Jim's lips tensed.
"If space-travel is possible," said the Director-General, tiredly, "Now we know that we have to have it. If Things such as came to earth control any other civilization, we have to end their empire. In short, we are going to build a space-fleet to destroy the menace the Things constitute, and it is probable that we will enter into friendly relations with the race or races we liberate from them. We are reversing our policy of—isolationism. We can do nothing else. But it may be hard for some of us to change our way of thinking." Jim said, "Well?"
"We'd like you to accept a post with Security," said the white-haired man humbly. "If not, we'd like you to advise us. We have to change our whole outlook to— well—nearly that of the people we have considered criminals. Also we will need to equip our fleet with adequate protection against transmitted thought. We have to learn—"
"I fought against Security because it tried to make us safe by not letting us find out anything that could be dangerous. But I think we can only be safe when we know how to handle anything that can be dangerous!"
The older man looked very, very humble.
"After thirty years of thinking otherwise," he said wryly, "I admit that you seem to be right. We have to reverse our position and encourage nearly everything we have forbidden. We have to live dangerously because safety appears not to be safe." Then he added almost wistfully. "It should be very fine to be a young man now, with a chance to take part in the conquest of the stars and the planting of human colonies on the Milky Way. You see, Mr. Hunt, I'm not offering you a reward for what you've done. I'm asking you for more help. We have so much to do and we need young minds! That's what I came here for!"
Jim tried to be dignified. He didn't quite make it. He grinned. He shook hands warmly. Then he said awkwardly; "Really, sir, an awful lot of what happened was just bull luck. I pulled some awfully stupid tricks. But if you can let me help a share in starting things off in a new direction—" He drew a deep breath. "Lord, yes! You ought to meet Brandon, by the way. Brandon! Come on out here!"
And to the Director-General of Security, who was of course the most powerful man in the world, Jim Hunt added explanatorily, "He's been keeping a sub-machine-gun on you from inside there. By the way, he isn't crazy."
Brandon came out of the bank-vault. And the Director-General of Security, the head of the organization which had the final word in all the affairs of men, murmured, "He's not crazy? That's at least refreshing."