right. They avoid cities, which they consider cesspools of the unfaithful. Before I can go to Kurra I’ll need an alternate identity. Do you have an alternate identity?”
“Of course. Every Team B agent has several identities.”
“That’s encouraging. Eventually I’ll be rid of that dratted robe, though I suppose I’ll be stuck with the nose as long as I’m in Kurr.”
“I’d like to sample your linguistic ability,” she said.
He gave her a colloquial greeting, “Hail, citizen,” and rambled on at length about the weather, the coming harvest, and how soon the province tax collector might be expected. She made no comment when he finished.
“What’s the matter,” he asked. “Is my accent bad?”
“No. Your accent is very good. Remarkable, considering the short time you’ve had to practice. My suggestion is that you wait three days, and then ask to be taken to Kurr.”
“Why three days?”
“Just a precaution. It’ll give us time to get ready for you.”
“Team B knows that I’m coming. I’m to be put down at a remote station where there are no Holy Places that might require me to perform a religious function and very few natives for me to bless even if I feel benevolently inclined, which I won’t. I can’t start work until my forms are ready, but no doubt I’ll be able to pick up background information more quickly on the scene than I can here at base.”
“What forms?” she asked.
“The forms for my cultural survey.”
Again there was silence, broken only by the soft rustle of her gown. “Wait three days,” she said finally. “Don’t tell anyone that you’ve talked with me. I’ll see you in Kurr.”
She was gone. He did not even hear the door close after her.
“It has been wisely written,” Forzon murmured, “that if one pursues an enigma far enough, inevitably one must come either to the beginning or to the end. Unfortunately the sage doesn’t specify whether he means the end of the enigma or the end of the pursuer. I don’t like this. It’s bad enough to have the feeling that one is being used. It’s insufferable not to know by whom, or to what purpose.”
He remained in his quarters the next day, concentrating furiously on the language. At intervals a uniformed young lady would thrust a heavily laden tray at him and depart with an unseemly haste that could only have been born of a fear that he might devour her instead of the food.
The following morning he strolled down to the administration section. The receptionist eyed him suspiciously; Forzon ignored her. He was becoming accustomed to suspicious glances. He went directly to the coordinator’s office, where the secretary icily informed him that the coordinator was indisposed.
“Assistant-Coordinator Wheeler?” Forzon suggested.
“He’s in the field today.”
“Team A or Team B?”
She shrugged; he wasn’t interested enough to pursue the subject. He went to the room marked Team B Headquarters, opened the door, looked in. The drab bindings of official records stood in solid ranks that filled the walls from floor to ceiling. Circular filing cabinets crammed the floor space; boxes were piled high on top of them. The place was a sepulcher for the desiccated remains of four centuries of failure.
Resolutely Forzon stepped back and closed the door. Just as he had no intention of investing years in the study of the IPR field manual, neither would he waste time in exhuming the futilities of Team B’s past.
In the reception room he thoughtfully contemplated the paintings. They, too, were old, and had it not been for the filtered air and controlled humidity of the building he might be commencing his work on Gurnil with a tedious restoration of the IPR art collection.
“How long have these paintings been here?” he asked the receptionist.
She gazed at him blankly. “I don’t know, I’m sure.”
“What’s the point of maintaining this base if its personnel know so little about Gurnil and care less?” Forzon demanded.
“The base serves as a supply depot and record depository,” the receptionist said primly.
“That’s interesting,” Forzon remarked, keeping his eyes on the paintings. “Then there must be very little to do, especially for a receptionist. I gather that the field agents rarely come here. The natives presumably don’t know that the base exists, so they don’t visit you. You’d have plenty of advance notice on supply contacts and visits from higher headquarters. I can’t think of any reason why this base should need a receptionist.” He turned and gave her his most engaging smile. “Could it be possible that you were appointed just to keep an eye on me?”
Her reaction, whatever it might be, was certain to be unattractive; so Forzon said over his shoulder, “Please let me know when the coordinator is available,” and returned to his quarters.
Later Rastadt sent for him, greeted him with a scowl, and as an afterthought leaped to his feet to snap off a salute. “They said you wanted to see me.”
“Can you arrange transportation to Kurr for me day after tomorrow?” Forzon asked.
“Kurr? Why?”
“To take command of Team B. I’d rather not waste any more time here at base than is absolutely necessary.”
“You can command Team B from here,” Rastadt said. “There’s no reason for you to go to Kurr. None at all. And it’d be dangerous.”
“Strange that you should think so,” Forzon remarked. “Only three days ago you were rehearsing me in the role of a Kurrian priest.”
“That was just a demonstration. I’m not turning you loose in Kurr until you’ve been trained in everything a Kurrian priest needs to know. At the first opportunity we’ll bring back a Team B agent who’s had actual experience in the role. Until he convinces me that you’re competent, you’ll have to command Team B from here.”
“You wouldn’t be turning me loose there,” Forzon protested. “I’ll be exposed only between the landing area and the Team B station and it’ll be dark anyway. Wheeler said the costume was only a precaution.”
“It isn’t precaution enough. The IPR field teams owe their success to the fact that nothing is left to chance. I can’t permit you to incur such a risk.”
Forzon said coldly, “I believe, Coordinator, that this is my decision to make.”
“Not at all. You outrank me by four grades, but the coordinator of a planet has full responsibility for the safety of all IPR personnel, of whatever rank or status.”
“Has Wheeler returned yet?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“Call him in here.”
Rastadt irritably snapped an order at his communicator. Wheeler strolled
