It was at noon that the High Minister at Washenn inquired via Communi-wave after his Secretary, and a search for the latter failed. The High Minister was displeased; the minor officials at the Hall of Correction were perturbed.
Questioning followed, and the guards outside the assembly room were definite that the Secretary had left with the prisoners at ten-thirty in the morning...No, he had left no instructions. They could not say where he was going; it was, of course, not their place to ask.
Another set of guards was equally uninformed and uninformative. A general air of anxiety mounted and swirled.
At 2 P.M. the first report arrived that the Secretary's ground car had been seen that morning-no one had seen if the Secretary was within-some thought he had been driving, but had only assumed it, it turned out- By two-thirty it had been ascertained that the car had entered Fort Dibburn.
At not quite three, it was finally decided to put in a call to the commander of the fort. A lieutenant had answered.
It was impossible at that time, they learned, for information on the subject to be given. However, His Imperial Majesty's officers requested that order be maintained for the present. It was further requested that news of the absence of a member of the Society of Ancients be not generally distributed until further notice.
But that was enough to achieve the direct opposite of the Imperial desires.
Men engaged in treason cannot take chances when one of the prime members of a conspiracy is in the hands of the enemy forty-eight hours before trigger time. It can mean only discovery or betrayal, and these are but the reverse sides of a single coin. Either alternative would mean death.
So word went out- And the population of Chica stirred- The professional demagogues were on the street corners. The secret arsenals were broken open and the hands that reached withdrew with weapons. There was a twisting drift toward the fort, and at 6 P.M. a new message was sent to the commandant, this time by personal envoy.
Meanwhile, this activity was matched in a smaller way by events within the fort. It had begun dramatically when the young officer meeting the entering ground car reached out a hand for the Secretary's blaster.
"I'll take that," he said curtly.
Shekt said, "Let him take it, Schwartz."
The Secretary's hand lifted the blaster and stretched out; the blaster left it, was carried away-and Schwartz, with a heaving sob of breaking tension, let go.
Arvardan was ready. When the Secretary lashed out like an insane steel coil released from compression, the archaeologist pounced upon him, fists pumping down hard.
The officer snapped out orders. Soldiers were running up. When rough hands laid hold of Arvardan's shirt collar and dragged him up, the Secretary was limp upon the seat. Dark blood was flowing feebly from the corner of his mouth. Arvardan's own already bruised cheek was open and bleeding.
He straightened his hair shakily. Then, pointing a rigid finger, said firmly, "I accuse that man of conspiring to overthrow the Imperial Government. I must have an immediate interview with the commanding officer."
"We'll have to see about that, sir," said the officer civilly. "If you don't mind, you will have to follow me-all of you."
And there, for hours, it rested. Their quarters were private, and reasonably clean. For the first time in twelve hours they had a chance to eat, which they did, despite considerations, with dispatch and efficiency. They even had the opportunity of that further necessity of civilization, a bath.
Yet the room was guarded, and as the hours passed, Arvardan finally lost his temper and cried, "But we've simply exchanged prisons."
The dull, meaningless routine of an army camp drifted about them, ignoring them. Schwartz was sleeping and Arvardan's eyes went to him. Shekt shook his head.
"We can't," he said. "It's humanly impossible. The man is exhausted. Let him sleep."
"But there are only thirty-nine hours left."
"I know-but wait."
A cool and faintly sardonic voice sounded. "Which of you claims to be a citizen of the Empire?"
Arvardan sprang forward. "I am. I-"
And his voice failed as he recognized the speaker. The latter smiled rigidly. His left arm he held a bit stiffly as a remaining memento of their last meeting.
Pola's voice was faint behind him. "Bel, it's the officer-the one of the department store."
"The one whose arm he broke," came the sharp addition. "My name is Lieutenant Claudy and yes, you are the same man. So you are a member of the Sirian worlds, are you? And yet you consort with these. Galaxy, the depths a man can sink to! And you've still got the girl with you." He waited and then said slowly and deliberately, "The Earthie-squaw!"
Arvardan bristled, then subsided. He couldn't-not yet
He forced humbleness into his voice. "May I see the colonel, Lieutenant?"
"The colonel, I am afraid, is not on duty now."
"You mean he's not in the city?"
"I didn't say that. He can be reached-if the matter is sufficiently urgent."
"It is...May I see the officer of the day?"
"At the moment I am the officer of the day."
"Then call the colonel."
And slowly the lieutenant shook his head. "I could scarcely do so without being convinced of the gravity of the situation.'.
Arvardan was shaking with impatience. "By the Galaxy, stop fencing with me! It's life and death."
"Really?" Lieutenant Claudy swung a little swagger stick with an air of affected dandyism. "You might crave an audience with me."
"All right...Well, I'm waiting...
"I said-you might crave one."