awled. Something was wrong here. The Asian leader was
too much at his ease. His words meant nothing, of course. It had to be
lying noise; it could be nothing else. A meeting such as this was not
meant to communicate truth, but to discern an opponent's attitude and to
try to hide one's own.

"Let it suffice to say," the Red leader went on, "that we know more
about you than you know about us. Our system has changed. A century ago,
our continent suffered a blight of dogmatism and senseless butchery such
as the world had never seen. Obviously, such conditions cannot endure.
They did not. There was strong reaction and revolution within the
framework of the old system. We have achieved a workable technological
aristocratism, based on an empirical approach to problems. We realize
that the final power is in the hands of the people--and I use that
archaic word in preference to your 'rabble'--"

"Are you trying to convert me to something?" John Smith growled acidly.

"Not at all. I'm telling you our position." He paused for a moment, then
inserted his fingertips under the edge of the mask. "Here is probably
the best way to tell you."

The Red leader ripped off the mask, revealing an impassive Oriental face
with deepset black eyes and a glowering frown. The President sucked in
his breath. It was unthinkable, that a man should expose himself to ...
but then, that was what he was trying to prove wasn't it?

He kicked a foot-switch to kill the microphone circuit, and spoke
quickly to the Stand-ins, knowing that the Asian could not see his lips
move behind the golden mask.

"Is Security Section guarding against spy circuits?"

"Yes, John."

"Then quick, get out of the room, all of you! Join the Secondaries."

"But John, it'll leave you fingered! If nine of us leave, they'll know
that the remaining one is--"

"Get on your masks and get out! I'm going to take mine off."

"But John--!"

"Move, Subversive!"

"You don't need to curse," the Stand-in muttered. The nine men, out of
the camera's field, donned golden helmets identical to Smith's, whistled
six notes to the audio-combination, then slipped out the thick steel
door as it clicked and came open.

* * * * *

The Red was jeering at him quietly. "Afraid to take off your mask,
President? The rabble? Or your self-appointed Stand-ins? Which frightens
you, President--"

John Smith plucked at a latch under his chin, and the golden headdress