A Science Fiction Novel

Planet of Light

By Raymond F. Jones

Jacket and Endpaper Designs by Alex Schomburg

Ceci/e Matschat, Editor Carl Carmer, Consulting Editor

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY PHILADELPHIA • TORONTO

Copyright,195S BY RAYMOND F. JONES

Copyright in Great Britain and in the British Dominions

and Possessions Copyright in the Republic of the Philippines

FIRST EDITION

Made in the United States of America L.C. Card #53-7339

For Richard

Other Books by the Same Author

Son of the Stars This Island Earth Renaissance Toymaker The Alien

Deep Space

MAN will reach the planets. There is no longer any doubt of this. When it will happen is yet unknown, but of those now at work on the venture, there are some who are almost certain to see its achievement during their lifetimes.

The planets of our Solar System offer little hope for finding forms of life as highly developed and with the intelligence of Man. There may be no life of any significance whatever, except that which is present on Earth. But there are other suns—as many as two billion, perhaps—in our own galaxy, and the galaxies themselves are innumerable. Somewhere in the Universe, out there in Deep Space, there are certainly other lives and other civilizations as high as Man's. Or higher.

Earth is a young world as events in civilization go. Man is a newborn infant when his time is measured on the cosmic calendar, by which life and death of the suns and galaxies are measured. There will be older worlds in Deep Space—worlds on which atomic energy was known when Neanderthal roamed the wilds. Someday Man will meet the inhabitants of these worlds.

After our own planets have been explored and exploited, our colonies set up on Mars and Venus, and trade in rare metals set up on Uranus, we will be standing once more upon the rim of a great barrier. Our eyes will be upon the sun's nearest neighbor in space. We will be devising ways to go there.

Alpha Centauri.Four light-years away.

The light by which we see this neighboring star in

1953 is the same that left there in 1949, just as the light by which we see the Great Galaxy of Andromeda started on its journey through space to Earth more than eight hundred thousand years ago—before Man even walked upon this planet. A look into space is a look into the depths of time.

To go to the stars we must find a way to conquer time as well as space. Four years to Alpha Centauri if we travel at the speed of light, 186,000 miles per second. Eight years there and eight back, if we could manage but half that speed. And Alpha Centauri is almost on our own doorstep. It would take 150,000 years to cross our own galaxy if we could do no better than the speed of light.

Man has licked the sound barrier. Someday he will conquer the "light barrier" in outer space, since this has now become the theoretical limit of speed attainable even with unlimited sources of power. But we will have to lick this formidable barrier, or relinquish the idea of getting to the stars—at least no further than our own cosmic back yard.

The breaking of the light barrier would in itself constitute a long story. Man, however, will inevitably accomplish this remarkable feat and meet peoples of those worlds which were already old when Earth was born.

These other-world peoples need not be the monsters they are often pictured. There is every reason why they should not be. Some may be monstrous in form —to our eyes at least—if they live in gravities many times our own and breathe atmospheres made of ammonia or nitrogen compounds, lethal to us. But their thoughts will not be monstrous, if they have existed long enough to establish firm contacts with other worlds. They will be co-operative despite their

outward form; otherwise survival would have been impossible.

Man's problem will be to make an adjustment to people whose civilizations are older and far more experienced than his own. The same standards will not apply to these worlds as those valued on Earth. We will have to learn new rules fast, or our contacts will end in disaster, for these older civilizations will have force available, and will not hesitate to use it if their community is threatened. The coming of Man might easily appear a threat, unless Man's behavior is changed in many ways.

It will not be easy to establish our place in such a Universe. Earthmen are accustomed to having things their own way. We look upon the Moon at night and envision ourselves staking out claims upon that lunar surface. We look toward Mars and imagine colonies of Earthmen struggling to maintain life and exploit the wealth of the red world. And so shall it be. In time, the Solar System will be ours, and Earth colonies will rule, perhaps, on every planet of the System.

But not everywhere will this be so.

Not in Deep Space, where Man may find himself but a youngster among graybeards.

This story is of what comes after the breaking of the "light barrier." ... Of a people who have come out of Deep Space to take Earthmen back as visitors to their home world, where it is established that those willing to learn can live together.

R. F. J.

Contents

CHAPTER                                                                                            PAGE

Deep Space............................................................ ..... vii

1.   The Call...................................................       1

2.  An Invitation.................................. ..... 10

3.     Decision.................................................. ..... 19

4.  To the Stars!..................................       29

5.     Are We Big Enough?.............................       38

6.  Reunion on Rorla...........................       49

7.  The Face of the Enemy................... ..... 60

8.  A Couple of Fine Felloios  ....  68

9.  The Barbarians...............................       78

10.    Party Games.................................. ..... 86

11.  Earthmen Aren't Snakes...................       98

12.  The Experts Decide  ......     108

13.  Under Arrest.................................. ..... 118

14.  Price of a Goal.............................. ..... 128

15.  Pursuit..........................................      136

16.  Benares Planet............................... ..... 147

17.  Capture.........................................      157

18.  Judgment......................................      167

19.  You Lied, Clonarl........................... .... 178

20.  Give Us the Gift.............................      189

21.  Something Has to Be Done ....     197

Chapter /rhe CM

ROM the main control desk of the radio lab, Ron Barron looked out across the runways of Crocker Air Base. Beyond the windows, the atmosphere was hazy with the dust of the hot, dry afternoon and the unceasing activity of planes taking off and landing. Near the control tower a big DC-6 waited, its engines idling while a jet fighter slipped out of the sky and skimmed the runway.

A voice sounded abruptly in the phones on Ron's head. "XED-140 calling Ron Barron."

Ron picked up the mike from the desk. "Ron Barron to XED-140. I hear you, General."

"We're ready for take-off now. As soon as we clear the field I'll switch on the IVP carrier. Are you ready forit?"

"Receiver and telemetering dummies are on," said Ron. "Everything's ready on this end."

"Fine. Give me a description as soon as failure sets in. Remember not to touch the recorders. I want a full trace this time from the beginning of the flight until we get back to the field."

Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw the DC-6 lumber forward, and he moved closer to the window. The phones on his ears deadened the sound of the engines but he could feel the vibration transmitted through the air and through the earth. He could feel within himself a great sense of force and motion as the plane crept forward upon the signal from the control tower and roared down the mile-long runway.

The ship's wheels began retracting and Ron turned back to the instrument panel. His attention was sup-

posed to be there, but he could never resist the sight of one of the big planes changing from a clumsy ground animal to a sleek ship of the air. He sat at the desk and drew the microphone closer to him.

Inside the laboratory ship now swiftly leaving the field behind, Lieutenant General Lewis Gillispie was seated before a quite similar panel of instruments. He touched his own microphone switch and his voice sounded again in Ron's ears.

"IVP on," he said.

Ron glanced quickly to the half-dozen recording instruments. The needles swung over simultaneously, each carrying a pen that left a fine red trace on the paper slowly unrolling beneath it.

"Response on all dummies," said Ron.

"Good enough so far," said Gillispie. "Well head north and see what happens when we get over the mountains."

Carefully, Ron watched the delicate red lines on the moving charts. He flashed an occasional glance to the score of meters mounted on the panel. As their * needles wavered critically he touched a knob now and then, his fingers making automatic, precise adjustments of the input signals received by the recording instruments from the receding plane. So far the functioning of the equipment was normal, but Ron knew it would not last. Within minutes the tracing of the pens would grow ragged, and the meter needles would dance erratically.

From thirty miles out Gillispie spoke again. "Any circuits beginning to show failure?"

"No, sir," replied Ron. "All of them still functioning."

"Maybe we've got it licked this time."

Ron knew it wasn't true, but he said nothing. His eye caught the wavering of a pen, and he reached out to steady it with an adjustment to the amplifier. There would be failure again, as there had been so many times before.

Maybe they weren't smart enough, he thought. Maybe there weren't any Earthmen smart enough to build and control equipment as intricate and powerful as this was supposed to be. Maybe it took minds that were able to devise ships which could cross interstellar space and communication systems that permitted people to speak instantaneously to each other over the vastness of light-years. That was the kind of minds that had developed IVP.

While his eyes watched the dials and his fingers made automatic adjustments to the controls, Ron's thoughts went back to the events which had resulted in their acquisition of the principles behind this equipment. He thought of Clonar, the boy of his own age, who alone survived the crash of an interstellar saucer-ship in the mountains above Longview. The fleet to which the ship belonged came from Rorla, a planet in the Great Galaxy of Andromeda, nearly a million light-years from Earth. As a result of their friendship, Clonar had left on Earth a few useful devices and some of the principles belonging to the sciences of the Rorlans, sciences far in advance of anything Earthmen had accomplished.

He would never see Clonar again. Regular communication was impractical over the vast distance separating them, Clonar had said. But Ron could never think of him without a hungry yearning that was almost agony rising up within him. Clonar had brought visions of the great deeps of space belonging only to those who knew how to navigate there. He had brought close to Ron the terrible beauty of great island universes and the ten hundred thousand flaming suns of each.

Ron forced these memories from his mind as the pens on two of the recorders dipped in frantic swings near the edge of the paper. He leaned sharply toward the microphone. "Numbers two and five out of control," he said. "Three is beginning to waver."

Gillispie grunted with disappointment. "No better than last time. Seventy-five miles away and fifteen thousand feet up. And we hoped to build round-the-world guided missiles around these circuits!"

The General was silent for a moment, but Ron could hear the sounds of the plane in his still-open mike circuit. Then Gillispie spoke in changed tones. "I've been thinking, Ron. Do you suppose Clonar held out on us after all? Do you suppose he withheld some essential information which makes it impossible to develop any stability in these circuits?"

"I'm sure he didn't hold back on us."

"Of course," murmured Gillispie. "You were the one who had faith in him. On the surface it looked as if you were justified, but sometimes I wonder— These things have been such an utter failure."

"The failure is in us," said Ron, "not in Clonar. If we had a third of his intellectual ability the answers would be obvious."

"There's no doubt of that! The only question is whether or not our difficulties were deliberately planted." Gillispie gave a long, deep breath that rattled the microphone. "It doesn't make any real difference where they came from. We have to get the bugs out if it takes the rest of our lives. With IVP, our guided missiles would be virtually invulnerable."

Ron wondered to himself if Gillispie might not be right. Clonar had known the uses to which Earthmen would put his technology. Rorlans had used their own science in peaceful exploration and commerce for a period longer than Man's recorded history. It was not fitting that the products of such a culture should be turned to the urgencies of war. But Gillispie always had a question no one had yet answered. "What else are we to do?" he asked.

When Clonar's ship was shot down by an atomic bullet from an unidentified Earth plane, it was ransacked for useful devices and principles—useful in a military sense. It was General Gillispie who yielded finally to Ron's pleas for a degree of sanity in dealing with Clonar as the only survivor of the vessel, and with the technology represented by the ship itself.

Among the most important devices and principles Clonar gave them, in return for help in calling his fleet for rescue, was the secret of the Rorlan interstellar communication system. The heart of it was the IVP generator, a device capable of generating a wave that traveled through space not merely at the speed of light but which had an almost infinite velocity of propagation. From this fact came the abbreviation of its name, IVP.

A gift of inestimable value from a military standpoint, the IVP was kept under top security and its military development made primary. General Gillispie himself took charge of the important project. Next to him was Ron Barron. Although only seventeen, Ron's close association with Clonar and his own natural abilities gave.him a command of IVP engineering no one else could duplicate. From him Gillispie expected the final development which would place IVP in control of round-the-world guided missiles, and eventually send a controlled rocket to the Moon and back.

Ron was aware of Gillispie's expectations, but he had doubts of their fulfilment. He did not seriously believe Clonar had held back essential knowledge from them, but Clonar might have assumed more understanding in the Earthmen than they possessed.

"One and six circuits gone now," said Ron. "The other can't last more than a few minutes."

"All right," sighed Gillispie. "We'll keep going until it fails. Let me know, and we'll start back."

Within the laboratory plane in which the General rode were transmission circuits like those used to control a guided missile. At Ron's desk were receiving circuits similar to the ones inside a guided missile or Moon rocket. Ron's dummy circuits were connected to the meters which showed how a missile would respond to the impulses from the IVP transmitter.

"Last one out," said Ron.

He stared blankly at the slowly unwinding charts with their now meaningless scrawls and at the dancing needles of the meters. He tried to imagine which of the thousand difficulties prevented the instruments from responding as they should. Designed to operate over a span of light-years, they could not be made to function properly at a distance greater than fifty or sixty miles. At a sudden new thought, Ron drew the mike to his lips again.

"Do you know what this looks like?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" said Gillispie.

"These circuits act the way you would expect if they were taken over by a powerful foreign IVP signal with an entirely different kind of pulsing."

"Impossible. There's no other IVP setup anywhere on Earth. We've got the only one there is." "Yeah—on Earth," said Ron. "What do you mean?"

"There's no guarantee we couldn't pick up stray IVP signals from out of space. It might be some aimless signal from one of the Rorlan ships, or maybe from some planet on which they have set up a base. Or maybe from another people entirely, who know how to build the same kind of equipment."

"We would have noticed any such signal at times when our receivers were on and our transmitters weren't," Gillispie objected.

"No," said Ron. "It might be that the interference is present only when our own transmitter is on to act as a booster, which it would do. It isn't like radio. Reception doesn't depend on frequencies but on stream number and spacing. That is a function not only of certain transmitter conditions, but also of the presence of other critical IVP streams. It might be this one is made to operate only as an interférer."

"Ron, you're letting your imagination carry you away," said Gillispie. "I don't think such a thing is possible."

"It is!" exclaimed Ron. "I'll show you on paper when you get back. Let me turn on the big transmitter for a minute and see if I can get any response."

"I'd rather you didn't. We're coming back now and I'd like the record of the trip complete, including the point of returning control when we get back into range. Turning on the transmitter will spoil the entire record."

"Please, sir," said Ron. "I know I'm right about the possibility of this thing. If someone is sending out an IVP stream that's merging with ours, it might be worth a great deal to us if we were actually able to establish communication with him."

General Gillispie's voice sounded weary but tolerant as he answered. "O.K. Go ahead if you want to. I suppose this particular test doesn't matter so very much. There'll be a thousand others before we re through. Better use manual control in turning on the big set. The time-delay relay was sticky when I last worked with it."

"Thanks," said Ron, "I will."

He placed the phones on the desk and hurried into the next room where a row of giant panels hid the complex circuits of the transmitter. It had been hoped this would guide the first round-the-world missile and send a controlled rocket to the Moon and back. It had been used in IVP operation by Clonar during the frantic appeal to his own people for immediate rescue.

Ron moved from panel to panel, timing himself by his watch in switching one circuit after another in proper sequence to give the big tubes time to warm up. Finally he threw the power to the output stage and returned to the control desk.

He switched the microphone output over to the big transmitter and changed the setting of the IVP receiver from the land of wave they had been using. Then, taking a deep breath, he began speaking slowly and deliberately into the mike. "Ron Barron of Earth calling. I hear your signal," he said. "Come in, please."

Three times he repeated it. He switched to the receiver and listened. Only the hiss and roar of the stars themselves-were heard in the phones. He added a heavy booster unit to the receiver and tried again.

As he switched back once more, the nape of his neck seemed to grow suddenly cold. A voice came through the noise—a voice that was understandable and agonizingly familiar in spite of its faintness.

"Ron—Ron Barron," the voice said. "Can you hear me? I'm calling from Rorla, the Planet of Light, my home world in Andromeda. This is Clonar, Ron. This is Clonar calling."

Chapter 2 An Invitation

riON grasped the microphone stand in a fierce, white-knuckled grip and leaned forward to adjust the I volume of the receiver with his other hand. He couldn't control the shakiness in his voice as he spoke. "Clonar—we never expected to hear from you again! Have you been trying to reach us for very long? This is Ron Barron. Go ahead, Clonar."

He switched over to receive and, once more, through the hissing star noise, he heard his friend's voice. "Yes, I've been trying to reach you for many days," said Clonar. "My only hope was that you were working with the communication system I gave you. Only by throwing in an interference stream did I have any chance to bring myself to your attention. Are you able to hear me?"

"Yes," said Ron. "It's very faint, and there's a lot of noise, but I can make you out. Go ahead, Clonar."

For an instant Ron allowed himself to think of the incredible distance over which their voices were traveling. The Great Galaxy was barely visible to the naked eye, and then only by rays of light which had left those vast suns more than eight hundred thousand years ago. Over the same distance he and Clonar were now speaking in an instant.

"Many things have changed since I last saw you," said Clonar. "I have learned much that I didn't know when I was a member of the expedition fleet that came to your galaxy.

"The Galactic Federation, of which my world is a member, is planning to establish permanent contact with distant systems such as yours. I didn't know this

when I was with the fleet. Preliminary to the necessary investigations, they wish to meet with typical members of cultures which were contacted by the expedition. Although all our records of Earth were destroyed in the crash of my ship, I have told them in detail of my experiences among you, and they have included Earth on the list to participate in the Conference.

"I have requested that you be the ones specifically invited to represent your world—you and your family, and, of course, Anne Martin. The Committee has agreed to this. I extend to you an invitation to visit my world as I was able to visit yours!"

Clonar stopped speaking, and Ron found himself unable to make an answer. His throat was tight and choked by the sudden immensity of this proposal. The vastness and wonder of space, which he thought had closed to him forever with Clonar's departure a year ago, was now suddenly thrown open again. He thought of Clonar s last-minute appeal as they parted: "You cannot imagine the things I could show you! We'll see ten thousand suns. There will be all the learning and mystery you have ever dreamed of. Come home with me!"

Going then would have been forever. Now Clonar said they could visit and return.

In the phones Clonar's voice came anxiously and with desperation. "Ron, did you hear me? Come in again, Ron. Tell me if you heard what I said."

Ron switched over and drew the microphone to his lips. "Yes, I heard you, Clonar." His voice was almost a whisper.

"Then tell me you will cornel I must know in order to notify the Captain of the ship picking up the delegates, and which will be in your galaxy soon."

Ron hesitated, almost in panic. "Clonar—I can't— I can't give you an answer on a moment's notice. I can't answer for my parents. For Anne and myself there's no question about our willingness to give almost anything to visit your home. But we have obligations to others, to our parents. I've got to talk with them before I can give you an answer. Can you give me a day and let me call you tomorrow?"

"There is almost no time," said Clonar. "Our ship will be near Earth in nine more of your days. I cannot contact you any more. I can't tie up this great amount of communication equipment any longer. You can understand it requires much more on our part to reach you, because your equipment is of small power.

"We'll plan it this way, Ron: the ship comes very near Earth in its travel between two other points. It will be no great task for the Captain to make a stop whether he picks you up or not. I will tell him to be prepared to meet you. If you decide to come, be at the point where the scout ship of my fleet stopped for me last year, in the mountains near your home. I will tell him to wait from one hour before noon to one hour after on the ninth day from today, your local time.

"I wish I could talk to you again, but this is the best I can do. If your parents will not come, you and Anne must come alone. There is great importance in this Conference. Many decisions made will affect Earth and its relationship to other worlds. Earth must have a representative. There is no one I could ask except you."

"Gillispie," said Ron.

"Perhaps," said Clonar, "if there were no one else. But he wouldn't be the best choice. I want you, Ron. You and Anne. Please come!"

Moments later the communication ceased, and Ron sat before the control panel staring unseeingly at the faces of the meters. The hissing of the IVP receiver in his ears continued unnoticed.

To the stars! he thought.

It couldn't be possible; it was only a dream he had experienced, he told himself, and now he was awake. He could not really have been talking to Clonar who lived on a planet in the Great Galaxy of Andromeda, almost a million light-years away.

His staring reverie was broken by a sudden roar in the sky. He stood up to look through the window. Gillispie's plane had passed over the building and was making a wide turn to settle on the far end of the runway. With a dazed feeling, Ron watched it land and taxi up to the area before the laboratory. General Gillispie emerged, calling instructions back to the two technicians still in the ship.

Ron took off his headset and laid it on the desk as the General came in the door of the lab.

**Why didn't you come back on the talk circuit?" asked Gillispie in annoyance. "I tried to raise you all the way home."

Tm sorry. I didn't hear you. I was—talking."

"Talking!With whom-?"

"Clonar," said Ron quietly. "Clonar called me. He called from Andromeda."

The General stared incredulously. Then he turned from Ron to the transmitter equipment in the other room, where Ron had forgotten to turn off the big tubes. When he looked at Ron again he saw that the boy's face was pale under the deep summer tan.

"Clonar!" he whispered. "You actually mean Clonar called from his home planet?"

Ron nodded. "That was our interference. We won't have any more of it. We wouldn't have had it before if we'd taken steps to cut out any other IVP stream. We didn't-"

"The devil with the interference! What did Clonar say? What did he want?"

"He invited me to his home, to Rorla, the Planet of Light, in Andromeda."

Ron told Gillispie in full what Clonar had said. When he was through, Gillispie sat down heavily in a chair and brushed his cap from his head.

"I thought I was pretty big stuff when I got into the Army a year under age," he said, "and now at the same point in your life you are going to visit a planet in another galaxy. I guess the big feats and great excitements of one generation will always be two-bit stuff to the next one. What I would give to make that trip myself! When will you leave?"

"There are my parents—" began Ron slowly.

"They wouldn't stand in the way of anything so immense."

"I don't know. The invitation was for them, too."

"I'd certainly be glad to pose as your father temporarily in case they turn it down," said Gillispie.

"Clonar said you would be acceptable. I asked him."

"No—it's your party, Ron. Yours and your parents' and Anne's. We'll see that you go. We'll persuade anybody and everybody who needs persuading until they can't refuse. But have you thought of the terrific significance of this thing? Have you thought what it really means?"

"I haven't thought about anything," said Ron. "I feel as if a sandbag had been dropped on my head from a third-story window."

Gillispie pulled his chair closer, and the weathered lines in his square, bronzed face seemed to deepen.

"This is what we thought we had when Clonar's ship crashed. We hoped for the secrets of his technology, and we got nothing but the minor details he was willing to give.

"But you cant possibly go to his world without picking up much valuable information. They are literally inviting you into a treasure house of the tools and technology Earth needs for its peace and prosperity and advancement."

"It may not be that easy," said Ron thoughtfully, "and there are other things besides tools and technology. Clonar said his people have been without war and poverty for longer than their history records. That is what we need to learn!"

"Their science and technology are all part of it," said Gillispie. "At any rate, youVe got to go. With only nine days, your preparations must start at once. Forget the work we had lined up for this afternoon. Tell Anne and your parents, and call me when you need help in the persuasion department. I've been known to be pretty good there."

"All right, if you don't mind. I'd kind of like a little time to think this over myself."

Outside the laboratory, Ron walked through the dust-filled air and hot sunlight toward the parking lot. His aluminum-bodied hot rod gleamed brightly as he drove away from the field. Clonar had liked the car, Ron thought. And Clonar had learned to drive it with the expertness of long experience in about three minutes flat. Ron wondered what it would be like to live on a planet of people who had such skill. It could be uncomfortable having your own shortcomings highlighted by contrast. But he felt Clonar's people would never deliberately embarrass Earthmen.

As he came into Longview at the end of the fifty-mile drive from Crocker Air Base, Ron turned toward the home of Anne Martin. Anne, his own age, had been with him through all of his previous experience with Clonar. When Ron had found him staggering in the forest near his wrecked ship, Anne was the one to go for Doc Smithers. And when Clonar finally departed in the small rescue ship, Anne stood by Ron's side, facing with him the finality of the parting.

He pulled up and stopped in front of the Martin home. Anne's mother greeted him at the door. "You'll find her in the back yard drying her hair," Mrs. Martin said. "Come through the house if you like."

"No, thanks, Mrs. Martin. I'll go around the walk."

He found Anne lying face down on a blanket on the grass. She was dressed in a sunsuit, and the loose tumble of hair about her head moved gently in the breeze. Ron sat down beside her and wondered if her closed eyes meant she was asleep.

"Scnnething dragged unconscious from the creek, no doubt," he said finally.

She jerked to a leaning position on her arms and then relaxed with a smile of relief. "You startled me! I must have fallen asleep."

He touched her shoulder with a moistened finger. "Considerably overdone, too. You'll be sleeping on your stomach for the next week."

"I wonder how long I've been here. Mother should have called me." She looked up uncertainly at the sky and then remembered the watch still on her arm. "Oh—it's after three o'clock, and I've got to be there at four. I can't talk to you now, Ron."

"What's all the rush? Where are you going to be at four?"

"Mr. Johnson. Didn't I tell you? He asked me to work in his drugstore. He's giving me extra pay to take the evening shift. He can't get any girls to take it because they want to have dates, but he figured I didn't need any more dates, having a boy friend already. Can you imagine such reasoning?"

"So you took the job," said Ron, spacing his words very carefully.

"Uh-huh. Why not? You've been working until nine every night since you started this project with Gillis-pie. I've been practically a widow. But Mr. Johnson said I can't feed you any more than four banana splits and three sodas a week. Free, that is."

Ron smiled at her exuberant face with its large brown eyes, and surrounded now by the tousled hair drifting in every direction with the breeze. He considered a moment how lucky he was, then his face sobered.

"I guess you'll have to tell Mr. Johnson you can't take the job, after all," he said.

"Can't take it! Ron Barron—if you're trying to tell me what I can do and what I can't do—" Then she saw his face. "What's the matter, Ron? What do you mean, I can't take it?"

"I had a message today," he said. "A message from an old friend of ours. From Clonar."

"Clonar!" She breathed the word in disbelief. "How could you get any message from Clonar? Where is he? What did he say?"

Ron told her of his experience. "He wants us to come there. You and I, and my folks and Francie. A visit this time, not permanently as he suggested before."

She was close to him now, facing him as his hand rested on her arm. But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes seemed focused on the same far visions that had swarmed in his own mind when he heard the voice of Clonar.

"We've got to go," she murmured. "We'd never forgive ourselves if we turned down his invitation. To travel through space to another galaxy! Think of what Clonar s people could teach us!"

"I've been thinking about nothing else ever since we met him. They could teach us how to live. They've been through the mill. Their civilization was old when we were still huddled in caves. That is the one thing which makes me certain we can't turn down the invitation."

They felt the slanting rays of the Sun, comfortable and reassuring in its steady flow of summer warmth. Ron wondered what the air and the sun would be like on a world not quite a million light-years away.

"What about your parents?" he asked gently. "Will they let you go?"

"You know what they'll say! Oh, Ron, how can we make them understand? How can we make them see the bigness and the importance of it? It's different with you. Your parents may not want to go, but they won't stand in your way. Not in the end, anyway. But I cant stay behind. There's no use kidding ourselves; it's entirely possible there might be no coming back from a trip of this kind—"

"Of course we'll come backl There's no sense in getting such a gloomy point of view."

"Don't try to be dishonest with me, either," said Anne. "You know there is such a possibility. For that alone, if for no other reason, you are not going without me."

Chapter 3 Decision

T was already four o'clock when Ron left Anne's house. Anne called Mr. Johnson to explain her lateness at the drugstore as due to an emergency. It was indeed an emergency, she thought, but she hated to break her promise to be there on time.

Ron was at a loss for a place to go. He had wanted to spend the afternoon with Anne, but they couldn't talk while she was waiting on customers at Mr. Johnson's fountain. Home wouldn't do, either, because he didn't want to explain to his mother about the invitation from Clonar without his father present.

He didn't know exactly how to break the news to his parents. He would have preferred telling his father alone, first, but his mother would be hurt. There was really only one way of doing it, he supposed—tell them at the same time. Dinnertime was as good a time as any.

This, however, was almost two hours away. On sudden inspiration, he turned his car east and drove up toward the hills beyond town. Near the spot where Clonar's ship had crashed, he left the car by the side of the road and walked to the narrow ravine in the woods he knew so well. There were scarcely any telltale marks. All trace of the wreckage had been removed by the Air Force.

One mark would be there for a long time, though, and Ron went to it now. In the earth beneath a narrow, outcropping ledge of rock were the unmarked graves of Clonar's father and brother, and of all the other crewmen who had died in the crash. They were

safe from vandals because only a few knew where the graves were.

Ron stood by the spot thinking how it must have been when these men set out upon their last voyage. They hadn't known what they would meet in the far depths of space. No one could ever know. This was what Anne saw, as he had told her about Clonar's invitation, Ron thought, and she had the courage to admit it. She wanted to go, no matter what they might find.

After a long time he left the ravine and returned to the road. He went a little beyond it to a clearing in the midst of the hills on the other side. Here was the rendezvous at which Clonar had said the pickup vessel would meet them.

Nine days. Nine more days, and he would be going-There was no doubt about his going, he thought. His parents would not stand in his way, as Anne had said. But would he be alone?

He had to admit he could scarcely see his parents setting out upon a journey to another planet. His father read the books of Richard Halliburton and Carveth Wells and Lowell Thomas, but he read them on long winter evenings by the comfortable fireplace in his own living room. His father was a busy and respected lawyer of Longview, but Ron could not see him in the role of adventurer.

Even less fit for such travel was his mother. She was president of the P. T. A., and she once had led a women's political committee to clean up some town scandal. Did a good job, too, but that was her life. That, and the supermarket, and getting his kid sister's teeth fixed at the dentist. Anne, of course, would not go without his parents.

Even with them, her going seemed hopeless. Mr. and Mrs. Martin were wonderful people. They had understood Anne's interest in Clonar, and the long hours she spent in the company of Ron and Clonar a year ago, but they were not the type to let their only daughter go to the ends of the Universe.

He would be alone, he thought. There would be no one to go with him. He respected and admired Gillispie, and he could even say now he loved the hard, military-minded General in a way. But he wouldn't want Gillispie to come with him. Basically, they were at cross-purposes. They always would be, no matter how closely they worked.

When he reached town it was after six and almost dinnertime. Ron realized he should have telephoned his mother. She was setting the table as he came in the back door.

She looked up at him with a smile. "I didn't know whether to prepare a place for you or not."

"We decided not to work late tonight. I should have let you know." He gave her a hug and sniffed at the biscuits just out of the oven. "I stopped to see Anne and sort of forgot about calling."

"We understand. Naturally, whenever you stop to see Anne you forget everything else."

"Please don't get like Francie, Mom. I can take her, but that's all."

"I'm sorry. You know there's no one I'd rather have you stop to see than Anne Martin. Wash up, and everything will be ready in a few moments."

Ron wandered through the house. His ten-year-old sister was lying on the floor reading the evening comics. He touched her foot with his shoe. "Hi, squirt. I think Mother could use you in the kitchen right about now. Hello, Dad," he said.

"Hello, son." Mr. Barron looked up from his paper. "Quitting early tonight or are you going back?"

"Knocked off for the day," said Ron.

He watched his father's face as he turned back to the paper. The late sunlight through the window seemed to set up a faint glow in George Barron's hair, and with a shock Ron realized how much gray there was in it. And in the last six months or so, without anyone noticing it particularly, he had been using his horn-rimmed spectacles for reading the evening paper. He had always boasted it was only old men who had to rely on them.

Ron noticed the thick brief case lying on the table nearby. His father's face looked tired, too. It wasn't going to be a good night to mention Clonar.

He washed and returned to the dining room where the rest of them had taken seats. At his father's invitation he said grace. When he finished, he looked up at the faces of the others about him and suddenly wanted very much to get it over with.

"How would you like to see Clonar again?" he asked abruptly.

"Clonar? It would be wonderful to see him again," said Mrs. Barron, "if we only could. What made you think of him tonight?"

"I talked with him today," said Ron. "He called me through the communication equipment of his we are using."

George Barron's eyes narrowed as he looked up from his plate with an almost jerky motion. "That's incredible I He told us there could be no further communication between our worlds."

"I know. It was quite a project on his part to reach us, but he obtained special emergency use of the necessary equipment."

"What kind of emergency is there to warrant contacting us?"

"An invitation.A chance for us to visit him on his world. All of us—and Anne. A ship will be available to pick us up in nine days."

The impact of this announcement left only Francie able to speak for a moment. "I'm going with you!" she exclaimed in a kind of desperate ecstacy. "If you are going to visit Clonar, I'm going with you. You can't leave me home."

George Barron leaned forward, laying his fork carefully on his plate. "You're joking, Ron. You can't be serious about this."

"I wouldn't joke, Dad. That's what actually happened. We've got the chance to go."

