Gallifa smiled grimly at MacFarland's use of the future tense. "We may have to live with them for awhile. But our immediate problem is how to convince the men that we can solve the present crisis—while we still have time."
"You'd never dare approach the mess hall," MacFarland warned.
The camp waited, wound up to the breaking point. Along about the middle of the afternoon, maybe before, all hell was going to bust loose. Unless he could stop it.
He suddenly grabbed MacFarland's arm. "Mac!" he asked eagerly. "The generator. Do you know if it's still working?"
A look of understanding crossed MacFarland's face. "The bull horn. Of course! Everyone in camp can hear the bull horn."
They made it past the mess hall without drawing any fire. A few moments later the resonant voice of the loudspeaker was booming across the camp. Gallifa spoke slowly, methodically, trying to convince and reassure. He paused, then once more repeated the plea.
He almost gave up. Then slowly the mapping gang edged into the open and filed toward the Administration room. Finally the bio team left the mess hall, and Gallifa let the heavy horn drop. What now? The present nightmare was almost over, but what of the future?
"We will be able to control the gnomes locally," MacFarland said, seeming almost to guess his thoughts. "As we expand, they will have to give."
"Maybe," Gallifa said. "But just because they are rodents. Don't underestimate their possibilities.
"The creatures of this planet have never been pressed. Nothing has been able to push them up the evolutionary ladder. We'll be the toughest environment they've ever faced, for we know the power of their defensive mechanism. How well will we be able to compete if they learn to use it as an offensive weapon?"