Doc accepted the manuscript, read it through, and returned it without comment. But Wingate pressed him for an opinion. 'Well, my boy, if you insist-'

'I do.'

'I would say that you have fallen into the commonest fallacy of all in dealing with social and economic subjects-the "devil theory".'

'Huh?'

'You have attributed conditions of villainy that simply result from stupidity. Colonial slavery is nothing new; it is the inevitable result of imperial expansion, the automatic result of an antiquated financial structure -,

'I pointed out the part the banks played in my book.'

'No, no, no! You think bankers are scoundrels. They are not. Nor are company officials, nor patrons, nor the governing classes back on Earth. Men are constrained by necessity and build up rationalizations to account for their acts. It is not even cupidity. Slavery is economically unsound, nonproductive, but men drift into it whenever the circumstances compel it. A different financial system-but that's another story.'

'I still think it's rooted in human cussedness,' Wingate said stubbornly.

'Not cussedness-simply stupidity. I can't prove it to you, but you will learn.'

The success of the 'silent radio' caused the Governor to send Wingate on a long swing around the other camps of the free federation to help them rig new equipment and to teach them how to use it. He spent four hard-working and soul-satisfying weeks, and finished with the warm knowledge that he had done more to consolidate the position of the free men against their enemies than could be done by winning a pitched battle.

When he returned to his home community, he found Sam Houston Jones waiting there.

Wingate broke into a run. 'Sam!' he shouted. 'Sam! Sam!' He grabbed his hand, pounded him on the back, and yelled at him the affectionate insults that sentimental men use in attempting to cover up their weakness. 'Sam, you old scoundrel! When did you get here? How did you escape? And how the devil did you manage to come all the way from South Pole? Were you transferred before you escaped?'

'Howdy, Hump,' said Sam. 'Now one at a time, and not so fast.'

But Wingate bubbled on. 'My, but it's good to see your ugly face, fellow. And am 1 glad you came here-this is a great place. We've got the most up-and-coming little state in the Whole federation. You'll like it. They're a great bunch -'

'What are you?' Jones asked, eyeing him. 'President of the local chamber of commerce?'

Wingate looked at him, and then laughed. 'I get it. But seriously, you will like it. Of course, it's a lot different from what you were used to back on Earth-but that's all past and done with. No use crying over spilt milk, eh?'

'Wait a minute. You are under a misapprehension, Hump. Listen. I'm not an escaped slave. I'm here to take you back.'

Wingate opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. 'But Sam,' he said, 'that's impossible. You don't know.'

'I think I do.'

'But you don't. There's no going back for me. If I did, I'd have to face trial, and they've got me dead to rights. Even if I threw myself on the mercy of the court and managed to get off with a light sentence, it would be twenty years before I'd be a free man. No, Sam, it's impossible. You don't know the things I'm charged with.'

'I don't, eh? It's cost me a nice piece of change to clear them up.'

'Huh?'

'I know how you escaped. I know you stole a crock and kidnapped your patron and got two other clients to run with you. It took my best blarney and plenty of folding money to fix it. So help me, Hump-Why didn't you pull something mild, like murder, or rape, or robbing a post office?'

'Well, now, Sam-I didn't do any of those things to cause you trouble. I had counted you out of my calculations. I was on my own. I'm sorry about the money.'

'Forget it. Money isn't an item with me. I'm filthy with the stuff. You know that. It comes from exercising care in the choice of parents. I was just pulling your leg and it came off in my hand.'

'Okay. Sorry.' Wingate's grin was a little forced. Nobody likes charity. 'But tell me what happened. I'm still in the dark.'

'Right.' Jones had been as much surprised and distressed at being separated from Wingate on grounding as Wingate had been. But there had been nothing for him to do about it until he received assistance from Earth. He had spent long weeks as a metal worker at South Pole, waiting and wondering why 'his sister did not answer his call for help. He had written letters to her to supplement his first radiogram, that being the only type of communication he could afford, but the days crept past with no answer.

When a message did arrive from her the mystery was cleared up. She had not received his radio to Earth promptly, because she, too, was aboard the Evening Star-in the first class cabin, traveling, as was her custom, in a stateroom listed under her maid's name. 'It was the family habit of avoiding publicity that stymied us,' Jones explained. 'If I hadn't sent the radio to her rather than the family lawyers, or if she had been known by name to the purser, we would have gotten together the first day.' The message had not been relayed to her on Venus because the bright planet had by that time crawled to superior opposition on the far side of the sun from the Earth. For a matter of sixty earth days there was no communication, Earth to Venus. The message had rested, recorded but still scrambled, in the hands of the family firm, until she could be reached.

When she received it, she started a small tornado. Jones had been released, the liens against his contract paid, and ample credit posted to his name on Venus, in less than twenty-four hours. 'So that was that,' concluded Jones, 'except that I've got to explain to big sister when I get home just how I got into this mess. She'll burn my ears.'

Jones had charted a rocket for North Pole and had gotten on Wingate's trail at once. 'If you had held on one more day, I would have picked you up. We retrieved your ex-patron about a mile from his gates.'

'So the old villain made it. I'm glad of that.'

'And a good job, too. If he hadn't I might never have been able ~o square you. He was pretty well done in, and his heart was kicking up plenty. Do you know that abandonment is a capital offence on this planet-with a mandatory death sentence if the victim dies?'

Wingate nodded. 'Yeah, I know. Not that I ever heard of a patron being gassed for it, if the corpse was a client. But that's beside the point. Go ahead.'

'Well, he was plenty sore. I don't blame him, though I don't blame you, either. Nobody wants to be sold South, and I gather that was what you expected. Well, I paid him for his crock, and I paid him for your contract-take a look at me, I'm your new owner!-and I paid for the contracts of your two friends as well. Still he wasn't satisfied. I finally had to throw in a first-class passage for his daughter back to Earth, and promise to find her a job. She's a big dumb ox, but I guess the family can stand another retainer. Anyhow, old son, you're a free man. The only remaining question is whether or not the Governor will let us leave here. It seems it's not done.'

'No, that's a point. Which reminds me-how did you locate the place?'

'A spot of detective work too long to go into now. That's what took me so long. Slaves don't like to talk. Anyhow, we've a date to talk to the Governor tomorrow.'

Wingate took a long time to get to sleep. After his first burst of jubilation he began to wonder. Did he want to go back? To return to the law, to citing technicalities in the interest of whichever side employed him, to meaningless social engagements, to the empty, sterile, bunkum-fed life of the fat and prosperous class he had moved among and served-did he want that, he, who had fought and worked with men? It seemed to him that his anachronistic little 'invention' in radio had been of more worth than all he had ever done on Earth.