Still, there had been slip-ups before. The security network protecting President Deller had failed badly when a Damakoi assassin smuggled himself into the Golden Palace. A meeting of the Solar Subcouncil had been bombed two years before despite the most painstaking precautions. There was no way of being absolutely sure--I could only do my best. After all, the Damakoi weren't stupid--fanatic maniacs, yes, but not stupid. I carefully checked the loading of my blaster, just in case I'd need it. Then I called Ned in and gave him his orders. Ned repeated them and then said: "I hope you're right, Chief." "So do I," I agreed. "But it's the only way to handle the Damakoi." "That planet's a plague spot," Ned said bitterly. "We ought to send the Galactic Fleet in there with a half-dozen good-sized planet wrecking bombs, and get rid of every damned one of them once and for all." "You're being hasty, Ned," I said. "That would be genocide, the one thing that every race fears more than anything else. The Galactic Government would fall within a week after such an order was given." "I know it; it was just wishful thinking." "We'll get it under inter-planetary control," I told him. "That's the sort of thing the Grand Council is working on right now. Once the proper laws are passed, we'll have Damak under our thumb and force them to be law-abiding citizens. That's why they're so anxious to blow up the Capitol before anything definite is done." "Yeah. Well, what do you want me to do after I've set up the plexisteel?" "Nothing," I said. "We just wait. That's all we can do. Just wait." * * * * * We waited. Every cop in town was patrolling the streets, watching for a strange Damakoi. They had full, three-D photographs of the eight Damakoi known to be in the city; anyone who didn't match one of those photos would be picked up--or shot. Before he could do anything, the assassin would have to get inside the Grand Capitol Building, and I was fairly sure he couldn't do that without my knowing it. But if I was wrong, the Galactic Government would be ruined. I sat in my office for hours, smoking one cigarette after another and fortifying myself with coffee. The tension on my nerves was building up hour by hour until I could hardly sit down. I wanted to slug someone, to break open a Damakoi face with a fist and strangle the life out of his killer soul. The phone chimed and I jumped a foot before I realized what it was. I forced myself to be calm and reached over to turn on the screen. The sharp-nosed, blue-skinned face of a Damakoi resolved itself on the screen. I recognized him immediately. It was Jedon Onomondo. He wasn't known to be absolutely trustworthy, but he had been useful to us in the past by giving us information we couldn't get otherwise. "Hello, Jedon Onomondo," I said. "What is it?" "Hello, Mr. Cameron." His voice was excited. "Listen, I want to talk to you." "Go ahead," I said.