from planet to planet. And finally, with the development of the inertialess drive and the consequent traffic between hundreds of thousands of solar systems, crime became so rampant as to threaten the very foundations of civilization.

Then the Galactic Patrol came into being. At first it was a pitiful-enough organization. It was handicapped from within by the usual small, but utterly disastrous percentage of grafters and criminals; from without by the fact that there was then no emblem or credential which could not be counterfeited. No one could tell with certainty that the man in uniform was a Patrolman and not an outlaw in disguise.

The second difficulty was overcome first. One old-time Patrolman had heard of the Arisians. He visited their planet and—this should be a saga by itself—persuaded those Masters of Mentality that they should help right against wrong, at least to the extent of furnishing a positive means of identification. They did, and still do—The Lens.

Each being about to graduate as a Lensman is sent to Arisia; where, although the candidate does not then know it, a Lens—a lenticular jewel composed of thousands of tiny crystalloids—is built to match his individual life force. While no mind other than that of an Arisian can understand its functioning, thinking of the Lens as being synchronized with, or in exact resonance with the life principle—personality, ego, call it what you will—of its owner will give a rough idea of it. It is not really alive, as we understand the term. It is, however, endowed with a sort of pseudolife, by virtue of which it gives off its strong, characteristically changing, polychromatic light as long as it is in circuit with the living mentality for which it was designed. It is inimitable, unforgettable. Anyone who has ever seen a Lens, or even a picture of one, will never forget it; nor will he ever be deceived by any possible counterfeit or imitation of it.

The Lens cannot be removed by anyone except its wearer without actual dismemberment of that wearer; it shines as long as its rightful owner wears it, and in the instant of its owner's death, it ceases forever to shine. And not only does a Lens refuse to shine if any impostor attempts to wear it—any Lens not in circuit with its owner kills in a space of minutes any other who touches it, so strongly does its pseudolife interfere with any life to which it is not attuned.

Also by virtue of that pseudolife the Lens acts as a telepath through which its owner may communicate with any other intelligence, high or low; even though the other entity may possess no organs 

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