Without preamble the Earthman explained what he had done. Then he had barely time to leap through the doorway into the adjoining room.
Heavy steps sounded in the hall. A moment later six men entered the chamber and strode belligerently to the Emperor. Five of them were Sirians. The sixth was a man of Earth—a tall broad shouldered man with a bullet head and a cruel predatory face. This was Drum Faggard.
He wore the Sirian uniform and a flowing scarlet cloak hung from his shoulders. At his waist were holstered two long barreled genithode pistols.
"Your mines are lying idle," Faggard snarled. "Why?"
Through the crevice between the partially closed door Standish saw the Emperor shrug eloquently. "We have had troubles."
"What troubles?"
The Emperor hesitated. "Labor," he said. "My workers refuse to toil further when the results of their work are stolen from them. They see no reason to struggle for the benefit of murdering raiders."
Blunt anger crimsoned Faggard's face. He struck the Emperor hard across the face. "Watch your tongue, fool!"
Standish made fists of his hands. He had an overpowering desire to leap into the room and seize the renegade. To do that, however, he knew, would mean failure for his plans.