“Why don’t you do something?” Mryna screamed. “What are you waiting for?”
The shuttle settled into a metal rack. The lock hissed open. Mryna shrank back against the wall, looking out at what she would destroy—what she had already destroyed. A dignified, portly man came panting up the ramp toward her.
“No!” she whispered. “Don’t come in here.”
“I am Senator Brieson,” he said shortly. “For ten years Dr. Jameson has been telling us from the Guardian Wheel that we should adopt a different educational policy toward Rythar. Your scare broadcast was clever, but we’re used to Jameson’s tricks. He’ll be removed from office for this, and if I have anything to say about it—”
“You didn’t believe me?” Mryna gasped.
“Of course not. If a plague carrier escaped from Rythar, we would have heard about it long before this. The trouble with you scientists is you don’t grant the rest of us any common sense. And Jameson’s the worst of the lot. He’s always contended that the sociologists should determine our Rytharian policy, not the elected representatives of the people.”
Mryna broke down and began to cry hysterically. The senator put his hand under her arm—none too gently. “Let’s have no more dramatics, please. You don’t know how fortunate you are, young lady. If the politicians were as addle-witted as you scientists claim we are, we might have believed that nonsense and blasted your ship out of the sky. You scientists have to give up the notion that you’re our guardians; we’re quite able to look out for ourselves.”
