Mittich drew back, appalled at the fierce determination behind the Chancellor's driving ambition for conquest, disgusted with his own inability to turn Vrausot's purpose aside. How to stop him?
It was Mittich who paced this time, helplessly wrestling with the impossible problem of preventing the Chancellor from compounding Tzarean dishonor.
Frustrated, he pivoted on his tail and returned to the teleview screen. Focusing on the landing site below, he zoomed in for an extreme close-up. The aliens were still scurrying around outside their crippled ship, glancing occasionally into the sky as though terrified over the possibility of another assault.
Mittich adjusted the instrument to its operational limits, as he had wanted to do on so many occasions since they had brought the aliens under observation.
Two of the creatures were facing the mountain range behind which hid the Tzarean ship. Anxiously, the Assemblyman moved in and studied their heads, clearly visible through transparent helmets.
He drew in a startled breath. He must be mistaken. Of course he was. He could see that now.
Yet, there was something fascinating as he compared one of the heads with the other. What impressed him most was the contrast. There was an indisputable difference—many differences. Then he tensed with sudden realization. Perhaps he could forestall their fate.
"Chancellor," he called out softly. "Don't you think it might be a good idea to take prisoners?"
"Drown the prisoners!" Vrausot swore. "We don't need them."