Transcriber's Note: This e-text was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction, August, 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. 

VICTORY

_It seemed Earth was a rich, and undefended planet in a warring, hating galaxy. Things can be deceptive though; children playingcan be quite rough--but that ain't war, friend!_

BY LESTER del REY

Illustrated by Rogers

I

From above came the sound of men singing. Captain Duke O'Neill stoppedclipping his heavy black beard to listen. It had been a long time sincehe'd heard such a sound--longer than the time since he'd last had abath or seen a woman. It had never been the singing type of war. Yetnow even the high tenor of old Teroini, who lay on a pad with neitherlegs nor arms, was mixed into the chorus. It could mean only one thing!

As if to confirm his thoughts, Burke Thompson hobbled past the cabin, stopping just long enough to shout. "Duke, we're home! They've sightedMeloa!"

"Thanks, " Duke called after him, but the man was hobbling out of sight, eager to carry the good news to others. 

Fourteen years, Duke thought as he dragged out his hoarded bottle ofwater and began shaving. Five since he'd seen Ronda on his last leave. Now the battered old wreck that was left of the flagship was less thanan hour from home base, and the two other survivors of the originalfleet of eight hundred were limping along behind. Three out of eighthundred--but they'd won! Meloa had her victory. 

And far away, Earth could rest in unearned safety for a while. 

Duke grimaced bitterly. It was no time to think of Earth now. Heshucked off his patched and filthy clothes and reached for the dressgrays he had laid out in advance; at least they were still in goodcondition, almost unused. He dressed slowly, savoring the luxury ofclean clothes. The buttons gave him trouble; his left hand looked andbehaved almost like a real one, but in the three years since he got it, there had been no chance to handle buttons. 

Then he mastered the trick and stepped back to study the final results. He didn't look bad. Maybe a little gaunt and in need of a good haircut. But his face hadn't aged as much as he had thought. The worst part wasthe pasty white where his beard had covered his face, but a few daysunder Meloa's sun would fix that. Maybe he could spend a month withRonda at a beach. He still had most of his share of his salary--nearlya quarter million Meloan credits; even if the rumors of inflation weretrue, that should be enough. 

He stared at his few possessions, then shrugged and left them. Heheaded up the officers' lift toward the control room, where he couldsee Meloa swim into view and later see the homeport of Kordule as theylanded. 

The pilot and navigator were replacements, sent out to bring the oldship home, and their faces showed none of the jubilation of the crew. They nodded at him as he entered, staring toward the screens withoutexpression. Aside from the blueness of their skins and the completeabsence of hair, they looked almost human, and Duke had long sincestopped thinking of them as anything else. 

"How long?" he asked. 

The pilot shrugged. "Half an hour, captain. We're too low on fuel towait for clearance, even if control is working. Don't worry. There'llbe plenty of time to catch the next ship to Earth. "

"Earth?" Duke glowered at him, suspecting a joke, but there was nohumor on the blue face. "I'm not going back!" Then he frowned. "What'san Earth ship doing on Meloa?"

The navigator exchanged a surprised look with the pilot, and nodded asif some signal had passed between them. His voice was as devoid ofexpression as his face. "Earth resumed communication with us the daythe truce was signed, " he answered. He paused, studying Duke. "They'regiving free passage back to Earth to all terran veterans, captain. "

Nice of them, Duke thought. They were willing to let the men who'dsurvived come back, just as they hadn't forbidden anyone to go. Verynice! They could keep their world--and all the other coward planetslike them! When the humanoid world of Meloa had been attacked by theinsectile monsters from Throm, Earth could have ended the invasion in ayear, as those with eyes to see had urged her. But she hadn't chosen todo so. Instead, she had stepped back on her high retreat of neutrality, and let the Throm aliens do as they liked. It wasn't the first timeshe'd acted like that, either. 

With more than half of the inhabited planets occupied by variousmonsters, it seemed obvious that the humanoid planets had to make acommon stand. If Meloa fell, it would be an alien stepping stone thatcould lead back eventually to Earth itself. And once the monstersrealized that Earth was unwilling to fight, her vast resources would nolonger scare them--she'd be only a rich plum, ripe for the plucking. 

When Duke had been one of the first to volunteer for Meloa, he hadnever realized his home world could refuse to join the battle. He'dbelieved in Earth and humanity then. He'd waited through all the grimdays when it seemed Throm must win--when the absence of replacementsproved the communiques from Meloa to be nothing but hopeful lies. Butthere had been no help. Earth's neutrality remained unshaken. 

And now, after fourteen years in battle hell, helping to fight off athree-planet system of monsters that might have swarmed against all thehumanoid races, Earth was willing to forgive him and take him back tothe shame of his birthright!

 * * * * *

"I'm staying, " he said flatly. "Unless you Meloans want to kick me outnow?"

The pilot swung around, dropping a quick hand on his shoulder. "Captain, " he said, "that isn't something to joke about. We won'tforget that there would be no Meloa today without men like you. But wecan't ask you to stay. Things have changed--insanely. The news we sentto the fleet was pure propaganda!"

"We guessed that, " Duke told him. "We knew the Throm ships. And whenthe dispatches reported all those raids without any getting through, westopped reading them. How many did penetrate, anyhow?"

"Thirty-one full raids, " the navigator said woodenly. "Thirty-one inthe last four months!"

"_Thirty-one!_ What happened to the home fleet?"

"We broke it up and sent it out for your replacements, " the pilotanswered dully. "It was the only chance we had to win. "

Duke swallowed the idea slowly. He couldn't picture a planet giving upits last protection for a desperate effort to end the war on purelyoffensive drive. Three billion people watching the home fleet take off, knowing the skies were open for all the hell that a savage enemy couldsend! On Earth, the World Senate hadn't permitted the building of onebattleship, for fear of reprisal. 

He swung to face the ports, avoiding the expression on the faces of thetwo Meloans. He'd felt something of the same on his own face when he'dfirst inspected Throm. But it couldn't be that bad on Meloa; she'd wonher hard-earned victory!

They were entering the atmosphere now, staggering down on misfiringjets. The whole planet seemed to be covered with a gray-yellow hazethat spoke of countless tons of blast dust in the air. From below, Dukeheard the men beginning to move toward the big entrance lock, unable towait for the landing. But they were no longer his responsibility. He'dgiven up his command before embarking. 

The ship came down, threatening to tilt every second, and the pilot wassweating and swearing. The haze began to clear as they neared theground, but the ports were too high for Duke to see anything but theunderside of the thick clouds. He stood up and headed for the lift, bracing himself as the ship pitched. 

Suddenly there was a sickening jar and the blast cut off. The shipgroaned and seemed to twist, then was still. It was the worst landingDuke had known, but they were obviously down. A second later he heardthe port screech open and the thump of the landing ramp. 

The singing of the men had picked up into a rough marching beat. Nowabruptly it wavered. For a moment, a few voices continued, and thendied away, like a record running down. There was a mutter of voices, followed by shouts that must have been the relief officers, takingover. Duke was nearly to the port before he heard the slow, doubtfulsound of steps moving down the ramp. By the time he reached it, thelast of the men was just leaving. He stopped, staring at the great portcity of Kordule. 

Most of the port was gone. Where the hangars and repair docks had been, a crater bored into the earth, still smoking faintly. A lone girderprojected above it, to mark the former great control building, and aMeloan skeleton was transfixed on it near the top. It shattered topieces as he looked and began dropping, probably from the delayedtremor of their landing. 

Even the section their ship stood on was part of the crater, he saw, with an Earth bulldozer working on it. There was room for no more thanten ships now. Two of the berths were occupied by fat Earth ships, sleek and well kept. Three others held the pitted, warped hulks ofMeloan battleships. There were no native freighters, and no sign oftending equipment or hangars. 

The pilot had come up behind him, following his gaze. Now the mannodded. "That's it, captain. Most cities are worse. Kordule escaped theblasts until our rocket cannon failed. Got any script on you?" AtDuke's nod, he pointed. "Better exchange it at the booth, before therate gets worse. Take Earth dollars. Our silver's no good. "

He held out a hand, and Duke shook it. "Good luck, captain, " he said, and swung back into the ship. 

 * * * * *_Mercifully, most of Kordule was blanketed by the dust fog. There wasthe beginning of a series of monstrous craters where men had begunrebuilding underground, the ruined landing field, and a section of whathad been the great business district. Now it was only a field ofrubble, with bits of windowless walls leading up to a crazy tangle oftwisted girders. Only memory could locate where the major streets hadbeen. Over everything lay the green wash of _incandite_, and the windcarried the smell of a charnel house. There was no sign of theapartment where he and Ronda had lived. 

He started down the ramp at last, seeing for the first time the motleycrew that had come out to meet the heroes of the battle of Throm. Theyhad spotted him already, however, and some were deserting the men atthe sight of his officer's uniform. Their cries mingled into an insane, whining babble in his ears. 

"... Just a scrap for an old man, general ... Three children at homestarving ... Fought under Jones, captain ... Cigarette?"

It was a sea of clutching hands, ragged bodies with scrawny arms andbloated stomachs, trembling and writhing in its eagerness to get to himfirst. Then as one of the temporary officers swung back with a coupleof field attendants, it broke apart to let him pass, its gaze rivetedon him as he stumbled between the lines. 

He spotted a billboard one man was wearing, and his eyes focusedsharply on it. "Honest Feroiya, " it announced. "Credit exchange. Bestrates in all Kordule. " Below that, chalked into a black square, was theimportant part: "2, 345 credits the dollar. "

Duke shook his head but the sign did not change. A quarter millioncredits for a hundred dollars. And he'd thought--

"Help a poor old widow. " A trembling hand plucked at his sleeve, and heswung to face a woman in worse rags than the others, her eyes dull andunfocused, her lips mouthing the words only by habit. "Help the widowof General Dayole!"

He gasped as he recognized her. Five years before, he'd danced with herat a party given by Dayole--danced and agreed that the war was ruiningthem and that it couldn't get worse. 

He reached into his pocket, before remembering the worthlessness of hisbills. But there was half a pack of the wretched cigarettes issued themen. He tossed them to her and fled, while the other beggars scrambledtoward her. 

He walked woodenly across the leprous field, skirting away from theEarth ships, toward a collection of tents and tin huts that hadswallowed the other veterans. Then he stopped and cursed to himself asa motorcycle sprang into life near the Earth freighters and came towardhim. Naturally, they'd spotted his hair and skin color. 

