Then his mind reeled as a new conviction struck it. There was a sheet of paper on his bed--a message. _His_ message! ... SITUATION EXTREMELY CRITICAL ... VAL BORAN ALREADY CONVINCED BY SONIG'S PROPAGANDA ... MUST REPORT ROCKFORD IS UTTERLY INCOMPETENT, HIS MIND AND WILL DESTROYED BY ALCOHOL ... REPEAT: ROCKFORD IS DOING NOTHING, HIS MIND DESTROYED BY ALCOHOL.... The words screamed up at him and he felt the sickness of one who sees the last faint hope shattered and gone. All was lost, now.... He went outside, feeling a savage desire for violence rising above the sickness. "Rootenant!" Alonzo came bounding to meet him and slid to a halt with his saucer feet scattering gravel and the idiotic grin on his face. "I mair your retter and you owe me six fig cook--" It occurred to Hunter that it was not Alonzo that should be punished. He, Hunter, was the one who deserved execution for ever entrusting anything so important as the message to an imbecilic animal. He said with cold distinctness: "The ... letter ... is ... inside." "Oh?" Alonzo blinked. "I sure mair something, awr right. After Mr. Rockford correct it." "_Correct it?_" "Oh, sure. Mr. Rockford, he up rong before you this morning to find me and say you are writing a retter rast night and I must bring it by for him to make awr your mistakes over again." _So Rockford was watching all the time, pretending to be in a drunken sleep...._ "Rootenant--" Alonzo shifted his big feet impatiently. "You stirr owe me six fig--" Hunter swung around and strode away, afraid he might decide to choke the animal after all. A culture of twenty worlds was the same as already destroyed, and he was held in a maddening quagmire of helplessness by a crafty alcoholic and a dog with the mind of a small child. "Ah ... my boy!" Rockford came out of the cabin, beaming as though nothing had ever happened. "Look to your left, among those ghost trees--Narf is demonstrating his quick-draw skill to Sonig. Narf is supposed to be a very dangerous man, you know." Hunter looked, and saw Narf whipping up the blunt, ugly spread-beam blaster--known to soldiers as the Coward's Special, because at short range it could not miss and would always cripple and blind a man for life even though it would not always kill him. Sonig was standing by, nodding his weasel head and smiling in open admiration. "Of course," Rockford said, "Sonig isn't mentioning the needle gun all Verdam envoys carry up their sleeve. He's flattering Narf's ego for a reason--he intends to have Vesta, as well as Jardeen, sewed up for the Verdam empire when he leaves here." "And so far as I can see," Hunter said coldly, "Sonig never is going to have anything vaguely resembling intelligent resistance to his plans." [Illustration] "Ah, yes ... so far as you can see," Rockford agreed amiably. "But you obey my order to take Lyla for another walk and everything will turn out all right. In fact, I'll speak to her about that right now."