From an anti-grav chamber, he had seen only one tiny corner of its vast surface, but that single vision had been enough to convince him that he had been correct. The Hops, in their countless numbers, were unconquerable, and the human race, despite all its weapons, had no choice but to surrender unconditionally. The Hop Supreme Three had observed all the customary formalities. They had signed the agreement for humane treatment of the surrendering race, and given their most solemn promises to live up to the agreement in every detail; although from what he had seen of them, Everson knew that their idea of what was humane differed from his. He knew also that they signed agreements merely to break them, as they had broken the one on Neptune, and that when they broke this one the human race might very well be exterminated. But, as he had been telling himself time and again these last five days, he had no choice. He had, by dint of superhuman effort, managed to persuade the majority of his Council of that, and only two members had resigned. Public opposition had been more violent and outspoken, with here and there some firebrand calling for a war of defense to the death. But he had pointed out as coolly as he could, in one System-wide speech after another, that the war would be to their death. Resistance was one thing, suicide another. The opposition had been disorganized, if not overcome, and the surrender was now going on. His present task was to speed it up as much as he could, and for that he would have to see and talk to the numerous individuals whose calls were waiting. But the effort of pressing a button which would bring their faces opposite his own was more than he could manage. And then, to his relief, he found an excuse for putting off the painful task. A bell tinkled musically, and his secretary's voice said softly, "Mr. Arthur Everson, sir." * * * * * His son entered and stood regarding him silently. Arthur's hair was black, and with his young, clean-shaven face he lacked the aspect of official dignity which the gray mustache gave his father. But he had the same sensitive features, and under his eyes there were hollows sunk deep by the tension and sleeplessness of the past week. He said finally, "Have a nice trip, dad?" "Not nice. Interesting." "Something like my life now. Did you know that I'm afraid to go out into the streets?" "You have your guards." "I don't mean that. I don't dare to look people in the eye." "You'll get over it." "I'm afraid not," said Arthur. "I'll never get over being the son of a traitor. At first, when I heard of the plans for surrender, I thought they were intended as a maneuver, to throw the Hops off their guard. I never believed that you could intend them seriously." "The Hops aren't to be thrown off their guard so easily. Don't you know anything about them?" "I know a great deal. I've seen several of your secret reports."