Millet shook his head, and for the first time since their conversation had started he frowned. “Walker, you know how I feel about developing weapons. I’m just plain opposed to it.” “The soldier is opposed to losing his life, but many have to do just that in the interests of civilization.” “That serious, eh?” Walker crumpled under the weight of his fear. “That serious,” he said wearily. Millet thoughtfully relit his pipe. “Of course, I’m not at all sure that United Terra is very right in this thing.” “In times like these, that kind of thought is out of bounds,” snapped Walker. “Whether you like it or not, you are a part of this culture. You might disapprove of many things in it, but you don’t want to see it fall.” Millet puffed gently. “No, I suppose not.” Again the frown flickered across his face. “I’ve been very happy. I don’t want my work interrupted. It’s too important, Walker.” “Undoubtedly this would more than interrupt your work. It would replace it.” Millet’s eyes drifted affectionately about the room. “Most unpleasant.” A smile curled his lips. “Frankly, though, I don’t think you can clear me again.” “My problem.” “Indeed.” A weary resignation seemed to settle over Millet, and Walker suddenly felt very miserable. “I suppose I’ll have to accept,” Millet said, pulling his pipe out of his mouth and staring unhappily at its trail of smoke. ———— Walker put his hands flat on his desk and sighed deeply. Some of the pressure, at least, was off; he had managed to cancel part of the Confederation’s advantage. Terran industrial strength and technological supremacy, coupled with Millet’s genius, might yet equate, or at least circumvent, the frightful weapon the Confederation held. However, he still had to get Millet back into the government. Though, on the basis of the information he had gained regarding the scientist’s motivations, and considering the critical nature of the situation, it shouldn’t be too difficult. He clicked on his video and dialed a secret line into Security Data. Gyrating colors danced across the screen before it went black. He scowled, depressed the cancel button, and dialed again; this time, the black was finally replaced by a recorded image, which said, sweetly out of pouting red lips, “This line is not cleared for the Security Information you seek. The problem you are handling should be routed through an individual permitted access to this information.” The image faded into blackness, the sound track into static. Walker stared, stupefied. No line, no contact, no source of information had been denied to him in over twelve years. His door swung open; he came to his feet abruptly, furious that someone should enter unannounced. He felt sickness strike him like a fist in the stomach: Meriwether, flanked by two security guards, pushed through the door. His voice slashed across the office like a broadsword. “Walker, I’m shocked. Shocked. And at a time like this....”