"The Bro will arrive presently," their guide informed them. Affairs of state prevented his presence at the moment. Meanwhile they were introduced to a number of curious and intoxicated guests--high-ranking, Glayne gathered, from the monotonous repetition of titles. Then General Ganser was before them again, accompanied by another Delban in a brilliant uniform surmounted by a gaudy, flowing cape. He was aristocratic and condescending in his demeanor and a smile played about his eyes and dry lips. "May I present His Excellency, Gort Bro-Doral ... Captain Glayne of the Stellar Guardians," introduced Ganser. His eyes were owlish with forced dignity. Gort Bro-Doral waved him away with a careless sweep of his arm and bowed politely to Glayne. "I think we met several years ago, Captain. Am I right? But of course. Won't you and your ... er ... lady have a drink?" Glayne colored angrily. Yes, they would have a drink. He glanced casually at his wrist-chrono. Twenty minutes ... just twenty minutes before Harbin would be down on the roof. He sipped slowly at the huge cup of _borse_ which the Bro had personally ladled out for him, letting its blue-green smoothness ease his parched throat and his nervousness. Niala, at his sign, slipped away and was immediately surrounded by a crowd of the outlanders, General Ganser at the head. They knew a good thing when they saw it, Glayne reflected wryly. Gort Bro-Doral eyed him with amusement across the mammoth _borse_ bowl. "Now really, Captain, why did you come here? Surely not to inform us of the decision of your sacred Policy Organ?" The Ruler of Ten Thousand Suns emitted an odd, explosive noise that corresponded to laughter. To the Delban leader's question Glayne replied cautiously, "The Guardians have landed on their feet in every major crisis for the last thousand years. Perhaps we want to land feet-first this time." "That is quite understandable, Captain," replied Gort Bro-Doral, cautious in his turn. "When one side in a battle has unlimited strength," Glayne continued, "the wise man has no difficulty in deciding whom he will support. That is similar to our own position, Your Excellency." Again Bro-Doral produced his strange, whinnying laugh. "Really, Captain, you amaze me. The future Delban Empire cannot tolerate such things as mercenary armies and space fleets--nor do we need such organizations to win our battles now. But, if you could bring yourself to the point of forgetting your traditions and other related paraphernalia of which you are so fond, then there is a possibility that you might be absorbed into the Delban Space Navy. Of course, you would have to submit to our commands--but that's understandable...." Glayne exulted inwardly. The Bro simply saw them begging for a crumb of the spoils--he enjoyed his power to humiliate the Stellar Guardians. But what he didn't see, contrary to the old adage, was going to trim his scrawny neck. Where were Niala and Ganser? A minute to go!