Gordon Dickson - The Right to Arm Bears

“I know,” muttered Bill impatiently. “Why wasn’t I told about the Hemnoid being here and being an agent, though? None of the hypnoed information mentioned it.”

“Lafe was supposed to brief you after you got here—that’s what he told me, anyway,” she said, in so low a voice that he could hardly hear her. “The Hemnoids are too good at intercepting and decoding interstellar transmissions for the information I’m giving you now to be sent out for inclusion in ordinary hypno tapes. The point is that word of what Mula- ay told the outlaws got back from the outlaws to the villagers, and the villagers began to ask themselves what was the point of using tools, if making a better living simply meant making a better living for the outlaws. You see, the outlaws go around collecting their so-called tax and the Muddy Nosers can’t stop them.”

“Why not?” asked Bill. “There must be more of them than there are of outlaws—”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” whispered Anita. “There are more of them than there are of outlaws. But without a clan structure they won’t combine, and the outlaws raid one farm at a time and take whatever the farmer has to spare. The farmer doesn’t even fight for his property—for one thing he’s always outnumbered. For another, most of them rather admire the outlaws.”

“Admire them!”

“That’s right,” said Anita. “They complain about how the outlaws take things from them, but when they’re telling you about it, you can see they’re halfway proud of having been robbed. It’s been a sort of romantic interlude, a holiday in their lives—”

“Yes,” said Bill, suddenly thoughtful. He remembered Tin Ear’s drunken but happy grin as he had sat at the table, being forced to swallow his own beer.

“The point is,” wound up Anita, “agriculture isn’t going to be improved around Muddy Nose as long as this nest of outlaws continues to exist. We’ve got a stalemate here—outlaws balanced off against the villagers, the Hemnoid influence balanced off against ours. Well, I’ve had some success with bringing the local females around to a human point of view. Lafe told me our superiors think maybe someone—er, mechanically oriented—like you, could have some success with the village males. So—as I say, you go back and try to organize them into a civil defense force—”

“I see,” said Bill. “Just like that, I suppose?”

“You don’t have to sneer at the very notion,” she retorted. In fact, a note of enthusiasm was beginning to kindle in her own voice as she talked—almost as if, Bill thought, she was falling in love with her own idea. “All the village males really need is a leader. You can be that—only, of course, you’ll need to operate from behind the scenes. But why don’t you talk to the village blacksmith to begin with? His name’s Flat Fingers. He’s big enough and strong enough to be a match for Bone Breaker himself, if they went at it without weapons. You get him on your side—”

“All right. Hold on a minute!” interrupted Bill. “I don’t know what this business of raising a civil defense force has to do with the situation, but it’s not the reason I came here. For your information, I was drafted while I was en route to a terraforming project on Deneb Seventeen, and what I was drafted for was to instruct the Muddy Nose villagers in the use of farming tools. In short, those were my orders and no one in authority has changed them. Until someone does—”

“ So !”

It was the first time Bill had ever actually heard the word hissed. He stopped his own flow of words out of sheer surprise.

“So—you’re one of those, are you!” Anita’s voice was bitterly accusing. “You don’t really care a thing about your work out between the stars! All you want to do is put in your two years and get your credit so that you can enter a university back home and get a general instead of a restricted professional license when you graduate! You don’t care what happens to the project you work on, or the job it’s trying to do—”

“Now hold on—” began Bill.

“—You don’t care about anything but putting in your time the easiest way possible—”

“If you want to know,” began Bill, “the way I feel about the terraforming of a whole world, with—”

“—and to blazes with anyone else concerned, human or native! Well, it happens I do care about the Dilbians—I care too much to let the Hemnoids stand in the way of their developing into an expanding, technological society and joining us and the Hemnoids not just as poor country cousins, but as an independent, self-sufficient, space-going race—”

“If you’ll listen a minute, I didn’t mean to say—”

“So nobody’s given you any orders, have they” furiously whispered a spot in the by-now pitch-darkness, twelve inches in front of and eight inches below Bill’s nose. “Well, we’ll just fix that! You’re a trainee-assistant, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, when he was able to get the words out.

“And I’m a trainee-assistant. Right? But which one of us was here first?”

“You, of course,” said Bill. “But—”

“Then who’s senior at this post? Me . You go back to the village tonight—”

“You know I can’t get back tonight!” said Bill desperately. “The gates were closed at sundown!”

“Well, they’ll be opened up again, if Bone Breaker says so—ask him!” snapped Anita. “Then go back to the village tonight and stay there and start organizing the villagers to defend themselves against the outlaws! That’s not a suggestion I’m giving you, it’s an order —from me as your superior! Now go do it and good night, Mr. Pickham—I mean, Mr. Billham—I mean—oh, good night !”

There was a feminine snort or rage almost Dilbian in its intensity, and Bill heard the sound of shod human feet stamping off across the turf away from him in the blackness.

Bill stood where he was, stunned. It was part and parcel of the ridiculously unorthodox way in which things had been going ever since he had landed on Dilbia that he should find himself at the orders of a female trainee-assistant who apparently was stark, raving unreasonable on the subject of the local natives. Now what? Should he follow Anita’s orders, organize the Dilbians of Muddy Nose—even if he was able to accomplish that—into a fighting force, and end up being tried under out-space law for unwarranted interference with natives’ affairs on Dilbia? Or should he go back to the village, instruct the locals in the uses of picks and shovels, and end up being tried under out-space law for refusing to obey an order of his immediate superior?

It was too much to figure out now. Bill gave up. Tomorrow, he would think the whole matter through. Meanwhile, there was the business of getting back to the village tonight—and into a human-style bed at the Residency, which he was far from unwilling to do. Maybe Anita was right about his only having to ask Bone Breaker to let himself and the Bluffer out after hours.

He turned about uncertainly, peering through the night, and to his relief, discovered the lights shining out of the windows of the outlaw buildings like beacons, a little way off. He went toward them, and as he got close, he discovered that he was coming up on the rear of the main building. He swung out around the closer end of it and headed toward the front entrance.

As Bill approached, he saw a number of Dilbian figures standing in front of the entrance steps—among them, standing a little apart, was the obese-looking figure of one who could only be the Hemnoid, Mula- ay , and with him two unusually tall Dilbians, one taller and thinner than the other, who should be Bone Breaker and the Hill Bluffer. Bill went up to them. As he got close, the large moon poked itself farther and farther above the mountain peak, and the silvery illumination in the fortified valley increased—so that by the time he stopped before all three of them, he was able to see their expressions clearly.