Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

26 : ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION That’s understandable. What it does to our friendship, neither of us can say as yet. Nothing, I hope. But that’s beside the point. Look—this has been nagging at me. You know, and I know, that the Agency started a long time ago. We know it was somehow illegal in nature then, though nobody knows precisely how. We both know what Earth government’s like. But, look—is there a chance, any chance, no matter how slim, that it’s gradually drifted over and become a secret government arm? I could understand this sort of thing, then.” Kaempfert looked at him silently for a minute. His eyes were weighing something, and at the same time they were aware of all the things Demaris had said, that night before he was shipped out. Then he shook his head slowly. ““No. No chance at all.” Demaris sighed and sat back in his chair for a moment. Then the anger returned to his face. ‘““Well, then—”’ “Thad,” Kaempfert said, “I want to show you something.” He got up from his desk. ““Come on.”” He squeezed between his desk and the next, and walked out into the front office with Demaris following him. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a key ring. Demaris watching him, frowning, as he unlocked a door. “Come on in,” Kaempfert said. Demaris walked through the door. They were in an empty closet. Kaempfert selected a new key, moved a section of molding, and unlocked the concealed door at the back of the closet. Demaris stepped through the door. He was in a small, bare office. There was no window. Kaempfert turned on the light. The office was stale and and musty. Dust lay thick and furry on the desk, the chair behind it, and the floor. Demaris spent a minute looking at it. Then he turned to Kaempfert. “So. There is no Old Man Sullivan.” Kaempfert shook his head. ““Not any more—not for fifteen years. That’s _when I quit being an operative. I’m the guy you mean when you talk about Sullivan.” | “I don’t get it—” “Sullivan was everything you’ve called him,” Kaempfert interrupted. ‘And the Agency never was, and is not now, constituted to be anything but a private, money-making enterprise. I run it.” Demaris shook his head and looked at Kaempfert without a trace of recognition. He began to speak, but Kaempfert cut him off again. “You'll get your chance. Now you tell me what the Agency does.” “T don’t follow you.” “The Agency,” Kaempfert explained patiently, “‘supplies Earthmen to do the military planning for all those races which can be reached by us. Right?” bigs foe ad ‘“What’s our military record?” 66 29 Perfect. Coniicbooks. conn