He was going to say more but Rita O'Neill suddenly pushed against him to thrust a sliver of sealed metal foil in his hand.

"From Sam Oster." The look on her face told him what it was. "Code-monitored from his first television transmission."

Cartwright slit the plastic seal and examined the metal foil. Then he stuffed it into his pocket.

"There's nothing more," he said sharply to the group. "Collect your personal possessions and climb into the cars. I'm not going with you. Good-bye and good luck."

Nat Gardner's eyes blazed with fury. "You're not even coming down to the field?"His sluggish brain moved into action as he started resentfully towards Cartwright.

"Take it easy," Konklin said. Groves moved up to him, and Gardner reluctantly stopped. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Doctor Flood grinned slyly at Cartwright. "You had everybody fooled—even me." Behind his thick glasses his eyes danced knowingly. "And the supply rooms—they're full of sand, I suppose?"

Groves headed for the exit slot. "The ship's ready to take off."

A few of the group collected their things and followed him, still darting baffled, uncertain glances at Cartwright.

Cartwright stood with his hands in his pockets, saying nothing and waiting for them to leave. A few lingered.

"Something important is going on," Mary Uzich said to him in a low, shrewd voice. "When will we know?"

"Soon," Cartwright said.

"I think you handled this wrong," Bill Konklin said to Cartwright. "You shouldn't send them out this way. They have a right to know."

"I trust you, Mr. Cartwright," Janet Sibley gasped timidly, sweeping past Cartwright with an armload of things.

The Japanese optical workers bowed stiffly, smiled, and hurried out. Gradually the room emptied. Butler and Flood shot looks of suspicion at Cartwright, then reluc­tantly followed the others. Presently only Cartwright and his black-eyed niece remained.

Cartwright sagged. "I'm glad that's over."

Rita was breathing rapidly. "How dare they talk to you like that?"

"They're afraid. The unknown is always worse than the known."

"Are we going to keep the office open?" Rita moved swiftly about the room, putting things in order. "Keep printing leaflets?"

Cartwright didn't answer.

"I never pictured the great moment like this. They spoiled it by questioning you and attacking you. They have no faith."

"Can't be helped," Cartwright said mildly.

Rita came to his side. "You know, it's really happened."

Yes, it had happened... up to a point. He, as leader of the Preston Society, had managed to get himself selected as the new Quizmaster. That in itself was no small feat; in addition, he had manoeuvred the Society's ship into the first lap of a long journey. He had done a great thing for their pioneer, John Preston, and for mankind itself. But——

"How long do you suppose it'll take them to set up the Challenge Convention?" In a sudden, gloomy rush of emotion he told the girl: "I can keep my new power, protect the ship, for only so long—and then they'll destroy me."

"Are they aware of the ship?" Rita asked uneasily.

"I don't believe so. I hope not." He grimaced half in amusement, half in rueful despair. "Otherwise what am I in this Quizmaster business for? Why have I brought about all this? It's the ship that's important; everything else is subordinate."

"But the ship's safe; it's about to be launched."

"The ship will leave Earth. I've stabilized the situation to that point. But it's not only the danger here, the menace from the Hills. There's danger within the ship, too. Soon they'll hear on the ipvic that I'm Quizmaster. That's when they'll decide to turn round."

"You think they'd turn the ship?" Rita asked

"Certainly."

"Not Groves. And he's the only one who can navi­gate."

"All they have to do is contact one of the Hill ports, on any of the nine planets. A patrol ship will be sent out, and a Hill crew will take over the ship."

"Is that going to happen?"

"I don't know," Cartwright answered truthfully. "Some will instantly want to give up, turn the ship round or call a patrol boat. Others, like Groves, wouldn't consider turn­ing back." His lean old face seemed to sag with fatigue.

From outside the building came the sound of jets. A ship setting on the roof in a metallic whirr. A staggering thump, then voices and quick movements on the floors above as the roof trap was yanked open. Rita saw the look on Cartwright's face, the momentary terror, the flash of awareness. Then a mild weariness filmed over him and he smiled wryly.

"They're here," he said. "It didn't take long."

His smile broadened as heavy military boots sounded in the metal-lined corridor. "You ought to go," he told Rita thoughtfully. "I'll talk to them alone."

Rita moved a few hesitant steps away.

"Go on," Cartwright ordered sharply. Then he turned to the soldiers stepping gingerly into the meeting chamber.

The Directorate guards fanned out in the meeting chamber. After them came a Directorate official with a brief-case gripped in one hand. More jets were landing, on the roof and on the pavement outside. The sound of traffic died; the street was being sealed off. Two heavy cargo-carrying transports rumbled down the suddenly deserted street and began discharging ugly-snouted cannon.

"You're Leon Cartwright," the official said. He glanced briefly at Cartwright and then put down his case. Opening and leafing through a notebook he said: "Give me your papers."

Cartwright slid his plastic tube from his inside coat pocket, unsnapped the seal and spread out the thin metal foil. One by one he laid papers on the table. "Birth certifi­cate. School and training records. Psycho-analysis. Medical certificate. Criminal record. Status permit. Statement of fealty history. Last fealty release. All the rest." He pushed the heap towards the official, removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve.

The official glanced at the papers, then compared the identification tabs with the markings seared deep in the flesh of Cartwright's forearm. "We'll have to examine fingerprints and brain pattern later. Actually, this is super­fluous; I know you're Leon Cartwright." He pushed back the papers. "I'm Major Shaeffer, from the Directorate. There was a change in control this morning.

Major Shaeffer touched Cartwright's status permit. "You're not classified?"

"No."

"I suppose your power-card was collected by your pro­tector, Hill. That's usual, isn't it?"

"That's the system," Cartwright said. "But I'm not under fief to any Hill. I was discharged earlier this year."

Shaeffer shrugged. "Then of course you put your power-card on the blackmarket." He closed his notebook with a snap. "One way or another, classifieds managed to get hold of power-cards."

Cartwright laid his card on the table. "There's mine."

Shaeffer was astounded. "Incredible!" He rapidly scanned Cartwright's face. "You knew already. You knew this was coming."

"Yes."

"We came instantly. The news hasn't even reached Verrick; you're the first person outside the Corps to know." He moved close to Cartwright. "How did you know it was coming?"

"That two-headed calf," Cartwright said vaguely.

"We'll take up positions here. In a few minutes Verrick will be informed. We want to be ready." The official pushed Cartwright's power-card into his hand. "Hang on to this. It's your sole claim to your new position."

Cartwright pocketed the power-card carefully.

Shaeffer licked his lips reflectively. "You're now our superior and Verrick is nothing. It may be some time before we can make the psychological change-over. Some of the younger Corps members who don't remember any other Quizmaster..." He shrugged. "I suggest that you place yourself in Corps hands for a while. We can't stay here, and a lot of people at Batavia have personal fealties to Verrick, not to the position. Verrick has been using them to gain control over the Hills."