lve of the Spokesmen had reported and been bidden by Sarka
to wait, a smile touched the face of Sarka for an instant as two other
voices, so nearly alike they might have been the voice of a single
person, reported themselves.

"I am here, son! What is it?"

Oddly enough, Sarka's father and grandfather reported with exactly the
same words. Sarka smiled at a whimsical thought of his own. It had been
some time since the three scientist Sarkas had been together, and
despite the vast differences in their ages they might have been
triplets!

* * * * *

The reports were in and the Spokesmen were waiting; but for almost a
minute Sarka waited still. Then he spoke swiftly those words for which
there could be no recall:

"Gentlemen, the time is come when we must go to war!"

For a long moment after he had spoken there was no answer. Then it came,
in the jeering laughter of the antagonistic Dalis.

"War? Against whom? The Sarkas are always dreaming!"

"And Dalis," continued Sarka, "shall be one of the leaders of Earthlings
in this war which I am about to propose! You doubtless recall a proposal
you once made to Sarka the First? Your proposal to halt for a few
moments the headlong whirl of the earth about its axis, thus to
flood--"

"Stop!" interrupted Dalis. "Stop! Immediately!"

And Sarka stopped. He had forgotten, in the excitement of his urge to
explain his plans, that the millions of people who gave official
allegiance to Dalis had never been informed of the hideous proposal he
had made, back there centuries ago, as a corrective for a world rapidly
approaching over-population. Had his people known, never again would the
voice of Dalis be heard in life. The Spokesmen knew, and the Sarkas; but
no others. Sarka understood the protest of Dalis; honored it.

"Dalis," he went on, more softly, "after I have explained what I wish to
do, you will come to me here, prepared to explain to me exactly how you
planned doing what you proposed to my grandfather--for your knowledge
will be necessary to me...."

"Isn't it enough that your grandfather stole from me, and amplified, an
idea that would have made me forever famous, without his grandson also
stealing the fruit of my brains?"

"Your brains," said Sarka sharply, "belong to your people. What I plan
is for their betterment. But it means war, war which may last a century,
two centuries, in which lives of countless thousands may be lost."