“Since these lords are bent on war to save their regimes, they will find a pretext not to respect the ownership of Intergalactic, Earth, or the bank.

They will raid these planets. They will quarrel over them. They will throw good sense and order to the winds and waves. The harder they are driven at home by economic chaos, the more they will seek a pretext to take outlaw actions.”

Jonnie was listening to him. He had wondered for some time now when they would get around to this point. It was the key problem. And if it were left unhandled, all the doors they were trying to open would jam shut in their faces.

“Since I have been here,” said Lord Voraz, “not one of those elegant aristocrats has failed to draw me aside and try to discuss his nation's chances for a war loan. Of course, we seldom make war loans. All we do is issue the bonds for them and let them sell them to each other. There's no real money in war loans. With economics this shaky, the chances of their being paid back are poor. Wars are not as popular with the people who fight them as with the lords who run them and profit by them! Revolutions could occur and revolutionaries are notorious as bad risks.

“So before you commit yourselves to these risks, you should understand them.”

Jonnie stood up. These small gray men had not signed anything yet. He had been afraid there would be a quibble. He picked up his helmet and silver wand.

“Sir Robert and I discussed this. We rehearsed it. It is risky. But I believe we have no choice. Do I have the temporary right, granted by all of you, to set bank policy for the next couple of hours? If it is successful, you will not be the losers. If I am not successful, you won't have lost anything.”

“You set bank policy?” gaped Lord Voraz.

“Let him do it!” said the baron.

“But he might commit us to some course of-'

“You just better say yes, Lord Voraz,” MacAdam said. “That's Jonnie Tyler there who's talking.”

Lord Voraz looked numbly from

MacAdam to the baron. I've not yet signed-”

“Nor have I,” said Dries.

The baron reached over and made Voraz's head bob. “He said 'yes,' Jonnie. Go ahead.”

“But he might do something dangerous,” Lord Voraz was trying to sputter. “He is a very peculiar young man!”

Jonnie had already left with Sir Robert. A Sir Robert with a grim expression on his face.

Chapter 3

The bowl of the firing platform area had been stripped of tarpaulins. A Russian trooper stood in each rifle pit, the noonday sun harsh on their white tunics and glittering weapons. A few emissaries lounged in the shade under the pagoda eaves.

Jonnie called for the host and ordered him to get the lords into the conference room.

Stormalong, hearing the stir, popped out of the ops room with a dispatch in his hands, intending to rush over to where Sir Robert and Jonnie stood. But the broad arm and bandaged hand of Colonel Ivan stopped him.

“Leave them alone,” Colonel Ivan managed in English. He had his orders. He stood and watched the emissaries going in the conference room door. He knew Jonnie would be going in there in a moment and he knew what Jonnie was going to do. It made him a little nervous for Jonnie, since he would have no direct protection in there. A casual glance had told him that many of these lords were secretly armed for all their fine clothes and arrogant ways. When Jonnie gave them the shock that was planned, they might react in violence. It would be like swimming in a river full of crocodiles! Colonel Ivan made up his mind: if they hurt Jonnie, not one of these fine lords or these bank people would leave

Earth alive. But that was no immediate help for Jonnie if they turned on him. And that they well might do.

Angus was kneeling by the atmosphere projector, putting some final touches to the adjustments. He glanced across the bowl, saw what was happening, and speeded his work up. They would need it in a moment.

Stormalong, frustrated, fluttered the dispatch in his hand and, still restrained by Ivan, watched the last of the lords file in. Then there went Sir Robert and Jonnie, following them.

Inside the conference room, the host was adjusting chairs and helping the lords get settled.

The small gray men and MacAdam and Baron von Roth entered and took seats along the wall.

Sir Robert stood with Jonnie alongside the raised platform. Sir Robert was shooting glances at the lords from under bushy gray eyebrows. Somehow these mighty powers had to be brought to heel. He did not much mind tearing into them. He just hoped the final outcome would not be disaster.

Martial music came on.

The host stood up. “My lords, this final stage of the conference has been called by the emissary of Earth. I present Sir Robert!”

It did not start well.

There was a buzz among the lords. They looked askance toward Voraz. Wasn't this supposed to be an auction? What was the Earth emissary doing talking to them?

Sir Robert in his regimentals took the center of the platform. The mine spotlight came on.

“My lords,” he said in a heavy, sonorous voice, “we have something else to discuss besides auctions!”

“You mean,” called Fowljopan, “that we have been delayed here for days for nothing?”

“Our food and atmosphere supply is running out,” shouted Lord Dom, “and we are long overdue! Is all this just a waste of time?”

They were turning ugly. Voraz was signifying nothing, just sitting there, expressionless. He had a very poor opinion of this whole action.

“My lords,” said Sir Robert, loud enough to be heard across a battlefield, “of recent times there has been talk among you of a reward!”

They quieted instantly. A reward was something to engage one's attention.

“Two sums of money,” said Sir Robert, “each amounting to one hundred million credits, have been put out to encourage a certain search!

“It was,” he shouted, “to find the one” The lords went very alert.

“There is the one!” and his hand shot out pointing at Jonnie!

The mine spotlight shifted to Jonnie and his buttons and helmet flashed fire.

It was dramatic. A sudden intake of breath from the lords.

It was not exactly as Jonnie had planned it. Sir Robert had let his own feelings change it. Still, it was very effective.

Sir Robert resumed in a strong, triumphant voice. “With the help of a few Scots, he put a total end to the most powerful empire in sixteen universes!

“That man,” cried Sir Robert, “put a finish on an empire that had crushed and awed you all!

“Among you, you have five thousand planets! He put an end to an empire of over a million planets!”

The delegates sat very still. They were afraid of what might be coming. But they were impressed.

“Now do you want to see what he did that ended Psychlo forever?”

There was no wait for an answer. Four Russians and Colonel Ivan raced into the room with the mine cart that carried the atmosphere projector. They put it smartly in place and then drew back to the wall and stood there at attention.

Sir Robert touched a remote relay. The mine spotlight went off, the projector went on.

The view of the imperial City just before the cataclysm leaped up over the platform. There, as though in visual sight, lay the moving, brilliantly etched ramparts of mighty Psychlo.

Few of the emissaries had ever seen full pictures of it. It would have been worth their lives ever to have set foot in the place. But they recognized the domes of the palace from Psychlo seals. Just seeing Psychlo was an experience.

And then the catastrophe rolled on. They held their breaths.

Never had such widespread, violent disaster met their gaze.

Psychlo, engulfed in a hellish, molten death, before their staring eyes, turned into a scorching, blazing sun.