"That can be arranged," he said heavily. "I will constitute a caretaker government by royal proclamation. I will appoint you," he looked steadily at the bearded man, "to be head of it and make such terms as you can. If you like, when the Mekinese come you can warn them that the fleet has mutinied under me, its king, and may offer battle, but that you are ready to lead the people of Kandar in--" "In licking the boots of all Mekinese," said Bors in an icy tone. There was a small rumble of protest. Bors stood up. "I'd better leave," he said coldly. "I'm not entitled to speak. If you want me, I can be reached." He strode from the council-chamber. As the door closed behind him, he ground his teeth. The stout man, Morgan, of the space-yacht _Sylva_, paced up and down the room where he waited to be called. His daughter sat tranquilly in a chair. She smiled pleasantly at Bors when he came in. Morgan turned to face him. "Here's some Talents, Incorporated information," he said zestfully. "The cabinet is scared. A few are willing to fight, but most are already trying to think how they can make terms with the Mekinese." Bors opened his mouth to swear, then checked himself. "Gwenlyn," said Morgan, "will pardon an expression of honest indignation. It's a dirty shame, eh?" "If I were a native of Kandar," said Bors bitterly, "I'd be even more ashamed than I am as a native of Tralee. The people of Tralee surrendered, but they didn't realize what they were getting into. These men do!" The girl Gwenlyn said quietly, "I'm sorry for King Humphrey." "He's miscast," said Morgan briskly. "He should be king of a calm and peaceful world in calm and peaceful times. You're going to have trouble with him, Captain Bors!" Then he said; "Perhaps we can work out a plan or two, eh? While you're waiting for the cabinet to call you back?" "I've no authority," said Bors. "My uncle's the Pretender of Tralee, and I was originally commissioned in the fleet as a sort of courtesy to him. I can't speak for anybody but myself." "You can speak for common sense," said Gwenlyn. "After all, you know what the people really want. You could try to arrange things so that the fleet can fight well." "It'll fight well," said Bors curtly. "It'll give a good account of itself! But that won't do any good!" Morgan struck an attitude, beaming. "Ah! But you've got Talents, Incorporated on your side! You don't realize yet, Captain, what a difference that can make! While there's life and Talents, Incorporated, there's hope!" Bors shrugged. Suddenly he found that he, too, drearily accepted defeat. There was no more hope of accomplishment. There was nothing to be achieved. He would serve no purpose by straining against the impossible. He said tiredly, "I'll agree that Talents, Incorporated cost the Mekinese one cruiser." "A trifle," said Morgan, waving his hand, "mere soupcon of accomplishment. We're prepared to do vastly more." It occurred to Bors to be curious.