Goram, who had obviously heard nothing and cared less about Hellenic culture, was silent for a while, then at last a blurted protest: “But they’re working on rockets!”

“Oh, yes—but there’s a difference: between exploration and exploitation. The social system here is unique, and doesn’t lend itself to imperialism. The Empire doesn’t have to fear Station Seventeen.”

“I’ve told you before I’m not worried about their military power,” snarled Goram.

Heym fell silent, for he felt the sudden sickening fear that the marshal might, without reason or provocation, decide to annihilate the colony—destroy it out of pure spite, pique with the psychologists and, their dominion over the soldiers, vent for a gathering wrath at the subconscious, frantically denied realization of his own basic inferiority to these barbarians. If he killed them, it would be proof, the militarists’ twisted proof, that he was superior after all.

With a growing desperation, Heym looked around at the people—the fortunate children of an open sky, quiet, glad, urbane, and strong with the unconquerable strength of intelligence. Here was truly Homo sapiens, man the wise—man who had plucked fire from the mouth of a volcano, far back in the lost ages of the ice, and started on a long journey into darkness. He had come far since then, but he had ended in a blind alley. Only here, on this one insignificant world of the countless millions swarming around the stars, only here was the old quest being renewed, the path of hope being trodden. Elsewhere lay only the sorry road of empire and death. Where the path of Station Seventeen led, Heym could not imagine. Unguessably far it went, out beyond the glittering stars his mind reeled at thought of the infinities open to mankind if he took the right turning.

The psychologist said, with desperation raw in his voice “Goram—Marshal Goram—surely you can see the experiment is harmless. More than that, it’s the most beneficial thing that has yet happened in all human history. Good Spirit, here’s hope for the Empire! A race which can progress as this has done can show us the way.”

“The Empire,” said Goram tightly, “isn’t interested in progress. It’s only interested in survival.”

“But—this is the way to survive. Every civilization—yes, every species—that quit advancing has become extinct.”

“I’m a practical man,” snapped Goram. “I’m not interested in crackpot schemes to save the universe.”

“What’s so practical about clinging to a system that in all history has consistently failed to work?” When the officer’s face remained cold and shut, Heym said with forced persuasiveness, “After all, in physical science the planet is still centuries behind us. In fact, strangely enough, though their advance in that branch of knowledge has been as extremely rapid as you can see, they have shown a proportionately greater concentration on biological and sociological work. I don’t know why, unless it is that genius is less afraid than mediocrity to study subjects which strike close to home. On Earth, astronomy, the most remote science, was the oldest, and psychiatry and sociology the youngest, but here all the sciences have got off to an even start. The mere absence of war is enough to show how far ahead of us these people are, and I could list any amount of supporting evidence. Their social system has achieved the miracle of combining progressiveness and stability. Just give the Foundation a chance to learn from them—or even, if they do work out an interstellar drive, give them a chance to teach us themselves, They’re the most reasonable race in the universe—they’ll be on the side of civilization, and even while overhauling it they’ll be better able to preserve it than we ourselves.”