That was how Lombar created the idea of MISSION EARTH. He convinced the Council that rather than ordering a full-scale invasion, a single agent could secretly infiltrate the planet to introduce some technology that would arrest the pollution. It was a simple and cheap idea, the Grand Council loved it and I thought the matter was done. Then Hisst gave me the first bad news. He planned to send Heller who, as an officer of the Royal Fleet, epitomized everything we despise in the Apparatus: honesty, cleanliness, discipline. The second piece of bad news was that I was to go along and sabotage Heller’s mission.

We briefed Heller at Spiteos, that dark, mountain prison that the Apparatus has secretly maintained in the Great Desert for over a thousand years. That was also where Heller met, much to my regret, the Countess Krak.

I couldn’t understand why he was interested in her. Yes, she’s tall and beautiful and from his home planet, Manco. But she was also a convicted murderess.

They drove me crazy. I was trying to get Heller ready for the mission and he was acting like some lovesick calf, showering her with gifts, cooing to her over canisters of sparklewater and plates of sweetbuns. They would sit for hours relating that stupid Folk Legend 894M about how a Prince Caucalsia fled Manco and set up some colony on an Earth island called Atlantis. That’s all they could talk about. I couldn’t take it.

Then when Heller finally got around to picking the ship for the flight to Earth, he wasn’t satisfied with one that could make the 22 1/2-light-year voyage in a safe, reliable six weeks. Oh, no! He found Tug One. Powered by the dangerous Will-be Was time drives, it would cut the trip to a little over three days. That, he said, gave him time to prepare for the mission.

But that gave me time to make my own preparations. When we got to Earth, I would have to keep track of him because I would be operating from the base in Turkey while he would be in the United States. The solution was micro-bugs that could be surgically implanted next to the audio and optic nerves. With a transmitter-receiver,

I could tap Heller’s sight and hearing. With the 831 Relayer, I could monitor Heller from 10,000 miles away.

My real genius was how I stole them and implanted them into Heller without his knowledge. They worked beautifully. I could see and hear everything Heller was doing and he didn’t have the faintest idea that it was happening. But that just goes to show what an amateur Heller is and what a professional I am!

For further assistance, Lombar Hisst gave me Raht and Terb, two Apparatus agents operating on Earth, to help implement a plan that guaranteed Heller’s quick failure. Lombar’s scheme was to give Heller the identity of the son of the most powerful man on the planet — Delbert John Rockecenter. Since there was no such offspring and since everyone knew and feared Rockecenter, as soon as Heller used the name, he would be finished!

Finally, Tug One was loaded and ready. I naturally expected a quiet lift-off, one befitting a secret mission operating on Grand Council orders.

Then I happened to look out of the ship.

People were pouring into the hangar area! Construction crews were assembling sprawling stages and soaring platforms. Lorries were pouring in with food and drink. Vans were unloading dancing girls and bands!

Heller was throwing a going-away party!

That’s when I found the I. G. Barben bottle and took the Earth-drug called “speed.”

Suddenly, everything was beautiful.

I didn’t care about the thousands of people, the five music bands or the dancing bears. I even enjoyed the fireworks display twenty miles up and the 250 spacefighters that filled the skies. I was even pleased that a Homeview video crew was beaming the festive send-off of our secret mission to billions of people around the Confederacy.

I watched in dreamlike color as a fist fight blossomed into a full-scale riot. Cakes, pastries and canisters flew. Gongs, sirens and blast signals from scores of ships, airbuses and lorries blended with screams, shouts, profanities and snarls (from the dancing bears) while two fifty-man choruses gave a stirring rendition of “Spaceward, Ho.”

I didn’t even care about the assassin that Lombar said was following me to ensure that I didn’t mess up. Besides, I wasn’t messing up. This was a party!

Heller announced it was time to leave and retired to the local pilot seat. I dutifully struggled to shut the airlock but my hands weren’t working. Heller didn’t wait. He lifted us from the pad while I dangled out of the open door until someone pulled me in and slammed it shut.

Suddenly, my euphoria was gone. I realized what had happened.

This was the most UNsecret secret mission anyone had ever heard of!

I had to find Heller and handle this!

Jettero Heller was perched on the edge of the local pilot seat.

He was still in dress uniform. He had pushed the little red cap to the back of his blond head. With his left hand he was jockeying the throttle to keep the ship moving but no more.

He was holding a microphone in his right hand. He was speaking in the crisp staccato of a Fleet radio officer. “Calling Voltar Interplanetary Traffic Control. This is Exterior Division Tug Prince Caucalsia requesting permission to depart pursuant to Grand Council Order…” He rattled off the numbers and the whole order, right there on open radio band!

I was feeling irritable beyond belief already and this grated on my raw nerves. “For the sake of the Gods, get some notion of security!”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He shifted the mike to his left hand and beckoned at me urgently: “Gris, your identoplate!”

I fumbled in my tunic. Suddenly my fingers connected with an envelope!

There shouldn’t be any envelope in these pockets. All my papers had been put in spaceproof sacks before we left. Where the blazes had this envelope come from? Nobody had handed me any envelope! I felt terribly irritated by it. The thing offended me. It should not have been there!

Heller was frisking me. He found my identoplate and sat back down. He pushed it in the identification slot.

The speaker spat out, “Interplanetary Traffic Control to Exterior Division Tug Prince Caucalsia, Apparatus Officer Soltan Gris in charge. Permission authorized and granted.”

The voyage authority copy slithered out of the radio panel. Heller slid it under a retaining clip and then handed me back my identoplate.

He must have noticed I was still standing there staring at the envelope. He said, “You look bad.” He got up and unsnapped my too tight collar. “I’ll take care of you in a minute. Where’s the captain?”

He didn’t have to look very far. The Antimanco captain had been in the passageway, glaring at Heller. Obviously, the fellow resented Heller’s taking the tug up without a word to him.

“I’ll take over my ship now,” the Antimanco said in a nasty voice.

“Papers, please,” said Heller.

This irritated me. “He is the assigned captain!” I said.

“Papers, please,” said Heller, hand extended to the Antimanco.

The captain must have been expecting this. He hauled out a sheaf of documents in their spaceproof sleeves. They weren’t just his, they were those of the whole crew, five of them. They were stained and crimped and very old.

“Five Fleet subofficers,” said Heller. “Captain, two astropilots, two engineers. Will-be Was engines.” He looked at the seals and endorsements very critically, holding them very close to his eyes. “They seem authentic. But why is there no detaching endorsement from your last ship… three years ago? Yes.”

The captain snatched the documents out of Heller’s hand. There was no endorsement detaching them from their last cruise because they had turned pirate.