The Wind Between the Worlds by Lester del Rey Read Free Book Online

transmitters,” Vic summed it up.
    The Envoy nodded. “They forget that the transmitters can’t be removed without Council workers. And when the Council revokes approval, it destroys all equipment and most books, while seeing that three generations are brought up without knowledge. You’d revert to semi-savagery and have to make a fresh start up. Well, I’m lucky—your President Wilkes is sympathetic, and your F. B. I. has been cooperative so far. If you solve things, the sabotage shouldn’t prove too much of a problem. Good luck.”
    Flavin had been eying him, and his dislike flared up as the Envoy left. “A hell of a lot of nerve for guys who claim they don’t interfere!”
    “It happened to us twice,” Ptheela observed. “We were better for it eventually. The Council’s rules are from half a billion years of experience, with tremendous knowledge. We must submit.”
    “Not without a fight!”
    “Without a fight,” Vic said bluntly. “We’re babes in arms to them. Anyhow, who cares? Congressional babble won’t save us if we lose our atmosphere. But they can’t see it.”
    The old idea—something would turn up. Maybe they couldn’t cut off the transmitter from outside, and had no way of getting past the wind to the inside. But something would turn up.
    He’d heard rumors of the Army taking over, and almost wished they would. As it stood, he had full responsibility and nothing more. Flavin and the Council had turned things over to him, but the local cop on the beat had more power. It would be a relief to have someone around to shout even stupid orders, and get some of the weight off Vic’s shoulders.
    S abotage! It couldn’t even be an accident; the cockeyed race to which he belonged had to try to commit suicide and then expect him to save it.
    He shook his head, vaguely conscious of someone banging on the door, and reached for the knob. “Amos!”
    The sour face never changed expression as the corpselike figure of the man slouched in. Amos was dead—he’d been in the transmitter. They all realized it at once. But Amos shook off their remarks. “Nothing surprising, just common sense. When I saw the capsule start cracking, I jumped into a capsule headed for Plathgol, set the delay, and tripped the switch. Saw some glass shooting at me, but I was in Plathgol before it hit. Went out and got me a mess of
tsiuna
—they cook fair to middling, seeing they never tried it before they met us. Then I showed ’em my pass, came through Chicago, here, and home. I figured the old woman would be worried. Nobody told me about the mess till I saw the papers. Common sense to report to you, so here I am.”
    “How much did you see of the explosion?” Pat asked.
    “Not much. Just saw it was cracking—trick glass, no temperature tolerance. Looked like Earth capsule color.”
    It didn’t matter. It added to Vic’s disgust to believe it was sabotage, but didn’t change the picture otherwise. The Council wouldn’t reverse its decision. They treated a race as a unit, making no exception for the behavior of a few individuals, whether good or bad.
    Another knock on the door cut off his vicious circle of hopelessness. “Old home week here, evidently.
Come in!
”
    The man who entered was the rare example of a fat man in the pink of physical condition, with no sign of softness. He shoved his bulk through the doorway as if he expected the two stars on his shoulders to light the way and awe all beholders. “Who is Victor Peters?”
    Vic wiggled a finger at himself, and the general came over. He drew out an envelope and dropped it on the desk, showing clearly that acting as a messenger was far beneath his dignity. “An official communication from the President of the United States,” he said mechanically, and turned to make his exit back to the intercity transmitters.
    It was a plain envelope, without benefit of wax seals or ribbons. Vic ripped it open, looked at the signature and the simple letterhead, and checked