At the end of the third decade, the Texcocan delegation was already seated in the Pedagogue’s lounge when Jerome Kennedy, Martin Gunther, Peter MacDonald, Fredric Buchwald and three Genoese, Baron Leonar and the Honorables Russ and Modrin appeared.

The Texcocan group consisted of Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt Roberts to one side of him, Generalissimo Taller and six highly bemedaled Texcocans on the other.

Before taking a seat Barry Watson barked, “Where’s Amschel Mayer? I’ve got some important points to cover with him.”

“Take it easy,” Kennedy slurred. “For that matter, where’s Joe Chessman?”

Watson glared at the other. “You know where he is.”

“That I do,” Kennedy said. “He’s purged, to use a term of yesteryear. At the rate you laddy-bucks are going, there won’t be anything left of you by the time our half century is up.” He snapped his fingers and a Genoese servant who’d been inconspicuously in the background, hurried to his side. “Let’s have some refreshments here. What’ll everybody have?”

“You act as though you’ve had enough already,” Watson bit out.

Kennedy ignored him, insisted on everyone being served before he allowed the conversation to turn serious. Then he said, slyly, “I see we’ve been successful in apprehending all of your agents, or you’d know more of our affairs.”

“Not all our agents,” Watson barked. “Only those on your southern continent. What happened to Amschel Mayer?”

Peter MacDonald, who, with Buchwald, was for the first time attending one of the decade-end conferences, had been hardly recognized in his new girth by the Texcocan team. But his added weight had evidently done nothing to his keenness of mind. He said smoothly, “Our good Amschel is under arrest. Imprisoned, in fact.” He shook his head, his double chin wobbling. “A tragedy.”

“Imprisoned! By whom?” Taller scowled. “I don’t like this. After all, he was your expedition’s head man.”

Barry Watson rapped, “Don’t leave us there, MacDonald. What happened to him?”

MacDonald explained. “The financial and industrial empire he had built was overextended. A small crisis and it collapsed. Thousands of investors suffered. In brief, he was arrested and found guilty.”

Watson was unbelieving. “There is nothing you could do? The whole team! Couldn’t you bribe him out? Rescue him by force and get him back to the ship? With all the wealth you characters control

Jerry Kennedy laughed shortly. “We were busy bailing ourselves out of our own situations, Watson. You don’t know what international finance can be. Besides, he dug his grave ... uh ... that is, he made his bed.”

Kennedy signaled the servant for another drink, said, “Let’s cut out this dismal talk. How about our progress reports?”

“Progress reports,” Barry Watson said. “That’s a laugh. You have agents on Texcoco, we have them on Genoa. What’s the use of having these conferences at all?”

For the first time, one of the Genoese put in a word. Baron Leonar, son of the original Baron who had met with Amschel Mayer thirty years before, was a man in his mid-forties. He said quietly, “It seems to me the time has arrived when the two planets might profit by intercourse. Surely in this time one has progressed beyond the other in this field, but lagged in that. If I understand the mission of the Pedagogue it is to bring us to as high a technological level as possible in half a century. Already three decades have passed.”

The Texcocans studied him thoughtfully, but Jerry Kennedy waved in negation with the hand that held his glass. “You don’t get it, Baron. You see, the thing is we wanta find out what system is going to do the most the quickest. If we co-operate with Barry’s gang, everything’ll get all mixed up.”

The Honorable Russ, now a wizened man of at least seventy, but still sharply alert, said, “However, Texcoco and Genoa might both profit.”

Kennedy said happily, “What do we care? You gotta take the long view. What we’re working out here is going to be used on half a million planets eventually.” He tried to snap his fingers. “These two lousy planets don’t count that much.” He succeeded in snapping them this time. “Not that much.”

Barry Watson said, “You’re stoned, Kennedy.”

“Why not?” Kennedy grinned. “Finally perfected a decent brandy. I’ll have to send you a few cases, Barry.”

“How would you go about that, Jerry?” Watson said softly.

“Shucks, man, our space lighter makes a trip to Texcoco every month or so. Gotta keep up with you boys. Maybe throw a wrench or so in the works once inna while.”

Peter MacDonald said, “Shut up, Jerry. You talk too much.”

“Don’t talk to me that way. You’ll find yourself having one helluva time floating that loan you need next month. How about another drink, everybody? This party’s dead.”

Watson said, “How about the progress reports? Briefly, we’ve all but completely united Texcoco. Minor setbacks have sometimes deterred us but the march of progress goes on. We

“Minor setbacks,” Kennedy chortled. “Must of had to bump off five million of the poor slobs before that commune revolt was finished with.”

Watson said coldly, “We always have a few reactionaries, religious fanatics, misfits, crackpots, malcontents to deal with. However, these are not important. Our industrial potential has finally begun to roll. We doubled steel production this year, will do the same next. Our hydro-electric installations tripled in the past two years. Coal production is four times higher, lumber production six times. We expect to increase grain harvest forty per cent next season. And

The Honorable Modrin put in gently, “Please, Honorable Watson, your percentage figures are impressive only if we know from what basis you start. If you produced but five million tons of steel last year, then your growth to ten million is very good but it is still not a considerable amount for an entire planet.”

Buchwald said dryly, “If our agents are correct, Texcocan steel production is something like a quarter of our own. I assume your other basic products are at about the same stage of development.”

Watson flushed. “The thing to remember is that our economy continues to grow each year. Yours spurts and stops, jerks ahead a few steps, then grinds to a halt or even retreats. Everything comes to a pause if you few on the top stop making a profit; all that counts in your economy is making money. Which reminds me, how in the world did you ever get out of that planet-wide depression you were in three years ago?”

Peter MacDonald grunted his disgust. “Planet-wide depression, indeed. A small recession. A temporary readjustment due to overextension in certain economic and financial fields.”

From the other side of the table, Dick Hawkins laughed at him. “Where’d you pick up that line of gobbledygook, Peter?” he asked.

Peter MacDonald came to his feet. “I don’t have to put up with this sort of impudence,” he snapped.

Watson lurched to his own feet. “Nor do we have to listen to your snide cracks about the real progress Texcoco is making. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” He snapped to his associates, “Hawkins, Taller, Roberts! Let’s go. Ten years from now, there’ll be another story to tell. Even a blind man will see the difference.”

They marched down the Pedagogue’s corridor toward their space boat.

Kennedy called after them, “Ten years from now every family on Genoa’ll have a car. Wait’ll you see. Television, too. We’re introducing TV next year. An’ civil aviation. Be all over the place in two, three years

The Texcocans slammed the spaceport after them.

Kennedy sloshed some more drink into his glass. “Slobs can’t stand the truth,” he explained to the others.