The Collected Works of Mack Reynolds. Mack Reynolds

Delos?” Ronny said, taking his eyes from the girl and trying to catch up with the grasshopper-like conversation of his superior.

      “New Delos it is,” Jakes said happily. “With luck, you might catch him before he can get off the planet.” He chuckled at the other's expression. “Look alive, Ronny! The quarry is flushed and on the run. Tommy Paine's just assassinated the Immortal God-King of New Delos. A neat trick, eh?”

       * * * * *

      The following hours were chaotic. There was no indication of how long a period he'd be gone. For all he knew, it might be years. For that matter, he might never return to Earth. This Ronny Bronston had realized before he ever applied for an interplanetary appointment. Mankind was exploding through this spiral arm of the galaxy. There was a racial enthusiasm about it all. Man's destiny lay out in the stars, only a laggard stayed home of his own accord. It was the ambition of every youth to join the snowballing avalanche of man into the neighboring stars.

      It took absolute severity by Earth authorities to prevent the depopulation of the planet. But someone had to stay to administer the ever more complicated racial destiny. Earth became a clearing house for a thousand cultures, attempting, with only moderate success, to co-ordinate her widely spreading children. She couldn't afford to let her best seed depart. Few there were, any more, allowed to emigrate from Earth. New colonies drew their immigrants from older ones.

      Lucky was the Earthling able to find service in interplanetary affairs, in any of the thousands of tasks that involved journey between member planets of UP. Possibly one hundredth of the population at one time or another, and for varying lengths of time, managed it.

      Ronny Bronston was lucky and knew it. The thing now was to pull off this assignment and cinch the appointment for good.

      He packed in a swirl of confusion. He phoned a relative who lived in the part of town once known as Richmond, explained the situation and asked that the other store his things and dispose of the apartment he'd been occupying.

      Luckily, the roof of his apartment building was a copter-cab pickup point and he was able to hustle over to the shuttleport in a matter of a few minutes.

      He banged into the reservations office, hurried up to one of the windows and said into the screen, “I've got to get to Neuve Albuquerque immediately.”

      The expressionless voice said, “The next rocket leaves at sixteen hours.”

      “Sixteen hours! I've got to be at the spaceport by that time!”

      The voice said dispassionately, “We are sorry.”

      The bottom fell out of everything. Ronny said, desperately, “Look, if I miss my ship in Neuve Albuquerque, what is the next spaceliner leaving from there for New Delos?”

      “A moment, citizen.” There was an agonized wait, and then the voice said, “There is a liner leaving for New Delos on the 14th of next month. It arrives in New Delos on the 31st, Basic Earth calendar.”

      The 31st! Tommy Paine could be halfway across the galaxy by that time.

      A gentle voice next to him said, “Could I help, Ronny?”

      He looked around at her. “Evidently, nobody can,” he said disgustedly. “There's no way of getting to Neuve Albuquerque in time to get that cruiser to New Delos.”

      Tog Lee Chang Chu fished in her bag and came up with a wallet similar to the one in which Ronny carried his Section G badge. She held it up to the screen. “Bureau of Investigation, Section G,” she said calmly. “It will be necessary that Agent Bronston and myself be in Neuve Albuquerque within the hour.”

      The metallic voice said, “Of course. Proceed to your right and through Corridor K to Exit Four. Your rocket will be there. Identify yourself to Lieutenant Economou who will be at the desk at Exit Four.”

      Tog turned to Ronny Bronston. “Shall we go?” she said demurely.

      He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Thanks, Tog,” he said.

      “Not at all, Ronny. Why, this is my job.”

      Was there the faintest of sarcasm in her voice? It hadn't been more than a couple of hours ago that he had been hinting rather heavily to Sid Jakes that he needed no assistance.

      She even knew the layout of the West Greater Washington shuttleport. Her small body swiveled through the hurrying passengers, her small feet a-twinkle, as she led him to and down Corridor K and then to the desk at Exit Four.

      Ronny anticipated her here. He flashed his own badge at the chair-borne Space Forces lieutenant there.

      “Lieutenant Economou?” he said. “Ronald Bronston, of the Bureau of Investigation, Section G. We've got to get to Neuve Albuquerque soonest.”

      The lieutenant, only mildly impressed, said, “We can have you in the air in ten minutes, citizen. Just a moment and I'll guide you myself.”

       * * * * *

      In the rocket, Ronny had time to appraise her at greater length. She was a delicately pretty thing, although her expression was inclined to the over-serious. There was only a touch of the Mongolian fold at the corner of her eyes. On her it looked unusually good. Her complexion was that which only the blend of Chinese and Caucasian can give. Her figure, thanks to her European blood, was fuller than Eastern Asia usually boasts; tiny, but full.

      Let's admit it, he decided. My assistant is the cutest trick this side of a Tri-Di movie queen, and we're going to be thrown in the closest of juxtaposition for an indefinite time. This comes under the head of work?

      He said, “Look here, Tog, you were with Sid Jakes longer than I was. What's the full story?”

      She folded her slim hands in her lap, looking like a schoolgirl about to recite. “Do you know anything about the socio-economic system on New Delos?”

      “Well, no,” he admitted.

      She said severely, “I'd think that they would have given you more background before an assignment of this type.”

      Ronny said impatiently, “In the past three months I've been filled in on the economic systems, the religious beliefs, the political forms, of a thousand planets. I just happened to miss New Delos.”

      Her mouth expressed disapproval by rucking down on the sides, which was all very attractive but also irritating. She said, “There are two thousand, four hundred and thirty-six member planets in the UP, I'd think an agent of Section G would be up on the basic situation on each.”

      He had her there. He said snidely, “Hate to contradict you, Tog, but the number is two thousand, four hundred and thirty-four.”

      “Then,” she nodded agreeably, “membership has changed since this morning when Menalaus and Aldebaran Three were admitted. Have two planets dropped out?”

      “Look,” he said, “let's stop bickering. What's the word on New Delos?”

      “Did you ever read Frazer's ‘Golden Bough’?” she said.

      “No.”

      “You should. At any rate, New Delos is a theocracy. A priesthood elite rules it. A God-King, who is immortal, holds absolute authority. The strongest of superstition plus an efficient inquisition, keeps the people under control.”

      “Sounds terrible,” Ronny growled.

      “Why? Possibly the government is extremely efficient and under it the planet progressing at a rate in advance of UP averages.”

      He stared at her in surprise.

      She said, “Would you rather be ruled by the personal, arbitrary whims of supremely wise men, or by laws formulated by a mob?”

      It stopped him momentarily. In all his adult years, he couldn't remember ever meeting an intelligent, educated person who had been opposed to the democratic theory.

      “Wait a minute, now,” he