He sat down and ran a hand through his fiery hair. That face—yes, by the First Cause, it was General Sevulan of Hurulta’s personal staff; he’d met him a few times. Mustering all his cheerfulness, he said: “Hello.” That was an insult in itself.

  “Are you in charge of this expedition?” snapped Sevulan.

  “More or less,” said Alak.

  “I demand an immediate and official explanation,” said the Ulugani. “A scout ship noticed radiations and investigated. You fired on it, though it got away—”

  “Too bad,” said Alak, though the fire had missed by his orders.

  “That is an act of war in itself,” rapped Sevulan.

  “Not at all,” said Alak. “This is a military reservation. Your scout probed in despite radioed orders to stop.”

  “But you are building a military base—on Garvish II!”

  “That is correct. What of it?”

  “Garvish is—”

  “Unclaimed territory,” said Alak coldly. “If Ulugan can take over Tukatan against the natives’ will, the League can surely annex an uninhabited planet.”

  “You are within ten light-years of Tumu. My government must regard this as an unfriendly act.”

  “Well,” said Alak, “your government hasn’t been exactly friendly toward us, you know. We’re just taking precautions.”

  “This is an ultimatum,” said Sevulan. “If the subspace radio would reach so far, we would call the League secretariat directly, to give it. As it is, I am delivering it to you. If you do not evacuate Garvish at once, Ulugan will consider your aggression a cause for war.”

  “Now look—” began Alak.

  “A task force is on its way to force your evacuation, if you will not go peacefully,” said Sevulan. “Take your choice.”

  Weakness flitted across Alak’s well-trained features. “I…I am really not given such responsibility,” he said slowly. “You must allow me time to communicate with my government—”

  “No!”

  “Well—”

  “You have my message,” said Sevulan. The screen blanked.

  Alak stood up, hugged his aide, and danced around the shack.

  * * *

  Hurulta the Arkazhik leaned over his desk as if he meant to attack Sevulan. Then, slowly, his great fists unclenched and he sat back.

  “They were gone, you say?” he repeated.

  “Yes, lord,” said the general. “When our task force landed, the planet—the whole system—was abandoned. Obviously they took fright when they realized our determination.”

  “But where did they go?”

  Sevulan permitted himself a shrug. “A light-year is too big to imagine,” he said. “They could be anywhere, lord. My best guess is, though, that they are running home with their tails between their legs.”

  “Still—to abandon a base which must have cost an enormous effort and sum to start—”

  “Yes, lord, it was astonishingly far advanced. They must have employed some life-form adapted to Garvish II conditions as workers. They do have that advantage: among their citizens, they can always find a species which is at home on any possible world.” Sevulan smiled. “I suggest, lord, that we complete the base ourselves and use it, since they were obliging enough to do all the real labor.”

  Hurulta stroked his massive chin. “We have no choice,” he said thinly. “If we don’t hold that system, they may come back any time—and it is dangerously close to our home, and as you say their men can function better there than ours.” He muttered an oath. “It’s a nuisance. We need most of our forces to complete the conquest of Tukatan in a swift and orderly manner. But there’s no help for it.”

  “We were going to take Garvish eventually, lord,” said Sevulan respectfully.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Take this whole cluster—and after that, who knows how much more? Still—” Being a realist, Hurulta dismissed his own annoyance. “As you say, this will save us time and money in the long run.”

  “I—”

  Sevulan was interrupted by the buzzing of the official telescreen. Hurulta switched it on. “Yes?” he growled.

  “General Ulanho of Central Intelligence reporting, lord.”

  “I know who you are. “What is it?”

  “Scout just came in, lord. The Patrol is on Shang V. Apparently they’re building another base.”

  “Shang V—”

  “Twelve-point-three light-years from here, lord.”

  “I know that! Stand by.” Hurulta switched off again. There was something of a giant dynamo about him as he swung on Sevulan.

  “What sort of planet is this Shang V?” he snarled.