The well-fed, smooth-faced young man swung the machine beside him. "Captain O'Neill?" he asked, but his voice indicated that he wasalready certain. "Hop in, sir. Director Flannery has been lookingforward to meeting you!"

Duke went steadily on, not varying his steps. The machine paced himuncertainly. "Director Flannery of Earth Foreign Office, CaptainO'Neill. He requests your presence, " he shouted over the purr of hismachine. He started to swing ahead of the marching man. 

Duke kept his eyes on his goal. When his steady steps almost broughthim against the cycle, it roared out of his way. He could hear itbehind him as he walked, but it faded. 

There was only the sight and smell of Kordule ahead of him. 

II

Senators were already filing through the Presidium as Edmonds of SouthAfrica came out of his office with Daugherty of the Foreign Office. Theyoungest senator stopped beside the great bronze doors, studying thesituation. Then he sighed in relief. "It's all right, " he toldDaugherty. "Premier Lesseur's presiding. "

He hadn't been sure the premier's words were a full promise before. Andwhile he hadn't been too worried, it was good to see that the doubtfulvice-premier wouldn't be presiding. 

"It better be all right, " the diplomat said. "Otherwise, it's my neck. Cathay's counting on Earth to help against the Kloomirians, and ifDirector Flannery ever finds I committed us--"

Edmonds studied the seats that were filling, and nodded with moreconfidence as he saw that most of the senators on whom he counted werethere. "I've got enough votes, as I told you. And with Lesseurpresiding, the opposition won't get far with parliamentary tricksagainst me. This time, Earth's going to act. "

Daugherty grunted, obviously still worried, and headed up the steps tothe reserved Visitors' Gallery, while Edmonds moved to his seat in theassembly room. Today he didn't even mind the fact that it was back inthe section reserved for the newest members--the unknowns andunimportants, from the way the press treated them. He would be neitherunknown nor unimportant, once his bill was passed, and his briefexperience would only add to the miracle he was working. 

Looking back on his efforts, he found the results something of amiracle to himself. It had taken two years of vote-swapping, of carefulpropaganda, and of compromise with his principles. That business ofvoting for the combined Throm-Meloa Aid Bill had been a bitter thing;but old Harding was scared sick of antagonizing the aliens by seemingpartiality, and Edmonds' switch was the step needed to start thesoftening up. 

At that, he'd been lucky. In spite of what he'd learned of themanipulation of sociological relationships, in spite of the longpreparation in advertising dynamics and affective psychology, hecouldn't have made it if Cathay hadn't been a human colony!

Now, though, Lesseur was calling the chamber to order. The senatorsquieted quickly, and there was almost complete silence as the old manpicked up the paper before him. 

"The Senate will consider Resolution 1843 today, " Lesseur said quietly. "_A Resolution that Earth shall grant assistance to the Colony ofCathay in the event of any aggressive alien act__, proposed by SirAlfred Edmonds. Since the required time for deliberation has elapsed, the chair will admit discussion on this resolution. Senator Edmonds!"

Edmonds was on his feet, and every face turned to him. The spotlightcame down on him, blinding him to the others. He picked up themicrophone, polishing the words in his mind. The vote might already bedecided, but the papers would still print what he said now! And thosewords could mean his chance to work his way up through the Committee ofForeign Affairs and perhaps on to becoming Earth's youngest premier. 

It might even mean more. Once Earth shook off her lethargy and moved toher rightful position of power and strength among the humanoid worlds, anything could happen. There was the Outer Federation being formedamong the frontier worlds and the nucleus of close relations withhundreds of planets. Some day there might be the position of premier ofa true Interstellar Congress!

 * * * * *

Edmonds began quietly, listening to his voice roll smoothly from thespeakers, giving the long history of Earth and her rise to a positionas the richest and most respected of planets. He retold the story ofhow she had been the first to discover the interstellar drive, and howit had inevitably spread. He touched on the envy of the alien worlds, and the friendship of the humanoid planets that had enabled Earth tofound her dozen distant colonies. He couldn't wisely discuss hercowardice and timidity in avoiding her responsibilities to help herfriends; but there was another approach. 

"In the forefront of every battle against alien aggression, " hedeclaimed proudly, "have been men from Earth. Millions of our young menhave fought gloriously and died gladly to protect the human--andhumanoid--civilizations from whatever forms of life have menaced them. Djamboula led the forces of Hera against Clovis, just as CaptainO'Neill so recently directed the final battle that saved Meloa from thehordes of Throm. In our own ranks, we have a man who spent eight longand perilous years in such a gallant struggle to save a world forhumanoid decency. Senator Harding--"

From the darkened sea of faces, a voice suddenly sounded. "Will thesenator yield?" It was the deep baritone of Harding. 

Edmonds frowned in irritation, but nodded. A few words of confirmationon his point from Harding couldn't hurt. "I yield to the senator fromDixie, " he answered. 

The spotlight shifted as Harding got slowly to his feet, making a whitehalo of his hair. He did not look at Edmonds, but turned to faceLesseur. 

"Mr. Chairman, " he said, "I move that Resolution 1843 be tabled!"

"Second!" The light shifted to another man, but Edmonds had no time tosee who it was as he stood staring open-mouthed at Harding. 

He shouted for the chair's attention, but Lesseur brought the gaveldown sharply once, and his voice rang over the speakers. "It has beenmoved and seconded that Resolution 1843 be tabled. The senators willnow vote. "

Edmonds stood frozen as the voting began. Then he dropped back hastilyto press the button that would turn the square bearing his number anegative red. He saw his light flash on, while other squares werelighting. When the voting was finished, there were three such redsquares in a nearly solid panel of green. 

"The resolution is tabled, " Lesseur announced needlessly. 

Harding stood up and began moving towards the rear where Edmonds sat. The junior senator was too stunned for thought. Dimly he heardsomething about regrets and explanations, but the words had no meaning. He felt Harding help him to his feet and begin to guide him toward thedoor, where someone had already brought a shocked, white-facedDaugherty. 

It was then he thought of Cathay, and what his ambition and Earth'sultimate deceit and cowardice would mean to the millions there. 

[Illustration: RONDA]

III

A week of the dust-filled air of Meloa had left its mark on CaptainDuke O'Neill. It had spread filth over his uniform, added another yearto his face, and made waking each morning a dry-throated torture. Nowhe stopped at the entrance to the ship where he had been reassigned aberth for the night shift. An attendant handed him a small bottle, three biscuits, and a magazine. He tasted the chemically purified watersickly, stuffed the three ersatz biscuits into his pocket, and moveddown the ramp, staring at the magazine. 

It was from Earth, of course, since no printing was being done yet onMeloa. It must have come in on one of the three big Earth freightershe'd heard land during the night. Tucked into it was another of thebrief notes he'd been receiving: "Director Flannery will be pleased tocall on Captain O'Neill at the captain's convenience. "

He shredded the note as he went across the field; he started to do thesame with the news magazine, until the headlines caught his attention. 

Most of the news meant nothing to him. But he skimmed the article onthe eleventh planet to join the Outer Federation; the writer wasobviously biased against the organization, but Duke nodded approvingly. At least someone was doing something. He saw that Cathay was in fortrouble. Earth was living up to her old form! Then he shoved themagazine into his pocket and trudged on toward the veteran'sreassignment headquarters. 

Machinery was being moved from the Earth freighters, and Duke sworeagain. Five billion Earthmen would read of their "generosity" to Meloa, and any guilt they felt for their desertion would vanish in a smugsatisfaction at their charity. Smugness was easy in a world withoutdust or carrion smell or craters that had been factories. 

There were only a few Meloans in the crude tent that served as theirheadquarters. Duke went back toward the cubbyhole where a thin, haggardman sat on a broken block behind a makeshift desk. 

The hairless blue head shook slowly while the man's eyes droppedhungrily to the paper in Duke's pocket and away again guiltily. "Nowork, Captain O'Neill. Unless you can operate some of those Earthmachines we're getting?"

Duke grimaced, passing the magazine over to hands that trembled as theytook it. His education was in ultra-literary creative writing, hisexperience in war. And here, where there was the whole task ofrebuilding a planet to be done, the ruin of tools and power made whatcould be done too little for even the few who were left. There was nograin to reap or wood to cut after the killing gas from Throm hadruined vegetation; there were no workable mines where all had beenblasted closed. Transportation was gone. And the economy had passedbeyond hand tools, leaving too few of those. Even whole men were idle, and his artificial hand could never replace a real one for carryingrubble. 

"Director Flannery has been asking for you again, " the man told him. 

Duke ignored it. "What about my wife?"

The Meloan frowned, reaching for a soiled scrap of paper. "We may havesomething. One of her former friends thinks she was near this address. We'll send someone out to investigate, if you wish, captain; but it'sstill pretty uncertain. "

"I'll go myself, " Duke said harshly. He picked up the paper, recognizing the location as one that had been in the outskirts. 

The man behind the desk shook his head doubtfully. Then he shrugged, and reached behind him for a small automatic. "Better take this--andwatch your step! There are two bullets left. "

Duke nodded his thanks and turned away, dropping the gun into hispocket. Behind him he heard a long sigh and the rustle of a magazinebeing opened quickly. 

 * * * * *

It was a long walk. At first, he traced his way through streets thathad been partially blasted clear. After the first mile, however, he wasforced to hunt around or over the litter and wreckage, picking the wayfrom high spot to high spot. There were people about, rooting throughthe debris, or patrolling in groups. He drew the automatic and carriedit in his hand, in plain sight. Some stared at him and some ignoredhim, but none came too close. 

Once he heard shouting and a group ran across his path, chasing a smallrodent. He heard a wild tumult begin, minutes later. When he passed thespot where they had stopped, a fight was going on, apparently over thekill. 

At noon he stopped to drink sparingly of his water and eat one of theincredibly bad biscuits. What food there was available or which couldbe received from the Earth freighters was being mixed into them, but itwasn't enough. The workers got a little more, and occasionally someonefound a few cans under the rubble. The penalty for not turning suchfood in was revocation of all food allotment, but there was a smallblack market where unidentified cans could be bought for five Earthdollars, and some found its way there. The same black market sold thefew remaining cigarettes at twice that amount each. 

It was beginning to thunder to the north as he stood up and wentwearily on, and the haze was thickening. He tried to hurry, uncertainof how dark it would get. If he got caught now, he'd never be able toreturn before night. He stumbled on a broken street sign, decoding whatwas left of it, and considered. Then he sighed in relief. As heremembered it, he was almost there. 

