Koal scratched his head speculatively. He said, "The men would have to be carefully chosen. It would be suicide should any word of the society leak to the Dohlmites." He rose, frowned. "Wait a moment," he said and hurried from the apartment.
"Norman," breathed Jennifer. "Do you think there's any chance?"
"I don't know," he replied, a worried expression on his gaunt features; "but if I can persuade the men to unite there's hope." He ran his fingers through his crisp blond hair. "It's more than that, too. We'll be the only force standing between the Dohlmites and the Empire. Somehow we've got to destroy them before they destroy us."
The door opened, readmitting Koal attended by a tall, lean, yellow Venusian. The blue star of the killer cast was tattooed on his forehead. A Fozoql! Norman was only vaguely familiar with the caste of mercenaries and assassins. They had the reputation of being loyal and ferocious and were in high demand by the constantly warring factions on Venus.
"Norman," said Koal, "this is Acpsahme. He and his brother with their wives were migrating to Ganymede when they were captured. His brother was killed by the broadcast machine while trying to escape. His wife was sold in the slave market to a renegade Earthman. I think I can vouch for his silence. Explain what you just told me."
Norman shook hands, launched into a passionate appeal for union among the men. Acpsahme's green eyes glowed.
"Good," he said from time to time, "good. But there must not be too many, and those must be carefully chosen. The success of the enterprise depends on secrecy."
Koal leaped to his feet, his broad pale brow furrowed. He strode back and forth across the thick carpet. "At nineteen-hundred," he said, "I am going to give a party in my quarters. A small, select party. Only the men I know best will be invited. Gentlemen, we'll bring the Sinn Fein Society back to life."
When they had gone, Jennifer looked across at Norman mistily. "You know," she said in a tender voice, "you really are rather wonderful."