Among the “tight” societies, the contract exchange mart had been in existence for many years. On these worlds, unless your contract was written with a specific forbidding clause, you might find yourself sold on no notice at all to a very different employer—possibly on a completely different world. The advantages of such a mart were obvious to an autocratic government, since the government itself was in a position to control the market through its own vast needs and resources, which no individual could hope to match. On a “loose” world, where the government was hampered by its own built in system of checks from taking advantage of opposing individual employers, the field was open for the sharp practices not only of individuals, but of other governments.

Thus, an agreement between two worlds for the establishment of a reciprocal open market worked all to the advantage of the “tighter” of the two governments—and must inevitably end in the tighter government gaining the lion’s share of the talent available on the two worlds.

This, then, was the background for the inevitable conflict that had been shaping up now for fifty years between two essentially different systems of controlling what was essentially the lifeblood of the human race—it’s skilled minds. In fact, thought Donal, standing by the open wall—the conflict was here, and now. It had already been under way that day he had stepped aboard the ship on which he was to meet Galt, and William, and Anea, the Select of Kultis. Behind the scenes, the build-up for a final battle had been already begun, and his own role in that battle, ready and waiting for him.

He went over to his desk and pressed a stud, speaking into a grille.

“I want all Chiefs of Staff here immediately,” he said. “For a top-level conference.”

He took his finger from the stud and sat down at the desk. There was a great deal to be done.

PROTECTOR II

Arriving at Holmstead the capital city of Venus five days later, Donal went immediately to a conference with Galt in the latter’s suite of rooms at Government Hotel.

“There were things to take care of,” he said, shaking hands with the older man and sitting down, “or I’d have been here sooner.” He examined Galt. “You’re looking tired.”

The marshal of Freiland had indeed lost weight. The skin of his face sagged a little on the massive bones, and his eyes were darkened with fatigue.

“Politics—politics—” answered Galt. “Not my line at all. It wears a man down. Drink?”

“No thanks,” said Donal.

“Don’t care for one myself,” Galt said. “I’ll just light my pipe . . . you don’t mind?”

“I never did before. And,” said Donal, “you never asked me before.”