"Then there'll have to be some kind of a unifying and correlating authority—a Galactic Council or something—and the quicker it's set up the better; the less confusion and turmoil and jockeying-for-position there will be. Question: should this authority be political?"
"It should not!" James declared. "It takes United Worlds seven solid days of debate to decide whether or not to buy one lead pencil."
"Military—or naval, I suppose it'd be—that's what Clee's driving at," Belle said. "You're wonderful, Clee—simply priceless! We're officers of the brand-new Galactic Navy. Subject to civilian control, of course, but the civilians will be the United Galaxian Societies of the Galaxy, and nobody else. Beautiful, Clee! There are ten Operators, Jim. Right?"
"Check. Brownie and I are here; the other eight are running the Galaxian Society under Clee. And the whole Society eats out of his hand."
"I don't know about that, but Belle and I together could swing it, I think."
"I'll say we could," Belle breathed. "And I simply can't wait to see you kick Fatso's teeth in with this one!"
"I don't like the word 'Navy'," Garlock said. "It's tied definitely to warfare. How about calling it the 'Galactic Service'? Applicable to either war or peace. Brass Hats will think of us in terms of war, even though we will actually work for peace. Any objections?"
There were no objections.
"About the uniforms," Lola said, eagerly. "Space-black and star-white, with chromium comets and things on the shoulders...."