o's words rose in Roger's mind: "Medicine is advanced, you know.
People don't grow old so soon these days--"

Swiftly Roger slipped from his clothes, an impossibly bold idea
translating itself into rapid action. He stripped the glowing tunic
from the man's flaccid body, and slipped his arms into the sleeves,
pulling the cape in close to cover the burned spot.

He heard a knock on the door. Frantically he forced the body under the
heavy desk, and sat down in the chair behind it, eyes wide with fear.
"Come in," he croaked.

A young deputy stepped through the door, approached the desk
deferentially. "The first reports, sir," he said, looking straight at
Roger. Not a flicker of suspicion crossed his face. "The attack is
progressing as expected."

"Turn all reports over to my private teletype," Roger snapped. The man
saluted. "Immediately, sir!" He turned and left the room, closing the
door behind him.

Roger panted, closing his eyes in relief. He could pass! Turning to
the file, he examined the detailed plans for the Martian attack; the
numbers of ships, the squadron leaders, the zero hours--then he was at
the teletype keyboard, passing on the message of peace, the message to
stop the War with Mars, to make an armistice; ALL SQUADRONS AND SHIPS
ATTENTION: CEASE AND DESIST IN ATTACK PLANS: RETURN TO TERRA
IMMEDIATELY: BY ORDER OF FARREL STRANG.

Wildly he tore into the files, ripping out budget reports,
stabilization plans, battle plans, evacuation plans. It would be
simple to dispose of the Dictator's body as that of an imposter, an
assassin--and simply take control himself in Farrel's place. They
would carry on with _his_ plans, _his_ direction. And an era of peace,
and stability and rich commerce would commence at long last. The sheaf
of papers grew larger and larger as Roger emptied out the files: plans
of war, plans of conquest, of slavery--he aimed the heat-pistol at the
pile, saw it spring into yellow flame, and circle up to the vaulted
ceiling in blue smoke.

* * * * *

And then he sat down, panting, and flipped the visiphone switch. "Send
one man, unarmed, to the building across the courtyard. Have him bring
Martin Drengo to me."

The deputy's eyes widened on the screen. "Unarmed, sir?"

"Unarmed," Roger repeated. "By order of your Dictator."

* * * * *

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Infinite Intruder, by Alan Edward Nours