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"I'm a sort of theoretical mechanic," he told her. "Hut there's not much doing in my line just now. Nobody's interested in human devices any more. They figure Grek stud will make them obsolete any day. And they're probably right."

"I do not approve of the Greks," said Miss Thale with dignity. "Whatever their intentions, they have caused a great deal of trouble. The President of the United States mentioned it to me."

"I'm afraid I'm causing you trouble, too," said Hackett. "But it won't be long. I'll be going away shortly."

Lucy stared at him. Her cousin said firmly, "You know what you are doing, Mr. Hackett. But I assure you that you are welcome for as long as the woodshed will serve you. When an old friend like the President of the United States speaks for someone—"

Lucy said uneasily, "When are you leaving, Jim? I didn't know—"

"When you seem to be safe," he told her. He smiled at her cousin and added, "When I've looked over the town and feel that there's nobody here who's likely to fascinate Lucy."

Miss Constance Thale looked benignly at Lucy. Lucy was disturbed. Miss Constance Thale read her own interpretation into Lucy's disturbance. She looked at once dignified and wise.

Lucy came to the woodshed later, where Hackett was pacing restlessly up and down.

"What's this about leaving?" she asked directly.

"It'll be presently," he told her. "At the moment I'm marking time. I'm acting under orders—the same ones you have. To keep quiet and stay alive."

"But you said—"

"That I'm leaving. I shall, as soon as I'm no longer asked to stay put. I'm developing an idea that I can't try out where I'm supposed to be respectable. I'll do it elsewhere. Then I can come back if the idea doesn't work—and I'm not caught trying it."

"Butn-what on earth—"

"I have an idea," said Hackett ruefully, "that might explain why we can't understand Grek devices. It's not a very sane idea. I doubt I can get anybody else to take it seriously."

"Can you tell me?"

He shrugged. Then he said, "How truthful are the Greks?"

"Why—I'd say not at all. Apparently not, anyhow."

"They said," observed Hackett, "that they were grateful to us for saving the life of that Aldarian. But they'd tortured and then killed him. Did they lie?"

Lucy nodded her head. It was not a pleasant thought.

"They said they were training the Aldarians like merchant-marine cadets. But they kill them more or less casually—women, too, and at least one child. Did they lie?"

Lucy nodded, wincing a little. Hackett said, "They've left now. They said they were going home. Did they lie?"

Lucy stared for a moment.

"It—it could be. I don't know. But it could be . . ."

"They said they left some Aldarians behind them as volunteers, to help us get civilized. Do you think that's the truth?"

"I don't know!" said Lucy. "I hadn't thought—"

"I like the Aldarians," said Hackett. "Everybody does. They do crazy things like trying to drive a human car in traffic. But there were female Aldarians on the ship—an item the Greks didn't mention—and two of them were murdered, plus a child. Remember? The Greks insist that they're benevolent and do-gooders. But maybe they keep the women and children as hostages for sons or husbands or fathers who are allowed to leave the ship. Some of them were allowed to stay behind when the ship left. Do you think they were left here out of the kindness of the Greks' hearts?"

Lucy stared. She bit her lip.

"N-no. I don't believe I do—not when you put it that way."

"You said you thought there might be friction between the Greks and the Aldarians. It was a sound bit of thinking. But if Aldarians are like us humans—and they act a lot like us!—and people they care for are held as hostages by Greks who will certainly kill them and maybe torture them if the Aldarians fail to carry out their orders—they'll fight tooth and nail for the Greks. They'll have to! So we can't count on much help from them. Right?"

Lucy looked distressed.

"That's terrible, Jim! But it may be right. . ."

"You know it's right. Db you see the point I'm making? The Grek are liars! And look at the fix they've put us in! We're barbarians! We use their sinter fields to increase the fertility of our land. We know why they do it, but not how. We de-salt ocean water with their apparatus. We know what happens, but not why. We use broadcast power, but we don't understand it, and humans use Grek-designed machines and make power receivers, but nobody can make out the reason they work. We're like savages staring at steam engines and tape recorders. We see them operate, but without a glimmer of comprehension. So I've got this crazy idea about why we don't understand. It's too crazy for anybody else to accept. I'll almost certainly have to try it on my own—and I'll get in trouble. And I don't want to be in jail if the Greks come back." Lucy hesitated.

"Could you tell me what the idea is?" He shrugged again.

"That the Greks are liars." She looked at him, uncomprehending. He said again, "The Greks are liars. That's it. That's all."

She frowned, puzzled and even a little offended because he seemed to have told her nothing. He grinned ruefully.

"Too crazy, eh? It's so absurd I don't believe it myself! Come along with me, Lucy. I'll buy you a soda at the drugstore where you had sodas when you were twelve years old."

"I won't!" said Lucy. "My cousin's been talking about us, and everybody would think—"

"They'll think pleasant and sentimental things," said Hackett. "They'll think it's a pity you've gotten interested in a man who can't even hold down a job. Come along."

She protested, but in the end she went. And they walked down a sunny village street, and he masterfully ordered her into the drugstore and to the soda fountain, and they sat on revolving stools and had a sticky strawberry soda apiece. And Lucy was astonished to find that the drugstore was smaller than she remembered and the stools not nearly as tall. Which, of course, was because she'd been smaller the last time she'd had a soda there.

On the way back to her cousin's cottage she said restlessly, "But what is the idea, Jim?"

"The Greks are liars," he repeated doggedly. "And if you really don't see it, it doesn't make sense. But I've got to try it. It's the only idea I've been able to get."

She hesitated.

"You'll—let me know before you leave?"

"Of course! And if I do leave, it'll be because I can't get any help otherwise. I'm not hopeful, Lucy. But everything has to be tried. Everything!" Then he said abruptly, "I don't like the Greks."

His expression was brooding. Anybody who knew what he did was apt to be unhappy. Lucy yearned over him, even in the bright hot sunshine, but that was neither the place nor the time to try to make his thoughts more personal.

The world wagged on. In Traylor there was sunset, and then a star-filled night which produced a slightly gibbous moon, and eventually there followed a morning and afternoon and another night. Hackett worked out his idea in detail and made contact with the FBI man who had been born and raised there.

There was an arrangement and presently he talked on a completely unmonitored line to the FBI man who'd been in charge at the time of the Grek ship's departure. He was told to call back, and he swore bitterly and almost did not. But he did, and talked earnestly, and was most gratefully surprised at the response to his argument.

He went back to the cottage, in great part relieved but again dubious about the argument he'd just offered.

He found Lucy.

"I could impress your cousin now," he told her. "I just talked to the President."

"What—?"

"I told my idea to the FBI character. It had almost occurred to somebody else. Almost. So they understood. They had me tell it to the President. And—it gets tried. You can help." He repeated, "They almost had it on their own. I'm not as smart as I thought. Anyhow they'll send me something to work on and put a crowd of really good men on it, too. No red tape. No taking the matter under consideration. No referral to qualified experts. I named it, I described it—and it's through!"