THE VIOLATORS By EANDO BINDER _Some wonderful odds and ends of Mother Earth had escaped the fiery incinerator of Time. And the most significant of all--metallic, angular and ancient--Lem Starglitter Blake carried proudly in his dirty old prospector's bag._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] He was excited, the little man with the big find. He drove his battered old space tub down at the world which lay frozen over and lifeless since long ago. But not completely abandoned. Far from it. He joined the long line of ships making the pilgrimage to the ancient, original home of the human race. Below lay a transparent dome, the largest Z-model of 100,000 capacity, into whose ample entry locks the ships filed down, one by one. Some had to circle, waiting their turn. He licked his lips impatiently. At times he grinned and savored the delay, in view of what lay ahead. At last he chugged in and parked his grimy little tub beside shiny yachts and towering spaceliners and spacebuses. The canned air of the dome was fresh to his lungs, compared to the reek of his cabin. He dug a tip out of his frayed jeans for the parking attendant, not quite daring to snub him. He winced at the sneer over the small coin. But no more sneers like that, soon. And plenty more money, with what he had in his bag. He smiled and mumbled as he walked away, swinging the leather bag at his side, bulging with something angular. He filed his way among others toward the turnstiles leading to the main exhibit area. Tourists, vacationers, families with kids, school groups, newsmen, galactic trotters, earnest scholars. You could find all types here, from every walk of life and from any distant planet, drawn like a magnet to this "must" for all travelers. It was _the_ sight to see around the Milky Way. Certainly nothing could beat its appeal as the birthplace of mankind. Nothing, that is, except the gay and fabulous Carnival of Castor, whose attendance record could never be topped. He tried to rush through the turnstile but was halted by the green-clad guard. "I'm in a hurry, mister," he mumbled in his wispy voice, from an oxygen-burned throat. He began opening his bag. "Look what I found--" The guard heard not a word. "We keep a register of all visitors to Mother Earth. Name? Home World? Occupation?" It was odd how even the guard's routine voice lowered a tone on the words "Mother Earth." "Lem Starglitter Blake," said the little old man in unkempt jeans and patched boots.