of cloth from one of the fallen native warriors. He began to wipe the blade of his weapon as Lieutenant commander Hernan pulled up beside him.
“Casualties?” the commander asked Hernan without looking up from his work.
“Six wounded, no dead,” said Hernan. “Or did you want me to count the aliens, too?”
The commander shook his head. “No. Get a detail to clear out the carrion, and then tell Frater Vincent I want to talk to him. We’ll have to start teaching these people the Truth.”
VIII
“Have you anything to say in your defense?” the commander asked coldly.
For a moment, the accused looked nothing but hatred at the commander, but there was fear behind that hatred. At last he found his voice. “It was mine. You promised us all a share.”
Lieutenant commander Hernan picked up a leather bag that lay on the table behind which he and the commander were sitting. With a sudden gesture, he upended it, dumping its contents on the flat, wooden surface of the table.
“Do you deny that this was found among your personal possessions?” he asked harshly.
“No,” said the accused soldier. “Why should I? It’s mine. Rightfully mine. I fought for it. I found it. I kept it. It’s mine.” He glanced to either side, towards the two guards who flanked him, then looked back at the commander.
The commander ran an idle finger through the pound or so of golden trinkets that Hernan had spilled from the bag. He knew what the trooper was thinking. A man had a right to what he had earned, didn’t he?
The commander picked up one of the heavier bits of primitive jewelry and tossed it in his hand. Then he stood up and looked around the town square.
The company had occupied the town for several weeks. The stored grains in the community warehouse, plus the relaxation the men had had, plus the relative security of the town, had put most of the men back into condition. One had died from a skin infection, and another from wounds sustained in the assault on the town, but the remainder were in good health.
And all of them, with the exception of the sentries guarding the town’s perimeter, were standing in the square, watching the court-martial. Their eyes didn’t seem to blink, and their breathing was soft and measured. They were waiting for the commander’s decision.
The commander, still tossing the crude golden earring, stood tall and straight, estimating the feeling of the men surrounding him.
“Gold,” he said finally. “Gold. That’s what we came here for, and that’s what we’re going to get. Five hundred pounds of the stuff would make any one of you wealthy for the rest of his life. Do you think I blame any one of you for wanting it? Do you think I blame this man here? Of course not.” He laughed—a short, hard bark. “Do I blame myself?”
He tossed the bauble again, caught it. “But wanting it is one thing; getting it, holding it, and taking care of it wisely are something else again.
“I gave orders. I have expected—and still expect—that they will be obeyed. But I didn’t give them just to hear myself give orders. There was a reason, and a good one.
“Suppose we let each man take what gold he could find. What would happen? The lucky ones would be wealthy, and the unlucky would still be poor. And then some of the lucky ones would wake up some morning without the gold they’d taken because someone else had relieved them of it while they slept.
“And others wouldn’t wake up at all, because they’d be found with their throats cut.
“I told you to bring every bit of the metal to me. When this thing is over, every one of you will get his share. If a man dies, his share will be split among the rest, instead of being stolen by someone else or lost because it was hidden too well.”
He looked at the earring in his hand, then, with a convulsive sweep of his arm, he tossed it out into the middle of the square.
“There! Seven ounces of gold! Which of you wants it?”
Some of the men eyed the circle of metal that gleamed brightly on the sunlit ground, but none of them made any motion to pick it up.
“So.” The commander’s voice was almost gentle. He turned his eyes back toward the accused. “You know the orders. You knew them when you hid this.” He gestured negligently toward the small heap of native-wrought metal. “Suppose you’d gotten away with it. You’d have ended up with your own share, plus this, thereby cheating the others out of—” He glanced at the pile. “Hm-m-m—say, twenty-five each. And that’s only a little compared with what we’ll get from now on.”
He looked back at the others. “Unless the shares are taken care of my way, the largest shares will go to the dishonest, the most powerful, and the luckiest. Unless the division is made as we originally agreed, we’ll end up trying to cut each other’s heart out.”
There was hardness in his voice when he spoke to the accused, but there was compassion there, too.
“First: You have forfeited your share in this expedition. All that you have now, and all that you might have expected will be divided among the others according to our original agreement.
“Second: I do not expect any man to work for nothing. Since you will not receive anything from this expedition, there is no point in your assisting the rest of us or working with us in any way whatsoever.
“Third: We can’t have anyone with us who does not carry his own weight.”
He glanced at the guards. “Hang him.” He paused. “Now.”
As he was led away, the commander watched the other men. There was approval in their eyes, but there was something else there, too—a wariness, a concealed fear.
The condemned man turned suddenly and began shouting at the commander, but before he could utter more than three syllables, a fist smashed him down. The guards dragged him off.
“All right, men,” said the commander carefully, “let’s search the village. There might be more gold about; I have a hunch that this isn’t all he hid. Let’s see if we can find the rest of it.” He sensed the relief of tension as he spoke.
The commander was right. It was amazing how much gold one man had been able to stash away.
IX
They couldn’t stay long in any one village; they didn’t have the time to sit and relax any more than was necessary. Once they had reached the northern marches of the native empire, it was to the commander’s advantage to keep his men moving. He didn’t know for sure how good or how rapid communications were among the various native provinces, but he had to assume that they were top notch, allowing for the limitations of a barbaric society.
The worst trouble they ran into on their way was not caused by the native warriors, but by disease.
The route to the south was spotted by great strips of sandy barrenness, torn by winds that swept the grains of sand into the troopers’ eyes and crept into the chinks of their armor. Underfoot, the sand made a treacherous pathway; carriers and men alike found it heavy going.
The heat from the sun was intense; the brilliant beams from the primary seemed to penetrate through the men’s armor and through the insulation underneath, and made the marching even harder.
Even so, in spite of the discomfort, the men were making good time until the disease struck. And that stopped them in their tracks.
What the disease was or how it was spread is unknown and unknowable at this late date. Virus or bacterium, amoeba or fungus—whatever it was, it struck.
Symptoms: Lassitude, weariness, weakness, and pain.
Signs: Great, ulcerous, wartlike, blood-filled blisters that grew rapidly over the body.
A man might go to sleep at night feeling reasonably tired, but not ill, and wake up in the morning to find himself unable