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His memory of the terrain around the mining settlement told him that there was no definite destination in the girl's mind. But she was in no such despair as to want deliberately to be lost. She'd guessed, Calhoun believed, that if there were Darians on the planet, they'd keep the landing-grid under observation.
But he and all the men on the ship were still crazy with panic from the gas they kept breathing until they died!" Silence. After a long interval, Maril asked, "You don't think the Darians intended to kill?" "I think they were stupid!" said Calhoun angrily. "Somebody's always urging the police to use panic gas in case of public tumult. But it's too dangerous.
Not where you're guessing or hoping. Not on Dara. Just because I act as if Darians were human doesn't mean I have to be one! I'm a Med Service man, and I'm acting as I think I should." His tone became exasperated. "Dammit, I'm supposed to deal with health situations, actual and possible causes of human deaths!
He worked for a long time. Then he shrugged and gave it up. He'd repeated to absolute tedium the facts that any Darians blueskins on Orede ought to know. There'd been no answer. And it was all too likely that if he'd been received, that those who heard him took his message for a trick to discover if there were any hearers. He clicked off at last and stood up, shaking his head.
So if I land on emergency rockets the blueskins down below may decide that I come from Weald. And in that case it would be reasonable to blast me before I could land and unload some fighting men. On the other hand, no ship from Weald would conceivably land without impassioned assurance that it was safe. It would drop bombs." He turned to the girl. "How many Darians down below?"
Then he broadcast on old-fashioned amplitude modulation which a modern communicator would not pick up at all, and which therefore might be used by men in hiding. He worked for a long time. Then he shrugged and gave it up. He'd repeated to absolute tedium the facts that any Darians blueskins on Orede ought to know. There'd been no answer.
There's no need for war between Dara and Weald, but if you insist...." The Admiral made a choking noise. He could have ordered Calhoun killed, but there was a certain appalling fact. The men aground from the fleet were breathing Wealdian air from tanks. It would last so long only. If they were taken on board the still obedient ships overhead, Darians would unquestionably be mixed with them.
The admiral glared at him through two layers of plastic, which covered him almost like a gift-wrapped parcel. "Be quick!" he rasped. "First," said Calhoun, "there are no more blueskins. An epidemic of something or other has made the blue patches on the skins of Darians fade out. There have always been some who didn't have blue patches. Now nobody has them." "Nonsense!" rasped the admiral.
The Darians who'd stampeded the cattle took them prisoners. They had to!" "True," said Calhoun. "It wouldn't have been wise to leave Wealdians around on Orede with their throats cut. Or living, either, to tell about a rumor of blueskins. Even if their throats will be cut now. Is that the program?" Maril shivered. "No ... They'll be put on short rations like everybody else.
If they were taken on board the still obedient ships overhead, Darians would unquestionably be mixed with them. There was no way to take off the parties now aground without exposing them to contact with Darians, on the ground or in the ships. There was no way to sort out the Darians. "I I will give the orders," said the admiral thickly.
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