Unspecialist | Page 3

that Armageddon is
around the corner."

"Well," said the surprised Warcraft.
"Where'd you pick that up," asked Banner.
"From Captain Slatkin," said Arnold, smiling. "I met him when I was
indoctrinated. He took the same micro-course in culturology. 'Course,
he only believed that stuff when he was scared."
"Oh, you don't say," said Banner. "Tell us, my little friend, are you too,
convinced that Armageddon is around the corner? Not that I really
think you're capable of having an opinion."
"I got plenty of opinions, all right," said Arnold quietly, staring at his
shoes. "Opinion number one is this: We're not really at war yet, but
within the past two years, fifty-six patrol ships have disappeared in the
vicinity of our friendly neighbor."
"That's not an opinion," Banner said. "And disappeared can mean a lot
of things."
"Opinion number two," continued Arnold, scratching himself under an
arm. "About the only diplomatic relations we got with them animals is
when they write a note complaining about some Patrol ship getting too
close to some piece of dirt in their system."
"Speaking of that, you'll have to excuse me for a moment," Warcraft
said.
"Stop clowning," snapped Banner. "Listen to him. Here's your chance
to get some insight into the nature of the thorn in your side. Go on,
Bean Brain. Any more opinions?"
"Yeah. If you're such a wise guy, tell me why you're here right now.
Why?" Arnold's mouth screwed itself into a knowing, bitter smile.
"When both of you were children you heard the story about the Big
Fleet. So you made it into the Patrol, spent the rest of your life training,
looking, thinking that some day--"

Warcraft broke in, "That tale about an Ankorbadian fleet build-up has
been discredited a full thousand times. When they pried that crazy
scout out of his ship, he was an hour away from the crematorium. You
try spending forty-six days in space without food or water sometime!
You'll see hidden arsenals of alien ships till hell won't have it."
"And," added Banner, "where is this fleet build-up supposed to take
place? The patrol has had every planet in reachable space under
scheduled surveillance for the past twenty years. You don't hide a
thousand S-type cruisers in somebody's pocket."
"So nobody's scared, huh?" said Arnold. "So the entire space command
has been playing footsie all over the galaxy for twenty years looking
for a thousand ships that aren't there in the first place, huh?"
"Routine surveillance," said Warcraft.
"A thousand ships," said Arnold, slapping his sweating forehead.
"They'll burn through our defense system like--"
"You're a paranoid rabble rouser," said Banner lightly. "We've got work
to do up here. How about getting back to your bunk?"
* * * * *
Two days later they made scheduled contact with the caravan of potato
fertilizer and tractor fuel. One thousand sleds, in tandem, were in
proper orbit two hundred miles above Sedor II. Their orders provided
for a landing on the planet and a short ship-leave, at the discretion of
the ship's pilot to refresh personnel.
Banner and Harcraft decided against landing. All necessary contact,
now that they were out of hyperdrive, could be accomplished with the
ship's radio. Short planetfalls were, psychologically, more trouble than
they were worth, often destroying the hard-earned, delicate space
orientation which was their only defense against the abysmal boredom.
"It's a dull place anyway," explained Harcraft to Arnold, who had come

up to the control room. "It's a mining and processing settlement. Maybe
five hundred families altogether. Got a funny religion, too."
"Huh, what kind?"
"Well," began Harcraft breezily, "sort of sacrificial you might say.
They believe in killing strangers who annoy their women."
"A dull place," agreed Arnold, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"Speaking of religion," said Banner, "I just talked to their monitor on
the radio. They've picked up twelve big ships on their scanner during
the past two days."
"Ankorbades?" asked Arnold quickly.
"Uh-huh. But not what you think. It's Easter time or some such thing at
home. They all return to the home planet and stay there for about thirty
days in the spring. Religious festival."
"Oh, yeah. They paint themselves blue and howl at both of their moons
for a month. I read about it once."
"We'll be home, too, pretty soon," ventured Harcraft, for whom the
return journey was subjectively always short.
"Let's hitch up to those sleds," Banner said. "It's time to get going."
Four weeks later two of the fertilizer sleds went out of phase and
automatically cut the ship out of hyperdrive.
"A welcome diversion," said Banner to Harcraft, "you are now about to
meet your mortal enemy face to face."
"Manual labor? Never," said Harcraft, assuming the pose of a man
bravely facing the firing squad. "Patrol duty is