"Please. Don't tell me what you think they must know. I assure you that the good of Earth's people is close to my heart."
"And is that why the Council of Science is willing to allow foreign governments to vote on whether or not the Terrestrial Federation's territory has been invaded? A question that should be reserved to our own decision alone?"
Conway could not fail to note the undercurrent of threat in the other's outwardly polite but persistent questioning. He looked over the reporter's shoulder and could see the Secretary of State talking to a group of other newsmen at a point closer to the ship.
He said, "What are you getting at?"
"The public is questioning the good faith of the Council, I'm afraid, Chief. And in that connection, Trans-sub-ether has picked up a Sirian news broadcast that it has not yet made public. We need your comments on it."
"No comments. A Sirian news broadcast designed for home consumption is not worth comment."
"This report was quite circumstantial. For instance, where is Councilman David Starr, the legendary Lucky, himself? Where is he?"
"What?"
"Come on now, Chief. I know the Council's agents dislike publicity, but has Councilman Starr been sent to Saturn on a secret mission?"
"Now if that were so, young man, would you expect me to talk about it?"
"Yes, if Sirius were already talking about it. It's no secret to them. They say Lucky Starr invaded the Sa-turnian system and was captured. Is that true?"
Conway said stiffly, "I do not know the present whereabouts of Councilman David Starr."
"Does that mean he might be in the Saturnian system?"
"It means that I do not know his whereabouts."
The reporter's nose wrinkled. "All right. If you think it sounds better to have the Chief of the Council of Science deny that he knows the whereabouts of one of his important agents, that's your business. But the general mood of the public is increasingly anti-Council. There is considerable talk of the Council's inefficiency in letting Sinus get to Saturn in the first place and its interest in whitewashing the whole affair for the sake of their political skins."
"You are being insulting. Good day, sir."
"The Sirians are quite definite that Lucky Starr has been captured in the Saturnian system. Any comment on that?"
"No. Let me pass."
"The Sirians say that Lucky Starr will be at the conference."
"Oh?" For a moment Conway could not conceal a spasm of interest.
"That seems to get you, Chief. The only catch is that the Sirians say he'll be testifying for them."
Conway said with difficulty, "That remains to be seen."
"Do you admit he'll be at the conference?"
"I know nothing about that."
The reporter stepped aside. "All right, Chief. It's just that the Sirians say that Starr has already given them valuable information and that the Sirians will be able to convict us of aggression on the basis of it. I mean, what's the Council doing? Fighting with us or against us?"
Conway, feeling unbearably harried, muttered, "No comment," and started to pass by.
The reporter called after him. "Starr is your adopted son, isn't he, Chief?"
For a moment Conway turned back. Then, without a word, he hastened on to the ship.
What was there to say? What could he say except that ahead of him lay an interstellar conference more crucial for Earth than any meeting of any sort in its history? That this conference was weighted heavily on the side of Sinus. That chances were almost intolerably great that peace, the Council of Science, the Terrestrial Federation would all be destroyed.
And that only the thin shield of Lucky's efforts protected them.
Somehow, what depressed Conway more than anything else-more, even, than a lost war-was the thought that if the Sirian news report were true and if the conference nevertheless failed despite Lucky's original intentions, Lucky would go down in history as Earth's arch-traitor! And only a few would ever know better.
14. On Vesta
The Secretary of State, Lament Finney, was a career politician who had served some fifteen years in the legislature and whose relations with the Council of Science had never been overwhelmingly friendly. He was aging now, not in the best of health, and inclined to be querulous. Officially he headed the Terrestrial delegation to Vesta. In actuality, though, Conway understood quite well that he, himself, as head of the Council, must be prepared to take full responsibility for failure-if there was failure.
Finney made that clear even before the ship, one of Earth's largest space liners, took off.
He said, "The press is almost uncontrollable. You're in a bad spot, Conway."
"All Earth is."
"You, Conway."
Conway said gloomily, "Well, I am under no illusions that if things go badly the Council can expect support from the government."
"I'm afraid not." The Secretary of State was strapping himself in with meticulous care against the rigors of take-off and making certain that his bottle of anti-space-sickness pills were handy. "Government support for you would only mean the downfall of the government, and there will be enough troubles with a war emergency. We can't afford political instability."
Conway thought: He has no confidence in the outcome of the conference at all. He expects the war.
He said, "Listen, Finney, if the worst does come to the worst, I will need voices on my side to help pre vent Councilman Starr's reputation from-… "
Finney lifted his gray head momentarily from the hydraulic cushion and stared at the other out of fading, troubled eyes. "Impossible. Your Councilman went into Saturn on his own, asked no permission, received no orders. He was willing to take the risks. If things turn out badly, he is done. What else can we do?"
"You know he… "
"I don't know," said the politician violently. "I know nothing officially. You've been in public life long enough to know that under certain conditions the people need a scapegoat and insist on one. Councilman Starr will be the scapegoat."
He leaned back again, closed his eyes, and Conway leaned back beside him. Elsewhere in the ship others were in their places, and the far thunder of the engines started up and rose in pitch as the ship raised itself slowly from the launching pad and lifted toward the sky.
The Shooting Starr hovered a thousand miles above Vesta, caught in its feeble gravity and circling it slowly with engines blocked. Grappled to it was a small lifeboat from the Sirian mother ship.
Serviceman Zayon had left The Shooting Starr to join the Sirian delegation on Vesta, and a robot remained behind in his place. In the lifeboat was Big-man, and with him Serviceman Yonge.
Lucky had been surprised when Yonge's face first stared out at him in the receiver. He said, "What are you doing out in space? Is Bigman with you?"
"He is. I'm his guard. I suppose you expected a robot."
"Yes, I did. Or won't they trust Bigman with a robot after last time?"
"No, this is just Devoure's little way of seeing to it that I don't attend the conference. It's a slap at the Service."
Lucky said, "Serviceman Zayon will be there."
"Zayon," Yonge sniffed. "He is an adequate man, but he's a follower. He can't realize that there's more to the Service than blindly obeying orders from above; that we owe it to Sinus to see to it that she is ruled according to the inflexible principles of honor that guide the Service itself."
Lucky said, "How is Bigman?"
"Well enough. He seems unhappy. It's strange that such an odd-looking person should have a sterner sense of duty and honor than a person like yourself."
Lucky clamped his lips together. There was little time left, and it worried him whenever either Service man began speculating about Lucky's loss of honor. From that it was a step to wondering if Lucky might by some chance have retained his honor, and then they might wonder what his intentions really were, and after that…
Yonge shrugged. "Well, I called only to make sure all was well. I am responsible for your welfare until, in good time, we get you down before the conference."