."

Like all the others, Line-Commodore Vann Shatrak wore shipboard
battle-dress; his coveralls were black, splashed on breast and between
shoulders with the gold insignia of his rank. His head was completely
bald, and almost spherical; a beaklike nose carried down the curve of
his brow, and the straight lines of mouth and chin chopped under it
enhanced rather than spoiled the effect. He was getting coffee; he
gulped it at once.

"It was very smart work, Commodore. I never saw a landing operation go
so smoothly."

"Too smooth," Shatrak said. "I don't trust it." He looked suspiciously
up at the row of viewscreens.

"It was absolutely unnecessary!"

That was young Obray, Count Erskyll, seated on the commodore's left. He
was a generation younger than Prince Trevannion, as Shatrak was a
generation older; they were both smooth-faced. It was odd, how beards
went in and out of fashion with alternate generations. He had been
worried, too, during the landing, but for a different reason from the
others. Now he was reacting with anger.

"I told you, from the first, that it was unnecessary. You see? They
weren't even able to defend themselves, let alone...."

His personal communication-screen buzzed; he set down the coffee and
flicked the switch. It was Lanze Degbrend. On the books, Lanze was
carried as Assistant to the Ministerial Secretary. In practice, Lanze
was his chess-opponent, conversational foil, right hand, third eye and
ear, and, sometimes, trigger-finger. Lanze was now wearing the combat
coveralls of an officer of Navy Landing-Troops; he had a steel helmet
with a transpex visor shoved up, and there was a carbine slung over his
shoulder. He grinned and executed an exaggeratedly military salute. He
chuckled.

"Well, look at you; aren't you the perfect picture of correct diplomatic
dress?"

"You know, sir, I'm afraid I am, for this planet," Degbrend said.
"Colonel Ravney insisted on it. He says the situation downstairs is
still fluid, which I take to mean that everybody is shooting at
everybody. He says he has the main telecast station, in the big building
the locals call the Citadel."

"Oh, good. Get our announcement out as quickly as you can. Number Five.
You and Colonel Ravney can decide what interpolations are needed to fit
the situation."

"Number Five; the really tough one," Degbrend considered. "I take it
that by interpolations you do not mean dilutions?"

"Oh, no; don't water the drink. Spike it."