Arvardan jumped to his feet. “I demand to be heard—”
“Sit down,” said the colonel coldly and unsympathetically. “You have refused to discuss the matter with me. Let the refusal stand. Bring in the man with the flag of truce.”
It was another member of the Society of Ancients. Scarcely a flicker of the eyelid betrayed any emotion on his part at the sight of the Secretary. The colonel rose from his chair and said, “Do you speak for the men outside?”
“I do, sir.”
“I assume, then, that this riotous and illegal assembly is based upon a demand for the return of your fellow countryman here?”
“Yes, sir. He must be immediately freed.”
“Indeed! Nevertheless, the interest of law and order and the respect due His Imperial Majesty’s representatives on this world require that the matter cannot possibly be discussed while men are gathered in armed rebellion against us. You must have your men disperse.”
The Secretary spoke up pleasantly. “The colonel is perfectly correct, Brother Cori. Please calm the situation. I am perfectly safe here, and there is no danger—for anybody. Do you understand? For anybody. It is my word as an Ancient.”
“Very well, Brother. I am thankful you are safe.”
He was ushered out.
The colonel said curtly, “We will see that you leave here safely as soon as matters in the city have returned to normal. Thank you for your co-operation in this matter just concluded.”
Arvardan was again on his feet. “I forbid it. You will let loose this would-be murderer of the human race while forbidding me an interview with the Procurator when that would be simply in accord with my rights as a Galactic citizen.” Then, in a paroxysm of frustration, “Will you show more consideration to an Earthman dog than you will to me?”
The Secretary’s voice sounded over that last near-incoherent rage. “Colonel, I will gladly remain until such time as my case is heard by the Procurator, if that is what this man wants. An accusation of treason is serious, and the suspicion of it—however farfetched—may be sufficient to ruin my usefulness to my people. I would really appreciate the opportunity to prove to the Procurator that none is more loyal to the Empire than myself.”
The colonel said stiffly, “I admire your feelings, sir, and freely admit that were I in your place my attitude would be quite different. You are a credit to your race, sir. I will attempt contact with the Procurator.”
Arvardan said nothing more until led back to his cell.
He avoided the glances of the others. For a long time he sat motionless, with a knuckle pinched between gnawing teeth.
Until Shekt said, “Well?”
Arvardan shook his head. “I just about ruined everything.”
“What did you do?”
“Lost my temper; offended the colonel; got nowhere—I’m no diplomat, Shekt.”
He felt riven with the sudden urge for self-defense. “What could I do?” he cried. “Balkis had already been to the colonel, so that I couldn’t trust him. What if he’d been offered his life? What if he’s been in on the plot all along? I know it’s a wild thought, but I couldn’t take the chance. It was too suspicious. I wanted to see Ennius himself.”
The physicist was on his feet, withered hands clasped behind his back. “Well, then—is Ennius coming?”
“I suppose so. But it is only at Balkis’s own request, and that I don’t understand.”
“Balkis’s own request? Then Schwartz must be right.”
“Yes? What has Schwartz been saying?”
The plump Earthman was sitting on his cot. He shrugged his shoulders when the eyes turned to him and spread out his hands in a helpless gesture. “I caught the Secretary’s Mind Touch when they took him past our room just now. He’s definitely had a long talk with this officer you talked to.”
“I know.”
“But there’s no treason in that officer’s mind.”
“Well,” miserably, “then I guessed wrong. I’ll eat worms when Ennius comes. What about Balkis?”
“There’s no worry or fear in his mind; only hate. And now it’s mostly hate for us, for capturing him, for dragging him here. We’ve wounded his vanity horribly, and he intends to square it with us. I saw little daydream pictures in his mind. Of himself, singlehanded, preventing the entire Galaxy from doing anything to stop him even while we, with our knowledge, work against him. He’s giving us the odds, the trumps, and then he’ll smash us anyway and triumph over us.”
“You mean that he will risk his plans, his dreams of Empire, just to vent a little spite at us? That’s mad.”
“I know,” said Schwartz with finality. “He is mad.”
“And he thinks he’ll succeed?”
“That’s right.”
“Then we must have you, Schwartz. We’ll need your mind. Listen to me—”
But Shekt was shaking his head. “No, Arvardan, we couldn’t work that. I woke Schwartz when you left and we discussed the matter. His mental powers, which he can describe only dimly, are obviously not under perfect control. He can stun a man, or paralyze him, or even kill him. Better than that, he can control the larger voluntary muscles even against the subject’s will, but no more than that. In the case of the Secretary, he couldn’t make the man talk, the small mucles about the vocal cords being beyond him. He couldn’t co-ordinate motion well enough to have the Secretary drive a car; he even balanced him while walking only with difficulty. Obviously, then, we couldn’t control Ennius, for instance, to the point of having him issue an order, or write one. I’ve thought of that, you see . . .” Shekt shook his head as his voice trailed away.
Arvardan felt the desolation of futility descend upon him. Then, with a sudden pang of anxiety, “Where’s Pola?”
“She’s sleeping in the alcove.”
He would have longed to wake her—longed—Oh, longed a lot of things.
Arvardan looked at his watch. It was almost midnight, and there were only thirty hours left.
He slept for a while after that, then woke for a while, as it grew light again. No one
