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is, I’m a staunch Conservationist, so long as the word is applied to other folk and keeping the damned vulgarians off my property.”
    Wayness asked innocently: “Is that now official LPF policy?”
    “Of course not,” said Tradence angrily. “Ivar is just being naughty.”
    “Ha ha!” cried Tancred. “The Peefers, if they lost their fine feathers, would be just another row of plucked owls, shivering in the wind!”
    “That is most unkind of you,” said Ivar. He turned to Wayness. “Tancred is a fearful cynic. He doubts the existence of Truth! And speaking of which, what is your father about to tell us? Or do you insist upon being mysterious?”
    “I insist. In a few minutes you shall hear for yourself.”
    “But you know?”
    “Of course I know!”
    “It will come to naught,” declared Ivar. “We are quick, keen and resolute; he’ll argue in vain.”
    “You will hear no arguments,” said Wayness. “None whatever.”
    Ivar paid no heed. “Right or left, east or west, up or down, no matter! He can’t cope with ‘Dynamic Humanism.’”
    “He won’t even try until he finds out what it is.”
    “Dynamic humanism is the engine which drives the LPF philosophy! It is far more democratic than Chartic Conservancy, and cannot be denied!”
    Tancred cried: “Bravo, Ivar! That would be a grand speech, if it had not been sheer piffle. I must instruct you seriously, once and for all. No matter how much the Peefers yearn for manor houses beside Lake Eljian or Lake Amanthe, with beautiful Yip maidens padding here and there, some fully dressed, others serving rum punches, these wonderful dreams will never become real, and why? Because Cadwal is a Conservancy. Is the idea truly so perplexing?”
    “Bah!” muttered Ivar. “That is not the humanist point of view, nor is it mine. Something must be done.”
    Wayness said: “Something is - though I don’t think you will like it.” She touched the controls to the wall screen; it glowed with color and detail, to show the interior of the Council Hall.
     
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    Chapter 1, Part III
     
    At the Spaceman’s Rest, after Wayness had departed, Egon Tamm attempted to join his comrades on the terrace, but he was waylaid by a group of earnest young intelligentsia who plied him with questions. The Conservator would only repeat his explanation that all would soon be made clear and that it seemed pointless to go over the same ground twice.
    His chief inquisitor was a burly pink-faced young man wearing a medal which bore the slogan ‘ POWER TO THE YIPS! ’ He asked: “Tell us at least this: are you agreeing to a reasonable accommodation or not?”
    “As to that, you will soon be in a position to judge for yourself.”
    “And meanwhile we must hang by our fingernails,” grumbled the young LPFer.
    “Why not release your grip?” asked a saucy young woman. She wore a shirt which displayed the image of a sad-faced cat, who was saying: “Grandpa was a Peefer until he gave up catnip.”
    The burly young man told Egon Tamm: “You must realize, sir, that Cadwal cannot remain in the Stone Age forever!”
    Warden Ballinder, a massive man with black hair and a black beard surrounding a round ferocious face, spoke with heavy jocularity. “If the Conservator does not have you deported for sedition and criminal foolishness, consider it good news.” He looked to the side. “Here comes another one I’d like to see pulling an oar on a slave ship.”
    “Bah!” snapped Dame Clytie Vergence, who, as she advanced upon them, had overheard the remark. “That is arrant nonsense! Still, it is what we have come to expect from the notorious Warden. We can only hope that he conducts the business of his office with more decorum.”
    “I do my pitiful best,” said the Warden.
    Dame Clytie turned to Egon Tamm. She was almost as tall as Warden Ballinder, with large bones, meaty shoulders, strong legs and haunches. Her coarse brown hair was cut short, and straggled unflatteringly down around