The colonel paused.
The troops stared at the marking crayon, which he was still holding up so they could see it clearly.
“Interstellar Investigations Corporation,” said the colonel, “is going to put a tiny mark on weapons passing through Space Force Offloading Center 2. This will be done before these weapons pass through the reloading line. This mark will be in some out-of-the-way place. Perhaps inside the mechanism of the bolt. Perhaps under the heel plate. It will all depend on the weapon. A little bit of special tar will go on each weapon. A little bit of it goes a long way.”
“And it . . . ah—You call it—”
“Another name for it is ‘transient atomic reactant.’ I will quote the explanation as the head of S-Branch stated it to me:
“This is a ‘fibrogravitic quasiclathrate.’ The gravitic component is inherently unstable. The basic active ingredient is composed of particles which might be called ‘nuclear catalyst,’ as they create rapid nuclear breakdown with a partially sustaining regenerative action. The containing of this basic ingredient, the nuclear catalyst, so-called, is the function of the gravitic component of the fibrogravitic quasiclathrate. Obviously, such a nuclear catalyst can’t be mixed in with a little glue, to stick it to whatever you want, since the catalyst would immediately destroy the nuclei of the glue. Therefore, the catalyst is held in very tiny gravitostrictive ‘bottles,’ that look like minute bits of sand in the tarry-appearing adhesive. Since no adhesive will stick to a directed gravitic field, a very fibrous substance is used to imprison the ‘grains.’ Now, the grains don’t remain imprisoned forever, or the compound wouldn’t be worth much. The directed gravitic field of the grains is inherently unstable, and breaks down. This releases the ‘nuclear catalyst.’ It is possible to predict when the inherent instability will result in breakdown, release of the ‘catalyst,’ and consequent explosion of closely adjacent materials. The force of the explosion then depends on the nature and the density of the adjacent atoms. The time of the explosion can be predicted accurately.”
There was a silence as the colonel finished speaking, then a slow exhaling of breath.
“We will,” said the colonel, “naturally put a warning sticker on every keg, drum, barrel, and other container that leaves the loading center. We will circulate warnings locally. But, the Skagas and black marketeers being as they are, there’s a question whether these warnings will do them much good. Of course, we aren’t going to give them all the details. Perhaps they will choose to ignore the warnings. We will, naturally, warn the Space Force commanders, and they will pay attention; but if the Skagas and the guerrillas run true to form, the Space Force probably won’t see too many of these weapons. For good measure, the special tar is timed for one of the local feast days. Naturally, no religious person will be working on that day, so the supply dumps should be deserted. If the black marketeers, guerrillas, and their hangers-on happen to be looting the supply dumps on the same day that the tar goes off, that just shows what they get for being irreligious. I’m sure no religious person on the planet should object too strongly. And afterward, I don’t think there will be too many irreligious ones left.”
The colonel glanced at the stubborn candidate, who was now smiling.
“Any further questions?”
“No, sir. If I fail the tests, just dump me off in empty space. I’m happy.”
* * *
As the colonel hoped, but hardly dared expect, all the candidates passed the tests, though some of them only barely squeaked by the fifth and last test. As each batch passed, the colonel put them to work at the offloading center, where the Terexian loaders had a good laugh at the seal that was now stuck on each reloaded crate, keg, barrel, and drum:
WARNING!
Not For Unauthorized Hands!
Contents of
This Container Protected
Against Unauthorized Use By:
INTERSTELLAR
INVESTIGATIONS
CORPORATION
Danger!
Extreme Peril!
Beware!
For good measure, the colonel had a number of small signs put up along the reloading line, in such locations that the thieves who worked on the line could not possibly miss them:
NOTICE
This installation has been
THIEF-PROOFED by the
INTERSTELLAR INVESTIGATIONS CORPORATION.
You are being watched. No one profits by
criminal activity. Crime does not pay.
Do not imagine that you will get away
unpunished, if you try to do the very
things, such as pilferage, shoplifting,
looting, and other such activities that the
INTERSTELLAR INVESTIGATIONS CORPORATION
has broken up on other worlds. You
cannot succeed. Be honest. You will find
that there will be a great reward for honesty.
And a great punishment for dishonesty.
The result of these two notices was that there were reports from all the Space Force receiving supply centers that no shipments from Offloading Center 2 were now being received. The whole output was being robbed.
The colonel now coerced the commanding officer of the center into issuing a statement on the situation:
It has come to the attention of Space Force authorities charged with the distribution of supplies to the forward troops that, probably purely by accident or misunderstanding, some quantity of the deadly weapons and implements of war may have fallen into unauthorized hands. It has even been rumored that religious feast days have been violated for the purpose of making unauthorized entry into places of storage for military supplies, and there making illegal depredations upon such supplies.
Without wishing to state a definite position regarding the truth or falsity of these allegations, it must be stated that, if true, this would constitute an extremely serious and dangerous situation. Space Force supplies are sometimes of an extremely volatile nature. Many of these supplies are actually dangerous explosives.
All of our weapons have entered this world at the express permission of the Priestly Authorities. To steal or possess them, to consort with those who steal or possess them, to violate holy days, all this would appear to be very dangerous, and not merely because it challenges the worldly authority of the Space Force, which has come to this planet in reply to a call for help.
It is well known that Evil Recoils Upon The Doer. It is to be hoped that those who wish to escape Retribution will number themselves amongst the Righteous.
* * *
The result of this statement was merriment amongst some of the workers, but also an immediate drop in the number of workers on the reloading lines, followed by their replacement by a crew that gave cold chills to any ordinary citizen who showed up, innocently looking for a job.
* * *
Meanwhile, the military situation was going from bad to worse. Ordinary Terexians had by now come to regard all humanity roughly in the light of a well-intentioned but stupid child, a viewpoint that was cheerfully brought home at a gathering on the afternoon of the very day that the remaining stability of the transient atomic reactant dwindled down into the minutes and seconds.
“I must confess,” said the host, a prominent Terexian by the name of Swelnior, “that you Earth people have shown yourselves incredibly naive. The thought of appealing to the good will of Skagas—” He chortled delightedly.
The colonel, wearing an improved version of the prickly suit he’d had the first day on the planet, experienced a faint chill as he looked at his watch.
“Pardon me, Mr. Swelnior—”
“Ho, ho, my dear fellow, it’s precisely you who have been the most . . . do forgive me . . . ridiculous. To appeal to Skagas—”
“The appeal,” said the colonel coldly, “was to whoever might choose to dissociate himself from the Skagas.”
“You people came to the planet like some sort of divine heavenly beings with supernatural powers . . . forgive me if I speak frankly, it’s my nature . . . and bit by bit you have gradually come down until we can see you as . . . as children.”
Across the table, a prominent Terexian laughed.
“Not children. But puppies.”
“I hope,” said the colonel, his voice cutting though the merriment, “that none of you gentlemen have trafficked with the Skagas or the black marketeers.”
“I like that word—’trafficked.’ It has a quaint archaic tone. Really, now, Mr . . . what’s the name . . . Fishee? Really, Mr. Fishee—”
“Because there might be time for you to—”
“His name is ‘Fish.’ You know, the things we Terexians catch and eat.”
” . . . Might just be time for you to clear a few valuables away from black market—”
“Oh, yes, before the Hour of Retribution?”
Down the table, a Terexian priest looked up. His eyes lit with a glow of fanaticism.
“Do I hear someone joke about the Hour of Retribution?”
Swelnior leaned forward, smiling.
“Surely, we need not fear Retribution from—” He inclined his head toward the humans in the room.