the ship to the island or somewhere adjacent providing there's a suitable landing-place in that locality. We can't dump it anywhere because we can sit only on solid bedrock." "The island won't do. It has woods, gardens and cultivated fields. Also a number of buildings including an excellent gymnasium. That's what your men could really do with, a gymnasium, isn't it?"

"Maybe." "Landing a vessel this size would create a lot of unnecessary destruction," the Mayor asserted. "As for the areas on either side of the Sambar, they are soft earth and full of farms. I think it would be easiest to discharge your men and supplies right here."

"And how will they get to the island?" inquired the Ambassador.

"We'll provide horse transport for all the heavy stuff. The men themselves can walk."

"Walk?" echoed the Ambassador.

"Walk?" exclaimed Shelton as if he'd never heard of such a thing.

"A three days' march won't kill them," the Mayor said. "They can't be all that

feeble."

The Ambassador appealed to Grayder. "Couldn't we use one or two of the ship's lifeboats?"

"No, Your Excellency."

"Why not?"

"They aren't designed for short hops."

"This is a nice fix. We bring men thousands of millions of miles in the very latest type of superfast spaceship and then expect them to go the rest of the way on their feet."

"What are feet for?" asked the Mayor.

Unable to concoct a telling reply to that question, the Ambassador evaded it by saying, "All right. We'll unload our men and supplies here."

"Can you have them ready early tomorrow morning?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

"We'll cut a track through the fields and have a horse-and-cart convoy up the hill by that time. It would be best to start the journey as soon as possible so that the travelers will have a full day ahead of them. Chronic drinkers and smokers will totter along at only half our pace."

"You don't know my space-troopers," interjected Shelton with some annoyance.

"Let it pass, Colonel," ordered the Ambassador. Then to the Mayor, "We'll be ready in the morning."

"Then I'll inform the government and make the necessary preparations."

Lieutenant Deacon led the party out. At the bottom of the gangway there was the usual parade while Gerpongo went through his delousing act. For some time the Ambassador stood by an observation-port watching their progress until they emerged from the fields and onto the road.

"I have a feeling," he said, "that those raw boys are eager to be rid of us. The sooner we depart for the next planet the better they'll like it."

"Maybe they're planning to cut every Terran throat the moment we've gone," hazarded Shelton.

"Nonsense, Colonel. They have everything to gain and nothing to lose by keeping their side of the bargain."

"Then why should they want us out of the way?"

"The motive is psychological," said the Ambassador, looking profound. "They don't mind having some of our men around, especially since they can point to them as an inferior species. But they don't like the presence of this ship. It's a symbol of power. They can exhibit nothing to compete with it. They have no ships themselves and they'll be glad to see the last of this one."

"It won't break my heart to part, either," Shelton assured. "I've had enough of nudity and impertinence."

Taking a small book from his pocket the Ambassador consulted it. "I have available three consuls each with a staff of twenty civil servants. Maybe I had better ask whether any one of them would like this post on Hygeia. I don't want to start giving orders unless I have to. A volunteer is better than a conscript."

"My instructions are that the bodyguard must also be chosen on a voluntary basis," informed Shelton disapprovingly.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Regulations demand that a consular bodyguard shall be of not less than company strength: two officers, eight N.C.O.'s and forty men. Where am I if less than that number offer to go?"

"You'll have to cajole them somehow."

"With all respect, Your Excellency, a commanding officer does not cajole his subordinates."

"Well, convince the reluctant ones that the alternative will be prolonged suffering at your hands. You then get more men than you need."

"Bidworthy is the man to handle it," said Shelton. "I'll pass it to him-that's what he's for."

He hustled away in search of that character.

An hour later Bidworthy paraded D Company in the troops' quarters. Standing aggressively before them, he examined them with a jaundiced eye, cleared his throat and gave forth in manner that brooks no argument.

"A body guard is required for the Terran Consul about to be placed on this planet. The following men have volunteered: Abelson, Adams, Allcock, Baker, Barker, Bunting--" In the same tone of voice he ran right through D Company's roster to the last man, then barked, "All you volunteers will parade in full kit outside the midway airlock at eight hours tomorrow. Any absentees will be charged with mutinous conduct and dealt with accordingly."

That done, he sprayed them with a challenging glare. In spite of this, Trooper Yensen took one step forward and spoke nervously.

"Your pardon, Sergeant Major but I didn't give my name for--"

"What?" shouted Bidworthy. "What d'you mean?" He waved his list in Yensen's face. "It's down here, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, Sergeant Major," Yensen faltered.

"You suppose so? You actually suppose so? Do you dare to doubt my word?" Straightening the paper with a jerk, he held it before the other's eyes, pointed with a thick finger. "Whose name is that?"

"Mine," admitted Yensen.

"Then it's on the list. You can't volunteer one minute and devolunteer the next"

"But, Sergeant Major--"

"Silence! If you don't know your own mind I'm the man to make it up for you." He added with menace thick enough to hang in the air like smoke, "You wouldn't care for your name to appear on some other list, would you?"

"No, Sergeant Major," said Yensen, suddenly leery. He took a pace back into the ranks and brooded.

"Anyone else want to quibble?" asked Bidworthy, ready to summon a firing squad.

Nobody responded.

"Right. Eight hours. Full kit."

He clanked away on steel-shod boots, entered the chart-room, saluted. "I have to report, sir, that D Company volunteered to a man."

"Did they really?" said Shelton, proud and gratified. "That's fine. Thank you, Sergeant Major."

It had to be admitted that within their peculiar limits the Hygeians were fast-moving and efficient. A bunch of them worked in the night and cut a path eight feet wide through the standing grain. Soon after dawn a dozen horses and carts appeared, trundled creakily to the top of the ridge and lined up near the gangway. With them came twelve over-muscled Public Guardians and one sharp-nosed, shrewd-eyed character who wore a pair of ornamental garters above his knees. This last person had himself taken to the chartroom where he gave forth with official formality.

"Health be yours."

"Thank you," said the Ambassador, staring fascinatedly at the garters.

"I am Smaile of the Ministry." Digging some papers out of his shoulder-bag, he put them on the desk. "I have brought two documentary copies of the agreement negotiated by Mayor Bouchaine. We have signed and now require your signature also."

"Right." The Ambassador felt for his pen.

"I have been told to draw to your attention an extra clause that we have decided to include," Smaile added. Picking up a copy, he read it aloud. "The Terran Consul upon this planet shall be regarded as his world's representative to the whole of Hygeia and not to any specific part thereof."

"What does that mean?" asked the Ambassador suspiciously.