Dr. Helen Carewe, his highly privileged assistant, opened the pouch with a paper knife and a shrug. "Take it easy, career man," she advised. "Your daddy had the same trouble before they promoted him to Washington State. We get all the dirty work here in Nome--have to explain how and when and why the inviolable mail-sacks arrive opened and read." She scanned the messages heavily typed on official paper. "What," she asked, "does 'Aristotle' mean?" "Inexcusable outrages on the dignity of a representative of Terra," said Weems after consulting the code book. "Sounds bad." "It is. Oh, but it _is_! They took Ambassador Malcolm and painted him bright blue, then drove him naked through the streets of Venusport." "Whew!" whistled Weems. "That's an 'Aristotle' if I ever heard one! What do we do now?" He was already reaching for the phone. "Cut that out!" snapped Dr. Carewe. She could speak to him like that--or even more firmly--because she was more than old enough to be his mother. The number of career men she had coached through the Alaska Receiving Station would fill half the consulates in space--and with damned good men. Brow wrinkled, she brooded aloud, "While this isn't definitely spy stuff we ought to know whether they have a line on our phones. Don't get Washington; try Intelligence in Wyoming." * * * * * Meekly Weems rang the Central Intelligence Division. After a hasty conversation he turned to Dr. Carewe: "They say that we're being tapped--probably by Martians. What do I do?" "Thank the man nicely and hang up." Weems obliged. "Now," said Dr. Carewe, "the sooner Washington hears of this, the better. And if the Martians hear of this later, _much_ better. What we have to avoid is the Martians being able to let the Venusians know with any degree of credibility that Earth is very, very angry about the Aristotle. Because that will get Venus very angry and virtuous. Which will get Earth very dignified and offensive; snotty, I might even say." "I notice," commented Weems, "that Mars is practically out of the picture. Except as a silent purveyor of fighting ships to both sides, is it?" "It is. You learn quickly and cleanly. We'll have to go to Washington ourselves with the pouch." "And report," said Weems, "to--oh, my God!--Osgood!" "Exactly," said she. "Oh,-my-God Osgood." And there was good and sufficient reason for the alarm in her voice. * * * * *