50 in 50

There were angry mumbles at this, and their self-appointed spokesman stepped forward and shouted, "You think you're smart or something?"

Bron didn't answer. He just smiled coldly and smacked his closed fist into the palm of his hand. It made a loud, splatting sound, and it was obviously a large and hard fist. The men leaned back against the wall and began to talk among themselves, ignoring him.

"He's a troublemaker, boys, and you ought to teach him a lesson," a voice called from inside the barbershop. Bron stepped up and looked through the open door. The man who had kicked one of his pigs at the spaceport was sitting in the chair with the robot barber buzzing happily behind him.

"Now, you shouldn't say that, friend, seein' as how you don't know anythin' really about me."

"No, and I don't intend to find out," the man said angrily. "You can just take your pigs and—"

Bron, still smiling, leaned over and pressed the HOT TOWEL button, and a steaming towel muffled the rest of the man's words. The robot snipped off a strip of toweling before its emergency light flashed on and it jerked to a stop, humming loudly. Bron left, and no one barred his way.

"Not a very friendly town," he said to himself. "But why shouldn't it be?" A sign said EAT, and he turned into a small cafe.

"All out of steak," the counterman said. "Coffee, just coffee is what I want," Bron told him, sitting down on one of the stools. "Nice town you got here," he said when the coffee arrived.

The man mumbled something inaudible and took Bron's money. Bron tried again.

"I mean you got real good farmin' land here, and plenty of minerals and mines. The Space Settlement Commission is staking me to my homestead. Must have staked everyone else here. It's a nice planet."

"Mister," the counterman said, "I don't talk to you, so you don't talk to me. Okay?" He turned away without waiting for an answer and began polishing the dials on the automatic chef.

"Friendly," Bron said as he walked back down the road. "They have everything here they could possibly need — yet no one seems very happy about it. And that girl was crying. What is wrong with this planet?" Hands in pockets, whistling lightly through his teeth, he strolled along, looking about him as he went. It was not too far to the spaceport, which was situated a little beyond the town — just a cleared area and a control tower.

As he came near the grove where he had left his animals, he heard a shrill, angry squealing. He quickened his pace, then broke into a ground-consuming run as other squeals joined the first. Some of the pigs were still rooting unconcernedly, but most of them were gathered about a tall tree that was entwined with creepers and studded with short branches. A boar reared his head out of the milling herd and slashed at the tree, peeling away a yard-long strip of bark. From high in the tree a hoarse voice called for help.

Bron whistled instructions, pulled on tails, and pushed on fat flanks and finally got the pigs moving about again. As soon as they began rooting and stripping the berries from the bushes, he called up into the tree.

"Whoever's there can come down now. It's safe." The tree shook and a patter of bits of bark fell, and a tall, skinny man climbed down slowly into view. He stopped above Bron's head, holding tightly to the trunk. His trousers were torn and the heel was gone from one boot.

"Who are you?" Bron asked.

"Are these your beasts?" the man said angrily. "They ought to all be shot. They attacked me, viciously; would have killed me if I hadn't got to this tree."

"Who are you?" Bron repeated.

"… Vicious and uncontrolled. If you don't take care of them, I will. We have laws here on Trowbri."

"If you don't shut up and tell me who you are, Mister, you can just stay in that tree until you rot," Bron said quietly. He pointed to the large boar, who was lying down about ten feet from the tree and glaring at it out of tiny red eyes. "I don't have to do anything and these pigs will take care of you all by themselves. It's in their blood. Peccaries in Mexico will tree a man and then take turns standing guard below until he dies or falls out. These animals here don't attack no one without reason. I say the reason is you came by and tried to grab up one of the sucklings because you had a sudden yearning for fresh pork. Who are you?"

"You calling me a liar?" the man shouted.

"Yes. Who are you?"

The boar came over and butted against the tree and made a deep grumbling noise. The man clutched the tree with both arms, and all the air went out of him.

"I'm Reymon, the radio operator here. I was in the tower landing the tender. When it left I grabbed my cycle and started back to town. I saw these pigs here and I stopped, just to have a look, and that's when I was attacked. Without reason…"

"Shore, shore," Bron said. He dug his toe into the boar's side and scraped it up and down on the heavy ribs. The boar flapped his ears atid rumbled a happy grunt. "You like it up in that tree, Mr. Reymon?"