"Think he'll get it?" one asked.
"Not a chance," the other answered.
Drak glared them into silence, then returned to the argument. "Will you please attempt to understand my position?" he said hoarsely. "You put me in command. At my orders, the Armies of the Dictatorship move against the Allied Democracies. All the other generals obey me. Me! Correct?"
"He's got a point," one soldier said.
"He'll never get it," the other replied.
"Shut up, you two!" Drak roared. "Nob, aren't I right? It's the Earthly way, Nob. Authority must be recognized!"
"I'm sorry," Nob said. "Extremely sorry. Personally, I sympathize with you. But the Book of Terran Rank Equivalents is quite specific. Seven shoulder stars are the most—the absolute most—that any general can wear. I absolutely cannot allow you to wear eight."
"But you gave Frix seven! And he's just Unit General!"
"That was before we understood the rules completely. We thought there was no limit to the number of stars we could give and Frix was sulky. I'm sorry, General, you'll just have to be satisfied with seven."
"Take one away from Frix, then."