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"Not for six weeks," said Dr. Silvers. "Food supplies will last that long, with rationing."
"There'll be panic and rioting," said He
"True," said Dr. Silvers grimly. "It will be most unpleasant."
"You'll ruin the farm syndicates," groaned Makian.
"It will be ruined anyway. Now, I intend to see Dr. Benson this evening. We will have a four-way conference tomorrow at noon. Tomorrow midnight, if nothing breaks anywhere on Mars or at the Moon's Central Laboratories, the embargo goes into effect and arrangements will be made for an all-Mars conference of the various syndicate members."
"Why?" asked He
"Because," said Dr. Silvers, "there is reason to think that whoever is behind this mad crime must be co
"What about Williams?"
"I've questioned him. He sticks to his story, which is, I'll admit, queer enough. I've sent him to the city, where he'll be questioned further; under hypnosis, if necessary."
The door signal flashed.
Dr. Silvers said, "Open the door, Mr. Makian."
Makian did so, as though he were not owner of one of the largest farms on Mars and, by virtue of that fact, one of the richest and most powerful men in the Solar System.
Bigman stepped in. He looked at Hermes challeng-ingly. He said, "Williams is on a sand-car heading back for the city under guard."
"Good," said Dr. Silvers, his thin lips set tightly.
A mile outside the farm dome the sand-car stopped. David Starr, nosepiece in place, stepped out. He waved to the driver, who leaned out and said, "Remember! Lock 7! We'll have one of our men there to let you in."
David smiled and nodded. He watched the sand-car continue its trip toward the city and then turned back on foot to the farm dome.
The men of the Council co-operated, of course. They had helped him in his desire to leave openly and to return secretly, but none of them, not even Dr. Silvers, knew the purpose of his request.
He had the pieces to the puzzle, but he still needed the proof.
14. 'I Am the Space Ranger!'
He
Dr. Silvers had not liked that, and that accounted for one bit of the anger that drenched and drowned him. Dr. Silvers! An old incompetent who came bustling down from the city thinking he could get to the bottom of the trouble in a day and a night when all the science of Earth and Mars had been exerting itself for months to no avail. And He
There was Benson, too, and Ms interference with He
He pondered briefly the advisability of a Soporite pill. On this night he wanted rest for the necessary kee
He shook his head. No. He could not risk drugged helplessness in the event of some crucial turn of events in the night.
He compromised by throwing the toggle switch that magnetically bound the door in place. He even tested the door briefly to make sure the electromagnetic circuits worked. Personal doors, in the totally masculine and informal life of a farm dome, were so frequently locked that it was not uncommon to have insulation wear through, wires fall loose, without anyone being the wiser over the years. His own door had not been locked, to his knowledge, since he had first taken the job.
The circuit was in order. The door did not even tremble as he pulled at it. So much for that.
He sighed heavily, sat down upon the bed, and removed his boots, first one, then the other. He rubbed his ieet wearily, sighed again, then stiffened; stiffened so suddenly that he shot off the bed without really being aware of moving.
His stare was one of complete bewilderment. It couldn't be. It couldn't be! It would mean that William's foolish story was true. It would mean that Benson's ridiculous mournings about Martians might, after all, turn out to be____________________
No, he refused to believe that. It would be easier to believe that his lack-sleep mind was having a private joke.
Yet the dark of the room was alight with the cold blue-white brilliance that carried no glare with it. By it he could see the bed, the walls, the chair, the dresser, even his boots, standing where he had just placed them. And he could see the man creature with only a blaze of light where a head ought to be and no distinct feature elsewhere; rather a kind of smoke instead.
He felt the wall against his back. He had not been conscious of his retreat backward.
The object spoke, and the words were hollow and booming as though they carried an echo with them.
The object said, "I am the Space Ranger!"
He
The Space Ranger did not move or speak, and He
The foreman waited, his chest pumping, and still the thing of smoke and light did not move. It might have been a robot geared to make the one statement of identity. For a moment He
In the light of the thing itself his motion was not invisible, but it paid no attention. He
His fingers touched a little notch in the wood. It was a common mechanism and few farm managers on Mars lacked one. In a way it was old-fashioned, as old-fashioned as the imported wooden bureau itself, a tradition dating back to the lawless old days of the farming pioneers, but tradition dies hard. The little notch moved slightly under his fingernail and a panel in the side of the chest dropped outward. He
He held the blaster now, aimed dead center, and in all that tune the creature had not moved. What passed for arms dangled emptily,
He