It was Faht Bey on the viewer-phone. He looked very agitated. He was calling from the Turkish base.

"Sir," he said, "I think you better come over here at once."

"What's the matter?" said Heller. "Has Prahd's patient taken a turn for the worse?"

"No, Prahd says there is no change. It's something else. I've got some news from home and I think you better come over here and do the interrogation yourself."

Heller looked at the sweating face. The Emperor wasn't dead. It was too soon by three or four days for even a scout vessel to get here from Voltar. Obviously Faht Bey didn't want to discuss it on the viewer-phone because other members of the base there could be moni­toring.

"All right," he said. "Expect me."

He went back to the terrace. "Dear," he said to the Countess Krak, "I'm going to take a Mach 3 to Turkey."

"I knew it!" said the Countess Krak. "Something has happened."

"Nothing has happened. It's just that Faht Bey wants me there for a talk."

"I'll get packed. I'm coming with you."

"That's my pleasure," said Heller.

Shortly after dawn in Afyon, Turkey, Heller, the Countess Krak and Mister Calico debarked from the Air Force plane and got into the waiting Daimler-Benz.

Having left the Countess and the cat at the villa, Heller was shortly afterward sitting across the desk from Faht Bey in his office.

"Thank Gods you got here," said Faht Bey. "I think we're in for trouble." And he passed to Heller a demand despatch from the Apparatus General Staff.

"It's the Blixo" said Faht Bey. "She came in last night."

"But the ship must have left a couple days before I made my call on Voltar," said Heller. "Nothing had happened there at the time the Blixo departed. And she wouldn't have picked up anything in passage. She's just a freighter."

"Well, Gris had couriers that travelled on the Blixo. Two catamites that alternated. This one is Odur: we've got him in detention and he's scared to death. He had that despatch for Gris: at the time, nobody on Voltar sus­pected that Gris was no longer here. You better read it."

Heller sighed. A demand order for information was not much to be alarmed about. He read it:

APPARATUS GENERAL STAFF

To: Soltan Gris

Secondary Executive Section 451

You are hereby and herewith directed to furnish any and all current information on the defenses of the planet Blito-P3, local name, Earth.

You will diligently compile, at once, without delay, numbers of troops and populations to be slaughtered.

You will give us your estimate of potential pockets of resistance that might form and have to be obliterated.

Your viewpoint for the information required shall be the assumption that only Apparatus forces will be used in the all-out assault, so accuracy is mandatory without any allowance made for reserves or reenforcements from Voltar of Apparatus troops.

Authority for this demand is contained in Chief of Apparatus Order 345-nb-456-Blito-P3 attached.

Captain Maulding

Secretary to the General Staff

OFFICIAL

Heller leafed over to the next sheet:

EXTERIOR DIVISION

CHIEF OF APPARATUS

To: General Staff, Apparatus

345-nb-456-Blito-P3

It has been determined that forces are internally at work on reference planet inimical to our interests.

If at any time the supply of opium, heroin or amphetamines ceases to arrive from reference planet, you are to withdraw all Apparatus forces from the Calabar revolt and proceed forthwith to reference planet Blito-P3 and launch a full-scale Class One assault, destroying its defenses and populations but taking care to preserve only the inhabitants of Afyon, Turkey, and that opium-producing area and the I. G. Barben factory complexes in New Jersey, United States.

Ignore the Invasion Schedule.

Plan without cooperation of the Army or Fleet.

This is your highest priority. Get it in the planning stage at once.

LOMBAR HISST

Chief of Apparatus

OFFICIAL

"Well," said Heller, "you have been holding incoming freighters, but as of this moment, since not enough time has elapsed for him to know they will not return, he isn't aware of any curtailment of shipment. This planning– – "

"You better talk to the man we're holding in the next room, sir." Faht Bey pushed a buzzer.

Captain Bolz was brought in by two guards. His hairy chest was heaving with indignation.

"Bolz," said Faht Bey, "this is Royal Officer Jettero Heller, a combat engineer of the Fleet operating on his own cognizance and therefore officially. You had better tell him what you told us."

"I got plenty to say!" roared Bolz. "As a blasted Royal officer, I know you can have me exterminated, but I'm going to have my say anyway! I come in here, innocent as a virgin, doing my duty as an Apparatus freighter captain, two days ahead of schedule after a competent passage and what do I find? A whole base wearing Fleet insignia! An order putting my ship under detention! I think you've all gone crazy!"

"Quite likely," said Heller. "And I am sorry for any inconvenience. Now, what was this information you had?"

Bolz lost a lot of his glare. He looked down at his big feet and shifted them uncomfortably. "Well, these fellows here know well enough that I was carrying contraband Scotch whisky and they probably already told you. A captain that never gets paid has to have a little profit– – "

"The information," said Heller firmly.

"Well, I didn't have room for a cargo of I. G. Barben amphetamines once I had the whisky aboard, so I left them in the storeroom here."

"And when you arrived on Voltar somebody noticed it?" said Heller.

"The amphetamines were on the manifest," said Bolz, "but they weren't aboard. I happen to know that Hisst always checks the drug shipments against the manifests, because every time I try to pinch a little cargo, he has appeared personally to scream."

"Then there has already been a cessation of shipment," said Heller, looking back at the Apparatus General Staff order. "Now, where is this catamite?"

Faht Bey led the way down the tunnels and they came at length to the detention cell.

There sat Oh Dear, his pretty, made-up face streaked with tears. He recognized, from Voltar press photos of yesteryear, Jettero Heller. "Oh," he sobbed. "A Royal of­ficer. I have one request before you kill me: take the magic mail card back so they don't kill my mother."

"You're not going to be killed," said Heller with a trace of disgust. "All I want from you is any other information you might have had for Gris."

"Where is Gris?"

"Apparently dead," said Heller.

"Not really?" said Oh Dear. "Oh, what utterly marvelous news. Oh, I just can't wait to tell Too-Too! We'll have a celebration party! I'll buy ribbons– – "

"The information," said Heller.

"That the General Staff despatch was very urgent," said Oh Dear, "and that I was to keep Gris up day and night to compile it and that I was to return with it."

Faht Bey said to Heller, "That means at least three months until they hit. Six weeks going back, six weeks for the Apparatus invasion fleet to arrive here. Add the time it takes them to assemble and board."

Heller said to Oh Dear, "Is that everything you had?"

"There was a message that Gris was assured he'd be the next Chief of the Apparatus only if there was no halt in drugs."

"A promotion?" said Heller. "But Hisst is the Chief of Apparatus."

"Well, you see, the plan is that Hisst will be moving up to Emperor. Any time now. And that's all I had, I swear it."

He was too shaking-scared not to be believed.