"If the Douks want to dicker with you Terrans they must do so through us. You may not appoint another representative specifically for them. They have no government anyway. They don't recognize anyone's authority except insofar as it suits them to do so. Ours is the only established government upon Hygeia. You must deal with us and with nobody else."

After some thought, the Ambassador said, "I see nothing wrong with that. There's no point in us taking up with a small, unorganized group of pious anarchists."

He signed the agreement with a flourish, handed back one copy. Smaile carefully put it in his bag, spoke again.

"Do your men intend to travel clothed or unclothed?"

"Why?"

"The shortest route to their destination lies through two towns and eight large villages. If your men insist upon keeping themselves covered they'll have to bypass those places and add fifteen to twenty miles to their journey. We cannot permit a parade of blatant immorality through our centers of population."

"Some people will see them no matter which way they go," the Ambassador pointed out.

"Yaz, unfortunately," admitted Smaile. "And they will be offended by a procession of the filthy-minded. Can't you persuade them to undress and at least look decent?"

"No, I can't. The Consul has flatly refused to accept his post if he has to go to it naked. I talked him into it only by promising that he can wear what he pleases. The same applies to the whole of his staff."

"If their idea of high diplomacy is to advertise their lewd-ness for all to see," opined Smaile, "they won't make much progress on this world. But I suppose that even the most depraved of Terrans is not beyond reform. Given enough time we may cure them-I hope."

"There's room for it," conceded the Ambassador, thinking of the chosen Consul who was a tall, weedy sample with a red-tipped nose and a perpetual snuffle. He waited until Smaile had departed, then said to the others, "They seem touchy about these Doukhobors in spite of the fact that they're few in numbers. It's evident that they regard them as unmitigated nuisance. I must emphasize this in may report to Terra. A time may come when we'll find it very convenient to rush to the rescue of an oppressed minority."

"Think we should try to make contact with the Douks while we're here?" Shelton suggested.

"The idea is tempting but I don't think it wise. It might spoil the present set-up. We'll save them until we need them as an excuse for something or other."

"Such as?" prompted Grayder.

"Well, if at later date Terra finds it expedient to become rough with these Hygeians we can use the Douks as some sort of justification. At immense cost and great sacrifice we shall be liberating them from cruel masters. You must remember, my dear Captain, that whatever Terra sees fit to do is invariably done from the loftiest of motives. There is nothing materialistic or sordid about our space policy. It is born of far-sighted wisdom, high ideals and spiritual values. Isn't that so, Colonel?"

"Yaz," said Shelton absentmindedly.

"A linguist," commented the Ambassador. "Three days and he speaks the local language with complete fluency."

"Eh? What's that, Your Excellency?" asked Shelton, waking up.

"Forget it. Let us go and witness our first memorable step towards claiming an empire."

He left the room, the others following. They reached the airlock, stood at the top of the gangway and looked down.

Already the carts were loaded. The first four bore the parts of two long-range transmitters. The fifth held the smaller and lighter receivers. All the components of a big antenna were in the sixth. A small atomic engine and a large generator occupied the seventh and eighth. The remaining four were piled high with personal luggage plus a generous stock of health-ruining alcohol and tobacco.

Near the bottom of the gangway a disillusioned-looking civil servant was chain-smoking with more speed than enthusiasm. Nearby two Public Guardians and one cart driver showed unconcealed revulsion. The smoker let go a racking cough; the onlookers exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. The smoker coughed again and the others backed away hastily.

Farther out D Company stood in three ranks burdened to the ears with arms and equipment. Not one man showed any sign of giving way to transports of delight. They posed in glum silence, each bent forward with the weight of stuff on his chest and back.

Bidworthy marched slowly along the lines, inspecting them front and rear. It was his last chance to remind this particular bunch that their parents had made a ghastly mistake. He knew it and they knew it. But he was seriously handicapped by two facts: firstly, the top brass was watching and, secondly, there was no way of ordering punishment for an offender soon to depart.

In the middle of the rear rank he came to a dead stop and stared at Trooper Bunting. The object of his attention was blissfully unaware of this scrutiny because nothing was visible save the pair of boots immediately in front of him. As burdened as a Christmas tree, Trooper Bunting was wearing a size ten helmet on a size seven head with the inevitable result that it appeared to rest on his shoulders.

Surveying this apparition with slowly purpling face, Bid-worthy let his gaze drift to the next man and there found the opposite effect. Trooper Veitch had a size seven helmet perched like a pimple on top of a size ten cranium. Veitch fidgeted uneasily; he knew that he was about to be picked on but for the life of him could not imagine why.

"Veitch," said Bidworthy in strangled tones.

"Yes, Sergeant Major?"

"Are you compos mentis?"

"How's that again, Sergeant Major?"

"Is that your own helmet?"

"I think somebody squashed it a bit, Sergeant Major," explained Veitch apologetically. "A lot of stuff got tossed around when the ship--"

"Don't give me that!" yelled Bidworthy. He snatched the two helmets, swapped them around, slapped them back on the other's heads. Both fitted. Bunting was vaguely surprised, Veitch astonished. "When they inducted you two dopes," declared Bidworthy in clarion tones, "they were scraping the bottom of the barrel." Snorting like an angry warhorse, he tramped to the front, halted before the officer in command of D Company, saluted and rasped, "All present and correct, sir."

Now the carts started forward and lumbered down the slope with brake-blocks squeaking. The Consul and his staff straggled behind without rhythm or array as is customary with civilians. D Company slung weapons from shoulders, started a precise march made difficult by the slow pace of those ahead of them, a funereal tread more suitable for following a coffin with a flag over it. A torrent of fond farewell's rained upon them from the ship's open ports.

