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Minister Powys sees the Fireclown as a threat to society and its progress.

Others simply see him as a romantic figure who wants a return to a simpler life.

That's why he's such a popular cause with so many people. We all wish life were simpler-we're suckers for the kind of simple answer to our problems that a man like the Fire-clown supplies."

"Simple answers, sure enough," Alan nodded, "but hardly realistic."

"Who knows?" Junnar said tersely.

"Is Grandfather going to use the Fireclown as a platform?"

"I expect so. It will be taken for granted that whoever wins will encourage the expansion bill. So the other main dispute will be the Fireclown."

"But if s out of all proportion. Why should the Fireclown become a major issue?"

Junnar smiled cynically. "Probably because the politicians want him to be."

That answer satisfied Alan and he added:

"Hitler, as I remember, used the Jews. Before him, Nero used the Christians.

Minority groups are always useful- they turn people's attention away from real issues which the politicians have no control over. So Miss Curtis and Minister Powys are using the Fireclown, is that it? One in support, one against. People will take an interest in a battle over such a colorful figure and forget to question other policies. It sounds almost unbelievable, yet it happens. History proves that. What does Grandfather plan to do about the Fireclown if Re gets to power?"

"Maybe nothing," Junnar said. "Maybe nothing at all- once he's in power." Then he smiled brightly. "No, it's not fair. After all, I am Simon Powys' private secretary. He really is deeply concerned about what the Fireclown represents rather than the man' himself."

The apparent return of-loyalty in Junnar brought an awakening echo in Alan. He nodded.

"Perhaps we don't do either of them justice. I was forgetting they are both Powyses with a strong sense of family honor."

Junnar coughed. "I think I'd better go over to the Solar House myself. Can I arrange an appointment for you to see your grandfather?"

"No, don't bother."

"Are you going to the Fireclown's audience tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"I may see you there."

"Yes," said Alan. He glanced at his watch and noted that he would arrive back to his office late. He and Junnar walked into the corridor and went their separate ways.

Alan sighed as he studied the Low Level project. Basically it was a simple job to organize the sealing off of all entrances, stopping elevators and escalators and cutting off light and heating where they existed. Ten levels were to be shut down, involving the moving of less than a thousand people to accommodation higher up. The residents of levels nine and ten would welcome the change, he knew. They, at least, could be relied upon to support the operation.

No, it wasn't the project itself but the way the newspapers and entertainment media would treat it, what Helen Curtis would say about it. It was going to cause City Administration and the City Council as much trouble as if they told the populace they had decided to torture and kill all pet dogs in the City. And this move would have world-wide repercussions-the Fireclown had been the subject of innumerable popular features treating him in a sympathetic manner.

Already he was convinced that his grandfather had committed political suicide by this move. But, for- the moment, he wasn't worried so much about that as about the trouble he and the Director would come in for.

He, in particular, would be slandered-the grandson of the man who wanted to victimize the innocent Fireclown. He would be talked of as a puppet in the hands of the old man. Doubtless he would even be shouted at in the public corridors.

He contacted City Works, waited for the manager to be located.

Tristan B'Ula was, like Junnar, a Zimbabwean from what had once been Rhodesia.

The State of Zimbabwe had grown to great power in the African Federation and many of the Solar System's best administrators came from there.

"Good afternoon, Tristan." Alan was on friendly terms with the manager. "New project I'd like to have a word with you about."

B'Ula pretended to groan. "Is it important? All my available manpower is taken up at the moment."

"The City Council wants us to give this priority. It's also highly confidential.

Is there anyone else in the room with you?"

B'Ula turned, looked behind him and said: "Would you mind leaving the room for a minute or two, Miss Nagib?"

His pretty Egyptian secretary crossed the screen.

"Okay, Alan. What is it?"

"City Council wants us to seal off ten levels-numbers one to ten, to be precise.

Concrete in the entrances, lighting, heat and water supply cut off, elevators and escalators to stop operation."

It took B'Ula a moment to absorb all this. His face showed incredulity. "But that's where the Fireclown is! What are we expected to do? Wall him up-entomb him?"

"Of course not. All residents will be moved before the project goes ahead. I'd thought of housing them in those spare corridors in Section Six of the Fifteenth Level and Sections Twelve and Thirteen of the Seventeenth Level. They'll need to be checked to make sure they're perfectly habitable. The Chemical Research Institute was going to take them over since they're getting a bit cramped, but they'll have to…"

"Just a minute. Alan. What's going to happen to the Fireclown?"

"Presumably, he'll take the alternative accommodation we're offering to everyone else," Alan said grimly.

"You know he wouldn't do that!"

"I don't know the Fireclown!"

"Well, I'm having no part of it," B'Ula said rebelliously, then he switched out.

Completely taken aback, Alan sat at his desk breathing heavily. This, he decided, was only a hint of how the news would be received by the public. His colleague had always struck him as a solid, practical man who did his job well-a good civil servant, like himself. If Tristan B'Ula could be so affected by the news as to risk his position by refusing to obey the City Council, then how would others take it?

The word Riot popped into Alan's head. There had been no public disorder in a hundred years!

This was even bigger than he'd expected.

Another thing-B'Ula felt so strongly about it that he wasn't likely to keep the project secret. Someone had to convince the Zimbabwean that the closing off of the levels was not a threat against the Fireclown. Reluctantly, he would have to tell Carson of his little scene with the manager.

Slowly he got up from his desk. Slowly he walked into Carson's office.

CHAPTER FOUR

BENJOSEF had resigned.

After a meeting in the Solar House lasting well into the night as Benjosef tried to put his arguments to the Solar representatives, the old President had been shouted down.

Denholm Curtis had asked for a vote of no confidence in Benjosef. The ballot had been secret, and though Simon Powys had seemed to support Benjosef it had been a masterly deception. He had managed to convey the image of a strong man standing beside his leader put of nothing but loyalty. In spite of favoring-or appearing to favor- Benjosef s cautious policies, Simon Powys had risen in public esteem.

Doubtless the heavy Solref vote would be his in the election. Alan was sure that his grandfather had actually voted again Benjosef. Principles the old man might have-and plenty of them-but they seemed at that moment to carry little weight against Simon Powys' actions. This strange duality which seemed to come upon even the best politicians was not new to Alan, yet it constantly shocked him.

At 0200 Benjosef, baffled by what he considered mad recklessness on the part of the Solar House, reluctantly resigned as President, his term of office, which should have continued for another eighteen months, to finish with the current session.