The words stopped Costa, who was almost out the door. He turned stiffly to look at Neel putting papers into an envelope. Yet Costa spoke naturally, letting none of his feelings through into his voice.
"Where are you going?"
"To see Hengly, the planetary operator here. Abravanel told me to stay away from him, to run an entirely new basic survey. Well we've done that now, and pinpointed some of the trouble areas as well. I can stop feeling guilty about poaching another man's territory and let him know what's going on."
"No. Stay away from Hengly," Costa said. "The last thing in the world we want to do is to be seen near him. There's a chance that he… well. . might be compromised."
"What do you mean?" Neel snapped. "He's a friend of mine, a graduate—"
"He might also be surrounded ten deep by the secret police. Did you stop to think about that?"
Neel hadn't thought about it, and his anger vanished when he did. Costa drove the point home.
"Societies has been a well-kept secret for over two centuries. It may still be a secret — or bits of it might have leaked out. And even if the Himmelians know nothing ajbout Societies, they have certainly heard of espionage. They know the UN has agents on their world, they might think Hengly is one of them. This is all speculation, of course, but we do have one fact — this Society of Native Boobs we turned up. We had no trouble finding them. If Hengly had reliable field men, he should know about them, too. The only reason he hasn't is because he isn't getting the information. Which means he's compromised."
Reaching back for a chair, Neel fell heavily into it. "You're right. . of course! I never realized."
"Good.” Costa said. "We'll do something to help Hengly tomorrow, but this operation comes first. Sit tight. Get some rest. And don't open the door for anyone except me."
It had been a long job — and a tiring one — but it was almost over. Neel allowed himself the luxury of a long yawn, then shuffled over to the case of rations they had brought. He stripped the seal from something optimistically labeled "Chicken Dinner" — it tasted just like the algae it had been made from — and boiled some coffee while it was heating.
And all the time he was doing these prosaic tasks his mind was turning an indigestible fact over and over. It wasn't a conscious process, but it was nevertheless going on. The automatic mechanism of his brain ran it back and forth like a half-heard tune, searching for its name. Neel was tired, or he would have reacted sooner. The idea finally penetrated. One fact he had taken for granted was an obvious impossibility.
The coffee splashed to the floor as he jumped to his feet.
"It's… it has to be wrong!" he said aloud, grabbing up the papers. Computations and graphs dropped and were trampled into the spilled coffee. When he finally found the one he wanted his hands were shaking as he flipped through it. The synopsis of Hengly's reports for the past five years. The gradual rise and fall of the k-factor from month to month. There were no sharp breaks in the curve or gaps in the supporting equations.
Societies isn't an exact science. But it's exact enough to know when it is working with incomplete or false information. If Hengly had been kept in the dark about the SPNB, he would also have been misinformed about other factors. This kind of alteration of survey would have to show in the equations.
It didn't.
Time was running out and Neel had to act. But what to do? He must warn Adao Costa. And the records here had to be protected. Or better yet destroyed. There was a power in these machines and charts that couldn't be allowed to fall into nationalist hands. But what could be done about it?
In all the welter of equipment and containers, there was one solid, heavy box that he had never opened. It belonged to Costa, and the UN man had never unlocked it in his presence. Neel looked at the heavy clasps on it and felt defeat. But when he pulled at the lid, wondering what to do next, it fell open. It hadn't been sealed. Costa wasn't the kind of man who did things by accident. He had looked forward to the time when Neel might need what was in this box, and had it ready.
Inside was just what Neel expected. Grenades, guns and some smoothly polished devices that held an aura of violence. Looking at them, Neel had an overwhelming sensation of defeat. His life was dedicated to peace and the furthering of peace. He hated the violence that seemed inborn in man, and detested all the hypocritical rationalizations, such as the end justifying the means. All of his training and personal inclinations were against it.
And he reached down and removed the blunt, black gun.
