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turned to the captain. "The papers say you're our official supplyship," he said. "You're early, but an Earth ship is always good news."He clucked at the Dustie, who was about to go after one of the shinybuttons on the captain's blouse. The little brown creature hopped overand settled on Pete's knee. "We've been used to seeing CaptainSchooner."

  The captain and Nathan exchanged glances. "Captain Schooner has retiredfrom Security Service," the captain said shortly. "You won't be seeinghim again. But we have a cargo for your colony. You may send thesepeople over to the ship to start unloading now, if you wish--" his eyeswept the circle of windburned faces--"while Nathan and I discusscertain matters with you here."

  Nobody moved for a moment. Then Pete nodded to Mario. "Take the boys outto unload, Jack. We'll see you back here in an hour or so."

  "Pete, are you sure--"

  "Don't worry. Take Mel and Hank along to lend a hand." Pete turned backto Captain Varga. "Suppose we go inside to more comfortable quarters,"he said. "We're always glad to have word from Earth."

  They passed through a dark, smelly corridor into Pete's personalquarters. For a colony house, if wasn't bad--good plastic chairs, ahand-made rug on the floor, even one of Mary Turner's paintings on thewall, and several of the weird, stylized carvings the Dusties had donefor Pete. But the place smelled of tar and sweat, and Captain Varga'snose wrinkled in distaste. Nathan drew out a large silk handkerchief andwiped his pink hands, touching his nose daintily.

  The Dustie hopped into the room ahead of them and settled into thebiggest, most comfortable chair. Pete snapped his fingers sharply, andthe brown creature jumped down again like a naughty child and climbed upon Pete's knee. The captain glanced at the chair with disgust and satdown in another. "Do you actually let those horrid creatures have therun of your house?" he asked.

  "Why not?" Pete said. "We have the run of their planet. They're quiteharmless, really. And quite clean."

  The captain sniffed. "Nasty things. Might find a use for the furs,though. They look quite soft."

  "We don't kill Dusties," said Pete coolly. "They're friendly, andintelligent too, in a childish sort of way." He looked at the captainand Nathan, and decided not to put on the coffee pot. "Now what's thetrouble?"

  "No trouble at all," the captain said, "except the trouble you choose tomake. You have your year's _taaro_ ready for shipping?"

  "Of course."

  The captain took out a small pencil on a chain and began to twirl it."How much, to be exact?"

  "Twenty thousand, Earth weight."

  "Tons?"

  Pete shook his head. "Hundredweight."

  The captain raised his eyebrows. "I see. And there are--" he consultedthe papers in his hand--"roughly two hundred and twenty colonists hereon Baron IV. Is that right?"

  "That's right."

  "Seventy-four men, eighty-one women, and fifty-nine children, to beexact?"

  "I'd have to look it up. Margaret Singman had twins the other night."

  "Well, don't be ridiculous," snapped the captain. "On a planet the sizeof Baron IV, with seventy-four men, you should be producing a dozentimes the _taaro_ you stated. We'll consider that your quota for astarter, at least. You have ample seed, according to my records. Ishould think, with the proper equipment--"

  "Now wait a minute," Pete said softly. "We're fighting a climate here,captain. You should know that. We have only a two-planting season, andthe 'proper equipment,' as you call it, doesn't operate too well outhere. It has a way of clogging up with dust in the summer, and rustingin the winter."

  "Really," said Captain Varga. "As I was saying, with the properequipment, you could cultivate a great deal more land than you seem tobe using. This would give you the necessary heavier yield. Wouldn't yousay so, Nathan?"

  The little nervous man nodded. "Certainly, captain. With the properorganization of labor."

  "That's nonsense," Pete said, suddenly angry. "Nobody can get that kindof yield from this planet. The ground won't give it, and the men won'tgrow it."

  The captain gave him a long look. "Really?" he said. "I think you'rewrong. I think the men will grow it."

