Baxter looked me square in the eye. "Damned if I know!"
2
I stared at him, nonplussed. He'd spoken with evidence of utmost candor, and the Chief of Interplanetary Security was not one to be accused of a friendly josh, but—"You're kidding!" I said. "You must be. Otherwise, why was I sent for?"
"Believe me, I wish I knew," he sighed. "You were chosen, from all the inhabitants of this planet, and all the inhabitants of the Earth Colonies, by the Brain."
"You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? That's crazy, if you'll pardon me, sir."
Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. "When the current emergency arose and all our usual methods failed, we had to submit the problem to the Brain."
"And," I said, beginning to be fascinated by his bewildered manner, "what came out?"
He looked at me for a long moment, then picked up that brochure again, and said, without referring to it, "Jery Delvin, five foot eleven inches tall—"
"Yes, but read me the part where it says why I was picked," I said, a little exasperated.