e, he had no right to make a proclamation of any sort. But
he'd made it, and he was going to get the right to enforce it. That
was how William F. Sergeant's army was formed; Sergeant, still making
proclamations, gathered a good-sized group of men and marched on the
capital, New Didymus. The established government countered with and
army of its own, and for eight months, neither side could gain a
really decisive advantage.

Then the Government forces, rallying after a minor defeat near a place
known as Andrew's Farm, defeated an attacking force, captured Sergeant
and two of his top generals, and just kept going from there. The
treaty was signed within eight days.

Unfortunately, some of Sergeant's supporters had been hunters and
woodsmen--

Ordinarily, a guerrilla movement, if it doesn't grind to a halt of
its own accord, can be stopped within a few weeks. Where a world is
mostly cities, small towns, and so forth, and only a little jungle,
the bands can be bottled up and destroyed. And most guerrillas aren't
very experienced in their work; a small band of men lost in the woods
can't do much damage.

But a small group of woodsmen, on a planet that consists mostly of
jungle, is another matter. Those men knew the ground, were capable of
living off the country with a minimum of effort, and knew just where
to strike to tie up roads and transportation, halt essential on-planet
services and, in general, raise merry hell with a planet's economy.

So the Wohlen government called Earth and the United Cabinets started
hunting. Of course they came up with our corps--the troubleshooters,
the unorthodox boys, the Holy Idols. And the corps fished around and
came up with me.

I didn't really mind: a vacation tends to get boring after a week or
two anyhow. I've got no family ties I care to keep up, and few enough
close friends. Most of us are like that; I imagine it's in the nature
of the job.

It was a relief to get back into action, even if it meant putting up
with the kowtowing I always got.

When I stepped out onto the spaceport grounds, as a matter of fact, I
was feeling pretty good. It took just ten seconds for that to change.

The President himself was waiting, as close to the pits as he could
get. He was a chubby, red-faced little man, and he beamed at me as if
he were Santa Claus. "Mr. Carboy," he said in a voice that needed
roughage badly. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm sure you'll be able to
do something about the s