with Neptune is possible in the face of their embargo, and the European coalition of Terrans and Panadurs have closed their world! The logical development of this psychological state of nerves is...."

"War." Bill Nardon said softly, almost in a whisper that died in the faint sea-breeze that eddied about the room. For a long time there was silence, while the "Correlator" played with the selectors on the couch unaware of doing so in his profound absorption, and the tardy dawn faded into bright daylight which in turn gave way to the perfumed mystery of a starry night deep within the mountains and the odor of pine stole about the room. A ripple of music almost as soft as a sigh invaded the chamber, gathering in volume and poesy of melody like an enchanted lullaby to a wonder child or, a woman utterly beloved.

When the "Correlator" came to, Antaran had gone.

The rain's silver curtain had lifted for some time—over an hour now—Bill Nardon mused. The blinding blueness of the skies was reflected on the satiny sheen of the platino-plastic structures of the spaceport, now glorious in its display of opulence for the benefit of the arriving delegations of five worlds. The Terran display of grandeur had been planned to increase with exquisite skill all the way to the Universarium.

Which in itself was a piece of effrontery, Bill thought with a sardonic smile, considering that with Earth, only six worlds were represented, which was far from being the Universe. Not to mention that each planet was sovereign, jealously and hypersensitively suspicious of the slightest encroachment upon their rights and domains. Bill was certainly aware of the fact that the word Universarium would be a cause for resentment.

They were arriving now. Upon the gigantic Ethero-solidograph that covered an entire wall of the spacious room, deep in the bowels of the Universarium, Bill Nardon could see the great inter-planetary vessels emerge from outer space, where both space and time have but a remote and relative meaning, and flash like inter-stellar daggers into the outer fringe of the stratosphere.

"Warships! All of them!" He mused aloud, while the slightly satirical smile deepened, hovering on his square-cut lips, crinkling the corners of the long, strangely colored eyes—almost electric blue.

"Warships?" he mused.

Bill saw them extend lateral fins upon the icy fragility of the upper air, much as a bird 

 Prev. P 2/41 next