"What's happening serves them right! It serves them right!"
Hardwick waited.
"Now," said Sandringham, "they are demanding to be let into Sector Headquarters for safety. They say we haven't irrigated, so the ground we occupy isn't going to slide. They demand that we take them all in here to sit on their rumps until the rest of the island slides into the sea or doesn't. If it doesn't, they want to wait here until the soil becomes stable again because they've quit irrigating."
"It'd serve them right if we let them in!" cried Werner in shrill anger. "It's their fault that they're in this fix!"
Sandringham waved his hand.
"Administering abstract justice isn't my job. I imagine it's handled in more competent quarters. I have only to meet the objective situation. Which"—he paused—"is plenty! Hardwick, you've handled swamp-planet situations. What can be done to stop the sliding of the island's soil before it all goes overboard?"
"Not much, offhand," said Hardwick. "Give me time and I'll manage something. But a really bad storm, with high seas and plenty of rain, might wipe out the whole civilian colony. That viscosity figure is close to hopeless—if not quite."
The Sector Chief looked impassive.
"How much time does he have, Werner?"