t had no history whatever of
war. The Rykes themselves had contributed almost nothing to the central
libraries of the galaxies concerning their own personal makeup and
mental functions, however. What little was available came from observers
not of their race.

There were indications they were a highly unemotional race, not given to
any artistic expression. Hockley found this surprising. The general rule
was for highly intellectual attainments to be accompanied by equally
high artistic expression.

But all of this provided no data that he could relate to his present
problem, no basis for argument beyond what he already had. He returned
the films to their silver cans and sat staring at the neat pile of them
on the desk. Then he smiled at his own obtuseness. Data on Rykeman III
might be lacking, but the Ryke plan had been tried on plenty of other
worlds. Data on _them_ should not be so scarce.

He returned the cans and punched out a new request on the call panel.
Twenty seconds later he was pleasantly surprised by a score of new tapes
in the hopper. That was enough for a full night's work. He wished he'd
brought Showalter along to help.

Then his eye caught sight of the label on the topmost can in the pile:
Janisson VIII. The name rang a familiar signal somewhere deep in his
mind. Then he knew--that was the home world of Waldon Thar, one of his
closest friends in the year when he'd gone to school at Galactic Center
for advanced study.

Thar had been one of the most brilliant researchers Hockley had ever
known. In bull session debate he was instantly beyond the depth of
everyone else.

Janisson VIII. Thar could tell him about the Rykes!

Hockley pushed the tape cans aside and went to the phone in the
workroom. He dialed for the interstellar operator. "Government priority
call to Janisson VIII," he said. "Waldon Thar. He attended Galactic
Center Research Institute twenty-three years ago. He came from the city
Plar, which was his home at that time. I have no other information,
except that he is probably employed as a research scientist."

There was a moment's silence while the operator noted the information.
"There will be some delay," she said finally. "At present the
inter-galactic beams are full."

"I can use top emergency priority on this," said Hockley. "Can you clear
a trunk for me on that?"

"Yes. One moment, please."

He sat by the window for half an hour, turning down the light in the
workroom so that