"There are only two alternatives, and a Hamilton Lord trade city is by far the better." "Yes--for Hamilton Lord." "No, for these people. Don't forget, I'll be running Hamilton Lord. The exclusive franchise will keep out the other traders, and I can see to it that our trade city does no harm. We've a thousand planets in the Federation; who's going to know if one of the cities doesn't really function?" "I get it. But why the hell did you have to bring me back?" "To make a deal with--with your wife." After a long pause, Don Howard said wearily, "If Hamilton Lord can sacrifice the richest franchise in the galaxy, I suppose I can do my bit, too." At dawn the _Ceres_ departed. Lord drove his men to work throughout the night stowing the prefabs and the trade goods aboard the ship. Just before the power tubes stabbed the launching fire into the earth, a delegation of villagers came into the clearing. Niaga led them and she spoke to Lord at the foot of the landing ladder. "We still want you to stay among us, Martin Lord; we have come again to offer--" "It is impossible!" She put her arms around his neck and drew his lips against hers. The temptation washed over his mind, shattering his resolution and warping his reason. This was what he wanted: the golden dream of every man. But for Lord only one idea held fast. Niaga's primitive, naive world had to be preserved exactly as it was. If he gave in to the dream, he would destroy it. Only in the central office of Hamilton Lord could he do anything to save what he had found here. He wrenched himself free of her arms. "It's no use, Niaga." She knew that she had lost, and she moved away from him. One of the other golden-skinned savages pushed a small, carved box into his hands. "A parting gift," Niaga said. "Open it when you are aboard your ship, Martin Lord." Long after the _Ceres_ had blasted off, he sat alone in his cabin looking at the box--small, delicately carved from a strange material, like a soft plastic. It seemed somehow alive, throbbing with the memory of the dream he had left behind. With a sigh he opened the box. A billow of white dust came from it. The box fell apart and the pieces, like disintegrating gelatine, began to melt away. A printed card, made of the same unstable material, lay in Lord's hand. "You have three minutes, Martin Lord," he read. "The drug is painless, but before it wipes memory from the minds of you and your crew, I want you to understand why we felt it necessary to do this to you.