  Pete stood up slowly. "What are you trying to say? This business aboutquotas and organization of labor--"

  "You didn't read our credentials as we instructed you, Farnam. Mr.Nathan is the official governor of the colony on Baron IV, as of now.You'll find him most co-operative, I'm sure, but he's answerabledirectly to me in all matters. My job is administration of the entireBaron system. Clear enough?"

  Pete's eyes were dark. "I think you'd better draw me a picture," he saidtightly. "A very clear picture."

  "Very well. Baron IV is not paying for its upkeep. _Taaro_, after all,is not the most necessary of crops in the universe. It has value, butnot very much value, all things considered. If the production of _taaro_here is not increased sharply, it may be necessary to close down thecolony altogether."

  "You're a liar," said Pete shortly. "The Colonization Board makes noproduction demands on the colonies. Nor does it farm out systems forpersonal exploitation."

  The captain smiled. "The Colonization Board, as you call it, hasundergone a slight reorganization," he said.

  "_Reorganization!_ It's a top-level board in the Earth Government!Nothing could reorganize it but a wholesale--" He broke off, his jawsagging as the implication sank in.

  "You're rather out on a limb, you see," said the captain coolly. "Poorcommunications and all that. The fact is that the entire EarthGovernment has undergone a slight reorganization also."

  * * * * *

  The Dustie knew that something had happened.

  Pete didn't know how he knew. The Dusties couldn't talk, couldn't make_any_ noise, as far as Pete knew. But they always seemed to know whensomething unusual was happening. It was wrong, really, to consider themunintelligent animals. There are other sorts of intelligence than human,and other sorts of communication, and other sorts of culture. The BaronIV colonists had never understood the queer perceptive sense that theDusties seemed to possess, any more than they knew how many Dustiesthere were, or what they ate, or where on the planet they lived. Allthey knew was that when they landed on Baron IV, the Dusties were there.

  At first the creatures had been very timid. For weeks the men and women,busy with their building, had paid little attention to the skitteringbrown forms that crept down from the rocky hills to watch them with big,curious eyes. They were about half the size of men, and strangelyhumanoid in appearance, not in the sense that a monkey is humanoid (forthey did _not_ resemble monkeys) but in some way the colonists could notquite pin down. It may have been the way they walked around on theirlong, fragile hind legs, the way they stroked their pointed chins asthey sat and watched and listened with their pointed ears liftedalertly, watching with soft gray eyes, or the way they handled objectswith their little four-fingered hands. They were so remarkablyhuman-like in their elfin way that the colonists couldn't help but bedrawn to the creatures.

  That whole first summer, when the colonists were building the villageand the landing groove for the ships, the Dusties were among them,trying pathetically to help, so eager for friendship that evenoccasional rebuffs failed to drive them away. They _liked_ the colony.They seemed, somehow, to savor the atmosphere, moving about like solemn,fuzzy overseers as the work progressed through the summer. Pete Farnamthought that they had even tried to warn the people about the winter.But the colonists couldn't understand, of course. Not until later. TheDusties became a standing joke, and were tolerated with considerableamusement--until the winter struck.

  It had come with almost unbelievable ferocity. The houses had not beencompleted when the first hurricanes came, and they were smashed intotoothpicks. The winds came, vicious winds full of dust and sleet andice, wild erratic twisting gales that ripped the village to shreds,tearing off the topsoil that had been broken and fertilized--merciless,never-ending winds that wailed and screamed the planet's protest. Thewinds drove sand and dirt and ice into the heart of the
generators, andthe heating units corroded and jammed and went dead. The jeeps andtractors and bulldozers were scored and rusted. The people began dyingby the dozens as they huddled down in the pitiful little pits they haddug to try to keep the winds away.

  Few of them were still conscious when the Dusties had come silently, inthe blizzard, eyes closed tight against the blast, to drag the people upinto the hills, into caves and hollows that still showed the fresh