* * * * * His gesture swept the huge room. On every chair was hung bouquets of riotously colored Centaurian flowers. The walls were padded with garlands, and huge vases were in the center of each table. From the ceiling, more streamers of blossoms dipped low. O'Dea's lips twitched, trying to hold back a grin. He watched the solid, plain features of the husky pilot become dark with fury. "Wait Paul," he said quickly, "until we find out what it's all about." He turned to Morguma. "What happens here, my reptilian _amigo_?" "A holiday! Tomorrow is the birthday of his supreme magnificence, _The_ Centaur! On the anniversary of his coming into the world as the son of a humble fish cleaner, we honor this great person by desisting from all labor!" "Oh--the big shot's birthday." O'Dea held a hand on Hawthorne's arm as the pilot started to cool off. He stared at the huge portrait of a giant, moronic Centaur leering unintelligently down at them. "A few little glands controlling a whole solar system," he mused. "I'm glad that rhino never leaves his palace." He turned his eyes from the dictator's portrait, took Hawthorne's arm and guided him away. The two men walked to their customary places. When they found their chairs, Hawthorne stopped and growled again. He stared distastefully at the decorations on their chairs. They were flowers--flowers from Earth. And they were pansies. Hawthorne pushed them disgustedly from the arms of his chair and settled down in glum resignation. Morguma took his place at O'Dea's left. O'Dea glanced at Hawthorne on his right and chuckled. He turned to the Centaur, "Terrestrial flowers? How come?" "I ecstasize to see your pleasure," Morguma drooled. "One of our brave captains took a ship to your delightful world, succeeded in plucking fragrant specimens of fauna and flora to populate this world. There are now animals and vegetation from Earth thriving happily on this globe!" "So ... any humans?" A tear trickled down Morguma's leathery cheek. "Oh it was so sad! The humans resisted--poor misguided creatures! They all lost their valuable lives and we will have to return for more!" O'Dea put down the Centaurian mushroom he had been preparing to taste. The grin disappeared from his face as he shoved back his chair and faced Morguma. There was a deadly something in his eyes that seemed out of place in the usually carefree features. "Another of your nonchalant slaughters." His voice was a low monotone. "Morguma, you'll pay for that--you and your grinning murder pals--" His hand closed around the steaming cup of Centaurian coffee and he flung the liquid into the Centaur's face. III An hour later he sat on his bed and rubbed his aching jaw. He peered through a puffed eye at Hawthorne beside him. The pilot's blunt face was all grin.