"Sorry, Forester, but we're traveling light."
The big man shook his flaming head. "I have no papers."
"But you've got to have papers!" Forester's nervous voice came too thin and high.
"Anybody knows that.
Every citizen is required to carry a passport from the Security Police.
If you're a foreigner - and I think you are - then you aren't allowed off the spaceport without a visa."
"I'm not a citizen." White stood looking down at him with intent, expressionless, bright blue eyes.
"But I didn't arrive by ship-"
"Then how-" Forester caught his breath, nodding abruptly at the child. "And how did she get into Starmont?"
The big man chuckled, and the little girl turned from Ironsmith to smile up at him with a shining adoration on her pinched face.
"Jane," he murmured, "has a remarkable accomplishment."
"See here, Mr. White!" A bewildered resentment sharpened Forester's voice.
"I don't like all these sinister hints - or your theatrical method of luring us out here.
I want to know exactly what you're up to."
"I only want to talk to you." White drawled that disarming explanation.
"You are fenced in with red tape. Jane broke it for, me, in a way that made you come here.
I assure you that we are not Triplanet spies - and I mean to send you safely back before Armstrong decides to open fire."
Startled, Forester peered back toward the mainland.
The gray official car was vague in the fog.
He couldn't see the two technicians waiting with their rocket launcher in the ditch beyond.
Certainly he couldn't see their names.
"I call myself a philosopher." Beneath the lazy tone, Forester could hear a note of savage vehemence.
"That's only a tag, however.
Useful when the unsuspecting police of some ill-fated planet want to know my business, but not completely accurate."
"Precisely what is your business?"
"I'm a soldier, really," murmured White. "I'm trying to wage war against a vicious enemy of man.
I arrived here quite alone, a few days ago, to gather another force for this final stand."
He gestured at the old stone tower.
"Here's my fortress. And my little army. Three men and a brilliant child.
We have our weapons, even if you don't see them.
We're training for a last bold assault - for only the utmost, daring can hope to snatch the victory now."
The big man glanced forebodingly up into the driving mist.
"Because we've met reverses," he rumbled solemnly.
"Our brave little force is not enough, and our weapons are inadequate.
That's where you come in." His penetrating eyes came back to Forester.
"Because we must have the help of one or two good rhodomagnetic engineers."
Forester shuddered in icy dismay, for the whole science of rhodomagnetics was still top secret.
Even Ironsmith, whose computing section had established so much of the theory, had never been told of the frightful applications.
Trying to cover his consternation, he demanded harshly:
"By what authority?"
White's slow smile stopped him.
"Facts are my authority," the big man said.
"The fact that I have met this enemy.
That I know the danger. That I have a weapon - however still imperfect.
That I have not surrendered - and never will!"
"Don't talk riddles." Forester blinked, annoyed,
"Who is this enemy, so-called?"
"You will meet it soon," White promised softly, "and you will call it so.
It is nothing human, but ruthless and intelligent and almost invincible - because it comes in a guise of utmost benevolence.
I'm going to tell you all about it, Forester. I've a sad warning for you. But first I want you to meet the rest of my little band."