anyone
from suspecting the importance of the cargo-ship. The demand for stores
was a cover-up for things already done. But that cover-up had to be
completed.

Vehicles appeared at the edge of the landing-grid. Figures advanced
individually, waving white flags. Bors sent men out with small arms to
get their messages. These were the supplies he'd demanded. Food.
Rocket-fuel. More food.

The vehicles trundled into the open and stopped. Men from the _Isis_
waved away the drivers and took over the trucks. They brought most of
them to the ship's side. A petty-officer came into the control room and
saluted.

"Sir," he said briskly. "One of the drivers told me his load of grub had
time-bombs in it. The secret police use time-bombs and booby-traps here,
sir, to keep the people terrified. He says the bombs will go off after
we're out in space, sir."

"What did you do?" asked Bors.

"I pretended the truck stalled and I couldn't start it. Two other
drivers tipped off our men. We left those trucks and some others out on
the field, so the drivers wouldn't be suspected of alerting us."

"Good work," said Bors. "Better put detectors on all parcels from all
trucks before bringing them aboard."

"Booby-traps can be made very tricky indeed, but when they are used by
secret police...." Bors allowed himself to rage for a moment only, at
the idea of that kind of terrorism practiced by a government on its
supposed citizens. It would be intended to enforce the totalitarian idea
that what is not commanded for the ordinary citizen to do is forbidden
to him. But secret-police booby-traps and time-bombs would be
standardized. He hadn't allowed time for complex, detection-proof
devices to be made. Detectors would pick out any ordinary trickery.

The harsh-voiced broadcaster continued to harangue the population of
Tralee, of which the least of his words was high treason. They enjoyed
the broadcast very much.

Presently Bors began to fidget. The _Isis_ had been aground for
thirty-five minutes. He had sat in the control room that whole time,
supervising a smoothly-running operation. He had had to supervise it.
Nobody else could have planned and carried it out. But it was not
heroic. He had the line officer's inherent scorn for administrative
officers, who are necessary but not glamorous or admired. He was stuck
with just that kind of duty now. But he fretted. The local officials
were given time to get over their panic. They ought to be pl