Mrs. Barron smiled and sighed. "I suppose it must be true. It's hard to realize. But the Barrons will hardly be taking any journey into space."

"Then I'm going with Ron and Anne," cried Francie. "I'm not going to miss out on the trip!"

"How long would we—supposing we accepted the invitation—how long would we be gone?" asked Ron's father. He had picked up his fork and was now eating very slowly, not looking at any of them as he spoke.

"I don't know. Clonar didn't say. I gathered the Conference is of rather indefinite length. The trip itself would take about three weeks each way, from what I remember of Clonar's statements a year ago."

Ron's mother put her hand on his arm and looked into his face with concern. "Ron, surely you don't expect your father and me even to consider such a journey. And certainly Anne's parents would not let her go. And you—" She stopped speaking.

"Yes, Mother—?" said Ron.

"You would want to go, of course," she finished, with sudden huskiness in her voice. "You'll have to give us time to think about it, Ron. It takes time for old people like your father and me to understand the meaning of such a proposal."

George Barron turned his attention from his plate. "When did we become such terribly ancient characters?" he said gruffly. "Forty-three isn't so old, even if I do have a little gray hair. And I haven't heard you publicly acknowledge forty yet, Mrs. B."

"I'm speaking symbolically, dear," said Mrs. Barron.

Ron understood the sudden turmoil that lay beneath their banter.

"Does Gillispie know of this?" said Mr. Barron.

Ron nodded. "I told him all about it."

"He thinks you should go, naturally."

"Yes, he does. As a matter of fact he would like to go himself, but Clonar would prefer us."

"Perhaps it would work out better if the General did go," said Ron's mother quietly, almost hopefully. "You two work well together."

Ron shifted in his chair. They were getting nowhere. "I don't want to be insistent or rude," he said earnestly, "but I wish you would ask yourselves why it is so impossible to consider going. I know what a shock the thought of such a trip must be to you, Mother, but this is an opportunity no other family in the world has ever experienced. I want us to go—as a family. I know we will have regrets for the rest of our lives if we turn it down.

"More than that, we have an obligation to go. An obligation to the whole world to find out, if we can, how the Rorlans can help us be better than we are. Clonar gave us a hint of what his people and his world must be like. We can't afford to turn down the opportunity to visit such a civilization.

"Don't give me your answer now. Think it over. Please consider seriously. Talk about it between yourselves and then let me know. Will you do that?"

Mrs. Barron smiled uncertainly. "All you say is perfectly true, Ron, but we are not the people for such an experience. I am not the person to do it. It doesn't belong to my pattern of living. Nothing in my forty years of life has prepared me for such adventure."

"Perhaps it would be worth-while making a little change in the pattern, Mom."

Mr. Barron had continued eating his meal in studied silence. "Do you think General Gillispie could find a litde time to talk to me if I drove out to the Base tomorrow?" he said finally.

"I'm sure he could." Ron felt a surge of exultation, but he forced himself to control his excitement. "The General would be very happy to talk to you."

"I'll go, then. In the meantime, perhaps it would be best if you said nothing to Anne's parents, unless she has already told them. You spoke to her about it, I suppose?"

"Yes. She wants to go. She says I won't get away without her."

"Only because you're her boy friend," said Francie. "She doesn't care about flying saucers and galaxies."

Later, Ron went out on the excuse of claiming one of the free banana splits available to him at Johnson's Drugstore. Actually he wanted to give his mother and father a chance to talk alone, and he hoped they would talk while he was gone.

Almost as soon as he went out the door, George Barron put aside the law briefs and took off his glasses. He looked across the room toward his wife, who was reading on the couch.

"Remember Borneo?" he asked suddenly.

Mrs. Barron looked up. "I knew you were thinking of that tonight. Does this make you wish we had gone?"

"I don't know. We could have. Things wouldn't have gone to pot as we feared at the time. We were young enough then. There would have been a place in the firm for me when we got back."

"I wonder whatever happened to Ralph Heuppel afterward?"

"Somebody told me he sold the films he made on the Borneo trip for a big price and ended up as a wealthy plantation owner somewhere, until he disappeared in the war."

"I remember how he sat up with us until almost dawn and begged us to go with him. You wanted to, didn't you?"

George Barron nodded. "It would have been fun, I guess. I used to read all the books of Richard Halliburton when I was in high school. I thought it the only kind of life for me. I can still remember the thrill I got from reading his account of jumping into the Sacred Well at Chichen Itza. I swore I would do the same someday. So I became a lawyer, spending my days behind a desk and in musty courtrooms."

"In order to provide for a family," added Mrs. Barron. "Are you very sorry about your decision?"

"Everyone has wild and foolish ideas when he's young," said Mr. Barron. "These always have to be compromised as we grow up in order to meet the realities of the world we live in."

He was silent and then rose and strode restlessly across the room and back. "I guess in some of us these wild, young imaginings never really die. I suppose they haven't in me at least, because, if you will forgive me, my dear, I actually believe it would be a sane and reasonable thing for us to accept this invitation of Clonar to visit his world."

Mrs. Barron remained sitting. Her breath caught for a moment, but she smiled calmly and said, "If that is what you want, we shall do it. I guess it's sort of like a last call for Borneo. Isn't that so, George?"

He nodded. "Something of the sort," he answered.

She waited for him to say something more, but he remained silent, not moving. Whether deliberately or not, his eyes seemed to be staring at the place on the bookshelves where the Halliburton books were kept.

"Have you ever told Ron about the Borneo chance?" she asked.

"No, I don't believe I ever did."

"He'd be surprised if he knew his father once had ambitions to swing a machete through the jungle."

"I can swing a machete as well as the next one!" George Barron said. "If there are any jungles on Rorla, I'll show you."

Mrs. Barron started to laugh. She felt unaccountably like laughing a great deal. Something which had been building up between them for twenty years seemed to have vanished abruptly. She got up from the couch and put her book away. "We had better go over and see the Martins," she said. "Getting permission for Anne to go is likely to take a long time."

When Ron took Anne home from the drugstore that evening he was greatly surprised to find his father's car parked in front of the Martin home.

"Looks like the folks came over to see your folks," he said. He felt his throat suddenly go dry. "I wonder —do you suppose they—?"

"What?" said Anne.

"You didn't tell your folks about Clonar?" No.

"I did mine. Maybe they're getting together to gang up on us. You know the arguments they could use. The plans you and I have made; they'll tell us I haven't any right to leave Earth with prospect of maybe never returning. They'll tell me I haven't got any sense of obligation toward you—"

"You don't know what they'll say," Anne told him.

"You'll back me up, won't you? You won't let them pull that line on us?"

She tried to laugh, but she was shaky at the thought of facing both their parents. "Take it easy, chum," she advised Ron. "The roof hasn't fallen in. Not yet, anyway."

Forever after, Ron remembered he felt as if it had fallen when he stepped inside the door. Mr. and Mrs. Martin were sitting on the couch opposite his parents who were in chairs across the room. Mrs. Martin's eyes were red, and Ron could see she had been crying. Anne's father had a grim look on his face.

But George Barron rose to greet them and extended his hands, smiling only enough to let them know tragedy was not at hand.

"We have news for you, youngsters," he said. "We have made our plans. The Barron family is going to Rorla en masse, and Mr. and Mrs. Martin have given their permission for Anne to accompany us."

Chapter 4 To the Stars!

HEN George Barron entered the radio laboratory at Crocker Air Base the next morning, he found General Gillispie seated at the control desk where Ron had worked with him. The General was apparently doing nothing but staring out the window at the routine landings and take-offs. A closer look would have shown he was not even consciously aware of the planes.

He jumped to his feet as he heard Mr. Barron's step, and extended a hand. "I was hoping I would be seeing you, Mr. Barron. You know, I suppose, what took place yesterday?"

Mr. Barron took a chair at the General's invitation and leaned forward with his arm on the desk. "Tell me, General Gillispie, do you think I am absolutely and completely crazy to consider taking my family on so fantastic a venture?"

Gillispie leaned back in his chair and smiled. "If you were to ask a hundred people on the streets of Longview, you would probably get one hundred affirmative answers. You are so crazy some courts would probably declare you irresponsible and look for a law by which they could lock you up. But if you ask a broken-down flyer by the name of Gillispie he will tell you it is probably the finest thing you have ever done or ever will do in your lifetime."

"I supposed that would be your answer, but I wanted to talk, anyway."

"The fools of one age are the heroes of the next," said Gillispie. "If it weren't for them we'd still be chipping flint outside the entrances to caves—and unless

we stir up a new batch of pioneers in pretty short order we'll be back in those caves."

"I don't feel much like a hero," said Mr. Barron, "but I might be pretty well qualified for the first classification."

"Don't get me wrong." Gillispie drew his chair closer, and his face became serious. "This is not going to be any Sunday picnic. It's dangerous. I wouldn't try to convince you otherwise. We know nothing of what human beings can expect out there in space. The Rorlans, Clonar's people, have been through interstellar space for generations, it is true.

"But they are not human beings. They are of a different species. We didn't get a chance to make an adequate examination of Clonar, but you know from the little Doc Smithers found out Rorlans have a tremendously different physical structure. They may have made adaptations to space flight we know nothing about. There may be other specific adaptations to fife on their own world, which human beings cannot make without discomfort or danger. It remains to be seen whether human beings can travel in space, particularly at speeds in excess of light, and whether they can exist on Rorla."

"You make it sound quite formidable," said George Barron.

"Only to be honest, not to discourage you. Not the least of the risks are the Rorlan people themselves. We know Clonar. We also know of the Commander of his space fleet, who so viciously ordered an attack on Earth and would have carried it out except for Clonar.

"In short, only a complete fool would consider taking his family on this journey. I hope I have not dissuaded you from being such a fool."

"I think not. I have already considered most of those objections. Somehow I am convinced this needs doing."

"It needs doing more than anything else in the world right now! It is only the ordinary, everyday fool who would protest your going, who would object to an attempt to obtain Rorlan science for our own.

"The answer is there. I'm convinced of it. Every military man in the country who can see farther than the end of his rifle has been praying for an answer of some kind to the present unbearable situation. The Rorlans have the solution, and apparently they are willing to give us a look at it. That is what you will be going for, Mr. Barron. Don't ever lose sight of our objective. You are going to try to find us a way out of the jam we're in."

"If it's there, as you believe, there is still the question of our ability to understand and bring home the answers. I wish you were going with us, but I presume their space aboard ship is closely rationed. I hope you will come and see us off, at any rate."

"I shall," promised Gillispie.

George Barron rose to leave and took the General's hand. "I thought I was right, but I wanted to be very sure you understood it's sometimes necessary to be a very foolish man in the ordinary sense of the word."

To close up the house and current law cases, turn the business over to his partners, and give out an adequate and plausible excuse for taking such a sudden departure, all within a period of nine days, was an enormous task for Mr. Barron. Ron admired the efficiency with which his father went about it.

Ron's own problems were comparatively minor.

He had to find storage for his car and care for Pete, his big collie, of whom Clonar had become so fond. There was his back-yard laboratory to close up and the shop, with the expensive machines and apparatus he had accumulated during a half-dozen years.

It was obvious they could not tell friends and neighbors the truth about their destination. Doing so would have opened a storm of debate about their heads. They would have been hounded by newsmen, and there would likely have been an official investigation ordered into their status as travelers and ambassadors to another planet.

General Gillispie agreed to the necessity for secrecy. Only two others were to be told. One was Dan Gibbons, the local AP man, who had co-operated with them so completely in putting Clonar's story accurately before the world a year earlier. Dan had the right to know, Ron thought, and he'd want pictures of the departure, against the time when it might become practical to release the story of the visit-when such visits between Earth and members of the Galactic Federation were routine.

The other person informed was Doc Smithers, who examined Clonar after the crash. Doc connived with them to the extent of verifying a story of having advised a world cruise for Mr. Barron's declining health. This was a considerable surprise to George Barron's associates who had watched him play handball recently!

On the final night before their departure, it was impossible for any of them to sleep very long. Ron took Anne to a late show, and then they went for a long walk through their neighborhood, until it became unreasonable to stay out any longer.

Mr. and Mrs. Martin were still up when the two got back to Anne's house. At the sound of their steps on the porch, her father came to the door and invited Ron in for a moment.

"Dad and I have been sitting here wondering what it's going to be like tomorrow night without Anne," said Mrs. Martin. "We have been trying to decide whether it was a great misfortune or a piece of wonderful luck when she was thrown into contact with Clonar through you."

Ron looked from one to the other. "I hope you will never feel it is a misfortune," he said. "Anne and I had to be in this together. I know you understand."

"Of course we do," said Anne's father a little gruffly, "but she's the only one we have. It's hard for us. We want you to understand, too."

"I do," said Ron. "Believe me, I do! I know what it would be like, planning without her."

Walking away from the house, under the starry sky, he looked up toward Andromeda. It was hard for him, but how much harder it must be for his parents' generation, to comprehend the reality of other living, intelligent beings out there, beings with whom men could now speak and visit. Mr. and Mrs. Martin were wonderful, he thought. He had never believed they would give their permission. Perhaps in some measure he could thank his father's courtroom abilities for persuading them. Whatever it was, he was grateful not to have had to go alone. Tomorrow they would be together—on their way to the stars!

The Barrons had told friends they were driving to the Coast, where their car would be stored. To carry out the secrecy of the trip, they started before sunrise and drove by a long, roundabout way which brought them to the rendezvous in the mountains a short while before the appointed time.

Dan Gibbons, Doc Smithers, General Gillispie, and Anne's parents were already there. It was planned to take the Barrons' car and store it in a nearby town until their return.

A sense of unreality overlay the gathering in the clearing. No one had much to say, and when they did speak it was almost in whispers, as if the great solemnity of the occasion must not be broken. The wind was cool when the big chunks of cumulous clouds hid the sun momentarily, and Mrs. Martin drew her coat around her. The grass stirred about their feet, and the pines on the nearby hills moved in the wind. All had the vague feeling that this might be a dream, after all.

"It makes you wonder if such a world as Rorla exists," Anne murmured, "or if there is even such a thing as the Great Galaxy of Andromeda."

Then they saw it. It was only a shimmering speck appearing over the hills, but there was no mistaking the familiar, disklike shape growing out of the speck. There was no exclamation from the watchers, only a simultaneous turning, as if all had seen it at the same instant.

The ship grew swiftly. It was a monstrous thing, whose shadow cut out the sky above them as it crossed the valley. Then it returned, lowering itself majestically until it hung a dozen feet from the ground, silent and motionless. A hatch popped open in the bottom center of the disk and a ladder slid out.

A stocky figure descended almost at once and advanced toward them. The face was square and firm, not unlike Gillispie's in the intensity of its lines. The man was clad in loose gray clothing consisting of blouse and trousers, as had been described to them by Clonar.

He stopped just under the edge of the disk. "I am Captain Welk," he said in perfect English. "I have come for those who are delegates to Rorla."

His English had been acquired from Clonar, Ron supposed, and it had probably taken him as much as ten or fifteen minutes to learn to speak it fluently.

The party of Earthmen separated slowly, those who were to go—and those who were to stay.

"I am George Barron," said Ron s father. One by one, he introduced the others. "This is my son, Ron, who received the communication from Clonar regarding the invitation."

With a brief, friendly smile, the Captain shook hands with each of them. "It is a pleasure," he said. "Clonar has told me much of your hospitality, and we are all grateful. His father was a much loved and honored man. If you are ready, we will depart at once."

Their bags were passed upward through another hatchway by a pair of crewmen under the Captain's direction.

Anne was held fiercely for a moment by her mother and father. Ron shook hands with those who remained behind.

"Keep your heart on the right side," said Doc Smithers. "Don't let it get mixed up with your gizzard while you're trying to become a Rorlan."

"I want the whole story when you get back," said Dan. "This will really be a scoop!" He backed away and took pictures of the group beneath the edge of the hovering ship.

Gillispie took Ron's hand in a hard grip. "Bring us back what we need," he said fervently. "Bring us something that will give us another hundred years* at least."

Inside the ship there were no ports for viewing, but an electronic screen showed the exterior scene with far greater clarity than television. This was located in a comfortable lounge to which the Captain led them.

They could not wave back, but from the slowly rising ship they saw the upturned faces of their friends searching the blank hull for some sort of farewell sign. Anne could not hold back a sob as she saw her mother and father dwindling on the screen. Ron felt a deep tightness within his throat as he looked at those whom he had known so intimately. Doc was waving, though he could see nothing to wave at. Dan was snapping pictures at a furious rate. Gillispie simply stood, staring upward, hopefully and longingly.

As the trees shrank in size and the view expanded, Ron saw the highway along which he had driven so many times in his hot rod. He began to see all of Longview, and the lake resort beyond, where Clonar had once demonstrated his fantastic swimming abilities, and where Anne had taught Clonar to dance.

The figures of their friends became lost; the Air Base became a discernible speck, and the curvature of the Earth was apparent. The planet appeared for a time as a pink-tinged bowl, then the sky darkened about them as they left the atmosphere and plunged into the depths of interstellar space.

They could not leave the screen, for the fascination of the scene held them as the whole Earth came into view and then dwindled. For a short time the

continents stood out, and it seemed as if they were looking at a giant globe only an arm's length away. Then this illusion vanished, too, and they were watching a slowly shrinking disk in the sky.

"Men have dreamed of this for ten thousand years," said George Barron. "How could we have wondered for a moment if we dared take the privilege of being the first to fulfil the dream?"

ChUptCV 5 Are We Big Enough?

(

OUR quarters are ready. I will be glad to show them to you whenever you like." They turned, startled by the sound of Captain Welk's voice. They had all but forgotten his presence. "Thanks," said George Barron. "We're ready now. I'm sorry we kept you waiting."

Welk smiled. "I never tire of it myself—the sight of a planet at take-off. You always wonder what the circumstances of your next sighting will be."

The suite of rooms to which the Captain led them was no stranger than a hotel suite in Longview or New York or Chicago. Even more surprising was the familiarity of its design and decoration. They realized it must have been done entirely from Clonar's observations during his visit to Earth.

Not merely were colors and general shapes right, but the dimensions of beds, chairs and tables, and all other objects seemed in exact and pleasing proportion.

"I hope this will be satisfactory," said the Captain. "As with each group of visitors, we have tried to duplicate your natural surroundings to the best of our knowledge.

"This entire sector of the ship is designed for visitors whose requirements are fairly similar with respect to gravity, air temperature and composition, pressure, and so on. It is exactly right for you here, but in some of the corridors conditions will vary somewhat. Do not be alarmed, for those will be average conditions suitable to all who are in this area.

"Stewards are on call for any service you require and to answer questions about the trip and the areas through which we pass. Because of the unique experience of Clonar among your people, I particularly hope to be able to make myself available to discuss further the purposes of the Conference and your coming."

He had taken from his pocket a number of small, unfamiliar objects which he now laid on a nearby table, except for one which he held out to Ron. "I have learned your language," he said, "and those of a few other groups here. But it is wholly impractical for everyone to attempt to master the language of all those with whom he wishes to speak. We do not do it on Rorla. Rather, we use these devices, which are worn just above the ear on the left side. These respond to the brain waves associated with the thought you wish to speak, instead of the air waves produced by your vocal cords. The basic semantic content of the brain waves is extracted and transmitted to the listener's device. His mind, in turn, supplies the language content to fit semantic concept. Each wearer of the device then has the illusion the other is speaking in the wearer's own language. We find them very useful in conducting the business of the Federation."

"I should think you would," murmured Ron. He fitted the translator to his own head, and the others did likewise.

Welk addressed them again. "You are not aware I am speaking in Rorlan, but I assure you I am. I—"

Ron took the device from his head and heard the Captain's speech change instantly from English to Rorlan. "I'll be doggoned," was all he could say.

When the Captain had gone and their luggage had been put away, there was a strange, what-do-we-donext stillness among the group. Francie broke it by leaping on the nearest bed with a whoop of delight. "Boy, is this soft! This is mine. Mine and Anne's. She's already said I could sleep with her while we're on the trip, didn't you, Anne?"

"Maybe we had better see what your mother has decided, first."

"That's perfectly all right," said Mrs. Barron. "If you don't think she will be too much trouble for you."

"Oh, no. Francie and I will get along fine."

"Suppose you girls take the far bedroom, then. Mr. Barron and I will occupy this one, and it looks as if Ron had found his headquarters already."

"I'll say I have," said Ron from the doorway. "Clonar must have laid this out himself. It's full of books and charts and photographs and miscellaneous gadgets and gimmicks of all kinds. He's no doubt prepared to razz the daylights out of me if I don't figure out each one of them before we land."

There was no motion discernible in the ship. After a day or two it became difficult to realize they were actually aboard a vessel and moving through the absolute cold and dark of space many times faster than light. All inertia effects due to motion had been canceled out, and the gravity to each compartment supplied in exactly normal quantity, as Captain Welk had said.

At the end of the first forty-eight hours aboard, George Barron began to breathe a little easier. He had been remembering General Gillispie's warning that space flight as Rorlans knew it might be wholly unsuitable to Earthmen. But apparently the Rorlans were well aware of the problems involved in transporting foreign species through space, and had provided adequately. The Earthmen were suffering no ill effects.

The absence of portholes in the ship was explained by Ligon, one of the stewards assigned to their sector. "Normal cruising velocity is always higher than the speed of light," he said. "Direct vision of external objects is impossible, due to the distortion of light rays caused by the ship's speed. All navigation is by instrument, so portholes are simply eliminated."

Instead of portholes, instruments were provided in each compartment, somewhat similar to navigation instruments, so the exterior scene could be observed by those who wish to do so for entertainment or study. Ligon showed them how to use the one in the living room of their suite. Not only did it permit them to view the star fields beyond the ship, but it had magnification better than the two-hundred-inch telescope of Mount Palomar. With it, their vision could reach for many millions of light-years in every direction except in a small area behind them. Earth astronomers would have exchanged many years of their lives for the same privilege.

With the help of the star chart Clonar had provided, Ron selected some of the more spectacular objects to show his family. He turned it first to their destination, the Great Galaxy of Andromeda. The spiral arms of the nebula stood out on the screen in a white blaze. There was an illusion of three-dimensional depth and of movement seeming to be felt rather than seen.

Francie gasped aloud as the galaxy came to focus on the screen. "This is better than television!"

Andromeda was far better in detail than any photograph Ron had ever seen. Individual stars were not merged in single masses of light, but stood out with definition that showed the incredible number of them. He pointed out other nebulae and great star clusters, and also the great dark nebula in Orion, a vast cloud of dust silhouetted against the blaze of great suns behind it.

Much of their time was spent before the screen-Ron's for study, and the others' because it was the most fascinating thing they had ever seen. The old, familiar constellations in the sky were slowly shifting until their configurations at last became hopelessly changed. With these changes in the familiar marks of the sky itself, they were able to accept the reality of moving through the dark wastes between the worlds at an incredible speed.

During the first two days, Ron was absorbed in the newness of the surroundings and in the situation of their flight. He had tensed all the deep, inner parts of his being in anticipation of any possible emergency or shock. Rut nothing had occurred to place any demand on this tension, and slowly he found himself relaxing. Just when he seemed fully relaxed, the shock came.

It was the shock of discovering the size to which Earth had shrunk, not only in the viewing screens, but in his own mind. The galaxies, the immense star clusters, the black clouds of interstellar dust in which the Solar System would be lost—these had shriveled Earth for him, he thought. The sheer contrast in size with these leviathan creations reduced Earth to a piece of gravel.

But size meant nothing, distance was of no significance, if it measured only lifelessness and disuse. It was not this that brought an overwhelming recognition of Earth's dwarf state. It was the slowly understood reality that these seeming waste places were not lifeless. Rather, they were the habitations and the roving places of countless species of which Man was but one.

This was the shock—to see, for the first time, Man lost in an endless horde of fellow species.

One more stop had to be made before setting the final course for Andromeda. It occurred during the morning of the third day. Ligon pointed this out on the star charts as they approached, and showed them where to find it on the viewer. For more than an hour before landing they watched the planet. It was covered entirely by a greenish fog so dense the surface was completely hidden.

The navigation screens were equipped to cut through such obstructions, but it was only as the ship settled slowly through the heavy atmosphere that the Earthmen got glimpses of the world they were approaching.

Through breaks in the billowing green fog they saw dwellings like conical beehives stacked one on top of another, and apparently made of the gray mud which composed the surface of the planet itself. Then, when the vessel held motionless to take on the delegates, the Earthmen caught sight of the newcomers.

The creatures were globular and of a greenish-yellow tinge much lighter than the fog surrounding them. They walked on four feet with a peculiar waddling motion that twisted them from side to side as they moved.

The Earthmen huddled close to the screen. Mrs. Barron, who had stayed in bed with a slight cold, got up to watch.

"You look up at the stars at night,*' said Ron in a flat voice, little more than a whisper, "and you think you understand what it means to know there are other planets with living, intelligent creatures on them in environments which would kill us in a moment. But this is it, and you can never really know until you see it."

George Barron swallowed hard. "They're going to be at the Conference with us!"

"Yeah," said Ron. "We're going to swap ideas with them. And back home there are guys who don't like other people with a different shade of skin."

The lower hatch clanged shut with a faintly perceptible vibration and was sealed. Ron knew that somewhere within the depths of the ship the strangers were being led to a compartment filled with a steamy, green fog, through which a man could barely see. He imagined pressure there was many times the atmosphere of Earth and gravity was heavy, for the planet had looked big.

With the vessel once more on its course for Andromeda, Mrs. Barron turned away to the bedroom. Her face was pale, but her expression kept Ron from making any comment. He recalled the impact which Clonar's six-fingered hands had made on her the year before.

"You can bring on anything you like," she said. "I can take it now. Anything!"

Ron's father moved about restlessly after they turned off the screen. "I'm going to visit the lounge the Captain told us about," he said. "It's time we explored a little. Anybody want to go with me?"

Francie had gone back to look at the picture books in Ron's room, which fascinated her with scenes of Rorla and other worlds. Anne said, "I believe I should stay with Mrs. Barron. I think she would rather not be left alone for a while. You go with your father if you like, Ron. We'll stay here and read." "I think I will," said Ron.

The gravity increased slightly as they moved along the corridor and their steps slowed. "I wish we could go down and have a look at those creatures who just came aboard," said Mr. Barron, "but I don't suppose it would be possible."

Ron looked down at the floor, following the tips of his shoes with his eyes. There was a faint smile at the corners of his mouth. "You're going to have to watch yourself, Dad. Remember how Mother called Clonar 'a creature' when I brought him home?"

"Yes, I guess I will," agreed George Barron.

"It could be that those who just came aboard are the most intelligent and the most valuable of all of us here, in the eyes of the Galactic Federation."

"Possibly. But there's another side to this business of attitudes. They may have some shifting of viewpoint to do also. I don't think the whole burden of change is on us. They may have a very difficult time accepting you and me as anything but gadget-loving aborigines."

"I suppose it's a universal difficulty of all forms of life to accept fully any other radically different form," said Ron. "That is not the point. The point is, can we as individuals and as a race accomplish it? Are we going to be big enough to do it? Can Earthmen ever be big enough to sit down with those globular, fog-breathing characters and discuss the mutual problems of the Universe? It's almost asking for the impossible."

"We have come here to try to make it possible. That is our purpose, is it not?" replied Mr. Barron,

The doors of the lounge were double, forming an air lock to hold in the slightly higher pressure of the room. Ron and his father looked through the transparent doors at the strange and foreign beings seated about in various-sized chairs. Some wore translators and were in animated conversation with one another. Others were reading from unfamiliar material, and some merely sat.

George Barron paused with his hand across his stomach. "I don't feel up to talking with any of them at the moment. I think I'll go back."

"We wouldn't have to talk," said Ron. "We can sit for a while like some of the others."

"They'd think we were staring at them."

"They'd be staring at us. Let's ask the steward about the customs."

The uniformed attendant inside the lock was smiling and at attention, as if to wait on them should they desire to enter. Ron pushed open the outer door and they entered the lock. With a moment's waiting, the air pressure rose to equal that inside the lounge. They yawned to adjust their eardrums. Then the steward opened the inner door.

"May I be of service?"

"We are new," said Ron. "Would it be considered rude if we merely sat in here without offering to undertake any conversation immediately?"

"Not at all. Complete freedom to accept or reject communication is the custom. You may find seats suitable to your species near the viewing screen. There are games on this side of the room, which you may find rather fascinating and within the range of your abilities."

George Barron turned sharply at the implication there were games quite beyond their abilities, but the steward remained smiling.

"Thanks," said Ron. "I think we'll just sit down and give ourselves a chance to be seen, as well as to observe our companions."

There were about twenty other individuals in the room. Since they occupied this particular sector of the ship in common, they were all roughly like Earth-men in form and able to endure similar gravities, temperatures, pressures, and atmospheres. The similarity did not extend much beyond this. Several had varying numbers of fingers. At least one had a double forearm. There were some with no hair at all, which seemed normal for them. Two different species had their visible skin area covered with soft, downy fur. Clothing varied from the very brief harness worn by one of the furred individuals to a complete Arab-style wrapping, including the veil.

"I've complained about my handsomeness, or lack of it, a number of times in my life," commented George Barron, "but I don't see anyone here with whom I would trade looks at the moment."

"And I'll bet there's no one who would be willing to trade with us," chuckled Ron. "It's all a matter of what a person has been used to all his life. I wonder—"

His sentence was broken by the sudden appearance of Anne at the door of the lounge. She ran toward them. "Ron—Mr. Barron, isn't Francie with you? We can't find her anywhere."

Ron jerked up from the deep chair. "We haven't seen her. She was busy with picture books when we left the quarters. Didn't you see her leave?"

"No. We've asked the stewards to look. They sup-

posed she had followed you. Now we don't know where to look. She's liable to go anywhere. She might go into one of the sectors where the atmosphere would kill her."

"I'm sure the barriers between the sectors are not so easily crossed," said Mr. Barron with uncertain confidence. "But she could not completely vanish into thin air,"

Chapter 6 Reunion on Rorla

111 HEN they reached their suite again they found Mrs. 141 Barron up and moving nervously about the living Vy room. "Didn't you find her?" she said, as they f | entered.

"No," said Ron, "but don't worry, Mother. You get back in bed and we'll find her. She couldn't come to any harm."

"I'm going to stay up until she's found."

"Did the stewards say they would begin a search?" Ron asked Anne.

"Yes. They said not to worry, she was sure to be found. I don't blame your mother for worrying in such strange surroundings."

"You stay with Mom," Ron said to her. "Dad, why don't you look around the corridors on your own? I'll go down and see if I can reach the Captain to make sure the search goes on as rapidly as possible."

"I can't understand where she could have gone," said George Barron. "There are no places along the corridors where a person could become lost. But we'll do as you suggest, Ron. Go ahead and see if you can find the Captain."

When they had first entered the ship, Ron obtained a fair idea of the relationship between their sector and the navigation and control rooms at the hub of the disk. The Earthmen's corridor was open all the way to the center, because they shared native environment with the Rorlans.

The hub of the ship was a tremendous center of activity. It was surrounded by transparent panels which made nearly all portions of it visible from the

concentric passageway around it. At the entrance Ron found his way barred by a steward, but he explained his purpose and asked for permission to talk with Captain Welk. The steward took him at once to an inner room and asked him to sit down.

Ron accepted the chair by a desk. Through an open door he could see the Captain busy before a complex panel of instruments, apparently communication equipment. On the screen was the face of another Rorlan with whom the Captain was talking. Some of the swift, melodious flow of the Rorlan language came to Ron's ears.

He paid little attention to it for a moment. Although the ones speaking did not wear translators, Ron knew enough of the language to catch words automatically as the conversation came through the buzz of activity surrounding him. Captain Welk was reporting to Rorla on his final pickups of delegates.

Then Ron's body stiffened as if from electric shock. A coldness and numbness passed over him as he strained to catch every word. The Rorlan on the screen was saying "—unfortunate we had to accept the Earth-men. They will be a great source of trouble. That is one group we could certainly do without. But we shall take every precaution to see they cause as little damage as possible. Watch them."

By this time Ron seemed to have lost all capacity for motion. He was dimly aware of Welk's answering assurance that he would see to it the Earthmen did not get out of hand.

