"Delicate!" I snorted. "That situation smells worse than pole-pussy perfume in a telephone booth! What the Space Patrol ought to do is go in there and grab those rascals--" "Sparks!" frowned the Old Man. "That will do!" But he turned questioning eyes to his superior. "Why _doesn't_ the Space Patrol do something about it, sir?" "Because," pointed out Uncle Prenny, "the privateers are--speaking from a purely legal standpoint--quite within their rights. The Patrol cannot move against them because to do so would be to violate the standards of freedom upon which the Interplanetary Union is founded." "But everybody _knows_ they're crooks ... pirates...." "True. But by glancing back over the pages of man's history you will learn that it is always the crooks who twist law to serve their own evil purposes. "These privateers moved to Iris, became citizens of that planetoid. Then, by brute force, they seized control of the political machine, voted themselves into governing power. With such power, it was an easy matter to pass laws forbidding exercise of Space Patrol rights of search and apprehension ... extradition ... prohibiting further immigration of peoples from civilized planets...." I said, "Hey, wait a minute! There's one thing they _can't_ do! According to interplanetary law, no government can forbid the right of free trade, barter and exchange!" Lancelot's uncle smiled. "Absolutely right, Sparks," he agreed. "And _that_ is where _we_ come in!" * * * * * A dead silence followed his pronouncement. Then the air began sizzling with a hot, frying sound. That was Hanson preparing to blow a verbal fuse. He exploded like a retread on a hot day. "_So!_" he roared. "So that's the kind of a company I been workin' for all these years? Well, Vice-president, here's my rocket--" He tore his precious spaceman's emblem from his breast and hurled it to the floor--"and here's my brevet--" He ripped the golden epaulets from his coat, and heaved them after the rocket--"and the hell with you and the I.P.C., sir! Any outfit which would be so stinkin' niggardly as to _trade_ with a crew of scoundrels like that--" Lanse Biggs said mildly, "Now, Dad! Don't be hasty. After all--" The Old Man stared at his First Mate and son-in-law sadly. "You, too, Lancelot? I'm disappointed in you, my boy. I never thought _you'd_ fall in line with--" Biggs' uncle said, "You are a very impetuous person, Captain Hanson. If you will let me continue--" "I don't want to hear no more," growled Hanson. "Go 'way and leave me alone!" "But let Uncle Prenny tell you, Dad!" pleaded Biggs. "The hell with--" "He can tell _me_," I broke in. "And if there's not a quick change of theme, I'm going to do a little snoot-poking before I leave--with the skipper. Go ahead, Mr. Biggs."