The newly arrived ship lowered an escalator to the surface and the pilot glided down, landing only a few feet from McWorther. "There seems to be some mistake," he said. "I was given these coordinates and orbital factor for a--" he checked his notebook--"McWorther's World." "This," said Titus stiffly, "_is_ McWorther's World." Cupping his hands, the pilot called back into the ship. "We're on the right place." An alarmed face poked out of the hatch. "_This_ is it?" Titus lurched to his feet, returning an equally startled expression. The man coming clown the escalator was President Vance Roswell of the Western Federation! He had seen the face on thousands of newscasts. Roswell, sickened, stared at the mountains of supplies on the obscured surface of the planetoid. He tilted his head back and took in the glimmering sea of cargo out in space, the flaring trails of exhaust jets that criss-crossed in an infinite pattern as endless streams of ships jockeyed into position to discharge more freight. Then he dropped to the veranda railing and buried his face hopelessly in his hands. By then, one of the orchestra conductors, who had also recognized the President, had abruptly brought his baton down to terminate the "Lyraen Overture." He led his ensemble into a stirring rendition of the "West Cluster Anthem." Without interrupting his misery, Roswell elevated a limp hand and signaled for quiet. But even before the musicians tapered to silence on a jagged, perplexed note, the other orchestra blared forth with the "East Cluster Blastoff March," all its members standing and facing the northern edge of the veranda. Titus watched the impressive vessel float to the surface, its almost invisible repulsor beams jostling the lesser Pullman ships out of its way. Splashed across its side was the fist-clutching-galaxy symbol of the Eastern Federation. He was still gawking when the hatch opened, ushering onto the tiled surface none other than the Emperor himself--an immense, brilliantly robed man who swept like a bowling ball through his retinue of aides. * * * * * There were two distant explosions, one close on the heels of the other, and the planetoid convulsed. That time, Titus imagined, he had seen one of the masses of cargo plunging to the surface. The Emperor drew up before Titus. But although his lips moved, no audible sound came from his mouth, since he was in the immediate range of the Eastern Symphony Orchestra's bass section. Scowling, he whirled, threw up this arms and bellowed for silence. Quiet came as though someone had pulled a plug. "Now," he said, propping his fists on his hips and flaring his robe out even further, "perhaps someone will enlighten me. I'm looking for McWorther's World. It's supposed to be here." Titus poured a triple, undiluted julep and gulped down half of it. He said, "You're standing on it." "_This!_ That's impossible! What's the population?"