delivery could be explained and justified.
Morely had seen to that. Now, all the material was ready and could be
delivered in one lot.

Harwood would have to raise his production quota in his community mills
to use up the excess material, and that would slow down the clean-up in
District One. The Old Man couldn't help but notice, and he'd see who was
efficient in his region. The district leader pushed the memo sheets
aside and placed his hands behind his head.

Slowly, he pivoted his chair, to look at the entertainment screen. He
started to energize it, then drew his hand back.

So that crackpot, Graham, had finally come up with something definite.
Morely smiled again. It had almost seemed as though the man had been
stalling for a while. But the pressure and the veiled threats had been
productive--again.

To be sure, the agents covering that project had reported that the
device seemed to be merely another fairly good means of
communication--nothing of any tremendous importance. But results had
been obtained, and a communicator which was reasonably free from
interception and which required relatively low power might be of some
value to the community. He might be able to get a commendation out of
it, at least.

And even if it were unsuitable for defense, there'd be a new product for
one of the luxury products plants in the district, and the district
would get royalties from the manufacturer. Too, it would keep people
busy and make 'em spend more of their credits.

He grimaced at his vague reflection in the screen before him, and spoke
aloud.

"That's the way to get things done. Make 'em know who's in charge. And
let 'em know that no nonsense will be tolerated. Breathe down their
necks a little. They'll produce." He cleared his throat and spun around,
to punch the button on his desk.

* * * * *

The door opened and the clerk stood, respectfully awaiting orders.

"Send in Bond and the people with him."

The clerk stepped back, turning his head.

"You may go in now, sir." He disappeared around the door.

Harold Bond stepped through the doorway, followed by two men. Morely
looked at them closely. Engineers, he thought.

"What have you got?" he demanded.

One of the men opened a briefcase and removed a large, dully gleaming
band. Apparently, it was made of plastic, or some light alloy, for he
handled it as though it weighed very little.

As the man laid it on the desk, Morel