ago."

"That sounds promising. And the third planet?"

"Beowulf. We won't take enough damage on Amaterasu to make any
difference there, but if we saved Amaterasu for last, we might
be needing too many repairs."

"It's like that?"

"Yes. They have nuclear energy. I don't think it would be wise to
mention Beowulf to Captains Spasso and Valkanhayn. Wait till we've
hit Khepera and Amaterasu. They may be feeling like heroes, then."

XI

Khepera left a bad taste in Trask's mouth. He was still tasting it
when the colored turbulence died out of the screen and left the gray
nothingness of hyperspace. Garvan Spasso--they had had no trouble in
inducing him to come along--was staring avidly at the screen as
though he could still see the ravished planet they had left.

"That was a good one; that was a good one!" he was crowing. He'd
said that a dozen times since they had lifted out. "Three cities in
five days, and all the stuff we gathered up around them. We took
over two million stellars."

And did ten times as much damage getting it, and there was no scale
of values by which to compute the death and suffering.

"Knock it off, Spasso. You said that before."

There was a time when he wouldn't have spoken to the fellow, or
anybody else, like that. Gresham's law, extended: Bad manners drive
out good manners. Spasso turned on him indignantly.

"Who do you think you are--?"

"He thinks he's Lord Trask of Tanith," Harkaman said. "He's right,
too; he is." He looked searchingly at Trask for a moment, then
turned back to Spasso. "I'm just as tired as he is of hearing you
pop your mouth about a lousy two million stellars. Nearer a million
and a half, but two million's nothing to pop about. Maybe it would
be for the _Lamia_, but we have a three-ship fleet and a planetary
base to meet expenses on. Out of this raid, a ground-fighter or an
able spaceman will get a hundred and fifty stellars. We'll get about
a thousand, ourselves. How long do you think we can stay in business
doing this kind of chicken-stealing."

"You call this chicken-stealing?"

"I call it chicken-stealing, and so'll you before we get back to
Tanith. If you live that long."

For a moment, Spasso was still affronted. Then, temporarily, his
vulpine face showed avaricious hope, and then apprehension.
Evidently he knew Otto Harkaman's reputation, and some of the things
Harkaman had done weren't his idea of an easy way to make money.

Khepera had been