ve stuffed
Firkked's head in the dustbin."

Jules Keaveney, who always seemed to be where he wasn't wanted, heard
that and fairly screamed.

"General von Schlichten! That is a political decision! You have no
authority to make promises like that; that is a matter for the
Governor-General, at least!"

"Well, as of now, and until a successor to Sid Harrington can be sent
here from Terra, I'm Governor-General," von Schlichten told him,
mentally thanking Keaveney for reminding him of the necessity for such
a step. "Captain Malavez! You will send out an all-station telecast,
immediately: Military Commander-in-Chief Carlos von Schlichten, being
informed of the deaths of both Governor-General Harrington and
Lieutenant-Governor Blount, assumes the duties of Governor-General, as
of 0001 today." He turned to Keaveney. "Does that satisfy you?" he
asked.

"No, it doesn't. You have no authority to assume a civil position of
any sort, let alone the very highest position...."

Von Schlichten unbuttoned his holster and took out his authority,
letting Keaveney look into the muzzle of it.

"Here it is," he said. "If you're wise, don't make me appeal to it."

Keaveney shrugged. "I can't argue with that," he said. "But I don't
fancy the Uller Company is going to be impressed by it."

"The Uller Company," von Schlichten replied, "is six and a half
parsecs away. It takes a ship six months to get from here to Terra,
and another six months to get back. A radio message takes a little
over twenty-one years, each way." He holstered the pistol again. "You
were bitching about how we needed reenforcements, a while ago. Well,
here's where we have to reverse Clausewitz and use politics as an
extension by other means of war."

"That brings up another question, general," one of Keaveney's
subordinates said. "Can we hold out long enough for help to get here
from Terra?"

"By the time help could reach us from Terra," von Schlichten replied,
"we'll either have this revolt crushed, or there won't be a live
Terran left on Uller." He felt a brief sadistic pleasure as he watched
Keaveney's face sag in horror. "What do you think we'll live on, for a
year?" he asked. "On this planet, there's not more than a three
months' supply of any sort of food a human can eat. And the ships
that'll be coming in until word of our plight can get to Terra won't
bring enough to keep us going. We need the farms and livestock and the
animal-tissue culture plant at Kon