hear of Thomas Paine in American history?”
“He wrote a pamphlet during the Revolutionary War, didn't he?”
“ ‘Common Sense,’ ” Metaxa nodded. “But he was more than that. He was born in England but went to America as a young man and his writings probably did as much as anything to put over the revolt against the British. But that wasn't enough. When that revolution was successful he went back to England and tried to start one there. The government almost caught him, but he escaped and got to France where he participated in the French Revolution.”
“He seemed to get around,” Ronny Bronston said.
“And so does this namesake of his. We've been trying to catch up with him for some twenty years. How long before that he was active, we have no way of knowing. It was some time before we became aware of the fact that half the revolts, rebellions, revolutions and such that occur in the United Planets have his dirty finger stirring around in them.”
“But you said some department members don't believe in his existence.”
Metaxa grunted. “They're working on the theory that no one man could do all that Tommy Paine has laid to him. Possibly it's true that he sometimes gets the blame for accomplishments not his. Or, for that matter, possibly he's more than one person. I don't know.”
“Well,” Ronny said hesitantly, “what's an example of his activity?”
Metaxa picked up another report from the confusion of his desk. “Here's one only a month old. Dictator on the planet Megas. Kidnapped and forced to resign. There's still confusion but it looks as though a new type of government will be formed now.”
“But how do they know it wasn't just some dissatisfied citizens of Megas?”
“It seems as though the kidnap vehicle was an old fashioned Earth-type helicopter. There were no such on Megas. So Section G suspects it's a possible Tommy Paine case. We could be wrong, of course. That's why I say the man's in the way of being a legend. Perhaps the others are right and he doesn't even exist. I think he does, and if so, it's our job to get him and put him out of circulation.”
Ronny said slowly, “But why would that come under our jurisdiction? It seems to me that it would be up to the police of whatever planet he was on.”
Ross Metaxa looked thoughtfully at his brown bottle, shook his head and returned it to its drawer. He looked at a desk watch. “Don't read into the United Planets organization more than there is. It's a fragile institution with practically no independent powers to wield. Every member planet is jealous of its prerogatives, which is understandable. It's no mistake that Articles One and Two are the basic foundation of the Charter. No member planet wants to be interfered with by any other or by United Planets as an organization. They want to be left alone.
“Within our ranks we have planets with every religion known to man throughout the ages. Everything ranging from primitive animism to the most advanced philosophic ethic. We have every political system ever dreamed of, and every socio-economic system. It can all be blamed on the crack-pot manner in which we're colonizing. Any minority, no matter how small—religious, political, racial, or whatever—if it can collect the funds to buy or rent a spacecraft, can dash off on its own, find a new Earth-type planet and set up in business.
“Fine. One of the prime jobs of Section G is to carry out, to enforce, Articles One and Two of the Charter. A planet with Buddhism as its state religion, doesn't want some die-hard Baptist missionary stirring up controversy. A planet with a feudalistic socio-economic systems doesn't want some hot-shot interplanetary businessman coming in with some big deal that would eventually cause the feudalistic nobility to be tossed onto the ash heap. A planet with a dictatorship doesn't want subversives from some democracy trying to undermine their institutions—and vice versa.”
“And its our job to enforce all this, eh?” Ronny said.
“That's right,” Metaxa told him sourly. “It's not always the nicest job in the system. However, if you believe in United Planets, an organization attempting to co-ordinate in such manner as it can, the efforts of its member planets, for the betterment of all, then you must accept Section G and Interplanetary Security.”
Ronny Bronston thought about it.
Metaxa added, “That's why one of the requirements of this job is that you yourself be a citizen of United Planets, rather than of any individual planet, have no religious affiliations, no political beliefs, and no racial prejudices. You've got to be able to stand aloof.”
“Yeah,” Ronny said thoughtfully.
Ross Metaxa looked at his watch again and sighed wearily. “I'll turn you over to one of my assistants,” he said. “I'll see you again, though, before you leave.”
“Before I leave?” Ronny said, coming to his feet. “But where do I start looking for this Tommy Paine?”
“How the hell would I know?” Ross Metaxa growled.
* * * * *
In the outer office, Ronny said to the receptionist, “Commissioner Metaxa said for me to get in touch with Sid Jakes.”
She said, “I'm Irene Kasansky. Are you with us?”
Ronny said, “I beg your pardon?”
She said impatiently, “Are you going to be with the Section? If you are, I've got to clear you with your old job. You were in statistics over in New Copenhagen, weren't you?”
Somehow it seemed far away now, the job he'd held for more than five years. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, Commissioner Metaxa has given me an appointment.”
She looked up at him. “Probably to look for Tommy Paine.”
He was taken aback. “That's right. How did you know?”
“There was talk. This Section is pretty well integrated.” She grimaced, but on her it looked good. “One big happy family. High interdepartmental morale. That sort of jetsam.” She flicked some switches. “You'll find Supervisor Jakes through that door, one to your left, two to your right.”
He could have asked one what to his left and two what to his right, but evidently Irene Kasansky thought he had enough information to get him to his destination. She'd gone back to her work.
It was one turn to his left and two turns to his right. The door was lettered simply Sidney Jakes. He knocked and a voice shouted happily, “It's open. It's always open.”
Supervisor Jakes was as informal as his superior. His attire was on the happy-go-lucky side, more suited for sports wear than a fairly high ranking job in the ultra-staid Octagon.
He couldn't have been much older than Ronny Bronston but he had a nervous vitality about him that would have worn out the other in a few hours. He jumped up and shook hands. “You must be Bronston. Call me Sid.” He waved a hand at a typed report he'd been reading. “Now I've seen them all. They've just applied for entry to United Planets. Republic. What a name, eh?”
“What?” Ronny said.
“Sit down, sit down.” He rushed Ronny to a chair, saw him seated,
