“They came back and radioed Ivan here about it and he took off-anybody can hook a ride on a plane; they schedule 'round the various tribes about once a week– and he rode like the wind he says on their very swift horses and he went to check it personally and he's just come back and wants to tell you.”

“He should tell the Council!” said

Chrissie. "Jonnie is in no condition to be holding what they call audiences!”

The Russian let out another string.

The Coordinator timidly translated (he did not like crossing Chrissie; she was such a beautiful woman and such a celebrity herself). “There is such a base. It is as big as this one and just as full of atom bombs and hardware and dead men.”

Jonnie was vaguely interested. Might serve them as a refuge if there were a counterattack. “Well, tell him that's fine and why not clean it up and use it.”

A brief interchange between the Coordinator and the Russian, and then fireworks! Russian splattered off the very walls.

Robert the Fox came in; short of breath from hurrying, thoroughly disapproving of anyone disturbing Jonnie as well as short-circuiting proper channels. But he paused. Jonnie seemed interested. Not much, but more than Robert had seen for a while. The veteran leaned back against the wall and signaled the Coordinator to go on.

The Coordinator was getting overwhelmed. He was quite used to dealing with important tribal heads and notables, but here he was in the company of three of the most important names this planet had ever had, especially Jonnie sir. But Colonel Ivan was almost stomping his feet for him to translate.

“He says that's what ruined the whole human race. He says the valiant-red-army, trying to fight the capitalist-imperialist-warmongers (these are just names to him, Jonnie sir, he doesn't have a political axe to grind) had their attention on each other and didn't cooperate when an invader landed, and he says while tribal wars will and do happen, international wars among whole peoples are against the good welfare of the people. He says he is for the people of Earth and people didn't stick together but fought, and this must not happen again. He's very emphatic, Jonnie sir, and he says all the other Russian tribes are also.”

Jonnie pushed back the tray, and the Russian, suddenly remembering his duty, picked it up. He let out another broadside of Russian.

The Coordinator pulled out some papers. “They've retained literacy, sir, and he and some of the chiefs drew up some papers– they don't have much paper so excuse its condition, I think they found it in that base– and they want your agreement to it.”

Jonnie looked tired to Robert the Fox. “This is Council business. The Himalayan chiefs are members of the Council.”

The Russian seemed to divine what he was saying and rattled off more Russian.

“He says no,” said the Coordinator. “This Council is over here on this continent and that base is over there on that continent. He says there are silos of nuclear weapons aimed at this continent and have been for a thousand years or so. And he doesn't want anything to happen to you, Jonnie sir. So he wants a force of South Americans and Alaskans-he knows there are almost no North Americans left– to take charge of that base over there on your authority. He says if the Russians have charge of this base here, they won't fire at Russia. And if people from this continent take charge of that base there they won't fire on this continent. They've got it all worked out, Jonnie sir. It 's all here. They worked it out in Russia. If you say all right, and put a little initial here...”

Robert the Fox was watching Jonnie. This was the first thing he'd seen the lad take even the slightest interest in. Robert knew it would probably be all right with the Council. He saw Jonnie looking at him. He nodded. Jonnie took the offered pen and wrote his initials on the paper.

The Russian seemed to almost deflate with relief. Then he rattled away at the Coordinator, who presently said, “He now has a present for you.”

Ivan put down the tray and reached into his tunic pocket. He brought out a gold disc with a big red star in the center of it and two lapel tabs of ancient braid. He gave them to Jonnie, waiting for him to accept.

The Coordinator said, “That is the cap ornament they found on the Marshal of the Red Army who was in charge of that base and those are his lapel tabs. He wants you to know that they are yours. And you are in charge of both bases.”

Jonnie smiled slightly and the Russian promptly kissed him on both cheeks and rushed out. Robert the Fox was holding the papers and Chrissie put the gifts in Jonnie's buckskin pouch.

"If this had happened a thousand or so years ago,” said Robert the Fox, “maybe things would have been different.” Chrissie was shooing him to leave. Jonnie looked tired. “The Council will put this through and handle it. There might be vital materials in that base.”

“You might get it cleaned up and filtered,” said Jonnie. “It might help them if gas drones come again.”

When Dr. MacKendrick came to exercise his arm and get him to walk, he told Jonnie he was improved.

Jonnie alarmed him. “Not improved enough!” said Jonnie, a bit bitterly. “I may not have been so smart after all.”

Terl sat in his dark hole and was gloomy. He was not with the other Psychlos; they would have torn him to fur fluffs. He was here in a cubicle that had once been used for cleaning supplies on the dormitories. It had been rigged with a breathe-gas circulator; it contained a narrow, twelve-foot-long bed; there was a little port that had been rigged to push food through– one could see the outside corridor beyond its revolving panes; and there was a two-way intercom inset below the door.

The place was strong enough; he had already tried every means of opening it and escaping. He was not chained, but every hour of the day and night there was a sentry with an assault rifle just outside.

It was really the fault of the females, both the animal females and Chirk. His hindsight was a bit faulty, but not his conviction that it was correct. Always a master of self-delusion, Terl was at his best these days.

When he compared his present lot with the beautiful dream of being wealthy and powerful on Psychlo, being bowed to by the royalty and trembled at by everyone else, he quivered with suppressed rage. These animals were denying him his due! Ten beautiful gold coffin lids lay moldering in the company cemetery on Psychlo, of that he was utterly certain. The delicious thought of slipping out there some dark night and exhuming them was second only to the thought of the wealth and power that would ensue.

He had befriended these animals. And how had they treated him? A mop closet!

But Terl was nothing if not clever. He roused himself now and began to think hard and brightly. Now was the time to be the calm, cool, masterful Terl.

He would get to Psychlo. He would get these animals and this planet destroyed, finally and forever. He would dig up those coffins. He would be bowed to and trembled at. Nothing must stand in his way!

He began to tally up the bits and scraps of leverage he had. First, of course, it went without saying that his own cleverness was his chief asset; he agreed with himself on that. Second, he was almost certain the first animal he had caught had forgotten that there was a hefty charge of explosive left buried in that cage. Third, there had been three remotes: one was still in his office, one had been seized, but the third was just inside that cage door in case he somehow got tricked or trapped in there. That third one would have enabled him to blow up the females or shut off the power to the bars, and he was certain it had not been found. The fourth piece of leverage was a pretty big one and the fifth was gigantic.