"All in favor--?" came the Chief's deep voice. A forest of hands shot up. "Carried unanimously!" The eleven members of the Council of Elders and the Chief Scribe conferred briefly, whereafter the Chief Scribe spoke into a recorder. When he was through, a junior Scribe took the plastic ribbon from the machine and inserted it in a loud-speaker, that the governing body might hear and approve the details before it was made law: "Decision 14 of the Council of Elders, given on the second day of the Emergency Session, Year 3749 since the Confederation of the Planets of Norga. "Let this be known as our Decision: "That a suitable spaceship be constructed for the purpose of exploring such solar systems as are within reasonable range, and that it be equipped with all the scientific instruments necessary for that purpose. "That Ros Vinla, Commander of the Spacefleet of Norga, be in command of this expedition and duly authorized to pick his own crew of scientists, navigators, technicians, scouts or any other persons he deems necessary to the fulfilment of his mission. "That his mission shall be to find and report on any planets that might be suitable for either or both of the following purposes: firstly, to supply us with food; secondly, to provide living space for our surplus population. He will, of course, bear in mind that the rights of the inhabitants of these planets must be fully respected, means of communication must be found and friendly relations established. He will send daily reports by etheradio to the Chief Scribe. "The Commander will in all cases await the sanction of the Council of Elders before taking any decisive steps, save in cases of extreme emergency, such as a surprise attack by hostile natives." "Commander Ros Vinla, you have heard the Council's Decision?" In the section reserved for the high officials of the government, a tall, spare man in early middle-age rose to his feet. He wore the dark blue undress uniform of the Norgan Spacefleet, his rank indicated by a golden sun and circle on the chest. "I hear and obey," he replied, in a dry, precise voice. * * * * * In the Chief Scribe's office, Lan Yotar paced restlessly to and fro, watched sympathetically by Var Dalum. "Why not sit down and relax, Lan Yotar?" he suggested mildly. "A glass of wine?" With a sigh the Chief of the Council of Elders sank into a padded chair. "Thank you," he answered. "This tension is rather hard on me. I suppose I am getting old," he added wistfully. "You are only a hundred and eighty-six," smiled the Chief Scribe. "That might have been considered old five or six generations ago, but our life expectancy is increasing so rapidly I think you can safely count on another century, at least."