the border of the occupied zone. No native may leave, if he has signed a
work contract."

On the day of the execution, the natives attempted to leave en masse.
The police activity along the border approached the proportions of a
massacre.

"We were nearly finished," raged the baron, pacing like an angry
predator in the glade. "Another two weeks, and the first ore would come
out of the crushers. They can't stop us now. They can't quit."

Three elders of the Geoark sat like frozen statues on a mossy boulder,
tight-lipped, not understanding the colonel's tongue, disdaining to
speak in the intermediate language.

"Explain it to them, Meikl. Make it clear."

Pale, trembling with suppressed disapproval, the analyst bowed curtly
and turned to the girl. "Tell them," he said in the Intermedia, "that
death will come to any native who deserts, and that ten auslanders will
die for every man murdered by the renegade committee. Tell them that the
Geoark is...." He paused. There was no word for "hostage."

He was explaining the hostage-concept lengthily, while the girl's face
drained of color. Suddenly she turned away to retch. Meikl stood
stricken for a moment, turned helplessly toward the baron.

"_They_ understood you, damn them!" ven Klaeden snapped. "They know the
Intermedia."

The elders continued to sit stonily on the boulder without acknowledging
that they had heard. One of them sighed deeply and spoke a few words to
the others. They nodded sadly, answered with polite monosyllables.

"_No!_" Letha yelped, suddenly whirling, looking at the elders.

One of them smiled and murmured a few words to her. Then the three of
them slid down from the boulder. The guard who stood at port arms a few
feet away stirred restlessly.

The elders walked casually toward a path leading away from the glade.
The guard looked questioningly at the officers.

"Where are they going?" ven Klaeden demanded.

"Well, Letha?" Meikl muttered.

"I--I don't know--"

"You're lying, girl," the baron grunted, then to the guards: "Tell them
to halt."

"Party, _halt_!" snapped the guard.

The three elderly gentlemen continued toward the path, loose robes
gathered up from spindley shins.

"_Party, halt!_"

The elders murmured conversationally among themselves as they continued.

"HALT, I SAID."

"Take the one in the middle," ordered ven Klaeden.

The guard lifted the snub-nosed shoulder weapon. There was a brief
rattling hiss. The back o