“Lord, I can’t say. Unless they wanted supplies—fissionables, perhaps—”

“I checked up on that, idiot. Yarnaz IV is about as poor in natural resources as empty space itself.”

“Could it be a camouflage, lord? A device to divert our attention from their real activities?”

“It may well be. But, we don’t know! The Patrol seems to have studied the primitive planets of our cluster better than we have ourselves. Furthermore, they have the natives of a million worlds to choose from in making up their crews. Doubtless there is at least one race in the League to whom Yarnaz IV is just like home. We can’t know where their real advantage lies.”

“Well, lord, it…it looks as if we’ll have to establish garrisons there.”

“I’m glad you’ve seen that much. How soon can you send a force?”

“The planning—Lord, we’re getting bogged down. There’s just too much to handle. Even one world is a major problem in strategy, tactics, logistics—”

“Nevertheless, Yarnaz IV shall be occupied within one month. Or do you want your head adorning a pole in Market Square?”

* * *

Fear was cold along the spine of Hurulta as he looked at the being in the cage.

It seemed harmless enough—a small kangaroolike mammal, with big ears on its round, blunt-muzzled head. The sensitive four-fingered hands spoke of intelligence, the basic tool-making ability. There was no menace in the soft brown eyes.

Nevertheless Hurulta was afraid. It took all the discipline he had to face that creature and hold his own visage expressionless.

“It was caught on the fringes of Dengavash City, lord, just after the riots there,” said the police officer. “Obviously it was the thing responsible. It creates an aura of terror.”

Hurulta forced his tongue to shape coherent words. “Where’s it from?”

“We checked up, lord. It’s from Gyreion, as the explorers have named it—a planet not unlike ours, on the fringes of our cluster. This is one of the natives. They haven’t been studied much, but seem to be a timid paleolithic race. Telepaths, though.”

“I…see. And when they’re frightened, as must happen rather easily, they radiate the fear-impulse and our minds pick it up.”

“Yes, lord. We think a Patrol sneak-boat must have taken a few and dropped them here on Ulugan. We’ll soon round up the others and we’ll be sure.”

“Um-m-m.” Hurulta’s heavy blue face contracted in a scowl. It was hard to think clearly, when he had to keep fighting down the germ of panic that screamed far down within him. “Yes. A good idea. But quantitatively insufficient. The Patrol can’t possibly smuggle enough of them here to make any significant trouble.”

“No, lord. Just nuisance value. Like everything they’ve done so far, isn’t it…if I may make bold to speak.”

Hurulta turned and walked out of the room. Gyreion—hm-m-m. A tough nut to crack, that world—but worth while. If enough of those hoppers could be turned loose on an enemy planet—why, it was the ultimate in psychological warfare!