is slipped over the hand and onto the wrist. Made of plasticum, which cannot be cut by any method, the bracelet has the unique property of expanding in size as the wearer grows. It cannot be removed except by cutting off the arm of the wearer." He laughed as if he had made a good joke. "But I am sure no one would ever think of doing that. The bracelet carries the serial number assigned to each of us."

He held up his arm, exhibiting the gleaming circle of plasticum on his wrist. To him—to all of them—it was a badge of honor, a mark that proved one belonged to a superior race. "If one of the natives escaped, the absence of a bracelet would disclose his identity at once. We would take measures to have him eliminated."

"I see," Joe Buckner said. He sounded mollified. "How would we eliminate him?"

"I believe it is customary to use a Thor gun in such cases—a large caliber which will disintegrate him instantly. The model I have will only blast a hole a few inches in diameter."

"I'm going to be a Thorgunman," Joe Buckner said with sudden enthusiasm.

"Good!" the instructor said. "That is a very fine calling. If I had my life to live over again—" He sighed for lost opportunities.

At the announcement of his ambition, Joe Buckner rose higher in the opinion of the class.

"Observe how they make their living," the instructor continued.

The class saw the natives at work tilling the soil. The technique used here was very crude but mildly interesting. They used plows and harrows for loosening the soil, devices that were pulled by large animals.

"Horses, I believe they call the animals. Of course, we don't allow them to have power-drawn equipment."

"It's not at all like the way we obtain our food," Billy Kasker said thoughtfully.

"Oh, no," the instructor answered. "We synthesize our foods. As a matter of fact, they are required to grow their food. That way, they have to spend so much time finding something to eat that they can't cause trouble." He grinned as if something in the idea pleased him.

"Serves them right," Joe Buckner said.

The natives working in the fields seemed not to see the class. When the group came near, they stopped talking and worked harder.

"Scared to talk when we're around," Joe Buckner said. "They're yellow!"

"Now for the factory section," the instructor said.

The factories were small and unimpressive. Working here with very crude tools and with no power equipment, the natives were making farm machinery.

"Why don't we give them better tools?" Billy Kasker asked.

"What have they got coming?" Joe Buckner exclaimed. "They lost, didn't they?"

"Yes, but—"

"If you had your way you'd be sucking in and helping the side that lost. Pretty soon you'd discover you had lost!"

"Hardly that," Billy Kasker replied. "But it seems more human—"

"Human? That's a laugh!" Joe Buckner slapped his thighs and roared with laughter.

"Come along," the instructor said.

"Look—there are children playing games!" Susan Sidwell observed. "Horrible-looking little brats, aren't they?" She pointed to a group of brown-skinned youngsters playing some kind of a game that involved a ball and a club. One threw the ball, the second struck at it with the club.

"What a stupid way to play," Joe Buckner said.

As soon as the young natives saw the graduating group coming, they stopped their game and ran away. They seemed very frightened.

"The young ones fear us," the instructor explained. "The older ones fear us too, but they don't show it so much." He watched the fleeing youngsters with every evidence of great inward satisfaction.

Billy Kasker's lips closed in a thin straight line.

"Now we will go to the rebuilt section."

They walked on.

"One of the natives is following us," Susan Sidwell suddenly said.

Turning, the group saw that a member of the conquered race was