But the intelligence chief's face was rigid with dejection. "We got there 'firstest,' to use an ancient expression, but not with the 'mostest.' Our agents in Imperial City report that the amount of aid authorized for McWorther's World is unbelievable. The entire Eastern Cluster is going on a full austerity basis to support the program." "That shows what value they place on McWorther's World and the sector it opens up," Roswell offered. "When they found out we'd moved in ahead of them, their reaction was frantic." Summerson rose. "This, then, gentlemen, is it." "It certainly is." Roswell's voice was heavy with despondency. "The most God-awful aid war the cluster has ever seen." "We can't back out," the ambassador warned. "We've got to get busy and face up to the task." "With every resource at our disposal. To ignore the challenge would be to surrender this entire section of the galaxy to the Easties." The President was silent a moment. "Gentlemen, I am herewith sounding a call to economic arms. Cancel all other aid commitments and activity. Throw everything we have got, everything we can ever hope to produce, at McWorther's World." "I think you'd better call on the Potentate personally," Summerson proposed. "That," said Roswell, "is exactly what I intend to do." * * * * * Adjusting the drape of his robe, the Emperor sent his eyes flicking over the report. Finally he lurched from his chair with a resounding "Eureka!" "So you see how it is, Your Imperial Highness," his chief adviser offered. "By cutting in on their McWorther World operation, we have indeed touched a sensitive Western spot." "There's no question about that," the Emperor said lustily. He was a portly man whose sartorial excesses made him seem even more imposing. His eyes, recessed under thickset brows, flared with triumph as he said, "McWorther's World must figure prominently in their planning. From the way they cut loose with everything they had when they found out we were stepping in too, damned if I'm not convinced this new system will be the pivotal point of their entire future strategy." "Then we'd better order double production quotas on every world that flies the Eastern flag." "_Triple_ quotas. And have my space yacht refitted by tomorrow." "You're going somewhere, Highness?" asked the adviser. "This Potentate McWorther is likely to be the third most important political figure in the galaxy. I'm not going to lose any time getting over there and pumping his hand." * * * * * His face flushed with rage, Ogarm Netath tossed the space-o-gram at his foreign minister, then snatched it back out of Bataul's hands before he had a chance to read it. "It's a bill!" Netath's voice quivered. "They sent us a bill for that damned bather monstrosity!" Bataul's brow, to all appearances, was ready for spring planting. "Let me have another look at it."