the ship's launching tubes; in just a little while, it would be set to go, should the need arise. The camp was quiet and tense.
He went back to the desk and watched as the Flyer went on with tactics. 'Interesting?' he piped enthusiastically.
'I find it so,' the general said. 'There is just one question.'
'Ask,' the Flyer invited.
'If we should go to war again, how can you be sure we won't use all of this against you?'
'But fine,' the Flyer enthused warmly. 'Exactly as we want.'
'You fight fine,' another Flyer said. 'But just too slightly hard. Next time, you able to do much better.'
'Hard!' the general raged.
'Too roughly, sir. No need to make the ship go poof.'
Outside the tent, a gun cut loose and then another one and above the hammering of the guns came the full- throated, ground-shaking roar of many ship motors.
The general leaped for the entrance, went through it at a run, not bothering with the flap. His cap fell off and he staggered out, thrown slightly off his balance. He jerked up his head and saw them coming in, squadron after squadron, painting the darkness with the flare of tubes.
'Stop firing!' he shouted. 'You crazy fools, stop firing!'
But there was no need of shouting, for the guns had fallen silent.
The ships came down toward the camp in perfect flight formation. They swept across it and the thunder of their motors seemed to lift it for a moment and give it a mighty shake. Then they were climbing, rank on serried rank, still with drill precision?climbing and jockeying into position for regulation landing.
The general stood like a frozen man, with the wind ruffling his iron-grey hair, with a lump, half pride, half thankfulness, rising in his throat.
Something touched his elbow.
'Prisoners,' said the Flyer. 'I told you by and by.'
The general tried to speak, but the lump was there to stop him. He swallowed it and tried once again. 'We didn't understand,' he said.
'You did not have a taker,' said the Flyer. 'That why fight so rough.'
'We couldn't help it,' the general told him. 'We didn't know. We never fought this way before.'
'We give you takers,' said the Flyer. 'Next time, we play it right. You do much better with the takers. It easier for us.'
No wonder, the general thought, they didn't know about an armistice. No wonder they were confused about the negotiations and the prisoner exchange. Negotiations are not customarily needed to hand back the pieces one had won in a game.
And no wonder those other races had viewed with scorn and loathing Earth's proposal to gang up on the Flyers.
'An unsporting thing to do,' the general said aloud. 'They could have told us. Or maybe they were so used to it.'
And now he understood why the Flyers had picked this planet. There had to be a place where all the ships could land.
He stood and watched the landing ships mushing down upon the rock in clouds of pinkish flame. He tried to count them, but he became confused, although he knew every ship Earth had lost would be accounted for.
'We give you takers,' said the Flyer. 'We teach you how to use. They easy operate. They never hurt people or ships.'
And there was more to it, the general told himself, than just a silly game?though maybe not so silly, once one understood the history and the cultural background and the philosophic concepts that were tied into it. And this much one could say for it: It was better than fighting actual wars.
But with the takers, there would be an end of war. What little war was left would be ended once and for all. No longer would an enemy need to be defeated; he could be simply taken. No longer would there be years of guerrilla fighting on newly settled planets; the aborigines could be picked up and deposited in cultural reservations and the dangerous fauna shunted into zoos.
'We fight again?' the Flyer asked with some anxiety.
'Certainly,' said the general. 'Any time you say. Are we really as good as you claim?'
'You not so hot,' the Flyer admitted with disarming candour. 'But you the best we ever find. Play plenty, you get better.'
The general grinned. Just like the sergeant and the captain and their eternal chess, he thought.
He turned and tapped the Flyer on the shoulder.
'Let's get back,' he said. 'There's still some drinking in that jug. We mustn't let it go to waste.'
Carbon Copy
The man who came into Homer Jackson's office was wearing his left shoe on his right foot and his right shoe on his left.
He gave Homer quite a start.
The man was tall and had a gangling look about him, but he was smartly dressed?except for his shoes. And his shoes were all right, too; it was just the way he wore them.
'Am I addressing Mr. Homer Jackson?' he asked with a formality to which Homer was entirely unaccustomed.
'That's me,' said Homer.
He squirmed a bit uncomfortably in his chair. He hoped this wasn't one of Gabby Wilson's jokes.
Gabby had an office just down the hall and loved to pester Homer plenty. When Gabby cooked up a joke, he did a massive job on it; he left out not a single detail. And some of Gabby's jokes got pretty rough.
But the man seemed to be dead serious and perhaps a little anxious.
'Mr. Homer Jackson, the suburban realtor?' he persisted.
'That's right,' said Homer.
'Specializing in lake properties and country acreages?'
'I'm your man.' Homer began to feel uncomfortable. This man was spreading it on a trifle thick and Homer thought he could see Gabby's hand in it.
'I'd like to talk with you. I have a matter of small business.'
'Fire away,' said Homer, motioning toward a chair.
The man sat down carefuUy, bolt upright in the chair. 'My name is Oscar Steen,' he said. 'We're building a development on what is known as the Saunders place. We call it Happy Acres.'
Homer nodded. 'I'm acquainted with the place. It's the only good holding on the lake. You were fortunate to get it.'
'Thank you, Mr. Jackson. We think that it is nice.'
'How are you getting on?'
'We have just finished it. But now comes the most important part. We must get people onto the property.'
'Well,' said Homer, 'things are a little tough right now. Money has tightened up and the interest rates are higher. Washington is no help and besides that…'
'We wondered if you'd be interested in handling it for us.'
Homer choked a little, but recovered quickly. 'Well, now, I don't know. Those houses may be hard to sell. You'd have get a solid figure for them and the prices will run high. The stone wall you put around the place and those fancy gates all, I would suspect you have high-class houses. You have gone and made it into an exclusive section. There'll be only a certain class of buyer who might be interested.'
'Mr. Jackson,' said Steen, 'we have a new approach. We won't have to sell them. We're only leasing them.'
