rians out there. They're proud of saying no human
foot has ever touched Lharillis."

When he got back to the Lhari spaceport, Ringg hailed him. "Where have
you been? I hunted the whole port for you! I wouldn't join the party
till you came. What's a pal for?"

Bart brushed by him without speaking, disregarding Ringg's surprised
stare, and went up the ramp. He reached his own cabin and threw himself
down in his bunk, torn in two.

Ringg was his friend! Ringg liked him! And if he did what Montano
wanted, Ringg would die.

Ringg had followed him, and was standing in the cabin door, watching him
in surprise. "Bartol, is something the matter? Is there anything I can
do? Have you had more bad news?"

Bart's torn nerves snapped. He raised his head and yelled at Ringg,
"Yes, there is something! You can quit following me around and just let
me alone for a change!"

Ringg took a step backward. Then he said, very softly, "Suit yourself,
Bartol. Sorry." And noiselessly, his white crest held high, he glided
away.

Bart's resolve hardened. Loneliness had done odd things to him--thinking
of Ringg, a Lhari, one of the freaks who had killed his father, as a
friend! If they knew who he was, they would turn on him, hunt him down
as they'd hunted Briscoe, as they'd hunted his father, as they'd hounded
him from Earth to Procyon. He put his scruples aside. He'd made up his
mind.

They could all die. What did he care? He was human and he was going to
be loyal to his own kind.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

But although he thought he had settled all the conflict, he found that
it returned when he was lying in his bunk, or when he stood in the dome
and watched the stars, while they moved through the Antares system
toward the captive sun and the tiny planet Lharillis.

_It's in my power to give this to all men...._

Should a few Lhari stand in his way?

He lay in his bunk brooding, thinking of death, staring at the yellow
radiation badge. _If you fail, it won't be in our lifetime._ He'd have
to go back to little things, to the little ships that hauled piddling
cargo between little planets, while all the grandeur of the stars
belonged to the Lhari. And if he succeeded, Vega Interplanet could
spread from star to star, a mighty memorial to Rupert Steele.

One day Vorongil sent for him. "Bartol," he said, and his voice was not
unkind, "you and Ringg have always been good friends, so don't be angry
about this. He's worried about you--says