ee years ago."

"You know, Larry," Alhamid said slowly, "I'm not quite sure which is
harder to understand: How a whole civilization could believe that sort
of thing, or how a single intelligent man could."

"It's a positive feedback," the governor said. "That sort of thing has
wrecked civilizations before and will do it again. Let's not let it
wreck ours. Are you ready for the conference with our friend now?"

Georges Alhamid looked at the clock on the wall. "Ready as I'll ever be.
You'd better scram, Larry. We mustn't give Mr. Tarnhorst the impression
that there's some sort of collusion between business and government out
there in the Belt."

"Heaven forfend! I'll get."

When he left, the governor took the playback with him. The recording
would have to be filed in the special secret files.

* * * * *

Captain St. Simon eased his spaceboat down to the surface of Pallas and
threw on the magnetic anchor which held the little craft solidly to the
metal surface of the landing field. The traffic around Pallas was fairly
heavy this time of year, since the planetoid was on the same side of the
sun as Earth, and the big cargo haulers were moving in and out, loading
refined metals and raw materials, unloading manufactured goods from
Earth. He'd had to wait several minutes in the traffic pattern before
being given clearance for anchoring.

He was already dressed in his vacuum suit, and the cabin of the boat was
exhausted of its air. He checked his control board, making sure every
switch and dial was in the proper position. Only then did he open the
door and step out to the gray surface of the landing field. His
suitcase--a spherical, sealed container that the Belt men jokingly
referred to as a "bomb"--went with him. He locked the door of his boat
and walked down the yellow-painted safety lane toward the nearest air
lock leading into the interior of the planetoid.

He lifted his feet and set them down with precision--nobody but a fool
wears glide boots on the outside. He kept his eyes moving--up and
around, on both sides, above, and behind. The yellow path was supposed
to be a safety lane, but there was no need of taking the chance of
having an out-of-control ship come sliding in on him. Of course, if it
was coming in really fast, he'd have no chance to move; he might not
even see it at all. But why get slugged by a slow one?

He waited outside the air-lock door for the green light to come