me, sir," he addressed the High Admiral. "What about the mines
and factories?"

"All under control without any trouble, outside of a few individual
casualties. Light cruisers and scouts took care of those while the main
battle was on."

"I'd like a small cruiser to take me to the mine where I worked," he
said, and one was ordered to come down and place itself on special
assignment at his disposal.

"Want to come with me, Dad?" he asked.

The two admirals exchanged glances, and Ferguson nodded. "Go ahead if
you want to. We won't need you here for now."

In the airlock of the cruiser Hanlon removed the disguising makeup, and
it was as his Algonian-known self, dressed in civvies he had brought for
that purpose, that he descended at the familiar little spaceport.

His father was intensely interested in that fantastic, seemingly-alive
jungle through which they walked to the mine clearing. "I've never seen
anything like this," he commented in amazement. "Are these trees and
bushes conscious, too?"

"Very slightly," his son told him. "The Guddus call them their 'little
cousins,' and I believe can communicate to some extent, but I never
could."

As they broke from the jungle's fringe, they saw a double-squad of
marines on guard. The two were allowed through the lines, and entered
the office. Behind his desk, his face dead white from suspense, sat
Peter Philander, and about the room sprawled the engineers, guards and
other workers.

"Hi, Mr. Philander!" Hanlon called cheerfully, and at sound of that
remembered voice, the superintendent's head, as well as those of all the
others, snapped up.

"You!" There was incredulity in the super's voice and manner.

"Yep, it's me," Hanlon grinned. "I'm glad nothing happened to any of
you."

"_Hmmpff!_" Philander snorted defeatedly. "What's the difference between
being killed cleanly in a fight, as against a lifetime in prison, or a
firing squad?"

"You'll get neither one," Hanlon said quietly, remembering the power he,
as a Secret Service operative, carried. "There'll be a trial, of course,
but I know that you, at least, are all okay."

"He's boss, ain't he?" one of the guards growled truculently. "Why
should he get off free iffen th' rest of us don't?"

"None of you will be harmed because of your part in the plot His
Highness Gorth Bohr was scheming. That is broken, and we know you were
all just his tools. All any of you will be tried for are your actions as
regards the