, with a
shocking growth of beard.

"Murray's the name," said this apparition with mock ceremony. "And
you?"

"I'm Hemingway, Sime Hemingway. Sergeant Sime Hemingway, to be exact.
Suppose you'd like to hear my orders?"

"I don't get you," said Murray, shaking hands.

"I mean," Sime explained elaborately, "that I'd like to know if you're
Scar Balta, or really Murray, as you say you are."

The other laughed.

"I'm Murray, all right. Feel this scalp. Natural, ain't it? That's one
thing Balta won't do--shave off his hair. Too vain. He'd hate to have
the Princess Sira see him that way. Ever hear of her? Say, she's a
raving beauty. This Balta'd like to be elected planetary president,
see--to succeed Wilcox, who has bigger plans. There's always been a
strong sentiment for the old monarchy, anyway. The oligarchy never did
go big. Follow me?"

"Yeh; go on."

* * * * *

"Well, this Princess Sira has ideas. She wouldn't mind sitting on the
throne again. Her great-great-grandpa was jobbed and murdered, and the
nobles who did it formed a closed corporation and called it a
republican government. So Sira started holding audiences, and gained a
lot of power. Among the people--even among some of the nobles.

"Get the idea? Scar Balta is one of the electors. If he married Sira
he'd have the backing of the monarchists, and of course he's done a
lot for the bosses. They'd elect him to head off the monarchists,
anyway. Then heigh-ho for a war with the Earth, to kill off a lot of
the kickers--and soft pickins in a lot of ways. Neat, huh?"

"Very neat!" Sime assented drily. "But we won't live to see it.
Anyway, I won't. They're going to bump me off in the morning."

"As they have a lot of our men," Murray agreed. "But they won't do it
in the morning. Or for several days. Look here!"

He held up his hand. On the back of it was what appeared to be a boil.

"But it isn't a boil," Murray explained. "That was done by a stream of
water, fine as a needle, under a thousand pounds pressure. They held
it there for a minute at a time--I don't know how many times, because
I keeled over. Any time I was willing to give them the information
they wanted they'd turn it off. Wasn't important info, either. But
what is it to them, how much they make me suffer for a trifle?"

Sime couldn't help the lump that rose in his throat. Men like Murray
certainly justified the world's faith in the service.

"Listen, old m