ns of two neighboring
planets were to learn the true state of affairs? Sira knew what
transpired in those secret conventions, when double guards stood at
all doors and at the infrequent windows; when all communication was
cut off and the twin lenses of the telestereos and the microphones
were dead. Prince Joro had told her, with weary cynicism. But Joro had
also told her that the oligarchs guarded this vital and vulnerable
point with painstaking care.

* * * * *

Sira had reached inside their first defense, however. Wasil was loyal
to his salt, but he had both loyalty and affection for Princess Sira.
As the day of the interplanetary financial conference leaped into
being, he was on his way to the executive hall that lay resplendently
on the south canal bank, ready to lay down his life.

The hall proper was really only the west wing of the magnificent,
high-arched building. Its brilliant, polished metal facade reflected
the light of the rising Sun redly. The east wing, besides housing
various minor executive offices, also contained the complicated
apparatus for handling the propaganda broadcastings. On the roof,
towering high into the air, was a huge, globular structure, divided
into numerous zones, from which were sent various wave bands to the
news screens both on Mars and on Earth. The planetary rulers had taken
no chances of tampering with their propaganda. The central offices,
where news and propaganda were dramatized, were in another building,
but as everything from that source had to pass the reviewing officer,
a trusted member of the oligarchy himself, in his locked and guarded
office, this did not introduce any danger of the wrong information
going out to the public.

When Wasil reached the broadcasting plant, he was admitted by four
armed guards. He locked the door behind him, to find his associates
already busy, testing circuits and apparatus. Stimson, the chief
engineer, was sitting at his desk studying orders.

* * * * *

A few minutes later he called the men to him. There were three others
besides Wasil: young Martians, keen, efficient, and, like most
technies, loyal to the government that employed them.

"Sure are careful to-day," Stimson grunted, scratching his snow-white
hair, which was stiffly upstanding and showed a coral tinge from his
scalp. "Must be mighty important to get this out right. Wilcox
personally wrote the order. If any