and we came to a decision."

"I'm glad," the Director said. "And may I say I think you're doing a wise thing. Centifor's a beautiful place. Simply beautiful...."

"Yes it is," Claude agreed. "It is beautiful. That's why we'd like to see it stay that way."

The Director raised an eyebrow.

"My wife and I talked it over," Claude went on, "and we decided that taking someone else's land whether it's done by theft, force, or bribery is wrong. We thought of this place as something fresh and clean. We thought all those tests we took were designed to keep people like you out of here. Now it appears we were mistaken. We've talked it over, Mr. Stubbs, and we've decided to go back to Earth and expose you."

"But you can't," the Director said. "You've—"

"Yes we can," Claude said. "The ships go back practically empty. A return berth will be no trouble at all. We're returning on the first ship out."

"Perhaps we could make a better deal," Stubbs said. "Perhaps five thousand is too much. Perhaps—"

"No. No deals! Let's go Joan."

They went outside, into the fresh warm sunshine, staring at the torpedo shaped spaceship standing in the clearance area half-a-mile away.

They'd just started toward it, when a jeep squealed up alongside them. Bruce Whiting was at the wheel.

"Hi," he said. "Hop in. I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks," Claude said without bitterness. He helped his wife and son into the rear seat and climbed in beside the driver.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he said as the other man threw the vehicle into gear. "Stubbs tells me the land is yours now."

The driver nodded, inching down on the accelerator. The vehicle leaped forward. At seventy miles an hour, they swooped past the spaceship and the knot of people standing in the shadow of the rudder stanchions.

"Hey. Slow up!" Claude yelled. "We're getting off here. We're booking return passage on that ship!"

Whiting didn't answer.

The low slung buildings of the 

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