Zinder considered that. “The Markovians. Yes, it must be. We’ve found their dead worlds and deserted cities all over. They must have done all this on a giant scale, Ben!” He was suddenly excited. “Of course! That’s why they never found any artifacts in those old ruins! Whatever they wanted, they just told their version of Obie and there it was!”

Yulin nodded approvingly. “You might be right.”

“But, Ben!” Zinder kept on. “All the worlds of theirs we’ve found! They’re all dead!” He sat back in his chair, voice and manner calming a bit, but his tone still agitated. “I wonder—if they couldn’t handle it, how can we?” He looked straight at the other scientist. “Ben, are we producing the means to wipe out the human race?”

Yulin shook his head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know, Gil. I hope not. But we haven’t much choice. Besides,” he smiled, tone lighter, “no matter what, we’ll all be long gone before that point is reached.”

“I wish I had your confidence, Ben,” Zinder said nervously. “Well, you’re right on one thing. We have to deliver. Will you set it up?”

Ben walked over and patted the old man on the shoulder. “Of course I’ll make the arrangements,” he assured the other. “Look, you worry too much, Gil. Trust me.” His tone changed, became more self-confident. The other didn’t notice. “Yes, I’ll set it up.”

In the old days there were nations, and they reached for space. And then there were planetary colonies of these nations, and they all had differing philosophies and life-styles. There followed wars, raids, engineered revolutions. Man expanded, the nations vanished, leaving behind only their philosophies for their heirs. Finally, rulers sick of it all got together and formed a trust. All competing ideologies were to be given free reign until one dominated a planet, but never by force and never with help from outside. Each planet would choose a member to sit on a great Council of Worlds and cast its vote.