  “Little known, lord,” faltered the officer. “A big world, as I recall. Twice our gravity, mostly hydrogen atmosphere—storms of unparalleled violence, volcanic upheavals, a hell planet! I don’t see how they would dare—”

  “They must be relying on sheer audacity,” snapped Hurulta. “Well, they won’t get away with it! No ultimatum this time—no message of any kind. You will organize a task force to go there at once and blow them off it!”

  * * *

  The Arkazhik was in an ugly mood, and his subordinates tried to make themselves invisible as he stamped past them. But then, the whole planet was foul-tempered and jumpy. The Garvish and Shang operations had been—still were—messy and costly enterprises which completely disrupted the schedule for Tukatan. That the Patrol fleet had been gone when the Ulugani arrived at Shang, saving them a battle, was small consolation, for it meant that the enemy was still at large, he could strike anywhere, any time, bringing death and ruin out of the big spaces. That meant an elaborate warning system around Tumu, tying up hundreds of thousands of trained spacemen; it meant the inconveniences of civilian defense, force-screens over all cities, transportation slowed, space-raid drills, spy scares, nervousness among the commoners that was not far from exploding into hysteria. It meant that the unrewarding Shang System must also be garrisoned, lest the Patrol sneak back there. It meant irritation, delay, expense, and a turbulent cabinet meeting in which Hurulta had needed all his personality to control the dissatisfied members.

  He took a grav-shaft now, dropping through many levels to a corridor hewn out of the rock below the capitol. Along this he stalked, the boots of his guards slamming a hollow rhythm back from the walls, until he came to a certain door. This he entered, to find a colonel of Intelligence seated among his instruments. The colonel bowed low. The little being in the chair merely cowered.

  “What planet is this from?” grunted Hurulta. “Nobody told me that.”

  The small one spoke up in a fluting voice that could not hide his terror. He was a skinny, four-armed, greenish being, with a bulging-eyed head that seemed too big for his body. “Please, lord, I am from—”

  “I didn’t ask you,” barked Hurulta, snapping at him. The oversized head rocked back on the spindling neck, and the prisoner began to cry. “Well?”

  “From Aldebaran VIII, lord,” said the colonel. “A League planet. His name is Goln, and he is a trader who has operated in this sector for a number of years. We pulled him in, together with all other aliens, according to your orders, lord, two days ago. No physical duress was necessary—in panic, he submitted to the usual truth-finding procedures. It turned out that he is a Patrol agent.”

  “That much I have already been told,” snorted Hurulta. “What of it? Why should that concern me? He hasn’t learned anything of value, has he?”

  “No, lord, not about us. He was a trader too, as he claimed. He merely reported to Wing Alak from time to time, telling him whatever he had learned anywhere. Under our questioning, he revealed a distinct impression that Alak is interested in Umung.”

  “Umung…hm-m-m-…the insectiles, aren’t they? About thirty light-years off, on the edge of our cluster.”

  “Yes, lord. He has traded with them for many years. They are a completely organized race, with little individual personality, but the collective intelligence is high. They are also, perhaps, the most skillful workers in the galaxy.”

  “Yes. It comes back to me now, Did Alak intend to organize them against us?”

  “Not as far as this Goln knows, lord. They are totally unwarlike, have too little initiative to make good soldiers. Goln’s impression is that the Patrol would like to deal with them, secretly, trading raw materials difficult to obtain on their world for finished products. That would, obviously, simplify the enemy supply problem.”

  “So…it…would.” Hurulta stood in thought for a moment. Then, whirling on Goln, he made his voice a roar: “All right, scum, how well do you know Umung?”

  The Aldebaranian shrieked in utter panic. When he found his voice again, he gasped: “Well, most excellent lord. I know it w-w-well—”

  “You’ll obey us and be rewarded, or you’ll be pulled apart cell by cell. Which shall it be?”

