Curt glanced down at the spider man who minced daintily along on his fragile hairy legs. His double-facetted eyes glanced toward the suspension-walk, and two of his legs lifted in salute. A piercing vibrational whistle followed. Curt grinned, whistled an answer in a series of flatted notes, waved. "That's Lilth," he explained. "He's a good guy, even if he is a Ganymedian. His family starved to death because they could not mine enough _xalthium_." He gestured toward a gigantic slug inching along the floor, pulling a loaded cart. "That's a Venusian _gastod_," he finished. "He is utterly helpless and harmless. He is also the only _gastod_ not in captivity. His race exuded pure vitamin K from their bodies, so the Food Administrators imprisoned the entire race. He is a pirate here and does what he can--for oddly enough he has a brain and a soul." They had crossed the bridge and walked slowly down a lighted tunnel. The tube debouched into a great amphitheater, at the mouth of which the group halted for a moment. Shouts, whistles, hissings came from the groups of men before them. In a gigantic pool of steaming water, Venusian reptile-men swam with loud splashing. On the field at the right of the pool, Earthmen played space-ball, their tiny hand-tractors lancing pale-green rays at a floating gravity-neutralized sphere. The beams made a network of power that spun the copper ball like an air bubble in a whirlpool. Spider men sat side by side, curling their legs beneath their globular bodies, then nipping them out again, a few at a time. Gravely they compared the numbers flipped out, then paid their wagers from piles of money at their sides. Cat men from the tombs of Mars played Martian chess with their traditional enemies, the big-chested Upland _boiloongs_ whose tentacles were like living ropes of steel. Creatures from a dozen worlds watched or played or rested, singly and in groups, about the gargantuan room. "They're my men," The Falcon said proudly, feelingly. "And regardless of body-form, each is a _man_. They're the Falcon's Brood." He led the way again, returning hearty greetings in a dozen tongues, waving, laughing, answering a hundred questions. At the edge of the room, near a tunnel's mouth, he turned to the girl who was strangely silent. "I'll meet you for dinner in an hour," he promised. "Then I'll show you through the gardens." "Fine!" Jean smiled, turned to follow the solicitous Schutler. Crandal watched her go. "So she is not a convert," he said. "Then why bring her along?" "She recognized me," the Falcon said simply, nodded good-bye, followed Jericho down another tunnel to his living quarters. He walked into the three-room apartment, strode directly to the vocoder. Flicking a switch, he spoke quietly. "A trap on Mars was set for me; have you heard any reports."