hing could be done."

"Do you really believe that's what happened?" asked Joyce.

Cameron nodded. "It's the only thing there is to believe. If it weren't
true, Marthasa and his wife would have laughed it off as nonsense.
Getting all huffy and talking about deportation for cooking up lies is
the best proof you could ask for that we hit pay dirt. Don't ask me how
I think the Ids could do it. _That's_ what I'm going to find out."

"How?"

"I don't know."

But he did have an idea that if he could somehow get word to the old Id
chieftain help could be had. He knew he was straining to believe things
he wanted to believe, yet it seemed as if this were almost the very
thing Venor had tried to convey the day before but had left unspoken.

There was only one possibility of establishing contact, however, and
that was through Sal Karone. A remote chance indeed, Cameron thought, in
view of the relationship between the Markovian and his _sargh_. As a
last resort it was worth trying, however.

It looked as if they would not have even this chance as the evening grew
darker. Cameron kept watch through the windows in the hope of signaling
Sal Karone in case he should appear. They hoped he might come to the
room for a final check of their needs for the night as he usually did.

But he did not appear.

* * * * *

Cameron finally went to bed after Joyce was long asleep. He turned
restlessly, beating his mind with increasing wonder as to how it could
be so incredibly true that the Idealists were the actual masters of the
Nucleus. That they had somehow tamed the murderous, piratical
Markovians. He couldn't have known this was it!

One thing he could understood, however, was the Markovians reluctance to
have visitors--and their careful watch over them. Marthasa had been more
than a host, he thought. He was a guard as well, trying to keep the
Terrans from discovering the unpleasant reality concerning the influence
of the Ids. He had slipped in allowing the visit to Venor.

At dawn there was the sound of their door opening and Cameron whirled
from his dressing, hopeful it might be Sal Karone. It was Marthasa,
however, grim and distant. "I have obtained word that your deportation
can be accomplished today. Premier Jargla has been informed and concurs.
The Council has been notified and offers no protestations. You will
ready yourselves before the evening hour."

He slammed the door behind him. Joyce tu