White, James – Sector General
Sector General
by James White
Accident
Retlin complex was Nidia’s largest air terminal, its only spaceport, and,
MacEwan thought cynically, its most popular zoo. The main concourse was thronged
with furry native airline passengers, sightseers, and ground personnel, but the
thickest crowd was outside the transparent walls of the off-planet departure
lounge where Nidians of all ages jostled each other in their eagerness to see
the waiting space travelers.
But the crowd parted quickly before the Corpsmen escorting MacEwan and his
companion—no native would risk giving offense to an offworlder by making even
accidental bodily contact. From the departure lounge entrance, the two were
directed to a small office whose transparent walls darkened into opacity at
their approach.
The man facing them was a full Colonel and the ranking Monitor Corps officer on
Nidia, but until they had seated themselves he remained standing, respectfully,
as befitted one who was meeting for the first time the great Earth-human MacEwan
and the equally legendary Orligian Grawlya-Ki. He remained on his feet for a
moment longer while he looked with polite disapproval at their uniforms, torn
and stained relics of an
almost forgotten war, then he glanced toward the solidograph that occupied one
corner of his desk and sat down.
Quietly he began, “The planetary assembly has decided that you are no longer
welcome on Nidia, and you are requested to leave at once. My organization, which
is the closest thing we have to a neutral extraplanetary police force, has been
asked to implement this request. I would prefer that you leave without the use
of physical coercion. I am sorry. This is not pleasant for me, either, but I
have to say that I agree with the Nidians. Your peacemongering activities of
late have become much too… warlike.”
Grawlya-Ki’s chest swelled suddenly, making its stiff, spi-key fur rasp dryly
against the old battle harness, but the Orligian did not speak. MacEwan said
tiredly, “We were just trying to make them understand that—”
“I know what you were trying to do,” the Colonel broke in, “but half wrecking a
video studio during a rehearsal was not the way to do it. Besides, you know as
well as I do that your supporters were much more interested in taking part in a
riot than in promulgating your ideas. You simply gave them an excuse to—”
“The play glamorized war,” MacEwan said.
The Monitor’s eyes flickered toward the solidograph, then back to Grawlya-Ki and
MacEwan again. His, tone softened. “I’m sorry, believe me, but you will have to
leave. I cannot force it, but ideally you should return to your home planets
where you could relax and live out your remaining years in peace. Your wounds
must have left mental scars and you may require psychiatric assistance; and,
well, I think both of you deserve some of the peace that you want-so desperately
for everyone else.”
When there was no response, the Colonel sighed and said, “Where do you want to
go this time?” ‘
“Traltha,” MacEwan said.
The Monitor looked surprised. “That is a hot, high-gravity, heavily
industrialized world, peopled by lumbering, six-legged elephants who are
hardworking, peaceloving, and culturally stable. There hasn’t been a war on
Traltha for a thousand years. You would be wasting your time there, and feeling
very uncomfortable while doing so, but it’s your choice.”
“On Traltha,” MacEwan said, “commercial warfare never stops. One kind of war can
lead to another.”
The Colonel made no attempt to disguise his impatience. “You are frightening
yourselves without reason and, in any case, maintaining the peace is our
concern. We do it quietly, discreetly, by keeping potentially troublesome
entities and situations under observation, and by making the minimum response
early, before things can get out of control. We do a good job, if I do say so
myself. But Traltha is not a danger, now or in the foreseeable future.” He
smiled. “Another war between Orligia and Earth would be more likely.”
“That will not happen, Colonel,” Grawlya-Ki said, its modulated growling
forming a vaguely threatening accompaniment to the accentless speech coming from
its translator pack. “Former enemies who have beaten hell out of each other
make the best friends. But there has to be an easier way of making friends.”