domed, white amphitheater was vast, its floor holding several thousand seats. And less than a fifth of the seats. those nearest the rostrum, were occupied. The graceful name-standard that identified each section told the story. Biggest section was that of Earth, including the little industrial colonies that were all that its barren, non-E-type sister planets of this system could support. There were smaller delegations from the few of the nearby star systems that still clung loyally to the UW-Tau Ceti, Alpha Centauri, and others. And in the other sweeping sections of empty seats the standards were blank.
Birrel felt uncomfortable, looking down at those blank, empty sections. They had been designed to hold members from Lyra and Orion, Cepheus and Leo and Perseus, the five great sectors of galactic civilization, in the brave, young days when everyone was sure that this hall would be the permanent center of government of the galaxy. It was not his fault, he thought, that it had not happened that way. It had all been long before he was born, but, all the same, it was an uncomfortable thing to see.
Charteris sat in the chairman's place, at the back of the rostrum, gravely listening as an elderly delegate spoke on with droning monotony about some piece of legislation that Birrel did not in the least understand.
'Impressive, isn't it?” said Mallinson.
Birrel looked down at the empty sections on the floor, and at the half-empty spectator seats around them, and then he turned and looked squarely at Mallinson. He said, “You blame us — out there in the Sectors — for all this, don't you?'
Mallinson's face did not alter a line of its smile, but his voice had chilled steel in it. “Yes.'
'My men and I are responsible for something that happened more than a century ago — something that was bound to happen?'
'Was it bound to happen?” Mallinson questioned softly. “Well, perhaps it was, perhaps there were too many stars and worlds to govern from any one place. But the way in which the Sectors’ governments have come to be dominated by ambitious governors — that was not bound to happen.'
Birrel asked bluntly, “If you people feel that way, why did you ask any of us back here for your commemoration?'
'Believe me, it was not my idea,” Mallinson assured him.
They looked at each other, with frank and honest dislike. Then Birrel rose.
'Fine,” he said. “We understand each other, and you can quit being the polite guide. I have to go out and check the squadron, anyway.'
'The driver will take you,” said Mallinson. “One more thing, Birrel. I speak for myself, not for Charteris. He still has a dream that someday the Sectors will come back to the UW.'
Birrel nodded. “Thanks for setting me straight, at least.” He turned and left the gallery.
He felt relief when the car was out of the city, across the river and speeding out a thruway. At least there was more room out here. Looking at the neat, modern houses they passed, he wondered how many of the people here felt like Mallinson. A good many of them, he supposed.
The rolling thunder of a ship in take-off drew his gaze to the big spaceport ahead. Far away across it, the giant hulls of the Fifth were like a mountain range against the sky. Their majesty dwarfed everything else on the port — the older, smaller naval cruisers of the UW, the merchant star-ships, the tubby ore-freighters from the harsh sister-planets. He told the driver, who stared up at the looming giants in awe, how to reach his flagship.
When Birrel went up to the bridge of the Starsong, he found Joe Garstang sitting with his feet up reading a flamboyant magazine. He hauled to his feet and saluted, looking dourer than ever.
Birrel nodded in the direction of the communic room. “Any messages for me from Vega?'
Garstang shook his head. “Nothing.'
Birrel had expected that, but all the same it was a small disappointment.
'Do you want to call Ferdias?” asked Garstang. “I'll have the operators set it up, if you do.'
'Nothing to call about,” said Birrel casually.
He was lying in his teeth. There was plenty he would like to ask Ferdias about in the light of the situation he had found here. But while their code was secret, too many messages flying back and forth from the Fifth to Vega would be monitored and would surely arouse further suspicions here on Earth. That was, he knew, why Ferdias had chosen to contact him through Karsh.
He asked Garstang, “What about the refitting?'
'Didn't need much. Nearly all done already.'
'How are our people getting along over in their quarters?'
'Fine,” said Garstang. “Just fine — except the six of the Starsong's men I have down in the brig.'
'For what?'
'There was a welcome party over there last night,” said Garstang. “You know, crewmen of the UW fleet welcome crewmen of the Fifth Lyra. Drinks, fun, a good time.'
'So?'
'So finally one of our men felt so good he mentioned that the Fifth could mop up the whole UW fleet without raising a sweat. That's what started it. It was quite a thing while it lasted. Never did see so many fists flying.'
Birrel swore. “We come here on a good will mission and good will's the one thing lacking. I won't have any more of that.'
'I don't think there'll be any more,” said Garstang, with a hint of steel in his voice, and Birrel was satisfied. Then Garstang asked in a more plaintive tone, “When am I going to get to see anything of this place? Been busy with discipline and refitting up till now.'
Birrel nodded. “All right, Joe. Leave Venner in charge and come along with me. But first I have to see Brescnik.'
Garstang obeyed with alacrity. Presently he and Birrel, in the car, were speeding along the row of cruisers. Each time they passed a ship it was like going into the shade of a thundercloud, and then they would pop out again into the golden blaze of the afternoon sun. Brescnik's was the fifth ship in line, but the Vice-Commander was not there. A junior officer pointed across the tarmac to a distant, small hangar that was tucked in between the UW maintenance shops and those of the merchant lines.
'They brought something in a little while ago, sir. Commander Brescnik went over to see.'
Birrel had the driver take them over there and they found Brescnik, standing out in the sunlight with a small group of officers, all of them staring curiously into the small open hangar.
Brescnik saw Birrel and Garstang, and saluted, and then pointed into the hangar. “Take a look at that. Damnest thing I ever saw.'
Birrel looked. Inside the hangar was a ship so small and strange that at first he did not recognize it as a ship at all. It was no bigger than a duty-boat, it was knobby and horribly designed, and it looked as though it was made out of pewter instead of modern alloys. A whole crew of men who wore the black coverall of the UW fleet were swarming over the hideous, little craft, working on it and polishing it.
'What is it?” Birrel demanded.
'That,” said Brescnik, “is the pride of Earth. Trailblazer One, the first starship that ever flew. They've had it in a museum all this time — only brought it out once a century ago for a flight in the centenary celebration.'
'You mean they're going to fly that thing?” said Birrel incredulously.
Brescnik nodded. “They say so. In the big flyover. Just a little hop, they say.'
Garstang shook his head slowly. “I'd as soon run blind, through a cluster as ride that old hunk of iron. How did anyone ever do it?'
Birrel was wondering that, too. He had learned all about the history of starlight, in his training. But it had all been names and dates and methods of propulsion, just facts you had to know to pass your tests. He had never really visualized the impossibly dangerous nature of those early flights — not until now. And not until now had this bi-centenary seemed to him nothing but another bureaucratic-inspired function to give a chance for dull speeches. But there was more to it than that, after all. He could see why it was such a big thing, to Earth.
Brescnik asked hopefully. “You taking over again?'
Birrel shook his head. “No, you're still stuck with it. They can't spare me over in that place, I'm in such big demand socially. Sorry.'
'Yes, sir,” said Brescnik, making it a dirty word.
Birrel grinned briefly. Then he asked, “You've been around here all day — tell me, have you noticed or heard of any big-scale docking preparations for expected ships?” Brescnik frowned. “A lot of docks over on the other side
