Those who had stood earlier were sitting down now. Down the aisle, looking straight ahead, with a bruised jaw and a bloody scratch running from cheekbone to chin, came James Harkway. He mounted the platform, rested both hands on the low speaker's stand, and turned his glance across the audience, once, from side to side. There was a collective scraping of chairs and clearing of throats, then complete stillness. Harkway said: "My friends--and enemies." Subdued laughter rippled across the room. "A few of my enemies didn't want me to hold this meeting," said Harkway. "Some of my friends felt the same way. In fact, it seemed that _nobody_ wanted this meeting to take place. But here you all are, just the same. And here I am." He straightened. "Why is that, I wonder? Perhaps because regardless of our differences, we're all in the same boat--in a lifeboat." He nodded gravely. "Yes, we're all in a lifeboat--all of us together, to live or die, and we don't know which way to turn for the nearest land that will give us harbor. "Which way shall we turn to find a safe landing? To find peace and honor for ourselves and our children? To find safety, to find happiness?" He spread his arms. "There are a million directions we could follow. There are all the planets in the galaxy! But everywhere we turn, we find alien soil, alien cultures, alien people. Everywhere except in one direction only. "Our ship--our own planet, Earth--is foundering, is sinking, that's true. But _it hasn't--yet--sunk_. There's still a chance that we can turn back, make Earth what it was, and then, from there--go on! Go on, until we've made a greater Earth, a stronger, happier, more peaceful Earth--till we can take our place with pride in the galaxy, and hold up our heads with any other race that lives." He had captured only half their attention, and he knew it. They were watching him, listening to what he said, but the heads of the audience were turned slightly, like the heads of plants under a solar tropism, toward the side of the chamber where Rack and his men sat. Harkway said, "We all know that the Earth's technical civilization is smashed--broken like an eggshell. By ourselves, we could never put it back together. And if we do nothing, no one else is going to put it back together for us. But suppose we went to the other races in the galaxy, and said--" A baritone voice broke in quietly, "'_We'll sell our souls to you, if you'll kindly give us a few machines!_'" * * * * * Rack stood up--tall, muscular, lean, with deep hollows under his cheekbones, red-grey hair falling over his forehead under the visor of his cap. His short leather jacket was thrown over his shoulders like a cloak. His narrow features were grey and cold, the mouth a straight, hard line. He said, "That's what you want us to tell the vermin, isn't it, Mr. Harkway?"