“All these things are possible. In the course of occupying a million worlds—and there must be that many—who could hope we would not find beings more intelligent than we? Yet these intelligent beings had not yet succeeded in integrating their own planet, much less whole star systems, as we have done. On the contrary, they were about ready to blow their own planet apart when we landed. Why was that?
“You know the principle of the nuclear engines. There is a substance Q that flings out little particles. These little particles strike other atoms of Q which fling out more particles. There is also a substance L which absorbs these particles. Success depends on the correct proportioning of Q and L. There must not be too much L or the particles are absorbed before things can get started. There must not be too much Q or the particles build up so fast that suddenly the whole thing flies apart.
“Now, consider these natives. What are they like? An engine with too much Q, is it not? And what are we like? To speak frankly, Horsip, we have a little too much L, don’t you think?”
Horsip nodded reluctantly, then said, “I think I see your point all right, but what are the flying particles in this comparison?”
Argit laughed. “Ideas. From what you tell me of these people, they fairly flood each other with ideas. Horsip, you and I and others in our position have had a difficult time. We are like atoms of Q tearing ourselves apart to try and fling enough particles—ideas—through the general mass so the thing won’t all grind to a stop. We only half succeeded. At intervals these Mikerils come along and hurl us halfway back into barbarism. We should be able to merely raise the speed of reaction a little and burn them back into outer space. But we haven’t been able to. The machine was running as well as it could already—not enough Q. Horsip, this planet is a veritable mine! There are vast quantities of Q here. It is just what we need!”
Horsip scowled. “Getting it out may be another matter.”
Argit nodded. “We only arrived just in time. A little longer and it might all have blown up. We have to fix that first.”
“How?”
“Your idea, first. You intended to mix whole populations up, because the language and customs difficulties would cause much confusion and tie them in knots. That is very good. That would act, you see, to slow up the spread of particles—ideas. But we want these people on our side. To that end, we must first help remove their own difficulties—while serving our own purposes, of course. We couldn’t stand too many eruptions like this.
“Horsip, with due consideration for their various levels of civilization, we must transfer groups of young people, and various professional groups, from one region of this planet to others. We will not insist that they mix races or customs; but chemicals react best when divided in small lumps, so—who knows—perhaps it will bring an end to some of these enmities.
“Meanwhile, they are bound to pick up our language. And we will pick up such of their technological skills as we can make use of. They need a universal language. We need new discoveries. Both will profit.
“And then we will offer posts of importance, trade agreements, raw materials—”
“How do we know they are going to accept this?” said Horsip, remembering his own eagerness.
“Ha!” said Argit. “You showed me yourself. They are a born race of teachers and talkers. Every time they’ve been in here, what has it been? —’Let me show you how that should be done.’ ‘No, look, you have to do it this way.’ ‘Put a hole in the guard of that knife and you can slip it over the gun barrel.’ ” Argit laughed. “I will bet you the hairy arm of the first Mikeril that attacks us after we get this settled that half the trouble with these people is, they can’t find anybody to listen to them.”
* * *
Argit opened the door. A number of Centran troops were squatting in a circle outside, where a medical aide was bandaging a wounded native. The native was talking eagerly in the Centran tongue that appeared to seem simple to them, compared to their own languages.
“Now,” he was saying, “see here. Put a heavy bolt through this place where these bars come together, and you can vary the focus from here, with one simple motion. See? What’s the advantage of having to swing each of these barrels around one at a time? It takes too long. You waste effort. But from here, you just loosen the nut, swing the barrels close, tighten it with the wrench, and you’re all set. It’d be easier to carry, too.”
The circle of Centrans looked at the native, looked at each other, and all nodded.
“Truth,” said one of them somberly.
Argit closed the door.
“You see?” said Argit. “They’re born Q material.”
Horsip sadly shook his head. “It seems so. But what are our men? Damper rods.”
The sound of tramping feet sounded outside in the corridor as the leading elements of more reinforcements marched past.
“That’s all right,” said Argit. “We need Q material.”
The tramping rose to a heavy rumble. Horsip felt reassured and Argit nodded approvingly.
“And more than anything else I can think of,” said Argit, speaking over the noise, “these people need damping rods.
“You have to have both.”
Part II: Able Hunter
Some days later, Horsip found himself studying the maps, where bright orange symbols showed the disposition of fifteen million fresh Centran reinforcements, with another five million standing by in their transports.
“I think,” said Horsip, “that we can finally say that we have conquered this planet.”
Moffis looked at the map skeptically. “That’s what I thought, about a million and a half casualties ago.”
“There’s no armed resistance.”
“There wasn’t then, either.”
Horsip nodded moodily. The effect of Argit’s enthusiasm had worn off somewhat, and Horsip was again bothered by the natives’ exasperating mental superiority. Horsip was now inclined to think that instead of merely mixing the natives up on their own planet, it might be a better idea to scatter them all over the universe—too much Q material in one spot could be dangerous.
Horsip, however, didn’t want to make Moffis feel any more discouraged than he already did, and so, after a few comments recognizing the seriousness of the situation, Horsip shifted gears:
“However, thanks to numbers and surprise, we have conquered this batch, Moffis, and now we have to figure out what to do with them.”
Moffis glanced at the maps.
“Let’s just make sure they don’t heave us right off the planet. I don’t want to go through what we’ve just been through all over again. We need the rest of these reinforcements down here where we can get some use out of them. The longer we leave them in those transports, the more stale they’re going to get.”
“All right,” said Horsip, “where do we put them?”
“Some place where the country is rugged, so we can defend it, and where the natives are scarce, so our men don’t have too much contact with them, and get depressed by the comparison.”
They pored over the maps, and Horsip said, “This Main-Base Defense Zone A looks as good as any—and we’ve already got it fortified. The main supply dumps are there, and the country couldn’t be much more rugged. It’s the least bad place to be if the enemy has any nuclear bombs left. But we can’t cram all these reinforcements in there. Let’s spread them around in these other main-base zones. The country there is fairly rugged, too, and the zones support each other.”
Moffis looked relieved. “Good . . . Now, will Argit go along with it?”
Horsip thought a moment. Argit had understood the situation quickly, and even got along well with the tailless, furless inhabitants of the planet, who, in turn, appeared to forget that Argit was a Centran, the Chairman of the Supreme Staff, and the ultimate Centran military authority on the conquest of new planets.
“H’m,” said Horsip. “That’s the place where the troops will hurt the natives least, and help us most. I think Argit would be all in favor of it. But he’s leaving these details to us. His problem is to figure out how to fit these lop-tails into the Integral Union without wrecking it, and I think he’s busy enough with that. He’s already mentioned some ideas to me.”
Moffis grunted.
“Then let’s get the troops down here. If we’re going to keep this volcano from blowing up again, we need more weight to hold down the lid.”
“Oh,” said Horsip, glancing at the map, with all its reassuring orange symbols, “things aren’t that bad, Moffis.”
Moffis failed to look convinced.
* * *
The following days passed with great activity on everyone’s part. Horsip’s troops worked as if inspired—as they were, by Horsip, Moffis, and the other survivors of the first expedition. The natives, for their part, carried on an enormous trade. Argit, too, was busy.