“Men have short working hours and ample leisure. Any further freedom is license we can’t afford. We’ve had to keep the population fed and in order until we can find living space or a differential method of birth control. I mean by that, a way to lower the birth rate without also lowering the rate of intelligence-per-thousand.” He looked at Kerry. “We could use your help.” “To keep on hoaxing the people?” “No, to un-hoax them, if that is an allowable expression.” Commander Lal returned to his seat. “The Pharig invasion is almost over. When we get out into space, it will be simply to stage a few mock battles and defeat them conclusively--and forever.” Fallon demanded “But why not tell them the truth?” The Indian propped his elbows on the desk. He seemed worn out with his long explanation. The blazing insignia of Earth United seemed a glaring anachronism on his austere frame. “There is an Indian proverb,” he began slowly, “concerning the man who rode a tiger. He couldn’t stay on and he was afraid to get off. Now that we’re on the verge of leading the people of Earth out into space suppose we did reveal that the Pharig invasion was a hoax staged for our own purposes. Then suppose we met a _real_ alien race?” “Good lord!” said Kerry. “It’s entirely possible.” Chapman said, “I suppose history must eventually look at the Pharig invasion as a kind of air-raid drill.” “Yes,” the Indian agreed, “To see whether Earthmen were capable of putting aside their individual concerns and functioning as a united world.” With an apologetic smile he touched the insignia he wore. Somehow to Kerry it seemed that the insignia was insignificant now and the man himself was the symbol of a greater power. Kerry slowly crumpled the editorial he still held in his hand, shredded it and dropped the pieces on the desk. “You win, Commander.” Fallon said, “But Ben--and my father. What about them?” “Ben Thrusher was a martyr,” Commander Lal said. He looked sorrowful, almost shaken. “But he was a martyr only to a lie. Go and write that editorial over again, Donalson. Make it an obituary instead, and make it good. Ben Thrusher--and Doctor Fallon too--deserved it. Say, if you want to, that they gave their lives for space flight. It’s true and they ought to rest in peace. Because the discovery of space flight means the end of the Pharigs. I’m not in a mood to think up famous last words.” _So even Ben’s death was to be converted to the sober uses of expediency._ “Maybe his own last words would do!” Kerry said bitterly. “‘They make a wilderness and call it peace!’” The commander swung around. “Tacitus,” he said. “The words of a barbarian chief inciting his tribe to revolt against Rome. But Rome won, even though the barbarians sacked her. She kept peace, of a kind, until the very barbarians who destroyed her found time to repent and admire what they’d destroyed, and a few of them remembered enough to preserve what they could.