hope to win quickly. We know Venus is
exhausted from the recent struggle. A sudden, forceful attack might
possibly subjugate her. At least, that is the argument of a certain
group called the Supremists."

Dr. Nebel spoke for the first time. Pell realized that the man had been
watching him closely. His voice was sibilant; it seemed to drag itself
through wet grass. "Also Venus is psychologically unprepared for war;
the Supremists believe that, too."

Pell reached back into his memory. The Supremists. They were a minor
political party--sort of a cult, too. The outfit had sprung up in the
last year or so. Supremists believed that Earthmen, above all other
creatures, had a destiny--were chosen--were supreme. They had several
followers as delegates in World Congress. General impression: slightly
crackpot.

"The Supremists," said Theodor Rysland, tapping his hard, white palm,
and leaning forward, "have been calling for attack. Aggression. Starting
the war with Venus all over again. And they're not only a vociferous
nuisance. They have an appeal in this business of Earthman's supremacy.
They're gaining converts every day. In short, _they've now become
dangerous_."

* * * * *

Pell thought it over as Rysland talked. Certainly the idea of renewed
war was nightmarish. He'd been in the last one: who hadn't? It had
started in 2117, the year he was born, and it had dragged on for
twenty-five years until T-day and the truce. The causes? Well, both
Earth and Venus worked the mineral deposits on Mars unimpeded by the
non-intelligent insectile life on that planet, and the original
arguments had been about those mineral deposits, though there were
enough for a dozen planets there. The causes were more complicated and
obscure than that. Semantics, partly. There was freedom as Earthmen saw
it and freedom as the Venusians saw it. Same with honor and good and
evil. They were always two different things. And then Venusians had a
greenish tinge to their skins and called the Earthmen, in their clicking
language, "Pink-faces." And both Earthmen and Venusians hated like the
devil to see the other get away with anything.

Anyway, there had been war, terrible war. Space battle, air battle,
landing, repulse. Stalemate. Finally, through utter weariness perhaps,
truce. Now, a taut, uneasy, suspicious peace. Communications opened, a
few art objects mutually exchanged. Immigration for a few Venusian
dancers or stu