Half-awake, he blinked at the ceiling of the control room of the _Liberty_. His uncle was saying amiably to the young man at the control-board, "That's a very pretty fleet-formation, if we do say so ourselves!" Bors stood up, one-half of his mind still startled by his dream, but the other half reverting instantly to business. But all matters of business had been attended to. Out the viewports he could see the dummy fleet in an apparently defensive formation. Its ships were only miles apart, and if they had been fighting ships, every one could have launched missiles at any point of attack from the pattern they constituted. At a hundred miles they could be seen only as specks of reflected sunlight. At greater distances a radar would identify them only as dots which must be enemy ships because the radar-blips they made lacked the nimbus of friendly craft. "Hm," said Bors. He looked at the clock. "The Mekinese should have broken out five minutes ago." "They did," said his uncle. "They're yonder. They're heading straight for this fleet." He pointed, not out a port but at a screen where a boiling mass of bright specks showed the Mekinese fleet just out of overdrive and speeding toward the dummy formation, sorting itself into attack formation as it moved. "The king's not here on time," observed Bors grimly. "We have to play his hand for him, Uncle. We haven't the right to commit Kandar by beginning to fight ourselves. Offer surrender, as he'd wish it to be done. If they accept, he can carry out his part when he arrives. He'll be here!" The former monarch spoke gently into a beam transmitter. "Calling Mekinese fleet," he said. "Defending fleet calling Mekinese fleet!" In seconds a reply came back. "_Mekinese Grand Admiral calling Kandar_," the voice answered arrogantly. "_What do you want?_" "We will discuss capitulation on behalf of Kandar," said the old man. "Will you give us terms?" He grimaced, and said, aside, to Bors, "I'm speaking for Humphrey as I know he'd speak. But I am ashamed!" There was a pause. It took time for the Pretender's voice to reach the enemy and as long for the reply to come back. The reply was ironic and arrogant and amused. "_What terms can you hope for?_" it demanded. "_You attacked our ships. You indulged in destruction! How can you hope for terms?_" The Pretender scratched his ear thoughtfully. He regarded the radar screen with regret. "We ask life for the people of our planet," he said steadily. He was annoyed that he had to speak for the tardy King of Kandar. "We ask that they not be punished for our resistance." The young men in the control room looked astonished. Then they saw Bors's expression, and grinned. A long pause. The boiling, shifting specks on the radar-screen began to have a definite order. The Mekinese voice, when it came, was triumphant and overbearing.