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Ramon Gonzales began swearing, then apologized for the interruption. “Then what?” he asked.

“Apology unnecessary. Then they did get a shelter designed, and started teaching some of the students at the native schools how to build them, and then the meteorologists told them it was no good. It was a dugout shelter; the weathermen said there’d be rainfall measured in meters instead of inches and anybody who got caught in one of those dugouts would be drowned like a rat.”

“Ha, I thought of that one.” Gonzales said. “My shelters are going to be mounded up eight feet above the ground.”

“What did they do then?” Foxx Travis wanted to know.

“There the matter rested. As far as I know, nothing has been done on it since.”

“And you think, with a disgraceful record of non-accomplishment like that, that they’ll protest General Gonzales’ action on purely jurisdictional grounds?” Travis demanded.

“Not jurisdictional grounds, Foxx. The general’s going at this the wrong way. He actually knows what has to be done and how to do it, and he’s going right ahead and doing it, without holding a dozen conferences and round-table discussions and giving everybody a fair and equal chance to foul things up for him. You know as well as I do that that’s undemocratic. And what’s worse, he’s making the natives build them themselves, whether they want to or not, and that’s forced labor. That reminds me; has anybody started raising the devil about those Kwanns from Qualpha’s and Darshat’s you brought here and Paul put to work?”

Gonzales looked at Travis and then said: “Not with me. Not yet, anyhow.”

“They’ve been at General Maith,” Travis said shortly. After a moment, he added: “General Maith supports General Gonzales completely; that’s for publication. I’m authorized to say so. What else was there to do? They’d burned their villages and all their food stores. They had to be placed somewhere. And why in the name of reason should they sit around in the shade eating Government native-type rations while Paul Sanders has fifty to a hundred thousand sols’ worth of crystals dying on him?”

“Yes; that’s another thing they’ll scream about. Paul’s making a profit out of it.”

“Of course he’s making a profit,” Gonzales said. “Why else is he running a plantation? If planters didn’t make profits, who’d grow biocrystals?”

“The Colonial Government. The same way they built those storm-shelters. But that would be in the public interest, and if the Kwanns weren’t public-spirited enough to do the work, they’d be made to–at about half what planters like Sanders are paying them now. But don’t you realize that profit is sordid and dishonest and selfish? Not at all like drawing a salary-cum-expense-account from the Government.”

“You’re right, it isn’t,” Gonzales agreed. “People like Paul Sanders have ability. If they don’t, they don’t stay in business. You have ability and people who don’t never forgive you for it. Your very existence is a constant reproach to them.”

“That’s right. And they can’t admit your ability without admitting their own inferiority, so it isn’t ability at all. It’s just dirty underhanded trickery and selfish ruthlessness.” He thought for a moment. “How did Government House find out about these Kwanns here?”

“The Welfare Commission had people out while I was still setting up headquarters,” Gonzales said. “That was about oh-seven-hundred.”

“This isn’t for publication?” Travis asked. “Well, they know, but they can’t prove, that our given reason for moving in here in force is false. Of course, we can’t change our story now; that’s why the situation-progress map that was prepared for publication is incorrect as to the earlier phases. They do not know that it was you who gave us our first warning; they ascribe that to Sanders. And they are claiming that there never was any swarming; according to them, Sanders’ natives are striking for better pay and conditions, and Sanders got General Maith to use troops to break the strike. I wish we could give you credit for putting us onto this, but it’s too late now.”