The counterfeit Lund reached the bank of elevators a half-dozen running
paces ahead of the just-coming-to-life audience. He gestured, and the
operator closed the door in their faces.
During the long descent to the street, Lund stripped off his clothes
and did things to his face while the operator shoved the discarded
costume into an access panel. Then he gave the now-slim little man a
boost up through the roof of the cage and let himself be helped up.
"Thank God for tradition," the man who had been known as Lund said
when he helped the other man up. Stripping off his uniform jacket
and reversing it changed the other's appearance. The elevator slowed
automatically for the ground floor. Word had been flashed down from the
Conference hall, but when the waiting monitors surged into the opening
elevator before it had quite eased to a stop, they found nothing at all.
Overhead, the two men threaded their way through a maze of cables and
onto the roof of the next cab. It dropped under them, then stopped
halfway between floors while they climbed down. The new operator eyed
them, but said nothing while they brushed each other off. At a signal
from the small man, the cab continued its interrupted drop, letting
them out on the sub-surface shopping level.
The corridors of the level were full of running figures, most of them
heading towards the elevator banks. No one paid the newly arrived pair
any attention at all, although the powder-blue uniforms of the monitors
predominated.
The two men strode briskly down the corridor until they came to a side
passage lined with small shops that featured the specialized products
of the various members of the Conference. They stopped in front of one
displaying gadgets from Ehrla, then entered while the counterfeit Lund
purchased a perpetual razor, having it giftwrapped. Then they wandered
further, acting now like the average sightseer, until they reached a
florist's shop set in an alcove at the end of the passage.
They entered, saw that there were no other customers, nodded to the
salesman and continued on to the back.
"Dale!" The waiting pair leaped to their feet and spoke as one. "We
thought you weren't going to make it!"
"I didn't think so myself," said Dale Vernon, the slim little man. "If
Dic hadn't been there right on schedule, there'd be nothing left of me
but a few bloody shreds. Those people were _mad_!" His voice showed
respect for the strength of their emotions. "What's the news?"
"The Park monitors found the real Lund about twenty minutes ago."
"Good timing. Any sooner, and the fun upstairs would have been
different."
"And you know who is screaming for the dissolving of the Conference."
"So soon?"
"They, uh, you might say had an inside lead as to what was going to
happen."
"It's a little early to tell," added the other man, "but apparently the
operation was a success. The proper wheels have been set in motion,
at least. We'll have to keep applying grease from time to time in the
next forty-eight hours, but I think we can forget about the Ehrlan
problem--during this conference, at least. Ten years from now, they'll
have an entirely different set of plans for the reformation of the
galaxy. And we'll have to come up with an entirely different way of
crossing them."
* * * * *
"Do-gooders!" snorted the first man.
"You must admit, they have the best of intentions," said Vernon.
"But intentions aren't enough," added the other. "Man is an imperfect
creature at best, and his best is a rare occurrence indeed. We have to
deal with practicalities. Perfection is beyond us, and we'd be idiots
to try and enforce it. That's the basic difference between us and the
Ehrlans--we know what we can and can't do. They know only what they
would like to do. And that makes them the most dangerous force loose
in the galaxy today."
* * * * *
"To sum it up," said Reilly, getting up and going to the window, "ours
is not a life of glory and fame." Another battalion marched out onto
the field below and began the familiar maneuvers. "We work hard and
receive little thanks--if, indeed, we receive any thanks at all. The
life is strenuous. The work is demanding. And over all of us rides the
constant specter of failure, for we are not perfect. Nor do we want to
be.
"It is a lonely life for some: it is a short life for others. But for
all of us, it's something more." He turned and faced the boys again.
"It is the chance to be something more than just a man, for a man is a
selfish creature. And it is the most rewarding life I know.
"Any questions, gentlemen?"