“Why, I imagine I must have heard it somewhere,” replied Donal. “But surely it stands to reason—anyone would arrive at it as a conclusion, with a few minutes thought.”

“Possibly the majority of us don’t think,” said Galt, with the same dryness. “Sit down, Donal. And I’ll join you.”

They took a couple of armchair floats facing each other. Galt put his pipe away.

“Now, listen to me,” he said, in a low and sober voice. “You’re one of the oddest young fish I can remember meeting. I don’t know quite what to do with you. If you were my son, I’d pack you up in quarantine and ship you home for ten more years seasoning before I let you out among the stars—all right—” he interrupted himself abruptly, raising a silencing hand as Donal’s mouth opened. “I know you’re a man now and couldn’t be shipped anywhere against your will. But the way you strike me now is that you’ve got perhaps one chance in a thousand of becoming something remarkable, and about nine hundred and ninety-nine chances of being quietly put out of the way before the year’s out. Look, boy, what do you know about the worlds, outside the Dorsai?”

“Well,” said Donal. “There are fourteen planetary governments not counting the anarchic setups on Dunnin’s World and Coby—”

“Governments, my rear echelon!” interrupted Galt, rudely. “Forget your civics lessons! Governments in this twenty-fifth century are mere machinery. It’s the men who control them, who count. Project Blaine, on Venus; Sven Holman, on Earth; Eldest Bright on Harmony, the very planet we’re headed for—and Sayona the Bond on Kultis, for the Exotics.”

“General Kamal—” began Donal.

“Is nothing!” said Galt, sharply. “How can the Elector of the Dorsai be anything when every little canton hangs to its independence with tooth and nail? No, I’m talking about the men who pull the strings between the stars. The ones I mentioned, and others.” He took a deep breath. “Now, how do you suppose our Merchant Prince and Chairman of the Board on Ceta ranks with those I mentioned?”

“You’d say he’s their equal?”

“At least,” said Galt. “At least. Don’t be led astray by the fact that you see him traveling like this, on a commercial ship, with only the girl and Montor with him. Chances are he owns the ship, the crew and officers -—and half the passengers.”

“And you and the commandant?’’ asked Donal, perhaps more bluntly than was necessary. Galt’s features started to harden; and then he relaxed.