The buildings had been lower here, and the rubble was thinner. Thereseemed to be more people about, judging by the traces of smoke thatdrifted out of holes or through glassless windows. He saw none outside, however. 

He was considering trying one of the places from which smoke was comingwhen he saw the little boy five hundred feet ahead. He started forward, but the kid popped into what must have been a cellar once. Dukestopped, calling quietly. 

This time it was a girl of about sixteen who appeared. She sidledcloser, her eyes fixed on his hair. Her voice piped out suddenly, scared and desperate. "You lonesome, Earthman?" Under the fright, itwas a grotesque attempt at coquetry. She edged nearer, staring at him. "I won't roll you, honest!"

"All I want is information, " he told her thickly. "I'm looking for awoman named Ronda--Ronda O'Neill. She was my wife. "

The girl considered, shaking her head. Her eyes grew wider as he pulledout a green Earth bill, but she didn't move. Then, as he added the tworemaining biscuits, she nodded quickly, motioning him forward. "Mommight know, " she said. 

She ran ahead, and soon an older woman shuffled up the broken steps. Inher arms was a baby, dead or in a coma, and she rocked it slowly, moaning softly as she listened to his questions. She grunted finally, and reached out for the reward. Shuffling ahead of him, she went up therubble-littered street and around a corner, to point. "Go in, " shesaid. "Ronda'll be back. "

Duke shoved the crude door back and stepped into what was left of afoyer in a cheap apartment house. The back had been blasted away, butthe falling building had sealed over one corner, covering it from mostof the weather. Light came from the shattered window, showing a scrapof blanket laid out on the floor near a few possessions. At first, nothing identified the resident in any way, and he wondered if it werea trap. Then he bent over a broken bracelet, and his breath caughtsharply. The catch still worked, and a faded miniature of him wasinside the little holder. Ronda's!

Duke dropped onto the blanket, trying to imagine what Ronda would belike, and to picture the reunion. But the present circumstanceswouldn't fit into anything he could imagine. He could only remember thebravely smiling girl who had seen him off five years before. 

He heard a babble of voices outside, but he didn't look out. The walkhad exhausted him. Hard as the bed was, it was better than standing up. Anyhow, if Ronda came back, he was pretty sure she would be warned ofhis presence. 

He slept fitfully, awakened by the smells and sounds from outside. Oncehe thought someone looked in, but he couldn't be sure. He turned over, almost decided to investigate, and dozed off again. 

It was the hoarse sound of breathing and a soft shuffle that wakenedhim that time. His senses jarred out of slumber with a feeling ofwrongness that reacted in instant caution. He let his eyes slit open, relieved to find there was still light. 

Between him and the door, a figure was creeping up on hands and knees. The rags of clothes indicated it was a woman and the knife in one handspelled murder!

Duke snapped himself upright to a sitting position, his hand dartingfor the gun in his pocket. A low shriek came from the woman, and shelunged forward, the knife rising. There was no time for the gun. Hecaught her wrist, twisting savagely. She scratched and writhed, but theknife spun from her grasp. With a moan, she collapsed across his knees. 

He turned her face up, staring at it unbelievingly. "Ronda!"

Bloated and stained, lined with fear, it still bore a faint resemblanceto the girl he had known. Now a fleeting look of cunning crossed herface briefly, to be replaced with an attempt at dawning recognition. "Duke!" She gasped it, then made a sound that might have been meant forjoy. She stumbled to her knees, reaching out to him. But her eyesswiveled briefly toward the knife. "Duke, it's you!"

He pushed her back and reached for the knife. He was sure she'd knownwho it was--had probably been the one who awakened him by looking inthrough the broken window. "Why'd you try to kill me, Ronda? You sawwho it was. If you needed money, you know I'd give you anything I had. Why?"

"Not for money. " She twisted from him and slumped limply against abroken wall. Tears came into her eyes. This time the catch in her voicewas real. "I know ... I know, Duke. And I wanted to see you, to talk toyou, too. " She shook her head slowly. "What can I do with money? Iwanted to wake you up like old times. But Mrs. Kalaufa--she led youhere--she said--"

He waited, but she didn't finish. She traced a pattern on the dust ofthe floor, before looking up again. "You've never been really hungry!Not that hungry! You wouldn't understand. "

"Even with the dole, you can't starve that much in the time sinceKordule was bombed, " he protested. He gagged as he thought of themeaning he'd guessed from her words, expecting her to deny it. 

 * * * * *

She shrugged. "In ten years, you can do anything. Oh, sure, you cameback on leave and we lived high. Everything was fine here, wasn't it?Sure it was, for you. They briefed me on where I should take you, sothere'd be good food ready. They kept a few places going for the menwho came back on leave. We couldn't ruin your morale!"

She laughed weakly, and let the sound die away slowly. "How do youthink we sent out the food and supplies for the fleet the last threeyears, after the blockade on our supplies from friendly worlds? Why doyou think there was no more leave for you? Because they didn't thinkyou brave soldiers could stand just seeing how the rest of us lived!And you think you had it tough! Watch the sky for the enemy while yourstomach hopes for the sound that might be a rat. Hide three cans offood you'll be shot for hoarding--because there is nothing elseimportant in the world. And then have a man steal them from you whenthe raids come! What does a soldier know of war?"

The sickness inside him grew into a knot, but he still couldn't fullybelieve what she was saying. "But cannibalism--"

"No. " She shook her head with a faint trace of his own disgust. "No, Duke. Mrs. Kalaufa told me ... You're not really the same race--Not asclose as you are to an Earth animal, and you don't call thatcannibalism. Nobody on Meloa has ever been a cannibal--yet! How muchmoney do you have, Duke?"

He took it out and handed it to her. She counted it mechanically andhanded it back. "Not enough. You can't take me away when you leavehere. "

"I'm not leaving, " he told her. He dropped the money back on theblanket beside her. 

She stared at him for a moment and then pulled herself up to her feet, moving toward the door. "Good-by, Duke. And get off Meloa. You can'thelp us any more. And I don't want you here when I get desperate enoughto remember you might take me back. I like you too much for that, evennow. "

He took a step toward her, and she ducked. 

"Get out!" She screamed it at him. "Do you think I can stand looking atyou without drooling any longer? Do you want me to call Mrs. Kalaufafor help?"

Through the open door, he saw Mrs. Kalaufa across the street, stillcradling the child. As the door slammed shut behind him, the womanscreamed, either as a summons or from fear that he'd seek revenge onher. He saw other heads appear, with frantic eyes that stared sullenlyat the gun he carried. He stumbled down the street, where rain wasbeginning to fall, conscious that it would be night before he got backto the port. He no longer cared. 

There was no place for him here, he now saw. He was still an Earthman, and Earthmen were always treated as a race apart somehow. He didn'tbelong. Nor could he go back to a life on Earth. But there were stillthe recruiting stations there; so long as war existed, there had to besuch stations. He headed for the fat ships of Earth that squattedcomplacently on the wrecked port. 

IV

Prince Queeth of Sugfarth had left the royal belt behind, and only aplain band encircled his round little body as he trotted along, hisfour legs making almost no sound. His double pair of thin arms and thebird-like head on his long neck bobbled excitedly in time to his steps. Once he stopped to glance across the black stone buildings of the cityas they shone in the dull red of the sun, toward the hill where hisfather's palace was lighted brightly for the benefit of his Earthguests. Queeth touched his ears together ceremoniously and then trottedon, until he came to the back door of his group's gymnasium. Hewhistled the code word and the door opened automatically. 

The whole group was assembled, though it was past sleep week for mostof them. Their ears clicked together, but they waited silently as hecurled himself up in the official box. Then Krhal, the merchantviscount, whistled questioningly. "This will have to be important, Queeth. "

The prince bobbed his ears emphatically. "It is. My father's guestshave all the news, and I learned everything. It won't be as long as wethought. " He paused, before delivering the big news. "The bipeds ofKloomiria are going to attack Cathay. There'll be official war therewithin two weeks!"

He saw them exchanging hasty signals, but again it was Krhal who voicedtheir question. "And you think that is important, Queeth? What does itoffer us? Cathay is a human colony. Earth will have to declare war withher. And with Earth's wealth, it will be over before we could arrive. "

"Earth has already passed a resolution that neutrality will apply tocolonies as well as to other planets!"

This time the whistles were sharper. Krhal had difficulty believing itat first. "So Earth really is afraid to fight? That must mean thoserumors that she has no fleet are true. Our ancestors thought so, andeven planned to attack her, before the humanoids defeated us. Theancestor king believed that even a single ship fully armed mightconquer her. "

"It could be, " Queeth admitted. "But do you agree that this is the newsfor which we've waited so long?"

There was a quick flutter of cars. "It's our duty, " Krhal agreed. "In awar between Cathay and Kloomiria, we can't remain neutral if we're everto serve our friends. Well, the ship is ready!"

That came as a surprise to Queeth. He knew the plans were well along, but not that they were completed. As merchant viscount, andsecond-degree adult, Krhal was entitled to a tenth of his father'sinterests. He'd chosen the biggest freighter and the balance in fluidassets, to the pleasure of his father--who believed he was planning anhonorable career of exploring. 

"The conversion completed?" Queeth asked. "But the planet bombs--!"

"Earth supplied them on the last shipment. I explained on the orderthat I was going to search uninhabited planets for minerals. "

Queeth counted the group again, and was satisfied. There were enough. With a ship of that size, fully staffed and armed, they would be awelcome addition to any fleet. They might be enough to tip the balancefor victory, in fact. And while Cathay and Kloomiria lay a long way onthe other side of Earth's system, the drives were fast enough to coverit in two weeks. 

"Does your father know?" Krhal asked. 

Queeth smirked. "Would you tell him? He still believes along with theEarth ambassador that the warrior strain was ruined among our peoplewhen we lost the war with the humanoids. "

"Maybe it was, " Krhal said doubtfully. "In four generations, it couldevolve again. And there are the books and traditions from which wetrained. If even a timid race such as those of Earth can producewarriors like O'Neill--a mere poet--why can't the Sugfarth do better?Particularly when Earth rebuilt factories for us to start ourshipbuilding anew. "

"Then we join the war, " the prince decided. 

There was a series of assent signals from the group. 

"Tonight, " he suggested, and again there was only assent. 

