Rack looked up expressionlessly as the five men approached. "Yes?" Cudyk said, "We have been chosen to ask you some questions about your previous statement." "Ask away," said Rack, leaning back in his chair. Before him was a glass of the dark, smoky liquor Ferguson imported for his special use. He was smoking a tremendously long, black Russian cigarette. Cudyk took the list from Paz and read the first question. "What is the status of New Earth as to housing, utilities and so on?" "Housing and utilities are adequate for the present population," said Rack indifferently. "More units will be built as needed." Paz scribbled in his notebook. Cudyk read, "Will every new colonist be expected to serve as a member of New Earth's fighting forces?" Rack said, "Every man will work where he's needed. Common sense ought to tell you that middle-aged men with pot bellies and no military training won't be asked to man battleships." "What is the size of New Earth's navy?" "Next question." "Will new colonists be allowed to retain their personal fortunes?" Rack stared at him coldly. "The man who asked that," he said, "had better stay in the Quarter. If by his personal fortune he means Galactic currency, he can use it to stuff rat-holes. Any personal property of value to the community, and in excess of the owner's minimum needs, will be commandeered and dispensed for the good of the community." "Will new colonists be under military dis--" "Look out!" said De Grasse suddenly. He lurched to his feet, upsetting his chair. Someone stumbled against Paz, who fell heavily across Cudyk's legs, bringing him down. Someone else shouted. From the floor, Cudyk saw Burgess standing quietly with a tiny nickeled revolver in his hand. "Please don't move, Mr. Ferguson," said Burgess. "I don't trust you. All of you, stand still, please." Cudyk carefully got his legs under him and slowly stood up. The men on the other side of the table were still sitting or standing where they had been a moment before. De Grasse stood in an attitude of frozen protest, one big hand flat against his trousers pocket. He looked comically like a man who has left the house without his keys. They must have taken his gun away, Cudyk thought, after that affair yesterday. Monk and the aged Spider were sitting tensely, trying to watch Rack and Burgess at the same time. Rack, as always, was inhumanly calm. Ferguson looked frightened. The gunman, Vic Smalley, had straightened away from the wall; he looked alert and unworried. "Captain Rack," said Burgess, "you killed that man Harkway." Rack said nothing. "I did it," De Grasse said hoarsely. "If you have to shoot somebody, shoot me." Burgess turned slightly. Rack, without seeming to hurry, picked up the glass in front of him and half rose to fling the black liquor at Burgess' face.