"He is Yord Tan Verde."
"A sort of high overseer?"
"Sort of. He is not connected with the Grand Council of Galactic Civilization in any managerial position, though. Yord is merely one of the group-leaders—a field representative."
"Do you mind discussing yourself?"
"I'd prefer not—though if you ask me a question that I think is not too personal, I'll be glad to answer."
"Your I.Q. is 260, according to the register. If he is your immediate superior, what must his be?"
Rayne shook his head. "I don't really know," he answered. "Your Terran method of rating intelligence is based upon age. Since your age is based upon a purely Terran concept, we could not possibly rate our intelligence on your basis, until we encounter your machines. Frankly, I'd say his was higher—but you shall see."
Gerd stopped Andrew at the door to his library. "Wait," he said. "I'll see if Yord is willing to see you."
"If he isn't?"
"I'll be as persuasive as I can. I think he may be interested when I inform him that you have artificially increased your I.Q. to my level."
"You think so?"
"I know so. However, Andrew, it will not be a productive interest. Your means is still artificial and not to be assumed adequate."
"Why not?"
"Because without the machine to step up your brain, you'd revert to your original state in a single generation. It is worse than the fabled death of power—for power is also the power to destroy. To lose the power of understanding and to leave the machines of intelligence lying around for all to play with would be disastrous. No, you wait and I'll go in and prepare Yord Tan Verde."
Rayne left the door partly open. There was a greeting in an alien tongue, and then as the other voice continued, Gerd interrupted. "Please—I was trained in Terran. I think best in Terran. May we use it?"
Verde's reply came in Terran. "I'd forgotten."
"Thank you." Gerd Lel Rayne explained the situation to his overseer, and it was quite obvious to Andrew that Gerd accelerated the story continuously, and the emissary ended with an air that gave Andrew to understand that the overseer was quite impatient and that he was ahead of Gerd.
The answer was a single word. It was unintelligible to Andrew at first, and then it soaked in that Verde had uttered the word: "Inconsistent."
Gerd objected at length and began to explain the workings of Andrew's mind.
"Granted!" came the answer half-way through the account. "Have him enter—he may be able to understand."
Gerd came out and nodded at Andrew. "Go in," he said with an encouraging smile. "And—good luck."
"Thanks, Gerd," said Andrew. He straightened up his shoulders and entered the inner library.
He fell under the full, interested glance of Yord Tan Verde as he entered, and Andrew's eyes were held immobile. His springy step faltered, and his swift and purposeful walk slowed to a slogging trudge. Andrew came up to the desk, looked full in the face of the One, shook his head in understanding, finally; and then by sheer force dropped his eyes. He turned and left the room.
Gerd was waiting for him, a sympathetic smile upon his benign face. Andrew looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then: "You—are his emissary?"
"I am—a moron," Gerd said evenly.
"You have a job."
"I am his in-between."
"Because only a moron can understand us," said Andrew slowly.
"No—because your people can understand me, but not the Ones."
"And my efforts with the mental amplifier can do no more than bring me to your level."
"Worse, Andrew. Nature causes many sports to be sterile because they interfere with her proper plan. Your machine will introduce sterility."
"I have one protecting job to do myself," said Andrew thoughtfully. "Or—perhaps it should be maintained—secretly, of course, for some emergency?"
"Your race is adequately protected."
Andrew shrugged. "I see. Terra will need neither the machine nor its product."
THE END.