Zenya

'Who else could it be?' snapped Oaken. 'I tell you, the only way we're going to solve this problem is by wiping them out. Every last damn one of them!'

'Then who will work the fields?' Stone was practical. 'Their labor comes cheap; use other, and we'll price ourselves out of business.'

'They want our world,' insisted Oaken. 'They think they own it. They're trying to kick us off the planet.' He scowled. 'We've got to kill them, clear them out.'

'How? Arm every man and turn him loose to hunt them down? You know what the hills are like. Can you imagine what it would cost in money and lives? Just remember what happened to the last volunteer force we sent in.'

'They destroyed a village.'

'The first one, yes, but the second?' Stone shrugged. 'They got themselves wiped out to a man.'

Colonel Paran sighed. 'That is old history, gentlemen. We have to think of the future.' To Dumarest he said, 'You realize the complexity of the situation?'

Greed coupled with hate and fear, an old, familiar combination. The human desire to have the cake and eat it at the same time. As yet, this war seemed to be no more than a few raiding parties driven by some unguessed motive. No wonder he had seen no antiaerial defenses-savages would hardly own aircraft.

But then, savages wouldn't use nerve gas, either-if it had really been used.

He said, 'What is their political organization?'

'A loose federation of tribes governed by elders,' said Paran. 'We have tried to aid them, of course. Social workers have lived among them.' He added bitterly, 'I assume they are all dead now.'

'Well?' Oaken was impatient. 'You have heard what Paran has told you. How can we end this war without ruining ourselves at the same time?'

'There are only three ways to end any war,' said Dumarest coldly. 'This information will cost you nothing. You can win, you can lose, or you can negotiate. In many cases, it is better to lose; an early surrender will, at least, save lives and property. There is no logic in continuing to fight against a force which you cannot defeat.'

Stone frowned. 'A strange philosophy from one from the Warrior Worlds.'

'A realistic one. I am a mercenary; war is my trade. You are in business, I take it? Then you know the futility of selling goods below their cost of manufacture. In war there comes a point where the object to be attained simply is not worth the effort expended. That naturally, is a variable.'

'Let us not talk of losing,' said Paran.

'I mentioned it only to clarify the situation,' said Dumarest. 'To win, at times, is also unwise. With sufficient force it is possible to defeat any enemy, but if the force used is too great, what have you won? Corpses and desolation. In my experience, it is always better to negotiate.'

'With killers? Murdering savages?' Oaken slammed his hand on the table. 'Never!'

Dumarest shrugged. 'That is for you to decide, gentlemen. However, as you should know, the use of force tends to escalate. First the use of limited weapons, then ones that are more powerful, then the ultimate in destruction. If that is your choice, I suggest you skip the intermediate steps. Radioactive dusts scattered over the areas in which the enemy is to be found will destroy them without loss of life on your own side. The mothers of your soldiers, at least, will be grateful.'

'Radioactives?' Oaken stared his horror. 'But they will destroy the crops! Ruin the soil for a generation to come!'

'Yes.'

'And that is your expert advice?'

'I have given you no advice. I have merely mentioned possibilities.' Dumarest rose, ending the conference. 'You seem unable to make up your minds, gentlemen. My trade, as I have said, is war. As yet I have received no offer for my services.'

Colonel Paran said quickly, 'You would consider an engagement?'

Oaken was more direct. 'How much?'

'That,' said Dumarest, 'I will consider when I have examined the ground.'

* * *

The raft rode high, the pilot nervous, the two-man escort tense as they leaned over the edge to either side, laser rifles at the ready. In the body of the boxlike compartment behind the controls, Ven Taykor gestured to the hills.

'There,' he said. 'Right in among them, that's where you'll find their council house.'

Dumarest followed his pointing arm, seeing nothing but the loom of hills slashed with crevasses, thick with shielding vegetation.

'Have you seen it?'

'Once, when I was a boy. Too long ago now.' The guide was weathered, lined with age. His clothing, of thick weave, was patched, his high boots worn, torn on one of the uppers. 'My dad took me. There was a festival of some kind. They made me a member of a tribe.' He spat over the edge of the raft. 'I guess that's why I'm alive now.' He added thoughtfully, 'I never expected trouble from the Ayutha. No one did. God alone knows what set them off.'

Beside them, Captain Louk said, 'Have you seen enough, sir?'

'Of the hills, yes.' Dumarest looked below. 'Can we drop a little?'

'It may not be advisable.' The captain was young, conscious that his rank was diminished by his scant command, but the raft was small, and numbers had been sacrificed to light and speed. 'They could be watching us from below,' he explained. 'If they are armed, we could be in trouble.'

'Drop,' ordered Dumarest. 'And tell your men to keep alert.'

He leaned over the edge as the ground rose toward them. On either side, as far as the eye could see, ranked plants made a mat of vegetation, scored by thin lines of paths nearly invisible in the fading light. The lofios grew ten feet tall, bushy fronds springing from a central bole, branches that now bore succulent fruits, blooms, enigmatic pods. Bad country for men trained in cities unaccustomed to moving in silence. Perfect cover for guerrillas.

'Mutated stock,' said Taykor. 'It took almost a century to perfect it. No seasons to speak of in this part of Chard, and the plants bear fruit, bloom, and pollen all at the same time. No insects, either, so they have those pods, see?' He pointed. 'They are self-fertilizing. The pods explode and release the pollen, which lands on the blooms to conceive the fruit. I'm no farmer, but I know what it's about.'

Without turning, Dumarest said, 'What are you, aside from a guide?'

'Hunter, trapper, prospector. Mostly I'm up in the hills. There are some good pelts to be won up there. I was trading in the city when the trouble started. The quicker it's over the sooner I'll be back where I belong.'

'What do you think of the Ayutha?'

'Simple people, but not stupid, if you know what I mean. They have their own way, and it isn't city living. They don't put much value on goods and possessions. They aren't lazy, but they don't like being forced to work. Come to think of it, who does?'

'Do they have initiation rites?'

'Maybe. I wouldn't know. I've been in contact with them in a casual way most of my life, but that's about all. Why do you ask?'

Rites could change. If murder was now the needed proof of manhood, it could provide the answer-or a part of it, at least.

'Have the farmers been pressing them? Taking their land, for example?'

'No. There would be no point. Lofios doesn't grow everywhere, and that's all the farmers are interested in. Anyway, they need the labor the Ayutha can supply. There's a lot of weeding and collecting to be done, and machines are too expensive. And no one yet has designed a machine to extract the natural oil. If we land, I'll show you what I mean.'

'Later.' Dumarest straightened and turned to the officer. 'Take me to the first place to be attacked.'

'Homand?'

'If that's what it's called, that's the place I want.'

It was small, a collection of neat houses backed by warehouses and sheds holding equipment for processing the crop. A school, store, something which would have been a church. A forge and meeting house, a typical