"Just the point. The people holding the gun would of course have grabbed the records as a check against Taylor's written command. It's the only way they'd have of knowing what was what. They'd do all they could to make sure they were given the complete works, of course, but ultimately, they'd have to trust Taylor—trust his fear of their terrible power and staggering advantage. Only—let's say there was a mistake. One way for it to be caught. Taylor—he'd know at a glance—the one man who would. And he still signed it!"
"Nuts, Colonel, nuts! What you are suggesting is absolute nonsense. With the lives of billions of people in the balance, you mean he'd—"
"Leave it up to us."
"With only twenty J-88s? With a planetful of people in the balance. Sir, do you think Taylor's a lunatic or something?"
Steele groped for an answer that would take the cold logic out of Zukow's questions. The exec had to be wrong. There must be an answer.
"Zukow," he heard himself saying at last, "there were only three of our craft out today—all behind the Big Boy, and I've ordered them in—damped, and clammed up. I've grounded the rest. And if we don't get anything from communications within the next couple of hours, like a Notification of Error and Correction—"
"You must be out of your head, Colonel." Zukow stood up, towered over the big desk. Veins in his wide forehead stood out redly, accentuating the growing color in his stiffened face. "In a couple of hours we go into eclipse! Not for long, but while we are, we won't be able to pick up anything. Suppose then the notification comes? While we're working out some crazy plan still thinking Taylor was trying to pull a cute one? Do you think we can take a gamble like that? Do you think we have the right to take a gamble like that?"
"As it is," Steele replied slowly, "our people are to be slaves. For all we know, forever."
"A little dramatic, aren't you?"
"Would you call it a situation to be taken lightly?"