The major nodded. "We don't want any of this to leak out; it might
cause panic." He paused for a moment. "You're a Sirian by birth, aren't
you, Mr. Klythe?"
Klythe nodded. "My grandparents were among the first colonists on New
Brooklyn."
"Then you probably know first hand how tough it is to tame an
extra-solar planet, no matter how closely it approaches Earth-type."
Klythe nodded, narrowing his eyes.
"So when a colony disappears, we don't think anything of it--"
Stratford stopped, frowning. "No, I don't mean that. What I mean is, we
usually attribute it to another loss in our fight against the natural
forces of the planet. The colony's gone; you blame disease, the flora,
the fauna, the storms, everything else. Then you try to re-establish
the colony.
"But lately things have been happening in a certain sector. I'm not
at liberty to say where, nor what happened. Whole colonies were gone
when the five-year check came. The pattern was only in one area, but
we're pretty sure of what's happening. Something out there, something
intelligent in its own way, is erasing those colonies. Our analysts
suspect that whoever or whatever is doing it doesn't know we're
intelligent. What it boils down to is this: we have an interstellar war
on our hands."
Klythe nodded slowly after a moment. "I get it. That's why you asked
for this funny modification of the drive generator--the new J-233. It
isn't supposed to be a drive generator at all."
"That's right," said Major Stratford, "it's a weapon."
"Why tell us now?" Crayley asked softly. "I mean, you've ordered the
thing; we've practically got it ready. Why not leave us in the dark?"
"We don't want you to build it now. We've got a better one--much
better. But it calls for a gadget that you'd immediately know was not a
driver. We decided to tell you rather than have you asking embarrassing
questions.
"And we have neither the facilities nor the capacity to build it
ourselves."
Crayley said slowly, "You mean the J-233 is obsolete? We scrap it
without ever putting it in production?"
"That's right," said the major. He grinned. "You were just telling me
how adaptable your production machinery is to--ah--re-tooling, I think
you called it. I was glad to hear it."
_Damn!_ Crayley thought. _Damdamdamdamdamn!_
His mind whirled for a moment, hopping frantically from one point to
another. Then he forced it to be calm. Everything wasn't lost--just
delayed.
"--in the strictest confidence," the major was saying. "Nothing must
leak out. We don't want to throw a scare into the world population just
now."
Klythe looked as though he had a good case of goosebumps himself.
Crayley felt nothing. He said, "How soon can you get the original down
here?"
The major spread his hands. "I'm not prepared to say. You'll have to
take that up with our technicians. Out of my field, you understand.
"I am also to ask you how soon you can get this into production. We'll
need five thousand units."
Klythe looked thoughtful. "It'll depend on the breakdown, of course;
these things take time. Five thousand units. Hmmmm. Assuming increasing
complexity--figure twice the time for a regular model and extra time
for analysis--mmmm." He appeared to be figuring deeply.
_Five days_, thought Crayley contemptuously.
"It'll take all of a week to set up for it," Klythe said. "If we get
three tunnels running, you can have your five thousand units in--say
twelve weeks."
"Fine," said Stratford. "I am also informed that our own technicians
will be on hand for the recording. I have no idea what that may mean,
but--"
"I see. Very well, tell them we'll expect them to be here with the
original!" Klythe said sharply.
* * * * *
The major raised his eyebrows at Klythe's voice. "Is there something
wrong, Mr. Klythe?"
"There is," Klythe said blandly. "But I'm not blaming you, of course. A
question of the specialty."
"I see," said the major. One did not question another's work too
closely. Get nosy with other people, and they get nosy with you.
"It's rather as though I hired you to take a cargo to Sirius for me
and then insisted that you use my crew instead of your own," Klythe
explained. "Perhaps the parallel isn't too good--I know nothing of
interstellar commerce--but that may get the idea across."
"I sympathize," said Stratford. "If there's anything I can do--?"
"Nothing," said Klythe, smiling. "It isn't fatal. Now--" He rubbed his
hands briskly. "Unless there's further business, perhaps you'd like a
little something? I know I do; I have a cold kink in my guts."
The major grinned. "Liaison officers are permitted to drink on duty.
Pour away."
Klythe poured. As he studiously watched the stream of liquor flow into
one of the cups, he said: "Major, may I ask--ah--just how much danger
there is to Earth?"
The major appeared to consider this for a moment before answering. "At
the moment, none. We know that they can not trace us back here, and
they're quite a long distance away. Without violation of confidence, I
can say that the distance is several thousand light years."
"Thank you." Klythe passed the cups around.
Crayley eyed the major suspiciously. He had answered the question too
readily. Was he lying? No. What, then? The major ran the tip of his
tongue over his lips, and Crayley understood. He was going to trade
information for information.
Stratford swirled his drink around in his cup and looked at the
whirlpool it made. "Mr. Klythe, may I ask you a--a question?" It was
properly worded, hesitation and all.
"I shall not be offended by your question," Klythe replied with the
standard friendly acceptance of the gambit, "If you will not be
offended by my reply."
The major whirled his cup once more, then downed its contents quickly.
"I--uh--understand you took the Big Gamble." He paused to see how his
opening would be accepted.