"But—"
"Our opportunity now is to live up to the finest military examples set by all Tzarean heroes who ever aimed an intensifier out of love for homeworld. Mittich—This is a time for empire!"
It was no use, the Assemblyman saw. Vrausot would have his way. He would wear his shining, imaginary medals and order his attack and bring doom to—oh, how many worlds? And the Curule Assembly could only give his leadership the support it would need after he presented them with the fait accompli of this treacherous deed.
"Kavula!" the Chancellor hissed. "Order the gunners—"
But Mittich nudged him in the back. "It could be a seine."
"I—what?"
"We may be swimming into a seine. Perhaps they're just toying with us—waiting to see if we are foolhardy enough to attack."
The scales above the Chancellor's eyes stood on edge as he pondered the ramifications of the other's suggestion. Finally, "We'll hold off a while, perhaps."
Mittich had put him off for a moment. But no gain against Vrausot, political or otherwise, was ever more than temporary.
The Assemblyman was jarred from speculation as one of his major scales split with aridity. He hurried off to his isotonic saline tank.