That brought me back to my first question. Who was this “they”? Who the holy hell were “they”?

The switchboard girl finally dug up Ricardo. He was irritated. “I’m in the middle of a faculty meeting, Bernie. Call you back?”

“Just listen a second,” I begged. “I’m in something, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. I’ve got to have some advice.”

Talking fast—I could hear a lot of big-shot voices in the background—I ran through the story from the time I’d called him in the morning. What Eksar looked like and smelled like, the funny portable color TV he had, the way he’d dropped all those Moon rights and gone charging off once he’d been sure of the Earth. What Morris Burlap had said, the suspicions I’d been building up, everything. “Only thing is,” I laughed a little to show that maybe I wasn’t really serious about it, “who am I to make such a deal, huh?”

He seemed to be thinking hard for a while. “I don’t know, Bernie, it’s possible. It does fit together. There’s the U.N. aspect.”

“U.N. aspect? Which U.N. aspect?”

“The U.N. aspect of the situation. The—uh—study of the U.N. on which we collaborated two years ago.” He was using double-talk because of the college people around him. But I got it. I got it.

Eksar must have known all along about the deal that Ricardo had thrown my way, getting rid of old, used-up office equipment for the United Nations here in New York. They’d given me what they called an authorizing document. In a file somewhere there was a piece of paper, United Nations stationery, saying that I was their authorized sales agent for surplus, second-hand equipment and installations.

Talk about a legal leg!

“You think it’ll stand up?” I asked Ricardo. “I can see how the Earth is second-hand equipment and installations. But surplus?”