  “I…obey, my lord. The ps-s-s-sychomachines w-will show how well I m-mean to obey—”

  “Good. I want you to prepare a dossier on Umung. Use the machines to help you remember everything. Correlate it with all information available in Intelligence files. Submit the complete report to me within an eight-day.

  “I…I will try, l-lord—”

  Hurulta turned back toward the door. No one dared speak to him as he went down the corridor, but his mind was busy.

  Umung—yes. It had real possibilities. From all he had heard of it, Umung was a treasure chest. He had to prevent Alak’s using it, of course—

  But the Patrol! As long as they were in this vicinity, he could not declare war on the League. That might be just the excuse they wanted. He’d fight them if he caught them, but until then it was safer to wait, consolidate his victories.

  But it wouldn’t take much to occupy Umung. Not if its natives were as docile as all reports had it. And then he could show some real progress to those fat money barons. Already the war would have begun to pay off, and they’d support him in further schemes, let him build up his own power and prestige until the day he turned on them and broke them.

  Umung, yes. By all the hells, yes!

  * * *

  Imagine a creature somewhat like an ant—only in general outline, to be sure. It stands a meter tall on two horny legs whose cilia, rubbed together, are its voice organs. There is one pair of tentacles, ending in supple boneless fingers; above them are the true arms, and there is a small stalk on the wrist of each arm holding an eye with microscopic vision. The head is faceless, little more than a set of jaws and a pair of larger eye-stalks for normal seeing. The creature is utterly obedient to the mass-mind of its hivelike community, a patient, tireless, delicate worker. Apart from food and reproduction, its only need is work. Once you have persuaded the mass-mind—embodied in the queen—that it is to its advantage to do as you say, a hundred thousand little brown artisans are ready to slave to the death for you.

  Umung is not a large planet. Its atmosphere is thin and dry, its landscape mostly dreary plains. The Ulugani soldiers stationed there grumbled about its dullness. But not many were needed, and soldiers have always complained; it is a healthy sign.

  Technicians were required in large numbers, to educate the Umungi in the use of machine tools. But the hive dwellers learned fast. Goln of Aldebaran was invaluable, he knew the ins and outs of native ways. Before long, a good part of the entire planet was ready to start producing for Ulugan.

  It produced!

  * * *

  “All right, colonel, don’t just stand there! Give me your report.”

  “If it please you, lord, my scout squadron was investigating the Junnuzhik System as per orders—”

  “I know! We have to watch every planet of this cluster now, we never know where the Patrol may sneak in next—Well, what is it? Don’t tell me they’re trying to build another base!”

  “No, lord. Our intelligence unit captured some leading natives of Ilwar for questioning—”

  “Ilwar! What do you mean? I can’t remember every stinking native name for every worthless little area of a thousand inhabited planets.”

  “The world is Junnuzhik III, lord, the only inhabited one in the system. The natives are centauroids—big scaly fellows, beaked heads, crests—Oh, yes, I see that my lord remembers now. Well, Ilwar is the leading nation on the planet. They’ve attained a petroleum technology, are pretty good metallurgists, and so on. Under pressure, it was found out that the Patrol has been dickering with them. Wants them to supply several million troops, presumably for an invasion of our planet.”

  “Patrol have any luck?”

  “Well, lord, the natives are thoroughly anti-Ulugan. They assume that if we aren’t stopped, we’ll conquer them.”

  “True enough. But…oh, and damn! We’ll just have to take over the planet.”

  “They’re tough warriors, lord.”

  “I know. And occupying a whole planet is a major operation. But we can’t simply sterilize; we’ll need it ourselves in the long run. And we must take over the entire world now, colonel. At the very least, we must garrison thousands of key points, or the Patrol ships can simply sneak in and pick up their recruits. At this time, too!”

  “Lord—”

  “Shut up: File a complete report. Now get out of here. Hello, hello, give me the General Staff building…Commander Tuac? Ready your planners, boy. We’re going to invade still another world.”

  * * *

  “Tuac? Listen and obey.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “You know the planet Yarnaz IV?”