"Where's the body?"

"Hey Markovitch, you've left your pants on."

"Give 'em hell, boys!"

"Bellies in, chests out-c'mon, smarten up, you burns!"

"Onward Christian soldiers."

"Silence!" roared Bidworthy.

"Ain't nobody here named Silas," informed a voice from the ship.

"Who's that?" Bidworthy yelled, trying to survey two hundred ports at once.

"Who dat say "Who dat?" responded the voice mockingly. "Is you where you is or

is you ain't?"

Bidworthy made a vengeful dash for the gangway, raced up it, shot through the airlock with a brief, "Pardon me, Colonel," and disappeared into the ship. "Look out!" warned another voice. "The bull has broken loose!"

Grayder remarked meditatively, "Discipline is the thing." Shelton said nothing.

When the last of the cavalcade had ambled from sight the Ambassador said, "That's that!" He returned with the others to the lounge, poured himself a generous drink, sprawled in a chair. "We have now a foothold on Hygeia. It is Terra's responsibility to enlarge and strengthen it as time goes on."

"Yes, Your Excellency," said Shelton.

"I'll make out an official report describing what has been done. Will you have it transmitted as swiftly as possible, Captain?"

"Certainly, Your Excellency," assured Grayder.

"Good!" He sipped his drink, went on, "Now that this job is finished we might as well push on to the next one. I know of no irresistible attractions that make it worth our while to remain here. We have nothing to gain by hanging around. What do you say?"

"I'll have to see First Mate Morgan before we can go."

"Morgan? Why? What has he got to do with it? He is not in charge of this ship."

"The men are entitled to liberty. I cannot deprive them of that right without their consent. Morgan organizes the rosters and only he can tell me whether the men are willing to go on or whether they insist on taking their leave in full."

The Ambassador pulled a face. "All right, you consult him. Tell him we want to depart as soon as possible."

Grayder phoned for Morgan and when he arrived said, "Mr. Morgan, we plan to boost away just as soon as the men are ready-what is the position with regard to their liberty?"

"Not so good, sir. The fellows want lots of life, female company and fun. They aren't getting it. Some refuse to exhibit themselves naked. Those who are willing to undress have found that they aren't allowed in town. That leaves them with nothing to do except lie in the grass or mooch around the fields. I think most of them are pretty fed up."

"They may be luckier next time," Grayder suggested. "It's hardly likely that yet another planet will view us as vermin."

"No, sir," agreed Morgan, frowning.

"See the men and put it to them," ordered Grayder. "Let me know as soon as you can whether they are willing to forego their remaining leave for the sake of getting someplace better."

It was two hours before Morgan returned with the news. "All the fellows I can find, sir, are in favor of leaving this world and trying the next one. But a party of ten had left for a walk to the forest and said they wouldn't be back before late in the afternoon."

"Why have they gone there?" asked Grayder. "Just for the stroll?"

"That's right, sir. They said they didn't think any big, fat cops would be waiting to heave them out of the woods. Sergeant Gleed's squad is also absent, sir. He marched them away to a nearby farm about an hour ago."

"What for?" put in Shelton suspiciously.

"Tenth Engineer Harrison tells me that Sergeant Gleed got talking to two local nudies named Boogie and Pincuff who were working in the fields this morning. He fed them a story about how we'd lacked a balanced diet since birth and how the Terran authorities kept us in subjection by depriving us of nourishment." Morgan showed the embarrassment of one not sure whether he was being sneaky. "He complimented them repeatedly on their magnificent manhood, made a number of envious remarks about their physique and finally cadged from them two cartloads of fresh vegetables and fruit. He's taken his squad to help load up."

Shelton clapped a hand to his forehead. "A space-trooper panhandling like a hobo.

A sergeant behaving like a whining mendicant. A sergeant of all people.""He should be a lieutenant at least," opined the Ambassador, smacking his lips as thought of fruit and fresh vegetables.

"I'll have him on the carpet for this," swore Shelton. "I'll--"

"No you won't," the Ambassador contradicted. "We cannot share the loot without condoning the crime. And I intend to share the loot."

"But, Your Excellency, discipline-"

"Discipline my fanny," said the Ambassador rudely. "Fruit is really something. I

am more than tired of dog-food out of a can. For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful." He brightened as another thought struck him and added, "If a sergeant can cadge two cartloads a colonel should be able to get ten."

"I would not demean myself by telling lies to the natives," declared Shelton.

"Not even for a big, beautiful melon all to yourself?"

"Positively not!"

"Then it's a good thing we've got sergeants," said the Ambassador.

Grayder ended the discussion with, "Mr. Morgan, we'll leave when the last man

has returned. Advise me immediately the roll is complete."

"Very well, sir."

By eventide everyone was aboard. So also were the fresh vegetables and fruit.

Bidworthy caught the load going through the airlock, goggled as six sacks of rosy apples were lugged past him.

"Sergeant Gleed, where did you procure all this stuff?"

"From that farm over there, Sergeant Major."

"With the fanner's knowledge and consent?"

"Good heavens, Sergeant Major," said Gleed wounded to the soul, "you don't

think we'd rob the place during his absence, do you?"

"I have been in the space service for twenty-five years," informed Bidworthy, "which is plenty long enough to teach me that the only crime is that of being

found out." He put on a look of deep cunning. "All right, Gleed how much did you pay this fanner and with what did you pay him?"

"I didn't give him anything."

"You persuaded him to donate two cartloads of fresh food?"