DEADLY DECOY By CLYDE MITCHELL _Would you say present-day Secret Service men have a tough job protecting the President? No doubt, but as time goes on it will get tougher. Here is about as tricky a method of liquidation as we've ever come across._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Thank you for permitting me to come to your office," said the Damakoi, very politely. "Sit down," I said, and glanced at the instruments on my hidden desk panel. With a member of the most fanatically dangerous race in the Galaxy sitting across from me, I didn't feel like taking chances. Every non-radiating detector we had was focussed on the blue-skinned being before me, and every meter showed that the alien was harmless. Which didn't necessarily mean anything, of course--Holdreth Khain of Damak could easily have had something else up his sleeve. It was my job to make sure that whatever it might be, it wouldn't work. [Illustration: Deadly enemies, they drank to each other's damnation.] "I realize that you don't trust me," the Damakoi said. "But I have come here merely to warn you. If you have time to listen to my story--" He left the sentence hanging, as though waiting for a rebuke from me. But I'd had my orders. "It's not that, Holdreth Khain," I said, keeping my voice smooth; "We realize that a high percentage of your race are loyal to the Galactic Federation. You are all fanatical in your beliefs, of course, but that is merely a racial psychological trait. There are as many of the Damakoi for us as against us. The trouble is, we can never know which is which." It wasn't quite true. There were many more of the Damakoi against us than for us. At least seventy percent of the beings from the planet Damak hated the principles that the Galactic Federation stood for. If this alien was against us, I was in one devil of a jam. * * * * * "My people have acquired a very unsavory reputation throughout the Galaxy," the Damakoi said. "But I am not the assassin type, myself." He waved a four-fingered blue hand in a deprecative gesture. "I am in complete disagreement with the anti-Federation beliefs which are widely held on my planet." I nodded and tried to keep my face pleasant. I had little enough love for the Damakoi--they were mostly hotheads whose suicide assassins had done too much already to wreck Galactic amity. I trusted Holdreth Khain about as far as I could throw a chimney by the smoke. "And why did you wish to see me, Holdreth Khain?" I asked. He seemed terribly tired and sad, as if the many sins of his countrymen all weighed heavily on his shoulders. He put a hand up to his face and brushed across it, as if to brush away his own fears and worries.