"We'll practise with light beams until you can write your name in three types of script," predicted Halligan. "Then--hello, Edwards. Joining us for coffee?" Roy Edwards looked unhappy as he stopped before them. "Later maybe," he said. "We've got to attend the inevitable." "Oh nuts. On an empty meat locker?" "You might toss a coin; you'll not be needed at the same time." Steve nodded. "You stoke the boiler," he said to Halligan. To Edwards, he said, "I don't know what this is all about, but Joe's ready to eat raw bear. I've eaten." "That'll be fine," said Edwards cheerfully. "I hate to bust in on this love-feast, but there's plenty of time later. Grab your chow, Joe, and come in as soon as you can." Halligan smiled. "Sure thing. And kid, don't let a lot of pompous pin-stripe-and-spats scare you. Treat 'em as you'd treat one of the Guardians; so long." "What's up?" asked Steve. "About once a year there's a stink over a blowup," said Edwards. "This is it." "What kind of stink?" "Charges of laxity, charges of wastefulness, and so forth." "Laxity?" exclaimed Hagen. "Interstellar often holds the quaint notion that a more alert outfit would be able to arrive at the scene of the blowup in time to stop it; after all, a spacecraft is worth a lot of moola, and they hate to lose it." Hagen grunted. "I can't see any outfit getting there before we did." "Tell 'em that." "Just how do they think they can create a better outfit?" "By removing the Guardians from governmental control and making of them a private organization, a subsidiary of Interstellar." "I don't see--" "There's a lot of truth on both sides," said Edwards, "but that is not for us to settle. All we can do is to stand up for our own ideals. Just tell 'em what you saw, and what you did; and if you don't let a few facts interfere with a good story, remember that they're ready to discount half of what you say anyway. So--here's the inevitable." 3 Hagen entered the office quietly, nodded at Commissioner Morehouse, smiled at Lois, and eyed Howard Forrest with mild hostility. Forrest, the representative of Interstellar, returned his hostility with a stony-cold glance. It had been years since Forrest and Hagen had met. The last time had been a hard scene; Forrest had come to Hagen to ascertain the depth of Steve's feelings regarding the renunciation of his name and heir-apparent-ship to the commercial empire of William Wrightwood. Forrest, a clever man with words, had done some of the finest orating of his life at that time, weaving a verbal web glowing with the glories of running the whole show. He had given Steve a very rough time. Steve had yet to learn the first principle of politics, which is never to admit for one moment that your opponent could possibly be right, or have an idea that keyed with your own. Steve had attempted to answer Forrest, and all he got in reply was hard-shelled argument.