"He doesn't like it?" bellowed Forsyth. "Then by Heav'n, I'll do it! Teach you, sire, to make charcoal caricatures of me on a day when I'm not lampooning you! Very well, but I don't think I've got too many apprentices that aren't engaged right at the moment. Nonetheless, if—"
The leader was beyond control. "Apprentices, did you say?" he croaked hoarsely. "Why, you—"
"What in Dante did you think, man-child?" shot back Forsyth. "You don't suppose I'd give you finished, creative writers for the job of a trained ape, do you? Some apprentices I've got, and some apprentices you'll get—and only because Dean Angelo here says so."
The three men from Earth strode with military precision back toward their ship. The leader was in the center, and his subordinates, each with bulging briefcases in both hands, were on either side. A large group from the colony walked at a slower pace behind. Angelo, as usual, was at their head, and flanking him were Tharn and Forsyth.
"Another whole week wasted!" lamented Forsyth. "Not that the time means anything, but those sensitive young boys and girls of mine will never be the same! One of them, just this morning, told me she was thinking of taking up politics as a hobby! The tortures I go through for you, Angelo—"
"I still don't like it!" Tharn cut him off. "And I don't like them! And, Forsyth, I saw what you had your precious little apprentices doing! You had them writing exactly the same tripe they wrote for that other crowd that landed two weeks ago!"
"Tharn, you certainly aren't the only one who has no use for that barbaric breed. So—as long as they remain equally matched, they'll eventually, uh—"
"But that means—"
"A Fundamental Law of Order, of course, my dear Tharn. Balance, as I think I may already have pointed out...."