over the Martians in the two wars.

"This question has been an annoyance! From now on, I vote no on the subject, and move to have this question off our hands for good. Furthermore, I move that the Act which gave the Martians the right to sit on the Master Conclave be stricken out of the World Constitution!"

Olduk said, "My people will die—" when every member of the Conclave rose and shouted out his agreement with the Spanish governor.

Olduk drew his cape tighter around his twelve-foot body.

He said, "Then I have been refused forever. But I have no feelings of enmity. Allow me fully to explain situation once more, so that you may possibly feel sorry for my people. We are million in number—ideal, yes? Not canned like sardines on Earth, yes? Million enough, fortunately. But without water, in century, none. See? Our birth rate falls.

"But no, my people do not suffer of thirst. There become less people to drink. But it is cruel of Earth to kill a race because they hate. Therefore, all read story of Tantalus—interesting, see?

"Poor Tantalus," in his expressively expressionless voice. "Poor Tantalus. Many persons of Earth would not like to be Tantalus, thus receive justice reserved for poets."

Olduk walked over to the Speaker and said something to him. The Speaker frowned, and then resignedly signaled an orderly.

"A gallon of water for Mr. Olduk."

The session erupted with a wave of general laughter.

The water was brought. Olduk placed the beaker to his thin lips, tossed the contents off.

He swept the assembly with his eyes.

His left arm—or what appeared to be a left arm, so covered with the cape was it—fumbled at his right wrist.

He said once more, gutturally, "Yes, poor Tantalus."

He stepped down from the rostrum, and with slow dignified step left the conclave room.

The hundred odd members of the Conclave settled back in their seats after Olduk had gone. The session was resumed.

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