Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

ENOUGH ROPE wants to go to war over it, that will be the League’s misfortune.” Wing Alak of Sol III and the Galac- tic League Patrol looked up into the hairless blue face and ventured an urbane smile. The Ulugani were hu- manoid to several degrees of classifica- tion—six fingers to a hand, clawed feet, pointed ears, and the rest meant little when you dealt with the fan- tastic variety of intelligent life making up Alak’s compatriots. This race looked primitive—small head, beetling eyebrow ridges, flat nose and progna- thous jaw—but inside, they were as bright as any other known species. Too bright! “It would be straining the obvious, your excellency,”’ said Alak, “‘to point out that the Unzuvan Empire com- prises just one planetary system of which only Ulugan is habitable, whereas the Galactic League embraces a good million stars. It cannot have been omitted from all calculation. But I must. say that, under these circum- stances, I am puzzled; perhaps your excellency would condescend to en- lighten me with regard to your atti- tude on this disparity.” Hurulta snorted, showing a for- midable mouthful of teeth. During the years in which Alak, as chief representative of the League and its Patrol, had been visiting Ulugan—off and on—and particularly during the past several months of mounting crisis during which Alak had been here con- tinuously, he had learned to regard the Solarian as a weak, wordy, and pedantic bumbler. Now one huge blue fist crashed into the palm of the other hand and he grinned contemptuously. “Let us not bandy words,” he said. “The nearest border of the League is almost a thousand light-years away, which would make your lines of com- munication ridiculously long if you tried to attack. Also, in spite of this distance, we have had our own agents in your territory for years. We know that the temper of the League popula- tion is . . . well, let us not say de- cadent, let us be kindly and say pacific. It would not react favorably to a war which could only mean expense and grief for it. Moreover, the Patrol is a minimal force, designed merely to keep order within the bounds of the League itself. Police- men! We have built up a war machine.” He shrugged massively. “Why go on?’ he rumbled. “It is only our intention to claim the natural rights of Ulugan. You go your way, we will go ours; we do not wish to fight you, but neither do we feel bound to re- spect the morals of an altogether different civilization. You can, at best, only be a nuisance if you try to stop us; and if the nuisance becomes too great, we are not afraid of fighting a thousand-year war to exterminate it. We are a warrior race and you are not: there is the essential difference, and mere statistics will not change it.” He sat down behind his desk and fiddled absently with a jeweled dagger. His voice was remote, uninterested. “You may inform your government that Ulugan is already commencing the occupation of Tukatan and the other planets in its system. That is all. You may go.” To dismiss an ambassador thus was like a slap. Alak had to fight himself for an instant before self-control came. Then his gaunt sharp face smoothed itself out, and his tone was unctuous. , ““As your excellency wishes, so be it. | Good day.” He bowed and backed out of the magnificent room. Scene: An upper office in the League Patrol Intelligence—Sol Sector— building, Britn, Terra. A sparsely furnished room, a few relaxers, a desk, the control-studded board of a robo- file. One wall is transparent, opening on EomMichbooks ico im