The Captain was approaching then, and Ron made an effort to rise and to force the stiffness out of his face. Welk had apparently forgotten or perhaps never knew Ron had an understanding of Rorlan, for he gave no sign of concern that Ron might have overheard the conversation. His expression, however, was withdrawn, as if weighing the warning of the unknown man on Rorla. Ron was certain his handshake was restrained and less friendly than before.

"I dislike bothering you about this, but we are extremely worried," began Ron. Quickly he explained about Francie's disappearance. "We are afraid she may have wandered into some possible danger zone."

Welk looked puzzled, and his vague hostility seemed momentarily forgotten. "There's almost no place she could enter from your corridor, except the other passengers' suites. You say the stewards are looking?"

"Yes. It didn't occur to us she may have gone to some other suite. Would there be any danger if she had wandered into a stranger's room?"

"No. I'm certain there wouldn't. I'll make a personal check on the progress of the search. I suggest you return to your own rooms, and if she shows up send me word at once."

"We'll do that. Thanks very much," said Ron.

He turned and almost ran from the operations center. In the corridor he slowed his steps. A sick panic was growing within him. He thought of the immense distance which separated them even now from Earth, a distance which was to become so great Earth would seem lost and nonexistent. Only the Rorlans would have power to bring it into reality again. And on Rorla there was opposition and enmity awaiting them.

He leaned against the corridor wall, weak with a sudden sense of helplessness and loneliness. For the first time he wished his family and Anne had not come. Alone, he would have been willing to face whatever awaited him, but he had persuaded them to come on the assumption they would receive a universal welcome.

He wondered about the identity of the man to whom Captain Welk reported. He was obviously a man of authority on Rorla, but his expression of opposition was irrational. There was no one on Rorla who knew anything of Earth except Clonar. Ron would know that thin, dark face when he saw it again. His first task on Rorla would be to discover the identity of the man who believed Earthmen were "—one group we could certainly do without."

Slowly he resumed walking, debating how much to tell the others. He had no right to keep it from them, not from his father and Anne, anyway.

Inside the door of their quarters he asked, "Has she come back yet?"

George Barron had returned. He shook his head. "I went as far as I could. There's absolutely no place she could be hiding. Did you see the Captain?"

"Yes. We'll have to wait. He said he—"

Abruptly, the door opened behind Ron. He heard his mother's shrill scream, and whirled about. Standing there was Francie, and holding her by the hand was a small nightmare creature about her own size.

"This is Judith," said Francie. "We can talk to each other. I found her in the hall and she asked me to her place to play for a while. Now we want to play here. Is it all right if I ask her for supper? She can eat almost anything I can, she says."

The others made no answer. Mrs. Barron seemed frozen. The creature, Judith, was mud-gray and looked more like an octopus than anything else. Thin legs tapered to curled appendages serving as feet. There were only two of these, but there were four arms, each ending in a single curled tentacle which served as a hand. It was one of these tentacles Judith had entwined tightly about Francie's hand.

The face and head were a little lighter in color than the rest of the body. The huge, lidless eyes stared constantly, but the one appealing feature was the curious little mouth set rather low on the face and which wore a faint smile.

"I know I am different from you," said Judith, "but you will learn to like me after while. Francie and I are going to be good friends."

"Can she stay for supper, Mama?"

"Yes, yes, of course," murmured Mrs. Barron weakly. "We'll be happy to have your little friend with us. But I ought to punish you, Francie, for going away without telling us. We have been worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I forgot. I won't do it again."

"I'm sure you won't," said Anne, who had now fully recovered.

Mrs. Barron returned to the bedroom and began dressing to prepare dinner. "You better get back to bed," said George Barron. "Your cold is going to get worse if you stay up."

"My cold is absolutely all gone," said Mrs. Barron flatly. "It simply couldn't take another day like this one.

She went to bed early anyway, after Francie's little friend had left, and Francie herself was asleep. Ron sat with his father and Anne before the viewer, watching a new dark nebula.

Ron found himself trembling as he started to tell them what he had overheard, but he went ahead anyhow. "I found out something today," he said. "I don't want Mother to know, unless you think she should, Dad." He described the severe face he had seen on the screen and the conversation between Captain Welk and the unknown man of Rorla. "I don't know who he was or why he said it," Ron finished, "but when we arrive on Rorla we can be sure there is someone who most actively opposes our coming."

"This is very disturbing," said Mr. Barron, after a pause. "I had the impression that we had the wholehearted approval of the Rorlans. Captain Welk and the stewards have given no indication of adverse feelings toward us."

"Nothing Clonar told me gave any hint something like this would turn up," said Ron. "If I'd known earlier, I would never have suggested any of you coming with me."

"It's not your fault. If that's the kind of reception we're going to get, however, it may turn out to be a very unpleasant experience, to say the least. I wish now your mother and the girls weren't along."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else!" said Anne. "We'll ask Clonar when we get there. He won't let anything spoil it for us."

Ron observed, though he made no comment about it, that Captain Welk never did fulfil his expressed intention of further visits during the voyage, to explain the work of the Federation. Ron supposed his father was aware of this also, but there was little purpose in mentioning it.

During the following days, they spent their time viewing the wonders of the Universe past which they sped, and in getting acquainted with the other passengers aboard. They exchanged information with their fantastic fellow travelers regarding the home worlds of each. Ron became especially fond of the individual with double forearms, and of the ones covered with downy fur. The former taught him a fascinating game similar to three-dimensional chess, played in a special compartment where gravity was completely removed from the actual game area. This made it possible simply to hang the pieces in space, without bothering to rest them on stacked boards. His friend even let Ron win a time or two.

It was a climactic occasion, however, when the Earthmen entertained the family of Francie's little friend, Judith, at dinner. Mrs. Barron proposed it herself, and Ron and his father kept their fingers crossed when they heard she had actually issued the invitation. They didn't think she was aware that the adults were seven and a half feet tall, but she said she knew it all the time, and it didn't matter anyway.

It didn't seem to. George Barron was astonished at his own ease with Judith's father. They sat together for an hour before dinner discussing the books and pictures which had been furnished by the Rorlans.

In the kitchen, Judith's mother watched with fascinated interest while Anne and Mrs. Barron prepared the meal. She even offered to help with the salad and went to her own quarters for some special oils used on her world.

After the guests had left, Ron slapped his mother gently on the back and grinned. "We're going to make it, Mom. We really are!"

They watched the planet, Rorla, grow into reality on their screen. As they drew near, the Great Galaxy began to lose definition. The spiral arms were lost to view, and the core of the nebula became a blazing field of individual suns. The one to which Rorla belonged was located near the tip of one of the arms, somewhat similar to Earth's position in its own galaxy.

The ship's velocity dipped below the speed of light as they approached the thick field of suns and planetary systems. George Barron was entranced by the passage of new suns, each seemingly like the last. By the thousands and tens of thousands, they sped past the ship.

"I don't see how they navigate through such a star field," he said. "That alone is an almost unbelievable accomplishment."

"It's comparatively easy here," said Ron. "Ligon told me they simply home on an IVP beam from a station on Rorla."

"Yes, but they can't use this method elsewhere, as in coming to Earth. There are nearly as many suns in our own galaxy as there are here. How could they find ours among the billions when they had only the report of the first expedition to go by?"

Ron shook his head. "It's part of the technology I hope we may have for our own someday."

When the vessel came within range of the Rorlan System an announcement was given throughout the ship. Ron felt all viewing screens must be turned toward that sun and its surrounding worlds. There were thirteen planets, and Rorla was the sixth in order from the sun. This sun was much hotter than Earth's, Clonar had told them, but Rorla was farther from it, making the temperature of the planet not greatly different from that of Earth.

Ron turned up the magnification and swung the viewer to Rorla. Unfamiliar continental outlines sprang into view. Unlike Earth, Rorla had land surface predominating, and the oceans were comparatively small. The color of the planet's disk was green, but it was lighter, not the green of Earth. Ron felt a sudden disappointment, looking upon Clonar's world, as if an expected friend had turned out to be a stranger.

He glanced aside at the faces of the others and recognized in them, too, a trace of the same disappointment. He knew what they had been doing. Each of them had kidded himself into believing it was not a strange, far land to which they were going. Because Clonar was their friend, they had supposed his world would be another Earth. The loneliness and far darkness of space had made them believe it. But now they were here, and it wasn't true. They were in a stranger's land—eight hundred thousand light-years from home.

And Ron thought of the unknown enemy who resented their coming.

Their packing was completed. It was only minutes until landing time. Rorla grew on the screen, and then, sweeping low, the ship circled the entire planet. They saw vast green acreages and timbered mountains with occasional snow-capped peaks. The water of the seas was a strange green. Nowhere did they see any barrenness of desert areas.

"They have certainly learned to use every square inch of their planet," said Mr. Barron in admiration. "We could learn a few things from them about agriculture, if nothing else."

"There are no national boundaries, either," said Ron, "which is another important thing to learn."

"I wonder which came first, the breaking down of national barriers, or the efficient utilization of the whole planet."

In a moment the crewmen came for their luggage, and a warning sounded for the landing.

"You people in this sector will leave first," said

their steward, Ligon, as he came in. "All others require special disembarkation facilities. Please follow me to the landing port."

Hand in hand with Anne, Ron walked behind his parents and Francie as they followed Ligon. Once he looked back through the open door of their quarters. There was an unexpected nostalgia in leaving the ship. For the last three weeks, they had come to depend on it for life and protection through the cold wastes of interstellar space.

Some of the others in their sector were already at the port, including Judith and her family. Francie and Judith gripped hand to tentacle. "I'll see you after we land," said Francie. "We'll have fun while we're here!"

Then the hatch opened and they were moving down the ramp to the ground below the hovering ship. Ron walked slowly to the edge of sunlight where the vessel's shadow ended. He took a deep breath and scanned the scene before him. For the first time he understood how Clonar had felt when threatened with exile on Earth. There was no home beyond the planet where a man was born.

The scene beyond the spaceport was like a fairy city reaching into the sky. Great buildings, bound together with a lacework of upper-level causeways, glistened in the sunlight. Mistiness from the sea hung over them, and it seemed as if their tops might stretch endlessly to heights beyond the clouds. The buildings were the color of coral, and, for a moment, Ron could believe the whole mass was newly risen out of the sea.

Nearby, a stream of traffic moved between the land and the sky. Over the broad field, landings were being made at less than minute intervals. Most of

the ships were Rorlan saucer vessels, but there were others, too. There were spherical ships and streamlined rocket shapes, and Ron was startled by the roar as a pair of the latter took off. Their thunder was archaic here.

Passengers moved in a ceaseless flow between the ships and the terminal building. Inside the building, Ron glimpsed the moving cylinders of cars that seemed to emerge from deep tunnels and descend again. He remembered Clonar's description of the pneumo-tubes that cut through the planet almost to its core in the transfer of passengers from one locale to another.

There was no stillness anywhere. Even the city itself seemed to be in motion as tiny, bright figures crawled upon the fairy lacework between the spires. And darting ships wove carefully between them like golden bugs.

A sudden cry startled Ron and brought him out of his reverie of wonder. There was movement in the nearby crowd of people watching the disembarkation. Then he heard his name. "Ron! Anne!"

He whirled at the sound of the voice. It was one he would have recognized anywhere in all the Universe.

"Clonar!"

The two boys rushed together in a violent embrace, clapping each other on the back and laughing uproariously.

"I never thought a day like this would come," said Ron.

"Listen—I had to go politicking through half the galaxy to get you here, boy. You'd better appreciate it!"

Chapter 7 TheFace of the Enemy

[

OR the first time Ron realized the magnitude of the feeling within him. Seeing Clonar again was like having someone come back from the dead, a reprieve where no reprieve had been thought possible. Brothers could be no closer than he and Clonar had become in their short acquaintance a year before.

When they released each other, Clonar turned, linking arms with him. "Let me see the rest of the folks. Did they all come? I want you to meet my family, too."

Francie ran squealing toward him and he caught her, lifting her high in the air. "Put me down!" she cried.

"Remember how you thought I was a monster when I came to your house, because I had one more finger on my hands than you had? Promise you won't go around calling people monsters any more?"

"Of course not! I'm more grown-up, now. You should see my girl friend, the one we met on the ship. She doesn't have any regular hands at all."

Clonar lowered her to the ground as the others came up. "I was hoping so much you would come," he said to Anne. "There is someone I especially want you to meet."

He shook hands with Ron's parents. "I hardly dared hope you would come, but I kept wishing you might. It's going to be a pleasure to try to return your hospitality."

He turned away for a moment to the group he had left at the edge of the area. "My family is all here,"

he said. "Won't you come and meet them, and then we'll go to our house?"

Clonar's mother was an imposing-looking woman, youthful and tall. Her hair was very dark, bound with a plain clip, and it hung freely at the back of her neck.

"Mietla, my mother," said Clonar. One by one, he introduced his friends from Earth. With his mother were his sister, Nixie, a little younger than Francie, and Bolo, his brother, a year or two older than Nixie. Both families were wearing their translators.

Ron observed that Bolo had the characteristic close mat of hair on his head, which seemed peculiar to the Rorlan males. Nixie's hair was long and dark, like her mother's.

Near them was a slim girl almost as tall as Clonar. "This is Nanine," said Clonar. "She is the one I told you about, Anne. I hope you will be very good friends."

"I'm sure we will," Anne said, smiling at the dark-haired girl.

"What I want first," said Nanine, "are some dancing lessons. Clonar says Rorlan girls are as clumsy as fish on the sand in comparison with Earth girls in their attempts to dance. I'm very jealous, but personally, I think it's Clonar who doesn't know how to teach what he thinks he knows."

"We'll have to get together," said Anne. "We'll show him who's the clumsy one." She imagined it would be difficult to find anything but grace in the slender Nanine.

"Let's go to the house and get settled," said Clonar. A worried expression crossed his mother's face. She spoke rapidly. Ron missed some of her words, but he gathered she was concerned about checking with someone before bringing the Earthmen to the house. Someone named Tenarg.

Clonar shook his head. "This is our affair. These are our guests. Tenarg has nothing to do with their coming."

Ron made no comment on what he had overheard, but continued walking with Anne and his family in the direction taken by Clonar. Whatever was the source of Mietla's uncertainty and her disagreement with Clonar would become apparent soon enough.

Francie skipped along beside Nixie and Bolo. Then she gave a sudden shout as she glanced back. Her fingers pointed frantically. "Look! Is it a circus?"

They all stopped and turned. A line of wheeled vehicles was moving away in single file from the spaceship. Most of these were rectangular boxes with transparent sides. Inside were visible various-sized creatures of fantastic shapes.

Ron shook her arm. "Francie!"

She looked up at him with a start. "Oh, I forgot." She subsided in childish embarrassment. "It's the other passengers on the ship, I forgot."

Clonar smiled and patted her head. "It's all right. You got used to me, and to your little friend, Judith. You'll get used to them, too. Quite a problem, isn't it? All of us trying to learn how to run the Universe together, and yet going around calling each other freaks and monsters and circus exhibits. You needn't feel bad, Francie, because we look the same to some of them as they do to us.

"See that three-eyed little fellow with the long ears! I'll bet he's thinking you're the ugliest little critter that ever came out of space."

Ron watched as the train of special carriers moved slowly away. He understood that particular conditions of temperature, gravity, and atmosphere had to be provided so these visitors could live in comfort during their stay on Rorla. From the wagons they would be taken to permanent quarters provided with environment specially prepared for them as it was aboard ship and in these carriers. Among the last to pass were the ungainly oval creatures in the greenish fog, who had been picked up after the Earthmen.

"Sometimes I need a good pinch, myself," Ron murmured to Clonar.

"We all do. We never get completely used to it. I've walked on at least a hundred planets like those represented here. But I've still got a long way to go to think of them as brothers."

They resumed walking, Francie moving backward to keep her eye on the train. "Where are they going?" she asked.

"To the colony," Clonar answered. "A special village has been built at the edge of the city to house all delegates to the Conference. Quarters suitable to each race are located there."

"Perhaps that is where we should be going," suggested George Barron. "We don't wish to impose on you."

"You are our guests," said Clonar firmly. "I owe you a great deal, and I must have the privilege of repaying a small part of the debt while you are here." But the tension of his lips told Ron there was very great dispute somewhere about their prospective presence in his home.

They came to a car parked at the edge of the spaceport. Clonar opened the door and waited for them to enter, while Ron tried to absorb the details of the car's construction at a single glance. He noted the ellipsoidal shape and the transparency that extended almost all the way around the body. The only familiarity was in the wheels; the tires resembled very much the rubber tires of automobiles.

Ron entered last and sat beside Clonar in the front seat, watching while his friend pushed a pattern of buttons on the panel in front of them. The car began moving forward, and Clonar sat back against the seat, relaxing without attention to the controls.

"No hands?" said Ron.

Clonar grinned. "No hands. We could hardly trust manual steering at the speeds and volume of traffic on our roads. Each car you see on the highway is linked to an electronic beam which guides it to its destination and synchronizes its motion with that of other cars so there is no chance of collision. On our fast lanes we use speeds upward of two hundred miles per hour/'

They passed along the edge of the city, by the seashore. It was called Parea, Clonar told them, and it was spread out along an arm of land encompassing a huge natural harbor of the green waters. The road followed the curvature of the beach, and soon they left the harbor and the spaceport behind. Ron leaned back. The speed of the car was almost hypnotic. The sun was bright upon an alien landscape. Home was far away. It was like a blow—remembering how far.

He put the thought away and tried to concentrate on the scene about him, but could not hold his attention to it. The memory of the conversation aboard the spaceship forced itself upon him. He had to get somewhere alone with Clonar and ask for an explanation.

Clonar's home overlooked the sea and a white, sandy beach. It stood on the brow of a low cliff, which was covered with lawn and flowers on the broad plateau behind the house.

As he brought the car to a stop, Clonar said, "It will be a little time yet before your luggage comes up, but I will show you to your rooms. You may rest if you like, or get acquainted with the place before you settle down."

As it turned out, Mrs. Barron was interested in the house and the garden, and Francie went along with her while Mietla showed them the flowers native to Rorla. The others settled in the living room overlooking the sea. Through the open windows they heard the gentle wash of the waves on the beach.

"What we all want to know," Ron said, "is more about the Galactic Federation and this Conference. Exactly what is the purpose of our coming? Can you tell us, Clonar?"

"The flight which carried me to Earth was sponsored by the Federation and conducted by Rorla," said Clonar, "to survey additional civilizations which would be invited to participate in Federation activities.

"It must be understood you are not considered political representatives in any sense; rather you are invited as—well, as typical friends. It is the desire of the Federation to acquaint you with each other, and for the Federation to become acquainted with you. The Federation wants to know how you live and think. It wants you to learn about each other. The Conference is for a mutual exchange of information. Future contacts will be made upon official levels. That was not necessary at this stage."

There was something wrong, Ron thought. Clonar was in too much of a hurry to conclude his reasons, and he wasn't looking at them as he talked.

"You told us a year ago," said Ron, "if your ship had not crashed there would have been no contact

with our people. How was it planned, then, to issue an invitation at a later time?"

Clonar fumbled for words. "Well, I—I'm not exactly sure, Ron. You understand I was only a technological assistant on my father's ship. I was not aware of all the orders and instructions he had been given."

"But you knew he had no orders to land."

"Yes, as far as I knew, he had none."

Ron leaned forward. "Look—please give it to us straight. We can take it. We've got a right to know how we stand. Frankly, I have an idea we don't stand too well."

Clonar smiled faintly and relaxed the strained expression on his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried to keep anything back. I apologize for doing it. Here's the way it stands: The plans for the Conference were well developed before I heard anything about it. I learned that no one from Earth was to be picked up. I intervened, and it was through my persuasion you were finally invited to come."

George Barron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I see," he said solemnly. "Can you tell us why we were to have been left off the list of the chosen, while all the others with whom we have traveled were to be invited?"

"You have asked me, but do not be offended at the answer I must give you," said Clonar. "Earth was not to be invited because its civilization was considered insufficiently high to be included."

Too barbaric for civilized company! Ron thought. He had suspected some such answer. Little Judith's family was civilized enough; so were the globular creatures who lived in the world of green fog. But not Earthmen.

"So you are here," said Clonar, "in spite of all the

opposition and prejudice against you. I fought for a place for you. I told them you were worthy of it. I hope you will vindicate my word. It's your chance to make a jump of many generations in your culture. I hope you will not fail to take advantage of it."

"Thanks," said Ron in a low voice. "That's a lot better. Thanks for getting us the chance, too. We'll try not to muff it.

"We know well enough what you can teach us. Gillispie told me before we left to 'bring back something that will give us another hundred years.' Our best people have no illusions about the mess we have made of our opportunities. I only hope you have not jeopardized your position among your own people in order to help us."

"There will be no inconvenience to me. They respect my convictions—even if they should prove wrong."

"They won't. We knew there was opposition to our coming almost as soon as the ship left Earth. I overheard Captain Welk's conversation with someone on Rorla, who said we were one group they could certainly do without." Ron described the man he had seen. "Do you know who this might be?" he asked.

Clonar's face seemed to lose a little of its color. He nodded slowly. "Yes, I know him. Tenarg. He is the man in charge of the colony of delegates. He is an expert in relations with people alien to Rorla because he has had so much experience with them. He was the Commander of the fleet in which my father's ship came to Earth. It was Tenarg who made the decision that Earth ought to be wiped out. He has not changed his opinion."

Chapter 8 A Coupleof Fine Fellows

T should have been obvious, Ron thought. The Fleet Commander who had preferred destruction of Earth, rather than salvage of it, was obviously the one person on Rorla who had reason to oppose their coming. It was a bitter coincidence he should also be in charge of the colony of delegates. Ron was glad their opposition was no longer unknown, however, and since they were staying at the house of Clonar, it might be possible to avoid contact with Tenarg almost completely.

In the evening an excellent dinner was served by Mietla and Nanine. The Rorlan foods were strange to the taste of the Earthmen, but Clonar had suggested those which he knew would be appetizing.

As dusk came, Ron separated himself from the group and went out to the gardens to watch the sun lowering in the western sea. He was aware of a great exhaustion that seemed to make it difficult even to think. There was a great deal of thinking to be done. He considered the task he had set for himself, the gathering of sufficient wisdom to take home to Earth —wisdom great enough to teach his people how to live together.

He almost felt like laughing aloud. Ron Barron, freshly graduated from Longview High, U. S. A.! By what right did he suppose he was capable of finding and bringing back such momentous secrets to Earth?

He didn't laugh. He had as much right as the next guy. And about as much ability. If anybody did it, it would have to be some little guy like him. They were

all in the same pot together; no one seemed to know much more than anyone else about how to get out. Gillispie's only hope was for something that would enable him to smack down the enemy before the enemy hit him.

Where were the secrets he needed? They would be diffused throughout the whole planet, in all the culture of this people. What he wanted was the experience of all their ancient course of living. How could he bind that in a package and take it home?

He couldn't, he knew, but maybe they had managed to package it for themselves. Perhaps their philosophers, historians, and scientists had been able to distil the essence of what made them great and peaceful and prosperous, and had put it in a package he could carry home. These were the ones he would have to see; tomorrow he would ask Clonar where to begin.

As he scanned the sea and sky, a movement on the beach road caught his eye. He saw a car turning up the winding drive leading to the house. It disappeared for a moment behind a projection of the cliff and then rolled into the yard.

It was occupied by a single individual who got out at once and stood a moment glancing in Ron's direction. Ron caught his eye, and for a seemingly endless space of time the two stood rigid watching each other.

It was the man whose face Ron had seen on the screen in Captain Welk's communication room. It was Tenarg, the Fleet Commander, and Director of the delegate colony.

Ron approached him with outstretched hand. "I am Ron Barron, of Earth," he said in Rorlan. "I recognize you as Tenarg, who led the fleet that brought Clonar to Earth."

Stiffly, the man touched Ron's hand with his fingers. His mouth broke in a thin line of distaste. "Yes, I am Tenarg," he said. Then he turned on his heel and strode toward the house.

Disturbed, Ron watched him go. He debated following, but decided against it. Tenarg's business at this place could not concern him.

The brightness had gone out of the sky, but the breakers on the beach still showed white tips. Some of Clonar's neighbors were surf bathing, and he could see a few far out, moving with the fantastic speed characteristic of the Rorlan swimmers. Suddenly he heard his name called from the house.

Clonar stood in the doorway as Ron glanced about. They approached each other on the lawn. "I was afraid of this, Ron," said Clonar unhappily. "Tenarg has made official objections to our keeping you here. I'm afraid it will be impossible, after all, to spend your stay on Rorla with us."

"I saw him arrive," said Ron. "I don't understand. What has he got to do with our staying here?"

"He claims all delegates must be housed in the colony. If exceptions are made, there will be a fuss from others who would also expect private housing. Maybe he's right. I don't know. I'm terribly sorry, Ron, but there seems to be nothing I can do about it."

"That's all right," said Ron. "I'm sure it's no great tragedy if we live there instead of here, although we certainly appreciate your wanting us. It's not so bad as when you came to Earth. We practically threw you in jail! Not to mention the beating you took."

Clonar smiled faintly in remembrance. "Earthmen have no monopoly on bad manners. Tenarg will provide you with an example of our worst. He can't hurt you, but he can make things disagreeable. Be sure to let me know if he does. I can still put on a little pressure in the right places."

"We'll be all right. I suppose our luggage was sent over to the colony?"

"Tenarg saw to it as soon as he discovered you had come out here. When you are ready, I'll drive you over."

Tenarg came out while they were talking. He spoke a few words to Clonar in Rorlan, which were too fast for Ron to understand. Then he got in the car and drove off. Ron and Clonar returned to the house.

George Barron was pacing before the living-room window in a state of agitation. "I didn't understand all that fellow had to say," he said, "but he was certainly unpleasant about it. Clonar tells me we have to move. Official regulations."

It was plain Clonar's mother was disturbed, but she said nothing except to bid them good-by with a hope they would be able to return soon.

Nanine, too, was unhappy to see them go. "I still want some dancing lessons," she said to Anne.

The delegates' colony was almost a small city in itself, at the edge of Parea, with a high wall enclosing it. The apartment to which the Earthmen were brought was luxurious, more generously so than the quarters Clonar could offer them. It was obvious again he had been consulted in the matter of providing for their needs.

"Maybe it's for the best, after all," he said. "They can take better care of you here than I could at my place."

"Except we won't have our friends nearby," said Ron. "We'll be able to visit, I hope. How about communication? Do you have anything like a telephone?"

"Yes** said Clonar. He indicated a panel on the wall and pressed a button to open it. "Here's a directory. These push buttons correspond to your dialing system. You can have voice and vision, or voice only. You can read our language well enough to find me in the directory, but I'll write my number on the cover so you will have it."

"That's the way we do at home," said Francie. "Mama writes all over our phone book."

While Clonar was there, a steward came to acquaint them with the methods of applying for various services, including food supplies, and contacting other members of the colony. He told them an adviser would be assigned to assist in the details of their conduct in the colony and at the Conference.

Their quarters consisted of an entire house. It was comfortably arranged with living and dining quarters downstairs, and sleeping rooms above. There was little sleep for the Earthmen that night, however. The forced move had induced an atmosphere of tension and suspicion and uneasiness. Clonar's home and the friendship of his family had provided welcome relief from the strain of their far journey. Now it was gone, and they felt wholly at the mercy of unfriendly strangers.

From his bedroom window, Ron could glimpse the beach between the intervening buildings. He was up long before dawn, and stood watching the sun gradually light up the water and the white sand. Already there were Rorlans swimming and at play on the beach. He wondered if he and his family would get the same privilege.

As he left his room, he met Anne coming out of hers, which she shared again with Francie. "Couldn't sleep, either,** Anne grinned. "How about you?"

"It's too early to tell, but just between you and me, I think I'm getting pretty burned up."

"How about a walk around town before breakfast while we talk about it? Nobody else seems to be up."

"Suits me. By 'town' you mean the colony, of course. I understand they lock the gates on us at curfew."

The air was fresh and brisk, and the sunlight had a special brilliance in the dustless atmosphere. Anne breathed deeply. "As good as back home!"

"Yeah, all except for the high walls. I was wondering this morning what would happen if we went up to this character, Tenarg, and told him we were going to live exactly where we please, as long as we have a place open to us. Wonder what he'd do?"

"Probably turn some kind of little green light on us and reduce us to a pile of pink dust."

"No. I'm serious. I'd really like to know whether we are actually in jail or not!"

"Well, I'd say it doesn't matter very much," said Anne. "Sure, Tenarg is contemptible, but there's no point in our getting wound up in a hassle with him. That's not why we came. If we let him sidetrack us, we'll waste all our energies and end up knowing no more when we get back to Longview than when we left. I'd say we can afford to ignore him as a rather stupid nuisance, while we concentrate on getting what we came for."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but I'd still like to punch him in the nose. Barbarian—huh!"

The streets were almost deserted at that hour, except for a single individual who was lumbering in their direction with apparent difficulty. As he approached, they noticed he looked like a great bear, being covered with short, brown fur from head to foot. Like the Rorlans, he had six fingers on each hand. His ears were rather human in shape, and the fur did not entirely cover his face but left the baby-pink skin exposed.

He hailed them with a gruffness expected from such a creature. Ron and Anne quickly switched on their translators. "So they finally got you rounded up," said the stranger. "We were making bets on it last night. What time did you get in?"

"About eight o'clock—if you understand our time," said Ron.

"That's about right. I told them you wouldn't be able to last any longer. Not with Tenarg on your trail. By the way, I'm Borah. You probably haven't heard of me. Come from Haddon's Galaxy, about a hundred thousand light-years in the opposite direction from you."

Ron extended his hand. "I'm Ron Barron, and this is Anne Martin, of Earth. But you seem to know us."

"By reputation only. There was quite a ruckus among some of the folks when they found out you were going to live in the city."

"You mean they actually got sore? Tenarg wasn't kidding?" said Ron.

"Some of them got real mad. Felt if you were an ordinary delegate you ought to act like a delegate."

Ron laughed out loud. "Maybe Earthmen don't stack up so bad in comparison with these super-civilized characters, after all!"

"You bet you don't!" said Borah. "Don't let them scare you. The rest of them aren't so smart. You'll see. In fact, this whole Conference of muddleheads is nothing but a failure right from the start."

"What's the matter with it?" said Ron.

"Nine out of ten delegates have only one idea in their brains, and that idea is to grab off as much as they can and lug it back home to gloat over. To them, the Federation is nothing but a free dinner bag, and everybody's out to get his hand in first.

'Out my way we've had space flight a long time, about fifteen generations. I've see these attempts to organize spurt up before. They always end up with everybody falling flat on his face."

"But this Galactic Federation is successful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Borah admitted reluctantly. "I've got to hand it to them. I suppose it was bound to happen that a batch of real honest, upper-class civilizations would get together and promote their own welfare. But this is their big error—this business of trying to pull in all us lesser fry who aren't ready for it yet. You're not, and I'm not, and neither are any of the rest of these heavy-footed, cyanide-breathing characters in this menagerie."

Borah shook his head dismally, and his great furry form paused in their slow walk. "Gotta sit down here a minute," he said huskily. He plumped down on the edge of the walk, with his back against a building. His huge chest heaved rapidly and the pink of his face had shaded toward purple.

"What is it?" asked Anne anxiously. "Can we help you?"

"It's nothing. I'm not supposed to be walking around like this. Supposed to wear a suit, but I can't stand the thing. This air is only forty per cent deficient in oxygen, but the gravity is light, so I manage if I rest once in a while. I don't like wearing a suit!

"Now look at that pair over there. Imagine how uncomfortable they are." Ron and Anne glanced across the wide street. Two suited individuals were also apparently exploring their surroundings. One had a completely transparent helmet which seemed filled with a faintly pinkish atmosphere. The other had only a broad faceplate, which gave Ron and Anne no view of his features.

"Happen to know those characters," said Borah. "Met 'em on Rodney Four once. Beats me how they happen to get in as delegates. Two of the meanest animals ever got loose in space. The hairless one in the open globe is Athol, the other one is Barmese."

"What's the matter with them?" inquired Anne. "What's mean about them?"

"Everything. They're outlaws. They'll steal, fight, kill, and they'll go away from this Conference loaded with anything and everything they can lay their hands on. However they came to be invited—" Borah shook his great head slowly from side to side.

They spent the rest of the morning in the company of the bearlike delegate. Cynic though he was, Borah was an amiable companion, and to Ron and Anne there seemed to be a good deal of honesty beneath his cynicism.

