Summerson rose. "This, then, gentlemen, is it."
"It certainly is." Roswell's voice was heavy with despondency. "The most God-awful aid war the cluster has ever seen."
"We can't back out," the ambassador warned. "We've got to get busy and face up to the task."
"With every resource at our disposal. To ignore the challenge would be to surrender this entire section of the galaxy to the Easties."
The President was silent a moment. "Gentlemen, I am herewith sounding a call to economic arms. Cancel all other aid commitments and activity. Throw everything we have got, everything we can ever hope to produce, at McWorther's World."
"I think you'd better call on the Potentate personally," Summerson proposed.
"That," said Roswell, "is exactly what I intend to do."
Adjusting the drape of his robe, the Emperor sent his eyes flicking over the report. Finally he lurched from his chair with a resounding "Eureka!"
"So you see how it is, Your Imperial Highness," his chief adviser offered. "By cutting in on their McWorther World operation, we have indeed touched a sensitive Western spot."