Gorov was released on the thirtieth day, and five hundred pounds of the yellowest gold took his place.
And with him was released the quarantined and untouched abomination that was his ship.
Then, as on the journey into the Askonian system, so on the journey out, the cylinder of sleek little ships ushered them on their way.
Ponyets watched the dimly sun-lit speck that was Gorov's ship while Gorov's voice pierced through to him, clear and thin on the tight, distortion-bounded ether-beam.
He was saying, "But it isn't what's wanted, Ponyets.
A transmuter won't do.
Where did you get one, anyway?"
"I didn't," Ponyets answer was patient.
"I juiced it up out of a food irradiation chamber.
It isn't any good, really.
The power consumption is prohibitive on any large scale or the Foundation would use transmutation instead of chasing all over the Galaxy for heavy metals.
It's one of the standard tricks every trader uses, except that I never saw an iron-to-gold one before.
But it's impressive, and it works - very temporarily."
"All right. But that particular trick is no good."
"It got you out of a nasty spot."
"That is very far from the point.
Especially since I've got to go back, once we shake our solicitous escort."
"Why?"
"You yourself explained it to this politician of yours," Gorov's voice was on edge.
"Your entire sales-point rested on the fact that the transmuter was a means to an end, but of no value in itself-, that he was buying the gold, not the machine.
It was good psychology, since it worked, but-"
"But?" Ponyets urged blandly and obtusely.
The voice from the receiver grew shriller,
"But we want to sell them a machine of value in itself, something they would want to use openly; something that would tend to force them out in favor of nuclear techniques as a matter of self-interest."
"I understand all that," said Ponyets, gently.
"You once explained it.
But look at what follows from my sale, will you?
As long as that transmuter lasts, Pherl will coin gold; and it will last long enough to buy him the next election.
The present Grand Master won't last long."
"You count on gratitude?" asked Gorov, coldly.
"No - on intelligent self-interest.
The transmuter gets him an election; other mechanisms-"
"No!
No!
Your premise is twisted.
It's not the transmuter, he'll credit - it'll be the good, old-fashioned gold.
That's what I'm trying to tell you."
Ponyets grinned and shifted into a more comfortable position.
All right. He'd baited the poor fellow sufficiently.
Gorov was beginning to sound wild.
The trader said, "Not so fast, Gorov. I haven't finished.
There are other gadgets already involved."
There was a short silence. Then, Gorov's voice sounded cautiously,
"What other gadgets?"
Ponyets gestured automatically and uselessly,
"You see that escort?"
"I do," said Gorov shortly.
"Tell me about those gadgets."
"I will, -if you'll listen.
That's Pherl's private navy escorting us; a special honor to him from the Grand Master.