At last, around noontime, Borah came to a halt. "Guess I'll have to give it up. This fight air makes me dizzy. I'm not the man I used to be. But I want to see you again. I want to hear more about this planet of yours."

"Be glad to," said Ron. "Well see you later."

When they reached the house, Mrs. Barron and Francie had everything on the table for lunch. "It looked as if we were going to eat alone," said Mrs. Barron. "Where have you been all morning, and where is your father?"

"I haven't seen Dad," said Ron. "Isn't he around? We had a long visit with a chap who is first cousin to a grizzly bear. He thinks—"

At that moment the front door opened and George

Barron walked in. He was whistling softly, and he tossed his hat on the table with a jaunty throw. "Hi-ho, everybody," he said. "It looks like I'm right on time. You'll have to get out in some of this beautiful spring air, Mother. Wonderful out there this morning."

"George Barron!" said Ron's mother. "What in the world have you been doing?"

"I've had a very exhilarating experience this morning. Met a couple of wonderful fellows and spent hours with them. Never thought I could do it, to tell you the truth. Neither of them can walk around without suits. Yes, sir, it's quite an experience to make such contacts. Adventuresome fellows, too. They're going to come over to the house later and you can see what fine fellows they are. Wonderful to listen to. Their names are a little difficult, something like the Three Musketeers—let me see now—Barmese and Athol, their names are."

ChdptCt P TheBarbarians

ON understood his father's feeling. It was indeed something of a personal triumph to establish communication and friendship with these aliens. He decided against repeating the warning of Borah, at least for the time being. He had no more reason for believing Borah than accepting Barmese and Athol at face value, except for his own personal feelings that the bearlike delegate was more to be trusted than the unpleasant-looking characters in suits.

With gusto Mr. Barron repeated tales of spacecraft and adventure which his new friends had related to him. It appeared these two were genuine swashbucklers of the old school, but it would not be hard to shift the characterizations slightly and make pirates of them instead of simplehearted adventurers. Ron decided he would mention Borah's warning quite emphatically at a later time.

After lunch, the adviser to their delegation called at the house. Ron met him at the door. "I am Engon," he said in perfect English. "May I come in?"

He was a young man, apparently about thirty, dressed in the conventional soft gray clothing worn by most of the men on Rorla whom Ron had seen.

"You know us, I suppose," said Ron. "I am Ron Barron." He invited the adviser to sit down, and brought in the rest of his family and Anne.

After introductions, Engon sat with them in the sunlit living room. "Tomorrow is the opening day of the Conference," he said. "I want to tell you something about it. As you can understand, not everyone can meet in a single hall. Those requiring special con-

ditions remain in their own quarters and participate by instrument. Those of you who do not, may come to the central hall or participate from here by instrument, as you wish."

"I'd like to go," said Mrs. Barron. "I want to see and hear what is going on."

"Fine," said Engon. "You must realize the actual assembly will appear small to you, but there will be several hundred delegates participating."

The adviser looked down at his hands a moment before continuing. "The most difficult thing I have to tell you is that in such matters as come up for the vote of the assembly you will not be allowed to submit an opinion. Your presence here does not carry with it the privilege of the vote."

"Why not?" demanded George Barron. "If there is general voting among the members of the Conference, why should we not be permitted to participate?"

"In the Federation's contacts with outside civilizations," said Engon, "we make certain classifications depending upon the achievements of the civilization. In order to participate in matters which affect the action of the Federation itself, a certain level of achievement is required. There are four or five planets represented here which have not reached the required point. Unfortunately, Earth happens to be one of them."

There was silence, and then George Barron said, "Maybe our coming was a mistake after all. Maybe Clonar was too zealous on our behalf."

"You may be sure the final decision to invite you included other factors besides Clonar's personal wishes. We are convinced contact with Earth is of genuine worth to the Federation. For a time this will consist mostly of observations by us, but there must be a beginning. The beginning is the Class Eight membership to which you are not admitted."

As Engon explained their position, Ron's face grew white, then gradually flushed to the tips of his ears. He sank lower in his chair. His hands gripped the arms with bony tension. "I suppose there is provision made for advancement from one class of membership to another," he said in a subdued voice.

"Of course. It is expected advancement will be made. A step upward in grade can be accomplished in a generation or two, or take as long as five or ten. Finally, Class One membership is achieved."

"You mean in from eight to eighty generations we finally get a seat in the front row," exclaimed Ron.

"What's that?" said Engon.

"Ron—1" his father cautioned him.

"I don't care!" Ron said. He stood up suddenly and moved across the room. "Forgive me, Father, but I think it's time all the cards were laid on the table and the Conference Committee made to understand we know what the score is."

His father made no move to silence him, and Ron turned to face Engon squarely. "Do you know the full story of how we came to be here? I suppose all Rorla knows it; certainly everyone in the colony seems to.

"I suppose everybody knows by now it was only Clonar's wit and intelligence that kept your trigger-happy maniac, Tenarg, from spreading Earth as a fine vapor through our whole galaxy. And only the code of honor among Rorlans, which Tenarg surprisingly enough observes, kept fum from doing it anyway. It's no news he hates us.

"To top it all, we find him appointed our keeper here. If the Federation is going to go on the word of

Tenarg alone it's going to be pretty far wrong in estimating Earth and its potentialities. Whatever misguided justice gave Tenarg the right to judge us in the first place is beyond all understanding. Now that we are here, a few samples of honesty and general courtesy as sometimes practiced among us uncivilized Earthmen would assist the Committee greatly in its relations with the delegates!

"We are guests, and we have the right to be treated as such, and if you are going to take the word of Tenarg as the final judgement on Earth without letting us speak for ourselves you are due for a considerable surprise, my friend. A very considerable surprise."

The faces of his parents and Anne were sober but not reproving. Engon's reflected a different expression. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes looked into Ron's with a deep and challenging gaze. "You are speaking for yourself," he said.

"All right," said Ron. "I got sore, and I'm boasting like a fool. You'll find bragging another well-known characteristic of Earthmen. We like to talk big, but once in a while you'll find us backing it up.

"One thing we can't do, however, is quietly and cold-bloodedly decide to wipe out a couple of billion creatures considered intelligent, without warning or justification. We brawl among ourselves, but for sheer ruthlessness we haven't produced a dictator yet to match Tenarg—not more than a couple, anyway.

"You give us half a chance and we'll show you whether we belong in Class Eight or up front where it's decided how things are run."

"You shall have your chance," said Engon. "Most decidely you shall have your chance!"

When he was gone, Ron slumped down in his chair again, the anger and defiance gone from his face.

His eyes were staring at the floor between his shoes. "O.K. Say it, Dad. I shouldn't get so angry, but I couldn't help it. I guess I really fixed our wagon with the Federation for good now."

"I wouldn't say so," said George Barron calmly. "I wouldn't say so at all. As a matter of fact, I was about to tell Engon something to the same effect myself. My delivery might have been a little more refined perhaps, but I think yours was more effective. I rather imagine Engon was pleased. It won't count against us.

In the morning they went down to the first session of the Conference, which was held in a small building capable of seating no more than three hundred. It was far from full, and half those present were Rorlan members of the Galactic Committee and their assistants. Present also were numerous councilors from other worlds.

Pressed with his own thoughts and problems, Ron heard little of the opening addresses of welcome which rehashed most of what he already knew. But somewhere in the middle of the address by the President of the Federation, he snapped to attention.

The President was a tall, regal-looking man with very pale skin and hair of albino whiteness. Engon whispered to the Earthmen that this was Novak, not a Rorlan, but from a neighboring planet of the same sun.

"It was indeed fortunate for civilization in the Universe," the President was saying, "that the first two worlds to achieve space flight were of the type we now refer to as Class One affiliates of the Federation.

"These two races were strangers. They were of vastly different physical proportions. They could not occupy the same gravity or atmosphere. Even their mental processes were dissimilar in many respects. But in the moment of their meeting they recognized they were no longer two different sets of intelligent creatures inhabiting the same Universe. They were one group. There was union where division had been —union created merely by their meeting. Henceforth, their action would be for the benefit of this one group. To them it was inconceivable that they should act in any manner except this, that they should not accept each other as their own.

"I say this is the most fortunate act of intelligent life in all the history of the Universe. But I wonder if you who are here today can comprehend what instantaneous, automatic recognition of the unity of all life in the Universe means.

"These first races discovered very quickly there were others in the Universe, like yourselves, who could not make this recognition. They discovered that when contact was made between such groups, through the discovery of space flight by one or another of them, conflicts and turmoil inevitably resulted.

"The Galactic Federation was organized by Class One civilizations. The basic premise upon which it stands is that there is only one group of intelligent life in the whole Universe. Those who accept that premise and are capable of functioning accordingly achieve Class One affiliation automatically.

"But in order to accommodate and assist—yes, even to protect the Federation from groups unable to achieve unification, other classes of affiliation were made. It must be plainly understood these are not arbitrarily assigned by the Federation. Each group, by its functioning, chooses for itself its own class of affiliation."

The room seemed hot. Ron felt the sweat starting on his face. He glanced aside at his father. George Barron's brow was furrowed deeply as he tried to understand the leader's words. The phrase kept sounding over and over in Ron's mind, like some giant, deep-toned bell: "Each group—chooses for itself its own class of affiliation." It reminded him of the minister their church had when he was litde—old white-haired Dr. Parsons. Ron remembered him saying so often: "You aren't assigned to heaven or hell, you choose for yourself."

Ron thought of the ovate creatures who lived on the world of green fog. His response to them had been one of automatic revulsion in spite of his intellectual acceptance of them. There was no recognition that he had at last found a lost portion of his own kind.

For the first time he understood the meaning of the Galactic Federation, and how far Earthmen must advance to be in accord with it!

Ron saw his father, too, was stricken by the enormity of this concept. Anne's face showed she grasped it. But his mother heard and did not understand. She had come a long way in accepting Clonar, and much farther in becoming friends with the family of Judith, but the basic concept Novak described would forever elude her, he thought.

After the Conference, Borah came to the house for dinner. Ron felt proud of his mother in her acceptance now of these beings, as she took the great pawlike hand Borah offered in greeting.

Later, Ron and Borah talked alone. **I didn't understand it before," said Ron. "I didn't understand what it meant. I thought we were as good as the next guys, and nobody could beat us in tipping the hat when it was called for. But they've got something we haven't.

Did you know about it before? Did you understand what kept the Federation together?"

Borah grunted. "Sure I knew. That's why I told you we had no business here, you and I. But you don't need to let it throw you. Type Eight affiliation is pretty far up the ladder. There could be about a hundred grades below. These never hear of the Federation. You are in the upper ten per cent of galactic civilization. Because you happen to be at the bottom of that pile is no reason to feel gloomy. You heard what the man said. Advancement is strictly a matter of your own doing."

"We'd always imagined it the other way around," said Ron bitterly. "A thousand stories and a thousand dreams of how we'd go out into space, and always it was the supreme, gallant Earthmen who would have the problems of dealing with subhuman intelligences."

"It was the same with all of us," said Borah gently. "It's an old dream that shows up on every planet."

Chapter 70?^ G

ames

RING us back something that will give us another hundred years," Gillispie had begged. Ron was ashamed of the faint contempt with which he had regarded the General's words at the start of their journey. He felt no contempt now. Gillispie knew what a slim chance Earth had to survive. Now Ron knew it, too, for the first time. The General dealt daily with disaster. From a greater distance, Ron had felt superior to the General's desperate urgency for some solution. Now he shared the same desperation and understood it. He saw how far it was possible to go, and how short the distance they had come.

At the close of the afternoon's session of the Conference, Ron went to Engon's quarters on the grounds of the colony. The adviser greeted him pleasantly and invited him to sit in a heavy, massive chair of native Rorlan design. Engon took a seat opposite, across a low table.

"I apologize," said Ron. "I apologize for losing my temper yesterday. You were quite right. We haven't got what it takes to find our way around in a society of galaxies."

"You have come a long way if you can recognize that," said Engon kindly.

"There's only one thing you seem not to recognize," added Ron. "You underestimate our capacity to change, our determination to change. I think you will find this exceeds your expectations."

"I sincerely hope so. Our knowledge of your people is extremely limited so far. You are here to enable us to gain some understanding of Earthmen."

"We knew Rorla and the Federation had the answer to many of our problems," said Ron. "That is why we were so anxious to come here. You know what the problems are. You've seen them frequently on other worlds, I'm sure.

"We have wars we can't control. We have poverty and personal instability. We waste and misuse the resources at our disposal. I am coming to you to ask what I can take back to help my planet. What is there the Federation or Rorla is willing to give to help us get a better hold on our bootstraps? Will you give us anything at all?"

"What would you say," said Engon, "if I suggested a number of commissions to act in various technological and sociological fields as advisers to the governments of Earth? Let these commissions show how the problems can be solved, take them out of your hands, in fact, until your difficulties are straightened out."

Ron thought of Gillispie's bleak face staring upward at the departing ship. A wild hope surged within him. "Wonderful." he breathed. "Would the Federation actually be willing to help? It would put our civilization generations ahead at a single jump."

The expression on Engon's face changed sharply. Ron felt a sudden panic even before the adviser spoke.

"It would put your people back to the caves!" Engon's eyes were blazing and his voice held a contempt that frightened Ron. "As long as you believe this, you have understood nothing of what has been said at the meetings today. Until you begin to exhibit some fragment of understanding of the Federation's basic concepts, you and I have nothing to talk about!"

Stunned, Ron held himself motionless for a moment.

Then he rose slowly to his feet. "I see," he said. "Thank you very much for your time, Engon."

It was almost difficult for Ron to greet Clonar civilly later in the evening. They took a walk together through the streets of the colony, and Ron told of the day's events and Engon's baiting and denunciation.

Clonar's face grew visibly bitter in the half-light of the Rorlan moons. "It's Tenarg," he said. "Every bit of it is his doing. I don't think Engon is a bad sort, but he takes his cues from Tenarg. You say Engon told you Earth would have a Class Eight classification?"

"Yeah, we apparently have to stay out in the kitchen until the company has eaten and gone home."

Clonar hesitated. "You may as well know the truth," he said finally. "Class Eight is a sham, a dumping ground for those the Federation doesn't want to have around. A few promises are made, but they mean nothing. It is simply no membership at all."

"I figured as much," said Ron.

"Tenarg's report is the basis for it all. I don't understand why the Committee supports him so completely. I've told them the truth about you. He has age and experience, of course, but they won't recognize that I lived on Earth for weeks. All of Tenarg's knowledge is secondary and completely biased."

"Well, I'm not giving up. We were invited here to be members of the Galactic Federation—and we're going away members of the Galactic Federation, Tenarg or no Tenarg. But what can I do? Can we go to the Committee over Tenarg's head?"

"I think it would be better not to yet," said Clonar.

"Give things a little time to develop. Let's see if Tenarg doesn't perhaps hang himself."

"Whom can I talk with about the problems of Earth? Whom can I find to tell me what there is on Rorla to help Earthmen? Will your scientists and historians talk with me, or will they give me the same answers I get from Engon?"

"No, they will talk with you," said Clonar. "I could introduce you to a number of my teachers. Some of them are among our greatest men. They will not have Tenarg's prejudices, of course. I'll arrange for some interviews, if you like."

"As soon as you can," said Ron. "I would appreciate it."

"I will. But I came over tonight to ask you and Anne to a little party I am giving at the house. There'll be some of my friends of our own age. I would like you and them to know each other."

"Sure, I'd like to. It'll be all right with Anne," Ron said, and then he added, "if it's all right with the man who carries the big ring of keys."

"That can be arranged," said Clonar.

It had taken them a while to get used to Rorla's longer days, corresponding to about thirty-two hours of Earth's time, but by the evening of the party they had changed their sleeping habits so they were not yawning long before bedtime.

The big family house of Clonar was brilliantly lighted and seemed even more impressive than in the daytime. The beach below the cliff was visible in the orange glow of one of Rorla's three moons hanging low over the water.

Inside the house, the gathering was noisy. Clonar led Ron and Anne about the big room introducing

them to the groups of guests who formed Clonar's own teen-age crowd on Rorla. For the benefit of Ron and Anne they all wore translators. Even so, as Ron moved about the room an impenetrable barrier seemed to be rising before him. He tried to shake it off, break it down, but he couldn't.

It must have been the same for Clonar on Earth, he thought. Nothing he saw put him in touch with any familiar thing. Even Clonar seemed suddenly to have grown strange. The six-fingered hands, the tightly matted, femlike hair of the boys, the long dark tresses of the girls—their clothing—he and Anne should have had Clonar obtain some Rorlan clothing for them. Anne's white gown and his own suit contrasted unhappily with the Rorlan dress. The girls wore colorful variations of loose, knee-length trousers and soft shoes. The boys wore the uniform style of gray blouse and short slacks.

Ron felt stiff in his throat by the time the introductions were finished. He tried to remember the names of the two score he had met. He knew any of them could remember as many names and faces without trying.

The buzz of conversation came in waves about him. He caught snatches of it from all sides. On his left, a trio of boys were talking about their weekend vacation trip to Rorla's third moon. Behind him, another group hotly debated the merits of types of racing ships, ending finally in a bet to be settled by a race to the nearest moon.

For a moment Ron and Anne were temporarily alone as Clonar went off to look for Nanine. "We have hot rods to race on Longview flats," said Ron, "and these guys play with spaceships. If they've got radio amateurs they probably keep schedules with other hams fourteen galaxies away. We really got in the wrong league this time!"

When Clonar returned and found Ron and Anne standing alone, a shadow of dismay crossed his face but he said nothing. He drew them into the crowd again and announced the beginning of a game for those who wished to play. Apparently all of them did, because the little groups began breaking up.

The game Clonar proposed was a fantastic thing called "Catch Me." It had a faint resemblance to three-dimensional chess—played blind. The players did nothing but sit around the room and make statements regarding a fictional set of circumstances concerning themselves and others in the room during the previous couple of days. But in doing so a player had to give due consideration to his own earlier statements and the statements which all the other players had made about him. If he made a statement inconsistent with any previously made, he dropped out of the game.

It started simply enough. Clonar said, "I walked down the street yesterday morning and met Novan." It built up slowly. Ron found himself near the center, and the first time around it was easy for him to make a nonconflicting statement about himself. He simply said Anne and he had been in the colony an hour before coming to the party.

By Ron's third turn a hundred statements had been made. He had tried to tag all those involving him, and he believed he had them. But he could not recall each one involving the others. His own statement had to involve someone else. He tried and missed. He claimed an association with Clonar at a particular time which was invalidated by at least five previous statements, each of which was carefully recited to him.

He retired from the game. Anne was out next, and moved over beside him to watch. It was the tenth round, and over four hundred statements had accumulated, before one of the Rorlans joined them. It required the support of a dozen scattered statements to prove he was out, that he couldn't have been in the particular place with the specified individual because the time interval was too short to allow a transfer of the person from a previous location.

The Rorlan boy joined Ron and Anne on the outside of the circle, grinning in a friendly fashion. "Guess we're the dubs tonight, huh?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "You can say that again."

Ron was lost in the complexity of the game, but he sat watching and listening in a kind of stunned incredulity as it went another five rounds before anyone else dropped out. After thirty rounds the number of those dropping out began to increase rapidly, but this made it no easier for those who were left because they had to keep an accounting of all statements made in the game. Those who had dropped out could still challenge the players.

At the end only Clonar and one other boy were left. Clonar made the final inconsistent statement, and Ron had the feeling he did it merely because he was host.

At once there was a bedlam of post-mortems, each one confessing his own'stupidity and telling his neighbor how he could have avoided dropping out, all of it involving the recall of hundreds of interacting statements.

Ron clutched Anne's hand. "Let's go out on the terrace. This is getting too rough for us."

Anne nodded. Her face was strained and white as if she, too, were stunned by the recognition of their inadequacy in this company. Through the wide doors they slipped out to the terrace and went down to the far end of it, overlooking the beach. They stood listening to the soft roar of the water, under the light of the moons which were now rising.

"We knew about this," said Anne. "We knew about it even before we came."

"Yeah, but never on a scale like this. Can you imagine how they'd be at some simple parlor game like three-dimensional chess? I wonder how many more times before we get off Rorla we are going to have it hammered into our heads we should be back in the caves chipping flint."

"None—unless you choose to interpret all incidents in that light."

They whirled at the sound of Clonar's voice. He stood behind them, the dim moonlight revealing the unhappy expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," said Ron. "I didn't think anyone saw us come out here."

"Everyone saw you," said Clonar. "Do you suppose you could leave without everyone knowing it? And understanding why you left?"

"No, I suppose not," said Ron gloomily. "I suppose they can read our minds without our knowing it."

"They don't have to. They can read actions." Clonar came nearer, and there seemed to be a trace of anger in his voice now.

"Well, what do you want us to do about it?" asked Ron. He could not keep down his own anger.

"Look, they're trying hard," said Clonar. "Can t you see? Just as hard as your gang tried when I was in the same spot. These guys and gals aren't too different from your Longview High gang. They know about Tenarg and what he's doing. They feel bad about his opposition to you. They'd like to make up for it a little bit, but they can't when you keep running away."

"We're not running away. We're only being left behind. They can outrun us, outswim us, outthink us—and about everything else you want to name in a ratio of about a hundred to one. We're not running; we can't keep up."

"It's my fault," said Clonar. "I knew the game was a mistake the minute we started it. It's about the simplest of our party games, but I had forgotten too much about you. The rest saw it, too, and dropped out as fast as they could without making it seem obvious. Sometimes the game goes on most of the night."

"Simple!" Ron laughed bitterly. "Sometime, just for the fun of it, I wish you would show us one of your really tough ones."

"Won't you give them a chance?" Clonar's voice was low and pleading. "Won't you give me a chance?"

"I'm sorry," said Ron. "I've been acting like a fool. What do you want us to do?"

"Come back in with me. They want you to show us your dance, you and Anne. I've tried to teach Nanine, but I don't have the feel of it enough to tell them what it means. They think they would like it, but they need to learn from someone who has the spirit and emotion of it more deeply ingrained than I have. It is something very genuine, which you have on Earth and we don't, and they would like you to teach them."

"Sure." Ron's voice was husky now. He linked arms with Clonar and put an arm about Anne's waist. "Let's go," he said, "and quit acting like a couple of dopes."

The conversation, when they returned to the house, was as free as ever. No one gave any indication of thinking anything was amiss.

When Clonar announced Ron and Anne would give a demonstration of their dances from Earth there was instantaneous approval. "But what are we going to do for music?" said Ron.

"That's my department. Look." Clonar opened a cabinet in the corner of the room revealing a stringed instrument played upon a keyboard similar to a piano. "This may be a little ragged, but I'll struggle through." He sat down and began playing.

The tone of the instrument was beautiful, different from anything Ron and Anne had heard before. Clonar knew the tempo and remembered some of the melodies he had heard on Earth. He swung into a waltz rhythm, faintly reminiscent of "Two Hearts in Three-Quarter Time."

It was one Clonar had heard at the lake-resort party they had given for him. Ron took Anne in his arms and moved across the floor, while in his mind he saw the lake and the dances and the swimming parties they had known.

He felt a stillness in her as if she remembered, too. "Homesick?" he whispered.

She bit her lip. "A little."

"Maybe we're not going to be so good as inter-galactic travelers, after all. It sure will be good to see litde old Longview, U. S. A., Earth."

They whirled swiftly over the floor, all the nostalgia in their hearts expressed in their flowing movements.

Afterward, they changed partners. Ron took Na-nine, and Anne grasped the hand of the nearest Rorlan boy as she spun out of Ron's arms. He took her hand in pleased surprise and learned as rapidly as Clonar had done. Clonar labored over the musical instrument while the crowd on the floor increased. He played melodies Ron had no idea he'd even heard.

When the party was finally over, Ron felt a deep satisfaction. The faces of all the Rorlans glowed with pleasure and friendliness. There was no reserve in them. He knew he and Anne now were accepted; it made no difference at all they could not play "Catch Me" with the skill of a Rorlan moron.

Clonar drove them back to the colony. "It was swell," he said. "I know how hard it was for you both. I've been there myself!"

"I appreciate the tongue lashing," said Ron, "We might have muffed it otherwise."

"No charge," said Clonar. "But I have something else to tell you are not going to like."

They turned to him without speaking.

"I asked about getting some interviews with my teachers," said Clonar. "They said it couldn't be done. They've had instructions to turn down any such requests from the colony. Evidently it was anticipated."

Ron slumped lower in the seat. "That just about polishes us off, I guess. They aren't going to give us a chance to get any help at all. The only thing left is to show them what a clam is really like if Tenarg makes any approach to pick our brains about Earth."

"Not quite," said Clonar. "I went over the head of the colony administration, directly to the Committee. I obtained permission to supply you with as much mind training as can be given while you are

here, using the Rorlan methods, which I told you about."

Ron looked askance at his friend. "There must be a catch. It sounds too good to be true."

"No catch. It's on the level."

"Will we be able to play 'Catch Me' with Rorlans when we're through?" asked Anne.

Clonar laughed. "Even that! You'll be able to play 'Catch Me' with any Rorlan who ever lived."

Chapter 11 Earthmen Aren't Snakes

ON didn't know what kind of political manipulations Clonar had made in order to secure use of the Rorlan mind-training program for them, and he didn't care. This was an unlooked-for miracle and one which renewed his hopes for the success of their trip. A Conference session was scheduled every morning, and he disliked missing any of these, but most afternoons were free. The following day he and Anne took their first instruction with the help of Clonar.

With a mixture of anger, relief, incredulity, and genuine gratefulness, Ron learned there was no physical inferiority of the Earth mind to the Rorlan. The number of cells, their possible linkages, and speed of operation were virtually the same. The difference lay wholly in the skill with which this equipment was used.

As a demonstration to prove this further, Ron submitted to an electrical suppression of the barriers built up in his mind against the kind of recall and computation necessary to play "Catch Me" with the skill of a Rorlan. With these suppressed, Clonar gave him a series of several hundred statements and facts, and Ron found himself able to remember and correlate them at will. He almost cried with the great pleasure of being able to use such abilities.

Clonar switched off the machine and took the cap from Ron's head. "Now we'll learn how without the help of half a ton of electrical gadgets."

When they returned to the colony in the evening there seemed to be a curious unreality about all they

saw. "It's like coming back to Earth after spending an afternoon in heaven," said Ron.

Clonar nodded. "You'll have that feeling for a long time. It's easier if you start this as soon as you're able to talk. Now, it makes too great a change in your way of thinking in a short time, and it seems like the whole world shifts from day to day, because you are thinking about it in new and different ways. Like getting a new pair of those glasses some of you Earthmen wear on your faces. Just don't step off a high curb, and I'll see you tomorrow."

There was crying inside the house. They could hear Francie's sobbing and the quieting voices of Mr. and Mrs. Barron as they went in.

"What's the matter?" said Ron. "What happened to Francie?"

He was startled by the expression on his mother's face as she turned toward him, her arms still about the girl. "Did she get hurt?" said Ron.

"Very badly hurt," said his mother with set, angry lips. "About as hurt as a little girl can get."

"Have you called Engon about a doctor? We ought to get one as quickly as possible. Engon said they could treat our ordinary small hurts and—"

"Not this kind. We won't need a doctor for this kind of hint."

"Then what is it? What are you talking about?"

"Francie's little friend, Judith, won't play with her any more. It seems a caste system exists here in the colony, and we are the untouchables, all of a sudden."

"I'd like to know what kind of nonsense this is," said Mr. Barron. "I think we've had about enough abuse."

"We all have," said Ron's mother. "I'll be glad when we can go home. I don't care about Rorla or the Galactic Federation, or anything else here. We've had enough insults to last a lifetime."

"Tell me what happened to Francie," said Ron. "What did Judith say? How did it happen?"

"As nearly as I can find out, Judith's parents have forbidden her to play with Francie because the word has gone out we Earthmen are impossible material. Precious little Judith quoted the phrase from her parents—impossible material.' You can guess where such a phrase comes from."

"Tenarg," said Ron. "Sounds like Tenarg's wording."

"But we're not giving up, Mother," said George Barron. He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved back and forth across the room. "This is too big for us to be driven out by Tenarg. We live in the Universe, too. As long as a Federation exists, and it is something more than a clique of old school buddies from the same town, we've got a right to belong to it, and not merely as poor country cousins, either."

"When some of these supermen learn some ordinary country manners, I may be interested," added Mrs. Barron. "As of now I wash my hands of the whole situation. We can't get out of here too fast to suit me!" She led Francie away to the kitchen to resume dinner preparations.

Ron felt sickened by what had happened to his sister. He was as angry as any of them. But at dinner he told them what he and Anne had experienced at the party the night before.

"We almost missed the boat," he said. "Anne and I were acting like a couple of dopes until Clonar put us straight. I know this stuff is hard to take, but I think Dad's right. We've got to find our way around Tenarg." He told them, too, about the training they had begun with Clonar, and its promise of helping them to equal the Rorlans in mental abilities.

"It will never work," said Mrs. Barron determinedly. "In this company we will always be the ones who are taught. We can never catch up with the Rorlans or the others in the upper levels of the Federation. I'm not so sure it would be a good thing if we did. We have our lives and experiences to live, just as they have lived theirs. They didn't jump any stages of their progress.

"Anyway, they don't want us, and I don't want them. Their whole attitude is as if we were disowned relatives who stumbled in out of the rain, and they have to put up with us until we get up gumption enough to go. I'm for going."

"Somewhere there is a key to the progress and prosperity and peace the Rorlans enjoy," said Ron. "We have an obligation to find it. You know what will happen if we don't. We have to make a try,"

"Maybe there's no key at all," said Mrs. Barron.

"There has to be. A people can't rise to the heights of the Rorlans without some great basic principle at work. If it's teachable we have an obligation to take it home and try to teach it. Don't you agree, Dad?"

"It's possible—just possible," murmured George Barron.

"We came awfully close last night," said Ron, "awfully close to fumbling a chance to make some very good friends. I don't want to make that mistake again. We're going to need friends too badly. The whole world is."

After dinner, Ron and his father went out into the cool darkness of the Rorlan evening. They sat on the bench at the edge of the garden pool. Above them the giant elephant-ear leaves of the Rorlan tree hid the sky and the glowing moons. Mr. Barron leaned over to watch the antics of the phosphorescent fish, but Ron's mind was far away.

"What do you do," Ron said finally, "when you are in the courtroom—what do you do when you first become aware you are going to lose your case?"

His father straightened and shrugged. "Fight all the harder. Stay up nights looking for angles. Take up the whole case again from the beginning. Try to find some point by which you can salvage it. You never quit. Right to the last, you slug as hard as you can, until the judge or jury gives the decision."

"And does the last-minute slugging ever turn the case in your favor?"

His father grinned. "More often than not. Defeat usually turns out to be a ghost called up by the opposition to scare me out of throwing the winning punches."

"That's about the position we are in," said Ron. "Defeat doesn't look like any ghost from here, though."

"You have never lost a case until the ruling has been handed down from the last and final court," said George Barron. "In our case here it begins to look very much as if such a ruling has been issued."

"I wonder. Tenarg is the lowest court. There must be a higher one to which we could appeal, if we knew how to proceed."

"There's no higher court if they assign all jurisdiction to Tenarg and refuse to review his decisions."

"But there must be something we can do. There's got to be some way to put in some final slugs—I don't think the case is closed."

"Well," said George Barron slowly, "I've been thinking of an idea I was going to propose to you. I've been considering going directly to Tenarg for a showdown of some sort. At first, we thought maybe we didn't have to bother with him. I think that was a mistake. He may be the man, really, to knock over."

"It would be worth a try. Will you do it?"

"Why not? He can't do worse than run us off Rorla —and right now there's nothing your mother would like more."

The Colony Director had quarters near the entrance to the grounds. This put only a distance of half a block between him and the Earthmen. George Barron wished the next afternoon the distance were much longer. But the wish itself irked him and he stepped up his pace. There was nothing in Tenarg, he thought, which he had not faced scores of times before.

In courtrooms on Earth, however, he had been on familiar ground. Here, he didn't know the rules. He didn't know how these people reasoned. It was impossible to conceive a man of Rorla acting as Tenarg acted. But he thought he knew at last the secret of Tenarg. He was going to gamble on it.

