“Pay me, Them; he didn’t drop it,” Hideyoshi O’Leary said. “Why, Rakkeed the Prophet. Yoorkerk was holding our ships and our people in case we lost; he was also holding Rakkeed at the Palace in case we won. Of course, Rakkeed thought he was an honored guest, right up till Yoorkerk’s guards dragged him in and turned him over to us. …”
“That geek,” von Schlichten said, “is too smart for his own good. Some of these days he’s going to play both ends against the middle and both ends’ll fold in on him and smash him.” A suspicion occurred to him. “You sure this is Rakkeed? It would be just like Yoorkerk to try to sell us a ringer.”
O’Leary shook his head solemnly. “I thought of that, right away. This is the real article; Karamessinis’ Constabulary and Intelligence officers certified him for me. What do you want me to do, send him down to Konkrook?”
Von Schlichten shook his head. “Get the priests of the locally venerated gods to put him on trial for blasphemy, heresy, impersonating a prophet, practicing witchcraft without a license, or any other ecclesiastical crimes you or they can think of. Then, after he’s been given a scrupulously fair trial, have the soldiers of King Yoorkerk behead him, and stick his head up over a big sign, in all native languages, ‘Rakkeed the False Prophet.’ And have audiovisuals made of the whole business, trial and execution, and be sure that the priests and Yoorkerk’s officers are in the foreground and our people stay out of the pictures.”
“Soap and towels, for General Pontius von Pilate!” Paula Quinton called out.
“That’s an idea; I was wondering what to give Yoorkerk as a testimonial present,” Hideyoshi O’Leary said. “A nice thirty-piece silver set!”
“Quite appropriate,” von Schlichten approved. “Well, you did a first-class job. I want you back with us as soon as possible—incidentally, you’re now a brigadier-general—but not till the situation at Grank-Krink-Skilk is stabilized. And, eventually, you’ll probably have to set up permanent headquarters in the north.”
After Hideyoshi O’Leary had thanked him and signed off, and the screen was dark again, he turned to the others.
“Well, gentlemen, I don’t think we need worry too much about the north, for the next few days. How long do you estimate this operation against Konkrook’s going to take, to complete pacification, Them?”
“How complete is complete pacification, general?” Themistocles M’zangwe wanted to know. “If you mean to the end of organized resistance by larger than squad-size groups, I’d say three days, give or take twelve hours. Of course, there’ll be small groups holding out for a couple of weeks, particularly in the farming country and back in the forest. …”
“We can forget them; that’s minor-tactics stuff. We’ll need to keep some kind of an occupation force here for some time; they can deal with that. We’ll have to get to work on Keegark, as soon as possible; after we’ve reduced Keegark, we’ll be able to reorganize for a campaign against the Free Cities on the Eastern Shore.”
“Begging your pardon, general, but reduce is a mild word for what we ought to do to Keegark,” Hans Meyerstein said. “We ought to raze that city as flat as a football field, and then play football on it with King Orgzild’s head.”
“Any special reason?” von Schlichten asked. “In addition to the Blount-Lemoyne massacre, that is?”
“I should say so, general!” Themistocles M’zangwe backed Meyerstein up. “Bob, you tell him.”
Colonel Robert Grinell, the Intelligence officer, got up and took the cigar out of his mouth. He was short and round-bodied and bald-headed, but he was old Terran Federation Regular Army.
“Well, general, we’ve been finding out quite a bit about the genesis of this business, lately,” he said. “From up north, it probably looked like an all-Rakkeed show; that’s how it was supposed to look. But the whole thing was hatched at Keegark, by King Orgzild. We’ve managed to capture a few prominent Konkrookans”—he named half a dozen—“who’ve been made to talk, and a number of others have come in voluntarily and furnished information. Orgzild conceived the scheme in the beginning; Rakkeed was just the messenger-boy. My face gets the color of the Company trademark every time I think that the whole thing was planned for over a year, right under our noses, even to the signal that was to touch the whole thing off. …”
“The poisoning of Sid Harrington, and our announcement of his death?” von Schlichten asked.
“You figured that out yourself, sir? Well, that was it.” Grinell went on to elaborate, while von Schlichten tried to keep the impatience out of his face. Beside him, Paula Quinton was fidgeting, too; she was thinking, as he was, of what King Orgzild and Prince Gorkrink were doing now. “And I know positively that the order for the poisoning of Sid Harrington came from the Keegarkan Embassy here, and was passed down through Gurgurk and Keeluk to this geek here who actually put the poison in the whiskey.”
“Yes. I agree that Keegark should be wiped out, and I’d like to have an immediate estimate on the time it’ll take to build a nuclear bomb to do the job. One of the old-fashioned plutonium fission A-bombs will do quite well.”
Everybody turned quickly. There was a momentary silence, and then Colonel Evan Colbert, of the Fourth Kragan Rifles, the senior officer under Themistocles M’zangwe, found his voice.
“If that’s an order, general, we’ll get it done. But I’d like to remind you, first, of the Company policy on nuclear weapons on this planet.”
“I’m aware of that policy. I’m also aware of the reason for it. We’ve been compelled, because of the lack of natural fuel on Uller, to set up nuclear power reactors and furnish large quantities of plutonium to the geeks to fuel them. The Company doesn’t want the natives here learning of the possibility of using nuclear energy for destructive purposes. Well, gentlemen, that’s a dead issue. They’ve learned it, thanks to
