"In licking the boots of all Mekinese," said Bors in an icy tone.
There was a small rumble of protest. Bors stood up.
"I'd better leave," he said coldly. "I'm not entitled to speak. If you want me, I can be reached."
He strode from the council-chamber. As the door closed behind him, he ground his teeth. The stout man, Morgan, of the space-yacht Sylva, paced up and down the room where he waited to be called. His daughter sat tranquilly in a chair. She smiled pleasantly at Bors when he came in. Morgan turned to face him.
"Here's some Talents, Incorporated information," he said zestfully. "The cabinet is scared. A few are willing to fight, but most are already trying to think how they can make terms with the Mekinese."
Bors opened his mouth to swear, then checked himself.
"Gwenlyn," said Morgan, "will pardon an expression of honest indignation. It's a dirty shame, eh?"
"If I were a native of Kandar," said Bors bitterly, "I'd be even more ashamed than I am as a native of Tralee. The people of Tralee surrendered, but they didn't realize what they were getting into. These men do!"
The girl Gwenlyn said quietly, "I'm sorry for King Humphrey."
"He's miscast," said Morgan briskly. "He should be king of a calm and peaceful world in calm and peaceful times. You're going to have trouble with him, Captain Bors!" Then he said; "Perhaps we can work out a plan or two, eh? While you're waiting for the cabinet to call you back?"