Image of the Gods | Page 3

papers, flipped through them, and handed them back with a long look at Captain Varga.
He was younger than Captain Schooner, with sandy hair and pale eyes that looked up at Pete from a soft baby face. Clean-shaven, his whole person seemed immaculate as he leaned back calmly in the chair. His civilian companion, however, had indecision written in every line of his pink face. His hands fluttered nervously, and he avoided the colonist's eyes.
Pete turned to the captain. "The papers say you're our official supply ship," he said. "You're early, but an Earth ship is always good news." He clucked at the Dustie, who was about to go after one of the shiny buttons on the captain's blouse. The little brown creature hopped over and settled on Pete's knee. "We've been used to seeing Captain Schooner."
The captain and Nathan exchanged glances. "Captain Schooner has retired from Security Service," the captain said shortly. "You won't be seeing him again. But we have a cargo for your colony. You may send these people over to the ship to start unloading now, if you wish--" his eye swept the circle of windburned faces--"while Nathan and I discuss certain matters with you here."
Nobody moved for a moment. Then Pete nodded to Mario. "Take the boys out to unload, Jack. We'll see you back here in an hour or so."
"Pete, are you sure--"
"Don't worry. Take Mel and Hank along to lend a hand." Pete turned back to Captain Varga. "Suppose we go inside to more comfortable quarters," he said. "We're always glad to have word from Earth."
They passed through a dark, smelly corridor into Pete's personal quarters. For a colony house, if wasn't bad--good plastic chairs, a hand-made rug on the floor, even one of Mary Turner's paintings on the wall, and several of the weird, stylized carvings the Dusties had done for Pete. But the place smelled of tar and sweat, and Captain Varga's nose wrinkled in distaste. Nathan drew out a large silk handkerchief and wiped his pink hands, touching his nose daintily.
The Dustie hopped into the room ahead of them and settled into the biggest, most comfortable chair. Pete snapped his fingers sharply, and the brown creature jumped down again like a naughty child and climbed up on Pete's knee. The captain glanced at the chair with disgust and sat down in another. "Do you actually let those horrid creatures have the run of your house?" he asked.
"Why not?" Pete said. "We have the run of their planet. They're quite harmless, really. And quite clean."
The captain sniffed. "Nasty things. Might find a use for the furs, though. They look quite soft."
"We don't kill Dusties," said Pete coolly. "They're friendly, and intelligent too, in a childish sort of way." He looked at the captain and Nathan, and decided not to put on the coffee pot. "Now what's the trouble?"
"No trouble at all," the captain said, "except the trouble you choose to make. You have your year's taaro ready for shipping?"
"Of course."
The captain took out a small pencil on a chain and began to twirl it. "How much, to be exact?"
"Twenty thousand, Earth weight."
"Tons?"
Pete shook his head. "Hundredweight."
The captain raised his eyebrows. "I see. And there are--" he consulted the papers in his hand--"roughly two hundred and twenty colonists here on Baron IV. Is that right?"
"That's right."
"Seventy-four men, eighty-one women, and fifty-nine children, to be exact?"
"I'd have to look it up. Margaret Singman had twins the other night."
"Well, don't be ridiculous," snapped the captain. "On a planet the size of Baron IV, with seventy-four men, you should be producing a dozen times the taaro you stated. We'll consider that your quota for a starter, at least. You have ample seed, according to my records. I should think, with the proper equipment--"
"Now wait a minute," Pete said softly. "We're fighting a climate here, captain. You should know that. We have only a two-planting season, and the 'proper equipment,' as you call it, doesn't operate too well out here. It has a way of clogging up with dust in the summer, and rusting in the winter."
"Really," said Captain Varga. "As I was saying, with the proper equipment, you could cultivate a great deal more land than you seem to be using. This would give you the necessary heavier yield. Wouldn't you say so, Nathan?"
The little nervous man nodded. "Certainly, captain. With the proper organization of labor."
"That's nonsense," Pete said, suddenly angry. "Nobody can get that kind of yield from this planet. The ground won't give it, and the men won't grow it."
The captain gave him a long look. "Really?" he said. "I think you're wrong. I think the men will grow it."
Pete stood up slowly. "What are you trying to say? This business about quotas and organization of labor--"
"You didn't read our credentials as we instructed