Krhal stood up, setting the course for the others. When the last hadrisen, Queeth uncurled himself and rose from the box. "We'll have topass near Earth, " he suggested as they filed out toward the hangarswhere Krhal kept his ship. "Maybe we should show our intentions there!"

There was a sudden whistle of surprise. Then the assent was mountingwildly. Queeth trotted ahead toward the warship, making his attackplans over again as he realized he was a born leader who could commandsuch enthusiasm. He had been doubtful before, in spite of his study ofelementary statistical treatment of relationships. 

The lights in the palace showed that the Earth guests were stillcelebrating as the great, heavily-laden warship blasted up and headedtoward Earth. 

V

Duke O'Neill found a corner of the lounge where no Earthman was nearand dropped down with the magazine and papers, trying to catch up onthe currents of the universe as they affected the six hundred connectedworlds. Most of the articles related to Earth alone, and he skippedthem. He found one on the set-up of the Outer Federation finally. Thehumanoid planets there were in a pocket of alien worlds, and union hadbeen almost automatic. It was still loose, but it seemed to have soundenough a basis. 

If Earth had been willing to come out of its shell and risk some of itsfat trading profits, there could have been an even stronger union thatwould have driven war-like thoughts out of the minds of all the aliens. 

Instead, she seemed to be equally interested in building up herpotential enemies and ruining her friends. Duke had watched a showingof new films on the work being done on Throm the night before, and hewas still sick from it. Throm had lost the war, but by a militarydefeat, not by thirty-one unprotected raids on all her surface. Shestill had landing fields equipped for Earth ships, and the bigfreighters were dropping down regularly, spewing out foods, equipmentand even heavy machinery for her rebuilding. Throm was already on theroad back. Meloa had to wait until she could pull herself up enough tobuild fields. 

Duke turned his eyes to the port. The ship had stopped at Clovis on theway back to Earth. From where he sat, he could see almost Earth-likeskyscrapers stretching up in a great city. The landing field was huge, and there were rows on rows of factories building more of thefreighters that stubbed the field. 

It seemed impossible, when he remembered that only forty years hadpassed since Djamboula's suicide raid had finally defeated the fungoidcreatures of the planet and since the survivors' vows to repay allEarthmen for their defeat. They were a prolific race, of course--butwithout help from Earth, the factories would be shacks and the rocketsand high-drive ships would be only memories. 

He wondered how many were cursing their ancestors for making themistake of attacking a neighboring humanoid planet instead of Earth, only two days away on high drive. By now, they knew that Earth wasdefenseless. And yet, they seemed content to go on with their vowsforgotten. Duke couldn't believe it. Down underground, beyond Earthinspection, they could have vast stockpiles of weapons, ready toinstall in their ships within days. 

How could Earth risk it, unless she had her own stock of hidden shipsand weapons? Yet if she did, he was sure that it would have beenimpossible not to use them in defense of the colony of Cathay. 

He stared out, watching the crewmen mixing with the repulsive aliennatives, laughing as they worked side by side. There must be somefactor he didn't understand, but he'd never found it--nor did he knowanyone who had guessed it. 

He stirred, uncomfortable with his own thoughts. But it wasn't fear forEarth that bothered him. It was simply that sooner or later some alienrace would risk whatever unknown power the others feared. If the alienswon, the vast potential power of Earth would then be turned against allthe humanoid races of the universe. Humanity could be driven from thegalaxy. 

He turned the pages, idly glancing at the headlines. It was hard torealize that the paper wasn't right off the presses of Earth; it musthave been brought out to Clovis on the latest ship. He checked thedate, and frowned in surprise. According to the rough calendar he'dkept, it was the current date. Somewhere he must have lost track of twodays. How much else had he lost sight of during the long years of war?

A diagram caught his attention almost at once as he turned to anothermagazine. It was of a behemoth ship, bigger than any he had ever seen, and built like the dream of a battleship, though it was listed as afreighter. He scanned it, mentally converting it. With a few like that, Meloa could have won during the first year. 

Then he swore as he saw it was part of an article on the progress ofsome alien world known as Sugfarth--by the article, a world of formerwarriors, once dedicated to the complete elimination of humanoids!

 * * * * *

He saw Flannery coming along the deck at that moment, and he picked upthe magazine, heading for his cabin. He'd ignored previous summons onthe thin excuse of not feeling well. He had no desire to talk withEarthmen. It was bad enough to take their charity back to Earth and tohave to stay on the planet until he could sign on with the OuterFederation. His memories were ugly enough, without having themrefreshed. 

But Flannery caught him as he was opening the door to his cabin. Thedirector was huge, with heavy, strong features and a body that lookedtoo robust for the white hair and the age that showed around his eyes. His voice was tired, however, showing his years more plainly than hislooks. 

"Captain O'Neill, " he said quickly. "Stop jousting with windmills. It'stime you grew up. Besides, I've got a job for you. "

"Does my charity passage demand an interview, director?" Duke asked. 

The other showed no offense, unfortunately. He smiled wryly. "If Ichoose, it does. I'm in command of this ship, as well as head of theForeign Office. May I come in?"

"I can't keep you out, " Duke admitted. He dropped onto the couch, sprawling out, while the other found the single chair. 

Flannery picked up the magazine and glanced through it. "So you'reinterested in the Outer Federation?" he asked. "Don't be. It doesn'thave a chance. In a week or so, you'll see it shot. And I don't meanwe'll wreck it. They've picked their own doom, against all the advicewe could give them. Care to have a drink sent down while we talk?"

Duke shook his head. "I'd rather cut it short. "

"Hotheads, " Flannery told the walls thoughtfully, "make the best menobtainable, once they're tamed. Nothing beats an idealist who can facefacts. And the intelligent ones usually grow up. Captain, I've studiedyour strategy against Throm on that last drive after Dayole was killed. Brilliant! I need a good man, and I can pay for one. If you give me achance, I can also show you why you should take it. Know anything abouthow Earth got started on its present course?"

"Dumb luck and cowardice, as far as I can see, " Duke answered. 

When Earth discovered the first inefficient version of the high drive, she had found herself in a deserted section of the universe, with thenearest inhabited star system months away. The secret of the drivecouldn't be kept, of course, but the races who used it to build warfleets found it easier to fight with each other than with distantEarth. Later, when faster drives were developed, Earth was protected bythe buffer worlds she had rebuilt. 

Flannery grinned. "Luck--and experience. We learned something from ourearly nuclear-technological wars. We learned more from the interstellarwars of others. We decided that any planet ruined by such war wouldn'tfight again--the women and children who lived through that hell wouldsee to it--unless new hatreds grew up during the struggle back. So wepractically pauperized ourselves at first to see that they recoveredtoo quickly for hate and fear. We also began digging into the scienceof how to manipulate relationships--Earth's greatest discovery--to setup a system that would work. It paid off for us in the long run. "

"So what's all that got to do with me?" Duke asked. He'd heard of thegreat science of Earth and her ability to manipulate all kinds ofrelationships before, spoken of in hush-hush terms when he was still incollege. But he'd quit believing in fairy tales even before then. Nowhe was even sicker of Earth's self-justification. 

Flannery frowned, and then shrugged. "It's no secret I need a good manon Throm, and you're the logical candidate, if I can pound some factsinto your head. I've found that sending an Earthman they know as acompetent enemy works wonders. Not at first--there's hostility for awhile--but in the long run it gives them a new slant on us. "

"Then you'd better get an Earthman, " Duke snapped. "You're talking to acitizen of Meloa! By choice!"

"I hadn't finished my explanation, " Flannery reminded. 

Duke snorted. "I was brought up on explanations. I heard men spoutingabout taming the aliens when I first learned to talk--as if they werewild animals. I read articles on how the Clovisem and those things fromSugfarth needed kindness. It's the same guff I heard about how tohandle lions. But the men doing the talking weren't in the ring; and Inoticed the ringmaster carried a whip and gun. He knew the beasts. Iknow the aliens of Throm. "

"From fighting them? From hating them? Or from being more afraid ofthem than you think Earth is, captain? I've talked to more aliens thanyou've ever seen. "

"And the Roman diplomats laughed at the soldiers who told them theGoths were getting ready to sack Rome. "

Flannery stared at him in sudden amusement. "We aren't in an Empireperiod, O'Neill. But you might look up what the Romans did to conqueredpeople during the Republic, when Rome was still growing. Captain, I'mnot underrating the aliens!"

"Tame aliens! Or ones faking tameness. You've seen them smiling, maybe. I saw the other side. "

The old man sighed heavily and reached for his shirt. He beganunbuttoning it and pulling it over his head. "You've got a niceprosthetic hand, " he said. "Now take a look at some real handiwork!"

There was a strap affair around his shoulders, with a set ofcomplicated electronic controls slipped into the muscle fibers. Fromthem, both arms hung loose, unattached at the shoulder blades. Furtherdown, another affair of webbing went around his waist. 

"Only one leg is false, " he explained, "but the decorations are real. They came from a highly skilled torturer. I've had my experience withaliens. Clovisem, if you're curious. I was the second in command onDjamboula's volunteer raid, forty years ago. "

Duke dropped his eyes from the scars. For a second, he groped for wordsof apology. Then the cold, frozen section of his brain swallowed theemotions. "I've seen a woman with a prosthetic soul, " he said bitterly. "Only she didn't turn yellow because of what the aliens did!"

Red spots shot onto Flannery's cheeks and one of the artificial armsjerked back as savagely as a real one. He hesitated, then reached forhis shirt. "O. K. , squawman!"

The word had no meaning for Duke, though he knew it was an insult. Buthe couldn't respond to it. He fumbled through his memories, trying toplace it. Something about Indians--

Flannery began buttoning his pants over the shirt. "I'm out of bounds, captain, " he said more quietly. "I hope you don't know the prejudicesbehind that crack. But you win. If you ever want the rest of theexplanation, look me up. "

He closed the door behind him softly and went striding evenly up thepassage. 

Duke frowned after him. The talk had gotten under his skin. If therewere things he didn't know--

Then he swore at himself. There was plenty he didn't know. But thecarefully developed indoctrination propaganda of the top Earthpsychologists wasn't the answer he wanted. 

He'd have to make his stay on Earth shorter than he'd planned. If theycould get to a man who had served under Djamboula and convince him thatClovisem were nice house pets, it was little wonder they could wrap therest of Earth around their psychological fingers. 

Too bad their psychology wasn't adjusted to aliens!

