Burgess snorted, not quite loudly enough to be deliberately rude. His face had a pleasant, even a handsome cast except for the expression of petulance he was now wearing. He was a few years younger than the priest: a big-boned, big-featured man whose slightly curved back and hollowed cheeks showed that he had lost bulk since his prime. Ferguson's pale face was expressive but completely controlled. The gambler's eyes were narrow and unreadable, the lips and the long muscles of the jaw showing nothing more than surface emotion. He asked politely, "Planning to stay long, Mr. Harkway?" "That all depends, Mr. Ferguson, on--to be blunt, on what sort of a reception I get. I won't try to conceal from you the fact that my role here is that of a political propagandist. I want to convince as many people as I can that the Minority People's movement is the best hope of the human race. If I can find that there's some chance of succeeding, I'll stay as long as necessary. If not--" "I'm afraid we won't be seeing much of you, in that case, Mr. Harkway," said Burgess. His tone was scrupulously correct, but his nostrils were quivering with repressed indignation. "What makes you say that, Mr. Burgess?" Harkway asked, turning his intent, serious gaze on the older man. "Your program, as I understand it," said Burgess, "aims at putting humanity on an equal basis with various assorted races of lizards, beetles and other vermin. I don't think you will find much sympathy for that program here, sir." "I'm glad to say that, through no fault of your own, you're mistaken," said Harkway, smiling slightly. "I think you're referring to the program of the right wing of the League, which was dominant for the last several years. It's true that for that period, the M.P.L.'s line was to work for the gradual integration of human beings--and other repressed races--into the society of the planets on which they live. But that's all done with now. The left wing, to which I belong, has won a decisive victory at the League elections. "Our program," Harkway continued earnestly, "rejects the doctrine of assimilation as a biological and cultural absurdity. What we propose to do, and with sufficient help will do, is to return humanity to its homeland--to reconstitute Earth as an autonomous, civilized member of the galactic entity. We realize, of course, that this is a gigantic undertaking, and that much aid will be required from the other races of the galaxy.... Were you about to say something, Mr. Burgess?" Burgess said bitterly, "What you mean, in plain words, Mr. Harkway, is that you think we all ought to go home--dissolve Earth's galactic empire--give it all back to the natives. I don't think you'll find much support for _that_, either." Harkway bit his lip, and cast a glance at Cudyk that seemed to say, You warned me, but I forgot. He turned to Ferguson, who was smiling around his cigar as blandly as if nothing out of the way had been said. "What is your view, Mr. Ferguson?"