ms,
second in command of the Beldon Brotherhood's detachment here, and the
Duke of Fluel, Movaine's personal gun. Going by Heraga's
descriptions, the big, florid-faced man with white hair and flowing
white mustaches who was doing the talking was Velladon, the commodore;
while the fourth man, younger, wiry, with thinning black hair
plastered back across his skull, would be Ryter, chief of the Star's
security force.

"What I object to primarily is that the attempt was made without
obtaining my consent, and secretly," Velladon was saying, with a
toothy grin but in a voice that shook with open fury. "And now it's
been made and bungled, you have a nerve asking for our help. The
problem is yours--and you better take care of it fast! I can't spare
Ryter. If--"

"Cooms," Baldy Perk broke in desperately from the door, "Bad News
Quillan's here an'--"

The heads of the four men at the table came around simultaneously. The
eyes of two of them widened for an instant. Then Marras Cooms began
laughing softly.

"Now everything's happened!" he said.

"Cooms," the commodore said testily, "I prefer not to be interrupted.
Now--"

"Can't be helped, commodore," Quillan said, moving forward, Perk
shuffling along unhappily beside him. "I've got news for Movaine, and
the news can't wait."

"Movaine?" the commodore repeated, blue eyes bulging at Quillan.
"Movaine! Cooms, who _is_ this man?"

"You're looking at Bad News Quillan," Cooms said. "A highjacking
specialist, with somewhat numerous sidelines. But the point right now
is that he isn't a member of the Brotherhood."

"_What!"_ Velladon's big fist smashed down on the table. "_Now_ what
kind of a game ... how did he get _in_ here?"

"Well," Quillan said mildly, "I oozed in through the north wall about
a minute ago. I--"

He checked, conscious of having created some kind of sensation. The
four men at the table were staring up at him without moving. Baldy
Perk appeared to be holding his breath. Then the commodore coughed,
cleared his throat, drummed his fingers on the table.

He said reflectively: "He could have news--good or bad--at that! For
all of us." He chewed on one of his mustache tips, grinned suddenly up
at Quillan. "Well, sit down, friend! Let's talk. You can't talk to
Movaine, you see. Movaine's um, had an accident. Passed away suddenly
half an hour ago."

"Sorry to hear it," Quillan said. "That's the sort of thing that
happens so often in the Brotherhood." He swun