To Make a Hero by Randall Garrett

Yon the Fisher felt expansive. At last, after twelve long years of waiting, he would have his spaceship! Of course, he had no intention of taking the crew of the _Caduceus_ anywhere; he wanted no spaceship but his own on Cardigan's Green. But now that a part of his dream was about to come true, he felt like making a grand gesture. He would throw a party. He was the second most important man on Cardigan's Green now, and eventually the old Commander would die, and Yon the Fisher would be elected.

He would _really_ throw a party then, but now he would do a good job. He would entertain this Islander in the grand manner.

The entertainment was held in a large stone hall. It was poorly lighted and almost bare of ornamentation. By the time everything was ready, the sun had set, and the hall was illuminated by oil torches set in sconces along the walls.

It was strictly a stag affair, which, as far as Hale was concerned, made it a very dull party indeed. There were speeches galore, and Yon the Fisher made about every third one.

Hungry as he was, it took a little time for Hale to work up enough courage to try the food placed before him. He had eaten foods on half a thousand different planets, but a thing like a pickled centipede had never been set before him before, and its pale blue-green color and translucent body did nothing to endear it to him. He finally tried one, after closing his eyes seraphically, as though he wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. It was delicious.

The beverage was a purplish, sour-tasting ferment that produced a nice glow. Hale drank three cups of it before he thought to wonder if it were made from the purple berry with the white worms inside. He wisely refrained from asking, and, after a few more cups, it ceased to worry him at all.

As the night went on, the party became more and more boisterous. Everyone had plenty of the purple ferment, and the conversation became more and more interesting as it made less and less sense.

It must have been rather early in the morning when the incident occurred that both shocked Hale back into sobriety and gave him a new zest for life.

As is usual in parties of that sort, the host somehow managed to underestimate the amount of liquor that would be consumed. The supply ran out, and Yon the Fisher had to send out for more.

"La! " he cried as he turned up the last earthenware jug, only to find a bare half-cupful within. "Out of juice! Are we all out? No more? " He gazed around, as though he expected any full jugs to stand up and announce themselves. None did. "Look around! " he bawled. "There must be another."

The whole group of thirty-odd men began turning jugs upside down. One of them had a little in it, but the man who turned it had failed to provide a receptacle, and it splashed on the floor. There were no full jugs.

"Ferek! You, Ferek! " Yon called loudly. One of the men stood up and came toward him. "Ferek, go get us some more. Wake up Lan the Brewer. Here -- take this. " He opened a leather bag that hung at the cincture of his robe and spilled out a handful of sparkling, blue-white stones. He selected one and handed it over. "And mind you make it snappy, Ferek; we're all thirsty!"

Ferek turned on his heel and fled, but Leland Hale did not watch his departure. Hale was staring at the handful of stones in Yon the Fisher's palm.

Diamonds! Perfect, blue-white octahedrons! He knew what they were; the vital tuning crystals for the subspace radio. So _that_ was what the _Morris_ had been carrying! The little crystals that were worth more than all the rest of a subspace radio, including installation. And they were using them as a medium of exchange!

Hale mentally rubbed his hands together, and the glitter of promised profit gleamed in his eyes.

When Ferek came back with the purple juice, fourteen jugs of it, Hale was ready for the fun to begin.

He woke up the next morning with a head that felt the way it deserved to feel. He vaguely remembered being courteously escorted back to "the brig" and ceremoniously locked in with the best of good wishes. He'd felt fine then; he didn't now.

He sat up, wishing he had his pack back so that he could get a couple of aspirin tablets.

Then the noise came to his ears -- an excited muttering outside the window. He got to his feet carefully and walked over to the barred opening.

Outside, a group of men were standing across the narrow street from his cell. They seemed to be staring at the window, and when Hale's face appeared, they moved back a little, almost as though he'd struck at them. At the same time, the muttering ceased.