He wanted the Kerothi to know that he had no intention of escaping or
hatching any plot against them.

He had long since decided that, if things continued as they had, Earth
would lose the war with Keroth, and Sebastian MacMaine had no desire
whatever to be on the losing side of the greatest war ever fought. The
problem now was to convince the Kerothi that he fully intended to fight
with them, to give them the full benefit of his ability as a military
strategist, to do his best to win every battle for Keroth.

And that was going to be the most difficult task of all.

A telltale glow of red blinked rapidly over the door, and a soft chime
pinged in time with it.

MacMaine smiled inwardly, although not a trace of it showed on his
broad-jawed, blocky face. To give him the illusion that he was a guest
rather than a prisoner, the Kerothi had installed an announcer at the
door and invariably used it. Not once had any one of them ever simply
walked in on him.

"Come in," MacMaine said.

He was seated in one of the easy-chairs in his "living room," smoking a
cigarette and reading a book on the history of Keroth, but he put the
book down on the low table as a tall Kerothi came in through the
doorway.

MacMaine allowed himself a smile of honest pleasure. To most Earthmen,
"all the Carrot-skins look alike," and, MacMaine admitted honestly to
himself, he hadn't yet trained himself completely to look beyond the
strangenesses that made the Kerothi different from Earthmen and see the
details that made them different from each other. But this was one
Kerothi that MacMaine would never mistake for any other.

"Tallis!" He stood up and extended both hands in the Kerothi fashion.
The other did the same, and they clasped hands for a moment. "How are
your guts?" he added in Kerothic.

"They function smoothly, my sibling-by-choice," answered Space General
Polan Tallis. "And your own?"

"Smoothly, indeed. It's been far too long a time since we have
touched."

The Kerothi stepped back a pace and looked the Earthman up and down.
"You look healthy enough--for a prisoner. You're treated well, then?"

"Well enough. Sit down, my sibling-by-choice." MacMaine waved toward
the couch nearby. The general sat down and looked around the apartment.

"Well, well. You're getting preferential treatment, all right. This is
as good as you could expect as a battleship commander. Maybe you're
being trained for the job."

MacMaine laughed, allowing