VI

Barth Nevesh was nearly seven feet tall, and his cat-shaped ears stuckup another four inches above his head. Even among the people of Kel hewas a big man, but to the representatives of the other humanoid worldsof the Federation, he seemed a giant. The thick furs he wore againstthe heavy chill of the room added to his apparent size, and the hornsgrowing from his shoulders lifted his robes until he seemed to have noneck. 

Now he stood up, driving his heavy fist down against the big woodentable. "The question is, do we have the answer or not?" he roared. "Yousay we do. Logic says we do. Then let's act on it!"

The elfin figure of Lemillulot straightened up at the other end of thetable. "Not so fast, commander. Nobody questions the power of yourfleet. Nobody doubts that we have the only possible answer to thealiens that Earth is helping to take over our universe--strengththrough unity. But is it as good as it can be?"

"How better?" Barth roared again. "Every world in this alien pocket hasbeen building its strength since the Earthmen's ships first reachedhere and showed us space travel was possible. We've seen the stinkingaliens get the same ships. But now we've got something they can'tresist--a Federation, in spite of all Earth could do to stop us. If allour fleets strike at once, no alien world can resist--and we can stopmerely holding them back. Wipe them out, one by one, I say! The onlygood alien is a dead alien!"

There was a lot of talk--more than Barth usually heard or contributedin a month. Lemillulot was the focus of most of it. The little manwould never be satisfied. He wanted all the humanoid worlds organized, and by now it was plain that Earth's influence would be too strongoutside of their own section. 

Their accomplishments were already enough. United as they were, theFederation was clearly invincible. Their fleets were at full size andthe crews were thoroughly trained. No other time would be better. 

There had already been a stir of ship-building on the alien worlds, since the first word of the Federation had somehow leaked out. TheFederation position was as good as it would ever be--and with elevenfleets working together, nothing better was needed. 

"Knock them down with the long shells, haze them to base withinterceptors, and then rip their worlds with planet bombs, " Barthrepeated his plans. "We can do it in six hours for a planet--we canstart at the strongest, Neflis, and work down through the weakest, tomake up for our losses. And if the Earth forces start moving in torebuild them--well, I've been thinking the Federation could use alittle more wealth and power!"

"Humanoids don't attack humanoids, " Lemillulot protested. 

The snarling, dog face of Sra from Chumkt opened in a grin, and his slyvoice held a hint of a chuckle. "Or so Earth keeps preaching. ButEarthmen aren't humanoids. They're humans!"

He laughed softly at his own wit. There were rumbles of uncertainty, but Barth saw that the seed had taken root. If they kept workingtogether, he and Sra could force it to ripen soon enough. 

"That can wait, " Barth decided. "The question is, do we attack Neflis, and when? I say now!"

 * * * * *

It took an hour more for the decision. But there would be only oneanswer, and the final vote was unanimous. The fleets would take offfrom their home worlds and rendezvous near the barren sun; from there, they would proceed in a group, under the control of Barth, toward thealien world of Neflis. 

The commander checked his chronometer as the delegates went to sendtheir coded reports to their home worlds. He had the longest distanceto lead his fleet, and there was no time for delay. 

Outside, the harsh snow crackled under his feet, and a layer of stormclouds cut off the wan heat of Kel's sun. He drew in a deep breath, watching the swirl of white as he exhaled. It was a good world--a worldto build men. It was the world from which a leader should come. 

The fleet would be all his within a day. And for a time, it would bebusy at the work of wiping out the nearby aliens. After that--well, there were other aliens further out toward the last frontiers ofexploration. With care, the fleet could be kept busy for years. 

Barth was remembering his histories, and the armies that had been swepttogether. In a few years, fighting men began to think of themselves asa people apart, and loyalty to their birthplace gave way to loyalty totheir leader. Five years should be enough. Then there could be morethan a Federation; there could be the empire among the worlds that hadbeen his lifelong dream. 

But first, there was Earth. He snorted to himself as he reached theships of his fleet. Missionaries! Spreading their soft fear through theuniverse. In five years, his fleet should be ready for ten times thepower of any single planet--including Earth. 

Sra would be the only problem in his way. But that could be met later. For the moment, the man from Chumkt was useful. 

Barth strode up the ramp of his flagship, shouting out to his men as hewent. There was no need of signals. They had been primed and waitingfor days, ready to follow him up. 

He dropped to the control seat, staring at the little lights that wouldtell him of their progress. "Up ship!" he shouted, and from the metalhalls and caverns of the ship other voices echoed his cry. 

The _Wind Dragon_ leaped upwards sharply. Behind, as the red lightsshowed, four hundred others charged into the sky and the open spacebeyond. Barth sat at the great screen, watching as they drew onsteadily toward the rendezvous, mulling over his plans. 

They were three hours out from Kel when he turned the control over tohis lieutenant and went below, where his table was laden with thesmoking cheer of good green meat and ale. With a sigh of contentment, he threw back his outer robe and prepared to forget everything until hehad dined. 

He was humming hoarsely to himself as he cut a piece of the meat andstuck it on his left shoulder horn, within reach of his teeth. Maybe alittle of the baked fish would blend well--

The emergency drum blasted through the ship as he lifted the knife. Swearing and tearing at the flesh near his mouth, he leaped up andforward toward the control room. He heard voices shouting, somethingabout a fleet. Then he was at the screens where he could see forhimself. 

Five million miles ahead, another fleet was assembled, where noneshould be from any of the Federation worlds! His eyes swept sidewaysacross the screen, estimating the number. It was impossible. Thereweren't a quarter of that number in the fleet of any world, humanoid oralien!

Barth flipped on the microresolver, twisting the wheel that sent itracing across the path of the fleet ahead. His eyes confirmed what hismind had already recognized. 

The aliens had their own federation. There were ships of every typethere, grouped in units. Thirteen alien worlds were combined againstthe Outer Federation. 

For a breath he hesitated, ready to turn back and defend Kel whilethere was time. But it would never work. One fleet would never beenough to defend the planet against the combined aliens. 

"Cluster!" he barked into the communicator. "Out rams and up speed. Prepare for breakthrough!"

If they could hit the aliens at full drive and cut through the weakercenter, they could still rendezvous with the other fleets. The combinedstrength might be enough. And the gods help Kel if the aliens refusedto follow him!

Earth, he thought; Earth again, coddling and protecting aliens, formingthem into a conspiracy against the humanoid worlds. If Kel or any partof the Federation survived, that debt would be paid!

VII

Earth lay fat and smug under the sun, seemingly unchanged since Dukehad left it. For generations the populace had complained that they weredraining themselves dry to rebuild other worlds, but they had grownrich on the investment. It was the only planet where men worked shorterand shorter hours to give them more leisure in which to continue afrantic effort to escape boredom. It was also the only world where themention of aliens made men think of their order books instead of theirweapons. 

Duke walked steadily away from the grotesquely elaborate landing field. He had less than thirty cents in his pocket, but his breakfast aboardhad left him satisfied for the moment. He turned onto a wider street, heading the long distance across the city toward the most probablelocation of the recruiting stations. 

The Outer Federation station would be off the main section, since theofficial line was disapproving of such a union. But he was sure therewould be one. The system of recruiting was a tradition too hard tobreak. Earth used it as an escape valve for her troublemakers. Andsince such volunteers made some of the best of all fighters, they hadalready decided the outcome of more than one war. By carefully jugglingthe attention given the stations, Earth could influence the battleswithout seeming to do so. 

The air was thick with the smell of late summer, and there was pleasurein that, until Duke remembered the odor of Meloa, and its cause. Laterthe cloying perfume of women mixed with the normal industrial odors ofthe city, until his nose was overdriven to the point of cutoff. He sawthings in the shop windows that he had forgotten, but he had no desirefor them. And over everything came the incessant yammer of voicessaying nothing, radios blaring, television babbling, and vendingmachines shouting. 

He gave up at last and invested half his small fund in a subway. It wasequally noisy, but it took less time. Beside him, a fungoid creaturefrom Clovis was busy practicing silently on its speaking machine, butnobody else seeemed to notice. 

Duke's head was spinning when he reached the surface again. He stoppedto let it clear, wondering if he'd ever found this world home. Itwouldn't matter soon, though; once he was signed up at the recruitingstation, there would be no time to think. 

He saw the sign, only a few blocks from where the recruiting postersfor Meloa had been so long ago. It was faded, but he could read thelettering, and he headed for it. As he had expected, it was on a dirtyback street, where the buildings were a confusion of shipping concernsand cheaper apartment houses. 

He knew something was wrong when he was a block away. There was nopitch being delivered by a barking machine, and no idle group watchingthe recruiting efforts on the street. In fact, nobody was in front ofthe vacant store that had been used, and the big posters were rippeddown. 

He reached the entrance and stopped. The door was half open, but itcarried a notice that the place had been closed by order of the WorldForeign Office. Through the dirty glass, Duke could see a young man ofabout twenty sitting slumped behind a battered desk. 

He stepped in and the boy looked up apathetically. "You're too late, captain. Neutrality went on hours ago when the first word came through. Caught me just ready to ship out--after two lousy months recruitinghere, I have to be the one stranded. "

"You're lucky, " Duke told him mechanically, not sure whether he meantit or not. Oddly, the idea of a kid like this mixed up in aninterplanetary war bothered him. He turned to go, then hesitated. "Gota newspaper or a directory around that I could borrow?"

The boy fished a paper out of a wastebasket. "It's all yours, captain. The whole place is yours. Slam the door when you go out. I'm going overto the Cathay office. "

"I'll go along, " Duke offered. The address of that place was all he'dwanted from the paper. He'd have preferred the Federation to joining upwith Earth colonists, but beggars never made good choosers. 

The kid shook his head. He dragged open a drawer, found a slip ofpaper, and handed it over. It was a notice that the legal maximum agefor recruiting had been reduced to thirty! "You'd never make it, captain, " he said. 

Duke looked at the paper in his hands and at the dim reflection of hisface in a window. "No, " he agreed. "I didn't make it. "

He followed the boy to the door, staring out at the street, thick withits noises and smells. He dropped to the doorsill and looked briefly upat the sky where two ships were cutting out to space. Flannery hadknown the regulation and hadn't told him. Yet it was his own fault; theage limit was lower now, but there had always been a limit. He hadsimply forgotten that he'd grown older. 

He found it hard to realize he'd been no older than the kid when he'dsigned up for the war with Throm. 

