"And that," Rockford said as he settled down in the largest, softest chair, "was king-to-be Narf, whose business ability is such that all his inherited Sea Island estates are gone but the one Lyla saved for him and who owes a total of ten million monetary units, to everyone from call girls to yacht builders." "And she is going to marry him?" Hunter asked. "Marry that jackass and let him bankrupt her kingdom?" Rockford shrugged. "You may have noticed that she doesn't look the least bit happy about it--but she is a very conscientious young lady who regards it as her most solemn duty to keep the promise she made to her father. For her, there is no escape." "But--" "Your first duty will be to cultivate a friendship with her. I'm going to use her, and you, to get what I want." "_Use_ us?" "Yes. One of the most rigid requirements of a Strategic Service man's character is that he be completely without one." * * * * * * * * * Rockford was asleep in his chair an hour later, three empty beer cans beside him. Hunter watched him, his doubt of Rockford's competence growing into a conviction. Rockford had spoken knowingly of his plan--and had done nothing but drink more beer. Now he was asleep while time--so limited and precious--went by. He hadn't even bothered to reply to Hunter's suggestion that perhaps he should call on Val Boran and counteract some of Envoy Sonig's anti-Terran propaganda. Hunter came to a decision. If Rockford was still doing nothing when morning came, he would send an urgent message to Supreme Command. He went outside, to find a servant and learn how mail was handled. * * * * * "_Rook out!_" Gravel flew as overgrown feet tried to stop, and something like a huge black dog lunged headlong around the corner and into his legs. He went to the ground head first over the animal, acutely aware as he went down of the fascinated interest on the face of a not-so-distant servant. "I sorry, Rootenant." He got up, to look down at the doglike animal. There was a concerned expression in its brown eyes and an apologetic grin on its face. He recognized it as one of the natives of the grim starvation world of Altair Four. The Altairians had emigrated to all sections of the galaxy, to earn a living in whatever humble capacity they could fill. Many were empathic. "I run too fast to meet, Mr. Rockford, I guess. Are you hurt, Rootenant?" He pulled a cloud tree needle out of his hand and looked grimly down into the furry face. "In the future, try to look where you're going." "Oh, I rook, awr right. I just not see. My name is Aronzo, Rootenant, and I stay here awr the time and guard everything for Princess Ryra. I prease to meet you and I wirr run errands for you, and do things rike mair your retters, for candy or cookies, which I are not supposed to eat much of, but Princess Ryra say not too many wirr hurt me--"