"Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared to deal in facts. Hard facts, in this case."
The Aga Kaga nodded thoughtfully. "What are you getting at?"
"You're basing your plan of action on the certainty that the Corps will sit by, wringing its hands, while you embark on a career of planetary piracy."
"Isn't it the custom?" the Aga Kaga smiled complacently.
"I have news for you, Stanley. In this instance, neck-wringing seems more in order than hand-wringing."
The Aga Kaga frowned. "Your manner—"
"Never mind our manners!" Georges blurted, standing. "We don't need any lessons from goat-herding land-thieves!"
The Aga Kaga's face darkened. "You dare to speak thus to me, pig of a muck-grubber!"
With a muffled curse Georges launched himself at the potentate. The giant rolled aside. He grunted as the Boyar's fist thumped in his short ribs; then he chopped down on Georges' neck. The Chef d'Regime slid off onto the floor as the Aga Kaga bounded to his feet, sending fruit and silken cushions flying.