"They've no use for such things normally, because no nearby planet will deal with them or let them land. But they built a spaceship and came here. They went in orbit around Weald. They asked to trade for shiploads of food. They offered any price in heavy metals--gold, platinum, irridium, and so on. They talked from orbit by vision communicators. They could be seen to be blueskins. You can guess what happened!" "Tell me," said Calhoun. "We armed ships in a hurry," admitted the doctor. "We chased their spaceship back to Dara. We hung in space off the planet. We told them we'd blast their world from pole to pole if they ever dared take to space again. We made them destroy their one ship, and we watched on visionscreens as it was done." "But you gave them food?" "No," said the doctor ashamedly. "They were blueskins." "How bad was the famine?" "Who knows? Any number may have starved! And we kept a squadron of armed ships in their skies for years--to keep them from spreading the plague, we said. And some of us believed it!" The doctor's tone was purest irony. "Lately," he said, "there's been a move for economy in our government. Simultaneously, we began to have a series of overabundant crops. The government had to buy the excess grain to keep the price up. Retired patrol ships, built to watch over Dara, were available for storage space. We filled them up with grain and sent them out into orbit. They're there now, hundreds of thousands or millions of tons of grain!" "And Dara?" The doctor shrugged. He stood up. "Our hatred of Dara," he said, again ironically, "has produced one thing. Roughly halfway between here and Dara there's a two-planet solar system, Orede. There's a usable planet there. It was proposed to build an outpost of Weald there, against blueskins. Cattle were landed to run wild and multiply and make a reason for colonists to settle there. "They did, but nobody wants to move near to blueskins! So Orede stayed uninhabited until a hunting party, shooting wild cattle, found an outcropping of heavy-metal ore. So now there's a mine there. And that's all. A few hundred men work the mine at fabulous wages. You may be asked to check on their health. But not Dara's!" "I see," said Calhoun, frowning. The doctor moved toward the Med Ship's exit port. "I answered your questions," he said grimly. "But if I talked to anyone else as I've done to you, I'd be lucky only to be driven into exile!" "I shan't give you away," said Calhoun. He did not smile. * * * * * When the doctor had gone, Calhoun said deliberately, "Murgatroyd, you should be grateful that you're a _tormal_ and not a man. There's nothing about being a _tormal_ to make you ashamed!"