iendship, respect and confidence of the natives...."

* * * * *

"Mr. Keaveney," Paula Quinton spoke. "I doubt if even you would
seriously accuse the Extraterrestrials Rights Association of favoring
what you call a mailed fist and rattling sabre policy. We've done
everything in our power to help these people, and if anybody should
have their friendship, we should. Well, only five days ago, in
Konkrook, Mr. Mohammed Ferriera and I were attacked by a mob, our
native aircar driver was murdered, and if it hadn't been for General
von Schlichten and his soldiers, we'd have lost our own lives. Mr.
Ferriera is still hospitalized as a result of injuries he received. It
seems that General von Schlichten and his Kragans aren't trying to get
friendship and confidence; they're willing to settle for respect, in
the only way they can get it--by hitting harder and quicker than the
natives can."

Somebody down the table--one of the military, of course--said, "Hear,
hear!" Von Schlichten came as close as a man wearing a monocle can to
winking at Paula. Good girl, he thought; she's started playing on the
Army team, and about time!

"Well, of course...." Keaveney began. Then he stopped, as a Terran
sergeant came up to the table and bent over Barney Mordkovitz'
shoulder, whispering urgently. The black-bearded brigadier rose
immediately, taking his belt from the back of his chair and putting it
on. Motioning the sergeant to accompany, he spoke briefly to Keaveney
and then came around the table to where von Schlichten sat, the
Resident-Agent accompanying him.

"Message just came in from Konkrook, general," he said softly.
"Governor Harrington's dead."

It took von Schlichten all of a second to grasp what had been said.
"Good God! When? How?"

"Here's all we know, sir," the sergeant said, giving him a radioprint
slip. "Came in ten minutes ago."

It was an all-station priority telecast. Governor-General Harrington
had died suddenly, in his room, at 2210; there were no details. He
glanced at his watch; it was 2243. Konkrook and Skilk were in the same
time-zone; that was fast work. He handed the slip to Mordkovitz, who
gave it to Keaveney.

"You from the telecast station, sergeant?" he asked. "All right, in
that case, let's go."

As he hurried from the banquet-room, he could hear Keaveney tapping on
his wine-glass.

"Everybody, please! Let me have your attention! There has just come in
a piece of the