Arvardan shook his head. “This is most unfortunate. The Procurator warned me of the difficulties, yet I was hoping that—When can you consult your legislature, Your Excellency?”
“The Presidium of the Society of Ancients will meet three days hence. It is beyond my power to alter the agenda, so it may be a few days more before the matter can be discussed. Say a week.”
Arvardan nodded abstractedly. “Well, it will have to do. . . . By the way, Your Excellency—”
“Yes?”
“There is a scientist upon your planet whom I would like to meet. A Dr. Shekt at Chica. Now, I’ve been in Chica, but left before I could do much and would like to repair the omission. Since I am sure he is a busy man, I wonder if I could trouble you for a letter of introduction?”
The High Minister had stiffened visibly and for several moments said nothing. Then, “May I ask what it is you want to see him about?”
“Certainly. I have read of an instrument he has developed, which he calls a Synapsifier, I believe. It concerns the neuro-chemistry of the brain and could have something very interesting to do with another project of mine. I have been doing some work on the classification of humanity into encephalographic groups—brain-current types, you understand.”
“Umm . . . I have heard vaguely about the device. I seem to recall that it was not a success.”
“Well, maybe not, but he is an expert in the field and could probably be very helpful to me.”
“I see. In that case a letter of introduction will be prepared immediately for you. Of course there must be no mention of your intentions with regard to the Forbidden Areas.”
“That is understood, Your Excellency.” He rose. “I thank you for your courtesy and your kind attitude and can only hope that the Council of Ancients will be liberal with respect to my project.”
The Secretary entered after Arvardan left. His lips were spread in his characteristic cold, savage smile.
“Very good,” he said. “You handled yourself well, Your Excellency.”
The High Minister looked at him somberly and said, “What was that last about Shekt?”
“You are puzzled? Don’t be. All things are working out well. You noticed his lack of heat when you vetoed his project. Was that the response of a scientist whose heart is set upon something withdrawn from his grasp for no apparent reason? Or is it the response of one who is playing a part and is relieved to be well rid of it?
“And again we have a queer coincidence. Schwartz escapes and makes his way to Chica. The very next day Arvardan appears here and, after a lukewarm rigmarole about his expedition, mentions casually that he is going to Chica to see Shekt.”
“But why mention it, Balkis? It seems foolhardy.”
“Because you are straightforward. Put yourself in his position. He imagines we suspect nothing. In such a case it is audacity that wins. He’s going to see Shekt. Good! He mentions it frankly. He even asks for a letter of introduction. What better guarantee of honest and innocent intentions can he present? And that brings up another point. Schwartz may have discovered that he was being watched. He may have killed Natter. But he has had no time to warn the others, or this comedy could not have played itself out in just this fashion.”
The Secretary’s eyes were half lidded as he spun his spider web. “There is no way of telling how long it will be before Schwartz’s absence becomes suspicious for them, but it is at least safe to allow sufficient time for Arvardan to meet Shekt. We’ll catch them together; there will be that much less they can deny.”
“How much time do we have?” demanded the High Minister.
Balkis looked up thoughtfully. “The schedule is fluid, and ever since we uncovered Shekt’s treason they’ve been on triple shift—and things are proceeding well. We await only the mathematical computations for the necessary orbits. What holds us up there is the inadequacy of our computers. Well . . . it may be only a matter of days now.”
“Days!” It was said in a tone queerly compounded of triumph and horror.
“Days!” repeated the Secretary. “But remember—one bomb even two seconds before zero time will be enough to stop us. And even afterward there will be a period of from one to six months when reprisals can be taken. So we are not yet entirely safe.”
Days! And then the most incredibly one-sided battle in the history of the Galaxy would be joined and Earth would attack all the Galaxy.
The High Minister’s hands were trembling gently.
Arvardan was seated in a stratoplane again. His thoughts were savage ones. There seemed no reason to believe that the High Minister and his psychopathic subject population would allow an official invasion of the radioactive areas. He was prepared for that. Somehow he wasn’t even sorry about it. He could have put up a better fight—if he had cared more.
As it was, by the Galaxy, there would be illegal entry. He would arm his ship and fight it out, if necessary. He would rather.
The bloody fools!
Who the devil did they think they were?
Yes, yes, he knew. They thought they were the original humans, the inhabitants of the planet—
The worst of it was he knew that they were right.
Well . . . The ship was taking off. He felt himself sinking back into the soft cushion of his seat and knew that within the hour he’d be seeing Chica.
Not that he was eager to see Chica, he told himself, but the Synapsifier thing could be important, and there was no use being on Earth if he didn’t take advantage of it. He certainly never intended to return once he left.
Rathole!
Ennius was right.
This Dr. Shekt, however . . . He fingered his letter of introduction, heavy with official formality—
And then he sat bolt upright—or tried to, struggling bitterly against the forces of inertia that were compressing him
