"Yes! You said they wouldn't, D'hai. What are we going to do?"
"I was wrong, Tors," Merssu said evenly. "No matter. As for what we are going to do, why, I suppose you'd better arrange for another broadcast. Tell the people we have weapons ready if the situation becomes serious, that they have nothing to fear."
"But the situation is serious! And what weapons?"
"No weapons, Tors," Merssu explained patiently. "But the story will serve to keep the people calm—and, perhaps, make them think twice about revolt. Now go. Hurry!"
The prime minister's feet pattered over the floor again. The door to the room closed.
Merssu smiled quietly. He rose, and opened the concealed door behind his chair. Closing it behind him, he slipped into a passage of which no one knew, and ten minutes later he was in a private tubeway that led half-way across the continent into the heart of an old and barren mountain range.
As he sat comfortably in the padded upholstery of the tube car, Merssu smiled again. Poor Tors! So excitable. Always the hysteric—a perfect rabblerouser, perhaps, but not a clever man. No, never a clever man. A clever man knew when the game was over. And Merssu laughed.
The game had been worth it. Five years ago, he had been a revolutionary, slinking through the alleys at night, always in danger—and always clever. Four years of that, and then—Empire. Absolute rule over the entire Greater Magellanic Cloud. Now he was once again in danger. But it was a danger he had long ago foreseen, and planned for. And the past year had been worth it. He laughed again. Poor, addle-witted Tors! Left with the empty bag in his hands.
The spaceship rested like a crouching bullet in its chamber. As he slid the tubeway door shut behind him, Merssu admired the savage sleekness of its lines once again. Even more, he admired his cleverness in having it built. A clever man always has a back door. He crossed the hangar floor unhurriedly, and climbed into the ship.