"No, Major. There wasn't anything you could say to any of them. If you tried to reason with them, they called you a—a—" Sinclair stopped and turned away.
"What did they call you?" demanded Connel, getting madder by the minute.
"Anyone that disagreed with them was called an Earthling."
"And you disagreed?" asked Connel.
"I quit," said Sinclair stoutly. "And right after that, I started losing livestock. I found them dead in the pens, poisoned. And some of my crops were burned."
"Did you protest to the Solar Guard?"
"Of course, but there wasn't any proof any one of my neighbors had done it. They don't bother me any more, but they don't speak to me either. It's as though I had a horrible disease. There hasn't been a guest in this house in nearly two years. Three space cadets are the first visitors here since I quit the organization."
"Space Cadets?" Connel looked at the planter quizzically.
"Yes, nice young chaps. Corbett, Manning, and a big fellow named Astro. They're out in the jungle now hunting for tyrannosaurus. I met them through a friend in Venusport and invited them to use my house as a base of operations. Do you know them?"
Connel nodded. "Very well. Finest cadet unit at the Academy. How long have they been in the jungle?"