The Director himself admitted Mr. Barron and ushered him into a luxurious room. "Please have a seat," said Tenarg. He took his own place behind a desk. "I am ready for our discussion of whatever concerns you."

George Barron leaned forward until his arms rested on the desk. He spoke slowly and carefully. "I have come," he said, "to reassure you."

Tenarg frowned. "Reassure me? Reassure me of what?"

"I want you to know we mean no harm."

"You're speaking in riddles. I don't understand you."

"Yes, you do," said Mr. Barron kindly. "You understand me. You are afraid of me. I want to tell you there's no need to be."

Tenarg emitted a short laugh and leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid I'll have to let you go on talking until you say something I do understand. Perhaps my translator is not functioning." He removed the tiny instrument and jiggled it indifferently, then replaced it. "Now," he said. "You accused me, I thought, of being afraid of you. If you will repeat, perhaps I may understand."

"You understood me the first time. I want to reassure you we mean no harm, neither to Rorla nor to the Federation. You have no cause to be afraid of us.

"You are afraid, of course. You wanted to destroy Earthmen completely. That was the desire of a man in the grip of terror. I'm not sure why you are afraid. Your desire was not the result of childish rage or a wish for revenge because a Rorlan ship was shot down on Earth. You could comprehend that shooting in terms of calculated risks in contacting foreign worlds. But a man always crushes a deadly spider with his foot because he's afraid of the spider's bite. He chops down a poisonous snake in the jungle because of what the snake might do."

"You are not spiders," laughed Tenarg. "And you are not snakes."

"Precisely," said George Barron quietly, "what I came to tell you."

Tenarg jerked up from his chair and strode to the window where he stood looking out over the colony houses for a moment. Then he turned back to face Mr. Barron. "I still do not understand your foolishness. My decision at the time I approached Earth has been explained to you. It was not carried out. There is no intention of carrying it out. Instead, we invite you here in peace and co-operation and offer you the affiliation with the Federation to which you are suited."

"You speak now of the Federation and of Rorla," said George Barron, "but the decision of Tenarg has not changed. It is still being carried out with all the energy Tenarg can put into it.

"You are still crushing spiders with your heels. You are still chopping at snakes in the jungle. Imaginary spiders and snakes existing only in your own private conception. When are you going to stop fighting ghosts, Tenarg?"

The Director sat down again behind the desk, a smile of pity upon his lips. "I was told Earthmen are strange people. You bring me the final evidence of it. You complain of persecution where there is no persecution. I believe you have a name for that—on Earth."

Mr. Barron got up and moved back from the desk. "When you put your attention to the fighting of ghosts and phantoms," he said, "you may, after a time, find yourself suddenly face to face with the reality which you did not see because you were so intent upon the nonexistent phantoms."

"And this is what you have come to tell me, Mr. Barron?"

"Yes," said George Barron, "that is all I came to tell you."

He had supposed he would come adventuring, he thought, as he walked away from the Director's quarters. He had supposed he would come adventuring and swashbuckling, perhaps to leap into a Mayan well with Richard Halliburton—or whatever the local equivalent of Mayan wells happened to be. Instead, he was merely at work in his old profession.

He had supposed he could be the gay foreigner moving through alien locales and strange sights and soaking up enough to last his evenings by the fireside for the rest of his fife. He had barely missed being an ordinary two-bit tourist.

He had work to do. Somehow they had to stake out a claim to Earth's proper place in the Galactic Federation. This was adventure. This was the hard, dirty work of adventuring—the cutting out of a place for yourself in an environment hostile and unwilling to receive you. The adventurer was not the glamorous scout who first sighted a new frontier; it was the pioneer who staked the frontier for his own and held it against all encroachment. Pioneering was the only kind of adventure open to him on Rorla.

He reported to the others at dinner. He had no illusions that he had made any major change in Ten-arg's opinion. "But I think I gave him enough of a jolt," he said, "to knock him off his contemptuous pose a little."

"Swell," said Ron. "Now we've got to figure out a way to go over his head—to the next court."

"We're liable to end up in a Rorlan jail," said Mrs. Barron. "I wish you'd quit bothering with it. They don't want us in their snooty club, so why don't we let that be the end of it?"

"There will never be an end of it," said Anne. She had been staring silently into the fireplace, which had been lighted against the evening's chill. Now she looked up to those about her. "There'll never be an end of it, because something has been started we can't stop, like it or not. We aren't citizens only of

Earth any more. We are citizens of the Universe— and we have new neighbors to get along with, halfway down the block."

"We need advice," said George Barron thoughtfully, "expert advice. And I've been overlooking a very good source of it. We need advice from someone who's been around a long time in the business of interplanetary intrigue. In the morning I'm going to see my friends, Barmese and Athol—they're experts."

Chapter 12 TheExperts Decide

ORNING fog rolled in from the sea and covered the city in heavy swirling billows. George Barron liked to watch it from the lawn in front of the house. He couldn't see the beach through the mist, but he could hear the pleasant wash of the sea against the sand.

Through breaks in the waves of fog he saw occasional patches of sky, and once in a while the sun's rays shot through with a moment's warming brilliance. He liked the fog. It was something tangible pouring in with the breath of far, strange places.

It was a kind of disease, he thought, this yearning for the strange and faraway, and he was glad he had been able to curb it in his youth. It was a disease that made one search always for something different from what is already possessed. But he could enjoy the feeling and the pleasure of it this morning, at least. There was no law against it. He breathed deeply of the heavy atmosphere.

His neighbor was out glancing skyward also. The group next door were a family hardly distinguishable from Earthmen in physical characteristics, though they had come from a planet far on the other side of Andromeda. "Chilly, this morning," George Barron called.

His neighbor paid no attention. Probably didn't have his translator on. But the man turned suddenly and the tiny instrument was visible behind his ear. The man swung about and glanced briefly at Mr. Barron, then turned to the house without offering a word of greeting in return.

Previously they had spoken. They had compared notes on their planets and had helped each other with the learning of the Rorlan language. Now his neighbor pretended not to hear.

The fog suddenly felt very cold. The sky was dark with a thick layer that blotted out the sun, and George Barron turned toward the house, shivering. Like a bunch of kids in school, he thought. The class bully gives out the word on who is acceptable and who is not, and you don't dare speak to those who are out of favor with the tyrant. But this represented only a minor defect in the Federation, he believed, and it could be changed. It was going to be changed.

There was no session of the Conference schedule for the day so he went immediately after breakfast to the section of the village where Barmese and Athol lived. The buildings there were larger because each unit had fifty per cent of its space taken up by the machinery providing the necessary environment for those visitors.

Mr. Barron entered the anteroom of the house, pushed the call button and announced himself on the speaker system. Almost at once both Barmese and Athol appeared in the room behind a thick sheet of glass which protected them from the outside atmosphere and at the same time held in their own. They gave their rather hideous smile of greeting which always made George Barron repress a shudder. He liked them better when they weren't smiling.

This was the first time he had seen them without their pressure suits. They wore only a skimpy pair of shorts. Their bodies seemed extremely emaciated with overly large skulls and shrunken chests. They clipped their translators to their heads and spoke.

"It's a pleasure to greet you, George Barron," said

Athol. "Please sit down." He indicated the chair-height bench before the glass panel.

"I hope I'm not too early," said Mr. Barron. "I wanted to talk to you this morning. I need a little advice from someone who is more experienced in dealing on an interplanetary level than I am."

"We have had considerable experience," said Bar-mese. "You have come to the right place. What is the nature of the problem with which you need help?"

"Tenarg," replied George Barron. "Tenarg is the problem." He felt a moment's doubt and wondered if he were doing right after all. He remembered the warning Ron had given from Borah to stay away from this pair. He shrugged at the notion. More than likely this request, too, was something planted by Tenarg because he realized these two were not going to knuckle under to him, either.

"We know about Tenarg," said Athol.

"You know what he's trying to do to us Earthmen," said Mr. Barron. "It's no secret to anybody with half a brain cell functioning that he's deliberately trying to destroy our position with the Federation, and it's no secret why he's doing this, either."

"No, it's no secret," agreed Barmese. "We understand well enough what the situation is, and so do others in the colony. At least those who are not so afraid of Tenarg they refuse to recognize his highhandedness for what it is."

"He lost face, as I believe you say it," said Athol, "at the time he failed to prevent your coming here. Nothing will enable him to regain face until he defeats Earth's attempts to enter the Federation."

"He's not going to defeat us," said George Barron. "We are among strangers and on very strange ground, but we can see the importance of establishing ourselves properly in the Federation. We are not going to let Tenarg defeat us."

Both of his friends nodded wisely. "That is a good decision," said Barmese. "We hope you will not be swayed from it."

"We will not be swayed, but it is a difficult decision to carry out. I have tentatively planned to go to the Committee over Tenarg's head and force them to recognize what he is doing. But I am not sure what the reaction might be to such an attempt. I need your advice. Can you tell me more about how to deal with these people?"

The pair on the other side of the glass turned to each other but remained silent for a moment. It was as if they had been expecting the question, George Barron thought later, and they had prepared an answer which they were reluctant to give. At last Barmese faced him again.

"We appreciate very much the confidence you have placed in us by coming for advice," he said. "We regret, however, we cannot give you much hope that your proposed solution would benefit your people greatly.

"You do not understand the manner in which these people trust each other. The Committee would not consider your request to disregard the opinion of Tenarg. He has been given authority over the colony and is recognized as the expert in all matters pertaining to its people. We are sorry." Barmese shook his head reluctantly.

"Is there any solution?" said Mr. Barron. "Can you help us at all?"

"There is one," answered Athol. "There is always

one solution to a problem of this kind. We urge you to consider it, for the benefit of your people/' "And that is—?"

"If Tenarg were not here," said Athol, "he could not trouble you."

"That's no solution! He ¿5 here."

"If Tenarg were dead he would not be here."

For a moment George Barron sat in absolute stillness. Afterward, it seemed to him this was because a kind of explosion had taken place within him, paralyzing his ability to move and to speak. The words of Athol ignited an explosive recollection of Ron's warning. He forced himself finally to speak with a calm voice. "You are right, but such a condition is not easily obtained."

"A gun," said Barmese quickly. "A simple approach to Tenarg in his own office, with the weapon in your hand."

"Murder is not easy!" said George Barront "You cannot kill with impunity—!"

"In the mouths of witnesses, a man's innocence may be proved," said Athol. "We will go with you. We will testify of Tenarg's provocation of the attack. The whole colony can testify Tenarg has provoked you. We will testify we went there in your company while you sought to obtain an understanding of these difficulties, and Tenarg threatened and attacked you. Tenarg himself has built perfectly all the evidence we would need to convict him of guilt in the incident."

"I see," said George Barron. He licked his lips, which felt dry and hot. The inside of his mouth felt as if it were lined with cotton cloth.

"Then," said Athol, "you would have an opportunity to present your whole case to the Committee.

The investigation of the killing would bring out all the evidence of prejudice upon the part of Tenarg, and you would have achieved your purpose."

"It's a perfect answer to your problem," said Bar-mese confidently.

"I don't know—I just don't know about anything so drastic." George Barron wiped his sweaty hands against each other and on the legs of his trousers. "There ought to be something else—"

Barmese shrugged. "You have seen the situation. You know what chance you have with Tenarg determined to keep you out of the Federation. This is your opportunity to solve your problem, and it is the only one you'll have."

Mr. Barron stood up. "I must have time to think. I appreciate your suggestion—and your offer of help. I'll let you know, later—"

"Of course," said Athol. "Any time you select, we shall be glad to help you. Do not be afraid of the consequences. We are old hands at meting out this kind of justice where it is necessary. We would not suggest it if there were any risk."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," said George Barron.

He left the building with perspiration pouring out on his skin, but inside, his whole being felt dry and hot. How right Borah had been!

And what a fool he himself was! They must have spotted him the first day, cultivating his acquaintance with an eye to this very moment. They knew of Ten-arg's opposition to the Earthmen and they knew what the ultimate results of such opposition would be.

He felt sick at the thought of the picture he must have presented to the two outlaws. With openmouthed wonder he had listened to their tales of high adventure on the spaceways and the far planets of the Universe. They had built themselves up to the kind of image he longed to venerate—the carefree swashbuckler striding across the worlds.

If the Rorlans passed out wooden nickels he would have had himself a real collection by nowl

The plot to assassinate Tenarg must have been the sole reason for the presence of the outlaws on Rorla. How they came to be present as delegates to the Conference—or for what reason they desired Tenarg's death—were questions for which he had no answer at the moment. He needed no answers. Only one situation required immediate consideration. He had recognized it the moment Athol suggested the assassination.

Having become aware of their plans, George Barron was bound to Barmese and Athol until those plans were either carried out or defeated.

"We are old hands at meting out this kind of justice/' Athol had said. George Barron was willing to admit they were! They would deal it out not only to him but to his entire family if they had any doubts about his willingness to co-operate.

He wondered if they had sensed any reluctance in him because of his failure to agree to the plan immediately. They could not have, he thought, or they wouldn't have let him out of the building.

All about him the morning sounds of the colony were rising. The cries of strange children playing with one another echoed among the buildings. The sunlight was brilliant and seemed too hot as it dispersed the final wisps of fog in the sky. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face and the backs of his hands.

He wished he knew more about the psychology of these alien people. The obvious thing would be to go directly to Tenarg and tell him of the plot. But after the interview of the day before, the Director would probably throw him out before he got a chance to speak. If he were admitted, his story would likely be termed a lie. It would be ridiculed and passed around the colony—until it was proven true.

But before that could happen, the Earthmen themselves would no doubt have received some of the expert justice of Barmese and Athol.

Mr. Barron neared his own house. Beyond it was Tenarg's. But he shied away from going in that direction and turned to make another circle about the block of houses he had recently passed. He moved slowly, trying to put together a workable answer to the situation.

Adventurer, he thought, soldier of fortune, intrigue and the clash of weapons. If he ever managed to get back to Earth, he would confine his activities for all time to the courtroom, where the rules were halfway known, anyway. He thought momentarily of enlisting Clonar's help, but such a move would be of little use now. He dared not go home to phone the Rorlan boy, and he would need an answer long before Clonar could get any action.

There seemed only one direct course possible—go straight to Tenarg and make him believe the story. Was he a laywer or wasn't he? George Barron asked himself. Since he had been able to convince some of the judges he had encountered on Earth, he ought to be able now to convince Tenarg his life was in danger.

The air seemed to grow cooler and the suns rays less bitterly hot as he came finally to his decision. He had gone completely around the block and started moving again in the direction of Tenarg's quarters. His steps quickened as he began to rehearse the things he would say to the Director.

Then he stopped, dead still. His stomach tightened. Down the street, not far from Tenarg's quarters, stood Barmese and Athol. They were looking in his direction and spotted him the instant he rounded the corner. They had been waiting for him, and now there was no retreat or turning aside.

He had been kidding himself, but he hadn't been fooling them. He supposed he had betrayed his intentions the moment they mentioned the proposition. They had known he would go immediately to Tenarg and warn him and had followed as quickly as possible, to head him off.

Quietly, to himself, he made another decision as he made his feet move again. He made the decision to carry through his purpose, to warn Tenarg, to protect his family, to guard the name of Earthmen before Rorla and the Federation. It didn't matter what happened to him.

"We saw you coming toward Tenarg's quarters," said Barmese as he approached them. "We thought perhaps you were ready for us. We didn't wish to keep you waiting."

"I'm glad you came," he said calmly. "I have made my decision. I did not intend to come alone, however, and I have no weapon."

"We brought one for you," said Athol. He drew from his suit pack a tiny gun no bigger than the palm of a hand. The two closed in front of him to hide the exchange of the gun from any chance observer. George Barron dropped the weapon into his pocket.

We have our own, also," said Athol He opened the palm of the suit glove. "We'll back you up. This is a particularly good time. With no meetings today, Tenarg will be alone. It is his day of relaxation, and he does not expect to be bothered."

"Fine," said George Barron in a low voice he could scarcely keep from wavering. "I'm sure everything is going to work out fine."

Chapter 13 Under Arrest

PI EORGE BARRON felt like a man watching himself in ' a nightmare. The three men entered the house of I Tenarg without knocking, his companions so J close behind they were virtually pushing him forward. He understood their intention. They would not depend on him to shoot Tenarg. They would do it themselves, using him as a shield and a distraction against the Director. When it was done, it was equally obvious what his own fate would be. His hand gripped the weapon in h'*s pocket. At that moment Tenarg appeared from behind the desk in his office. George Barron was forced through the doorway at the head of the trio.

"I heard no knock," Tenarg said stiflly. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

Barmese nudged George Barron. "Quickly!" he whispered.

"I have come to complain," said Mr. Barron slowly, "about the rumors and falsehoods which have been circulated through the colony regarding my family." Then he cried loudly, "Get down!"

He drew the gun as he whirled, crouching low. His finger pressed the tiny button on the side and a narrow stream of fire shot toward Athol. The atmosphere tank on the suit was pierced. Its sickening vapor exploded into the room.

Barmese was as quick as the Earthman. His weapon darted out and fire blossomed against George Barron's chest.

Mr. Barron crumpled, dimly aware in his agony 118 that Tenarg also was falling. Then there was only blackness and an end of the pain.

"I'm all right," said Athol, speaking laboriously in the half-exhausted atmosphere of the suit. "He hit the one tank I was using. I'm on spare now. Are you hit?"

"No, he didn't have time to shoot again." Barmese glanced at Tenarg, lying on the floor, unconscious from the poisonous atmosphere released from Athol's suit. Deliberately, he aimed the gun and fired once, then dropped it to the floor between the two men.

"That makes a good scene," he said confidently. "They quarreled, they had a fight—what more could you ask for?"

"Come on," said Athol, still breathing with difficulty. "The ship is ready."

They took a final glance at the two men on the floor and left the room. They closed the doors carefully, hoping no one would disturb the house of Tenarg for a long time.

Ron and Anne came home at noon after an exhausting all-morning session with Clonar. They found Mrs. Barron worried and upset.

"I haven't seen your father since early morning," she said. "I thought perhaps you might have had some word from him. It's not like him to be gone so long without letting me know where he intended to be."

"We've been with Clonar. Where did Dad go when he went out?"

"He said something about seeing his friends, Barmese and Athol, but I have called up there three or four times, and no one answers. I even sent Francie around the colony, but she couldn't find him. Hardly anyone will speak to her anyway, even to answer a question."

"I'm sure he must be all right," said Ron. "Suppose you stay and help with lunch, Anne. I'll go out and have a look around."

"Maybe Borah would have an idea," said Anne.

Ron went first to the quarters of Barmese and Athol because they were closer. He got no response to his ring. Outside, he stood in the warm sunlight, undecided where to look, and worried because of his father's announced intention of seeing his two friends. There was no telling what crazy advice they might have given. After a moment, he went on to Borah's place.

Their bearlike friend was greatly disturbed by the news of Mr. Barron's absence, but he tried to hide it from Ron. "I don't think there is anything to worry about," he said confidently. "There is really nothing Barmese and Athol could actually do to harm your father. Perhaps they went with him to present your case to some of the Committee members as your father wished. It would be proper for you to notify Engon and have inquiries made through him."

"He'll probably only get angry because Dad is A.W.O.L.," said Ron. "I doubt he'll be any help to us.

"If not, you can go to Tenarg. The Director can't ignore something like this. He'll be forced to make a search if your father continues to be missing. I'll go along if you wish. Wait a minute until I get my suit so I can go faster."

"Thanks," said Ron, "but I'd rather go along as fast as I can, if you don't mind. We'll let you know how we make out."

Engon tried to restrain his disgust as Ron approached him with the story of Mr. Barron's absence. "He's probably wandering around the colony, visiting. Nothing could have happened to him.'*

"We're worried, all the same," said Ron, stiffly. "It's not like him to be gone without word. I would like to request a search."

"We will do it, if you insist. We'll have to consult Tenarg, however. We may as well go over there now."

The adviser made no remarks as he walked down the street, slightly in advance of Ron. At Tenarg's he pressed the button at the doorway and waited in silence.

"He's evidently not here," said Engon at last. "We'll have to wait until we can contact him. I wouldn't know where to find him right now."

"Look in there." Ron cried suddenly. From where he stood, he could see through the transparent panel of the door into a corner of the Director's office. The foot and ankle of a man were visible on the floor. Engon shielded his eyes and peered through the door.

"Strange—I wonder—"

"That shoe belongs to my father!" cried Ron. "We've got to get in."

"This is Tenarg's house. We cannot—"

Ron shouldered the adviser aside and flung open the door. He raced through the short hall and into the office. At the sight of the ghastly bums on the two bodies he gave a cry of anguish and dropped beside his father. Engon was a step behind him. The adviser halted in stunned amazement.

"Tenarg!" He knelt beside the form of the fallen Director. "He's dead," said Engon a moment later.

"But my father is not!" exclaimed Ron. "He's still breathing. He's alive. We've got to get help for him."

Ron felt sick and dizzy with the shock of his discovery and with the smell of burned flesh filling the air. Engon flung open the windows to clear the room.

"Don't touch anything," said the adviser, "especially the weapons. I'll call for help."

Ron didn't move or speak. He simply knelt by his father's body, staring down at the white face and closed eyes, and held one of the deathly cold hands. Faintly, he could see the slow, agonized lifting of the wounded chest, and almost imperceptibly George Barron's head moved from side to side. Once Ron thought the lips made a sound, but he could not catch it.

While Ron waited, the horror of the situation slowly grew. He looked from one still form to the other and at the deadly weapons lying on the floor between them. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears ready to flow. Then abruptly Engon was back, and there was an ambulance in the road outside. The attendants lifted his father carefully and took him away.

"I've got to go," said Ron, "and my mother and sister and Anne. Can you get us a way to the hospital?"

"Go and tell your family," said Engon. "I will have a car brought to your quarters."

Ron started for the door on a run, but Engon restrained him with a touch on his arm. "You must remain within call at all times," he said. "There would be no final escape for you on the planet, but I warn you not to try. Our greatest expeditionary leader and consultant on extragalactic cultures is dead!"

He glanced back to the body of Tenarg still awaiting removal. Ron understood the implications of Engon's warning, but it made only a small addition to the burden he already carried.

"Don't worry," he said. "We're not going anywhere."

He crossed the street and went to his own place. His mother and Anne met him at the door. Mrs. Barron cried out as soon as she saw his face. "What is it, Ron? What has happened?"

There was no way to soften it. "Dad's been shot," Ron said. "He's in the hospital. We've got to go at once." Quickly, he gave them the picture of the scene in Tenarg's quarters. "I don't know how it happened or how Dad came to be there," he said. "But I know it isn't the way it looks. It isn't the way they think

it IS.

Mrs. Barron sank down upon the sofa and began sobbing almost inaudibly. Anne sat beside her and put an arm about the older woman's shoulders. Ron stood watching them, his face numb with his own grief. Then he caught sight of a movement outside the window.

"The car's here," he said. "We'd better go."

In the car, Ron held Francie close to him while she sobbed intermittently at the terror of her father's injury on this alien planet. The coral-fresh walls of the big hospital rose in the center of the city. Clonar greeted them at the door, gripping Ron's hand in a clasp of sympathy and friendship.

"Engon called me," he said. "He told me to hurry over here. They have taken your father into the surgical room. It will be a while yet before we know how they make out. They have something of the same problem Doc Smithers had with me. Our surgeons aren't familiar with the physiology of Earthmen."

"Maybe I should be there," said Ron. "Maybe I could tell them something helpful."

Clonar shook his head. "No. It's an old problem to them. They have had it before with other species. They can grasp the fundamentals of alien physiology quickly. Your father is in good hands. The only thing we can do is wait."

Ron accepted Clonar's decision and sat down with his mother and the girls in the waiting room, Clonar beside him. It grew late and the room darkened while they waited. Mrs. Barron broke the silence once.

"He wanted adventure," she said. "All his life he's held himself back. This was his greatest adventure, and the final one possible to him. He had to take it. He can't die," she sobbed. "He just can't die."

One of the doctors came in. Clonar turned on the lights. "You may come in for a moment now," the doctor said.

"How is he?" asked Mrs. Barron. "Is he going to five?"

"We cannot be absolutely certain of our results," the doctor said kindly, "but we believe he is out of danger. His recovery may be slow, however."

They filed out of the room and moved down the quiet corridor. In a room at the end of the hall George Barron lay silent and unmoving, his eyes closed. At the head of the bed an unfamiliar mechanism purred faintly. Shining metallic leads extended from it to two pasted electrodes attached to each side of his head.

Mrs. Barron glanced apprehensively at the mechanism and bent over the bed, touching the forehead of her husband with gentle fingers.

"You've had your adventure, enough to last a lifetime," she murmured. "But you've got to come back with us. We can't go home without you."

The doctor touched her arm and drew her back with a gentle, restraining hand. Ron watched the still form of his father, his mind visualizing once more the scene at Tenarg's quarters. He wondered if he would ever know the answer. Anne pressed back her own tears and hugged Francie to her.

"He's going to be all right," consoled Anne. "I know he's going to be all right."

They were led out, back to the car which had brought them to the hospital. Clonar followed to the house in his own car and went in with them.

"I guess it's past dinnertime, isn't it?" Mrs. Barron said mechanically. "You'll stay and eat with us, won't you, Clonar?"

"I'll be glad to."

Mrs. Barron and the girls went to the kitchen while Ron and Clonar sat near the front window overlooking the street. Clonar glanced toward the house of Tenarg.

"Tell me all about it," he said. "I've got to understand what this is all about."

Carefully, Ron described the afternoon's events, beginning with the first alarm over his father's absence. When Ron finished, Clonar shook his head. "I don't understand it. I thought I knew your father. He would never become so provoked as to deliberately attack Tenarg. He wouldn't do that, would he, Ron?"

"Of course he wouldn't! He was determined to find some way of making Tenarg back down so we could properly establish ourselves with the Committee and the Federation. Killing Tenarg would not have accomplished anything. You know it as well as I do. He must have gone there for a discussion, and Tenarg must have attacked him."

"But the gun—" Clonar reminded him in a low voice. "Where did he get the gun, and why was he carrying it? That was a Rorlan weapon and would not have been easily obtainable by him."

"I don't know," said Ron wearily. "It looks as if the only answer is to wait until Dad himself can tell us—when and if he is ever able to."

While he looked with staring eyes through the window, he saw Engon approaching the house. He rose to admit the adviser. Engon declined a chair and said, "I would like to speak with all of you. Will you please invite the others to come in?"

Mrs. Barron and the girls came from the kitchen. Ron's mother was wiping her hands on her apron as she approached the room. "You wanted to see us?" she asked Engon.

"Yes. I must inform you a quarantine is being placed upon this house. None of you will be permitted to leave except under escort. We will not provide an armed guard, trusting you to obey this order without making one necessary. You will, of course, be conducted to the hospital frequently and kept in close touch with the condition of Mr. Barron."

Mrs. Barron faltered and her hand went to her throat. "This is arrest! Why? What does it mean? We have done nothing—"

"All the evidence indicates you have, as a group, violated every provision by which your people might be admitted to the Galactic Federation. You are being asked to withdraw immediately. Inasmuch as it appears conclusive Mr. Barron attacked our Director, Tenarg, it is necessary to restrain your activity until we are able to question your husband and determine precisely what occurred."

"My husband did nothing of the kind!" cried Mrs. Barron. "You have no right to make such charges. You wait until he can speak for himself and he will tell you what occurred. It will not be what you think!"

"We will indeed wait for such a time," promised

Engon, "and we shall, of course, find out the exact truth. In the meantime, you will obey this order of quarantine. That is all for the moment."

Engon turned and left with stiff formality. In silence they stared out the window, watching him disappear under the dim fights of the street.

"Don't blame him," said Clonar gently. "He can't know the answer. He's only doing what appears right. When we know the truth you will have nothing to be afraid of."

But Mrs. Barron seemed stunned and barely capable of speech or motion. "Accused of the greatest crime in the world," she murmured, "so far away from home, Earth might as well not exist for us any more."

Chapter 14 Price of a Goal

nix through dinner Ron felt the panic growing within him. He tried to eat, but the tightness in his stomach made it impossible. He felt trapped, and waves of fear and nausea washed over him. He went through the motions of eating to keep the others from recognizing his panic, but he knew Anne was watching him. His mother, however, was for once too preoccupied with her own fears and worries to notice him.

When the meal was over at last, he got up from the table knowing he ought to stay and help. But for a moment, he thought, he had to get away. Only for a moment.

He went into the garden behind the house and stood by the pool, where he and his father had watched the darting, luminous fish only the night before. Or was it a century ago?

He looked up at the night sky, wondering where Earth was. Wondering, almost, if it really existed. The galaxy could not be seen with the naked eye, but a configuration of stars marked the area in which it lay. Clonar had pointed these out to him, and he stood watching now, as if by some miracle he could bring his home world into range of vision.

Suddenly a fierce trembling shook him. He wanted to cry and couldn't. He sank down on the bench, sickness cramping every muscle of his body. For an endless time it seemed to possess him, and then the worst of it was over and he straightened slowly, leaning back against the cool frame of the bench. Only then was he aware of Anne—aware she had

been standing a dozen feet away on the path to the house.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know you were here, Anne. Sit down."

She moved toward him and sat on the bench. "Your mother wanted me to see where you were," she said.

"I know I shouldn't have left, but I had to get away. All of a sudden I couldn't take it any more. I guess I don't have what it takes to stand up in a pinch."

"Of course you do! I know how you feel. I want to talk with you for a moment, and then we'd better go in and be with your mother. It's hard for her, too."

"We can go in now. I'm all right."

"No, wait. We've got to figure out some solution, and we've got to do it fast. I want you to tell me about what happened again. Everything you can remember. Go over it as though you were there again."

"I've already told you everything, Anne. There's no answer in what I know."

"Please, Ron."

"Oh, all right." Reluctantly, he began with the moment his mother told of his father's absence. He went over the visit to the apartment of Barmese and Athol, the encounter with Borah and Engon, and the final scene in Tenarg's house.

"That's all," he said. "I know no more than when I first told you."

"But is there any proof they actually shot each other?"

"Dad's fingerprints were on one of the guns. Engon told Clonar at the hospital. Rorlans don't have fingerprints. Their means of identification haven't shown conclusively that Tenarg held the other gun."

"And if he didn't," said Anne, "it would mean someone else Held it. It could easily mean someone else had enmity enough toward Tenarg to murder him—and your father also, if he were unlucky enough to be present."

"But such a hypothesis doesn't explain Dad's handling of the gun. How did it get into his hands?"

"You said one of the first things Engon did was to open the windows of the room. Why?"

"Because of the odor. I remember now it gave me a terrific headache, but I didn't pay much attention to it then,"

"What odor was there? Where did it come from?"

"The burns, I suppose. The weapons produced a great charring of the flesh where their charges struck. It was much worse on Tenarg than on Dad. I suppose that's why Dad survived and Tenarg didn't."

"Would smelling burned flesh have given you a headache?"

"Sure—I guess so. At least I got one. Come to think about it, though, there was another kind of odor, besides the smell of burning. I don't know what it was. Maybe that's what Engon noticed mostly."

Another figure emerged from the house, and they watched Clonar coming toward them. "Engon just called," he said. "He says Barmese and Athol are missing; they left in their ship several hours ago, probably not long after the shooting."

"I'll bet they've got something to do with it!" said Ron. "But how could we ever prove it?"

"Maybe they could be brought back here," said Anne. "They could be made to tell what they know of your father's visit."

"I don't imagine extradition laws between galaxies are so simple," said Ron.

"No," said Clonar. "They couldn't be brought back forcibly without proof they had something to do with the affair or had definite knowledge of it."

"The mere fact they skipped is evidence," said Anne. "The Convention delegates don't just pull out whenever they feel like it, do they?"

"They're free to do as they wish. There is no compulsion about staying, if they have their own transportation, as most of them do."

"Tell Clonar what we were talking about," said Anne. "Maybe he can make something of it."

"Oh, I don't think it's anything worth bothering with." Briefly, he told Clonar about the presence of the odors in the room and his own reaction to them.

"It might be a good idea to remind Engon of it," said Clonar. "It might mean something to him. Let's go in and I'll call him back."

Engon had called from the hospital and was still there when Clonar reached him again. Clonar told about Ron's story of a headache and his recollection of the odors. "It might be important," said Clonar. "I wondered if it meant anything to you."

