McLeod nodded. "They have a translating gadget. We met them, yes." Walton moistened his lips. "I think there's going to be trouble," he said. "I think I may be out of a job, too." "What's that?" "Just thinking out loud," Walton said. "Finish your breakfast and meet me at my office at 0900. We'll talk this thing out then." * * * * * Walton was in full command of himself by the time he reached the Cullen Building. He had read the morning telefax and heard the newsblares: they all screamed the sum and essence of Walton's speech of the previous night, and a few of the braver telefax outfits went as far as printing a resumé of the entire speech, boiled down to Basic, of course, for benefit of that substantial segment of the reading public that was most comfortable while moving its lips. The one telefax outfit most outspokenly opposed to Popeek, _Citizen_, took great delight in giving the speech full play, and editorializing on a subsequent sheet against the "veil of security" hazing Popeek operations. Walton read the _Citizen_ editorial twice, savoring its painstaking simplicities of expression. Then he clipped it out neatly and shot it down the chute to public relations, marked _Attention: Lee Percy_. "There's a Mr. McLeod waiting to see you," his secretary informed him. "He says he has an appointment." "Send him in," Walton said. "And have Mr. Percy come up here also." While he waited for McLeod to arrive, Walton riffled through the rest of the telefax sheets. Some of them praised Popeek for having uncovered a new world; others damned them for having hidden news of the faster-than-light drive so long. Walton stacked them neatly in a heap at the edge of his desk. In the bleak, dark hours of the morning, he had expected to be compelled to resign. Now, he realized, he could immeasurably strengthen his own position if he could control the flow of events and channel them properly. The square figure of McLeod appeared on the screen. Walton admitted him. "Sir. I'm McLeod." "Of course. Won't you sit down?" McLeod was tense, stiffly formal, very British in his reserve and general bearing. Walton gestured uneasily, trying to cut through the crackle of nervousness. "We seem to have a mess on our hands," he said. "But there's no mess so messy we can't muddle through it, eh?" "If we have to, sir. But I can't help feeling this could all have been avoided." "No. You're wrong, McLeod. If it _could_ have been avoided, it would have been avoided. The fact that some idiot in my public relations department gained access to my wire and found out you were returning is incontrovertible; it happened, despite precautions." "Mr. Percy to see you," the annunciator said. The angular figure of Lee Percy appeared on the screen. Walton told him to come in. Percy looked frightened--terrified, Walton thought. He held a folded slip of paper loosely in one hand. "Good morning, sir."