"How about some platinum?" The god made a pass and a section of the wall glowed white. "Solid platinum. A simple change of atomic weight. Will that help?"
"No!" Eric paced back and forth. "We've got to get that toad away from Bradshaw. If we can get him back here—"
"I have an idea," the god said.
"What?"
"Perhaps you could get me in there. Perhaps if I could get onto the Company grounds, within range of the Biology Lab..."
"It's worth a try," Pat said, putting her hand on Eric's shoulder. "After all, Tom's your best friend. It's a shame to treat him this way. It's—it's un-Terran."
Eric grabbed his coat. "It's settled. I'll drive as close as I can to the Company grounds. I ought to be able to get near enough before the guards catch sight of me to—"
A crash. The front door collapsed abruptly in a heap of ash. Teams of robot police surged into the room, blastguns ready.
"All right," Jennings said. "That's him." He strode quickly into the house. "Get him. And get that thing in the box."
"Jennings!" Eric swallowed in alarm. "What the hell is this?"
Jennings' lip curled. "Cut out the pretense, Blake. You're not fooling me." He tapped a small metal case under his arm. "The toad revealed all. So you've got a non-Terrestrial in this house, have you?" He laughed coldly. "There's a law against bringing non-Terrans to Earth. You're under arrest, Blake. You'll probably get life."
"Tinokuknoi Arevulopapo!" Eric Blake squeaked. "Don't forsake me at a time like this!"
"I'm coming," the god grunted. It heaved violently. "How's this?"
The robot police jerked as a torrent of force erupted from the box. Abruptly they disappeared, winking out of existence. Where they had stood a horde of mechanical mice milled aimlessly, spilling frantically through the doorway, out into the yard.
Jennings' face showed astonishment and then panic. He retreated, waving his blaster menacingly. "See here, Blake. Don't think you can scare me. We've got this house surrounded."
A bolt of force hit him in the stomach. The bolt lifted him and shook him like a rag doll. His blaster skidded from his fingers, falling to the floor. Jennings groped for it desperately. The blaster turned into a spider and crawled rapidly off, out of bis reach.
"Set him down," Eric urged.
"All right." The god released Jennings. He crashed to the floor, stunned and frightened. He scrambled wildly to his feet and ran from the house, down the path to the sidewalk.
"Oh dear," Pat said.
"What is it?"
"Look."
Pulled up in a circle around the house was a solid line of atomic cannon. Their snouts gleamed wickedly in the late afternoon sunlight. Groups of robot police stood around each cannon, waiting alertly for instructions.
Eric groaned. "We're sunk. One blast and we're finished."
"Do something!" Pat gasped. She prodded the box. "Enchant them. Don't just sit there."
"They are out of range," the god replied. "As I explained, my power is limited by distance."
"You in there!" a voice came, magnified by a hundred loudspeakers. "Come out with your hands up. Or we open fire!"
"Bradshaw," Eric groaned. "He's out there. We're trapped. You sure you can't do something?"
"Sorry," the god said. "I can put up a shield against the cannon." It concentrated. Outside the house a dull surface formed, a globe rapidly hardening around them.
"All right," Bradshaw's magnified voice came, muffled by the shield. "You asked for it."
The first shell hit. Eric found himself lying on the floor, his ears ringing, everything going around and around. Pat lay beside him, dazed and frightened. The house was a shambles. Walls, chairs, furniture, all was in ruins.
"Fine shield," Pat gasped.
"The concussion," the god protested. Its box lay in the corner on its side. "The shield stops the shells, but the concussion—"
A second shell struck. A wall of pressure rolled over Eric, stunning him. He skidded, tossed by a violent wind, crashing against heaps of debris that had been his house.
"We can't last," Pat said faintly. "Tell them to stop, Eric. Please!"
"Your wife is right," the god's calm voice came, from its overturned box. "Surrender, Eric. Give yourself up."
"I guess I better." Eric pulled himself up on his knees. "But golly, I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison. I knew I was breaking the law when I smuggled the damn thing in here, but I never thought—"
A third shell hit. Eric tumbled down, his chin smacking the floor. Plaster and rubble rained down on him, choking and blinding him. He fought his way up, grabbing hold of a jutting beam.
"Stop!" he shouted.
There was sudden silence.
"Are you willing to surrender?" the magnified voice boomed.
"Surrender," the god murmured.
Eric's mind raced desperately. "I—I have a deal. A compromise." He thought fast, his brain in high gear. "I have a proposal."
There was a long pause. "What's the proposal?"
Eric stepped warily through the rubble to the edge of the shield. The shield was almost gone. Only a shimmering haze remained, through which the circle of atomic cannon was visible, the cannon and the robot police.
"Matson," Eric gasped, getting his breath. "The toad. We'll make the following deal. We'll restore Matson to his original shape. We'll return the non-Terrestrial to Ganymede. In return, you waive prosecution and I get my job back."
"Absurd! My labs can easily restore Matson without your help."
"Oh yeah? Ask Matson. He'll tell you. If you don't agree, Matson will be a toad for the next two hundred years—at least!"
A long silence followed. Eric could see figure moving back and forth, conferring behind the guns.
"All right," Bradshaw's voice came at last. "We agree. Drop the shield and come forward. I'll send Jennings with the toad. No tricks, Blake!"
"No tricks." Eric sagged with relief. "Come along," he said to the, god, picking up the dented box. "Drop the shield and let's get this over with. Those cannon make me nervous."
The god relaxed. The shield—what was left of it— wavered and faded, blinking off.
"Here I come." Eric advanced warily, the box in his hands. "Where's Matson?"
Jennings came toward him. "I have him." His curiosity overcame his suspicion. "This ought to be interesting. We should make a close study of all extra-dimensional life. Apparently they possess science much in advance of our own."
Jennings squatted down, placing the small green toad carefully on the grass.
"There he is," Eric said to his god.
"Is this close enough?" Pat asked icily.
"This is sufficient," the god said. "This is exactly right." It turned its single eye on the toad and made a few brief motions with its scaly claws.
A shimmer hovered over the toad. Extra-dimensional forces were at work, fingering and plucking at the toad molecules. Abruptly the toad twitched. For a second it shuddered, an insistent vibration lapped over it. Then—
Matson ballooned into existence, the familiar bean-pole figure, towering over Eric and Jennings and Pat.
"Lord," Matson breathed shakily. He got out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "I'm glad that's over. Wouldn't want to go through that again."
Jennings retreated hurriedly toward the circle of cannon. Matson turned and headed after him. Eric and his wife and god were suddenly alone in the center of the lawn.
"Hey!" Eric demanded, cold alarm plucking at him. "What is this? What the hell's going on?"
"Sorry, Blake," Bradshaw's voice came. "It was essential to restore Matson. But we can't alter the law. The law is above any man, even me. You're under arrest."