"If this ever leaks...." Magnan put a hand to his forehead.
"I have his word on it that the Nenni slaughter is out. This place is ripe for a change. Maybe Zorn is what it needs."
"But how can we know?" Magnan yelped. "How can we be sure?"
"We can't," Retief said. "But it's not up to the Corps to meddle in Petreacs' internal affairs." He leaned over, picked up Magnan's desk lighter and lit a cigar. He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Right?"
Magnan looked at him, nodded weakly. "Right."
"I'd better be getting along to my desk," Retief said. "Now that the Ambassador feels that I'm settling down at last—"
"Retief," Magnan said, "tonight, I implore you. Stay out of the kitchen—no matter what."
Retief raised his eyebrows.
"I know," Magnan said. "If you hadn't interfered, we'd all have had our throats cut. But at least," he added, "we'd have died in accordance with regulations!"