convey our respects
to your Government. Now, as to procedure for
the audit, I suggest we set up a small group of
administrators and specialists to prepare schedules
and other details. This must be done immediately,
as we have no wish to delay your support operations
unnecessarily. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"Good. One of my ships is now approaching the
Gateway. I realize you may have reservations
concerning one of my military craft entering your
restricted zone, and I respect your reservations.
Please have your representatives board the
Plutonian craft outside the Gateway. My specialists
are aboard, and the two groups can work out the
details. Is this satisfactory?"

"I reject your term 'satisfactory', and accede
under the same protest."

"I understand, Colonel Hanno. By the way, one
other matter, concerning the Sandbox. I cannot
accept Bura's assurance that his gun crews are
on 'stand down'."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Colonel Hanno, that I insist on an
inspection of the Sandbox by members of my military
staff so that I am certain the Sandbox's guns are
not a threat to the safety of my fleet. I cannot
continue to dissipate my capabilities by the need
to keep the Sandbox under special surveillance
throughout this operation. The Sandbox guns must
be rendered inoperative and, frankly, I don't trust
Bura to perform that service for me."

"Lieutenant Bura," said Colonel Hanno, "I assume
that you and other ships' Commanders have been
listening in on this delightful exchange."

"I have."

"What do you say?"

"You're the Zone Commander."

"For the safety of your ship and the rest of us,
I recommend you comply with their demand."

"Yes, sir."

"Admiral Drummer?"

"Very good. Have the Sandbox stand by to receive
boarders. This completes our discussion, Colonel
Hanno. I'll get back to you if the situation calls
for it."

Chapter EIGHTEEN

Brad studied the Sandbox on the utility's view
screen.

"I think you'd better have a look," he said to
Kumiko as he twisted aside on the cramped flight
deck. She peered over his shoulder.

"Got a problem?" Scarf sneered, his bulk cramped
the remaining space behind the flitter's pilot
seat. He hunched forward trying to see around
Kumiko.

Brad ignored the question. He waited for Kumiko's
assessment of the Sandbox, dead ahead.

Drummer had given him the job.

"I want this done," he told Brad, "in a way that
will demonstrate to the UIPS that