 * * * * *

For a while he sat looking at the street, trying to realize what hadhappened to him. It took time to face the facts. He listened with halfhis attention as a small group of teen-age boys came from one of thebuildings and began exchanging angry insults with another groupapparently waiting for them on the corner. From their attitudes, someof them were carrying weapons and were half-eager, half-afraid to usethem. It was hard to remember back to the time when such things hadseemed important to him. He considered putting a stop to the argument, before it got out of hand, since no police were near; but adults had nobusiness in kid fights. He watched them retreat slowly back to analley, still shouting to work up their courage. Maybe he should be gladthat there was even this much fire left under the smug placidity ofEarth. 

Finally, he picked up the newspaper from where he'd dropped it andbegan turning back to the want ads. His needs were few, and thereshould be dishwashing jobs, at least, somewhere in the city. He stillhad to eat and find some place to sleep. 

A headline glared up at him, catching his attention. He started to skimthe story, and then read it thoroughly. Things weren't going at all ashe'd expected in the Outer Worlds, if the account were true; andusually, such battle reports weren't altered much. 

The aliens had developed a union of their own--if anything, a strongerone than the humanoids had. Apparently they'd chased the Federationships into some kind of a trap. Losses on both sides were huge. Andraids had begun on all the alien and humanoid planets. 

He scowled as he came to the latest developments. One section of theFederation fleet under Sra of Chumkt had pulled out, accusing thefaction headed by Barth Nevesh of leading the aliens to the humanoidrendezvous. Kel's leader had gone after the deserters, fought it outwith them in the middle of the larger battle, killed Sra, and declaredhimself the head of the whole Federation. It was madness that shouldhave led to complete annihilation; only the fumbling, uncoördinatedleadership of the aliens had saved the humanoid fleets. And now theFederation was coming apart at the seams, with Barth Nevesh franticallyscurrying around to catch up the pieces. 

Duke read it through again, but with no added information. It was ashock to know that the aliens had combined against the humanoidFederation. Still, looking back on that, he could begin to see thatthey would have to, once they knew of the Federation. But the rest ofthe account--

Flannery's words came back to him. The director had been right. Hisprediction was already coming true, after only three days--unless hehad either had prior knowledge or juggled things to make it come true!Duke considered it, but he could see no way Flannery could either learnor act in advance of the arrival of the ship on Earth. The Federationwas farther from Meloa than from this planet. He'd been forced todepend on the same accounts Duke had read in the papers on board theship. 

Then Duke glanced at the date on the current paper idly, and histhoughts jolted completely out of focus. It was dated only three dayslater than the paper he had seen when they were docked on Clovis!Without instantaneous communication, it was impossible. He might havebeen mistaken about the date before, but--

Nothing fitted. The feeling of uncertainty came back, crowding out theminor matter of his memory of the date. He stared at the richness ofeven this poor section of an Earth that huddled here as if afraid ofits own shadows, yet reeked with self-satisfaction. He thought of Meloaand Throm, and the gallant try at Federation that had been made on theOuter Worlds. Strength had to lie in union and action; yet all theevidence seemed to say that it lay in timidity and sloth. 

Reluctantly he turned the page away from the news, to seek for the jobsections. From the alley, there came the sound of a police whistle, andshouts that faded into the distance. It was probably the breaking up ofthe teen-age argument. A few people ran by, heading for the excitement, but Duke had lost all interest. A taxi stopped nearby and he heard apatter that might have been that of children's feet, but he didn't lookup. 

 * * * * *

Then a sharper whistle shrilled almost in his ear and he twisted aroundto stare at a creature who was gazing at him. Four spindly legs led upto a globular body encased in a harness-like contraption. Above thebody, two pairs of thin arms were waving about, while a long neck endedin a bird-like head, topped by two large ears. 

The ears suddenly seemed to shimmer in the air, and a surprisinglyhuman voice sounded. "You're Captain Duke O'Neill!"

Before Duke could answer, a small hand came out quickly to find his andbegin shaking it, while the ears twittered on in excitement. "I'mhonored to meet you, Captain O'Neill. I've been studying your workagainst Throm. Amazingly clever strategy! Permit me--I'm Queeth, latelya prince of Sugfarth. Perhaps you noticed our ship? No, of course not. You must have landed at the government field. My crew and I are on theway to the war about to begin between Kloomiria and Cathay. "

"Why tell me about it?" Duke asked roughly. Sugfarth--the ship he'dseen diagrammed had come from there. If one of those titans was to beused against Cathay, Earth's colony was doomed. And the impertinentlittle monster--!

The creature tried to imitate a shrug with his upper set of arms. "Whynot, captain? We're registered here as a recruiting ship for Cathay, soit's no secret. We thought we might as well carry along some of the mengoing out to help, since we had to pass near Earth anyhow. And Idropped by here in the hope that there might be a few who had failed tojoin the Federation and who would like to switch to Cathay. "

"Wait a minute, " Duke said. He studied the alien, trying to rake whathe'd learned from the article out of his memory. But no record ofsubtlety or deceit had been listed there. The Sugfarth were supposed tobe honest--in fact, they'd been one of the rare races to declare theirwar in advance. Somehow, too, the words had a ring of truth in them. "_For_ Cathay?"

"Certainly, captain. For whom else? The civilized Earth races naturallyhave to stick together against the barbarians. "

Duke stared at the almost comic figure, juggling the words he had heardwith the obvious facts. "What Earth races? Do you mean that Earth isnow giving citizenship to your people?"

"Not on this planet, of course. " A pair of beady black eyes staredback, as if trying to understand a ridiculous question. "But we'recitizens of Earth's economic-cultural-diplomatic system, naturally. "

Duke felt something nibble at his mind, but he couldn't grasp it. Andhe wasn't accustomed to carrying on long chitchat with aliens. Heshoved the thoughts away and reached for the paper again. "You won'tfind recruits here, Queeth. Only me. And I'm too old for the recruitinglaw. Besides, I've got to find a job. "

He turned the pages, locating the column he wanted. What had Flannerymeant about Republican Rome? Duke could remember dimly something aboutRome's granting citizenship to her conquered neighbors. It had been thebasis of the city's growth and later power. Now if Earth could inspirecitizenship from conquered aliens--

Queeth made a sound like a sigh and shuffled his four feet on thesidewalk uncertainly. "If you came aboard on a visit, who could stopour taking off at once?" he suggested. "We have room for anotherofficer, and we need men like you, Captain O'Neill, to help us againstthe aliens out there!"

Duke looked down at the small face, and even the alien featurescouldn't disguise the obvious sincerity behind the words. It shouldhave made his decision automatic. He'd come here to be recruited, andhe was being accepted. There was a ship waiting for him, where hisskills could be used. With such a ship, things would be different fromthe war he had known. He had a picture of Kloomiria under attack fromit. 

Abruptly, he was seeing again the exploding ships of Throm, and thecharnel smell of Kordule on victorious Meloa was thick in his nose. 

He stood up, shaking his head, and held out his hand, groping for thephrases that had been all-important once among the recruits he hadjoined. "Thanks, Queeth, " he said finally. "But I've got something tocatch up on here. Good luck--on to victory--and give the aliens hell!"

He stood watching Queeth patter off toward the waiting cab and saw itdrive away. Then he turned to the want ads in earnest. 

Nothing was clear in his mind yet, but he'd need a job first, then aroom near the library. He had a lot of current history to catch up on. Whatever Earth was up to had to be recorded somewhere, if he could findit. 

VIII

Through half his reign, Var of Kloomiria had nursed his hatred of thehumans into a holy mission. It was eighty years since his visit toCathay, when the colonists' children had run screaming from him, shouting that he was a monster, but time had only sharpened the memory. He had covered his too-human body under a multitude of robes and hadgloried in the alienness of his head, with its fringe of breathingtentacles and the two lobster-like claws that concealed his tiny mouth. Year after long year, he had built and prayed for the war of vengeancethat must come. 

Almost, it had passed him by. With the threat of help from Earth forCathay, he had been forced to delay while larger fleets were built. Hisreign had been drawing to a close and he had almost resigned himself tothe law that would turn the rulership over to his eldest son. Then theboy had died in an explosion less than a week from the change of rule, and almost simultaneously Earth's timidity had won again, and theprotection had been denied her colony. 

Now Var's waiting was finished. He stood in the cabin of his flagship, heading back to Kloomiria after the opening raid of the war, savoringthe sweetness of the damage he had done Cathay. Life was sweet. 

Behind him, the door dilated softly and his aide came in, carrying aroll of paper. "A message from Cathay, magnificence, " he announced. 

Var opened the message and studied it. Then he read it again, uncertainly. He was sure of his knowledge of English, but the note wassenseless gibberish. Again he read it, this time aloud:

"Yours of the fourteenth ultimo received and contents noted. We arepleased to inform you that we are in a position to fill your entireorder and that shipment is going out at once by special messenger. Wetrust that you will find our products superior in every way. We believethat you will find our terms completely reasonable. "

It made no more sense aloud. 

The aide sighed apologetically. "Deliberately misapplied archaicism issometimes regarded as humorous by Earthmen, magnificence. I suspectthis is a warning that they are retaliating. "

"Bluff!" Var read the words again, but he could make no other meaningfrom them. Did the fools expect him to believe their flippancy spelledconfidence, or were they deceiving themselves? And the hint ofsurrender terms was sheer stupidity. It must be an offer, though thewording seemed to indicate _he_ should surrender!

He threw the message into a waste receptacle in disgust and went overto look at the screens where Kloomiria was showing. The humans ofCathay might try a return raid, but he was unworried. Cathay's fleetwas pitiful, and she had no heavy ships from which to launch planetbombs. Of course, there were spy reports of vast numbers of what seemedto be guided missiles, but they could never get through theconfusion-signals that blanketed Kloomiria. 

As he watched, a signal blinked. He opened the circuit and the face ofhis admiral looked out. "We've received indications of a swarm of smallships, magnificence, " the man reported. "High speed and piloted. It maybe a suicide squadron. "

"Suicide!" Var spat the word out. "Whoever heard of the human cowardsrisking their necks?"

The aide touched his shoulder apologetically. "They are mentioned inEarth books, magnificence. And there was Djamboula. "

Var stared at the screen as the flight was relayed to him, snarling. Definitely, they were one-man ships, not guided missiles. His defenseshad never been built to handle suicide squadrons. 

"Up, surround them, blast them!" he ordered. A few might get through tothe ships or to the planet below, but quick action would wreak havocamong them and discourage further attempts. 

