‘Theor claims that there are some hundred to two hundred tons of blueprints altogether, on the brain plan of the positronic robot alon:. They’re still there in the original vault. But that’s the least of 1t. e s been on the robot world itself. He’s got photocasts, teletype recordmgs, all sorts of details. They’re not integrated, and obviously the work of a layman who knows next to nothing about psychology. Even so, he’s managed to get enough data to prove pretty conclusively that the world he was on wasn’t . . . uh . . . natural.’
‘You’ve got that with you, too.’
‘All of it. Most of it’s on microfilm, but I’ve brought the projector. Here are your eyepieces.’
An hour later, the Board Master said, ‘I’ll call a Board Meetmg tomorrow and push this through.’
Brand Gorla grinned tightly, ‘We’ll send a commission to Dorlis?’
‘When,’ said the Board Master dryly, ‘and if we can get an appropriation out of the University for such an affair. Leave this material with me for the while, please. I want to study it a little more.’
Theoretically, the Governmental Department of Science and Technology exercises administrative control over all scientific investigation. Actually, however, the pure research groups of the large universities are thoroughly autonomous bodies, and, as a general rule, the government does not care to dispute that. But a general rule is not necessarily a universal rule.
And so, although the Board Master scowled and fumed and swore, there was no way of refusing Wynne Murry an interview. To give Murry his complete title, he was under secretary in charge of psychology, psychopathy and mental technology. And he was a pretty fair psychologist in his own right.
So the Board Master might glare, but that was all.
Secretary Murry ignored the glare cheerfully. He rubbed his long chin against the grain and said, ‘It amounts to a case of insufficient information. Shall we put it that way?’
The Board Master said frigidly, ‘I don’t see what information you want. The government’s say in university appropriations is purely advisory, and in this case, I might say, the advice is unwelcome.’
Murry shrugged, ‘I have no quarrel with the appropriation. But you’re not going to leave the planet without government permit. That’s where the insufficient infopnation comes in.’
‘There is no information other than we’ve given you.’
‘But things have leaked out. All this is childish and rather unnecessary secrecy.’
The old psychologist flushed. ‘Secrecy! If you don’t know the academic way of life, I can’t help you. Investigations, especially those of major importance, aren’t, and can’t be, made public, until definite prog ress has been made. When we get back, we’ll send you copies of what ever papers we publish.’
Murry shook his head, ‘Uh-uh. Not enough. You’re going to Dorlis, aren’t you?’
‘We’ve informed the Department of Science of that.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because it’s big, or the Board Master wouldn’t go himself. What’s this about an older civilization and a world of robots?’
‘Well, then, you know.’
‘Only vague notions we’ve been able to scrabble up. I want the details.’
‘There are none that we know now. We won’t know until we’re on Dorlis.’
‘Then I’m going with you.’
‘What!’
‘You see, I want the details, too.’
‘Why?’
‘Ah,’ Murry unfolded his legs and stood up, ‘now you’re asking the questions. It’s no use, now. I know that the universities aren’t keen on government supervision; and I know that I can expect no willing help from any academic source. But, by Arcturus, I’m going to get help this time, and I don’t care how you fight it. Your expedition is going nowhere, unless I go with you – representing the government.’
Dorlis, as a world, is not impressive. It’s importance to Galactic economy is nil, its position far off the great trade routes, its natives backward and unenlightened, its history obscure. And yet somewhere in the heaps of rubble that clutter an ancient world, there is obscure evidence of an influx of flame and destruction that destroyed the Dorlis of an earlier day – the greater capital of a greater Federation.
And somewhere in that rubble, men of a newer world poked and probed and tried to understand.
The Board Master shook his head and then pushed back his grizzling hair. He hadn’t shaved in a week.
‘The trouble is,’ he said, ‘that we have no point of reference. The language can be broken, I suppose, but nothing can be done with the notation.’
‘I think a great deal has been done.’
‘Stabs in the dark! Guessing games based on the translations of your albino friend. I won’t base any hopes on that.’
Brand said, ‘Nuts! You spent two years on the Nimian Anomaly, and so far only two months on this, which happens to be a hundred thousand times the job. It’s something else that’s getting you.’ He smiled grimly. ‘It doesn’t take a psychologist to see that the government man is in your hair.’
The Board Master bit the end off a cigar and spat it four feet. He said slowly, ‘There are three things about the mule-headed idiot that make me sore. First, I don’t like government interference. Second, I d on’t like a stranger sniffing about when we’re on top of the biggest thing in the history of psychology. Third, what in the Galaxy does he want? What is he after?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What should he be after? Have you thought of it at all?’
‘No. Frankly, I don’t care. I’d ignore him if I were you.’
‘You would,’ said the Board Master violently. ‘You would! You think the government’s entrance into this affair need only be ignored. I suppose you know that this Murry calls himself a psychologist?’