  “Hm-m-m…let me think, lord.”

  “Don’t. You’re not capable of it—you and your planning section!”

  “Lord, how could we know the Hwari would be such guerrilla fighters? Even under extreme difficulties, we’re carrying all the conquest—it’s just going more slowly than we had anticipated. If we could only have more troops, more supplies—”

  “Shut up, I said! We haven’t even finished with Tukatan itself, thanks to that Patrol. Junnuzhik will have to make do with what we can spare. Now listen, or I’ll have your head. Yarnaz is a red dwarf sun about fifteen light-years from Tumu. Its fourth planet is trackless desert, poisonous air, venomous life. Nevertheless, our checkup reveals that the Patrol has been there. Not a base. They’ve been mining near the equator. Why?”

  “Lord, I can’t say. Unless they wanted supplies—fissionables, perhaps—”

  “I checked up on that, idiot. Yarnaz IV is about as poor in natural resources as empty space itself.”

  “Could it be a camouflage, lord? A device to divert our attention from their real activities?”

  “It may well be. But, we don’t know! The Patrol seems to have studied the primitive planets of our cluster better than we have ourselves. Furthermore, they have the natives of a million worlds to choose from in making up their crews. Doubtless there is at least one race in the League to whom Yarnaz IV is just like home. We can’t know where their real advantage lies.”

  “Well, lord, it…it looks as if we’ll have to establish garrisons there.”

  “I’m glad you’ve seen that much. How soon can you send a force?”

  “The planning—Lord, we’re getting bogged down. There’s just too much to handle. Even one world is a major problem in strategy, tactics, logistics—”

  “Nevertheless, Yarnaz IV shall be occupied within one month. Or do you want your head adorning a pole in Market Square?”

  * * *

  Fear was cold along the spine of Hurulta as he looked at the being in the cage.

  It seemed harmless enough—a small kangaroolike mammal, with big ears on its round, blunt-muzzled head. The sensitive four-fingered hands spoke of intelligence, the basic tool-making ability. There was no menace in the soft brown eyes.

  Nevertheless Hurulta was afraid. It took all the discipline he had to face that creature and hold his own visage expressionless.

  “It was caught on the fringes of Dengavash City, lord, just after the riots there,” said the police officer. “Obviously it was the thing responsible. It creates an aura of terror.”

  Hurulta forced his tongue to shape coherent words. “Where’s it from?”

  “We checked up, lord. It’s from Gyreion, as the explorers have named it—a planet not unlike ours, on the fringes of our cluster. This is one of the natives. They haven’t been studied much, but seem to be a timid paleolithic race. Telepaths, though.”

  “I…see. And when they’re frightened, as must happen rather easily, they radiate the fear-impulse and our minds pick it up.”

  “Yes, lord. We think a Patrol sneak-boat must have taken a few and dropped them here on Ulugan. We’ll soon round up the others and we’ll be sure.”

  “Um-m-m.” Hurulta’s heavy blue face contracted in a scowl. It was hard to think clearly, when he had to keep fighting down the germ of panic that screamed far down within him. “Yes. A good idea. But quantitatively insufficient. The Patrol can’t possibly smuggle enough of them here to make any significant trouble.”

  “No, lord. Just nuisance value. Like everything they’ve done so far, isn’t it…if I may make bold to speak.”

  Hurulta turned and walked out of the room. Gyreion—hm-m-m. A tough nut to crack, that world—but worth while. If enough of those hoppers could be turned loose on an enemy planet—why, it was the ultimate in psychological warfare!

  The League planets—a decadent bunch. They couldn’t stand up long to such fear. They’d be ready to surrender to the first warship that came along.

  Meanwhile, it was necessary to cut off the Patrol’s access to Gyreion. Wouldn’t take too big a force for an effective occupation; the natives weren’t fighters. Once their fears had been calmed, they would be quite harmless—to Ulugan.

  This time, my friend, he thought with a savage glee, this time you’ve finally overreached yourself!