He fell under the full, interested glance of Yord Tan Verde as he entered, and Andrew's eyes were held immobile. His springy step faltered, and his swift and purposeful walk slowed to a slogging trudge. Andrew came up to the desk, looked full in the face of the One, shook his head in understanding, finally; and then by sheer force dropped his eyes. He turned and left the room.
Gerd was waiting for him, a sympathetic smile upon his benign face. Andrew looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then: "You—are his emissary?"
"I am—a moron," Gerd said evenly.
"You have a job."
"I am his in-between."
"Because only a moron can understand us," said Andrew slowly.
"No—because your people can understand me, but not the Ones."
"And my efforts with the mental amplifier can do no more than bring me to your level."
"Worse, Andrew. Nature causes many sports to be sterile because they interfere with her proper plan. Your machine will introduce sterility."
"I have one protecting job to do myself," said Andrew thoughtfully. "Or—perhaps it should be maintained—secretly, of course, for some emergency?"