"I certainly did notice it," said Engon. "It affected me even more severely than it did Ron. I put it down as the product of the shooting, but he's right. There was something else."

"It needs accounting for," said Clonar.

"Yes. There may be one way to solve it," said Engon. "I'll ask for a biochemical check of Tenarg's blood and lungs. Being there for a number of hours, he might have absorbed a good quantity of whatever it was."

"But he wasn't breathing," said Clonar. "Ron's father was. It might be better to check him."

"We'll do both. Mr. Barron may have discharged whatever he absorbed by now. I'll let you know as soon as results of the analysis are available."

Clonar asked again about Mr. Barron's condition, but there was nothing new the adviser could tell him.

Clonar left quite late. Even then none of the Bar-rons or Anne felt like sleeping. With Clonar gone, and Ron's father absent, they felt completely alone in the house, and all the vast loneliness of the great sweeps of space between Rorla and Earth seemed present.

Ron turned up the fire, but it seemed as if nothing could ever again warm the cold house. His mother was crying silently in the big chair by the fireplace, where George Barron had formed the habit of sitting in the evening as he did at home on Earth while he read the evening paper. Ron sat on the edge of the chair with his arm about his mother.

"I should never have persuaded you and Dad to come," Ron said. "You were right. You knew better than any of us when you said you belonged in Long-view, that you weren't the kind of people to be making such ventures. I hope you can forgive me someday for persuading you to come."

Mrs. Barron slowly removed her glasses and dried her eyes. She leaned back her head and looked upward to the ceiling. Ron watched her face closely. He saw fear and worry and grief reddening her eyes. He also saw the tiny lines about her eyes and the faint beginnings of them about her mouth. She had always seemed so young to him, but now he recognized with a shock that someday—not too far away— she would be old. In his own self-esteem he sometimes thought he had reached a great age of maturity and growth, but she was two and a half times as old as he. How different the world must look from so great a number of years, he thought with astonishment. He wondered at never before recognizing this chasm of years.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said gently.

She reached out and touched his hand with hers, and it seemed warm and comforting against the coldness within him. "There is nothing to be sorry for," she said. "You didn't persuade us. Your father came to Rorla because he wanted to come. For him, it was the glorious fulfilment of a dream he had carried all his life, a dream of faraway places and strange, fantastic peoples. He should have done it sooner.

"He never told you, but in the year we were married he wanted to go to Borneo. One of his college friends had joined an expedition to photograph jungle wildlife and invited your father and me to go along. It didn't take much persuasion from me to convince your father it would be a foolish thing. He was a year out of law school and had been offered a junior partnership with a good firm. He knew it was important to get a good start on his law career and so he gave up the dream of adventuring. But he never forgot.

"He only buried it so deeply even he didn't know it was there until this chance came up. I knew we had made a mistake in turning down the Borneo trip. He was always restless without knowing why, but I knew."

"That was why he kept the Richard Halliburton books in our library, and read a little from one of them every once in a while!" said Ron.

Mrs. Barron nodded. "He liked the story of Halliburton's jump into the Sacred Well of Chichen Itza. He always said he was going someday, himself."

"I never knew," said Ron. "All these years, seeing him come home every night with his brief case full of legal papers, I never supposed he had any other interests. It's funny, but I guess there are a lot of things a guy never learns about his parents—until it's too late."

"It's that way with all of us," said Ron's mother. "We're forever learning things too late to do anything about them. But one thing I want you to know: you must never be sorry for having induced your father and me to come here.

"He wanted this trip so badly it almost made him sick inside to realize he shouldn't really do it, because he was much too old, and it wasn't the thing for a middle-aged lawyer and family man of Longview to be doing."

"What about you, Mom? You didn't really want to come."

"I have had what I wanted all my life. My home and my family. What I wanted most was to be a partner in your father's plans and activities, whatever they might be. So you can say I truly wanted to come.

"Another thing, which I hope you will not learn too late, Ron, is the importance of doing what you truly want to do. I don't suppose anyone the age of you and Anne can realize how few people of your parents' age actually do the things they truly want during their lifetimes. Less now, even, than when your father and I were married. The world has become such a dangerous place in which to live, and people's yearning for security and safety is so great they are willing to bargain almost anything in exchange for it.

"A man will spend his life behind a desk in some great corporation doing work he hates, because he believes there is safety under the protecting wings of

the giant company. He never has the courage to try his own wings, and these finally wither from disuse.

"Or another man sees everything swept away by accident or misfortune. He blames himself and his own ambitions, accusing himself of reaching too far, desiring too much. So he cuts himself down to the size of his self-assumed limitations and calls for the government to take care of him, protect him from nature, from competitors, from himself.

"Your father and I have tried to teach you this isn't the way life is meant to be, Ron. We have tried to give you the freedom to discover your own desires, and the courage to follow them without letting small failures and small men whittle you down.

"Your father had courage. You cannot imagine what courage it took to gamble his profession, his obligations as a father and head of a family and citizen of Longview—to gamble these against the great yearning he had tried to smother, but which had never really died.

"We didn't have the courage when we were young to do the thing closest to our heart's desire. I hope you and Anne will never make that mistake. Search your hearts and minds carefully and find what it is you want of life and of yourselves. Then give all you have to the attainment of that goal no matter what it costs. Even this, our loneliness and waiting tonight, is not too great a price if the goal is worth it."

Chapter 15 Pursuit

ON was awake at daybreak. He hadn't supposed he would sleep at all during the night, but he had evidently dozed a few hours at least. He stood up, looking toward the distant sea where the sun was rising through torn curtains of fog. He remembered the call which was expected from the hospital regarding the biochemical analysis, and dressed hurriedly.

In the living room he saw Anne lying on the couch in front of the fireplace, which still glowed warmly. She had on her bathrobe and slippers, one of which had fallen to the floor. Her head lay on one of the too-hard cushions of the Rorlans.

Ron stood watching, not wanting to wake her, but she stirred as if aware of his presence, and looked up. She brushed the tousled hair away from her face. "I guess I must have fallen asleep."

"I guess you did," said Ron. He smiled and sat down on the arm of the chair nearby. "But why here? Did Francie kick you out?"

"No. I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake for hours and finally decided I might as well get up and sit by the fire,"

"You'd better go back to bed and try to get some more sleep."

"No, I'm awake now. I'll fix breakfast before your mother gets up. She'll probably be feeling pretty low this morning."

Anne put her foot into her slipper and stood up. As she moved toward the kitchen the call came Ron had been waiting for. It was Clonar.

"They've made the analysis," Clonar said. "Tenarg wasn't killed by the shot at all. He died of poisoning in the atmosphere before the shot was fired."

Ron exclaimed aloud. "Then it's positive Dad didn't shoot him!"

"Yes. That much is certain."

"Rut who did?Barmese and Athol? Did they shoot Dad or did Tenarg do it? What was the poison in the air?"

"The poison is a component of four different atmospheres in the colony. Three of them belong to reliable and trustworthy groups of delegates. The fourth is the atmosphere of Barmese and Athol, who are the only ones missing. Apparently your father and they were in the room with Tenarg when the shooting took place.

"Either accidentally or deliberately, atmosphere was released from the suits of one or both. It is possible it was done deliberately to kill both Tenarg and your father. It happens to be much more lethal for our race than for yours. Tenarg must have died instantly as the gas struck him. Your father survived."

"But what about the guns and the shots?" said Ron.

"We don't know, of course. One thought is they shot both men to make sure of their deaths. But that doesn't explain your father's handling of one of them. At any rate it implicates Barmese and Athol and exonerates your father from blame for Tenarg's death. A Patrol ship of the Federation is bringing Barmese and Athol back."

"I'd like to get my hands around their skinny necks for about two minutes!"

"You may get the chance—"

"It's more important right now about my father. How is he?"

"Little changed. What change there is, is on the side of improvement. The doctor says it will be some time before anything is certain."

"If he could only have had the care of our own doctors who understand our physiology--"

"Even though our men are not familiar with your body structure, they had to do reconstruction work of bone and tissue impossible for your doctors. An incredible amount of structure was burned and had to be removed and rebuilt, including blood vessels near the heart. I think you will be grateful he was able to be cared for here instead of on Earth, when you know how great the injury was."

"I'll take your word for it," said Ron. "Right now the only thing I care about is his recovery. What are they going to do about Barmese and Athol when they get hold of them?"

"Investigate and hold a trial. How would you like to go along with the Patrol ship to bring them in?"

"Boy—would I! Especially if I could be alone with each one of them for about five minutes when nobody was looking. But I couldn't leave the folks at a time like this. I belong here. But I'll be plenty glad to see them brought in."

"Well, actually, this is one of the things I called about. Engon wants you to go. You are expected to. I will accompany you if you accept the responsibility."

"I'd be more than glad to at any other time. But can't they see I belong here? Why do you say I'm expected to go? Why do I have a responsibility in the matter?"

"That's the way it is among us," said Clonar. "We don't have much crime here on Rorla, but those affected by it are expected to take active part in its suppression. You may think our method a little strange, but it's quite a strong point of custom with us, and also with the Federation as a whole. I understand your obligations to stay with your family, but, nevertheless, I must urge you to go along with the Patrol."

Ron was angry that they should put the choice up to him as a matter of responsibility. He believed his duty was to remain near his parents. At such a time his father would most likely expect him to stay with his mother, even though he wanted very much to go in pursuit of the criminals.

Ron wondered then what his father really would wish him to do. He moved over to the window from which he could see Tenarg's quarters. It came to him then that his father might feel it best for him to go. This adventure, fulfilling a lifelong dream, had to be finished up properly; holding back would not accomplish this. Maybe the Rorlans were right in their insistence that those injured must take the responsibility in the suppression of crime. If his father could speak, he might well urge Ron to join in the capture of Barmese and Athol—even at the cost of leaving his mother alone.

Of course . . . Anne would be with her. Remembering this, Ron decided he had even a greater responsibility than the ones already considered—that of securing the position of Earth with the Federation. His father had accepted this obligation, and he would want done everything necessary to fulfil it. If the Federation wanted him to go with the Patrol, his father would want him to do it!

Ron went upstairs again to his mother's bedroom. She was already awake, but not yet up. He sat on the edge of her bed and explained what Clonar had told him and of his own feelings about the matter.

"I hate to leave you now/' he said, "but I believe Dad would wish me to join them."

Mrs. Barron s eyes held a faraway look, as if she were visualizing the terrors of open space, and imagining her own great loss if anything happened to Ron. Then she smiled slowly and patted his arm. "You go, Ron," she said. "If you think it's the right thing to do, I'm sure that it is. Anne and Francie will help me to make out until you get back."

"Thanks, Mom. Dad is going to be proud when I tell him how brave you've been through all this."

"I hope so. Go along now if you have to. I suppose we can depend on Engon for word from you?"

"Yes, I think so."

He called Clonar back and told him of their decision. Clonar was pleased. "I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes," he said. "We haven't much time—take-off will be overdue then."

Ron turned and saw Anne watching from the kitchen doorway as he finished the call. Behind her, steam vapors drifted above the breakfast table, lazy and inviting. He moved toward the open doorway, which Anne blocked. "Anne—"

A sudden sting in her eyes, she whirled away. "The gentleman of the house will want breakfast before he goes," Anne said, trying to sound gay.

Ron halted, watching the curve of her back as she hastily buttered toast and put it by his plate. "Yeah" he said finally. "Ron of the Mounties, off to get his

But after eating hurriedly, he paused at the door where Clonar waited, and held on to Anne's hand for an extra moment. "Take good care of Mom," he said, "and keep needling Engon to give us word of Dad."

"I will," Anne promised. "Don't be too anxious to settle the score with Barmese and Athol. We need you back in one piece."

Ron nodded and joined his waiting friend.

"Engon was pleased by your decision," Clonar told him. "I believe he is taking a somewhat different view of Earthmen since your father was apparently defending Tenarg and himself. This may mean much for your standing in the Federation."

"When they start taking a different view of Tenarg it will be time enough to cheer," said Ron.

The Patrol ship was ready for flight when they reached the spaceport. The small vessel was only about fifty feet in diameter, ellipsoidal in shape, and so thick it appeared almost spherical. It was quite different from the saucer-ships with which Ron was now familiar.

A Lieutenant greeted them at the hatchway and escorted them to quarters within the vessel. The area, which the boys were to share, consisted of little more than bunk space and one small closet in which they put their bags. They were then taken to the main flight deck in the central portion of the ship, and introduced to Patrol Captain, Marsun.

For Ron's benefit, Marsun donned a translator. "I wish to extend my sympathy for your father s accident," he said. "We are glad to have you aboard, and I hope we shall be successful in running down the criminals."

"Thank you," said Ron. "I appreciate your efforts. My only request is to be left alone with Barmese and Athol long enough to punch them in the jaws—part payment for what they've done. I'm afraid I won't be able to contribute much to the flight, but I'll do my best to keep out of your way."

The Captain laughed. "You need not worry. If we have to land on a planet we can always use an extra hand."

The Captain introduced them to the six other members of the crew and ordered take-off positions at once. Ron and Clonar were assigned to observer seats outside the crew area. There was a brief moment of tension and expectancy in which the Captain checked with each of his active crewmen, and then, almost imperceptibly, at his command, the ship rose from the field and soared across the city.

Ron watched the ocean and the land fall away, testifying to the tremendous acceleration, but he felt no effects of inertia. The crewmen remained unstrapped and at ease in their padded chairs.

This was far different from the flight in the big ship that had brought them to Rorla. He was a witness now to all the activities of the ship's nerve center, almost a part of it. The brief conversation of the crew came to Ron in part, since the Captain and two or three of the crew had adopted translators, but many of the technical terms had no English equivalents and these consequently came through as gibberish.

There was an urgency, too, about the flight of the little ship, which had not been present on the other journey, an urgency somehow expressing the invincible will of the Federation. But there was something else, that could scarcely be defined. To Ron, it seemed as though there were an air of apology even amid efficiency, an apology for the fact that the existence of the Patrol was an admission the Galaxy Federation was not all it was meant to be. Even this brotherhood of supermen required a police force.

In moments, Rorla assumed a pinkish saucer shape and then transformed to a green and pleasant globe as it was when Ron first glimpsed it days before. They circled halfway around the planet on a long spiral curve and set the controls on a steady course which the navigator handed up confidently.

"How do they know where to go?" Ron asked Clonar. "Do they know which way Barmese and Athol went?"

"We have a complex reporting system operating throughout the galaxy and reaching to the edge of our neighboring systems," explained Clonar. "It is not unlike your own flight-control arrangements, which you explained to me in connection with the operation of your air routes on Earth. Every ship that leaves or approaches one of our planets is tagged until it completes its flight. This is done by use of IVP systems similar to your radar.

"The purpose of all this is safety, control and supervision and a score of other reasons why it is desirable to know at any time what ships are in flight between the planets and the galaxies. The least of the reasons is the pursuit of criminals, but it is handy for capturing them also, when the need arises."

"There must be an enormous volume of trade and travel to warrant such an intricate traffic-control system," said Ron.

"There is. It's an unbelievable flow of traffic from your viewpoint. I hope to show you something of it before you leave."

Clonar was able to perform more than minor duties for the crew because of his own long experience in flight, but for Ron there was only observation of the stars and of the ship to take up his time. As the hours passed, however, he was rather grateful there was nothing for him to do. It gave him time to think, to evaluate all that had occurred since they had left Earth.

The intense blackness of space and the great splendor of the suns they passed filled him with the same mystery and wonder as caused the ancient shepherds and watchers of the skies to cast up the tales of magic and glory in which they peopled the heavens with the gods and heroes of the constellations. It was a wonder that would never die, and it caused him to remember his mother's words of the night before: "Search your hearts and minds—find what it is you want of life and of yourselves—give all you have—no matter what it costs."

This was what he wanted, he thought. Without his mothers words he might never have admitted it to himself. But now he could. He wanted space and the stars. He wanted to be part of the thin chain linking Man and his fellow creatures across the galaxies.

He wanted a place in the Galactic Federation, a place for Earthmen among the creatures of the Universe. He had wanted it for Earth, but now as he stared out at the vastness and remembered his mother's words he wanted it for himself, too. He wanted for himself a life that encompassed galaxies, and friendships that included all the intelligent beings of creation.

For a full day they traveled at faster than light velocity after the communicator got a confirmation of the position of their quarry from a number of control stations. Then Captain Marsun dropped below the threshold of the light barrier for a confirming look on his screens. "Two ships on the same course," he said. "I'd be willing to bet Barmese and Athol are planning to pirate the other vessel."

"Which is which?" asked the navigator. "They're almost at the same range. Perhaps we'll have to challenge both."

"I think not," said the Captain. "Look. They've detected us and are changing course. I wonder what they think they can do."

"We can run them down in less than three hours," said the pilot.

The navigator leaned over his charts and extrapolated a line from their present position. "Three hours will bring them to Benares Planet, on the course they seem to have chosen," he said. "They could be planning to hole up there."

The Captain stepped quickly to the chart and glanced at the positions marked. "You may be right. They know they can't get away in space, but on a planet such as Benares they might hide from an army."

"Can't we do something to overtake them?" said Ron. "We can't let them get away when we're this close."

Captain Marsun turned slowly with a faint smile. "You really want to get hold of those two, don't you?" "You bet I do!"

The Captain picked up a calculator from the desk and moved it swiftly in his fingers. After a moment he put it down and glanced at the meters on the ship's instrument panel. "We might be able barely to overtake them, but we can't go faster than fight any more. We can't hold it long enough to do any good with

out overshooting. Anything slower requires an acceleration curve almost impossible to attain.

"Maybe you'd better break out the suits, Clonar. There's standard storage on them. If we have to hunt in the jungles of Benares Planet you'll know you've really been on a trip!"

Clonar turned to obey and beckoned Ron to assist in breaking out the suits. "Lucky they've got spares enough for us," said Clonar. "Until somebody breaks a suit, at least—"

"What's so bad about Benares Planet?" asked Ron. "Why is it so tough?"

"Tenarg could tell you if he were alive. He tried to land an expedition there once and lost thirty men. He wasn't green, either, when he did. Benares Planet is about the most deceitful, stinkingest, unpleasant piece of terrain in the whole galaxy."

Chapter 16 Benares Planet

I

HERE was a message from Rorla that morning telling of Mr. Barron's continued slow improvement. Mrs. Barron and Anne sent along greetings which Engon relayed. This was more than Ron expected. He hoped it might be an indication the adviser was thawing in his attitude toward the Earthmen.

Receipt of the message was the only thing to break their constant watch of the small green spot on the screen, which had become momentarily the center of their Universe. The ship's automatic computers and piloting equipment made a constant check on the fleeing ship, matching its acceleration against their own in order to try to overtake it before reaching Benares Planet.

By the halfway mark Captain Marsun admitted defeat. The combination of speeds and acceleration involved were impossible.

"We'll have to make our catch after they land," said the Captain. "You can inspect and issue the suits, Clonar. Each man check his own as we approach."

On another screen, with high magnification, they watched the growing planet, a fuzzy gray globe. With closer approach the fuzziness resolved to vast swirling clouds whose visible motion indicated hurricane winds in the upper levels of the atmosphere.

"It must rain all the time," said Ron. "I don't see a break anywhere."

"Those aren't water clouds," said Clonar. "The atmosphere is composed of almost everything smelly and poisonous you can name, predominantly methane, but there is a large percentage of carbon dioxide,

various nitrogen oxides, and formaldehyde. That, plus such water vapor as there is, makes a nice soup to wander around in.

"I hoped we wouldn't end up here, but I was afraid of it. Most of the known characters, like Barmese and Athol, have a fondness for such places. It's possible they have a well-secured hide-out here. If so, it may take days to dig them out."

"Shift the vision frequency band on your screen," the Captain said. "They're almost into the atmosphere. We don't want to lose them."

Clonar pressed a tab and the screen changed abruptly to a crimson glow, but the fog vanished and there lay revealed the forbidding surface of the primitive, uninhabited world. The Captain stepped up the magnification until they spotted the tiny dot of the fleeing ship moving far below them.

Ron caught his breath at the sight of the terrain. Forests of monstrous growths rose from a jagged, twisted landscape. Where the vegetation broke at the edge of a crevasse he estimated the height of the trees as more than two hundred feet. The breaks in the surface of the planet were frequent, making jagged canyons from a few feet in width to a few hundred, and apparently many hundreds of feet deep. Once Ron caught the flash of a crimson river at the bottom of a gorge. All the color, however, was due to the viewing screen. He did not know what the true colors might be.

The eyes of the others were wholly on the ship they were following. It skimmed low over a section of the most impenetrable jungle yet crossed. This lay near the base of a gigantic escarpment cutting across the horizon for hundreds of miles in either direction. The escarpment was broken occasionally by deep incisions that gave the entire mass the appearance of having been scarred by age and cosmic violence.

"Look!" cried Clonar suddenly. "They're going to hit!"

The ship of Barmese and Athol had made a sudden dip, slashing into a high cluster of growth, cutting fifty feet from the tops of a dozen great trees. Then the ship soared erratically into the air again.

"They're in trouble," murmured the Captain. "Real trouble—"

Even as he spoke, the ship came to a stall high in the atmosphere and then plunged like a hurled disk, to disappear in the mass of forest growth.

Instantly the Captain touched another tab on the panel. The crimson faded from the screen and was replaced by a filmy gray with a ghostly, unreal appearance. It was almost like an X-ray, for the foliage had disappeared from the trees and only thin stalks represented the trunks. Jagged rocks appeared below the trees in misty outline. In the midst of all was the fallen ship.

It was still rolling on one edge as they caught it on the screen. In a kind of majestic defeat it slowed and came to a stop, held upright by the mass of trees into which it had fallen.

"It looks as if we've saved ourselves further chasing after them," said Ron.

Captain Marsun smiled a bit grimly. "I'm afraid you don't know the toughness of this galaxy's spacemen." He waited a little longer and then pointed. "See, the hatch is opening."

Ron stared. As if moved by a ghostly hand the hatch in the center of the ship was indeed opening. "But I don't see anyone!" cried Ron.

"No. Our screen on this setting cannot show animal tissue any more than it does plant tissue. But we know they have survived the crash and are taking to the jungle. It means we will have to start from there and depend on tracking them."

During the minutes of flight remaining, they donned the pressure suits. It was Ron's first experience with one, and once he was sealed within it, he felt a new respect even for Barmese and Athol, who had walked about on Rorla in such suits. Clonar showed him how to manipulate the controls for adjustment of temperature and atmospheric pressure and air content, how to operate the radio, and to obtain food from the built-in provision compartments. The latter were designed to empty liquid and semisolid foods through a tube into the mouth of the wearer. The discharge of food was controlled by air pressure, and Ron found it took some skill to do this properly. After his first attempt, Clonar helped unseal the suit and wipe off the excess food that had gone down his neck.

Their direct vision diminished as the ship plunged into the foggy atmosphere, but near the surface they were able to see outlines as much as four or five hundred feet ahead. The ship soared over the sight of the crash. There was no clearing in which they could land. The shielding thickness of the jungle hid any sign of Barmese and Athol.

"I don't see how they can be tracked on foot through such a wilderness," said Ron.

"That's were the Patrol comes in," said Clonar. "You'll see."

The pilot finally located a tiny opening in the forest barely large enough to let the ship down in a straight descent. Even then the low growth and crags made it necessary to let the tracking party down on a ladder the last twenty feet. The Captain led them, taking two of his crewmen and Ron and Clonar.

Each carried a gun, mounted on a stock somewhat similar in size and shape to a high-powered American rifle, for purposes of handling and sighting, but containing a mechanism like that on the small weapons found in Tenarg's quarters.

Below the open hatchway Captain Marsun made a final check with the ship's communicator, directing each of the party to do likewise to make sure their line of communication with the ship was intact. Then the ladder was drawn up and the hatch closed. The ship vanished abruptly in the mist.

Ron stood looking upward, feeling a momentary wave of loneliness and isolation. He shook it off and hurried after the others who had already started in the direction of the wreckage.

The poisonous atmosphere boiled over the crags and through the trees in thick, obscuring waves, but the Rorlans seemed to take no notice of their weird surroundings and moved steadily forward. Clonar called back, "Are you all right, Ron? Keep a little closer. We'll go slower if necessary."

"Go as fast as you like. Don't worry about me. I'll keep up."

He would keep up, he thought. He would keep up with Federation men wherever they went, if he had anything to do about it. He would set foot on every planet where it was possible for man to walk. He would find out everything there was to know about the people and creatures who lived on them.

Jungle moisture collected on the outside of their suits very quickly. It ran in trickles down the faces of the helmets, making it necessary to wipe them every few moments. Occasional small trickles ran between the rocks, disappearing in the fog, and eventually finding their way, Ron supposed, in some nearby chasm along whose bottom a river roared.

The floor of the jungle was nothing like the swampy, matted surface he would have expected. The mass of trees and other growth did not have any familiar-looking leaves. The trees bore fronds elliptical in shape, as big as a bedsheet, and dirty brown in color, Apparently these fronds stayed on a tree season after season, being broken away only by storms or the death of the tree. When they fell to the surface their disintegration was so complete no moldy remnant remained to soften the hard surface of the planet. In places it seemed as if the jungle monsters literally grew from the rocks themselves. Ron caught up with the others and asked about it.

"That's right," said Clonar. "This liquid you see is not water. It's mostly ammonia. It's the solvent for materials in the rock which the plants use for nourishment.

"Watch your suit on those small, sharp-leaved plants. Our suits are tough, but those leaf edges are a combination of hack saw and welding torch."

Ron turned up the refrigeration unit of his suit a notch and plodded after the others. He wished he could wipe his face.

They came upon the wreckage suddenly. Ron hadn't even supposed they were near it, but the others seemed sure of their direction and came upon the ship with no evidence of surprise. Captain Marsun was weighted down with an extra allotment of instruments he consulted occasionally, but Ron did not know what these were.

He choked back an exclamation at the seeming carelessness of their approach. "How do we know both Barmese and Athol left the ship?" he asked Clonar. "One of them might be waiting for us."

Captain Marsun overheard him and answered. "We aren't being careless. Perhaps you didn't notice it, but the motion of the hatch when it was opened indicated clearly the emergence of both men. Here on the ground you can see where they dropped. Their tracks lead toward the escarpment."

Ron wiped the ammonia from his helmet face and leaned down. Clonar must have been right about the tracking abilities of the Patrolmen, he thought. There were barely perceptible marks, but they indicated nothing to Ron. Even after they were pointed out it was difficult to make the proper interpretation.

The man who had gone up to investigate the interior of the ship returned and dropped to the ground beside the others. The Captain checked each of the guns and instructed Ron. "It is important now to be sure the safety catch stays on while passing through the jungle, but be ready to release it the instant a signal for attack is given."

Ron glanced warily about at the swirling fog and the concealing fronds of jungle growth. It seemed fantastic and more than foolhardy to try tracking Barmese and Athol through such obstacles.

As if reading his thoughts, Clonar said, "Maybe it would be punishment enough to leave them here—"

Ron shook his head. "Not for me. I won't be satisfied until I have the pleasure of beating up their skinny physiogs. This planet could probably take care of payment due for the general cussedness of their natures, but I have a personal debt to pay if there's any chance to do so."

As the day passed it became hotter, until the small cooling units in the suits were barely adequate to maintain a comfortable temperature. Clonar and his fellow Rorlans seemed to be affected by the heat more than Ron, and they stopped frequently to rest. Rorla did not expose them to the extremes of temperature Earthmen had become acclimated to.

The rest periods irked Ron, however, because he feared the half-hour start of Barmese and Athol could keep the fugitives ahead of them indefinitely. He suggested this to Captain Marsun, who shook his head. "If they're traveling without rest we'll catch them so much sooner. We'll catch them in good time anyway by being patient and careful."

Then, in the middle of the burning afternoon, the cooling unit on Ron's suit went out. He gasped at the burst of heat that overtook him almost instantly.

The others heard him. Clonar asked anxiously, "What is it, Ron? Are you hurt?"

Ron told them his trouble and the Lieutenant came back to examine the mechanism on the suit. "I'm afraid it's out for good," he said. "We'll have to call the ship and get you picked up at the next clearing. We don't have a spare unit on board, either."

"Nothing doing," said Ron. "I'm going to be in at the finish. We're used to heat on Earth. Besides, it ought to start getting cooler soon."

"I could order your return to the ship," reminded the Captain.

"I'm asking you not to do it," said Ron. "This might be another job to you, but it's something very personal to me. I want to stay."

The Captain shook his head and smiled inside the helmet. "If that's the way you want it—. But come in front of Clonar, at least. Let him bring up the rear to watch you and pick you up when you finally fold."

Tm not folding," said Ron. "Let's be moving on."

He knew he was being a first-class fool and contributing nothing to the hunt. But he wasn't trying to show off, he told himself fiercely. He wanted more than anything else, in addition to his father's recovery, to get his hands on the skinny necks of the pair somewhere ahead and beat their heads together as long as he was able.

Sweat trickled down his face and neck now, burning across his skin in hot streams. He adjusted the vapor-absorbing mechanism of the air recirculator. It helped a little, but not much. He felt as if he were breathing steam.

Once he stumbled and Clonar came to his aid. "Feel like going back?"

"Not on your life!"

It was incredible to Ron that the Patrolmen could actually be tracking the fugitives over the hard surface along which they traveled. For himself he could see nothing indicating their passage.

As another almost unendurable hour passed, the fog seemed to be increasing, but at the same time Ron thought he felt a slight cooling as if the atmosphere outside were changing. They came to a base of a high cliff and followed a narrow ledge close to the rock.

"Keep together," said the Captain sharply. "Take hand to gun arm of the man in front. We're coming to an ammonia falls. It will cool your suit, Ron. Stand in it a few minutes if you like."

Almost blinded by the fog, Ron followed obediently, taking the arm of the man in front and giving his own arm to Clonar.

The evaporation of the ammonia pouring over the cliff caused considerable cooling of the atmosphere,

and Ron felt refreshed by his passage under the stream and the silvery, gaseous column surrounding it.

But gradually, as they passed beyond, the fog diminished and the heat rose again. The sun had gone lower, however, and Ron hoped night would soon be upon them. Exercising this hope and only half-aware of his surroundings, he almost bumped into the man in front of him, and realized the party had stopped. The ones in the rear advanced slowly to where the Captain stood pointing downward.

He was on the edge of a crevasse twenty feet wide and stretching endlessly in either direction. But the crevasse itself was not the object of the Captain's attention. He flashed a light into the depths of boiling ammonia vapors. From far below, beyond the limits of visibility, they heard the roar of an ammonia river.

The Captain's light threw a beam on a ledge a hundred feet down. A sprawled and crumpled object lay on the rocks—the body of Athol, his bloody skull visible in the transparent helmet which was still intact after the fall that had cost his life.

Chapter 17 Capture

THE Captain looked at Ron. "You may, if you wish," I he said, "put a burn through him as a token—and ji also to make sure."

Ron glanced up with a feeling of surprise and disgust, "You don't beat a corpse. He's had his. There's nothing more he's got coming."

The Captain shrugged. "That accounts for one, anyway. One more to go."

He looked speculatively across the chasm and up and down the lip on which they stood. High above them, trees overhung the gap, almost touching across it. "Evidently Athol tried to swing across on the vines," he said. "There's one hanging down on the other side, so Barmese made it. Athol's vine broke and dropped him into the hole.

"We won't be able to cross until morning, when we can move along and find a clearing the ship can lift us over. How are you feeling, Ron? I fully intended to order you back to the ship this evening. Now it's impossible. We can't risk moving along here in this dim light because of the chance of running off into overgrown crevasses in the dark."

"I'm all right," said Ron. "It's a lot cooler now."

"How's your water? Used it all up?"

"No. I still have my ration. I haven't taken any more than the allotment."

"Good." There was a note of admiration in the Captain's voice. "I think I'll recommend you for Patrolman when we get back. There are plenty of them who would have used all their water by now in similar circumstances."

After checking out with the ship hovering somewhere above them, they bedded down for the night. They scooped out places in the broken rock and padded them with as many of the scarce fronds as they could find on the ground or cut down without going too far from the camp site.

In the mountains near Longview Ron had spent many nights under the open sky on bare ground or on pine needles, but he knew nothing would ever compare with a night spent in a pressure suit on the rocks of Benares Planet. The suit was padded for emergency sleeping periods, but nothing would ever dispel the nightmare illusion of sleeping in a coffin that came over him in the middle of the night.

