Quiet once more. It came to me that those two in there were young and very strong and very much in love and that this was quite likely going to go on most of the night.

Another thumping distracted me. It seemed to be right under me. I looked down. Good Gods, I was sitting on the dolly box and the Zitab snake had come to life!

I leaped clear across the passageway!

The guards snickered.

I went into another cubicle. I lit the lights. It was dirty and a mess. It didn't even have a bed. Wearily, I closed the door, turned off the glowplates and with my cap for a pillow, lay down on the floor to get some sleep.

Some writer has said that all the planet loves lovers. It might include the guards, but it sure did not include one Soltan Gris.

What was going to become of Mission Earth?

If the "rescue of Prince Caucalsia's colony" was so important, Jettero Heller and the Countess Krak certainly showed no signs of it. It wasn't that they, like me, considered the possibility that there had ever been a Prince Caucalsia to be farfetched and even preposterous. They had other things on their minds. And following more or less the same routine – daytime study in the training hall but nights in my room – they let one day follow another, beautifully happy in a world of their own.

My urgency to get Heller off Voltar was growing. And there were things to get done that weren't getting done. One of them consisted of getting him operated on to install a "body bug": unless I could keep track of his every minute on Earth, I would be unable to control him; that required that a device be put into him that he would not suspect; and thatrequired that he be gotten onto a cellular surgery table. But as soon as I started planning this step, I got ill again: not violent all the time but very nagging and very uncomfortable. I was miserable.

If I could get him moved into town, I might be able to find a cellologist and get to work on him. But get him out of this fortress and away from the Countess Krak? All systems stop!

Five days went by. The shadow of Lombar seemed to loom closer and closer. Yet I had not yet come up with a single idea.

One afternoon I heard that Lombar was going to spend the next couple days at Endow's palatial country estate. He would be secretly absent. The next morning I used the fact to pretend I had to see him in his office. Of course, he wouldn't be there and of course the clerks would not be allowed to tell me so: I could use the pretended wait to get a crack at the master console.

The old criminal clerk would have suspected his mother of high treason had she even ventured to say "hello" to him. So when I sat down at the button board, he went into his usual flap. But, as he did not dare say when Lombar was expected and I pretended to believe Lombar would be back any moment, the old clerk was blocked.

I wanted to know if I had really been appointed. So I slid my identoplate into the slot and fed in my own name and punched, Present posts? And the screen rattled off: Section Chief Section 451 on Voltar; Handler for Special Agent/agents of Mission Earth; In charge, Mission Earth; Inspector General Overlord all Operations and Actions of Blito-P3 for the Exterior Division and Coordinated Information Apparatus. The screen might be blinking but I really blinked! Fourpaychecks! Lombar really was doing me up beautifully. And as he said, there would be all the kickbacks and commissions and rake-offs. I could see myself coming out of this quite well-off: maybe a cottage in the Vaux Mountains, maybe even a hunting preserve!

Then the computer rapidly added a string of letters saying, All appointments made at the insistence of said Officer Soltan Gris; routinely ratified by the clerical section. It puzzled me for a bit and I sat there staring at it. It sort of meant that neither Endow nor Lombar Hisst had forwarded or ratified the appointments. But it made me totally responsible personally for everything that went on anywhere concerning Blito-P3. A little overwhelming. But I brightened: I was, in effect, in total charge of Earth!

The screen had begun to blink a warning that I was about to be cut off due to delay in use.

"You going to pay for the chairs you wear out?" snarled the old clerk.

I hastily pushed the "Deliver copy"button and "10"to keep the machine busy for a moment and also to have the sheet to use as authority pending the routine delivery of the appointments on other channels.

What could I do with this thing to help my dilemma? Maybe if I fed Heller data about Blito-P3 he would get more interested.

As soon as the printer had finished spitting out ten copies of the appointments, I punched in, Blito-P3 Prince Caucalsia. The screen promptly said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. Well, (bleep), I knew that.

"Console time," said the old criminal clerk, "is charged double to idiots." I hastily tried to think of something else. Ah! I punched in, Royal Successions. Pretenders. The machine said, Really? You really want 125,000 years of threats to throne? I hastily punched in, Fortress of Dar, Manco and Atalanta, Manco. The screen started to roll up lists so fast I couldn't follow them. Good Gods, had there been that many revolts and pretenders in just one area of one planet? I remembered the poet's quote, "Shot full of holes is the head that wears a crown." I couldn't track with the speed frames. I pushed "Deliver copy."The machine promptly began to spit out paper. Yards of it.

That gave me time to think of something else. So when it finally halted, I pushed, Nepogat. The screen said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. (Bleep). Right back where I started. I quickly punched, Apparatus records, Fortress of Dar, relating to interrogation of crews of two freighters returned from Blito-P3. It said, In the Mists of Time, Folk Legend 894M. I quickly punched, Fortress of Dar, Manco. The computer said, If you are so interested in fables we suggest you consult a competent poet.

One way of saying it wasn't going to flash In the Mists of Time any more for this operator! And that also meant it was going to go off!

I had to get somethingthat might interest Heller. I punched, All surveys and surveillances Blito-P3 prior to one hundred years ago.

Ah, a speeding roll! They hadbeen surveying it for a long, long time! With a sigh of relief, I punched "Deliver copy."Promptly a series of papers started to spit out. And they spit out and they spit out! I hastily started to corral them before they inundated the whole console. It went on for minutes!

"You there!" screeched the old clerk. "You're going to run us out of paper! Quit it!" He stood over me positively squeaking! But there is no way of shutting the contraption off once it starts: computers can do no wrong. I was busy baling up the spit-outs. Gods, I would need a dolly!

Finally it quit. I thought the old clerk was going to hit me. But it had given me time to think. It's all very well to tell operators that they should know what they were going to ask before they begin to work a console. That doesn't allow for inspiration. And I had one!

It was moneythat made it possible for Heller to delay leaving. So long as he could buy guards, he had me at bay. If there was some way to run him out of money . . .

I held the old clerk off with one hand. I punched in, Jettero Heller. Financial standing and credit. The screen promptly flashed, Fleet officer pay. Engineer pay. Combat danger pay. See tables.

Ow, I thought. I don't need any tables. Heller, by just those items, received ten times my old General Service pay.

The machine said: Money disposition: does not spend much as usually on combat missions. Sends half his pay to mother and father for their support but they are moderately well-off and mother puts it in trust account for him: mother does same with money sent by his very wealthy sister Hightee Heller the Homeview star; rooms at Officers' Club gratis.