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Updated: June 22, 2025
"Hear that, lieutenant?" he asked. "Head for it, at about a thousand feet. When we're directly above it, let go some flares." "Yes, sir." The younger man had lowered his voice to a whisper. "That's geeks; headed for the Reservation." "Maybe Firkked's army," von Schlichten thought aloud. "Or maybe a city mob." The noises were growing clearer, louder.
They walked back from the door, whence they had escorted the delegation, and stood looking down at the saurian heads on the rug. Harrington raised his voice and called to a Kragan sergeant whose chevrons were painted on all four arms. "Take this carrion out and stuff it in the incinerator," he ordered. "Wait a minute," von Schlichten told the sergeant.
They drove the rioters from the steps or killed them there, they wiped out those who had gotten into the semicircle of the storm-porch. The inside doors, von Schlichten saw, were open, but beyond them were Terrans and a dozen or so Kragans. Hideyoshi O'Leary and Barney Mordkovitz seemed to be in command of these.
Von Schlichten shut his eyes, then opened them slowly. The driver, upon releasing the flares, had nosed up, banked, turned, and was coming in again, down the road toward the advancing column. Von Schlichten peered into his all-armament sight, his foot on the machine-gun pedal and his fingers on the rocket buttons.
You have no authority to assume a civil position of any sort, let alone the very highest position...." Von Schlichten unbuttoned his holster and took out his authority, letting Keaveney look in to the muzzle of it. "Here it is," he said. "If you're wise, don't make me appeal to it." Keaveney shrugged. "I can't argue with that," he said.
They came gliding in over the suburbs and the yellow-green parks, over the low one-story dwellings and shops, the lofty temples and palaces, the fantastically-twisted towers, following a street that became increasingly mean and squalid as it neared the industrial district along the waterfront. Von Schlichten, on the right, glanced idly down, puffing slowly on his cigarette.
"Have any ammo left for that burp-gun? Come on, then; let's see what it's like at Company House," von Schlichten said. "Captain Malavez, you know what to do about defending this station. Get busy doing it. And have that girl in booth three tell Konkrook what's happened here, and say that I won't be coming down, as I planned, just yet."
A Terran captain of native infantry came over, saluting. "Are you and your people all right, general?" he asked. Von Schlichten glanced at the front seat of his car, where Harry Quong, a pistol in his right hand, was still talking into the radio-phone, and Hassan Bogdanoff was putting fresh belts into his guns. Then he saw that they had gotten the wounded man into the car.
But he's one of Father Keeluk's parishioners, so...." "Keeluk! God damn, so that was it!" von Schlichten almost shouted. "Now I know what he wanted with Stalin, and that goat, and those rabbits! Of course they'd need terrestrial animals, to find out what would poison a Terran! Who's in charge at Konkrook now?" "Not much of anybody.
"If you think the natives who work at the mines feel themselves ill-treated, you might propose closing them down entirely and see what the native reaction would be," von Schlichten told her. "Independently-hired free workers can make themselves rich, by native standards, in a couple of seasons; many of the serfs pick up enough money from us in incentive-pay to buy their freedom after one season."
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