lp me change our government!"

Sime laughed shortly. He began to suspect that this amazing girl was
demented. He thought of the powerfully entrenched rulers of this
theoretically republican government. For more than two hundred years,
if he remembered rightly, the Martians had been ruled by a small group
of rich politicians.

"You propose a revolution?" he asked curiously.

"I propose the return of Princess Sira to the throne!" she declared
vehemently. "But enough! Are you going to betray me--I, who have
risked much to warn you? Or are you going to let me go?"

* * * * *

Sime looked into her warm, earnest little face. Her lips were parted
softly, showing perfect little teeth, and she was breathing quickly,
anxiously. Sime was woman hungry, as men of the service often are on
the long, lonely trail. He seized her quickly, pressed her little
figure to him and kissed her.

For a thrilling instant it seemed that she relaxed. But she tore away,
furious, her eyes cold with anger.

"For that," she panted, raging, "you must die!"

She reached the door before he could stop her, and in a trice she was
out in the gallery. He raced after her, staring stupidly.
Surprisingly, when her escape was assured, she turned back. Her look
was still hurt, angry, as she called to him in low tones:

"Look out for Scar Balta, you brute!"

"Who is Scar Balta?" Sime asked himself after locking the door again.
The name was not unusual and did not bring any familiar associations
to his mind. The given name, Scar, once a nickname, had been in
general use for centuries. As for Balta--oh, well--

His mind reverted to the girl again. Her warm, palpitant presence
disturbed him.

He composed himself to sleep, strapping his dispatch belt around his
waist before crawling into bed. He did not believe that the girl had
hidden in his room with murderous intent; rather that she had hoped to
inspect and perhaps to steal any papers that he carried. But his last
conscious thought of her had nothing to do with her connection with
this planet of intrigue, but the soft curve of her throat.

CHAPTER II

_Scar Balta_

Sime breakfasted on one of the juicy Martian tropical pears, and as he
dug into the luscious fruit with his spoon he looked about the
spacious dining hall, filled with wide-eyed tourists on their first
trip to Mars, blissful and oblivious honeymooners, and a sprinkling of
local residents and offici