Scoundrel pursed lips as if considering totally new idea. "Speaking again for myself, I would not be prepared to stipulate that what you say is necessarily true. It might be true of some, might not be others; people vary widely. Your presence here proves that it is not impossible for a Lunar inhabitant to return to Earth. In any case we have no intention of forcing anyone to return. We hope that they will choose to stay and we hope to encourage others to emigrate to the Moon. But these are individual choices, under the freedoms guaranteed by the Great Charter. But as to this alleged physiological phenomenon--it is not a legal matter. If anyone deems it prudent, or thinks he would be happier, to stay on the Moon, that's his privilege."

"I see, sir. We are free. Free to remain in Luna and work, at tasks and for wages set by you... or free to return to Earth to die."

Chairman shrugged. "You assume that we are villians--we're not. Why, if I were a young man I would emigrate to the Moon myself. Great opportunities! In any case I am not troubled by your distortions--history will justify us."

Was surprised at Prof; he was not fighting. Worried about him--weeks of strain and a bad night on top. All he said was, "Honorable Chairman, I assume that shipping to Luna will soon be resumed. Can passage be arranged for my colleague and myself in the first ship? For I must admit, sir, that this gravitational weakness of which I spoke is, in our cases, very real. Our mission is completed; we need to go home."

(Not a word about grain barges. Nor about "throwing rocks," nor even futility of beating a cow. Prof just sounded tired.)

Chairman leaned forward and spoke with grim satisfaction. "Professor, that presents difficulties. To put it bluntly, you appear to be guilty of treason against the Great Charter, indeed against all humanity... and an indictment is being considered. I doubt if anything more than a suspended sentence would be invoked against a man of your age and physical condition, however. Do you think it would be prudent of us to give you passage back to the place where you committed these acts--there to stir up more mischief?"

Prof sighed. "I understand your point. Then, sir, may I be excused? I am weary."

"Certainly. Hold yourself at the disposal of this committee. The hearing stands adjourned. Colonel Davis--"

"Sir?" I was directing wheel chair around, to get Prof out at once; our attendants had been sent outside.

"A word with you, please. In my office."

"Uh--" Looked at Prof; eyes were closed and seemed unconscious. But he moved one finger, motioning me to him. "HonorabIe Chairman, I'm more nurse than diplomat; have to look after him. He's an old man, he's ill."

"The attendants will take care of him."

"Well..." Got as close to Prof as I could from chair, leaned over him. "Prof, are you right?"

He barely whispered. "See what he wants. Agree with him. But stall."

Moments later was alone with chairman, soundproof door locked--meant nothing; room could have a dozen ears, plus one in my left arm.

He said, "A drink? Coffee?"

I answered, "No, thank you, sir. Have to watch my diet here."

"I suppose so. Are you really limited to that chair? You look healthy."

I said, "I could, if had to, get up and walk across room. Might faint. Or worse. Prefer not to risk. Weigh six times what I should. Heart's not used to it."

"I suppose so. Colonel, I hear you had some silly trouble in North America. I'm sorry, I truly am. Barbaric place. Always hate to have to go there. I suppose you're wondering why I wanted to see you."

"No, sir, assume you'll tell when suits you. Instead was wondering why you still call me 'Colonel.'"

He gave a barking laugh. "Habit, I suppose. A lifetime of protocol. Yet it might be well for you to continue with that title. Tell me, what do you think of our five-year plan?"

Thought it stunk. "Seems to have been carefully thought out."

"Much thought went into it. Colonel, you seem to be a sensible man-- I know you are, I know not only your background but practically every word you've spoken, almost your thoughts, ever since you set foot on Earth. You were born on the Moon. Do you regard yourself as a patriot? Of the Moon?"

"Suppose so. Though tend to think of what we did just as something that had to be done."

"Between ourselves--yes. That old fool Hobart. Colonel, that is a good plan... but lacks an executive. If you are really a patriot or let's say a practical man with your country's best interests at heart, you might be the man to carry it out." He held up hand. "Don't be hasty! I'm not asking you to sell out, turn traitor, or any nonsense like that. This is your chance to be a real patriot--not some phony hero who gets himself killed in a lost cause. Put it this way. Do you think it is possible for the Lunar colonies to hold out against all the force that the Federated Nations of Earth can bring to bear? You're not really a military man, I know--and I'm glad you're not--but you are a technical man, and I know that, too. In your honest estimation, how many ships and bombs do you think it would take to destroy the Lunar colonies?"

I answered, "One ship, six bombs."

"Correct! My God, it's good to talk to a sensible man. Two of them would have to be awf'ly big, perhaps specially built. A few people would stay alive, for a while, in smaller warrens beyond the blast areas. But one ship would do it, in ten minutes."

I said, "Conceded, sir, but Professor de la Paz pointed out that you don't get milk by beating a cow. And certainly can't by shooting it."

"Why do you think we've held back, done nothing, for over a month? That idiot colleague of mine--I won't name him--spoke of 'backtalk.' Backtalk doesn't fret me; it's just talk and I'm interested in results. No, my dear Colonel, we won't shoot the cow... but we would, if forced to, let the cow know that it could be shot. H-missiles are expensive toys but we could afford to expend some as warning shots, wasted on bare rock to let the cow know what could happen. But that is more force than one likes to use--it might frighten the cow and sour its milk." He gave another barking laugh. "Better to persuade old bossy to give down willingly."

I waited. "Don't you want to know how?" he asked.

"How?" I agreed.

"Through you. Don't say a word and let me explain--"

He took me up on that high mountain and offered me kingdoms of Earth. Or of Luna. Take job of "Protector Pro Tem" with understanding was mine permanently if I could deliver. Convince Loonies they could not win. Convince them that this new setup was to their advantage--emphasize benefits, free schools, free hospitals, free this and that--details later but an everywhere government just like on Terra. Taxes starting low and handled painlessly by automatic checkoff and through kickback revenues from grain shipments. But, most important, this time Authority would not send a boy to do a man's job--two regiments of police at once.

"Those damned Peace Dragoons were a mistake," he said, "one we won't make again. Between ourselves, the reason it has taken us a month to work this out is that we had to convince the Peace Control Commission that a handful of men cannot police three million people spread through six largish warrens and fifty and more small ones. So you'll start with enough police--not combat troops but military police used to quelling civilians with a minimum of fuss. Besides that, this time they'll have female auxiliaries, the standard ten per cent-no more rape complaints. Well, sir? Think you can swing it? Knowing it's best in the long run for your own people?"

I said I ought to study it in detail, particularly plans and quotas for five-year plan, rather than make snap decision.

~Certainly, certainly!" he agreed. "I'll give you a copy of the white paper we've made up; take it home, study it, sleep on it. Tomorrow we'll talk again. Just give me your word as a gentleman to keep it under your hair. No secret, really... but these things are best settled before they are publicized. Speaking of publicity, you'll need help--and you'll get it. We'll go to the expense of sending up topnotch men, pay them what it's worth, have them centrifuge the way those scientists do--you know. This time we're doing it right. That fool Hobart--he's actually dead, isn't he?"