s in Council, and your
recommendations have been taken. The secret that humans can endure
star-drive has outlived its usefulness. For good or ill, it is secret no
longer. We cannot possibly eliminate all the old records, or the
enterprising people who hunt them out.

"The captain who had David Briscoe killed, under the mistaken notion
that this would excuse his own negligence in letting Briscoe stow away
on his ship, is undergoing psychotherapy and may eventually recover.

"As for the rest--Bart Steele, you know nothing that is a danger to us.
You do not know the coordinates of our world, or even in which galaxy it
is located. You do not know where we secure the catalyst your people
seek. In fact, you know nothing that is not soon to become common
knowledge. In view of that, we have decided not to interfere with your
memories."

"Talk as much as you like," added another of the ancients, "and may your
memories of this voyage help in understanding between the Lhari and
other human races. Good fortune to you." And he was smiling.

"There is another side to this," said a third, more sternly and gravely.
"You have broken a treaty between Lhari and man. We have dealt with you
as the laws required; now your own people must do so. You must return
with the _Swiftwing_ to the planet where the violation originated--" he
consulted a memorandum--"Procyon Alpha. There you and the man Raynor
Three will face charges of unlawful conspiracy to board a Lhari ship, in
violation of Intergalactic Trade treaties. Captain Vorongil, will you be
responsible for him?"

_So I've lost_, Bart thought drearily. _I didn't even learn anything
important enough for them to suppress._ There was a strange wounded
pride in this; after all his trouble, he was being treated like a little
boy who has used a great deal of enterprise and intelligence to rob a
cookie cupboard, and for his pains is sent home with the stolen cookie
in his hand.

Vorongil touched his arm. "Come, Bartol," he said gently, "I'm taking
you back to the _Swiftwing_. I don't have to treat you like a prisoner,
do I?"

Numbly, Bart gave what the old Lhari asked, his word of honor not to
attempt escape (_Escape? Where to?_) or to attempt to enter the drive
chamber of the _Swiftwing_ while they were still among the Lhari worlds.

As they left the council hall, Bart, in a gesture of despair, covered
his face with his hands. As he brought them down, he found himself
staring at them, tr