'All right,' Molinari gasped. 'I'll have the operation while you talk.' He nodded weakly to Eric. 'Don't wait for Teagarden; get started.'

'Here?' Eric said.

'It'll have to be,' Molinari whimpered. 'Cut the ring, doctor, or I'm dead. I'm dying – I know it.' He slumped, then, against the table. And this time he did not draw himself back up to a sitting position; he remained as he was. Like some great discarded, tossed sack.

At the far end of the table UN Vice Secretary Rick Prindle said to Eric, 'Begin, doctor. As he said, it's urgent; you know that.' Obviously he – and the others present – had been through this before.

Freneksy said, 'Secretary, will you empower Mr Prindle to take your official place in Terra-Lilistar negotiations?'

There was no answer from Molinari; he had passed into unconsciousness.

From his case Eric lifted a small surgical homeostatic unit; it would suffice – he hoped – for the delicate operation. Drilling its own path, and closing the passage behind it, the tool would penetrate the dermal layer and then the omentum until it reached the renal stricture, whereupon, if it was behaving properly, it would begin construction of a plastic bypass for the arterial section; this would be safer, at the moment, than attempting to remove the ring.

The door opened and Dr Teagarden entered; he hurried up to Eric, saw Molinari lying unconscious with his head on the table, said, 'Are you prepared to operate?'

'I have the equipment; yes, I'm ready.'

'No artiforg, of course?'

'It isn't necessary.'

Teagarden took hold of Molinari by the wrist, measured his pulse; then he whipped out a stethoscope, unbuttoned the Secretary's jacket and shirt, listened to his heart. 'Weak and irregular. We'd better cool him off.'

'Yes,' Eric agreed, and brought a cold-pak assembly from his case.

Freneksy, coming over to see, said, 'You're going to lower his body temperature during the operation?'

'Yes, we'll put him out,' Eric said. The metabolic processes—'

'I don't care to hear,' Freneksy said. 'Biological matters do not interest me; all I am concerned with is the evident fact that the Secretary is unable to continue at present with this discussion. A discussion for which we have traveled a number of light-years.' His face displayed a dull, baffled anger which he could not suppress.

Eric said, 'We have no choice, Minister. Molinari is dying.'

'I realize that,' Freneksy said, and walked away, his fists clenched.

'He's technically dead,' Teagarden said, still listening to Molinari's heart action. 'Put the freeze into effect at once, doctor.'

Eric swiftly attached the cold-pak to Molinari's neck, started its self-contained compression-circuit up. The cold radiated out from it; he let go and turned his attention to the surgical tool.

Minister Freneksy conferred, speaking in his own tongue, with the Empire doctor; he lifted his head all at once and said crisply, 'I would like Dr Gornel to assist in this operation.'

Vice Secretary Prindle spoke up. 'It can't be permitted. Molinari has given strict orders that only his own staff doctors, chosen by himself personally, are to touch his person.' He nodded to Tom Johannson and his corps of Secret Service men; they moved closer to Molinari.

'Why?' Freneksy asked.

'They're familiar with his case history,' Prindle said woodenly.

Freneksy shrugged, walked away; he seemed even more baffled now, even bewildered. 'It's inconceivable to me,' he said aloud, his back to the table, 'that this could be permitted to happen, that Secretary Molinari could let his physical condition deteriorate to such a point.'

To Teagarden, Eric said, 'Has this happened before?'

'You mean has Molinari died during a conference with the 'Starmen?' Teagarden smiled reflexively. 'Four times. Right here in this room, even in the same chair. You may start your borer, now.'

Placing the homeostatic surgical tool against Molinari's lower right side, Eric activated it; the device, the size of a shot glass, at once flung itself into activity, delivering first a strong local anaesthetic and then beginning its task of cutting its way to the renal artery and the kidney.

The only sound in the room now was the whirring caused by the action of the tool; everyone, including Minster Freneksy, watched it disappear from sight, burrowing into Molinari's heavy, motionless, slumped body.

'Teagarden,' Eric said, 'I suggest that we keep—' He stood back and lit a cigarette. 'Watch for a case of hypertension occurring somewhere here in the White House, another partially blocked renal artery or—'

'It's come up already. A maid on the third floor. Hereditary malformation, as it has to be of course. But coming to a crisis in this woman during the last twenty-four hours because of an overdose of amphetamines; she began to lose her sight and we decided to go ahead and operate – that's where I was when summoned here. I was just finishing up.'

'Then you know,' Eric said.

'Know what?' Teagarden's voice was low, concealed from those across the table. 'We'll discuss it later. But I can assure you that I know nothing. Nor do you.'

Coming over to them, Minister Freneksy said, 'How soon will Molinari be capable to resuming this discussion?'

Eric and Teagarden glanced at each other. Caught each other's eye.

'Hard to say,' Teagarden said presently.

'Hours? Days? Weeks? Last time it was ten days.' Freneksy's face writhed with impotence. 'I am simply unable to remain here on Terra that long; the conference will have to be rescheduled for later in the year if it's to be a wait of more than seventy-two hours.' Behind him his consulting staff, his military and industrial and protocol advisers, were already putting their notes away in their briefcases, closing up shop.

Eric said, 'Probably he won't be strong enough within the two-day period generally allowed in cases like this; his over-all condition is too—'

Turning to Prindle, Minister Freneksy said, 'And you decline any authority as Vice Secretary to speak in his place? What an abominable situation! It's obvious why Terra—' He broke off. 'Secretary Molinari is a personal friend of mine,' he said, then. 'I'm keenly concerned as to his welfare. But why must Lilistar bear the major burden in this war? Why can Terra go on dragging her feet indefinitely?'

Neither Prindle nor the two doctors answered.

In his own language Freneksy spoke to his delegation; they rose en masse, obviously prepared to depart.

The conference, because of Molinari's sudden near-fatal illness, had been called off. At least for now. Eric felt overwhelming relief.

Through his illness Molinari had escaped. But only temporarily.

Nevertheless, that was something. That was enough. The million and a half Terrans, demanded by Lilistar for its factories, would not be rounded up ... Eric glanced at Teagarden, exchanged a brief flash of agreement and comprehension. Meanwhile, the borer went about its task, unaided, whining on.

A psychosomatic, hypochrondiacal illness had protected the lives of a great many people and it made Eric rethink, already, the value of medicine, the effect of bringing about a 'cure' for Molinari's condition.

It seemed to him as he listened to the borer at work that he was now beginning to understand the situation – and what was really required of him by the ailing U N Secretary who lay against the conference table, neither seeing nor hearing, in a state where the problems of the discussion with Minister Freneksy did not exist.

Later, in his well-guarded bedroom, Gino Molinari sat propped up on pillows, weakly contemplating the homeopape the New York Times, which had been placed at his disposal.

'It's okay to read, isn't it, doctor?' he murmured faintly.

'I think so,' Eric said. The operation had been totally successful; the elevated blood pressure had been restored to a normal plateau, commensurate with the patient's age and general condition.