The big ship touched ground, and its exit-port revolved and opened, and the student pilot stood there grinning and heaving out handsful of grain. There was a swarming, yelling, deliriously triumphant crowd, then, where only minutes before there'd been a mob waiting to rejoice when Calhoun's living body exploded into flame.
They no longer hated Calhoun, but he had to fight his way to the Med Ship, nevertheless. He was surrounded by now-ecstatically admiring citizens of Dara, only minutes since they'd thirsted for his blood.
Two hours after the first ship, a second landed. Dara went wild again. Four hours later still, the third arrived. The fourth came down on the following day.
Then Calhoun faced the executive and cabinet of Dara for the second time. His tone and manner were very dry.
"Now," he said curtly, "I would like a few more astrogators to train. I think it likely that we can raid the Wealdian grain-fleet one time more, and in so doing get the beginning of a fleet for defense. I insist, however, that it must not be used in combat! We might as well be sensible about this situation! After all, four shiploads of grain won't break the famine! They'll help a lot, but they're only the beginning of what's needed for a planetary population!"
"How much grain can we hope for?" demanded a man with a blue mark covering all his chin.
Calhoun told him.
"How long before Weald can have a fleet overhead, dropping fusion bombs?" demanded another, grimly.
Calhoun named a time. But then he said;
"I think we can keep them from dropping bombs if we can get the grain-fleet and some capable astrogators."