"In short," Alan said, "I think this whole business has been engineered by the syndicate."
The room was silent.
Alan pressed his point. "I think you've all been blinded by the apparent discovery that the Fireclown wasn't what he at first seemed. Now you've turned completely against him-you believe him capable of any crime!"
"Mr. Powys"-Petrovich spoke with an air of assumed patience-"we are the government of the Solar System. We are not in the habit of jumping to ill-considered and emotional conclusions."
"Then you're not humans," Alan said sharply. "Everyone can make mistakes, Minister Petrovich-especially in a heated atmosphere like this."
Petrovich smiled patronizingly. "We have considered the place of the arms syndicate in this business. We are sure they are taking advantage of the situation-but we are convinced that they did not 'engineer it,' as you say."
Simon Powys roared: "My grandson's an immature fool! He has no understanding of politics or anything else. When the Fireclown lisps his innocence he believes him without question. Helen Curtis is just as bad. Both of them, to my own knowledge, were on the Fireclown's side from the start. Now they refuse to see the facts!"
The tall man, Iopedes, began to walk towards the door. Simon Powys called after him. "Iopedes-where are you going?"
"The young people said the Fireclown had left the area of space he was originally occupying. That could indicate he's gone to Mars or Ganymede. It's a better lead than we held, at any rate." Iopedes left.
"Who's he?" Alan said.
"Nick Iopedes, the ARP's top agent. He's been commissioned to bring the Fireclown to justice-by any means he has to employ."
"You're turning the system into a police state!" Helen said angrily.
"There's a state of-emergency existing!" Simon Powys said coldly. "The world-perhaps the Solar System-is threatened with destruction."
"In your mind and in the minds of those you've managed to convince!" Alan retaliated. "Have any bombs exploded? Has any threat been made?"
"No." This was Benjosef, who had hitherto seemed detached from the argument taking place around him.
"And the arms syndicate has approached you with a bargain, I hear." Alan laughed sharply.
"That is true," Benjosef agreed. Quite obviously, he»was no longer in control of his cabinet. Simon Powys dominated it now, as if he had already superseded Benjosef. The old man seemed to accept the situation fatalistically.
"So there's your answer-the syndicate plants the bombs and starts the scare.
Then they sell you more bombs to 'defend' yourselves against a non-existent menace! Then what? Another scare-another move by the syndicate-until the seeds of war have been thoroughly planted. Everybody's armed to the teeth and the possibility of conflict between the planets is increased!"
"Oh, that's very pat," Simon Powys sneered. "But it doesn't fit the evidence.
You know what you've done? You've been to see the Fireclown and instead of gaining information which could help us capture him, you've listened to his sweet protestations of innocence and thrown away a chance to help save the world!"
"Really?" Alan said in mock surprise. "Well, I disagree. It seems to me that you are taking the world to the brink of destruction, Grandfather, by your blind hatred of the Fire-clown."
"Leave, Alan!" Simon-Powys' voice shook with anger.
The assembled ministers looked disturbed and embarrassed by what was, in the main, a family row.
Alan turned and walked out of the door, Helen following him. Denholm Curtis remained in the room, a frown on his face.
Outside, Helen smiled faintly. "Well, we seem to have antagonized everyone, don't we?"
"I'm sure we're right!" Alan said. "I'm certain of it, Helen. That trip the Fireclown took us on convinced me. He's too interested in his weird philosophizing to be capable of any plots against the system."
Helen took his arm.
"It's our opinion against theirs, I'm afraid."
"We've got to do something about convincing the ordinary people," Alan said as they descended the steps to the ground floor. "This is still a democracy, and if enough people protest they can be ousted from power and a more sane and rational party can solve the situation better."
"They're sane and reasonable enough," she pointed out. "They just don't happen to believe in the Fireclown's innocence."
"Then what are we going to do about it?"
She looked up at him. "What do you expect? I’m still in the running for President, Alan. I'm still leader of my party. We're going to try and win the election."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DIRECTOR Carson, head of City Administration, looked hard at Alan and nodded understandingly.
"It would be best if you resigned," he agreed. "Though, as far as it goes, you're the ablest assistant I've ever had, Alan. But with things as they are and with you outspoken against Simon Powys and for the Fireclown, I doubt if City Council would want you to stay on, anyway."
"Then we're both in agreement," Alan said. "I’ll leave right away, if that's all right with you, sir."
"We'll manage. Your leave is due soon, anyway. We'll settle up your back-pay and send it to you."
They shook hands. They liked one another and it was obvious that Carson regretted Alan's leaving C.A. But he'd been right.
"What are you going to do now?" Carson said as Alan picked up his briefcase.
"I've got another job. I’m Helen Curtis' personal assistant for the Presidential campaign."
"You're going to need a great deal of luck, then."
"A great deal," Alan agreed. "Goodbye, sir."
The Radical Liberal Movement Campaign Committee met at its headquarters. They sat round a long table in the large, well-lighted room. One of the walls comprised a huge laser screen-a usual feature of the windowless apartments in the City of Switzerland.
Helen sat at the head of the table with Alan on her right, Jordan Kalpis, her campaign organizer, on her left. The two heads of the RLM's Press and Information Department sat near her-Horace Wallace, handsome and blank-faced, Andy Curry, small, freckled, and shifty-eyed-both Scots who had hardly seen Scotland and were yet anachronisms in their pride for their country. National feeling hardly existed these days.
Also at the table were Publicity Chief Mildred Brecht, an angular woman;
Vernikoff, Head of Publications and Pamphlets; Sabah, Director of Research, both fat men with unremarkable faces.
Helen said: "Although you've all advised me against it, I intend to conduct my campaign on these lines. One,"-she read off a sheet of paper before her-"an insistence that other steps be taken to apprehend whoever was responsible for storing those bombs on the first level. Although we'll agree it's possible that the Fireclown was responsible, we must also pursue different lines of investigation, in case he was not. That covers us-the present policy of concentrating on the pre-judged Fireclown does not."
"That's reasonable," Sabah murmured. "Unless someone reveals that you personally believe the Fireclown innocent."
"Two,"-Helen ignored him-"that more money must be spent on interstellar space-flight research-we are becoming unadventurous in our outlook."
"That's a good one." Mildred Brecht nodded.
"It fits our 'forward-looking* image." Curry nodded, too.
"Three, tax concessions to Mars and Ganymede settlers. This will act as an incentive to colonizers. Fourth, price control on sea-farm produce. Fifth, steps must be taken to re-locate certain space-ports now occupying parts of the sea-bed suitable for cultivation…" The list was long and contained many other reforms of a minor nature. There were several short discussions on the exact terms to use for publicizing her proposed policy. Then the means of presenting them.