While the screen was clearing, Walton jotted down a memorandum to himself: _investigate Sellors_. So far, as security chief, Sellors had allowed an assassin to reach FitzMaugham, allowed Prior to burst into Walton's old office, permitted Fred to masquerade as a doorsmith long enough to gain access to Walton's private files, and stood by blindly while Lee Percy tapped into Walton's private wire and some unidentified technician strung a spy pickup into the director's supposedly sacred office. No security chief could have been as incompetent as all that. It had to be a planned campaign, directed from the outside. He dialed Eglin. "Olaf, you get my message about the Venus rescue mission okay?" "Came through a few minutes ago. I'll have the specs drawn up by tonight." "Devil with that," Walton said. "Drop everything and send that ship out _now_. I've got to know what Lang and his crew are up to, and I have to know right away. If we don't produce a livable Venus, or at least the possibility of one, in a couple of days, we'll be in for it on all sides." "Why? What's up?" "You'll see. Keep an eye on the telefax. I'll bet the next edition of _Citizen_ is going to be interesting." * * * * * It was. The glossy sheets of the 1200 _Citizen_ extruded themselves from a million receivers in the New York area, but none of those million copies was as avidly pounced on as was Director Walton's. He had been hovering near the wall outlet for ten minutes, avidly awaiting the sheet's arrival. And he was not disappointed. The streamer headline ran: _THINGS FROM SPACE NIX BIG POPEEK PLAN_ And under it in smaller type: _Greenskinned Uglies Put Feet In Director Walton's Big Mouth_ He smiled grimly and went on to the story itself. Written in the best approved _Citizen_ journalese, it read: _Fellow human beings, we've been suckered again. The_ Citizen _found out for sure this morning that the big surprise Popeek's Interim Director Walton yanked out of his hat last night has a hole in it._ _It's sure dope that there's a good planet up there in the sky for grabs. The way we hear it, it's just like earth only prettier, with trees and flowers (remember them?). Our man says the air there is nice and clean. This world sounds okay._ _But what Walton didn't know last night came home to roost today. Seems the folks on the next planet out there don't want any sloppy old Earthmen messing up their pasture--and so we ain't going to have any New Earth after all. Wish-washy Walton is a cinch to throw in the towel now._ _More dope in later editions. And check the edit page for extra info._