A few of the big corporations had sent out field men to look around, but it was too soon for any industry to have established itself here; all the planet offered so far was room to expand.  Despite the wide expansion of the Earthmen through the stars, a planet where conditions were at all favorable for living was not to be overlooked; the continuing population explosion, despite tight regulations on the inner worlds, had kept up with the colonization of these worlds, and new room was constantly needed.

But the planetfall on Hirlaj was still new.  A handful of Earthmen had come, but they had not yet brought their civilization with them.  They stood precariously on the Flat, waiting for more settlers to come in and build with them.  If there should be trouble before more men arrived....

At 600 Rynason walked out on the dirt-packed street to Manning’s quarters.  He met Marc Stoworth and Jules Lessingham coming out the door.  They looked worried.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

They didn’t stop as they went by.  “Ask the old man,” said Stoworth, going past with an uncharacteristically hurried step.

Rynason went on in through the open door.  Manning was in the front room, amid several crates of stunner-units.  He looked up quickly as Rynason entered and waved brusquely to him.

“Help me get this stuff unloaded, Lee.”

Rynason fished for his sheath-knife and started cutting open one of the crates.  “Why are you unloading the arsenal?”

“Because we may need it.  Couple of the boys were just out at the horse-pasture, and they say the friendly natives have disappeared.”

“Jules and Stoworth?  I met them on the way in.”

“They were doing some follow-up work out there ... or at least they were going to.  There’s not a single one of them there, not a trace of them.”

Rynason frowned.  “They were all there this morning.”

“They’re not there now!” Manning snapped.  “I don’t like it, not after what you’ve told me.  We’re going to look for them.”

“With stunners?”

“Yes.  Right now Mara is out at the field clearing several of the fliers to use in scouting for them.”

Rynason stacked the boxes of weapons and power-packs on the floor where Manning indicated.  There were about forty of them—­blunt-barrelled guns with thick casing around the powerpacks, weighing about ten pounds each.  They looked as statically blunt as anvils, but they could stun any animal at two hundred yards; within a two-foot range, they could shake a rock wall down.

“How many men are we taking with us?” Rynason asked, eying the stacks on the floor.

Manning looked up at him briefly.  “As many as we can get.  I’m calling a militia; Stoworth and Lessingham went into town to round up some men.”

So he was going ahead with the power-grab; Malhomme had been right.  No danger had been proven yet, but that wouldn’t stop Manning—­nor the drifters he’d been buying in the town.  Killing was an everyday thing to them.