“Maybe ... but it’ll take time to mobilize the Star Watch ... Kanus can move a lot faster than we can. Sure, we could throw in a task force ... a token group, that is. But Kanus’ gang will chew them up pretty quick. I ... I’m no politician, sir, but I think I can see what will happen. Kerak will gobble up the Acquataine Cluster ... a Star Watch task force will be wiped out in the battle ... and we’ll end up with Kerak at war with the Terran Commonwealth. And it’ll be a real war ... a big one.” Leoh began to answer, then stopped. His eyes were fixed on the far entrance of the dining room. Suddenly every murmur in the busy room stopped dead. Waiters stood still between tables. Eating, drinking, conversation hung suspended. Hector turned in his chair and saw at the far entrance the slim, stiff, blue-uniformed figure of Odal. The moment of silence passed. Everyone turned to his own business and avoided looking at the Kerak major. Odal, with a faint smile on his thin face, made his way slowly to the table where Hector and Leoh were sitting. They rose to greet him and exchanged perfunctory salutations. Odal pulled up a chair and sat with them. “I assume that you’ve been looking for me,” Leoh said. “What do you wish to say?” Before Odal could answer, the waiter assigned to the table walked up, took a position where his back would be to the Kerak major, and asked firmly, “Your dinner is ready gentlemen. Shall I serve it now?” Leoh hesitated a moment, then asked Odal, “Will you join us?” “I’m afraid not.” “Serve it now,” Hector said. “The major will be leaving shortly.” Again the tight grin broke across Odal’s face. The waiter bowed and left. “I have been thinking about our conversation of last night,” Odal said to Leoh. “Yes?” “You accused me of cheating in my duels.” Leoh’s eyebrows arched. “I said someone was cheating, yes—” “An accusation is an accusation.” Leoh said nothing. “Do you withdraw your words, or do you still accuse me of deliberate murder? I am willing to allow you to apologize and leave Acquatainia in peace.” Hector cleared his throat noisily. “This is no place to have an argument ... besides, here comes our dinner.” Odal ignored the Watchman. “You heard me, professor. Will you leave? Or do you accuse me of murdering Massan this afternoon?” “I—” Hector banged his fist on the table and jerked up out of his chair—just as the waiter arrived with a large tray of food. There was a loud crash. A tureen of soup, two bowls of salad, glasses, assorted rolls, vegetables, cheeses and other delicacies cascaded over Odal. The Kerak major leaped to his feet, swearing violently in his native tongue. He sputtered back into basic Terran: “You clumsy, stupid oaf! You maggot-brained misbegotten peasant-faced—” Hector calmly picked a salad leaf from the sleeve of his tunic. Odal abruptly stopped his tirade. “I am clumsy,” Hector said, grinning. “As for being stupid, and the rest of it, I resent that. I am highly insulted.”