Horsip could feel the loathing rise up inside him, but kept his face expressionless until the emissary was through. As the emissary went into rapturous detail over the particulars, it took him time to finish. Then he looked expectantly at Horsip.
“Well, General, you see you have no choice, and Columbia has no chance, correct?”
Horsip’s voice came out in an ugly tone.
“If my fleets were made of tinfoil, I would fight.” He smiled, and the smile was such that the emissaries looked jarred. “But,” said Horsip, “they aren’t.” He leaned forward. “I advise you to get in touch with your leaders, and explain that the true fleets of the Integral Union have always used heavy armor, and have crushed their enemy in every war throughout recorded history. That you should be outnumbered is exactly what you should expect. You have challenged the Integral Union! Now, get out of here. There’s work to be done.”
For a moment, the emissaries stood paralyzed, but then they relaxed. They glanced at each other with tolerant smiles.
The emissary from Snard said, “You will hear from us again, General. Soon.”
On the way out, Horsip could hear Ganfre’s emissary say wonderingly, “Amazing. He almost did it again!”
As the door shut behind them, Moffis said, frowning, “Could it be?”
Horsip said stubbornly, “We always used armor belts until these Earthmen proved it was a waste. But it wasn’t a waste! I never saw a ship yet where the men weren’t happier behind a good solid shield. And if you have to go down into the atmosphere to get somebody out of a pickle, that armor backs up the meteor guards when they go to work on you with the artillery.”
“But the numbers!”
“Maybe it is part bluff. But . . .” Horsip shook his head.
Moffis said, “Could we use the Control Center to get in touch with them?”
“And what if it is all bluff, and the transmission is picked up?”
“Truth,” said Moffis.
Horsip said exasperatedly, “There’s nothing to do but hang on tight and hope for the best. But if that fleet is fake, and these dictators punch right through it, then there isn’t any good we can do here. We’ll have to get out.”
“At least, we can do that without too much trouble.”
Horsip, who had had the command ship set down in the big courtyard of the planet’s main administration building, said, “All we have to do is blast loose the connecting corridor, cut the auxiliary power cables, and leave.” He paused, thinking that over.
Moffis said, “And . . . if the enemy fleet is closing in when we leave?”
“That’s not good.”
“Suppose we left now? Then, if the dictators turn away, we can come back.”
“If we leave, that news will be broadcast to them, so they will see through the bluff. We have to stay here until we’re sure, one way or another.”
* * *
Horsip, none too hopeful as to what the morning would bring, took a hot bath, and went to bed early. During the first part of the night, he was awakened by the provost marshal, who explained that there was rioting in the streets, and the local police were calling for help, but the provost marshal was afraid that, if he sent any of the few men he had, the command ship couldn’t be protected.
“Tell them,” said Horsip, “that there will be all the troops on the planet tomorrow that they can ask for. But they will have to get through the night on their own.”
The provost marshal beamed. “I heard the Fleet was coming in.”
Horsip grunted noncommittally. “Meanwhile, double the guard in the connecting corridor, disconnect the auxiliary power cables, and be ready to get your men in the ship on a moment’s notice.”
“Yes, sir. Ah . . . sir, if the Fleet is coming in . . . ah . . . why would we want to get out of here?”
“Because,” snarled Horsip, “we don’t know whose fleet it is.”
Horsip fell asleep, was awakened by the sound of shouting and the rattle of stitching-guns, then fell back into a fitful doze interspersed with nightmares in which various dictators, ten times normal size, swaggered around a room in which Horsip had to jump and run to avoid getting squashed underfoot. The dictators were arguing over who was to get this or that piece out of what was left of the Integral Union. By morning, Horsip, who had gone to bed early to get a good rest, was worn out. He got up, washed all over in cold water, and was just rubbing himself dry when a thundering roar passed overhead.
Feeling that the day could not be worse than night had been, Horsip buckled himself into his uniform, and went into his office.
Moffis was already there, cleaning and oiling his gun. The provost marshal, a portable stitching-gun under one arm, was directing Horsip’s staff as they turned their desks into a barricade. Wounded men were lying on folded blankets, with medical aides taking care of them. In the corner, behind a white cloth, a surgeon was working.
Horsip paused by each of the wounded to say a few words, turned his holster-flap under his belt so he could get his gun out in a hurry, opened up the locker behind his desk, got out a thick emergency ration bar, sat down, and spoke on the phone to the officers in charge of the ship’s engines and navigation. They could leave anytime, but space off the planet was filled with ships, and one of them had just landed. As Horsip was talking, there was a roar overhead, and another one came down.
Moffis said, “We might as well fight it out on the ground. If we take off, we’ll never get past them. But suppose we started out as if we were taking off, then landed and dispersed in rough country? They could have trouble getting us out of there.”
Horsip shook his head. “We can’t abandon the command ship. Centra needs every ship.”
“We couldn’t get through.”
“Some way may turn up.”
The provost marshal came over.
“Sir, request permission to abandon the administration building, down to the connecting corridor.”
“Granted. Who are we fighting?”
“Up to the second watch it was vandals, then the Mikerils took over till halfway through the third watch, and we got three men out with pretty bad bites. Since then, it’s been something called the Ahaj Revolutionary Army.”
“What side are they on?”
“I don’t know, sir, but it isn’t ours.”
Horsip nodded, and the provost marshal went off to direct his men.
Horsip glanced at Moffis, who was talking on the phone. Moffis glanced up inquiringly, and Horsip said, “Moffis, is there an armor belt on this pot, or isn’t there?”
Moffis put his hand over the mouthpiece. “I think there is. I think it was made over from one of the old Warrior class. Sir, there’s the Snard emissary on the wire. He wants to speak to you.”
Horsip got out of the way of two men carrying a flame-thrower from an exhibition case of weapons used in the war with Earth, held the phone to his mouth, looked confident, and said cheerfully, “Good morning, General.”
“Good morning, General. I call on you to surrender. Our troopships are landing in the capital. Our fleet is overhead.”
“I’ve warned you of the consequences, General.”
“Are you insane? I am calling on you to surrender.”
Horsip put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Has anyone seen the markings on these ships?”
“No, sir. The men had to be taken off the detectors to hold the corridors.”
Horsip spoke confidently into the phone.
“I advise you to pass my message on to your rulers. You are in grave danger.”
Two more wounded were set down gently across from the white sheet in the corner of the room.
There was a harsh rasp from the phone. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Your situation is hopeless!”
“Nonsense. We are in no trouble here.”
“I hear the firing in the background.”
“Reinforcements have arrived.”
A huge black creature bristling with hair burst in the doorway. There was no one in sight there, and Horsip’s staff were still heaving desks into place. Horsip held the phone in one hand, his palm covering the mouthpiece, and aimed with his other hand. The Mikeril jumped over the desks. The gun leaped in Horsip’s hand. The Mikeril went down, then staggered up. Horsip fired again.
Just then, half a dozen grim-looking guards came out from the direction of the display case of Earth weapons, wheeling a squat gray object on a heavy cart. Across the room, the Mikeril was getting up. The phone was shrill:
“I call on you to surrender! You have no chance! My troops are marching on you at this moment!”
Horsip hung up, eyed the lettering on a placard stuck at an angle to the thing on the cart, tilted his head, and the lettering suddenly was clear: