"Delicate!" I snorted. Of course Cap knew about it. We all did. It was the top-ranking scandal of the decade. A group of privateers, seeking a base from which to pursue their nefarious exploits, had established themselves upon innocent, helpless little Iris. There, though it was plain to everyone that the diminutive, rodent-like Irisians were being actually held in peonage, the corsairs had set up a puppet government, thereby procuring territorial rights against which the Interplanetary Council could not file demurrer. So:
"Delicate!" I snorted. "That situation smells worse than pole-pussy perfume in a telephone booth! What the Space Patrol ought to do is go in there and grab those rascals—"
"Sparks!" frowned the Old Man. "That will do!" But he turned questioning eyes to his superior. "Why doesn't the Space Patrol do something about it, sir?"
"Because," pointed out Uncle Prenny, "the privateers are—speaking from a purely legal standpoint—quite within their rights. The Patrol cannot move against them because to do so would be to violate the standards of freedom upon which the Interplanetary Union is founded."
"But everybody knows they're crooks ... pirates...."
"True. But by glancing back over the pages of man's history you will learn that it is always the crooks who twist law to serve their own evil purposes.
"These privateers moved to Iris, became citizens of that planetoid. Then, by brute force, they seized control of the political machine, voted themselves into governing power. With such power, it was an easy matter to pass laws forbidding exercise of Space Patrol rights of search and apprehension ... extradition ... prohibiting further immigration of peoples from civilized planets...."
I said, "Hey, wait a minute! There's one thing they can't do! According to interplanetary law, no government can forbid the right of free trade, barter and exchange!"
Lancelot's uncle smiled.
"Absolutely right, Sparks," he agreed. "And that is where we come in!"