"Surrender?" The chief of staff turned a choleric purple.
"Never!"
"The matter is not in your hands," the machine droned blandly.
"The crucial decision for all these planets was actually made some decades ago in a physics laboratory, by a foolhardy man who had discovered the theoretical possibility of a nuclear chain reaction in a uranium-graphite pile.
Once he chose to risk the test, and so demonstrated the fission process, the outcome was already fixed.
You are still free, however, to discuss the situation."
Turning attentively to face the president, the humanoid stood still again, a dark image of ultimate beneficence.
Smiling at it hopefully, the old statesman called in a tremulous voice for discussion.
Deaf to the wrangling which followed, Forester sat shivering in the damp blast of the fan, watching the machine and debating what to do.
Once he caught his breath to report the whole matter of Mark White's warning. But that wouldn't do, he saw at once, because he would be compromising the security of Project Thunderbolt still farther.
Finally he passed a note to the defense minister, asking for a private word with the president.
"Gentlemen," that sleek machine was purring, "you must understand the necessity of immediate agreement.
The leaders of the Triplanet Powers are now meeting with others of our advance units, and they express extreme suspicion and alarm.
Our units are finding it difficult, in fact, to prevent them from detonating this planet instantly."
But the president agreed to a brief recess, for a conference with the defense minister and his scientific adviser behind the soundproof doors of an adjoining private office.
There Forester found the new paint drying, a dismal yellow-gray.
The ventilators had been turned off and the choking fumes of it turned him faint with illness as he stood hastily reporting White's warning.
"Mr. President," he finished desperately,
"I think we ought to keep these mechanicals out - at least until we can find out more about them and their 'service.'
I want to remind you, sir, that we still have Project Thunderbolt.
Instead of meekly giving up to the humanoids, I suggest that we fire a demonstration shot at some distant uninhabited satellite and send a warning note to the Triplanet Powers."
The old statesman hesitated, fumbling his withered yellow hands irresolutely together, and Forester knew that he longed for the confident assurance of little Major Steel.
"I'm afraid of war." His dim eyes blinked indecisively.
"And I'm afraid your demonstration shot would touch it off, or even trigger detonators here."
"That might be," Forester agreed uneasily.
"But at least, sir, I think we ought to stall somehow for time, until you can appoint a commission to investigate these mechanicals on some planet where their service is already established."
"I don't know." The old man twisted his gnarled fingers.
"Let's ask Steel-"
"Just a moment, sir!"
Forester broke in.
"I object very strongly to letting the mechanicals know anything about Project Thunderbolt, because I think we may need it against them."
"Possibly." The president shook his head uncertainly.
"But I don't know what to do."
A secret message, brought in by an excited male secretary, ended his agony of indecision.
The satellite observation stations above the atmosphere were reporting a swarm of huge unidentified spacecraft, already within territorial space and still approaching at enormous velocities from Sector Xanthic.
The president read the dispatch in a shaken voice, and then gasped apprehensively.
"Steel said we couldn't risk any delay."
The message fluttered out of his helpless fingers.
"That must be the Triplanet fleet, already invading our space."
"I think not, sir," Forester protested quietly.
"With those detonators, our human enemies have no more use for heavy spacecraft than we have.
And I believe the direction of Wing IV lies in Sector Xanthic."
His voice shuddered. "I believe, sir, that those ships are bringing the humanoid invasion!"
"Invasion?" The old man rubbed at his rheumy eyes, in blank bewilderment.
"Then I'll have to send for Steel-"
"Wait!" Forester broke in desperately.
"Excuse me, sir, but we can still destroy those ships with Project Thunderbolt.
I would suggest that you offer an ultimatum.
This thing Steel is apparently in direct communication with all the other humanoid units.
Why not tell him to stop those ships, until we can study these machines and their service?"