“For long periods, we put such close-trained animals in a state called ‘deep sleep,’ in which their bodily functions and food-requirements are depressed to a minimum. When we need them, we awaken them. We need them now. They aren’t, strictly speaking, ‘men,’ but they do require barracks space.”
Towers glanced at Logan. “My second-in-command, here, tried to explain this matter to the colonel in charge of allotting barracks space, but he wasn’t allowed to explain it. I tried to avert this mess, but the man declined to discuss the matter. Sir, I am here at General Klossig’s urgent call. But if colonels are allowed to countermand the orders of generals, we may as well all pack up and go home. This mess here is going to snowball rapidly unless one of two things happens. Either my forces will reverse their direction and leave this planet. Or they will be given adequate barracks space.”
The general’s face darkened. He glanced at the papers again, then said, “All right. Pull your men out of that barracks long enough for the troops to move in and take out their footlockers and bedding. Anybody with the brains of an oyster ought to be able to see that you’re going to need plenty of room. I never saw a division yet that could be squeezed into one barrack, and this is no exception.” He turned, and gave a sharp blast on a whistle. Towers sent Logan to clear out the barracks.
Approximately forty-five minutes later, Towers found himself in possession of twelve barracks.
“Now,” said the general, “I know this isn’t enough, but it’s the best I can do.”
“For our purposes,” said Towers, “this will serve very well, sir. But I wonder what effect the sight of our equipment will have on your troops, particularly at night. A close-trained animal, properly controlled, is no danger to speak of—but this can be hard for regular troops to believe.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. What if we put up a wall and gate around your section of the camp?”
“Fine. And I can put up an electric fence on the inside, to reassure the guards on the wall.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir, there is. It would be a big help if we could have a few prisoners to examine.”
“Nothing easier. But look out for them. They’re tough, fast, and violent. If they get loose, you’ve got galloping hell on your hands till you blow their brains out.”
“I’ll remember it. And sir, my talk with General Klossig was interrupted, and there were a few questions I neglected to ask.”
“I’ll tell you whatever I can.”
“Sir, is this the only garrison on this planet?”
“Oh, no. We have a fairly sizable force on the planet, but it’s just a dust mote in space compared to the planet’s population. Our men are all in inaccessible spots, but every garrison except those on some large islands in the middle of the ocean—where we raise our food—is under continuous attack.”
“Sir, is there any need for hurry in solving your problems here?”
The general hesitated. “Yes, there is, I’m afraid. There are two reasons. First, morale is cracking up badly. Second, we are largely dependent on locally-raised food and locally-manufactured gunpowder. Our powder works are cut off from time to time by bad weather. So are our shipments of food. The only feasible transport on the planet is by air or sea, and when our reserves of food and powder get low, as they are right now, it takes only a brief interruption to bring on a crisis.”
“I see,” said Towers. “Thank you very much, sir.”
“You’re entirely welcome. If I can help, let me know.”
“I will, sir.”
The two men exchanged salutes.
Logan came over as the general left.
“Sir, the men are settled, and we can bring down the second unit any time.”
“Good. And if we can get half-a-dozen scouts down in that forest with supercondas, we can get a clearer idea what’s going on down there.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get them down right away.”
“Meanwhile,” said Towers, “we’re going to want to examine some humanoid prisoners the Centrans will send over. We’d better get construction started on a concrete blockhouse to house them. For the time being, we can fit out a barracks with heavy mesh, and look them over in there.”
Towers walked into a barracks which had been hastily fitted out with partitions to serve as his headquarters. One of the rooms had a couple of desks, chairs, several telephones, and a filing case, and was plainly his office. He had just looked the room over, and sat down at his desk, when the door opened up, and a Special Effects Team man said, “Sir, there’s a smug-looking Centran captain out here who wants to see you.”
Towers frowned. “Send him in.”
A Centran with a self-pleased expression came in, saluted, and said, “Sir, it has occurred to the Chief of our Planetary Integration Section that you will need to be briefed regarding the situation here.”
“Thank you,” said Towers coolly, “I have already been briefed.”
“By whom, if I may ask?”
“By your commanding officer, General Klossig.”
“Oh, well, but if I may say so, sir—”
Towers narrowed his eyes and looked the captain over coldly. The captain frowned, blinked, paused, gave a little laugh, and visibly shifted gears. “Well, then, sir, certainly at least you will want to examine the available literature—”
“It’s quite extensive, I imagine?”
“Oh, exhaustive studies have been carried out. The correlation of data must, of course, reach a certain critical point before those charged with responsibility for administrative action may be . . . ah . . . educated—” he hesitated and studied Towers’ expression—”I mean, sir, enabled, to—”
“Educated to the point of being enabled to make intelligent decisions,” said Towers helpfully.
“Well, that wasn’t precisely what I had in mind, sir, but”—Towers was watching him with a cold, calculating look—”but, I’m sure, sir, that’s close enough.”
There was a little silence.
Towers said, “I wouldn’t want to keep this valuable literature out of circulation.”
“Oh, but we have copies.”
“Then, by all means, send them over.”
The captain blinked. A look of relief passed across his face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He saluted. Towers returned the salute. The captain faced about and went out. Towers picked up one of the phones on his desk.
“Get me the labor detail.”
“Yes, sir.” A moment later a new voice said, “Labor detail.”
“How is the blockhouse coming?”
“We’re laying out the plans, and we’ve sent for a load of fastset from the supply ship. It won’t take us long, sir.”
“Good. Let me know when it’s finished. What about the barracks?”
“We’re working on it now, sir. We should have it ready before any prisoners get here. Major Logan sent for the electric fence, and we think we can get that set up tonight, too, so that by tomorrow, we should have everything in shape.”
“Fine.”
The door opened up, and the same Special Effects man who had shown in the Centran captain said, “Sir, did you want some Planetary Integration reports brought in?”
Towers scowled. “Already? Yes, send them in.”
The Special Effects man glanced back in the hall, nodded, and opened the door wider.
A squad of Centrans came in, each carrying a tall stack of reports, set the reports down along the opposite wall of the room, and went out. As they went out, Logan came in, squinted at the stack of reports, and said angrily, “Sir, did that bootlicking captain from Planetary Integration wish this junk on us?”
A puzzled voice from the phone said, “Sir?”
Towers looked at the heaped reports, and spoke into the phone, “That about covers what I wanted to know. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Towers hung up, and glanced at the stacks of reports. Then he looked up, to see that the Special Effects man was still holding the door open.
The squad of Centrans came back in again, each with his tied stack of papers. They halted, turned, bent, straightened, turned, and went out empty-handed.
The Special Effects man continued to hold the door open.
Logan swore under his breath.
The Centrans came back in again, left another load of reports, and went out.
The Special Effects man waited a moment, then closed the door.
Logan spat out a livid curse, drew a deep breath, and said, “Sir, listen, there’s enough stuff there to last us six months easy if we try to absorb it. And we’ll end up with a case of mental constipation that will—”
“I didn’t realize there was going to be that much.”
“Now what do we do with it?”
“We certainly can’t fight our way through all that stuff. The devil with it.” Towers looked away from it. “What’s going on outside? Are the Centrans started on their wall?”
Logan turned his back on the reports. “Sir, the Centrans are working like madmen to get that wall built. They’ve set up searchlights, and they’re going to work all night. I’ve got our men going in shifts, so we’ll be all set by tomorrow morning. But, what are we going to do next?”