“Hold on there, Sphogeel,” another member broke in. “I for one would like to hear this fellow’s account of his experiences. It appears the activities of the Hagroon may have some significance—”
“I say let the Hagroon do as they like insofar as these fratricidal deviants are concerned!” Sphogeel came back. He seemed to be even more upset than his prejudices warranted. I could see the line he was taking now: he didn’t intend even to give me a hearing. It was time for me to get my oar into the water.
“Whether you like it or not, Sphogeel,” I cut across the hubbub, “the Imperium is a first-class, Net-traveling power. Our two cultures were bound to meet sooner or later. I’d like to see our relations get off to a good start.”
“Net-traveling?” the fat councillor queried. “You failed to mention that, Agent.” He was looking at Dzok.
“I was about to reach that portion of the briefing, Excellency,” Dzok said smoothly. “Bayard had made the claim that although he was transported to the Hagroon line in a Hagroon shuttle, his people have a Web drive of their own. And, indeed, he seemed to be somewhat familiar with the controls of the primitive Hagroon machine.”
“This places a different complexion on matters,” the official said. “Gentlemen, I suggest we take no hasty action which might prejudice future relations with a Web power—”
“We’ll have no dealings with the scum!” old Sphogeel shrilled, coming to his feet. “Our present policy of expl—”
“Sit down, Councillor!” the fat member roared, jumping up to face the thin one. “I’m well aware of the policies pertaining to this situation! I suggest we refrain from announcing them to the world!”
“Whatever your policy has been in the past,” I interjected into the silence, “it should be reevaluated in the light of new data. The Imperium is a Net power, but there’s no need of any conflict of interest—”
“The creature lies!” Sphogeel snarled, staring at me across the table. “We’ve carried out extensive reconnaissance in the entire Sapient quadrant—including the so-called Anglic Sector—and we’ve encountered no evidence whatever of native Web-transit capability!”
“The Zero-zero line of the Imperium lies within the region you call the Desolation,” I said.
Sphogeel gasped. “You have the audacity to mention that hideous monument to your tribe’s lust for destruction? That alone is sufficient grounds for your expulsion from the society of decent Hominoids!”
“How is that possible?” another asked. “Nothing lives within the Desolation…”
“Another of the debased creature’s lies,” Sphogeel snapped. “I demand that the Council expel this degenerate at once and place a Class Two reprimand in the file of this agent—”
“Nevertheless,” I yelled the councillors down, “a number of normal lines exist in the Blight. One of them is the seat of a Net government. As an official of that government, I ask that you listen to what I have to say, and give me the assistance I ask for.”
“That seems a modest enough demand,” the fat member said. “Sit down, Councillor. As for you, Bayard—go ahead with your story.”
Sphogeel glowered, then snapped his fingers. A half-grown youth in unadorned whites stepped forward from an inconspicuous post by the door, listened to the oldster’s hissed instructions, then darted away. Sphogeel folded his arms and glowered.
“I submit,” he snapped. “Under protest.”
Half an hour later I had finished my account. There were questions then—some from reasonable-sounding members like the chubby one whose name was Nikodo, others mere inflammatory remarks of the “Are you still beating your wife” type. I answered them all as clearly as I could.
“We’re to understand then,” a truculent-looking councillor said, “that you found yourself in a null-time level of your native continuum, having arrived there by means unknown. You then observed persons, presumably Hagroon, boarding transports, preparatory to departure. You killed one of these men, stole one of their crude Web-travelers, only to find yourself trapped. Arriving at the Hagroon world line, you were placed under confinement, from which you escaped by killing a second man. You now present yourself here with the demand that you be given valuable Authority property and released to continue your activities.”
“That’s not fairly stated, Excellency,” Dzok started, but a dirty look cut him off.
“The man is a self-confessed double murderer,” Sphogeel snapped. “I think—”
“Let him speak,” Nikodo barked.
“The Hagroon are up to something. I’d say an attack on the Imperium from null time would be a likely guess. If you won’t give us assistance, then I’m asking that you lend me transportation home in time to give a warning—”
The young messenger slipped back into the room, went to Sphogeel, handed him a strip of paper. He glanced at it, then looked up at me with a fierce glitter in his yellow eyes.
“As I thought! The creature lies!” he rasped. “His entire fantastic story is a fabric of deceit! The Imperium, eh? A Web Power, eh? Ha!” Sphogeel thrust the paper at the next councillor, a sad-looking, pale tan creature with bush muttonchop whiskers and no chin. He blinked at the-paper, looked up at me with a startled expression, frowned, passed the paper along. When it reached Nikodo, he read it, shot me a puzzled look reread it.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand this, Bayard.” His look bored into me now. His dark face was getting blackish-purple around the edges. “What did you hope to gain by attempting to delude this body?”
“Maybe if you’ll tell me what you’re talking about, I could shed some light on it,” I said. Silently, the paper was tossed across to me. I looked at the crow tracks on it.
“Sorry. I can’t read Xonijeelian.”
“That should have been sufficient evidence in itself,” Sphogeel growled. “Claims to be a Web operative, but has no language background…”
“Councillor Sphogeel had your statement checked out,” Nikodo said coldly. “You stated that this Zero-zero world line lay at approximately our coordinates 875-259 within the area of the Desolation. Our scanners found three normal world lines within the desert—to that extent, your story-contained a shred of truth. But as for coordinates 875-259…”
“Yes?” I held my voice steady with an effort.
“No such world exists. The uninterrupted sweep of the destroyed worlds blankets that entire region of the Web.”
“You’d better take another look—”
“Look for yourself!” Sphogeel thrust a second paper across the table toward me—a glossy black photogram, far more detailed than the clumsy constructions used by the Imperial Net mapping service. I recognized the familiar oval shape of the Blight at once—and within it the glowing points that represented the worlds known as Blight-Insular Two and Three—and a third A-line within the Blight, unknown to me. But where the Zero-zero line of the Imperium should have been—was nothing.
“I think the Council has wasted sufficient time on this charlatan,” someone said. “Take the fellow away.”
Dzok was staring at me. “Why?” he said. “Why did you lie, Bayard?”
“The creature’s purpose was clear enough,” Sphogeel grated. “Ascribing his own base motivations to others, he assumed that to confess himself a citizen of a mere sub-technical race would mean he’d receive scant attention. He therefore attempted to overawe us with talk of a great Web power—a veiled threat of retaliation! Pitiful subterfuge! But nothing other than that would be expected from such a genetic inferior!”
“Your equipment’s not working properly,” I grated. “Take another scan—”