"The ship is going all the way out. We're not setting up another squatters' colony."

"You're counting a lot on that old ore-carrier."

"Everything we have is there."

"You think you can hold on long enough?"

"I hope so."

"So do I," Shaeffer said dispassionately. He gestured towards the island coming into existence ahead and below. "When we land there will be an agent of Verrick's waiting for you."

"Already?"

"Not an assassin. There's been no Challenge convention yet. This man is under fief to Verrick. A personal staff member named Herb Moore. He's been searched for weapons and passed. He just wants to talk to you."

"How do you know this?"

"During the last few minutes I've been getting the Corps headquarters. You have nothing to worry about: at least two of us will be with you when you talk to him."

"Suppose I don't want to talk?"

"That's your privilege."

Cartwright snapped off the television as the ship lowered over the magnetic grapples. "What do you recommend?"

"Hear what he has to say. It'll give you an idea what you're up against."

Herbert Moore was a handsome blond man in his early thirties. He rose gracefully as Cartwright, Shaeffer and two other Corpsmen entered the main lounge of the Directorate building.

"Greetings," Moore said to Shaeffer.

Shaeffer pushed open the doors to the inner offices and stood aside as Cartwright entered. This was the first time the new Quizmaster had seen his inheritance. He stood in the doorway, completely entranced by the sight.

He wandered over to the desk and touched the polished mahogany surface. "I had all the abstract significance figured out. Power to do this, power to do that. I had it all down in symbolized form, but the sight of this big desk——"