"Absolutely so. You're here, then, on thionite?" No other issue, Gerrond knew, could be grave enough to account for this man's presence. "But your wrist? I studied it. You can't have worn your Lens there for months—those Tellurian bracelets leave white streaks an inch wide."
"I tanned it with a pencil beam. Nice job, eh? But what I want to ask you about is a little co-operation. As you supposed, I'm here to work on this drug ring."
"Surely—anything we can do. But Narcotics is handling that, not us—but you know that, as well as I do—" the officer broke off, puzzled.
"I know. That's why I want you—that and because you handle the secret service. Frankly, I'm scared to death of leaks. For that reason I'm not saying anything to anyone except Lensmen, and I'm having no dealings with anyone connected with Narcotics. I have as unimpeachable an identity as Haynes could furnish—"
"There's no question as to its adequacy, then," the Radeligian interposed.
"I would like to have you pass the word around among your boys and girls that you know who I am and that I'm safe to play with. That way, if Boskone's agents spot me, it will be for an agent of Haynes, and not for what I really am. That's the first thing. Can do?"
"Easily and gladly. Consider it done. Second?"
"To have a boatload of good, tough marines on hand if I should call you. There are some Valerians coming over later, but I may need help in the meantime. I may want to start a fight—quite possibly even a riot."
"They'll be ready, and they'll be big, tough, and hard. Anything else?"