"A show!"  said the Grand Master, grimly. He  settled himself well into hisfurs,  and  one thin  hand  grasped  the iron  cudgel  he used  as a  cane.
"And gold, your Veneration.""And gold," agreed the Grand Master, carelessly.
Ponyets  set the  box  down and  opened it  with as  fine an  appearance ofconfidence  as he  could manage.  He felt  alone in  the face  of universalhostility; the way he  had felt out in space his first year. The semicircleof bearded  councilors who faced him  down, stared unpleasantly. Among themwas  Pherl, the  thin-faced favorite who  sat next  to the Grand  Master instiff  hostility.  Ponyets  had   met  him  once  already  and  marked  himimmediately  as   prime  enemy,  and,  as   a  consequence,  prime  victim.
Outside  the hall,  a small  army awaited  events. Ponyets  was effectivelyisolated from his ship;  he lacked any weapon, but his attempted bribe; andGorov was still a hostage.
He made the final adjustments on the clumsy monstrosity that had cost him aweek of  ingenuity, and prayed once again  that the lead-lined quartz wouldstand the strain.
"What is it?" asked the Grand Master.
"This," said Ponyets, stepping  back, "is a small device I have constructedmyself.""That is  obvious, but it is  not the information I want.  Is it one of theblack-magic abominations of your world?""It is nuclear in  nature, admitted Ponyets, gravely, "but none of you needtouch it, or have anything to do with it. It is for myself alone, and if itcontains   abominations,  I   take  the   foulness  of  it   upon  myself."The Grand  Master had raised his iron cane at  the machine in a threateninggesture and his lips  moved rapidly and silently in a purifying invocation.
The thin-faced councilor at  his right leaned towards him and his straggledred  mustache  approached  the Grand  Master's  ear.  The ancient  Askonianpetulantly shrugged himself free.
"And what  is the connection of  your instrument of evil  and the gold thatmay save your countryman's life?""With this  machine," began  Ponyets, as his  hand dropped softly  onto thecentral chamber  and caressed its hard, round flanks,  "I can turn the ironyou discard into gold of the finest quality. It is the only device known toman that will take iron ?the ugly iron, your Veneration, that props up thechair you sit in and the walls of this building ?and change it to shining,heavy, yellow gold."Ponyets felt  himself botching it. His usual  sales talk was smooth, facileand plausible;  but this limped like a shot-up space  wagon. But it was thecontent, not the form, that interested the Grand Master.
"So? Transmutation? Men have  been fools who have claimed the ability. Theyhave paid for their prying sacrilege.""Had they succeeded?""No."  The Grand Master  seemed coldly  amused. "Success at  producing goldwould have  been a crime that  carried its own antidote.  It is the attemptplus the  failure that is fatal.  Here, what can you  do with my staff?" Hepounded the floor with it.
"Your Veneration  will excuse me. My  device is a small  model, prepared bymyself, and your staff is too long."The Grand  Master's small  shining eye wandered and  stopped, "Randel, yourbuckles.  Come,   man,  they   shall  be  replaced  double   if  need  be."The buckles  passed down the line,  hand to hand. The  Grand Master weighedthem thoughtfully.
"Here," he said, and threw them to the floor.
Ponyets picked them up.  He tugged hard before the cylinder opened, and hiseyes blinked and squinted  with effort as he centered the buckles carefullyon  the anode  screen.  Later, it  would............