"Probably so, at that. But no more side issues. You have a solution of some kind worked out, or you would not be here. What is it?"
"It is that you, Solarian Councillor Samms, should go to Arisia as soon as possible."
"Arisia!" Samms exclaimed, and:
"Arisia! Of all the hells in space, why Arisia? And how can we make the approach? Don't you know that nobody can get anywhere near that damn planet?"
Bergenholm shrugged his shoulders and spread both arms wide in a pantomime of complete helplessness.
"How do you know—another of your hunches?" Kinnison went on. "Or did somebody tell you something? Where did you get it?"
"It is not a hunch," the Norwegian replied, positively. "No one told me anything. But I know—as definitely as I know that the combustion of hydrogen in oxygen will yield water—that the Arisians are very well versed in that which I have called the science of the mind; that if Virgil Samms goes to Arisia he will obtain the symbol he needs; that he will never obtain it otherwise. As to how I know these things ... I can't ... I just ... I know it, I tell you!"
Without another word, without asking permission to leave, Bergenholm whirled around and hurried out. Samms and Kinnison stared at each other.
"Well?" Kinnison asked, quizzically.
"I'm going. Now. Whether I can be spared or not, and whether you think I'm out of control or not. I believe him, every word—and besides, there's the Bergenholm. How about you? Coming?"