The speaker above the communicator's enclosure broke into the bridge's silence. "Message from Captain Yargoul of the Jovian Battle Cruiser Windstorm to Captain Crisper of the Plutonian Battle Cruiser Dragon." Captain Crisper spoke without moving or taking his eyes from the tank. "The message." "Greetings, Captain Crisper. I have been authorized by my President and the INOR representatives I am escorting to inform you that we are here in response to the invitation of your President. Is the representative of your Government present?" The Captain glanced at Brad, who nodded. The response was released. "Greetings from Captain Crisper to Captain Yargoul. My government's representative, Commander Brad Curtin, is present and prepared to meet with you and your colleagues. Commander Curtin suggests the meeting take place in the Command Conference Room on board the Dragon as soon as the primary members are aboard. Is that agreeable?" A short pause, then the reply "Affirmative." Shortly, utility boats cut away from the ships and converged on the Dragon. Each utility maneuvered to synchronize axis and align portals. Precisely positioned, each vessel locked on in turn and extended ship-to-ship catwalks. ## The Dragon's conference room hummed with the murmur of the Dragon's seated guests when Brad entered and took his seat at the table. Zolan occupied a seat against the bulkhead behind Brad, adjacent a glowing view tank. Scarf was there somewhere along the side, known and ignored; a security agent to peer over INOR citizens' shoulders was normal. Professionals long in their trade, they were battle cruiser and destroyer flotilla commanders of the major INOR powers, backed up by their experts in military intelligence, tactical operations, and navigation, logistics and internal security. Brad's measure would be taken quickly, and his influence and INOR's decisions would depend on their assessments. He expected no less. Brad's eyes ranged the table, giving each face equal time. They returned his scrutiny, casual, arrogant, challenging. It was his show, and his reputation. Brad did not rise to speak. "I needn't introduce myself," he began. "We've all done our homework I'm sure, and you know as much about me as I do about each of you. So, to business." Zolan rose, drew an instrumented rod from its niche at the base of the tank and brought up the quadrant that depicted the Special Zone. Manipulating keys along the rod, eyes on the tank, Zolan quickly brought the Logistics Depot in toward the core and increased magnification so that it occupied most of the tank space. "The objective," Brad said, his voice flat and low. A long silence, then from the far end of the table, "What the hell does that mean?" "Just that. We're going to take it." A gasp, this time from his left, followed by, "You guys are out of your minds." Feet shuffled on the grav-plates. Several among the seated were arranging themselves to rise and depart. Brad waited.