"What do you offer?"
"Gold itself. Directly. You may have the machine I demonstrated last week."
And now Pherl stiffened and the skin on his forehead moved jerkily. "The transmuter?"
"Exactly. Your supply of gold will equal your supply of iron. That, I imagine, is sufficient for all needs. Sufficient for the Grand Mastership itself, despite youth and enemies. And it is safe."
"In what way?"
"In that secrecy is the essence of its use; that same secrecy you described as the only safety with regard to nucleics. You may bury the transmuter in the deepest dungeon of the strongest fortress on your furthest estate, and it will still bring you instant wealth. It is the gold you buy, not the machine, and that gold bears no trace of its manufacture, for it cannot be told from the natural creation."
"And who is to operate the machine?"
"Yourself. Five minutes teaching is all you will require. I'll set it up for you wherever you wish."
"And in return?"
"Well," Ponyets grew cautious. "I ask a price and a handsome one. It is my living. Let us say, for it its a valuable machine the equivalent of a cubic foot of gold in wrought iron."
Pherl laughed, and Ponyets grew red. "I point out, sir," he added, stiffly, "that you can get your price back in two hours."
"True, and in one hour, you might be gone, and my machine might suddenly turn out to be useless. I'll need a guarantee."
"You have my word."
"A very good one," Pherl bowed sardonically, "but your presence would be an even better assurance. I'll give you my word to pay you one week after delivery in working order."
"Impossible."
"Impossible? When you've already incurred the death penalty very handily by even offering to sell me anything. The only alternative is my word that you'll get the gas chamber tomorrow otherwise."
Ponyet's face was expressionless, but his eyes might have flickered. He said, "It is an unfair advantage. You will at least put your promise in writing?"
"And also become liable for execution? No, sir!" Pherl smiled a broad satisfaction. "No, sir! Only one of us is a fool."
The trader said in a small voice, "It is agreed, then."
6.
Gorov was released on the thirtieth day, and five hundred pounds of the yellowest gold took his place. And with him was released the quarantined and untouched abomination that was his ship.
Then, as on the journey into the Askonian system, so on the journey out, the cylinder of sleek little ships ushered them on their way.
Ponyets watched the dimly sun-lit speck that was Gorov's ship while Gorov's voice pierced through to him, clear and thin on the tight, distortion-bounded ether-beam.
He was saying, "But it isn't what's wanted, Ponyets. A transmuter won't do. Where did you get one, anyway?"
"I didn't," Ponyets answer was patient. "I juiced it up out of a food irradiation chamber. It isn't any good, really. The power consumption is prohibitive on any large scale or the Foundation would use transmutation instead of chasing all over the Galaxy for heavy metals. It's one of the standard tricks every trader uses, except that I never saw an iron-to-gold one before. But it's impressive, and it works very temporarily."
"All right. But that particular trick is no good."
"It got you out of a nasty spot."
"That is very far from the point. Especially since I've got to go back, once we shake our solicitous escort."
"Why?"
"You yourself explained it to this politician of yours," Gorov's voice was on edge. "Your entire sales-point rested on the fact that the transmuter was a means to an end, but of no value in itself, that he was buying the gold, not the machine. It was good psychology, since it worked, but"
"But?" Ponyets urged blandly and obtusely.
The voice from the receiver grew shriller, "But we want to sell them a machine of value in itself, something they would want to use openly; something that would tend to force them out in favor of nuclear techniques as a matter of self-interest."
"I understand all that," said Ponyets, gently. "You once explained it. But look at what follows from my sale, will you? As long as that transmuter lasts, Pherl will coin gold; and it will last long enough to buy him the next election. The present Grand Master won't last long."
"You count on gratitude?" asked Gorov, coldly.
"No on intelligent self-interest. The transmuter gets him an election; other mechanisms"
"No! No! Your premise is twisted. It's not the transmuter, he'll credit it'll be the good, old-fashioned gold. That's what I'm trying to tell you."
Ponyets grinned and shifted into a more comfortable position. All right. He'd baited the poor fellow sufficiently. Gorov was beginning to sound wild.
The trader said, "Not so fast, Gorov. I haven't finished. There are other gadgets already involved."
There was a short silence. Then, Gorov's voice sounded cautiously, "What other gadgets?"
Ponyets gestured automatically and uselessly, "You see that escort?"
"I do," said Gorov shortly. "Tell me about those gadgets."
"I will, 杋f you'll listen. That's Pherl's private navy escorting us; a special honor to him from the Grand Master. He managed to squeeze that out."
"So?"
"And where do you think he's taking us? To his mining estates on the outskirts of Askone, that's where. Listen!" Ponyets was suddenly fiery, "I told you I was in this to make money, not to save worlds. All right. I sold that transmuter for nothing. Nothing except the risk of the gas chamber and that doesn't count towards the quota."