“I thought the Soetti attack would be a surprise to you,” Retief said. “Have you made any preparation for it?”
“We have ten thousand merchant ships. When the enemy comes, we will meet them.”
Retief frowned. “Are there any guns on this planet? Any missiles?”
Freya shook her head. “We have a plan of deployment—”
“Deployment hell! Against a modern assault force you need modern armament.”
“Look!” Freya touched Retief’s arm. “They’re coming now.”
Two tall grizzled men came up the slope, skis over their shoulders. Freya went forward to meet them, Retief at her side.
The two came up, embraced the girl, shook hands with Retief.
“He has come to help us,” Freya said.
“Welcome to Svea,” Thor said. “Let’s find a warm corner where we can talk.”
* * *
Retief shook his head, smiling as a tall girl with coppery hair offered a vast slab of venison. “I’ve caught up,” he said, “for every hungry day I ever lived.”
Bo Bergman poured Retief’s beer mug full. “Our captains are the best in space,” he said. “Our population is concentrated in half a hundred small cities all across the planet. We know where the Soetti must strike us. We will ram their major vessels with unmanned ships; on the ground, we will hunt them down with small-arms.”
“An assembly line turning out penetration missiles would have been more to the point.”
“Yes,” Bo Bergman said. “If we had known sooner.”
“We’ve seen very few of the Soetti,” Thor said. “Their ships have landed and taken on stores. They say little to us, but we’ve felt their contempt. They envy us our worlds. They come from a cold land.”
“Freya says you have a plan of defense,” Retief said. “A sort of suicide squadron idea, followed by guerilla warfare.”
“It’s the best we can devise, Retief. If there aren’t too many of them, it might work.”
Retief shook his head. “It might delay matters—but not much.”
“Perhaps; but our remote control equipment is excellent; we have plenty of ships, albeit unarmed. And our people know how to live on the slopes—and how to shoot.”
“There are too many of them,” Retief said. “They breed like flies and, according to some sources, they mature in a matter of months. They’ve been feeling their way into the sector for years now; set up outposts on a thousand or so minor planets—cold ones, the kind they like. They want your worlds because they need living space.”
“Retief must not be trapped here,” said Freya to her compatriots. “His small boat is useless now; he must have a ship.”
“Of course,” Thor said. “And—”
“Retief,” a voice called. “A message for you; the operator has phoned it up. A ‘gram . . .”
Retief took the slip of paper, unfolded it. It was short, in verbal code, and signed by Magnan.
“You are recalled herewith,” he read. “Assignment canceled. Agreement concluded with Soetti relinquishing all claims so-called Jorgensen system. Utmost importance that under no repeat no circumstances classified intelligence regarding Soetti be divulged to locals. Advise you depart instanter; Soetti occupation imminent.”
Retief looked thoughtfully at the scrap of paper, then crumpled it, dropped it on the floor.
“Any answer?” the messenger asked.
“No,” Retief said. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t even get the message.” He turned to Bo Bergman, took a tiny reel of tape from his pocket.
“This contains information,” he said. “The Soetti attack plan, a defensive plan worked out at Corps HQ, and instructions for the conversion of a standard anti-acceleration unit into a potent weapon. If you have a screen handy, we’d better get started; we have about seventy-two hours.”
* * *
In the Briefing Room at Svea Tower, Thor snapped off the projector.
“Our plan would have been worthless against that,” he said. “We assumed they’d make their strike from a standard in-line formation. This scheme of hitting all our settlements simultaneously, in a random order from all points—we’d have been helpless.”
“It’s perfect for this defensive plan,” Bo Bergman said. “Assuming this antiac trick works.”
“It works,” said Retief. “I hope you’ve got plenty of heavy power cable available.”
“We export copper,” Thor said.
“We’ll assign about two hundred vessels to each settlement. Linked up, they should throw up quite a field.”
“It ought to be effective up to about fifteen miles, I’d estimate,” Retief said.
A red light flashed on the communications panel. Thor went to it, flipped a key.
“Tower, Thor here,” he said.
“I’ve got a ship on the scope, Thor,” a voice said. “There’s nothing scheduled; ACI 228 by-passed at 1600 . . .”
