"One committee of the Emergency Cabinet was assigned the important task of determining as closely as possible the precise CH relationship of B-I Three with both B-I Two and the Imperium. This is an extremely tricky chore as it is quite possible for an amazing parallelism to exist in one phase of an A-line while the most fantastic variants crop up in another. "One week ago today the committee reported findings they considered to be ninety-eight per cent reliable. Your B-I Three line shared history of the B-I Two until the date 1911, probably early in the year. At that point, my colleague, Mr. Goering, of German Intelligence, who had been sitting in on the meeting, made a brilliant contribution. His suggestion was immediately adopted. All agents were alerted at once to drop all other lines of inquiry and concentrate on picking up a trace of--" Bale looked at me. "Mr. Brion Bayard." They knew I was on the verge of exploding from pure curiosity, so I just sat and looked back at Bale. He pursed his lips. He sure as hell didn't like me. "We picked you up from records at your university--" Bale frowned at me. "Something like aluminium alloy...." Bale must be an Oxford man, I thought. "Illinois," I said. "At any rate," Bale went on, "it was a relatively simple matter to follow you up then through your military service and into your Diplomatic Service. Our man just missed you at your Legation at Viat-Kai." "Consulate General," I corrected. It annoyed Bale. I was glad; I didn't like him much either. "You had left the post the preceding day and were proceeding to your headquarters via Stockholm. We had a man on the spot; he kept tabs on you until the shuttle could arrive. The rest you know." There was a lengthening silence. I shifted in my chair, looking from one expressionless face to another. "All right," I said. "It seems I'm supposed to ask, so I'll oblige, just to speed things along. Why me?" Almost hesitantly General Bernadotte opened a drawer of the desk and drew out a flat object wrapped in brown paper. He removed the paper very deliberately as he spoke. "I have here an official portrait of the dictator of the world of Blight-Insular Two," he said. "One of the two artifacts we have been able to bring along from that unhappy region. Copies of this picture are posted everywhere there." He passed it over to me. It was a crude lithograph, in color, showing a man in uniform, the chest as far down as the picture extended covered with medals. Beneath the portrait was the legend: "His Martial Excellency, Duke of Algiers, Warlord of the Combined Forces, Marshal General of the State, Brion The First Bayard, Dictator." The picture was of me. Chapter 4 I stared at the garish portrait for a long time. It wasn't registering; I had a feeling of disorientation. There was too much to absorb.