"Maybe," said Twill. "But it figures. Viggon Sarri has had a long and successful career. He has expanded our realm more than any other one man in history. He will go down in history as a valiant hero. He does not care to spoil a good record."
"Hah! You agree, then."
Twill nodded soberly. He sneered, "Valiant! Hero! Sarri, the Victorious! Eyewash. What's so glorious about conquering races that fight back with slings and spears? What's so heroic about mowing down a flight of airplanes or turning A-heads back on the senders? But now that we have come upon a race that really has space travel developed to a fine art—even though they have not exploited it much—Viggon wants to wait. He's been pushing over children. Now that he's come up against a half-baked adolescent, he's afraid."
"What do you suggest?"
Twill eyed Naylo soberly. "One of us is due to succeed the great Viggon Sarri," he said flatly. "It may be you and it may be me. It will, however, be the one who decides properly how to handle this race."
"All right, then," Naylo grunted. "But it may be neither of us." He scowled. "Unless you or I can talk the venerable gentleman into action at once."
"Right. Let's get started."
Naylo grinned. "I hope you won't mind working as my second officer, Faren."
"You should see the day, Regin. I'll have you reporting to me before we get home."
But beneath the banter was an undertone of dead seriousness....