Image of the Gods | Page 2

tarring is mean," he said
wearily. "Glad to take a break."
"Maybe Cap Schooner will know something about the rumors we've
been hearing," Mario said gloomily.

Pete looked at him sharply. "About Earth?"
Mario nodded. "Schooner's a pretty good guy, I guess. I mean, he'd tell
us if anything was really wrong back home, wouldn't he?"
Pete nodded, and snapped his fingers. One of the Dusties hopped over
into his lap and began gawking happily at the broad fields as the jeep
jogged along. Pete stroked the creature's soft brown fur with his
tar-caked fingers. "Maybe someday these little guys will show us where
they go for the winter," he said. "They must have it down to a science."
Somehow the idea was funny, and both men roared. If the Dusties had
anything down to a science, nobody knew what. Mario grinned and
tweaked the creature's tail. "They sure do beat the winter, though," he
said.
"So do we. Only we have to do it the human way. These fellas grew up
in the climate." Pete lapsed into silence as the village came into view.
The ship had landed quite a way out, resting on its skids on the long
shallow groove the colonists had bulldozed out for it years before, the
first year they had arrived on Baron IV. Slowly Pete turned Mario's
words over in his mind, allowing himself to worry a little. There had
been rumors of trouble back on Earth, persistent rumors he had taken
care to soft-pedal, as mayor of the colony. There were other things, too,
like the old newspapers and magazines that had been brought in by the
lad from Baron II, and the rare radio message they could pick up
through their atmospheric disturbance. Maybe something was going
wrong back home. But somehow political upheavals on Earth seemed
remote to these hardened colonists. Captain Schooner's visits were
always welcome, but they were few and far between. The colony was
small; one ship every three years could supply it, and even then the
taaro crates wouldn't half fill up the storage holds. There were other
colonies far closer to home that sent back more taaro in one year than
Baron IV could grow in ten.
But when a ship did come down, it was a time of high excitement. It
meant fresh food from Earth, meat from the frozen lockers, maybe even
a little candy and salt. And always for Pete a landing meant a long

evening of palaver with the captain about things back home and things
on Baron IV.
Pete smiled to himself as he thought of it. He could remember Earth, of
course, with a kind of vague nostalgia, but Baron IV was home to him
now and he knew he would never leave it. He had too many hopes
invested there, too many years of heartache and desperate hard work,
too much deep satisfaction in having cut a niche for himself on this
dusty, hostile world, ever to think much about Earth any more.
Mario stopped in front of the offices, and one of the Dusties hopped out
ahead of Pete. The creature strode across the rough gravel to the door,
pulling tar off his fingers just as he had seen Pete do. Pete followed him
to the door, and then stopped, frowning. There should have been a
babble of voices inside, with Captain Schooner's loud laugh roaring
above the excitement. But Pete could hear nothing. A chill of
uneasiness ran through him; he pushed open the door and walked inside.
A dozen of his friends looked up silently, avoiding the eyes of the
uniformed stranger in the center of the room. When he saw the man,
Pete Farnam knew something was wrong indeed.
It wasn't Captain Schooner. It was a man he'd never seen before.
* * * * *
The Dustie ran across the room in front of Pete and hopped up on the
desk as though he owned it, throwing his hands on his hips and staring
at the stranger curiously. Pete took off his cap and parka and dropped
them on a chair. "Well," he said. "This is a surprise. We weren't
expecting a ship so soon."
The man inclined his head stiffly and glanced down at the paper he held
in his hand. "You're Peter Farnam, I suppose? Mayor of this colony?"
"That's right. And you?"
"Varga is the name," the captain said shortly. "Earth Security and
Supply." He nodded toward the small, frail-looking man in civilian

clothes, sitting beside him. "This is Rupert Nathan, of the Colonial
Service. You'll be seeing a great deal of him." He held out a small
wallet of papers. "Our credentials, Farnam. Be so good as to examine
them."
Pete glanced around the room. John Tegan and Hank Mario were
watching