<h2><SPAN name="V" id="V"></SPAN>V</h2>
<p>"Dis," Ihjel said, consulting a thick file, "third planet
out from its primary, Epsilon Eridani. The fourth
planet is Nyjord—remember that, because it is going
to be very important. Dis is a place you need a good
reason to visit and no reason at all to leave. Too hot,
too dry; the temperature in the temperate zones
rarely drops below a hundred Fahrenheit. The planet
is nothing but scorched rock and burning sand. Most
of the water is underground and normally inaccessible.
The surface water is all in the form of briny,
chemically saturated swamps—undrinkable without
extensive processing. All the facts and figures are
here in the folder and you can study them later.
Right now I want you just to get the idea that this
planet is as loathsome and inhospitable as they come.
So are the people. This is a solido of a Disan."</p>
<p>Lea gasped at the three-dimensional representation
on the screen. Not at the physical aspects of the man;
as a biologist trained in the specialty of alien life she
had seen a lot stranger sights. It was the man's pose,
the expression on his face—tensed to leap, his lips
drawn back to show all of this teeth.</p>
<p>"He looks as if he wanted to kill the photographer,"
she said.</p>
<p>"He almost did—just after the picture was taken.
Like all Disans, he has an overwhelming hatred and
loathing of offworlders. Not without good reason,
though. His planet was settled completely by chance
during the Breakdown. I'm not sure of the details,
but the overall picture is clear, since the story of their
desertion forms the basis of all the myths and animistic
religions on Dis.</p>
<p>"Apparently there were large-scale mining operations
carried on there once; the world is rich enough
in minerals and mining them is very simple. But water<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></SPAN></span>
came only from expensive extraction processes and I
imagine most of the food came from offworld. Which
was good enough until the settlement was forgotten,
the way a lot of other planets were during the Breakdown.
All the records were destroyed in the fighting,
and the ore carriers were pressed into military service.
Dis was on its own. What happened to the
people there is a tribute to the adaptation possibilities
of homo sapiens. Individuals died, usually in enormous
pain, but the race lived. Changed a good deal,
but still human. As the water and food ran out and
the extraction machinery broke down, they must
have made heroic efforts to survive. They couldn't do
it mechanically, but by the time the last machine
collapsed, enough people were adjusted to the environment
to keep the race going.</p>
<p>"Their descendants are still there, completely
adapted to the environment. Their body temperatures
are around a hundred and thirty degrees. They
have specialized tissue in the gluteal area for storing
water. These are minor changes, compared to the
major ones they have done in fitting themselves for
this planet. I don't know the exact details, but the
reports are very enthusiastic about symbiotic relationships.
They assure us that this is the first time homo
sapiens has been an active part of either commensalism
or inquilinism other than in the role of host."</p>
<p>"Wonderful!" Lea exclaimed.</p>
<p>"Is it?" Ihjel scowled. "Perhaps from the abstract
scientific point of view. If you can keep notes perhaps
you might write a book about it some time. But
I'm not interested. I'm sure all these morphological
changes and disgusting intimacies will fascinate you,
Dr. Morees. But while you are counting blood types
and admiring your thermometers, I hope you will be
able to devote a little time to a study of the Disans'
obnoxious personalities. We must either find out what
makes these people tick—or we are going to have to
stand by and watch the whole lot blown up!"</p>
<p>"Going to do what!" Lea gasped. "Destroy them?
Wipe out this fascinating genetic pool? Why?</p>
<p>"Because they are so incredibly loathsome, that's<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></SPAN></span>
why!" Ihjel said. "These aboriginal hotheads have
managed to lay their hands on some primitive cobalt
bombs. They want to light the fuse and drop these
bombs on Nyjord, the next planet. Nothing said or
done can convince them differently. They demand
unconditional surrender, or else. This is impossible
for a lot of reasons—most important, because the
Nyjorders would like to keep their planet for their
very own. They have tried every kind of compromise
but none of them works. The Disans are out to commit
racial suicide. A Nyjord fleet is now over Dis and the
deadline has almost expired for the surrender of the
cobalt bombs. The Nyjord ships carry enough H-bombs
to turn the entire planet into an atomic pile.
That is what we must stop."</p>
<p>Brion looked at the solido on the screen, trying to
make some judgment of the man. Bare, horny feet. A
bulky, ragged length of cloth around the waist was
the only garment. What looked like a piece of green
vine was hooked over one shoulder. From a plaited
belt were suspended a number of odd devices made
of hand-beaten metal, drilled stone and looped
leather. The only recognizable item was a thin knife
of unusual design. Loops of piping, flared bells,
carved stones tied in senseless patterns of thonging
gave the rest of the collection a bizarre appearance.
Perhaps they had some religious significance. But the
well-worn and handled look of most of them gave
Brion an uneasy sensation. If they were used—what
in the universe could they be used <i>for</i>?</p>
<p>"I can't believe it," he finally concluded. "Except
for the exotic hardware, this lowbrow looks as if he
has sunk back into the Stone Age. I don't see how his
kind can be any real threat to another planet."</p>
<p>"The Nyjorders believe it, and that's good enough
for me," Ihjel said. "They are paying our Cultural
Relationships Foundation a good sum to try and prevent
this war. Since they are our employers, we must
do what they ask." Brion ignored this large lie, since
it was obviously designed as an explanation for Lea.
