knew who you were and that you were here. I must have had
something to do with it, don't you think?"

"What?"

"I forced you to come by deception, so that no one knows you are
here--except the old man whose name you used. Who will believe him that
you came on the Martian Princess? Our records will show that a Jake
Norton will be there on Earth. No one can ever prove that Mel Hastings
ever came aboard."

* * * * *

Mel let his breath out slowly. His fear suddenly swallowed caution. He
took a crouching step forward. Then he stopped, frozen. James Connemorra
tilted the small pistol resting in his lap. Mel did not know how it came
to be there. He had not seen it a moment ago.

"What are you going to do?" Mel demanded. "What are you going to do with
all of us?"

"You know too much," said Connemorra, shrugging in mock helplessness.
"What _can_ I do with you?"

"Explain what I don't understand about the things you say I know."

"Explain to you?" The idea seemed to amuse Connemorra greatly, as if it
had some utterly ridiculous aspect. "Yes, I might as well explain," he
said. "I haven't had anyone interested enough to listen for a long time.

"Men have never been alone in space. We have been watched, inspected,
and studied periodically since Neanderthal times by races in the galaxy
who have preceded us in development by hundreds of thousands of years.
These observers have been pleasantly excited by some of the things we
have done, appalled by others.

"There is a galactic organization that has existed for at least a
hundred thousand years. This organization exists for the purpose of
mutual development of the worlds and races of the galaxy. It also exists
to maintain peace, for there were ages before its organization when
interstellar war took place, and more than one great world was wiped out
in such senseless wars.

"When men of Earth were ready to step into space, the Galactic Council
had to decide, as it had decided on so many other occasions, whether the
new world was to be admitted as a member. The choice is not one which a
new world is invited to make; the choice is made for it. A world which
begins to send its ships through space becomes a member of the Council,
or its ships cease to travel. The world itself may cease to exist."

"You mean this dictatorial Council determines whether a world is fit to
survive and actually wipes out those it decides against?" gasped Mel in
horr