pared as soon as possible." He
bowed slightly, then left the presidential study-vault.

Smith turned to gaze at his Stand-ins. "You will go," he said, "all of
you, to the examining authorities for the standard loyalty tests and
psych-phys rechecks."

The nine masked figures glanced at one another in surprise, then nodded.
There were no protests. The following day he had only seven Stand-ins;
Four and Eight had been trapped in a burning building on the outskirts
of the rabble city, and their remains had not been found.

Smith kept a tight cork on his rage, but it seethed inside him and
threatened to burn through as the time approached to speak again with
Ivan Ivanovitch IX. The enemy's infiltration into the very ranks of the
Presidency robbed him even of dignity. Furthermore, now that the two
scoundrels were uncovered, and dead, he remembered a very unpleasant but
significant fact: he had, even before his "election" by the rabble,
discussed the televiewphone conferences with the Primaries. The idea of
contacting Ivan had started, as most ideas start, from some small seed
or other that could scarcely be remembered, some off-hand reference to
the costly aspects of the Big Silence perhaps, and it had grown into the
plan for contact. _But how_ had the idea first come to him? Had one of
the guilty Stand-ins perhaps planted the seed in his mind? _After_ he
proposed it, they had seemed demurring at first, but not too long.

Grimly, he realized that the idea might have originated on the far side
of the Pacific.

"Who, pray, is the potter, and who the pot?" he grunted, glowering at
the nearest Stand-in.

"I beg your pardon?" answered the man, who could not see the glower for
the mask.

"Khayyam, you fool!"

"Oh--"

"_Sixteen o'clock!_" cheeped the timepiece on the wall. "_Fifthday,
Anti-Rabies Week, Practice-Eugenics Week; Happy 2073; Peep!_"

* * * * *

Ivan came on the screen, but John did not bother to remove his mask. He
sat down quickly and began speaking before any greeting could be
exchanged.

"I have decided to accept your last proposal. I specify the meeting
place as the deserted weather station at the old settlement of Tharviana
in the Byrd-Ellsworth Sector of Antarctica. Date to be Seventhday of
Fried Pie Week. Advance cadres of personnel from both sides should meet
at the site two weeks earlier to make repairs and preparations. Do you
agree?"

Ivan nodded impatiently, h