After everything else this was too much. Pacey choked down his mouthful of coffee and slammed his cup down hard on the table. The heads at the bar turned toward him in surprise. "Hogwash," he grated across the room at them. "I’ve never heard such garbage."

Sverenssen frowned his distaste for the outburst. "What do you mean?" he asked coldly. "Kindly explain yourself."

"You had the biggest opportunity ever for the advancement of the race right in your hand, and you threw it away. That’s what I mean. I’ve never listened to such hypocrisy."

"I’m afraid I don’t follow you."

Pacey couldn’t believe it. "Goddammit, I mean this whole farce we’ve been having here!" He heard his voice rising to a shout, knew it was bad, but couldn’t stop himself in his exasperation. "We were talking to Gistar for weeks. We said nothing, and we achieved nothing. What kind of ‘standing for advancement’ is that?"

"I agree," Sverenssen said, maintaining his calm. "But I find it strangely inappropriate that you should protest in this extraordinary fashion. I would advise you instead to take the matter up with your own government."

That didn’t make any sense. Pacey shook his head, momentarily confused. "What are you talking about? The U.S. policy was always to get this moving. We wanted a landing from the beginning."

"Then I can only suggest that your efforts to project that policy have been singularly inept," Sverenssen replied.

Pacey blinked as if unable to believe that he had really heard it. He looked at the others, but found no sympathy for his predicament on any of their faces. The first cold fingers of realization as to what was going on touched at his spine. He shifted his eyes rapidly across their faces in a silent demand for a response, and caught Daldanier’s gaze in a way that the Frenchman couldn’t evade.

"Let us say it has been apparent to me that the probability of a more productive dialogue would have been improved considerably were it not for the negative views persistently advanced by the representative of the United States," Daldanier said, avoiding the reference to Pacey by name. He spoke in the reluctant voice of somebody who had been forced to offer a reply he would have preferred left unsaid.

"Most disappointing," Saraquez, the Brazilian, commented. "I had hoped for better things from the nation that placed the first man on the Moon. Hopefully the dialogue might be resumed one day, and the lost time made good."

The whole situation was insane. Pacey stared at them dumbfounded. They were all part of the plot. If that were the version that was going to be talked about back on Earth, backed by documentary records, nobody would believe his account of what had happened. Already he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself, and he hadn’t left Bruno yet. His body began shaking uncontrollably as a rising anger took hold. He got up and moved forward around the table to confront Sverenssen directly. "What is this?" he demanded menacingly. "Look, I don’t know who you think you are with the high-and-mighty act and the airs and graces, but you’ve been making me pretty sick ever since I arrived here. Now let’s just forget all that. I want to know what’s going on."

"I would strongly advise you to refrain from bringing personal issues into this," Sverenssen said, then added pointedly, "especially somebody of your inclination toward the . . . indiscreet. "

Pacey felt his color rising. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"Oh, come. . ." Sverenssen frowned and looked away for an instant like somebody seeking to avoid a delicate subject. "Surely you can’t expect your affair with your American colleague to have escaped notice completely. Really . . . this kind of thing is embarrassing and uncalled for. I would rather we dropped the matter."

Pacey stared at him for a moment in frank disbelief, then turned his gaze toward Daldanier. The Frenchman turned to pick up his drink. He looked at Saraquez, who avoided his eyes and said nothing. Finally he turned to Van Geelink, the South African, who had only been listening so far. "It was very unwise," Van Geelink said, almost managing to sound apologetic.

"Him! " Pacey gestured in Sverenssen’s direction and swept his eyes over the others again, this time offering a challenge. "You let him stand there and spew something like that? Him of all people? You can’t be serious."

"I’m not sure that I like your tone, Pacey," Sverenssen said. "What are you trying to insinuate?"

The situation was real. Sverenssen was actually brazening it out. Pacey felt his fist bunch itself against his side but resisted the urge to lash out. "Are you going to try and tell me I dreamed that too?" he whispered. "Malliusk’s assistant-it never happened? Are these puppets of yours going to back you up on that too?"

Sverenssen made a good job of appearing shocked. "If you are suggesting what I think you are suggesting, I would advise you to retract the remark at once and apologize. I find it not only insulting, but also demeaning to somebody in your position. Pathetic fabrications will not impress anybody here, and are hardly likely to do anything to restore the doubtlessly somewhat tarnished image that you will have made for yourself on Earth. I would have credited you with more intelligence."

"Bad, very bad." Daldanier shook his head and sipped his drink.

"Unheard of," Saraquez muttered.

Van Geelink stared uncomfortably at the floor, but said nothing.

At that moment a call from the speaker concealed in the ceiling interrupted. "Calling Mr. Sverenssen of the UN Delegation. Urgent call holding. Would Mr. Sverenssen come to a phone, please."

"You must excuse me, gentlemen," Sverenssen sighed. He looked sternly at Pacey. "I am prepared to attribute this sad exhibition to an aberration occasioned by your having to acclimatize to an extraterrestrial environment, and will say no more about it." His voice took on a more ominous note. "But I must warn you that should you persist in repeating such slanderous accusations when we leave the confines of this establishment, I will be obliged to take a far more serious view. If so, you would not find the consequences beneficial either to your personal situation or to your future prospects professionally. I trust I make myself clear." With that he turned and conveyed himself regally from the room. The other three drank up quickly and left in rapid succession.

That night, his last at Bruno, Pacey was too bewildered, frustrated, and angry to sleep. He stayed up in his room and paced about the floor going over every detail of all that had happened and examining the whole situation first from one angle and then from another, but he could find no pattern that fitted everything. Once again he was tempted to call Alaska, but resisted.

It was approaching 2 A.M. local time when a light tap sounded on the door. Puzzled, Pacey rose from the chair in which he had been brooding and went over to answer it. It was Sobroskin. The Russian slipped in quickly, waited until Pacey closed the door, then reached inside his jacket and produced a large envelope that he passed over without speaking. Pacey opened it. Inside was a pink wallet with a bright red border, The title label on the front read: CONFIDENTIAL. REPORT 238/2G/Nrs/FM. NORMAN H. PACE-PERSONAL PROFILE AND NOTES.

Pacey looked at it incredulously, opened it to ruffle quickly through the contents, then looked up. "How did you get this?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"There are ways," Sobroskin said vaguely. "Did you know of it?"

"I . . . had reason to believe that something like it might exist," Pacey told him guardedly.

Sobroskin nodded. "I thought you might wish to put it somewhere safe, or perhaps burn it. There was only one other copy, which I have already destroyed, so you may rest with knowledge that it will not get to where it was supposed to go." Pacey looked down at the wallet again, too stunned to reply. "Also, I came across a very strange volume of minutes of the delegation’s sessions-nothing at all like what I remembered. I substituted a set of the copies that you and I both saw and approved. Take my word for it that those are the ones that will reach New York. I resealed them myself in the courier’s bag just before it was taken to Tycho."