He reassured the others his distress from the heat was not too great, but the night brought little coolness, and sweat continued pouring from him. His only rest was a few hours sleep from complete exhaustion. For the remainder of the time he lay awake staring at the starless, fog-hidden sky and listening to the drops of ammonia falling from the trees onto the faceplate of his helmet.

Ron had supposed a guard would be necessary throughout the night, but the Captain seemed confident the chasm was protection enough from Barmese if the killer should attempt an attack. But he was also confident Barmese had only one idea at the moment, and that was to flee far and fast through the forest.

Clonar also apparently found it difficult to rest, for he was up at the first sign of dawn and went to sit beside Ron. The Patrolmen, however, slept soundly, as if resting on the most comfortable beds in existence. Impatiently, the boys looked at one another and regarded their sleeping companions, but they did not speak, for the radio circuits had been left open and there was no reason for waking the Patrolmen yet. In silence they had breakfast by pumping some food from the tubes in the helmet.

The thick gruel, kept warm in its thermos container, made Ron feel much better. By the time they had finished, the Patrolmen were stirring. The Captain stood up, smiling as if it were natural for him to waken under such conditions.

He called the ship immediately to make contact and to issue instructions for helping them across the chasm as soon as a clearing was found. There was also a report from Rorla which said Ron's father was much better, and had regained sufficient consciousness to tell about the shooting. There was word also from Ron's mother, from Francie and Anne.

"Your father is going to get well," said Clonar.

"Yeah." Ron felt embarrassed because his choked-up feelings kept his words back. There had been doubt in his mind before, but now he felt sure his father was going to recover. He glanced across the crevasse. "I wish Dad could see us when we catch Barmese," he said finally.

The swirling mistiness quickly took on the maximum light it would have for the day. In the grayness the party moved cautiously in search of a spot big enough to allow the ship to descend and lift them across the chasm. It was almost an hour before they found it. After the ship carried them over, they returned to a place opposite their night's camp to pick up the trail of Barmese.

"I don't think we have much farther to go." said Captain Marsun, "but we'll have to be more cautious. Spread out on either side of me, about ten feet apart. Take off the safety; you may have to shoot fast."

They adopted the line formation, Ron and Clonar staying adjacent to the Captain. The other Patrolmen took the ends of the line. They were following the edge of one of the lower hills near the base of the great escarpment, which rose sharply to form a cliff whose top was about three hundred feet above them. As they moved, their exterior microphones picked up a slight sound from above. They turned in time to see a huge boulder slowly toppling from its base near the cliff top.

The Captain's voice roared in command, but already Ron and the nearest Patrolmen were fleeing the base of the cliff. The boulder crashed to the rocks twenty feet behind. It kept rolling with thunderous momentum and passed between them, to crash against the trees beyond.

"I see him!" exclaimed Clonar. "The cave near the top of the cliff." He aimed and fired. The bolt from his gun shattered a mass of rock at the upper edge of the cavern. But Barmese had vanished into the interior of it.

The rolling grayness of the fog dimmed the outlines of the cliff top and the cavern. Captain Marsun surveyed it with a squinting look. "We shouldn't have too much trouble with our guns. We can knock it down and seal the cavern so thoroughly he could not reopen it. To make sure, we can shoot in a grenade of myconite. That is, unless he decides to come back with us."

He switched channels on his communicator and addressed Barmese. "Will you come out and return to Rorla with us, or shall we seal you in?"

A loud oath, incomprehensible to Ron, was the fugitive's reply, as he flattened himself on the ledge before the cavern mouth, projected his weapon over the edge and fired into the group below.

"Take cover," the Captain called. "We'll have to chip away the ledge first, until the mouth of the cave is flush with the cliff. Then we can seal him in."

"Isn't there any way to get him alive?" asked Ron. "This isn't good enough. I want to give it to him with my own fist, and I want him to know who's giving it to him."

"It's a useless risk."

"Let me take that risk. A half-dozen good punches is all I ask."

"You Earthmen take your revenge seriously, don't you?" The Captain smiled and glanced up toward the cave mouth. "All right," he said. "I'll give you your opportunity. Go up that slope and get above the cavern so you can look down on the ledge. We'll cover you from here. Once you're on top, we'll smoke out Barmese with a myconite grenade. You hit him from above with this."

He passed over a small weapon he had carried in his belt to Ron. "It will merely knock him out, as if we dropped a sack of sand from twenty feet above."

"Suppose he doesn't smoke out?" said Ron.

The Captain's smile broadened. "Then you can go in and get him—if you've got what it takes. The myconite attacks his suit. It destroys the metal fastenings in a matter of minutes, opening it up and mixing the interior and exterior atmospheres. In a little while longer it attacks the rest of the suit"

"I see," said Ron. "And if I go in after him—?''

"Then it's a race. We'll call the ship to pick you off the ledge, but it's a race between the length of time your own suit holds up and the length of time it takes you to get to the safety of the ship. If you think personal retaliation against Barmese is worth it, go ahead."

Ron glanced upward to the barely visible cliff top. The heat within his suit was rising. He realized his reflexes were weak and slow because of the suffocating atmosphere. But he grasped the small weapon and secured it in his belt. "Give me cover," he said.

With rifle in hand, he scurried away from the protection of the boulder behind which they crouched. In the open, he sped toward the distant slope leading to the top of the cliff. The sound of covering fire from his companions indicated Barmese had seen his break.

He threw himself flat on the rocks at the base of the slope for a moment's rest. The exertion had made conditions inside the suit almost unbearable. As he looked up the slope he intended to climb, Ron regretted his rashness in taking up the Captain's challenge.

It wasn't worth it. Then he remembered the image of his father lying on the floor, wounded and unconscious. He permitted himself a small sip from the water tube. His muscles tightened with the effort of rising to his feet.

The slope was steep and broken and covered with loose rubble, but he picked out what seemed a likely route offering a few secure holds and protection behind rocks jutting into the line of sight between Barmese and him. He began the upward climb. Waves of suffocating heat washed over him with increased intensity. He wondered how it was possible for there to be any moisture left in his body.

Occasionally he heard the crash of exploding fire against the cliff base and in the trees beyond. Once, a shot from the cave crashed against the rocks above and sent a crushing slide down upon him. He rolled aside, narrowly missing burial under tons of rubble. For a long time he lay panting before returning to the trail. His eye was on a sanctuary of secure outcropping which seemed to be level with the mouth of the cave and about four hundred feet from it.

He reached this finally with a gasp of relief and leaned back against the base of it while he closed his eyes to relieve the swirling in his head and the nausea of heat exhaustion. He rested a full ten minutes, hearing nothing from his companions except the occasional sound of gunfire.

Then Clonar spoke gently through the communicator. "Are you all right, Ron? Can you make it the rest of the way? There's no need to go on if you can't."

"I'm O.K. Just getting ready to move on."

He turned, gripping the gun securely, and edged out of the shadow of the rock. A blast of fire stabbed from the ledge opposite. Again he threw himself flat behind the rock, as a shower of blast debris fell around him. Then he realized with horror what he had done. He didn't need a glance toward the cave to verify his mistake.

He had climbed within range of Barmese. The killer could shoot from flat on the ledge without revealing himself to the covering fire from below. He had deliberately allowed Ron to reach this position.

"Award me the little pointed hat," Ron breathed into the microphone to his companions. "You might as well go on back to Rorla and let us shoot it out like a good old Western."

He knew he sounded hysterical, but there seemed nothing he could do now to calm himself.

"We can finish this off any time you wish, Ron," said the Captain.

"No—give me a little time. Ill think of something. Look—put a shot or two into the roof of the cavern to bring down some rock onto the ledge. Not enough to close up the hole, but enough to force Barmese off the ledge while I make a run for it. I can get out of range if you keep him busy for about thirty seconds."

"Say when," replied the Captain.

"Now!"

A single shot crashed into the stillness. Ron peered carefully beyond the edge of his protecting rock. Barmese was struggling to avoid the shower of stones trickling from the roof of the cavern.

A volley of shots followed. Chunks of rock blasted out against Barmese. He crawled into the cave. Then Ron gripped his gun with all his strength and leaped from behind the barrier and up the slope leading to the ridge.

He heard another shot and another, but he didn't turn back to see if Barmese were trying to get his range again. He had proof without looking when a blast struck fifty feet behind him. Then he was above and out of sight of Barmese.

"Made it," he breathed almost inaudibly. "Thanks. Now I can get above the cave."

"Take your time," advised the Captain.

"No time. Let's get this over with."

He stumbled along the ridge to the spot above the cave. He could tell when he was there by the freshly blasted rock lying on the ledge. Barmese was not visible.

"Here comes the myconite!" called the Captain. "Be ready!"

He saw the Captain step into the open and aim carefully. There was a puff of fight from the gun, and in the cavern below he heard the dull explosion of the grenade. Wisps of reddish gas floated out and drifted in the wind.

"Don't let it touch you," the Captain warned.

"I'm all right. Is Barmese coming out?" "Not yet-"

He waited one full minute, then two, then three. This was the limit, the Captain had told him. He waited two more. Barmese would by that time be suffocating as his own atmosphere poured out and the alien mixture swirled into the ruptured suit.

"I'm going in," Ron called. "Get the ship!"

"Don't do it, you crazy fool! You'll never make it. I order you to stay where you are!"

But Ron had already leaped. He fell in a crushing drop and almost toppled from the narrow ledge. Then he clawed his way over the debris and into the cave mouth. There he found the fallen Barmese inside the opening, legs and arms moving in frantic struggles. Underneath the faceplate his skin had turned a sickening purple. His mouth made great frantic gasps, but no sound emerged.

Fighting his own exhaustion, Ron dragged the fugitive over the rocks and boulders to the ledge. The Patrol ship was already bumping gently against the cliff edge. One of the men had opened the top hatch, and in a moment was moving along the exterior catwalk.

"Hand him over," he ordered. "We'll drag him in."

Ron watched as Barmese was dragged up and lowered roughly to the interior of the ship. Then he began his own slow advance. A dozen feet from the hatch he slumped. A faint sickening odor reached his nostrils. Dully, he was aware his suit had sprung open.

Rough hands dragged him with frantic urgency. He felt himself dropping through the hatchway of the ship's lock. Then he passed out completely.

He revived once after the others had been picked

up and the ship had started on its way back to Rorla. He sat up in the bunk and began to laugh hysterically while the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I just remembered!" he exclaimed. "I will never be able to punch Barmese in the nose. We can't keep him out of a suit long enough! You can't poke someone in the nose if he doesn't breathe the same atmosphere you do!"

Chapter 18 Judgment

FFicrENT first aid by the Patrolmen soon removed all traces of Ron's heat exhaustion and the delirium that accompanied it. Likewise the reports of his father's continuing fast recovery speeded his return to a normal condition.

Barmese also recovered fairly rapidly. The problem of handling him, however, was made complex by the nature of his atmosphere. His suit pack contained a good supply since the automatic valves cut out as soon as leakage occurred. The Patrolmen finally evacuated a small chamber and put Barmese and the tanks in and sealed them off. They fitted up a communications line, hoping he would tell them about the killing of Tenarg, but he refused to talk.

His only comment was a demand to know what they intended to do with him. He threatened heavy retaliation from the triplanetary system to which he belonged if he were harmed.

Clonar told Ron a trial would be held as soon as they arrived, and he and his father would be required to testify. Such punishment as was determined for Barmese would be administered quickly.

As the Planet of Light came into view once more through the ports, Ron brought his mind back to the original purpose of their coming. They had achieved nothing, he thought, and he had found nothing he could take back to be of use to Earth. He and his family had made no change in the status of Earth-men in the eyes of the Federation. At the spaceport Ron's mother and Francie and

Anne awaited his coming. Engon had taken them there when the Patrol notified him of the ship's approach.

His mother threw her arms tightly about her son as he came down from the ship. "It seems as if you've been gone forever," she said. "Your father is waiting to see you. We just came from the hospital and he looks wonderful this morning."

Over Anne's shoulder Ron saw Clonar's family, and at that moment Francie bounced up and down at his side, pulling his arm away from Anne. "Did you catch him?" she cried. "Did you catch him? I want to see what he looks like!"

Clonar agreed to drop Ron's family off at the colony while Engon took Ron on to the hospital. The adviser had little to say during the trip. "I'm glad you were able to bring at least one of them back," he remarked. "A trial will be held tomorrow. You will be ready to testify, of course?"

"Yes."

On Benares Planet, Ron had thought little of the subsequent trial and execution of Barmese. He had been intent only on his own personal revenge which could never be delivered now. At this point he almost regretted the capture. He almost wished Barmese had escaped to perish on the deadly planet instead of being brought back for trial and execution.

In the hospital he found his father sitting up in bed, propped against pillows and smiling in warm greeting.

"Dad!" Ron threw his arms about his father's shoulders. The older Barron hugged his son close ..... and then pushed him gently away with a wince of pain.

"The glue isn't thoroughly set on some of the spare parts they had to put in!"

"But you are coming along all right, aren't you?" said Ron. "They told me—"

"Be as good as new in another week or two, I'm assured. Lucky it didn't happen back home. Our old friend Smithers would have had to throw up his hands and call in the undertaker. Tell me about the trip. How were things with you?"

"We went clear to Borneo and back," said Ron.

His father looked up sharply, then grinned. "So Mother told you, eh? Well—I guess maybe I've been there myself the last week. I think it's about the last time I want to go, though."

Ron gave him the details of the trip. "We brought Barmese back, and you and I have to give testimony. I don't know what they'll do to him. Some sort of Roman holiday from all I can gather."

"I understand the Conference sessions are about over," said Mr. Barron. "I can't see that they've accomplished very much. There have been no announcements concerning results of delegate examinations or plans for organization. These will come at the last minute, I suppose. As far as we're concerned it's a complete flop, eh?"

"Looks that way."

"If I hadn't become involved as I did with Barmese and Athol it might have been different. We'll probably never know—"

"Don't blame yourself, Dad. There's been something wrong right from the start. I can't put my finger on it, but somehow I don't think we're missing out on much."

"I wish you were right, Ron, but I don't think indulging in sour grapes will help us any."

"It's not sour grapes. There's something phony about the whole deal, and I'm going to find it before we leave."

"My decision on the sincerity of the Conference depends upon their treatment of Barmese," said Mr. Barron. "If they hang him, or shoot him, or fry him —or whatever they do with criminals here— You'd think if the Federation is as advanced as they claim to be, they would have long ago discovered a way to take care of criminals instead of the old eye for an eye."

"Yeah—I was wishing we hadn't brought him back. The Patrol would have abandoned him there if I hadn't insisted. All I was thinking about was socking him in the jaw—I forgot about the rest, I guess. Then I found out you can't punch a guy's nose if he wears a suit that covers him from head to toe all the time."

His father chuckled. "One of the hazards of space travel! We may as well let the Rorlans take care of him. I doubt that your punching him in the nose is of very great importance."

It was much later that afternoon before Ron and Anne were able to find time to discuss things. When they did, they went out to the garden and found a shady spot by the pool. "I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm with you again," said Anne. "I was scared. If both you and your father—"

"But we didn't," Ron interrupted gently.

She pressed his hand and looked up into his face. **I don't see why it was necessary for you to make that trip through the jungle looking for Barmese and Athol. With the help of the personal compasses, you shouldn't—"

"With the help of the what?"

"The personal compasses. Engon told me about them after he brought us back to the house the day you left."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"But he said the Patrol took them! The ones on Barmese and Athol, at least."

"We'd better start over," said Ron. "Tell me from the beginning."

"He said they're little devices in a box about four inches square. They look almost like an ordinary compass, except they can be set to follow an individual and can move in all directions. There was one fixed on each delegate as he arrived in the colony."

"And he said the Patrol had the ones set on Barmese and Athol?"

"Yes."

Ron remembered the instruments Captain Marsun carried on his belt and seemed to consult periodically —the instruments Ron had never found out about. Skilled trackers—1 His mouth tightened.

"Their range isn't any good in space," Anne went on, "but on the planet, within a thousand miles or so, Engon said, the ship could follow the criminals wherever they went. He said it would be simple to wear them down and pick them up at your leisure— or shoot them from the ship, if the Patrolmen so decided. I couldn't understand why you went on foot."

Ron recalled the two days on Benares Planet. The two days of suffocation inside the defective suit. The climb up the mountain to capture Barmese. With rising anger he wondered how much more had been kept from him—and why. So far, the dealings with the Rorlans had all the aspects of an iceberg, with only a fraction visible to an observer while the rest floated cold and hidden beneath the surface.

"Maybe Engon was wrong," he said to Anne. "It doesn't matter. That's the way it happened, and we're back."

He persuaded her to talk of Earth, and the things they would do when they were home again. He listened to the pleasant sound of her voice as he lay on the grass beside her, his hands under his head, his eyes closed against the occasional brightness of the late sun filtering between the leaves.

While he listened, he churned over in his mind what she had said. Why had Marsun kept him from knowing about the compass? Why the tale about the Patrol's tracking abilities? That was Clonar's story. He knew of the deception! All of them had known it-except Ron Barron.

The spacious Hall of Justice was crowded for the trial of Barmese. All delegates from the colony who were able to do so were in attendance. These were assigned one section of the hall, and Rorlan citizens and other-planet visitors were seated in another portion. The witnesses, consisting mostly of delegates, sat in the center, front. Here, Ron found Borah, who was being called for his story. It was the first time they had met since Ron's return.

"Looks like they're going to make it a big show, while they're at it," Borah grunted. "I guess they mean to impress us all you can't fool with the Federation."

"Have you ever seen anything like this before, or even heard of it?" said Ron.

"No. Not much crime occurs in the Class One group. Such as there is, is handled privately and scientifically. This hall is for making laws, not applying them. They don't make a—a—" Borah fumbled for a word.

"Roman holiday—?" suggested Ron.

"Guess so," said Borah, not knowing the meaning of the term.

While Ron watched, Barmese was brought in the other side of the hall and seated with his guards beneath a kind of ventlike hood suspended from the wall. This contraption seemed to Ron as if it had been recently installed without much purpose.

By means of wired communication, George Barron was also witnessing the proceedings in his hospital room. He would be called up for his version of the story when the time came.

Ron was required to sit apart from the others, as the representative of those injured by the prisoner. He sat opposite Barmese, on the far side of the hall but in full view of all the court and audience.

He scarcely heard the long opening preamble delivered by one of the tribunes. Almost consciously he closed his ears against it. No matter what would be said, it couldn't mean anything. Nothing had any meaning here, he thought, at least not the meaning it was supposed to have—the shooting, the trial, the deception of the Patrolmen and of Clonar, their being on Rorla in the first place-Ron felt as if he were swimming on a vast, calm ocean surface, while beneath him deep and submerged currents tugged relentlessly in a direction he could not recognize. The trial either had no purpose at all, or it had a reason so deep and so great he had no inkling of it. But as a trial it was a farce—and so far out of character for the Rorlans and the Federation he wondered why they had bothered to stage it at all. They would not sentence Barmese to death. Sane men did not avenge themselves upon each other by killing.

But they had deceived him. They were deceiving him now, making him believe they would punish Bar-mese after the mockery of this trial.

Borah had begun speaking, Ron realized. The bearlike delegate was detailing his knowledge of Barmese and Athol in past encounters on other worlds and galaxies. A half-dozen others were called to verify Borah's statements.

Then a Patrol Captain was called with documents showing proof that Barmese and Athol were deliberately planted by their triplanetary group to disrupt the Conference and create sufficient disorder to frustrate the plans of the Federation to expand the limits of its membership.

Ron listened to this testimony. He had believed from the first there had to be something bigger behind the attack than was apparent. But he was even more astonished at Engon's testimony that this was not news —that Tenarg was aware of it, and that the Committee had allowed the presence of Barmese and Athol, knowing their purpose. Tenarg's life had been deliberately risked.

George Barron's voice was heard next. With his legal understanding of the need for clear and sharp testimony, he told the story of his family's coming, not missing the opportunity to present the Earthmen's case against Tenarg's biased reception of them. Ron only half listened. Through his mind the same questions tumbled endlessly. Why hadn't the criminals been removed when their plot was known? Why was the trial being held?

He was dimly aware his own name had been called three or four times before he finally responded. He jumped to his feet and stood before the row of tribunes. Almost mechanically, he responded to the questions about the bitterness of the Earthmen toward

Tenarg, and the events since he and his family had arrived.

There was a moment's silence and he thought they were through, so he moved.

"Please remain standing," ordered the tribune who had questioned him.

The tribune himself arose behind the bench and looked solemnly at Ron. There was a sudden premonition that some vital statements would be made.

"You have the first claim," began the judge in sonorous tones. "Tenarg leaves no family or heirs. Therefore, you of Earth have first claim to retribution against Barmese for the crimes done you. In the absence of your father, you are appointed judge over him who has harmed you."

"Will you give the court your judgment: Is Barmese guilty or not guilty of the crime of attempting to take your father's life?"

Ron stood in silence a moment. Drops of perspiration broke out on the backs of his hands. A streak of panic shot through him. "Barmese is guilty of this crime," he said.

"As you have personally expressed the desire for retribution, it shall be granted you after the customs of your own kind."

There was a pause, and an officer of the court approached Ron. He put in Ron's hand a gun of the same type as the one that killed Tenarg.

"As you have made judgment, so now shall you carry out the punishment according to that judgment and the laws of your own people! For so is the justice of Rorla. Cause the prisoner to rise!"

The judge addressed the guards, who dragged the terrified prisoner erect. As if in a dream, Ron now recognized the purpose of the vent hood. It would carry away the poison fumes released from Barmese's suit as he died.

Ron found himself facing Barmese without being aware of having turned. He felt stunned. The gun scarcely seemed to be in the palm of his hand—the hand and arm belonged to someone else, he thought.

Slowly, as if not under his own control, his eyes scanned the audience. Time had stopped—or the spectators had ceased all motion. He could find no sign of life or breath—except one.

Anne's eyes were wide with horror. As she caught his glance her head shook and her lips formed a wild, soundless protest, no, Ron, no.

Her expression broke the dullness in his own mind. As if a dam had burst, he felt energy and awareness flowing back through his brain and along his body.

The words of the judge came clearly to him. "You may proceed with the administration of your judgment." The five tribunes arose, awaiting his action.

He glanced down at the gun, raised it slightly in speculation and indecision. At the same time his mind was working at furious speed. He scanned in swift succession every event that had occurred since their landing on Rorla. The answers began falling into place—

Tenarg's demand that they live in the colony— The Patrol's deception, the meaningless jungle trek-

What would they do if he actually raised the gun and fired? What means had they set up to interfere and prevent his killing Barmese?

Ron's hand lifted slowly. He sighted across the open space of the hall until the helmet of Barmese was steady in the line of fire.

From what seemed a great distance he heard a

gasp and a protesting cry. Without looking, he knew it was his mother's voice.

And then he had all the answers.

They were not going to stop him.

It was not a phony trial. He had been blind to the reality of it, completely blind from the beginning. He had been blind to the identity of the prisoner who was being tried.

That trial was to be complete. They were going to let him kill Barmese. They cared nothing about the fate of this person.

Because this was not the trial of Barmese.

It was the trial of Ron Barron.

The trial of Ron Barron and his family.Of all the inhabitants of Earth itself.

Rage exploded within him, blinding him for an instant. With fierce contempt he sent the gun spinning across the floor between him and Barmese.

"ThereI" he cried in a voice shaking with anger. "There is my judgment and my punishmentl Barmese is the Federation's. Let them do with him as they will."

Chapter 19 You Lied, Clonarl

PPLAUSE thundered in the hall. The spectators roared their relief and approval until court officers spread out among them. During the ovation Ron remained standing. He faced the judges, his eyes hard and bitter.

Solemnly they sat down, all except the one who had addressed Ron. "Your judgment and execution have been heard and approved, Ron Barron. Your claim to the prisoner, Barmese, is thereby fulfilled. He will be remitted to the Council of the Federation for reclamation."

The session was over. Ron led his mother and the girls out of the hall, while the officers held back the crowd swarming about him. They entered the car that had brought them from the colony.

During the ride, Ron sat motionless, only his eyes moving swiftly over the bright city, its great buildings and brilliant landscapes.

The Planet of Light! he thought bitterly. There had never been one inhabitant on it whose word he could trust. Lies had been piled upon lies until his only certainty was that they had been deceived from the beginning, and the Federation invitation had been a hoax. Beyond that fact, he did now know the reason for their being brought to Rorla.

Anne sensed his dark mood, but she did not know its reason. She did not understand what she had seen, because more had transpired than was visible. But she did not ask Ron. Not now, anyhow.

Mrs. Barron, on the other hand, talked the whole way home. There was almost hysteria in her voice

from the strain. "You shouldn't have given us such a scare, Ron," she said. "I thought you were actually going to shoot him in cold blood. Why in the world did you—?"

"Later, if you don't mind, Mother," he said. "I don't feel much like trying to explain anything right now."

They arrived at the colony house and went in; still Mrs. Barron's talk flowed on. "Goodness! It's almost time for dinner. If you'll come and help me, Anne, we'll see what we can get ready."

She scurried off, and Anne pressed Ron's arm. "Talk to me later, will you?" she said. "Tell me?"

"Yes, I'll tell you, Anne."

There seemed to be a curious emptiness in everything Ron looked at. The other houses of the colony beyond the window. The garden in the rear, with its pool and the tree with the elephant-ear leaves. There had been romance and high adventure in everything, even when Tenarg had been harassing them. Now it was gone—all of it.

Even the vastness that separated Earth and Rorla had become meaningless and had lost its glory. The too-white sun of Rorla was only another star in the sky like the thousands one could see on any clear night in Longview. There would be no more longing to reach those stars or to know the peoples of their planets. It frightened Ron, this empty feeling that stripped away the content of everything upon which he looked.

He would be rid of this desolation only back home, he thought. Sit tight until they take you back, and when you're there you'll forget it ever happened. You're safe now. There's nothing more they can do to you. You know—and they know that you know—

He turned on the lights as the evening darkened, and picked up one of his mother's books. He could find nothing in it to fill the emptiness.

He tried to change his mood at mealtime and kept up a stream of chatter he doubted made any sense but which gratified his mother. She relaxed her tension as he seemed to throw off his moodiness, but Anne was not fooled by the change.

It was shortly after dinner when the door call sounded and Anne went to answer it. She found Clonar and Engon there.

As Clonar came into the room, Ron gave a start, and his face took on a new coldness. Something about his glance toward his friend gave Anne a chill of fear.

"We came to congratulate you," said Engon carefully as he sat down. "We offer our congratulations on your decision this afternoon."

"I tried to put on a good show for you," said Ron. "I hope it was worth the price of admission."

Clonar jerked with surprise, but Engon betrayed no emotion. "The price of admission," he said, "is sometimes very difficult to calculate, even beforehand."

"You've made it high enough. It's a matter of knowing whether you're going to get your money's worth or not."

"Aren't you?"

"No. Not after this afternoon. You could never make it worth my money again."

"We had to know," said Engon. "We had to."

"I could have told you if you had asked me."

"We did ask you. The Patrolmen told you Barmese could be left on Benares Planet, and no one would have to punish him. But you insisted on bringing

3iim back. It was not good enough to let him die there. You had to punish him yourself."

Ron laughed sharply. "I said I wanted personally to beat his face in, and I would have if it had been possible. I never said I wanted to shoot him down in cold blood."

"We didn't know," Engon repeated simply. "And we had to find out."

Ron's mother came into the room and sat down, startled by the sudden rage in Ron's voice. "You can find out some other way on the next batch of specimens you bring in," he said. "There won't be any Earthmen among them—not if I can help it. When we get back I'm going to tell them what's out here. What kind of lying, deceiving—"

"Ron!" his mother exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Mother, but you ought to hear this, anyway. You ought to know what they've done to us. White rats! Guinea pigs! Specimens gathered from all over the Universe and put in a lab pen to be examined and poked and prodded to study their reactions. That's us!

"The Conference was a sham, a fake. There never was a Conference. Not one with any meaning. It was nothing but gobbledygook to cover the real purpose of our being here as specimens."

He whirled on Clonar. "And that was a good show you put on about wanting us to stay at your house. Sure, we couldn't be allowed to stay there out of our pens. How could we be observed, our reactions studied so precisely? We never were guests of Rorla. We were laboratory animals. You knew it all the time!"

Clonair's face had gone white, but he nodded. "Yes," he said quietly. "I knew about it. We wanted it to look real."

"Real! It looked real enough. You can congratulate yourselves. You had us fooled. That deal on Benares must have been good for a laugh!

"You and the Patrolmen. And me—walking around so noble in an unrefrigerated suit, ready to conk out any minute, just to give you guys a laugh—to put on a show for you.

"I made it good, too, didn't I? Climbed that blasted mountain for you after Barmese. You must have laughed yourselves silly while I staggered up to that cave and jumped in when it was full of myconite. Old do-or-die Barron!"

He paused. His mother's hand went to her throat. She spoke weakly. "Ron, surely—"

"There's more of it," he interrupted. "A lot more. There's one thing I'm not quite sure of yet. I wish I were. My father's shooting—I wish I could be absolutely sure it was part of the show you planned, too."

"It wasn't," said Clonar. "Believe me, Ron, it wasn't."

"I think it was!" said Ron savagely. "I don't believe you. You lied, Clonar. You lied to me once, and I wouldn't believe another thing you said if my own life depended on it.

"But I don't know for sure. I don't know for sure if the shooting of my father was deliberately planned or not. I don't know any way to find out. But if I ever do—" His hands dropped helplessly to his sides. "There's nothing I can ever do about it except hate you until I die."

He felt the rage warping his face, and realized he could not hold back the tears much longer. "Now tell us," he demanded, "why don't you tell us what wonderful things you have discovered as a result of your study of us Earth-type guinea pigs? What do you know about us you didn't know before?"

Engon was moving away now, retreating from them. He beckoned Clonar—drew him away also. It seemed to Ron they traveled an immeasurable distance to the door, dwindling like stars in the ports of a f aster-than-light ship.

"We know why you came to Rorla," said Engon, as he began closing the door behind him. "More than that we can't tell you now. It, too, is part of what you have to find out for yourselves."

He drew the door shut, and they were gone.

Ron slumped in a chair by the fireplace and buried his face in his hands. He let the sobs come, the long-held-back tears. Mrs. Barron started to go to him, but Anne touched her arm. She stopped and together they watched in silence until Ron's shoulders ceased to shake. After a time he raised his face.

"So now you know," he said. "You know how we were taken in. Clonar—my friend! He was always part of the plan that almost cost Dad his life. I guess I could have forgiven them the rest of it. I could have passed it off as a gag, in time. Maybe even had a good laugh about it myself. But not the deliberate shooting—"

"They wouldn't." Anne protested. "They wouldn't go so far, Ron. I know they wouldn't."

"I think they did," said Ron, his voice even and bitter. "I think they planned it all. Something went wrong and Tenarg died. But they meant to wound Dad—maybe to kill him. How can we ever know how their minds work, or what they might do to demonstrate a point?"

"Clonar is your friend," said Anne, "your father's friend—"

"They don't know what friendship means. They're incapable of it. Tenarg ought to be proof enough. No wonder Clonar could defend him. Clonar's as cold-blooded as the rest of them."

"I'll never believe it," said Anne. "We knew Clonar too well. He wouldn't be guilty of permitting a deliberate attack on a friend. Nor would his people. There must be some other answer. There simply has to be."

"Find it, then!" Ron snapped.

Anne and Mrs. Barron went to bed, but Ron stayed up, alternately pacing the floor and slumping in the chair to stare into the flames of the fireplace. He had the feeling he had been dropped into a vacuum. He wanted to fight—to punch something hard with his fist. But there was nothing to fight or to punch.

There was only waiting, and then it would be over. They would be home. Gillispie would say, "How did you make out on Rorla?" And he would answer, "What's Rorla? The folks and I have been on a round-the-world vacation for the summer. We told you about it when we started." When they would ask about Clonar, he would pretend he didn't hear them.

But the one great uncertainty would not let his mind rest. Maybe he was wrong, he told himself. Maybe the Rorlans hadn't planned to go so far as they did. Nothing at the trial or elsewhere had shown any evidence of collusion between Barmese and the Rorlans. Yet that proved nothing. The Rorlans were clever enough to know what the renegades would do and use the knowledge for their own purposes.

