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below.
     
     To
the right of the massive concrete barrier a parched valley wound away toward
the North Skweeman border. Patches of mud gleaming here and there at the bottom
of the gorge were all that remained of the former river. To the left stretched
a broad lake of blue-black water, its breeze-riffled surface reflecting the
greenish late-morning sun. Under it lay a hundred square miles of South
Skweem's best farm land, now forty feet deep in backed-up river water.
     
     A
narrow catwalk lined with pole-mounted polyarcs for night operations crossed
the top of the dam. On the far side a crew of Skweeman construction workers in
baggy ochre overalls toiled under the supervision of a spindle-legged Groaci
engineer, putting the finishing touches on the job. Other Skweeman's,
heavy-laden, struggled up a trail across the steep slope from below like a
column of ants. A touch of color met Retief's eye. He fine-focused the glasses,
picked out the sagging shape of a small hut half-concealed in the brush near
the base of the dam. Through its open door he saw the edge of a coil of wire,
shelves, the corners of packing cases.
     
     A
Groaci supervisor stepped into the field of vision, closed the door, hung a
lock on it, followed the workers up the trail. Retief lowered the glasses
thoughtfully. Then, keeping low, he moved off in the concealment of deep brush.
     
     It
was a stiff climb down to the floor of the ravine. Retief completed it without
arousing unwelcome attention. He came up on the supply hut from the rear.
Nothing moved near it now. The lock looked stout enough, but the warped boards
of the door were riddled with dry rot. At a sharp kick it bounced rattlingly
open.
     
     Inside,
Retief looked over a stock of tools, reinforcing steel fittings, detonator
caps, mechanical spares for the pumps—and a generous supply of compressed
smashite: three-inch rods of a bilious yellow color, each capable of excavating
a hundred cubic yards of hard rock in one blast. Quickly, Retief selected
materials and set to work.
     
     
III
     
      He
left the shed ten minutes later, unreeling a coil of two-conductor insulated
wire behind him. The ascent to the cliff-top took half an hour, by which time
the workmen had completed the task at hand and were busily packing up their tools.
Retief made his way up-slope to the control shed.
     
     Its
corrugated metal door stood half open. Inside, the floor was littered with
snipped-off bits of wire, empty cartons that had contained switching gear and
the butts of several dozen Groaci dope sticks. An inspection of the panels
showed that the wiring was complete. Five more minutes' study indicated that
the large white toggle switch beside the door controlled the polyarcs atop the
dam.
     
     Retief
brought the ends of his wires into the shed, linked them into the lighting
circuit. Against the gray floor, the insulated lines were almost invisible.
     
     Back
outside, he brushed loose sand over the wires leading up from below, then
headed back to the car. He topped the rise, halted at sight of two bile-green
cars bearing the crossed-oculars insignia of the North Skweeman Home Guard,
parked across the bumpers of the CDT vehicle. There were eight armed Skweemans
in sight, patrolling alertly around the blocked car, while a pair of Groaci
stood by, dapper in Bermuda shorts and solar topis, deep in conversation.
     
     As
Retief strolled down to meet the reception committee, the locals swiveled to
cover him with their guns. The two Groaci stared, their eye-stalks twitching
hypnotically. Retief recognized one as a member of the Groaci diplomatic staff.
     
     "Good
morning, Lith," Retief greeted the Groaci Councillor as he came up.
"Keeping busy, I see."
     
     "To
depart instantly," the Groaci diplomat hissed in his faint voice. "To
explain at once this illegal intrusion on North Skweeman soil!"
     
     "Which
would you like first, the explanation or the departure?" Retief inquired
interestedly.
     
     "To
make