"Thank you." Gerd Lel Rayne explained the situation to his overseer,
and it was quite obvious to Andrew that Gerd accelerated the story
continuously, and the emissary ended with an air that gave Andrew to
understand that the overseer was quite impatient and that he was ahead
of Gerd.
The answer was a single word. It was unintelligible to Andrew at first,
and then it soaked in that Verde had uttered the word: "Inconsistent."
Gerd objected at length and began to explain the workings of Andrew's
mind.
"Granted!" came the answer half-way through the account. "Have him
enter--he may be able to understand."
Gerd came out and nodded at Andrew. "Go in," he said with an
encouraging smile. "And--good luck."
"Thanks, Gerd," said Andrew. He straightened up his shoulders and
entered the inner library.
He fell under the full, interested glance of Yord Tan Verde as he
entered, and Andrew's eyes were held immobile. His springy step
faltered, and his swift and purposeful walk slowed to a slogging
trudge. Andrew came up to the desk, looked full in the face of the
One, shook his head in understanding, finally; and then by sheer force
dropped his eyes. He turned and left the room.
Gerd was waiting for him, a sympathetic smile upon his benign face.
Andrew looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then: "You--are his
emissary?"
"I am--a moron," Gerd said evenly.
"You have a job."
"I am his in-between."
"Because only a moron can understand us," said Andrew slowly.
"No--because your people can understand me, but not the Ones."
"And my efforts with the mental amplifier can do no more than bring me
to your level."
"Worse, Andrew. Nature causes many sports to be sterile because they
interfere with her proper plan. Your machine will introduce sterility."
"I have one protecting job to do myself," said Andrew thoughtfully.
"Or--perhaps it should be maintained--secretly, of course, for some
emergency?"
"Your race is adequately protected."
Andrew shrugged. "I see. Terra will need neither the machine nor its
product."