Sam sighed. “All right. Then you should just tell me about those laser parts because you want to—and because there’s no good reason not to… Is there?”

“None, except my firm conviction that you’ll put the worst possible construction on anything I tell you. What about those laser parts?”

“They’re military issue, aren’t they?”

“Sure. What else would a general be able to get, that natives would want?”

“That doesn’t strike you as a little bit corrupt?”

“Why? They’re being used for a military purpose.”

“The Wolmen’s military purpose!” Sam exploded. “It’s gunrunning!”

“I suppose you could call it that,” Dar said judiciously.

“ ‘Suppose’! Don’t you realize you’re signing your own death warrants?”

“Not as long as things stay peaceful,” Dar pointed out. “Shacklar has more faith in trade than in firepower. It’s awfully hard to fight your own customers.”

“But not exactly unknown.”

“True,” Dar agreed. “That’s why it’s so important to get the two groups to understand each other, and do some socializing. You might fight your customer, but you won’t fight your friend—if we can get them to be friends. If a real war does start, and if all the Wolman tribes ever unite against us, we’re dead. They outnumber us a thousand to one. Blasters would just speed up the process, that’s all.”

“Then why not sell them blasters?” Sam demanded. “Why just spare parts?”

“Well, for one thing, whole blasters are a little difficult to get the Army to ship to a prison planet.” Dar pressed a button in the side of the plastic cube; it started to hum. “But spare parts they’ll ship us by the thousands.”

Sam shook her head. “The insanities of bureaucracy!” She watched the humming cube begin to unfold and expand. “And for another thing?”

“For another thing, if we just sell them parts and instruction manuals, they have to learn how to put the dern things together.” Dar smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. “And that makes ‘em begin to wonder how and why it works—so they end up learning technology. Wait’ll they find out what a headache that lathe’s going to be! Just to get it working, they’ll have to learn so much!”

“Something of a sadist, aren’t you?”

“It goes with being a teacher.” Dar watched the plastic cube finish swelling into a slant-roofed shack, ten feet on a side. “ ‘Bout time to turn in for the night.”

Sam shook her head, looking frazzled. “If I’d known it was like this …”

“Hey, I never promised you a grav-bed or synthsilk sheets!”

“No, no! I mean this whole planet! The structure your General’s built up! The things he’s trying to do! If I’d known it was like this, I would’ve personally put a bomb on that new governor’s ship!”

Dar froze halfway through the door.

Then he looked back over his shoulder. “Excuse me—what was that again?”

“The new governor.” Sam frowned. “You know—the one that’s supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

Dar uncoiled back out of the door and straightened up. “No, as it happens, I didn’t know. And neither does anyone else on Wolmar.”

“They didn’t tell you?” Sam looked startled. “Well … anyway, they’re doing it. BOA’s sending out a new governor, with power to ship Shacklar home and take over all his authority. They’re kind of unhappy that the ‘Wolman Question’ is taking so long to resolve.”

“Oh, they are?” Dar breathed. “How interesting. How’d you come by this fascinating little tidbit? Common knowledge back on Terra?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it headline news…”

“We’re not quite that important,” Dar agreed dryly.

“It was the last piece of paper to cross my desk the day I quit—arranging transportation for this man Bhelabher and his aides.”

“Bhelabher, mm? What’s he like?”

“Oh …” Sam shrugged. “You know—nothing exceptional. A career civil servant, that’s all.”

“Quite,” Dar agreed. “Stodgy, you might say?”

“Stuffy,” Sam confirmed. “Very conservative—especially about military procedure and the treatment of convicts… What are you doing?”

“Packing up.” Dar punched a button and watched the shack start folding itself back into a cube. “We’re getting back to town.”

“I said something?”

“You did—and you’ve got to say it again, as soon as possible. To Shacklar. We’ve got to make sure he knows what’s coming.”

Whatever you do, don’t let him know what’s coming,” Cholly advised.

“But he’s gotta get ready!” Dar protested. “Repel boarders! Fire when he sees the gleam of their spaceship! Damn the triplicates, full speed ahead! Over the top!”

“Under the counter,” Cholly corrected. “Whatever happens, he’s got to be able to truthfully say he doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Oh.” Dar caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth. “I forgot about that.”

“Don’t.” Cholly began polishing the bar again. “A clean conscience and a clean record, lad.”

“First rule in political lying,” Dar explained to Sam. “Don’t. Be able to claim somebody misunderstood you—or did it on their own.”

“We’ll have to do it on our own, for this one,” Cholly amended. “The General’s a horrible liar. Can’t even claim he was misunderstood.”

Dar nodded resolutely. “Right. How about a quick commando raid?”

“Illegal,” Cholly pointed out.

“You don’t think you can get rid of Bhelabher legally!” Sam exclaimed.

“Nay, but we can do it in a way that can’t be proven illegal.”

“He means we’ve gotta be able to claim it was an accident,” Dar explained.

“Great.” Sam’s lips thinned. “ ‘Excuse me, sir, I didn’t mean to slip that strychnine in your martini.’ ‘Oh heavens, my bomb! I dropped it!’ ”

“Effective, but impractical,” Cholly said judiciously. “Very hard to ignore.”

“But you’ve got to do something! Think of the good of the planet!”

“I do,” Cholly said thoughtfully, “and personally, what I’d say this planet needs is a good customs office.”

“Real Scotch whiskey, mind,” the sergeant reminded.

Dar nodded. “Straight from Terra itself—Nova Scotia Regal. Two liters each, for you and your corporal.”

“Fair enough!” The sergeant shouldered his laser rifle and came to attention. “We’ll stand guard day in and day out, mate—for all day tomorrow, that is. Though why you’d want to guard this old shack is beyond my understandin’. Ain’t been nothin’ in there but spare parts an’ waste for ten years.”

“There is now.” Dar peeled off the backing and reached up to press the new sign into place over the doorway of the battered geodesic. “A carpet, five chairs, two ashtrays, and a counter.”

“ ‘Customs Office’?” The corporal squinted up at the sign. “Is this official?”

“Thoroughly,” Dar assured him. “Believe me, I know—I wrote up the orders myself.”

“Shacklar ordered it, hm?”

“You can’t expect him to keep track of every little thing.”

The sergeant let out a throttled moan and stiffened, reddening. Dar looked up at him, frowning, then followed the direction of his gaze—to see Sam coming up to him, dressed in a tight-fitting blue uniform with gold epaulets and a visored beret. Dar stiffened, too—he hadn’t been sure she had a figure.

“Cholly looked up his billings and found a Wolman who’d ordered a sewing machine.” She handed Dar a flat, neatly tied package, oblivious to their stares. “His wife was willing to do a rush job.”

Dar shook himself. “Uh, great. What’d it cost him?”

“Four power packs, six blaster barrels, two circuit chips, and a bathtub.”

“Worth every credit,” the sergeant wheezed, his eyes locked on her.

“Better get to it.” Sam turned to the door. “I’ve got to set up the terminal and the paperwork.”

“Uh—right.” Dar tore his eyes away from her and glanced at his watch-ring. “How much time do we have?”