It was Wanderer who had hacked down Project Gold a year ago, when it presented to the top level by the Patriotic Union of Industry and Finance… At the time Wanderer had seemed to be on the verge of being toppled himself, because the project had aroused Dad’s enthusiasm, but Wanderer had somehow managed to persuade him that all the advantages of the project were strictly temporary, and in ten years’ time there would be a general epidemic of insanity and a total collapse…
He always somehow contrived to persuade them; nobody else could ever persuade them of anything, only Wanderer could. And basically it was clear why. He was never afraid of anything. Yes, he did spend a long time sitting in his office, but eventually he realized his own true worth. He realized that we needed him, whoever we might be, and no matter how fiercely we might fight among ourselves. Because only he can create protection, only he can free us from our torments… And snot-nosed kids in white coats draw caricatures of him, and he allows them to do it…
The day secretary opened the next door for the prosecutor, and the prosecutor saw his Mak. Wearing a white coat with a single chevron on the sleeve, Mak was sitting on the windowsill looking out. If a counselor of justice took the liberty of lounging on the windowsill and counting crows during work hours, he could with a clear conscience be dispatched under armed guard to the labor camps as an obvious idle parasite and even a saboteur. But in this particular case, massaraksh, it was quite impossible to say anything. Take him by the scruff of the neck and he would tell you, I beg your pardon! I am conducting a thought experiment here! Go away and don’t interfere!
The great Mak was counting crows. He briefly glanced at the men who had come in and returned to this occupation, but then he turned back and looked more closely. You recognized me, thought the prosecutor. You did, my smart fellow… He politely smiled at Mak, slapped the young lab assistant who was twirling the handle of an arithmometer on the shoulder, stopped in the middle of the room, and looked around.
“Well now…” he said into the space between Mak and Brainiac. “What do we have going on here?”
“Mr. Sim,” said Brainiac, blushing, blinking, rubbing his hands together, and clearing his throat, “explain to the inspector what you… uh… hmm…”
“But I know you, don’t I?” said the great Mak, somehow or other popping up with startling suddenness only two steps away from the prosecutor. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but aren’t you the state prosecutor?”
Yes, dealing with Mak wasn’t easy—the entire thoroughly thought-out plan had immediately gone up in smoke. Mak hadn’t even thought of trying to hide anything, he wasn’t afraid of anything, he was curious, and from the elevation of his own immense height, he peered down at the prosecutor as if he were examining some kind of exotic animal… The prosecutor had to regroup and think on his feet.
“Yes,” he said in a tone of cold surprise, ceasing to smile. “As far as I am aware, I am indeed the state prosecutor, although I don’t understand…” He frowned and peered into Mak’s face. Mak gave a broad smile. “Ah!” the prosecutor exclaimed. “Why, of course… Mak Sim, also known as Maxim Kammerer! However, pardon me, but I was informed that you had been killed while serving penal labor… Massaraksh, how did you come to be here?”
“It’s a long story,” Mak replied with a casual wave of his hand. “And as it happens, I was also surprised to see you here. I never supposed that our activities were of any interest to the Department of Justice.”
“Your activities are of interest to the most surprising people,” said the prosecutor. He took Mak by the arm, led him to the window farthest away, and inquired in a confidential whisper, “When are you going to let us have the pills? The real pills, for the full thirty minutes.”
“Why, are you really also—” Mak began. “But then, yes, naturally…”
The prosecutor woefully shook his head and rolled up his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Our blessing and our curse,” he said. “The good fortune of our state and the wretched misfortune of its leaders… Massaraksh, I am terribly glad that you’re alive, Mak. I ought to tell you that the case in which you were tried is one of the few in my career that has left me with a sense of nagging dissatisfaction… No, no, don’t try to deny it—according to the letter of the law you were guilty, so from that point of view everything is in good order… you attacked a tower and I think killed a guardsman; that sort of thing doesn’t earn you a pat on the head, you know. But in essence… I confess that my hand trembled when I signed your sentence. As if I were sentencing a child—please don’t be offended. After all, in the final analysis, it was more our initiative than yours, and the entire responsibility—”
“I’m not offended,” said Mak. “And you’re not so very far from the truth: the escapade with that tower was puerile… In any case, I’m grateful to the state prosecutor’s office for not having us shot at the time.”
“It was all that I was able to do,” said the prosecutor. “I recall that I was very upset when I heard that you had been killed…” He laughed and squeezed Mak’s elbow in a friendly fashion. “I’m devilishly glad that everything has turned out so well. And devilishly glad to make your acquaintance…” He looked at his watch. “But tell me, Mak, why are you here? No, no, I’m not going to arrest you, it’s none of my business, the military police can deal with you now. But what are you doing in this institute? Are you really a chemist? And apart from that…” He pointed to Maxim’s chevron.
“I’m a little bit of everything,” said Mak. “A little bit of a chemist, a little bit of a physicist…”
“A little bit of an underground operative,” the prosecutor said with a good-natured laugh.
“Only a very little bit,” Mak decisively replied.
“A little bit of a conjuror,” the prosecutor said.
Mak looked at him intently.
“A little bit of a fantasizer,” the prosecutor continued, “a little bit of an adventurer.”
“But those are not professions,” Mak objected. “They are, if you like, simply the qualities of any decent scientist.”
“And any decent politician,” said the prosecutor.
“An uncommon combination of words,” Mak remarked.
The prosecutor cast a quizzical glance at him, then caught on and laughed again. “Yes,” he said. “Political activity does have certain specific characteristics. Politics is the art of washing things clean with very dirty water. Never descend into politics, Mak, stick with your chemistry.” He looked at his watch and said in annoyance, “Ah, damn it, I have absolutely no time, and I really did want to have a chat with you… I’ve looked at your file, you’re a highly intriguing individual… But you’re probably very busy too.”
“Yes,” said the clever fellow Mak. “But, of course, not so very busy as the state prosecutor.”
“Well now,” said the prosecutor, laughing once again. “Your bosses assure us that you work day and night… But I, for instance, cannot say the same for myself. A state prosecutor does sometimes find himself with a free evening… It will surprise you to hear that I have a whole heap of questions for you, Mak. I must admit that I wanted to have a talk with you back then, after the trial. But work, work, work, there’s never any end to it.”
“I’m at your disposal,” said Mak. “Especially since I also have a few questions for you.”