Bors said evenly, "If the king's planning to surrender the fleet to Mekin as ransom for Kandar, it won't work."
"He's considering it," said his uncle. "It will be a way of giving them the victory we cheated them of, though we didn't intend to win."
"It won't work," repeated Bors. "It won't do a bit of good. They'll want to punish Kandar because it wasn't beaten. They feed on destruction and brutality. They're barbarians. The economic interpretation of history doesn't apply here! The Mekinese who run things want to be evil. They will be until they're crushed."
"Crushed?" asked the Pretender bitterly. "Is there a chance of that?"
Bors considered gravely. Then he said, "I think so."
The door opened and the king came in. Bors rose and the king nodded. He spoke to the Pretender.
"Somebody raised the question of food," he said. "There isn't any to speak of, of course. You'd think grown men would face facts! There's not a man willing to accept what is, and work from that! Lunatics!"
He flung himself into a chair.
"Suggested," he continued, "that a part of the fleet go to Norden to buy food and bring it back. Of course Mekin wouldn't hear about it, wouldn't guess at the survival of the fleet because food was bought in such quantities! Suggested, that a part of the fleet go to some uncolonized planet and hunt meat. Try to imagine success in that venture! Suggested, that we travel a long distance, pick out a relatively small world, land and seize its spaceport and facilities and equip ourselves to bomb Mekin to extinction. And do it in a surprise attack! Suggested—"
The king shook his head angrily. He did not look royal. He did not look confident. He looked embittered and even helpless. But he still looked like a very honest man trying to make up for his admitted deficiencies.