White, James – Sector General 05 – Sector General

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.”