"I'm not unhappy. I'm worried."
"About what? Morrison can't do anything now."
"No? Listen, Mr. Durham, the emperors of Rome only ruled part of one little world, but they didn't give it up easily. Morrison won't, either. Remember, things are so bad for him now they can't possibly get any worse, only better."
Durham looked out the window. It was a double one, with a vacuum between the panes and protective mesh on the outside. The green air pressed thick against it. The sun had wheeled far over, and the shadows of the buildings were long and black.
"Do you stay here much?" he asked.
"I have lately," said Karlovic. "I had to. My life wasn't safe on Nanta Dik. You've no idea how high their feelings run there, thanks to Morrison." He began to set the table. Durham made no move to help. He was tired. He watched the shadows lengthen and fill the circle of lofty walls with their darkness.
"Couldn't the government there protect you?"
"Only part of the government wants to. And Morrison is working hard to frighten them with all this propaganda about the Bitter Star."
"Propaganda. That's what he said. Is it?"
"Absolutely—as far as the Senyans using it is concerned. But the thing itself is real. It's in the city here. I've seen it."