"The eyes and ears of the universe!" Mark Lynn exclaimed ironically in a whisper. The cometary reaction must have been psychological as well as physical to bring about crime in a social order where for centuries it had disappeared. Or had it? Mark wondered. How many secrets, how much factual data the Council kept from the people? No one would ever know. But why try to liquidate him? He'd just arrived from years in outer space; surely he couldn't possibly have enemies on Terra! Was his mission known? And come to think of it, just what was his mission actually? Meditatively, he tapped the cylinder in the inner pocket of his tunic. Could _that_ have been the motive for the assault? * * * * * "Palanth!" Mark Lynn exclaimed delightedly as he spied a dandified Martian leaning against a column of chrysophrase, upon entering the lobby of the International Police headquarters to report. Tall and sinewy-lean, with the exaggeratedly narrow waist characteristic of the Martians, Palanth gazed startled at his companion of many adventures, from behind a silken square of Venusian-spider silk drenched in the overpowering fragrance of Venusian Jasmines. Only the violet eyes were visible, startling against the background of his flaming hair. In the tight-fitting yellow tunic of an International, he resembled an ancient, narrow-waisted cretan come to life, but for the flaming mane and towering height. "Greetings! O bird of ill-omen, what malodorous wind blew you in from outer space?" He dropped the handkerchief long enough to reveal chiselled nostrils and white even teeth as he smiled heart-warmingly. He placed his left hand on Mark's shoulder, in the immemorial gesture Mars reserved for the closest friends. "One sec, Planetarian, while I check in," Mark grinned also placing his hand on the Martian's shoulder, knowing how it annoyed the Martian to be called by a lower rank. Mark stepped into a booth that automatically recorded his status as the visi-screen panel glowed into life. "Spacer Mark Lynn, Exploratory Astrogator First Class, reporting. Under sealed orders from the Supreme Council. Last station Io. Awaiting further orders." In a thousand departments that recorded global information and checked it in detail even psychologically, Mark's words automatically became part of the endless record. But there was no answer. The visi-screen faded to a smouldering green and went blank. "Strange!" Mark muttered to himself, stepping out of the booth. "These orders must be final." He touched the slight bulge made by the cylinder he carried. Curiosity was beginning to needle him, but orders from the Council could only be opened in absolute privacy, especially sealed orders.