 * * * * *

The Kloomirian fleet opened into a circle and began rising. Now theswarm of little ships began breaking apart, fanning out and attemptingto turn. Var hissed. Not even the courage to go through with it afterthey were discovered! They--

He leaped to the screen, cursing at what he saw. 

Where the little ships had opened a hole, a monstrous bulk was hurtlingthrough at fantastic speed. The tiny ships had screened it, but now itoutran them, boring straight toward the opening in the Kloomirianfleet. Atomic cannon began running out of enormous hatches, like thebristles jutting from a tendril brush. 

"Blast out!" Var screamed into his engine phone. His flagship leapedaway at full drive, while the enemy seemed to grow on the screen. Thenit diminished as they began drawing away from the fleet. 

There was nothing Var could do about the horror that followed. Thegreat vessel bored through the fleet with cannons spitting out hell. Ifcountershots were fired, they had no effect. 

"Sugfarth!" the aide screamed in his ears. "A ship from Sugfarth!"

Var remembered the pictures he had seen, and they matched, though nonehad suggested such a size. It was impossible. The race of Sugfarth werealiens--warriors who had fought humanoids as few races had done. Theywould have fought with him, not against him!

The ship drove down toward the planet, braking fiercely now. From it, two bulky objects fell. While the planet bombs dropped, the behemothbegan to rise again. It came through the shattered ranks of Kloomiria'sfleet, blasting again, and headed toward the tiny ships that hadscreened it, new hatches opening to receive them. 

Half of Var's fleet was in total ruin. On the planet below, twohorrible gouts of flame leaped up through the atmosphere and beyond it, while all of Kloomiria seemed to tremble as half a continent wasruined. Var stared down at the destruction, unmoving. 

The aide coughed, holding out another roll of paper. "Cathay isbroadcasting an appeal for us to surrender without reprisals, magnificence. And the Estate Governors are demanding fleet protection. "

Var crushed the paper in his hands without reading it. 

It would take half the remaining part of the fleet to give even tokenprotection to Kloomiria. His plans had never been based on holding backthe seemingly weak forces of Cathay. 

"No answer, " he said. His hand reached for the communicator switch andhe began issuing orders. "The fleet will regroup and return to base forimmediate repairs and rearming. Commanders of _all_ ships will prepareto take off against Cathay within six hours!"

Somehow, the humans had to be crushed completely before they coulddestroy Kloomiria. After that, if any of his race survived, there wouldbe a mission for all future generations. 

Only the power of Earth could have sent the alien ship from Sugfarth, loaded with cannon and bombs, to fight against fellow aliens. Earth haddeclared neutrality, and then struck! For such a villainy, a millionyears was not too long to seek vengeance!

IX

Night had fallen in the park beyond the huge Foreign Office buildingand the air was damp and cool. Duke shivered in the shadows thatcovered his bench. He should head back to his room, but he had nodesire to listen again to the meaningless chatter that came through thethin walls. Time didn't matter to him now, anyhow. 

He swore and reached for a cigarette, brushing the crumpled newspaperfrom his lap. He'd been a fool to think Flannery would bother with him, just as he'd been a fool to turn down Queeth's offer. He'd wasted hisday off from the messenger job. 

Footsteps sounded down the walk that led past his bench, and he drewdeeper into the shadows. The steps slowed and a man moved to the otherend of the bench. Duke drew heavily on his cigarette, tossed it away, and started to get up. 

"Drink?" There was a hand holding a flask in front of him. Hehesitated, then took it, and let a long slug run down his throat. Inthe faint light he could make out the face of Director Flannery. Theman nodded. "Sorry I was out when you came, O'Neill. One of the guardssaw you out here, so I came over. "

"You should have been in, " Duke said, handing the flask back. "I'vechanged my mind since reading about some of your deals in the _Journal_. Well, thanks for the drink. "

One of Flannery's prosthetic hands rested on Duke's shoulder, and thepressure was surprisingly heavy. "When a man takes a drink with me, captain, he waits until I finish mine. " He tipped up the flask anddrank slowly before putting it away. "I suppose you mean theCathay-Kloomiria mess?"

"What else?" Mess was a mild word. The Sugfarth ship had seemed to makevictory for Cathay certain the first few days, but the war had entereda new phase now. Cathay couldn't maintain the big ship, and it waspractically useless. It had simply served to reduce Kloomiria to aposition where both sides were equal. The war showed signs of settlingdown to another prolonged, exhausting affair. 

"Yeah, I read the editorial. " Flannery sighed. "We did let a couple offools make Cathay think we'd bail her out. At the time, it seemed wise. The son of old Var was due to assume rule in a little while and he wasstrongly pro-human. We wanted to hold things off until he took over andscrapped the war plans. When he was killed--well, we pulled out beforeVar was any stronger. "

"And sent Queeth's crowd in to do your blood-letting for you?" Dukesneered. 

"That was their own idea, " Flannery denied. He lighted a cigarette andsat staring at the end of it, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. "Allright, we made a mess of Cathay. We'll know better next time. Care towalk back with me?"

"Why? So one of your trained psychopropagandists can indoctrinate me?Or to get drunk and cry over your confession?"

"To keep me from sinking to your level and pushing your nose down yourthroat!" Flannery told him, but there was no real anger in his voice. He stood up, shrugging. "Nobody's forcing you, O'Neill. Say the wordand I'll drive you home. But if you want that explanation, my workingoffice seems like a good place to talk. "

For a moment, Duke wavered. But he'd reached the end of his ownresearch, and he'd come here to find the answers. Leaving now wouldonly make him more of a fool. "O. K. , " he decided. "I'll stay for thebig unveiling. "

Flannery grimaced. "There's no great secret, though we don't broadcastthe facts for people and races not ready for them. We figure those whofinish growing up here will soak up most of it automatically. Did youget around to the film file on interstellar wars at the library?"

Duke nodded, wondering how much they knew about his activities. He'dspent a lot of time going over the film for clues. It was so old thatthe color had faded in places. The rest would have been easier to takewithout color. Most wasn't good photography, but all was vivid. It wasthe record of all the wars since Earth's invention of thehigh-drive--nearly two hundred of them. Gimsul, Hathor, Ptek, Sugfarth, Clovis, and even Meloa--the part he hadn't seen, beyond Kordule wherethe real damage lay; Ronda had been wrong, and cannibalism had beendiscovered, along with much that was worse. Two hundred wars in whichvictor and vanquished alike had been ruined--in which the supremeeffort needed to win had left most of the victors worse than thedefeated systems. 

"War!" The word was bitter on Flannery's lips. "Someone starts buildingwar power--power to insure peace, as they always say. Then othersystems must have power to protect themselves. Strength begetsforce--and fear and hatred. Sooner or later, the strain is too great, and you have a war so horrible that its very horror makes surrenderimpossible. You saw it on Meloa. I've seen it fifty times!"

 * * * * *

They reached the Foreign Office building and began crossing its lobby. Flannery glanced up at the big seal on the wall with its motto intwisted Latin--_Per Astra ad Aspera_--and his eyes turned back toDuke's, but he made no comment. He led the way to a private elevatorthat dropped them a dozen levels below the street, to a small room, littered with things from every conceivable planet. One wall wascovered with what seemed to be the control panel of a spaceship, apparently now used for a desk. The director dropped into a chair andmotioned Duke to another. 

He looked tired, and his voice seemed older as he bent to pull a smallprojector and screen from a drawer and set them up. "The latest chapterof the film, " he said bitterly, throwing the switch. 

It was a picture of the breakup of the Outer Federation, and in someways worse than the other wars. Chumkt rebelled against Kel'sleadership and joined the aliens, while a civil war sprang up on hersurface. Two alien planets went over to Kel. The original war wasforgotten in a struggle for new combinations, and a thousand smallerwars replaced it. The Federation was dead and the two dozen races weredying. 

"When everything else fails, the fools try federation, " Flannery saidas the film ended. "We tried it on Earth. Another race discovered theinterstellar drive before we did and used it to build an empire. We'vefound the dead and sterile remains of their civilization. It's alwaysthe same. When one group unites its power, those nearby must ally forprotection. Then there's a scramble for more power, while jealousiesand fears breed new hatreds, internally and externally. And finally, there's ruin--because at the technological level of interstellartravel, victory in war is absolutely, totally impossible!"

He sat back, and Duke waited for him to resume, until it was obvious hehad finished. At last, the younger man gave up waiting. "All right, " hesaid. "Earth won't fight! Am I supposed to turn handsprings? I figuredthat much out myself. And I learned a long time ago about the blessedmeek who were to inherit the Earth--but I can't remember anything beingsaid about the stars!"

"You think peace won't work?" Flannery asked mildly. 

"I know it won't!" Duke fumbled for a cigarette, trying to organize histhoughts. "You've been lucky so far. You've counted on the fact thatwar powers have to attack other powers nearby before they can safelystrike against Earth, and you've buffered yourself with a jury-riggedeconomic trading system. But what happens when some really brightoverlord decides to by-pass his local enemies? He'll drop fifty planetbombs out of your peaceful skies and collect your vassal worlds beforethey can rearm. You won't know about that, though. You'll be wipedout!"

"I wouldn't call our friends vassals, or say the system was jury-rigged, "Flannery objected. "Ever hear of paradynamics? The papers call itthe ability to manipulate relationships, when we let them write aspeculative article. It's what lets us rebuild worlds in less than halfa century--and form the first completely peaceful politico-economicculture we've ever known. Besides, I never said we had no weapons forour defense. "

Duke considered it, trying to keep a firm footing on the shiftingquicksand of the other's arguments. He knew a little of paradynamics, of course, but only as something supposed to remake the world and allscience in some abstract future. It had been originated as a complexmathematical analysis of nuclear relationships, and had been seized onfor some reason by the sociologists. It had no bearing he could see onthe main argument. 

"It won't wash, Flannery. Without a fleet, it won't matter if you havethe plans of every weapon ever invented. The first time a smart powertakes the chance, you'll run out of time. "

"We didn't!" Flannery swung to the control board that served as hisdesk, and his fingers seemed to play idly with the dials. Fromsomewhere below them, there was a heavy vibration, as if great engineshad sprung into life. He pressed another switch. 

