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And it was impossible. He was completely trapped with no visible way out for himself.

VIII

Dirrul stood in front of the metal-surfaced reflector, fingering the cap of his ear. To survive as a thinking being he must deafen himself. Yet he hesitated. Self-inflicted violence was the negation of the Rational Potential.

Then, slowly, he developed a new idea. He could use the power of Vinin, to save Agron if not himself!

There came a knock on his door. Dirrul drew on his tunic as a stranger entered the room.

“The Chief is impatient–you must come at once.”

Durril was led through a metal-roofed tunnel into a wide sunny transparent-walled room at the top of the building. The door closed behind him. He was alone with a tall smooth-faced man, exotically costumed in a tight black suit crusted with white jewels and framed by a white cloak thrown loosely around his shoulders. He sat back of a tremendous desk–behind his chair was a tilted panel of dials, levers and tiny glowing lights, running the length of the room under the ceiling-high window.

“It is always a pleasure to welcome a hero of the Vininese Confederacy,” the Chief said without getting up. His tone was slow, tired, emotionless. His eyes were without expression. “May I ask your name?”

“Dirrul–Edward Dirrul.”

“And you come from Agron with a message from our agent,” he said, speaking Agronian. “So much we got from your teleray. In fifty days–actually forty-nine from now, by your time–your local Movement will have use for a Vininese space-fleet. I have already dispatched Sub-units B and C. Now, if you will give me the details of your Plan I can code-wave them to my commander.”

“There’s been a mistake, sir. What I really meant when I sent the message was–“

“So you’ve discovered the truth.” The Chief’s hand darted toward a cubicle of his desk and he held a metal-barreled weapon aimed steadily at Dirrul. “These things are always so tedious. Give me your disk.”

“Of course,” Dirrul agreed readily but as he felt in his pocket the Chief gestured negatively with his weapon.

“No, keep it.” After a pause he added, “You’re certain that you know, Dirrul?”

“I’ve seen the transmitters.”

“Then why aren’t you afraid? Why do you consent so readily? The others are always terrified–they’ll confess to anything if I promise to let them keep the disks. Have you ever heard the sound, Dirrul? Do you really know what it’s like?”

“You want information from me. You have no chance of getting it if you deprive me of the ability to think.”

“Granted. And otherwise?”

“You won’t get it either.”

The Chief sighed wearily. “You are simply trading one romantic illusion for another. You have somehow convinced yourself that one man–one lone Agronian–can hold out against us. Let me tell you a little about our system, Dirrul, so you’ll understand how futile it is to waste your time and mine like this.” Not a trace of feeling came into his voice. He sounded slightly bored, reciting a matter-of-fact chronology of statistics.

“As you have guessed we create our leader-class on each of our planets by protecting them from the sound waves with the disks. If scattered groups among the general public should ever gain immunity–as far as we know only idiots and the deaf can do that–they could never carry out a successful revolt. The only way would be for the transmitter stations to be silenced.

“However, every unit operates independently on its own power. We have thousands of them on every planet. All but one could be destroyed, and that one transmitter would still be enough to control the planet. You begin to see, I think, that any kind of resistance is foolish. In time you can be made to do as I ask. Unfortunately, we have no time to spare.

“Perhaps you’re thinking that outsiders–tourists, let’s say–could come here and overthrow us. All rational beings in the galaxy are subject to the same physical laws. They still must hear and if they do they’re powerless.