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There was a low intake of breath from the assembled men. Not plant cataca? That was the crop that they had grown since–well, since ever. Anketam felt as though someone had jerked a rug from beneath him.

“There is a reason for this,” The Chief went on. “Because of the blockade that surrounds Xedii, we are unable to export cataca leaves. The rest of the galaxy will have to do without the drug that is extracted from the leaves. The incident of cancer will rise to the level it reached before the discovery of cataca. When they understand that we cannot ship out because of the Invader’s blockade, they will force the Invader to stop his attack on us. What we need now is not cataca, but food. So, next spring, you will plant food crops.

“Save aside the cataca seed until the war is over. The seedlings now in the greenhouses will have to be destroyed, but that cannot be helped.”

He stopped for a moment, and when he began again his voice took on a note of sadness.

“I will be away from you until the war is won. While I am gone, the barony will be run by my wife. You will obey her as you would me. The finances of the barony will be taken care of by my trusted man, Kevenoe.” He gestured to one side, and Kevenoe, who was standing there, smiled quickly and then looked grim again.

“As for the actual running of the barony–as far as labor is concerned–I think I can leave that in the hands of one of my most capable men.”

He raised his finger and pointed. There was a smile on his face.

Anketam felt as though he had been struck an actual blow; the finger was pointed directly at him.

“Anketam,” said The Chief, “I’m leaving the barony in your hands until I return. You will supervise the labor of all the men here. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” said Anketam weakly. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

IV

Never, for the rest of his life, would the sharp outlines of that moment fade from his memory. He knew that the men of the barony were all looking at him; he knew that The Chief went on talking afterwards. But those things impressed themselves but lightly on his mind, and they blurred soon afterwards. Twenty years later, in retelling the story, he would swear that The Chief had ended his speech at that point. He would swear that it was only seconds later that The Chief had jumped down from the gate and motioned for him to come over; his memory simply didn’t register anything between those two points.

But The Chief’s words after the speech–the words spoken to him privately–were bright and clear in his mind.

The Chief was a good three inches shorter than Anketam, but Anketam never noticed that. He just stood there in front of The Chief, wondering what more his Chief had to say.

“You’ve shown yourself to be a good farmer, Anketam,” Chief Samas said in a low voice. “Let’s see–you’re of Skebbin stock, I think?”

Anketam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“The Skebbin family has always produced good men. You’re a credit to the Skebbins, Anketam.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve got a hard job ahead of you,” said The Chief. “Don’t fail me. Plant plenty of staple crops, make sure there’s enough food for everyone. If you think it’s profitable, add more to the animal stock. I’ve authorized Kevenoe to allow money for the purchase of breeding stock. You can draw whatever you need for that purpose.

“This war shouldn’t last too long. Another year, at the very most, and we’ll have forced the Invaders off Xedii. When I come back, I expect to find the barony in good shape, d’you hear?”

“Yes, sir. It will be.”

“I think it will,” said The Chief. “Good luck to you, Anketam.”

As The Chief turned away, Anketam said: “Thank you, sir–and good luck to you, sir.”