“Yes. I want Little Me, when he’s old enough to travel, to visit your world,” Kankad said. “And some of the other young ones. And when Little Me is old enough to take over the rule of our people, I would like to go to Terra, myself.”
“Some day, I am going to return to Terra; I would like to have you make the trip with me,” von Schlichten said.
“That would be wonderful, Von!” Kankad exclaimed. “I want to see your world, before I die. It must be a wonderful place. A world is what its people make it, and your people must be able to make anything of your world that you would want.”
“We almost made a lifeless desert, like the poles of Uller, out of our world, once,” von Schlichten told him. “Four hundred and more years ago, we fought great wars among ourselves, with weapons such as I hope will never even be thought of on Uller. Our whole Northern Hemisphere, where our greatest nations were, was devastated; much of it is wasteland to this day. But we put an end to that folly in time; we made one nation out of all our people, and swore never to commit such crimes again, and then we built the ships that took us out to the stars. But I want you to see our world, and some of the other worlds that we have visited, I think you would like it.”
“I know I would. And with you to tell me what the things I would see meant. …” Kankad was silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, changing the subject abruptly.
“I hope Paula will pardon me, but isn’t Paula the kind of Terran that bears young?”
“That’s right, Kankad. I never bore any, yet, but that’s the kind of Terran I am.”
“I like Paula,” Kankad said. “She has come all the way from Terra to help us, and to learn about us. Of course, the Kragans don’t need that kind of help, and the geeks, who would stick a knife in her as soon as she turned her back on them, don’t deserve it. But she wants to learn about us, just as I want to learn about Terra. Von, why don’t you and Paula have young?” he asked. “I think that would be fine. Then, Little Paula-Von and Little Me could be friends, long after the three of us are dead and gone.”
VI
The Bad News Came After the Coffee
The last clatter of silverware and dishes ceased as the native servants finished clearing the table. There was a remaining clatter of cups and saucers; liqueur-glasses tinkled, and an occasional cigarette-lighter clicked. At the head table, the voices seemed louder.
“… don’t like it a millisol’s worth,” Brigadier-General Barney Mordkovitz, the Skilk military C.O., was saying to the lady on his right. “They’re too confounded meek. Nowadays, nobody yells ‘Znidd suddabit!’ at you. Nobody sticks all four thumbs in his mouth and waves his fingers. Nobody commits nuisance on the sidewalk in front of you. They just stand and look at you like a farmer looking at a turkey the week before Christmas, and that I don’t like!”
“Oh, bosh!” Jules Keaveney, the Skilk Resident-Agent, at the head of the table, exclaimed. “You soldiers are all alike—begging your pardon, General von Schlichten,” he nodded in the direction of the guest of honor. “If they don’t bow and scrape to you and get off the sidewalk to let you pass, you say they’re insolent and need a lesson. If they do, you say they’re plotting insurrection.”
“What I said,” Mordkovitz repeated, “was that I expect a certain amount of disorder, and a certain minimum show of hostility toward us from some of these geeks, to conform to what I know to be our unpopularity with many of them. When I don’t find it, I want to know why.”
“I’m inclined,” von Schlichten came to his subordinate’s support, “to agree. This sudden absence of overt hostility is disquieting. Colonel Cheng-Li,” he called on the local Intelligence officer and Constabulary chief. “This fellow Rakkeed was here, about a month ago. Was there any noticeable disorder at that time? Anti-Terran demonstrations, attacks on Company property or personnel, shooting at aircars, that sort of thing?”
“No more than usual, general. In fact, it was when Rakkeed came here that the condition General Mordkovitz was speaking of began to become conspicuous. We did catch some of Rakkeed’s disciples trying to get in among the enlisted men of the Tenth N.U.N.I. and the Fifth Zirk Cavalry and promote disaffection. That was reported at the time, sir.”
“And acted upon, as far as the civil administration would permit,” von Schlichten replied. “And I might say that Lieutenant-Governor Blount has reported from Keegark, where he is now, that the same unnatural absence of hostility exists there.”
“Well, of course, general,” Keaveney said patronizingly. “King Orgzild has things under pretty tight control at Keegark. He’d not allow a few fanatics to do anything to prejudice these spaceport negotiations.”
“I wonder if the idea back of that spaceport proposition isn’t to get us concentrated at Keegark, where Orgzild could wipe us all out in one surprise blow,” somebody down the table suggested.
“Oh, Orgzild wouldn’t be crazy enough to try anything like that,” Commander Dirk Prinsloo, of the Aldebaran, declared. “He’d get away with it for just twelve months—the time it would take to get the news to Terra and for a Federation Space Navy task-force to get here. And then, there’d be little bits of radioactive geek floating around this system as far out as the orbit of Beta Hydrae VII.”
“That’s quite true,” von Schlichten agreed. “The point is, does Orgzild know it? I doubt if he even believes there is a Terra.”
“Then where in Space does he think we come from?” Keaveney demanded.
“I believe he thinks Niflheim is our home world,” von
