"I bring a message from the Kraylen people of Venus. They need help."
Tredrick's eyes became, if possible, thinner and more pale.
"Help?"
"Yes. Help." Campbell was struck by a sudden suspicion, something he caught flickering across Tredrick's granite features when he said "Kraylen." He went on, slowly, "The Coalition is moving in on them. I understand you people of Romany help in cases like that."
There was a small, tight silence.
"I'm sorry," said Tredrick. "There is nothing we can do."
Campbell's dark face tightened. "Why not? You helped the Shenyat people on Ganymede and the Drylanders on Mars. That's what Romany is, isn't it—a refuge for people like that?"
"As a latnik, there's a lot you don't know. At this time, we cannot help anyone. Sorry, Black. Please clear ship."
The screen went dead. Campbell stared at it with sultry eyes. Sorry. The hell you're sorry. What gives here, anyway?
He thrust out an angry hand to the transmitter. And then, quite suddenly, the Taxil was looking at him out of the screen.