But he made a mental note to query Ihjel later about
the real situation.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Here are the tech reports." Ihjel dropped them on
the table. "Dis has some spacers as well as the cobalt
bombs—though these aren't the real threat. A tramp
trader was picked up <i>leaving</i> Dis. It had delivered a
jump-space launcher that can drop those bombs on
Nyjord while anchored to the bedrock of Dis. While
essentially a peaceful and happy people, the Nyjorders
were justifiably annoyed at this and convinced the
tramp's captain to give them some more information.
It's all here. Boiled down, it gives a minimum deadline
by which time the launcher can be set up and start
throwing bombs."</p>
<p>"When is that deadline?" Lea asked.</p>
<p>"In ten more days. If the situation hasn't been
changed drastically by then, the Nyjorders are going
to wipe all life from the face of Dis. I assure you they
don't want to do it. But they will drop the bombs in
order to assure their own survival."</p>
<p>"What am I supposed to do?" Lea asked, flipping
the pages of the report. "I don't know a thing about
nucleonics or jump-space. I'm an exobiologist, with a
supplementary degree in anthropology. What help
could I possibly be?"</p>
<p>Ihjel looked down at her, stroking his jaw, fingers
sunk deep into the rolls of flesh. "My faith in our
recruiters is restored," he said. "That's a combination
that is probably rare—even on Earth. You're as
scrawny as an underfed chicken, but young enough
to survive if we keep a close eye on you." He cut off
Lea's angry protest with a raised hand. "No more
bickering. There isn't time. The Nyjorders must have
lost over thirty agents trying to find the bombs. Our
foundation has had six people killed—including my
late predecessor in charge of the project. He was a
good man, but I think he went at this problem the
wrong way. I think it is a cultural one, not a physical
one."</p>
<p>"Run it through again with the power turned up,"
Lea said, frowning. "All I hear is static."</p>
<p>"It's the old problem of genesis. Like Newton and
the falling apple, Levy and the hysteresis in the warp
field. Everything has a beginning. If we can find out<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></SPAN></span>
why these people are so hell-bent on suicide we
might be able to change the reasons. Not that I
intend to stop looking for the bombs or the jump-space
generator either. We are going to try anything
that will avert this planetary murder."</p>
<p>"You're a lot brighter than you look," Lea said,
rising and carefully stacking the sheets of the report.
"You can count on me for complete cooperation. Now
I'll study all this in bed if one of you overweight
gentlemen will show me to a room with a strong lock
on the inside of the door. Don't call me; I'll call you
when I want breakfast."</p>
<p>Brion wasn't sure how much of her barbed speech
was humor and how much was serious, so he said
nothing. He showed her to an empty cabin—she did
lock the door—then looked for Ihjel. The Winner
was in the galley adding to his girth with an immense
gelatin dessert that filled a good-sized tureen.</p>
<p>"Is she short for a native Terran?" Brion asked.
"The top of her head is below my chin."</p>
<p>"That's the norm. Earth is a reservoir of tired
genes. Weak backs, vermiform appendixes, bad eyes.
If they didn't have the universities and the trained
people we need I would never use them."</p>
<p>"Why did you lie to her about the Foundation?"</p>
<p>"Because it's a secret—isn't that reason enough?"
Ihjel rumbled angrily, scraping the last dregs from
the bowl. "Better eat something. Build up the strength.
The Foundation has to maintain its undercover status
if it is going to accomplish anything. If she returns to
Earth after this it's better that she should know nothing
of our real work. If she joins up, there'll be time
enough to tell her. But I doubt if she will like the
way we operate. Particularly since I plan to drop
some H-bombs on Dis myself—if we can't turn off the
war."</p>
<p>"I don't believe it!"</p>
<p>"You heard me correctly. Don't bulge your eyes
and look moronic. As a last resort I'll drop the bombs
myself rather than let the Nyjorders do it. That
might save them."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Save them—they'd all be radiated and dead!"
Brion's voice rose in anger.</p>
<p>"Not the Disans. I want to save the Nyjorders. Stop
clenching your fists and sit down and have some of
this cake. It's delicious. The Nyjorders are all that
counts here. They have a planet blessed by the laws
of chance. When Dis was cut off from outside contact,
the survivors turned into a gang of swampcrawling
homicidals. It did the opposite for Nyjord.
You can survive there just by pulling fruit off a tree.
The population was small, educated, intelligent. Instead
of sinking into an eternal siesta they matured
into a vitally different society. Not mechanical—they
weren't even using the wheel when they were rediscovered.
They became sort of cultural specialists,
digging deep into the philosophical aspects of interrelationship—the
thing that machine societies never have
had time for. Of course this was ready-made for the
Cultural Relationships Foundation, and we have
been working with them ever since. Not guiding so
much as protecting them from any blows that might
destroy this growing idea. But we've fallen down on
the job. Nonviolence is essential to these people—they
have vitality without needing destruction. But if
they are forced to blow up Dis for their own survival—against
every one of their basic tenets—their philosophy
won't endure. Physically they'll live on, as just
one more dog-eat-dog planet with an A-bomb for any
of the competition who drop behind."</p>
<p>"Sounds like paradise now."</p>
<p>"Don't be smug. It's just another worldful of people
with the same old likes, dislikes and hatreds. But
they are evolving a way of living together, without
violence, that may some day form the key to mankind's
survival. They are worth looking after. Now
get below and study your Disan and read the reports.
Get it all pat before we land."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></SPAN></span></p>
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