According To His Abilities

DeWitt nodded reluctantly. 'Yes, of course. You probably know best.' Briggs did know best, that was why he would run the operation on the ground, and he, Dr Price DeWitt, with the myopic eyes and slightly rounded shoulders of a man who was more at home in a laboratory than an alien jungle, would be the second in command. It was not an easy thing to take orders from a man like Briggs, but it had been the decision of the Board and he had concurred.

Sending two men was a calculated risk, with the odds carefully determined by computer to be well weighted in favour of success. The only other alternative was a small-scale invasion by the military with no guarantee that then objective would be obtained. There would be few, or no, losses among the ranks of the invaders, but a number of natives would be killed and Zarevski would probably be assassinated before they could reach him. If this wasn't argument enough, Spatial Survey was morally and constitutionally opposed to violence against alien races. They would risk the lives of two men, two armed men who would only fight in self defence, and that was all. Aram Briggs and Price DeWitt had been the two men chosen.

'What's it really like down there?' Briggs asked suddenly and for the first time the rasp of automatic authority was missing from his voice.

'Cold, a kind of particularly damp and nasty autumn that goes on for ever.' DeWitt worked hard not to show any of his natural feelings of pleasure at the light deflation of his companion's arrogance. 'This planet is a cold one and the natives stay near the equator. I suppose they find it comfortable, but on the first expedition we never seemed to be able to get warm.'

'You speak their language?'

'Of course, that's why I'm comic g, I'm sure they briefed you about that. We all learned it, it's simple enough. We had to if we wanted to work with the natives since they absolutely refused to learn a word of ours.'

'Why do you keep calling them natives,' Briggs asked with a sly smile, looking at DeWitt out of the corners of his eyes. "They have a name don't they? The planet must have a name?'

'It has an identification number, D2-593-4. You know Spatial policy on assigning names.'

'But you must have had a nickname for the natives, you must have called them something..?'

'Don't try to be coy, Briggs, it doesn't become you. You know perfectly well that a lot of the men called the natives "creeps", just as you well knew I don't use the name myself.'

Briggs barked a short laugh. 'Sure, doc. Creeps. I promise not to use the word creeps in front of you — even if they are creeps.'

He laughed again but DeWitt didn't respond, sunk in his own thoughts, wondering for the thousandth time if there was any possibility of this rescue plan succeeding. Zarevski had been refused permission to visit this planet, had come in spite of this and had done something to anger the natives and had been captured. In the days that had passed since he had sent his last radio message he might have been killed. In spite of this it had been decided that a rescue attempt would be made. DeWitt felt a natural jealousy at this, that a xenologist could become so important that he could break all the rules and still be valued for his genius. DeWitt's own career of over ten years in the Spatial Survey was unmarked by anything other than a slow rise in position and an annual increase in salary. Pulling the eccentric Zarevski out of this self-made trap would probably be the most important entry in his record — if it could be done. And that was up to Briggs, the specialist, the man with the right abilities. A strident buzzer burst through his thoughts.

'The alarm, we are over the target area. I'll take control of the ship and land it… '

'And as soon as we touch down I'm in charge.'

'You're in charge.' It sounded very much like a sigh the way DeWitt said it and he wondered again if there could be any sense to this plan.

Though DeWitt was theoretically flying the ship, he did little more than point to a spot and tell the computer to land on it. It was the computer that monitored the approach, measuring the multiple forces involved, cancelling them precisely with, blasts from the jets. Once the final descent began all DeWitt did was watch the ground below to be sure none of the natives would be caught by the landing. The instant they touched down safely and the roar of the engines died away Briggs was on his feet.

'Let's go, let's go,' he ordered in his strident voice. 'Grab that box of trade supplies and I'll show you how to get Zarevsld away from the creeps.'