"Why that's nothing very much," Drawers replied. "That's only common
iron. The ground is filthy with this back on Earth. Why do you ask?"
Persum mentally replied to the question.
"Here, in this city, Ronir, which is what you call Iron is the rarest
of all metals. We use it only in the construction of vital instruments
and tools. All other uses, because of its extreme scarcity, are
forbidden."
"Well, you can have all I have on the ship, if you want it," Drawers
offered generously. "It's nothing more than trimmings on the inside of
the ship. Iron and steel haven't been of much value since the invention
of much superior alloys which have an infinitely greater resistance to
heat and cold."
"We would be glad to give you anything you request for this metal," the
Raciv offered. "There have been numerous occasions when the possession
of a little larger supply of Ronir might have relieved much suffering."
"In that case, why don't you just consider it my contribution to the
advancement of science and let it go at that?"
"I'm afraid you do not understand," Persum clarified. "Our race will
not accept anything of this sort without first arranging a fair
exchange."
Michel Drawers realized that he must be careful not to offend these
people due to his ignorance of their laws. He made an admirable stab at
diplomacy.
"Suppose you give me something that you believe would be a fair
exchange."
The golden people drew away a moment and conversed telepathically among
themselves.
Then the Raciv walked toward Drawers. There was a resigned expression
upon his features. He threw back his shoulders and looked Drawers
straight in the eye.
"_I am prepared to turn my leadership over to you in exchange!_" came
his startling thoughts. The other golden people looked solemn.
Drawers drew back aghast. _Just how precious were these small amounts
of iron that he had offered these people, if they were willing to
entrust him with their entire government in return._
Persum must have read his thoughts for he again explained.
"At the base of the skull of every new born babe of our race there
lies a dormant gland. What use this gland once had we do not know.
Through thousands of years of disuse it has atrophied, and the
slightest mental exertion causes its inflammation. In almost every case
the pressure exerted upon the brain by this swollen gland has resulted
in death.
"At one time hundreds died daily from this dread malady. We tried to
operate, but our metals were all too soft to be sharpened to a keen
edge, and used for operation. Eventually we discovered Ronir. Minute
deposits of this invaluable metal came to light at various times.
We melted the crude ore and fashioned it into the vital instruments
we needed. Now we operate upon a baby immediately after birth and
remove this gland so that it cannot do any harm. The operation is a
comparatively simple one. We have mastered various balms that will
heal the incision within a few hours. However, we have been unable
to discover new deposits of this valuable metal for many centuries
now--due, largely to the menace of the Griffs.
"The instruments we fashioned many centuries ago are almost all worn
out. It is estimated that if a new supply of Ronir is not obtained
soon, within the next generation or so, our tools will be useless, and
then--"
The inference was obvious. Michel Drawers realized that he was in a
mighty uncomfortable position. For once his brain found a suitable
solution.