“Just one?”
“A lone ship; coming in on a bearing of 291/456/653; on manual, I’d say.”
“How does this track key in with the idea of ACI 228 making a manual correction for a missed automatic approach?” Retief asked.
Thor talked to the tower, got a reply.
“That’s it,” he said.
“How long before he touches down?”
Thor glanced at a lighted chart. “Perhaps eight minutes.”
“Any guns here?”
Thor shook his head.
“If that’s old 228, she ain’t got but the one 50mm rifle,” Chip said. “She cain’t figure on jumpin’ the whole planet.”
“Hard to say what she figures on,” Retief said. “Mr. Tony will be in a mood for drastic measures.”
“I wonder what kind o’ deal the skunk’s got with the Sweaties,” Chip said. “Prob’ly he gits to scavenge, after the Sweaties kill off the Jorgensens.”
“He’s upset about our leaving him without saying goodbye. And you left the door hanging open, too.”
Chip cackled. “Old Mr. Tony don’t look so good to the Sweaties now, hey, mister?”
Retief turned to Bo Bergman. “Chip’s right. A Soetti died on the ship, and a tourist got through the cordon. Tony’s out to redeem himself.”
“He’s on final now,” the tower operator said. “Still no contact.”
“We’ll know soon enough what he has in mind,” Thor said.
“Let’s take a look.”
Outside, the four men watched the point of fire grow, evolve into a ship ponderously settling to rest. The drive faded and cut; silence fell.
Inside the briefing room, the speaker called out. Bo Bergman went inside, talked to the tower, motioned the others in. “This is the tower talking to the ship,” he said.
“—over to you,” the speaker was saying. There was a crackling moment of silence; then another voice:
“—illegal entry. Send the two of them out, I’ll see to it they’re dealt with.”
Thor flipped a key. “Tower, switch me direct to the ship.”
“Right.”
“You on ACI 228,” he said. “Who are you?”
“What’s that to you?” the speaker crackled.
“You weren’t cleared to berth here. Do you have an emergency aboard?”
“Never mind that, you,” the speaker rumbled. “I tracked this bird in; I got the lifeboat on the screen now. They haven’t gone far in six hours. Let’s have ’em.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
There was a momentary silence.
“You think so, hah?” the speaker blared. “I’ll put it to you straight: I see two guys on their way out in one minute, or I open up.”
“He’s bluffin’,” Chip said. “The pop-gun won’t bear on us.”
“Take a look out the window,” said Retief.
In the white glare of the moonlight a loading cover swung open at the stern of the ship, dropped down, formed a sloping ramp. A squat and massive shape appeared in the opening, trundled down onto the snow-swept tarmac.
Chip whistled. “I told you the captain was slippery,” he muttered. “Where the devil’d he git that at?”
“What is it?” Thor asked.
“A tank,” Retief said. “A museum piece, by the look of it.”
“I’ll say,” Chip said. “That’s a Bolo Resartus, Model M. Built mebbe two hundred years ago in Concordiat times. Packs a wallop too, I’ll tell ye.”
The tank wheeled, brought a gun muzzle to bear in the base of the tower.
“Send ’em out,” the speaker growled. “Or I blast ’em out.”
“One round in here, and I’ve had a wasted trip,” Retief said. “I’d better go out.”
“Wait a minute, mister. I got the glimmerins of a idear.”
“I’ll stall them,” Thor said. He keyed the mike. “ACI 228, what’s your authority for this demand?”
“I know that machine,” Chip said. “My hobby, old-time fightin’ machines. Built a model of a Resartus once, inch to the foot; a beauty. Now lessee . . .”
* * *
The icy wind blew snow crystals stingingly against Retief’s face. Chip carried a short length of iron bar thrust into his belt. He looked across at the tank. “Useta think that was a perty thing, that Resartus,” he said. “Looks mean, now.”
“You’re getting the target’s eye view,” Retief said. “Sorry you had to get mixed up in this, old-timer.”
“Mixed myself in. Dern good thing too.” Chip sighed. “I like these folks. Them boys didn’t like lettin’ us come out here, but I’ll give ’em credit; they seen it had to be this way, and they didn’t set to moanin’ about it.”