"I've no authority," said Bors. "My uncle's the Pretender of Tralee, and I was originally commissioned in the fleet as a sort of courtesy to him. I can't speak for anybody but myself."
"You can speak for common sense," said Gwenlyn. "After all, you know what the people really want. You could try to arrange things so that the fleet can fight well."
"It'll fight well," said Bors curtly. "It'll give a good account of itself! But that won't do any good!"
Morgan struck an attitude, beaming.
"Ah! But you've got Talents, Incorporated on your side! You don't realize yet, Captain, what a difference that can make! While there's life and Talents, Incorporated, there's hope!"
Bors shrugged. Suddenly he found that he, too, drearily accepted defeat. There was no more hope of accomplishment. There was nothing to be achieved. He would serve no purpose by straining against the impossible.
He said tiredly, "I'll agree that Talents, Incorporated cost the Mekinese one cruiser."
"A trifle," said Morgan, waving his hand, "mere soupçon of accomplishment. We're prepared to do vastly more."
It occurred to Bors to be curious.
"Why? You're risking your life and your daughter's by staying here. If Mekin ever finds out about its cruiser on the sea bottom and your share in that affair, you'll be in a fix! And certainly you can't expect to make a profit here? We couldn't even pay you for what you've already done!"