 * * * * *

[Illustration: FLANNERY]

Abruptly, the room was gone. There was a night sky above them, almoststarless, and with a great, glaring moon shining down, to show a rough, mossy terrain that seemed covered endlessly with row after row ofrusting, crumbling spaceships. Atomic cannon spilled from theirhatches, and broken ramps led down to the ground. Down one clearer laneamong the countless ships that surrounded him, Duke saw what might be adistant fire with a few bent figures around it, giving the impressionof age. 

Beside him, Flannery sat in his chair, holding a small control. Therewas nothing else of the office visible. 

The director shook his head. "It's no illusion, O'Neill. You'rehere--fifty odd thousand light-years from Earth, where we transferredthe attacking fleet. You never heard of that, of course. Thedictator-ruler naturally didn't make a report when his fleet simplyvanished without trace. Here!"

The liquor burned in Duke's throat, but it steadied him. He bent down, to feel the mossy turf under his hand. 

"It's real, " Flannery repeated. "Paradynamics handles allrelationships, captain. And the position of a body is simply astatement of its geometrical relationships. What happens if we changethose relationships--with power enough, that is? There is no motion, inany classic sense. But newspapers appear two high-drive days awayminutes after they're printed. We arrive here. And fleets sent againstEarth just aren't there any more!"

He pressed a button, and abruptly the walls of his office were aroundthem again--the office that was suddenly the control room of a buildingthat was more of a battleship than any Duke had ever seen. 

He found himself clutching the chair, and forced himself to relax, soaking up the shock as he had soaked up so many others. His mind facedthe facts, accepted them, and then sickly extended them. 

"All right, you've got weapons, " he admitted, and disgust was heavy inhis voice. "You can defend yourself. But can the galaxy defend itselfwhen somebody decides it's a fine offensive weapon? Or are all Earthmensupposed to be automatically pure, so this will never be turned tooffensive use? Prove that to me and maybe I'll change my mind aboutthis planet and take that job of yours!"

Flannery leaned back, nodding soberly. "I intend to, " he answered. "Duke, we tried making peaceful citizens of our youngsters here acentury ago, but it wouldn't work. Kids have to have their little gangwars and their fisticuffs to grow up naturally. We can't force them. Their interests aren't those of adults. In fact, they think adults arepretty dull. No adventure. They can't see that juggling atwenty-million gamble on tooling up for a new competitive product isexciting; they can't understand working in a dull laboratory to digsomething new out of nature's files can be exciting and dangerous. Above all, they can't see that the greatest adventure is the job ofbringing kids up to be other adults. They regret the passing of duelingand affairs of honor. But an adult civilization knows better--becausethe passing of such things is the first step toward a race becomingadult, because it is adopting a new type of thinking, where such thingshave no value. You didn't hit me when I called you names, because itmade no sense from an adult point of view. Earth doesn't go to war forthe same reason. Thank God, we grew up just before we got into space, where adult thinking is necessary to survival!"

There had been the kids and their seemingly pointless argument on thestreet. There had been the curiously distant respect the Meloans hadshown him, as if they guessed that only his exterior was similar. Therewere a lot of things Duke could use to justify believing the director. It made a fine picture--as it was intended to. 

 * * * * *

"It must be wonderful to sit here safely, while agents do yourdangerous work, feeling superior to anyone who shows any courage, " hesaid bitterly. "I suppose every clerk and desk-jockey out there feedshimself the same type of rationalization. But words don't proveanything. How do you prove the difference between maturity and timidityor smugness?"

"You asked for it, " Flannery said simply. 

The button went down on the control again. The air was suddenly thinand bitingly cold as they looked down on a world torn with war, where ahundred ships shaped like half-disks and unlike anything Duke had seenwere mixed up in some maneuver. The button was pushed again, and thistime there was a world below that had a port busy with similar ships, not fighting now. A third press brought them onto the surface of aheavy world that seemed to be composed of solid buildings andfactories, where the ships were being outfitted with incomprehensiblegoods. A thing like a pipe-stem man looked up from a series ofoperations, made a waving motion to them, and abruptly disappeared. 

"Did you really think we could be the only adult race in the universe?"Flannery asked. "You're looking at the Allr, the closest culturalgestalt to us, and somewhere near our level. Now--"

Something squamous perched on a rock on what seemed to be a barrenworld. Before it floated bright points of light that were obviouslyreplicas of planets, with tiny lines of light between them, and ashuttling of glints along the lines. The thing seemed to look at them, briefly. A tentacle whipped up and touched Flannery, who sat with hishands off the control box. Without its use, they were abruptly back intheir office. 

Flannery shivered, and there was strain on his face, while Duke felthis mind freeze slowly, as if with physical cold. The director clearedhis throat. "Or maybe we should look at more routine things, though youmight consider that we have to get ready for the day when our advancingculture touches on other cultures. Because we can't put it offforever. "

This time, they were in a building, like a crude shed, and there weremen there, standing in front of a creature that seemed like a human inarmor--but chitinous armor that was part of him. The alien suddenlyturned, though Duke could now see that they were in a section behindone-way glass. Nevertheless, it seemed to sense them. Abruptly, something began pulling at his mind, as if his thoughts were beingdrained. Flannery hit the button again. "Telepathic race, and veryimmature, " he said, and there was worry in his voice. "Thank God, theonly one we've found, and out of our immediate line of advance. "

There were other scenes. A human being who walked endlessly three feetoff the floor, fighting against some barrier that wasn't there, withhis face frozen in fear, while creatures that seemed to be metallicmoved about. "He found something while working on one of ourparadynamic problems, " Flannery said. "He transported himself there andhas been exactly like that ever since--three years, now. So far, ourdesk-jockeys here haven't been able to discover exactly what line hewas working on, but they're trying!"

They were back in the office, and the director laid the control box onthe big panel and cut off the power. He swung back to face Duke, hisface tired. 

"You'll find a ship waiting to take you to Throm, and a man on boardwho'll use the trip to brief you, if you decide to take the job, Duke. As I said, it's up to you. If you still prefer your wars, come and seeme next week, and maybe I can get the recruiting law set aside in yourcase, since you're really a citizen of Meloa. Otherwise, the ship takesoff for Throm in exactly three hours. "

He led the way back to the elevator, and rode up to the lobby. Dukemoved out woodenly, but Flannery was obviously going no farther. Theold man handed over what was left of the flask, shook Duke's handquickly, and closed the elevator door. 

Duke downed the liquor slowly, without thinking. Finally, a flicker ofthought seemed to stir in his frozen mind. He shook himself and headeddown the lobby toward the Earth outside. A faint vibration seemed toquiver in the air from below, and he quickened his steps. 

Outside, he shook himself again, signaled a cab, and climbed in. 

"The first liquor store you come to, " he told the driver. "And thentake me to the government space port, no matter what I say!"

X

It was quiet in the underground office of the director, except for thefaint sound of Flannery's arms sliding across each other in anunconscious massaging motion. He caught himself at it, and leaned back, his tired facial muscles twitching into a faint smile. 

Strange things happened to a man when he grew old. His hair turnedgray, he thought more of the past, and prosthetic limbs began to feeltired, as if the nerves were remembering also. And the work that hadonce seemed vitally important in every detail winnowed itself down to afew things, with the rest only bothersome routine. 

He pulled a thermos of coffee from under the desk and turned back tothe confusion of red-coded memoranda on his desk. Then the sound of theelevator coming down caught his attention, and he waited until the dooropened. 

"Hello, Harding, " he said without turning around. Only one man besidehimself had the key to the private entrance. "Coffee?"

Harding took a seat beside him, and accepted the plastic cup. "Thanks. I tried to call you, but your phone was shut off. Heard the good word?"

Flannery shook his head. With the matter of the strange ship that hadbeen reported and the problem of what to do with the telepaths bothcoming to a head, he'd had no time for casual calls. There was noquestion now that the telepaths had plucked the knowledge of how tobuild an interstellar drive from the observers' minds, in spite of allprecautions. And once they broke out into the rest of the galaxy--

"Var died of a heart attack in the middle of a battle, " Hardingannounced. "And Cathay and Kloomiria sent each other surrender noticesthe minute word was official! The damnedest thing I ever heard of. Edmonds came with me, and he's upstairs now, planning a big victorycelebration as soon as we can let the word out. It should finish hisreorientation. "

"I'll probably get word on it by the time someone has it all organizedinto a nice, official memo, " Flannery said. "Back him up on thatcelebration. It's worth a celebration to find out both worlds are thatclose to maturity. Coming over for bridge tonight?"

Harding shook his head. "I'll be up to my elbows in bills for therelief of Cathay and Kloomiria. It's a mess, even if it could be worse. Maybe tomorrow. "

He dropped the cup onto the desk and turned to the elevator, whileFlannery hunted through the memoranda. As he expected, he found arecent one announcing Var's death. He rubbed his arms together as heread it, but there was no new information in it. 

Then, reluctantly, he picked up his phone and started to call. Scanningfor information, just as another bundle of memos came through a smalldoor in the panel. At the sight of the top photo, he put the phone backon its cradle. His face tautened and his arms lay limp as he readthrough it. 

The picture was that of one of the half-disk Allr ships. The rumors ofthe strange ship were true enough. One of the Allr races had crossedthe gulf between the two expanding cultures, and had touched severalworlds briefly, to land in the biggest city on Ptek, the trading centerfor a whole sector. It had been there two days already, before beingreported to Earth!

To make matters worse, it had come because its home world had beenvisited by a foreign ship--from the description, apparently fromSugfarth; there was no longer any chance of cutting off the news, sinceit would be circulating busily through both cultures. And with it mustbe going a thousand wild schemes by trading adventurers forexploration!

He'd expected it to happen some day, maybe in fifty years, after he wasout of the office. By then enough of the worlds should have reachedmaturity to offer some hope of peaceful interpenetration. But now--

Victory, he thought bitterly. A small victory, and then this. Or maybetwo small victories, if O'Neill worked out as well on Throm as heseemed to be doing, and if he realized he'd never be satisfied until hecould return to Earth to face the problems he now knew existed. Flannery had almost hoped that it would be O'Neill who would handle theproblem of cultural interpenetration. The man had ability. 

But all that was in the past now, along with all the other victories. And in the present, as always, there were larger and larger problems, while full maturity lay forever a little farther on. 

Then he smiled slowly at himself. There were problems behind him, too--ones whose solutions made these problems possible. And there wouldalways be victory enough. 

What was victory, after all, but the chance to face bigger and biggerproblems without fear?

Flannery picked up the phone, and his arms were no longer tired. 

THE END