Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

16 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION © perimeter well enough defended so that anything they do won’t catch us with our fur wet. Clear?” Demaris gestured affirmatively. “IT don’t suppose you’re wondering why we hired you?” the Overchief asked. ‘‘No. I can see that. Resvik’s undoubtedly informed you on the’’ —he coughed—“high quality of our military leadership. I don’t expect an affirmative comment from you,” he added, not without a strong trace of the bitterness he must have felt. Resorting to mercenaries after his own officer-training system has proved deficient is never pleasant for a military leader. “All right,” he said with a savage rumble, “‘what will you need, ofi hand?” “Some light, mobile stuff. Not much of it. A squadron of Pira Class boats ought to do it. Pll do all my work through your intelligence agency. I'll need liaison and authorization. We may have to supplement their demolitions and infiltrations groups—I’ll see how their existing forces work out under my methods. I think I can get in a lot of damage before Genis even begins any full-scale retaliation. Give me about fifteen days to start the operation rolling. By then, ll know whether I need to ask for anything else.” “Done.” The Overchief touched the switches of his desk communicator. ‘Send in Tjetlyn Faris,” he said. Demaris felt the tension oozing away from him in direct proportion to his mounting excitement. He could feel himself settling into the old, familiar state of pleasant anticipation. It might not be for Earth’s sake, but for Mammon’s. It might extend the Agency’s reputation, instead of Earth’s. It might be for cash on delivery—but it was action, nevertheless—action, and, in war, the only peace he could hope to have. He looked up at Tjetlyn Faris with quicksilver burning through his veins. Faris was a youngish Marakian of about his own age. He came in the door and stood waiting for the Overchief to speak. “Sath, this is Tjetlyned Todren Koil,” the Overchief said, indicating Demaris. “Todren, Faris Sath. He’s your liaison and Second in Command. He’ll take you down to our intelligence offices and introduce you to the existing routine. Your authorization will be there ahead of you. From here on, it’s your operation to-work out between you.” Demaris acknowledged Sath’s presence with a shake of his head. The Overchief had made him the Tjetlyn’s superior by one grade, but Demaris had no illusions about that. No Agency man ever worked without his employer’s setting a watchdog over him. Deep within the Marakian interior, the Earthman smiled. That didn’t always work out the way it was meant to. Old Connie Jones, for instance, working with Farla’s paranoid culture, had so maneuvered his personal watchdog assassin that, in the end, the assassin had seen the expediency not only of killing Jones but of taking the victorious fleet back to Farla and staging a revolution. Quis custodiet— But that wouldn’t work here, nor was it necessary. Marak was not Farla, though the two races were descended from the same ancestor. There was no danger here of the mercenary’s being killed once he’d done his work. econnicloooks.comnn