He didn't know. He never would know. But he

believed there was collusion with all his heart and nothing would ever change his opinion.

In the morning he appeared at breakfast hollow-eyed and sleepless-looking.

"I heard you up late," his mother remarked.

"I'll sleep when we're back home."

"Engon called. He said to tell you preparations are being made for return of the delegates. We should be ready to leave within another week. The hospital says your father can make the trip definitely by then."

"That's good," Ron began eating, almost unaware of what was before him.

"Clonar called, too," said Anne, after a pause. "He would like to see you today."

"I don't want to see him again—ever!"

"He said he supposed that would be your answer. He said to tell you there is a principle used by the Federation which is very much like one common upon Earth. When you want to test a piece of material you apply a stress."

Ron snorted. "Very clever! You can put it down in your book of platitudes somewhere and remember you picked it up on Rorla, the Planet of Light. You might also ask Clonar what it proves when the material fails to survive the stress. How stupid can a guy get?"

He finished abruptly, leaving half his breakfast. "I'm going to the hospital," he said. "I want to see Dad this morning."

"But I thought we'd all go at the same time," said Mrs. Barron.

His manner softened. He realized he had been moving and talking as if driven by the wild panic in him. "I'd like to see him alone," he answered more gently. "I need to talk to him. You won't mind?"

"No, of course not. Well come later," she said.

George Barron was sitting up again when Ron came into the room. His face was cheerful but wan. "I was hoping you'd come early," he said. "I expected you yesterday afternoon, but when I had them call the house your mother said you had been considerably upset by the trial."

"I was. I'm sorry I didn't come, Dad. I couldn't make it."

"That's all right. I could imagine how you felt. I saw you close up on the screen. I was almost afraid your anger was going to get away with you. You had me pretty scared."

Ron shook his head. "There was never any temptation to fall for their gag. I was only disgusted and sore when I saw through it. You know, of course, what they've been doing all this time, don't you, Dad?"

"Yes, I think I do. After the episode yesterday I thought I saw the deception practiced on us."

"I blew my stack last night in front of Anne and Mother when Clonar and Engon called to congratulate me. Can you beat that? Congratulate me for passing their stupid little frame-up! I told them what I'd figured out, and they admitted I was right—we've been nothing but guinea pigs from the start. Nothing's been on the level.

"Mother and Anne were pretty unhappy about my blowing off, but I couldn't help it. Do you blame me, Dad? And don't you see what follows—that this—" He spread his arms to include the hospital room—"this is all part of it?"

George Barron sighed wearly and slumped lower in the pillows. "I've thought of little else since yesterday afternoon," he said. "I wondered if you would reach the same conclusion."

"Do you think there is any doubt?"

"Yes, I think there is a good deal of doubt. And as long as there is doubt—one way or the other—we're going to be pretty unhappy, you and I, aren't we?"

"Anne, too," said Ron. "She won't believe it. She says there's some other answer."

"Maybe she's right. I don't know. I don't see, frankly, how they could have managed to 'arrange' the gun fight. I don't see how it could have been stacked up to happen as the Rorlans wished. Or why. The whole affair adds up to a mass of fantastic nonsense any way you look at it."

"From what I have seen they can stack it up any way they please. And it doesn't have to make sense— at least, not from our point of view."

"It's up to us to make our own judgment of the situation," said George Barron. "I don't believe there's ever going to be a way for us to know with certainty."

"But, Dad—I've got to know! I've got to know before we go home. Clonar—"

George Barron put his hand upon his son's shoulder. "Yes, Clonar—" he said. "I guess that makes it pretty rough, doesn't it? You would have trusted Clonar with your life. Why don't you give him a chance? See him, and find out if he doesn't have the other answer, maybe, that Anne talks about."

Ron shook his head, his voice close to a sob. "I can't do it. I know he'd have an answer. He'd make it sound plausible. I'd want to believe him, but I mustn't. I must never believe or trust Clonar again."

"We learned to trust and love him a year ago when he came to us," said George Barron. "It was real. He loved and trusted us, too. All that doesn't disappear overnight without leaving a trace. It was as genuine on his part as it was on ours.

"If you have to make an error in this matter, let it be on the side of generosity and trustfulness. It doesn't make you gullible. In the long run, you'll get hurt far less than if you remain bitter."

"All right," said Ron finally. "I'll do it. But I've got to give this a little time to wear down. I'll see Clonar in the morning."

Chapter 20 Give Us the Gift

nFTER lunch, Anne said, "Let's go somewhere, Ron."

"Where do you want to go?" I     "Anywhere. Walk through the town, maybe down to the beach. They'll let us out now."

"Yeah, the lab beasties don't have to be kept in their purified pens any longer. O.K. Let's go. We'll have to find some way to keep from going out of our minds during the rest of the week."

Anne called to Mrs. Barron to tell her they were going, and then they were outside, moving toward the gates and the city itself. They were conspicuous in their differences from the Rorlans on the street, but no one paid any attention to them or turned aside to stare.

"Nobody even notices we're strangers," Anne said.

"They're too polite," growled Ron. "But they're not too polite to make a game of murder."

It was as if he had slapped her. The spirit went out of her stride, and all pleasure in the beauty of the day vanished. "I never knew you could be so bitter, Ron," she said slowly. "But I'm rather glad I'm finding out —as long as that's the way it has to be—"

"Maybe you think you wouldn't be bitter if it were your father instead of mine who'd been treated this way!"

"Yes, I guess maybe I would—" Anne said. "If I believed the way you do."

He stopped and drew her aside out of the moving crowd. Her hand in his felt cold. "I'm sorry, Anne. I'm sorry I exploded last night. I'm sorry I snapped at you. But I'm almost crazy thinking about this thing.

There probably won't be anything to do with me for a long time except lock me away in an upstairs room and tell company I don t live there any more.

"Maybe you'd rather go back—or go on alone," he added miserably.

"No, I don't want to go on alone." There was a new softness in her voice. "I'm sorry, too, Ron."

They walked beside the highway where the highspeed traffic flowed almost soundlessly. Ahead of them was the Y where the road branched to go to the spaceport road, or to the tunnels that carried it beneath the city. "Which way?" asked Ron.

"Let's go up to the city. I want to stand on one of the highest-level causeways."

"We're likely to get lost before we're through."

"So much the better,"

The city had the appearance of casual, random planning. Actually, its design was very precise. It had not been built all at once, but its growth was controlled by an exact plan. After a half-mile walk, Ron and Anne came to the first of the towering buildings. Those on the edge of the city, however, were diminutive in comparison with the central structures.

Elevators carried them quickly to the top level of the first building. Here they took one of the moving causeways that carried them toward the city's interior. They stayed on it until surrounded by soaring towers and the lacy network of higher levels ranged far above them. Such was the spacing, however, that the sun was not wholly obscured, leaving them in dark canyons. Rather, the spacing and color were so designed it was like looking upward from a cell of some iridescent cavern of light.

"Let's go higher," whispered Anne, as if loudness would be a sacrilege in the beauty of the city.

At last they came to the highest level and sat down on a bench in a small observation area at the center of the narrow way between the highest towers. The city was below them, all its swarming traffic on the myriad levels visible to their eyes. It was like looking into some exquisite hive. The tiny one- and two-passenger air cars, electronically guided, moved between the landing stages of the towers and out into the suburban areas beyond.

Wind-whipped mist drifted in from the sea, but it was not cold. Anne lifted her head higher and drank in the fresh sea smell of the air. While they sat there, a dozen gleaming shapes hurled upward from the distant spaceport and were lost in the sky. Ron and Anne watched them vanish.

"Not much longer for us," said Ron. "This will seem like nothing but a dream when we're back in Long-view—a nightmare."

Silently, Anne stood up and moved to the shelter of a windbreak. Here the sun was warm on their backs, and the soft sound of the city below was quieting to their hearts.

They sat without speaking for a long time. Anne finally broke their silence. She said, "Just suppose the day at Tenarg's had never happened. Would you feel as bitter about the rest of it?"

"I could take that," Ron said. His voice sounded more gentle, even to himself. "Dad and I spoke of it."

"It isn't so unreasonable they would want to examine us so they could understand us. They knew nothing of how we think or act. To them, we are actually as alien as those dwellers in the green fog. They had to have some insight in order to deal with us. No amount of Conference discussion would have given them the answers."

"It's not unreasonable—what they wanted," said Ron. "But there are a lot of other ways they could have found out about us without putting us through a monkey show. The deal on Benares Planet—it would be a long time before I could see the funny side of that."

"Don't you think they learned a good deal about an Earthman named Ron Barron there? Clonar told me about it. I know."

"They found out what a crazy fool an Earthman can be when he wants to, if that is of any interest to them."

"They didn't think your actions were foolish. They knew what it took to stay in an unrefrigerated suit, what it took to go after Barmese. You went a lot farther than Captain Marsun intended to allow."

"So what? What does it prove? They gave me a good hazing—and I don't get into their exclusive club anyway: Because you can't say 'what if the shooting had never taken place?' It did take place. Nothing can ever change that, and you can never again trust anyone who had a thing to do with it."

"Doesn't the real purpose of Barmese and Athol, as brought out at the trial, prove the Rorlans had nothing to do with the shooting?"

"It would—if they weren't Rorlans. But they are, and Rorlans could have engineered the whole affair and used Barmese and Athol without their knowing it."

"And suppose," said Anne, "after all this, Earth is offered real membership in the Federation. Would you say we should accept it?"

"I wouldn't have any right to decide. It affects all of Earth. As far as I am concerned, you could never trust a single contract with the Federation. You know it as well as I do. Would you trust them?"

"Yes, I would," said Anne softly. "I think I would trust them to the ends of the Universe."

Ron thought of his father's words: "If you must make an error—let it be on the side of generosity and trustfulness—"

How could you close your eyes and give blind trust where it had already been so betrayed?

"I wish I could feel the way you do," said Ron. "But I can't. I never will."

"Ron, do you want me to tell you why?"

He looked up at the sudden change in her voice. He found her looking at him with an accusing, defiant light in her eyes. "You've lost the ability to believe in anything else, because you've lost the ability to believe in yourself. It's not the Rorlans who've lied and misled. It's you—it's—"

"What are you driving at?"

"Remember what Engon said when he was at the house last night? He said, 'We know why you came to Rorla.' That's what their examination has shown about us—the reason we came here."

Ron shrugged uncomfortably, as if Anne had probed deep in the vicinity of some sensitive matter he hadn't known existed until now. "I don't see what our motives have to do with it," he said.

"Why did we come?"

"To join the Federation—we thought."

"Why should Earth join the Federation?"

"Why does any group want to organize?" Ron shifted his feet. "Mutual protection, exchange of information, alliance for—well, for all the common benefits only a group can provide."

Anne was almost crying. "Ron Barronl Why did you come to Rorla?"

He sat as if he hadn't heard. It seemed for a moment as if all sound and motion ceased in the sky and in the city below them. He saw Anne's face, its soft lines changed by the fury and disappointment he could not understand. He saw beyond her the little bug-shaped air cars. They seemed to be hanging stationary, making no sound.

Then he had a sudden picture of himself. He understood Anne's words, and motion returned to the world and sound came back with the roar of the city and the whisper of the wind in the cables of the causeway.

He saw himself. Himself and Gillispie—and all the Earthmen who would come after them. He stared out over the city and the sea with a growing sickness in the pit of his stomach. He didn't look at Anne, but he reached for her hand.

"Gillispie—" he murmured almost inaudibly. "I'm another Gillispie. I still believe in Santa Claus. Borah saw it; he must know what I am. He tried to tell me one day, but I wouldn't understand. He said the whole colony was grasping, each one trying to get his hand in the pot first and grab off what he could to cart back home."

"Don't blame yourself alone," said Anne."We're all in it. We've all believed in Santa Claus so long it was the most natural thing in the world to try to turn the Rorlans and the Federation into the image of him."

Ron smiled bitterly as he continued staring across the water. "I was going to be so high-minded and noble! I wasn't going to snoop around for weapons and gadgets to fight a war. Not Ron Barron! No, sir, he was above those tactics. All he wanted to cart back home was the magic gimmick to turn Earth into a paradise. That must have given them a real laugh!" He turned to her and saw her eyes were wet but she was smiling now. "Oh, Anne, how could I have been such a fool!"

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You see it now."

"Yeah, somebody made a remark once, didn't they —'The giftie gie us, to see oursel's—'"

"That's it," said Anne. "But you're still missing the most important part. Don't you see what it meant to the people of the Federation to have us look upon them as free givers? Don't you see what it meant to the Rorlans—to Clonar—?"

Ron's breath sucked in sharply at the mention of his friend's name. Then he let it out slowly. "Yeah— I can see—"

"How would you like somebody trying to make Santa Claus out of you?" said Anne.

"I understand, now," Ron said thoughtfully. "Nobody really loves a Santa Claus. People love what he gives them. You never think of him as a man or a friend or an equal—he's only a symbol, and when you treat anyone else as Santa Claus you reduce him to a mere symbol. Then all grounds for friendship and equality are gone."

They stayed quiet, close together now, listening to the soft rush of sea wind. "What are we going to do?" said Anne. "We've failed, and they're going to send us home—"

Ron stirred. "Not yet. We must see somebody. We've got to get back to the colony."

How much the city had changed! He heard the voices of the people where he seemed to have walked in silence before. They were looking at him. He had been wrong. They were looking with friendliness and understanding. They knew who the Earthmen were, but they did not stare. He smiled back, and nodded to some.

Then he thought of his father lying in the hospital room. He stopped dead still in the middle of a sixth-level causeway.

"What is it?" said Anne.

"Nothing." He patted her hand. "I got scared for a minute, thinking how close I came to losing all this."

He went on, walking slowly. He knew the answers now. All the answers. He knew the shooting had come about the way the Rorlans said it did. Make your mistakes on the side of generosity and trustfulness, his father had said. But he was making no mistake. He wasn't going to make any more as far as the Rorlans were concerned.

Returning to the colony, they came to the door of Engon's quarters inside the gates. The quarters of Tenarg, that Engon had taken over. The adviser came to the door, showing no surprise as he recognized his visitors.

"Come in," he said. "I was hoping you'd come."

Ron didn't take the offered seat. He stood in the middle of the floor and faced the Rorlan. "We've come to ask one question," he said. "What can we bring?"

"Bring?" Engon smiled and his eyebrows arched. "Bring where?"

"You know what I mean. We've quit looking for Santa Claus. What can Earth bring to the Federation?"

Engon's smile slowly broadened. All trace of reserve vanished from his face. He extended a hand and took Ron's in a firm hard grip. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to the Galactic Federation, Ron Barron of Earth."

Something Has to Be Done

I

HE Rorlan turned and took Anne's hand. "Welcome to you, Anne." "She should have been first," said Ron. "Without her we would have gone home, failures." "No. Each of you had it in you to understand our need. It required only time and introspection to bring it out." He gestured to the chairs. "Please sit down. We have much to talk about."

"You are to be congratulated," he continued when they had taken seats. "You are the second group in the whole colony to grasp what membership in the Federation means." "I'll bet Borah's group was first," said Ron. "Yes. They understood from the beginning. They always understood the Federation doesn't need the outstretched hand, ready to receive the bountiful gifts of superior worlds. There are tens of thousands of such beggar worlds in every galaxy of the Universe. If the Federation were made up of these, it would fall to pieces in a day." "And that's the way we came to you," said Ron. Engon nodded. "We regretted it deeply, because we suspected your true potential. Clonar was physically sick when you persisted in going along like a clod with your eyes on the ground. He practically begged us to let him take you down and beat some sense into your head." "I wish he hadl"

"The Federation is a structure. Each world that becomes allied with that structure has got to place at least one new stone and cement it firmly in posi-

tion. The only real enemy against which the Federation has to constantly protect itself is the would-be member who wishes to take down a stone of the existing structure and build for himself some little inadequate thing on his home world. We have to find out what a member will do with our existing structure before we extend him an association/'

"And so I was completely right about the purposes of the colony," said Ron.

"Yes. How else could it be done? We learned long ago that you don't examine creatures by taking them into a laboratory and applying electronic instruments to their skulls or sampling their blood and gland extracts.

"You find out about them by putting them into actual, living environments and circumstances. This is what the colony has been. You find out how a man acts when everyone hates him. You find out about the haters, too—

"As you guessed, the Conferences were a sham. They were designed only to give the delegates some knowledge of the Federation's functions. The real work of the colony was accomplished in the day-today living together. We found out how different fife forms react to the seeming grotesqueness of each other. We found how willing each of you is to accept the equality of such life forms. We found your qualities of bitterness, of jealousy, of hate—and of generosity, friendship, and love. We found the quality of courage in an Earthman named Ron Barron when he faces extreme discomfort and danger alone. Nobody was laughing at him, either. Clonar was very proud. Can you believe that now?"

Ron nodded slowly. "I believe it. One thing I'd like to know—was that defective refrigeration unit a deliberate frame-up, too?"

"Yes. That was part of it. Does that make you bitter?"

"No—not bitter." Ron shook his head in slow deliberation. "But I'd like to bust the guy in the nose who thought up that cute idea!"

"It was Clonar's suggestion," said Engon.

"Clonar—!"

Engon laughed. "We'd be very disappointed, Ron, if you weren't angry about it. But don't be too hard on Clonar. He's a very good boy with his fists."

Ron squirmed. "It's not like that. It's—let's skip how it is, for the present! I'd like to know how you believe you can estimate the qualities of a planet's entire population from less than a half-dozen specimens of its people. We make a pretty small sample."

"You can't be sure of determining the average characteristics of a population by examining a few randomly selected individuals, of course," said Engon. "We know there are individual Earthmen who would have failed completely in our investigations. But after carefully evaluating Clonar's data on you we knew you were potentially capable. We knew also that you are representative of a very large majority of your people. We suspected this majority could make the whole planet worth an affiliation with the Federation."

"I'm still not happy about being turned over like a bug under a microscope," said Ron. "It seems like there could have been some other way."

"How? We were willing to receive you as equals, but you would not come to us that way. Only Borah's group was willing to come as such."

"You didn't give us a chance! You started poking even before we got here. I don't need to ask if my overhearing Tenarg's remarks to Captain Welk was planned— You began needling us with discrimination even then."

"I know the answer to that one," said Anne. "We had already declared ourselves less than equals. When Clonar was on Earth we were never willing to take him off the pedestal upon which we placed him."

"That is right," said Engon. "You put him far beyond you, and that wouldn't do. Not if we were to work together. We will always be your equals—if you will accept us as such."

"But Tenarg—" said Anne. "That is the one thing I don't understand. What about Tenarg? He was bitter. He meant to destroy us. That wasn't an act."

"No." Engon's face became more solemn than they had ever seen it. "Tenarg meant to destroy you at one time. Not only Tenarg—the Federation. That was not an act.

"This is the most difficult thing we have to make you understand, but it is absolutely necessary that you do understand it, or all that we have said before is meaningless."

"I'd say it was tough!" said Ron. "To convince a guy that it's for the good of the Universe to wipe his planet off the map—"

"No one understands their own world until they get a long way from it. You have no way of recognizing the strange, fantastic, and dangerous position you are in—dangerous to the rest of the worlds. You need to know that the order for attack had already gone out, long before the destruction of Clonar's ship by one of your planes. The attack was delayed only by that accident and the subsequent search for the ship or its survivors."

"It already—!" Ron's face went white. "Then only our finding Clonar stopped the fleet's attack!"

"Yes. The order was not given because of the crash of our ship. Clonar knew that. He didn't tell you because he knew you couldn't possibly understand the situation then. He sweat blood to persuade his Commander to change an existing order."

"Then it was completely insane!" cried Ron. "The order to attack had no basis whatever!"

Engon was silent for a long time. When he resumed speaking his voice had changed to a tone of meditation, almost as if he were speaking to himself alone.

"To you," he said finally, "we may have seemed like supermen—because of our achievements, our great reach across the Universe, our consolidation and organization of thousands of seemingly unrelated civilizations.

"We are proud of those achievements, but we are not supermen. No one knows that more surely than we. We make errors, and our errors are great because the scope of our action is great. We have learned that perhaps the most important ingredient of great accomplishments is great humility. It may not seem to you now that we are a humble race, but I trust that in time you will learn this is true.

"We recognize our own fallibility. We recognize the problems that we solve badly—or not at all. Ten-arg was aware of these. He was not, as he must seem to you, a ruthless superman, striding across the galaxies, trampling worlds in his path. If he had lived— and perhaps you will not believe it now—you would have learned that Tenarg was a man of great humility.

He knew that his solution in the case of Earth was a bad one. But he had consulted his own experience, the experts aboard his ship, and he called on the home worlds of the Federation for advice. Their logic computers, using all available data, indicated only one answer. The answer Tenarg was prepared to carry out."

"But why—?" Anne's voice was a sob.

They could almost feel Engon's physical effort to frame an answer they could understand. "Imagine a group of Earthmen stranded on a desert island," he said. "Imagine that one of them, through his explorations about the island, has unwittingly contracted a virulent disease of which he is unaware, but which is obvious to the rest. He is the most beloved of them all, and this is a disease that does not bring a peaceful death but makes madmen and savages, as it has of him. In self defense—and with mercy—they will destroy their friend.

"Violence is not always ruthlessness. Even death can be administered with compassion—"

"But we're not sick men, threatening the Universe with disease and savagery!" exclaimed Ron in anger. "Your fable is no answer to our question."

"Only to a point," Engon admitted. "Only to show that circumstances control the judgment you put upon even an act of violence. Your father made the same mistake of assuming this is the kind of threat we see in you. He tried to show Tenarg that Earth was not the kind of threat to be crushed like a jungle snake. But neither he nor you can recognize what your threat is—and I doubt that any Earthman could recognize it spontaneously.

"We don't find many worlds like yours. Only a few. We don't often contact a people as impulsive, as dynamic, who are the products of such great internal conflicts, who are capable of such motion and force. We would gladly find them more often—if we had more adequate means to cope with the problems that result.

"The normal history of a people is a story of small beginnings and a long struggle to batter down the physical frontiers on their own planet, then a settling down and a learning to live in a world where there are no more frontiers. Finally, out of long co-operation and harmony, they consolidate their means and find the way to space.

"But that is not to be the history of Earth. On the eve of the closing of your last frontier, you are ready for space. Your people have all the built-up energies of pioneers driven to conquer their frontiers—and the frustrations of living where no more frontiers exist.

"You have missed the settling-down period that you should know in order to ease these frustrations. You haven't learned to live without physical frontiers to conquer. Rather, your people envision space itself as the final, endless frontier which shall never close. To them it offers infinite expansion, planets to be taken over, colonized, exploited, conquered.

"What they do not know is that the frontiers of space closed long ago—before Man struck fire to warm his cave."

Ron had an impulse to laugh, as if Engon had made a joke, but the impulse was overwhelmed by the feeling that there was nothing to laugh about. "No frontiers in space—"

"The worlds of space have been explored and exploited for longer than Men of Earth have been able to read and write and work metal. Space is old. Its civilizations are old. Earth is young.

"You can't burst out of your tight little world and come aconquering and exploiting. You will come, rather, let us say, as visitors to other rooms of a great hotel, where the guests have lived much longer than you late-comers. You must know how to behave in that well-defined and circumspect company. Do you?

"Do you know what will happen when your impulsive, driving Earthmen reach out to space in their own ships and crash headlong into the ancient civilizations that are already there?"

Ron's eyes shifted as he stared across the room. There sprang up visions of the turmoil of Man's history—the Spanish Conquistadores and the Incas of Peru, the American Indian, the earlier surge and flow of expansion and conquest about the shores of the Mediterranean, Europe, Asia—the whole Earth.

That's the way Earthmen would come into space.

"Yes—7 know," he murmured faintly.

"Your father once accused Tenarg of being afraid of Earthmen. He never knew how right he was! Tenarg was very much afraid of Earthmen. When he consolidated the reports of his fleet he recognized that here was a force such as he had seldom encountered." The room was so dark now they could scarcely see Engon's face.

"Try to understand what I mean when I say we recognize our own limitations. Tenarg's decision included such recognition. He knew that the Federation was far from big enough, or strong and wise enough to cope with all the emergencies that come upon even so mighty a structure. He did not believe we were big enough, under the circumstances that limit us, to cope with the problem of Earth.

"That is our weakness, and no one is more aware of it than we. Tenarg saw that something had to be done about Earth. He made a decision, based on all available data and the judgment of the logic computers. His decision was wholly justified from the standpoint of the Galactic Federation—or from the standpoint of men on a desert island who must destroy one of their own to save him and themselves.

"Your position, on the threshold of space, indicated there was no time available to work with Earthmen, to change them from a menacing force to members of a universal civilization.

"And then Clonar, by personal contact with you, obtained new data. Tenarg abandoned his position and consulted the Federation. It was agreed to make contact with you.

"The structure of the Federation is a rugged one. But it is finely balanced. We know the strength required to disturb that balance. With proper leverage, a very small force can topple a mighty one. Earth has more than enough to apply in the proper place to throw off balance the entire Federation.

"You say you know what will happen when fierce-driving Earthmen plunge into space amid the old but sometimes critically stable worlds that are there. Let me tell you what we see: Political and economic intrigue. Earthmen gaining control on backward worlds, setting themselves and these worlds against each other. These worlds on which they would be able to gain a foothold are already like dry grass, waiting for the fire. They can be inflamed by the intrigue of Earthmen, and the fire would spread, leaping from galaxy to galaxy. Do you wonder that we should try to prevent the fire before it is struck?"

Ron's mouth was dry and numb. "It needn't be that way," he said. "That's not the way it has to be."

"No," Engon agreed. "That's not the way it has to be. The data obtained by Clonar proved to us there were other possibilities. But they showed that it would take all the strength and wisdom the Federation could muster to teach Earthmen in a short time what other worlds had learned over many thousands of years/'

"We can learn it," said Ron, half-defiantly. "I told you once you underestimated our capacity and determination to change. You still do. Earthmen can learn all the Federation's got to teach, and then go on and learn some things the Federation never heard of!"

They could almost sense Engon smiling broadly. "That is the premise upon which we have made our gamble, and upon which we shall continue to work," he said. "But you have to understand that Tenarg's initial judgment was not in error. Basically, it still stands. Something has to be done about Earth.

"With Clonar's added data, the original decision was abandoned. Instead, we brought you here. We had to know what was inside the mind of an average Earthman. We had to have additional data, accurately measured. With you here in search of Santa Claus, there was only one way to break through your dishonest motivations and see what lay beneath. We put upon you the heaviest pressure you could bear, mental and physical. We built up discrimination to the breaking point."

A slow crawl of fear was working its way through the channels of Ron's mind, and now he could keep it subdued no longer. "The shooting in Tenarg's—then you did plan even that!"

"Yes," said Engon. "The incident at Tenarg's was planned."

There was a low cry from the direction of Anne's chair, half-scream, half-sob. "Oh, no-no—" In the dimness Ron could see her huddled in the big chair, with legs drawn up, her face pressed against her knees, like a child hiding from all the terrors of the world. "I told them it couldn't be that way! I told them it couldn't," she cried.

Ron felt the sweat break out on his face, and all the confident trust of moments ago seemed to have drained out of him. There was an uncontrollable shaking in his legs.

"You didn't plan to lose Tenarg," he said dully. "There was an error. Where was it?"

"We were fully aware of the risk we took," said Engon. "We anticipated your father's going to Bar-mese and Athol. We knew what they would try to do. We planned to allow them to proceed to the very moment of threatening Tenarg.

"It was at that point that our error appeared. We did not understand the strength and courage of your father. We believe that either he or one of the others would attempt to fire on Tenarg. Such an attempt would have failed. Tenarg would have killed the attacker long before his gun was in line of fire, using a charge that would not release the poison contents of the atmosphere suits into the room.

"We did not recognize your father as one of those pioneers in whom the frustrations of a frontierless life are ready to explode. We did not know then about Borneo—

"Your father whirled and fired on Athol, exploding the atmosphere tank directly in Tenarg's face. You know the rest. We risked your father's life—and lost Tenarg, a wise and humble man—to find out if Earth produces fit men to stand in the Galactic Federation. Do you hate us for that, Ron—Anne?"

They were silent in the darkness. Ron thought of his father, standing that day in Tenarg's, facing a decision whose immensity he could not know. He felt his eyes filling with tears and was glad for the darkness. He felt a new pride for his father, that he might never have known otherwise. Almost, he felt grateful to the Rorlans for the gift of that pride.

"No," he said. "No, I don't hate you."

"Neither does your father," said Engon quietly. "I told him—the day before you came back with the Patrol."

Engon rose and turned on the lights. He looked down at the two from Earth and smiled compassionately. "You'll do," he said.

Anne straightened, wiping her eyes, attempting a smile. "I can't take as much as I thought."

"You'll do," Engon repeated with admiration in his voice. "You asked me tonight what Earth could bring to the Federation. That is the easiest of all your questions to answer. You can bring your courage, your energy, your drive. Bring all your wild, undirected strength and all your ambitions and excitements. I told you that space is old and its civilizations are old. And old civilizations are like old men. The worlds seem alike in this regard. Something present in youth becomes used up in the process of growing old. We have to add new, young worlds to the Federation to gain their peculiar strength and vitality. The old ones have been so long in space and are so familiar with the infinities that they sometimes become contemptuous, and their yearning for new wisdom disappears.

"We will teach you and let you explore under adequate supervision all the reaches of mind and space that we have been able to open up. And in time, you will bring us wisdom. You will add your stone to the structure of the Federation, and it will be yours as well as ours. When you are familiar with the sweep of the Universe and the vastness of its people you will help us solve the problems we have never yet solved. Perhaps you shall save other worlds from the tragic decision that we once made in respect to Earth.

"These are the things we look to you to bring to the Galactic Federation."

Ron hesitated, then stood up and faced the Rorlan. "There is one thing more," he said quietly. "If we are equals then we have a decision to make, too."

Engon looked at him, smiling faintly. "Yes?"

"We have to decide for ourselves whether we accept the terms of affiliation offered by the Federation."

The Rorlan nodded soberly. "You have that decision to make."

"1 can't make it. I can't speak for all of Earth. The handful of us who are here can't do it."

"It was not our intention that you should. You were told, you remember, that this Conference was entirely preliminary to the approach that would be made to your people in a suitably official manner at a later time. You have provided us with the data by which we shall be guided in that approach.

"Earthmen do have to make their own decision. That is quite true." Engon's smile broadened. "But we are very sure what that decision will be, knowing you as we do now. You can understand that we would never make the offer unless we could predict its acceptance with a certainty that satisfies us. So I can say, in all confidence, welcome to the Galactic Federation, Ron and Anne, of Earth!"

He moved toward the door. "But that is enough for tonight. It will take a long day tomorrow to give you the rest, and I must speak with your parents, also, Ron.

"You'll get all you hoped for, for Earth, and more. There won't be swarms of spaceships suddenly descending with committees to solve all your problems, but we'll establish contacts. Knowledge of the sciences and principles of human action will be dispersed through you and others whom you will help us select. You will become leaders among your own people. You will help bring about the orderly development of space flight. You will teach your people about the kind of world they are coming into when they reach the stars. But more of all this—tomorrow."

It was entirely dark when they came out onto the streets again. In front of their own house Ron stopped. He looked up to the spot where Earth and its galaxy lay hidden in the depths of space.

"I almost muffed it," he said faintly. "Without you I'd have bollixed the whole deal."

"They apply the stress according to the strength of the material," said Anne. "It was easier for me. Engon made a great point of telling about the personal compasses while you were gone to Benares Planet. When you came back and said they had not been used I knew he had told me deliberately. I knew he was telling me we were being watched and studied and measured.

"But I couldn't help you until I figured out some of the rest of it. When he said they knew why we had come to Rorla, it began falling into place."

"It's lucky you were around to kick it into my thick head. It would never have sunk in all by itself."

"Yes, it would. It was only a matter of time, as

Engon said. But we ought to see the others now. We ought to see Borah and tell him we re in."

"The first one I have to see is Clonar," said Ron.

"He doesn't need your apology. He knows you misunderstood his actions. He knew the plan in full."

"Who's going to apologize? It's a beef I've got to settle with him—about a little matter of a defective refrigeration unit on Benares Planetl"