IX There was a large conference chamber on the twenty-ninth floor where the directors of the world police had formerly met to discuss minor peace infringements, hear complaints from various governments and transact the multitudinous affairs when seven billion humans had inhabited the planet. Murals ran around the walls. A large T-shaped table, capable of seating over a hundred, occupied the center of the room. And the acoustics were so fine that a whisper could be heard distinctly from end to end. Here the small party of explorers met immediately after dinner. They were all there, except the four look-outs. Matt sat at the crossing of the T, looking down the long table, with Captain Bascom on his left and Isaac Trigg on his right. The twenty-four Amazons, chained ankle to ankle, were ranged against the back wall. "Understand," said Isaac Trigg, his gray Van Dyke jerking angrily, "we have a democracy in its purest form--not anarchism. Whatever the decision of the majority is, it will hold for all of us!" And he bent his gaze on Nesbit. The palaeontologist looked sullen, Matt thought. His jaw was still swollen and bruised. He sat about halfway down the table, gazing into space. "Before we take any steps about our--er--captives," Isaac went on, "there are two things that should be made clear. "In the present crisis, we need every hand we can get. If we are to save any forms of carbon life at all--especially vegetation--there isn't a moment to spare. This fort has to be converted into an airtight island for our form of protoplasm, because, in weeks or months at the longest, the alien protozoa will have made a desert of Earth!" Matt heard a leg-band clank behind him in the silence. He twisted around. Margot Drake was staring open mouthed at the director. "It's not possible! You're lying!" she burst out in a throaty voice. Isaac wheeled around. "Lying? The chances are that all the normal bacterial organisms whether in the water, soil or air have already been destroyed by the alien amoebas! What do you think of that, young woman?" Margot didn't say anything. Isaac turned back to the table. "The second factor to be considered is that these women are emotionally unbalanced." There was a gasp of indrawn breath from his audience. He said, "Barb, will you tell them of your findings?" and sat down. Barb Poindexter, the psychiatrist, stood up slowly. She smoothed her hands down her plump hips nervously. "I have been examining the captives." Her voice gained in confidence as she went on. "But, first, how many of you are not familiar with Marties' law of equilibrium?" At least half of them expressed their ignorance. "Then I'd better explain it," she replied.