howing signs of distress. He was shaking his
head, making little pawing motions toward his glasses.

"Here it is," Lindsay said quickly. "Should the governors of Mars, whose
responsibilities lie at least as much in the economic improvement of
their own world as in inter-world harmony, permit their planet to
receive goods which retard that economic development so that it becomes
a race to maintain current unsatisfactory standards, merely because
certain computers on Earth are fed false facts to permit continuation of
some illogical form of government or social system--or should the
governors of Mars permit their planet to suffer because of computer
illogic in the name of a highly doubtful status quo on the parent
planet?"

He walked slowly back to his place and sat down, almost feeling the
silence around him. Nina whispered, "What in hell does it mean?"

Lindsay whispered back, "It's a bit of the iron dog and the whale, a bit
of the Red Queen, a bit of the suicide idea--and something else. Let's
see if it works."

Lindsay watched du Fresne, whose moment of triumph was marred by his
obvious discomfort. The twisted little man was very busy running the
question into its various forms for submission to the feeder units,
whose mouths gaped like hungry nestlings along part of one side wall.

If du Fresne failed him....

It was a long nervous wait. Lights flickered in meaningless succession
on subsidiary instrument boards and du Fresne darted about like a
bespectacled buzzard, studying first this set of symbols, then that one.

Lindsay glanced at Maria, who sat huddled beside her father beyond the
president. To break the suspense he whispered to Nina, "What about
_her_?"

Nina whispered back, "I've got it taped. I'm going to give her a nice
empty job on the moon--one with a big title attached. It will get her
out of the way--she can't do any harm there--and make her feel she's
_doing_ something. Besides"--a faint malicious pause--"there are still
four men to every woman on Luna. And they aren't choosy."

"You're a witch," said Lindsay. He snickered and someone shushed him.
Looking up he saw that things were happening.

"In exactly"--du Fresne glanced up at a wall chronometer--"six seconds
Giac will give its answer."

They seemed more like six years to Lindsay. Then the alabaster stele in
the center of the floor came abruptly to life. A slow spiral of red,
composed of a seemingly endless stream of high mathematical