collect his thoughts. After a moment he turned back. "Major, the
organization you speak of is, so far as I know, an innocent group of
Venusian farmers and frontier people who meet regularly to exchange
information about crops, prices, and the latest farming methods. You
see, Major"--James's voice took on a slightly singsong tone, as though
he were making a speech--"Venus is a young planet, a vast new world,
with Venusport the only large metropolis and cultural center. Out in
the wilderness, there are great tracts of cultivated land that supply
food to the planets of the Solar Alliance and her satellites. We are
becoming the breadbasket of the universe, you might say." James smiled
at Connel, who did not return the smile.

"Great distances separate these plantations," continued James. "Life is
hard and lonely for the Venusian plantation owner. The Venusian
Nationalists are, to my knowledge, no more than a group of landowners
who have gotten together and formed a club, a fraternity. It's true they
speak the Venusian dialect, these groups have taken names from the old
Venusian explorers, but I hardly think it is worth while investigating."

"Do they have a headquarters?" Connel asked. "A central meeting place?"

"So far as I know, they don't. But Al Sharkey, the owner of the largest
plantation on Venus, is the president of the organization. He's a very
amiable fellow. Why don't you talk to him?"

"Al Sharkey, eh?" Connel made a mental note of the name.

"And there's Rex Sinclair, a rather stubborn individualist who wrote to
me recently complaining that he was being pressured into joining the
organization."

"What kind of pressure?" asked Connel sharply.

James held up his hand. "Don't get me wrong, Major. There was no
violence." The delegate suddenly became very businesslike. "I'm afraid
that's all the information I can give you, Major." He offered his hand.
"So nice to see you again. Please don't hesitate to call on me again for
any assistance you feel we can give you."

"Thank you, Mr. James," said Connel gruffly and left the office, a frown
creasing his forehead. Being a straightforward person himself, Major
Connel could not understand why anyone would hesitate about answering a
direct question. He didn't for a moment consider the delegate anything
but an intelligent man. It was the rocket wash that went with being a
diplomat that annoyed the ramrod spaceman. He shrugged it off. Perhaps
he would find out somethi