Tog said brightly, “Why, that means, then, that either Tommy Paine is still on this planet, or he's one of the passengers or crew members of that ship.” She added, “That is, of course, unless he had a private craft, hidden away somewhere.”
Ronny slumped back into his chair as some of the ramifications came home to him. “If it was Tommy Paine at all,” he said.
Mouley Hassan nodded. “That's always a point.” He finished his glass and looked pleadingly at Tog. “Look, I have work. If I can finish some of it, I might have time for some sleep. Couldn't we postpone the search for Tommy Paine.”
Tog said nothing to him.
Ronny came to his feet. “We'll get along. A couple of ideas occur to me. I'll check with you later.”
“Fine,” the agent said. He shook hands with them again. He said, somehow more to Tog than to Ronny, “I know how important your job is. It's just that I've been pushed to the point where I can't operate efficiently.”
She smiled her understanding, gave him her small, delicate hand.
In the elevator, Ronny said to her, “Why should this sort of thing particularly affect Section G?”
Tog said, “It's times like this that planets drop out of the UP. Or, possibly, get into the hands of some jingoistic military group and start off halfcocked to provoke a war with some other planet, or to missionarize or propagandize it.” She thought about it a moment. “A new revolution, in government or religion, seems almost invariably to want to spread the light. An absolute compulsion to bring to others the new truths that they've found.” She added, her voice holding a trace of mockery, “Usually the new truths are rather hoary ones, and there are few interested in hearing them.”
* * * * *
They spent their first day in getting accommodations in a centrally located hotel, in making arrangements, through the Department of Justice, for the local means of exchange—it turned out to be coinage, based on gold—and getting the feel of their surroundings.
Evidently Delos, the capital city of the planet New Delos, was but slowly emerging from the chaos that had taken over on the assassination. A provisional government, composed of representatives of half a dozen different organizations which had sprung up like mushrooms following the collapse of the regime, had assumed power. Elections had been promised and were to be brought off when arrangements could be made.
Meanwhile, the actual government was still largely in the hands of the lower echelons of the priesthood. A nervous priesthood it was, seemingly desirous of getting out from under while the going was good, afraid of being held responsible for former excesses.
Ronny Bronston, high hopes still in his head, looked up the Sub-Bishop who had given them landing orders while they were still aboard the Space Forces cruiser. Tog was off making arrangements for various details involved in their being in Delos in its time of crisis.
A dozen times, on his way over to keep his appointment with the official, Ronny had to step into doorways, or in other wise make himself inconspicuous. Gangs of demonstrators roamed the street, some of them drunken, looking for trouble, and scornful of police or the military. Twice, when it looked as though he might be roughed up, Ronny drew his gun and held it in open sight, ready for use, but not threateningly. The demonstrators made off.
His throat was dry by the time he reached his destination. The life of a Section G agent, on interplanetary assignment, had its drawbacks.
The Sub-Bishop had formerly been in charge of Interplanetary Communications which involved commerce as well as intercourse with United Planets. It must have been an ultra-responsible position only a month ago. Now his offices were all but deserted.
He looked at Ronny's badge, only vaguely interested. “Section G of the Bureau of Investigation,” he said. “I don't believe I am aware of your responsibilities. However,” he nodded with sour courtesy, “please be seated. You must forgive my lack of ability to offer refreshment. Isn't there an old tradition about rats deserting a sinking ship? I am afraid my former assistants had rodentlike instincts.”
Ronny said, “Section G deals with Interplanetary Security, sir—”
“I am addressed as Holiness,” the other said.
Ronny looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I am a citizen of the United Planets, not any one planet, even Earth. UP citizens have complete religious freedom. In my case I am unaffiliated with any church.”
The Sub-Bishop let it pass. He said sourly, “I am afraid that even here on New Delos, I am seldom honoured by my title any more. Go on, you say you deal with Interplanetary Security.”
“That's correct. In cases like this we're interested in checking to see if there is any possibility that citizens of planets other than New Delos are involved in your internal affairs.”
The other's eyes were suddenly slits. He said, heavily, “You suspect that David the One was assassinated by an alien?”
Ronny had to tread carefully here. “I make no such suggestion. I am merely here to check on the possibility. If such was the case, my duty would be to arrest the man, or men.”
“If we got hold of him, you'd have small chance of asserting your authority,” the priest growled. “What did you want to know?”
“I understand that no interplanetary craft have left New Delos since the assassination.”
“None except a United Planets ship which was carefully inspected.”
Ronny said tightly, “But what facilities do you have to check on secret spaceports, possibly located in some remote desert or mountain area?”
The New Delian laughed sourly. “There is no other planet in all the United Planets with our degree of security. We even imported the most recent developments in artificial satellites equipped with the most delicate of detection devices. I assure you, it is utterly impossible for a spacecraft to land or take off from New Delos without our knowledge.”
Ronny Bronston's eyes lit with excitement. “These security measures of yours. To what extent do you keep under observation all aliens on the planet?”
The priest's chuckle had a nasty quality. “You are quite ignorant of our institutions, evidently. Every person on New Delos, in every way of life, was under constant survey from the cradle to the grave. Aliens were highly discouraged. When they appeared on New Delos at all, they were restricted in their movements to this, our capital city.”
Ronny let air whistle from his lungs. “Then,” he said triumphantly, “if any alien had anything to do with this, he is still on the planet. Can you get me a list of all aliens?”
The other laughed again, still sourly. “But there are none. None except you employees of United Planets. I'm afraid you're on a wild-goose chase.”
Ronny stared at him blankly. “But commercial representatives, cultural exchange—”
The priest said flatly, “No. None at all. All commerce was handled through UP. We encouraged no cultural exchanges. We wished to keep our people uncorrupted. United Planets alone had the right to land on our one spaceport.”
The Section G agent came to his feet. This was much simpler than he could ever have hoped for. He thanked the other, but avoided the necessity of shaking hands, and left.
* * * * *
He found a helio-cab and dialed it to the UP building, finding strange the necessity of slipping coins into the vehicle's slots until the correct amount for his destination had been deposited. Coinage was no longer in use on Earth.
At the UP building he retraced his steps of the day before to the single office of Section G.
To his surprise, not only Mouley Hassan was there, but Tog as well. Hassan had evidently had at least a few hours of sleep. He was in better shape.
They exchanged the usual