This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact—Science FictionApril 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
There has always been
strong sympathy for the poor,
meek, downtrodden slave—
the kindly little man, oppressed
by cruel and overbearing masters.
Could it possibly have been misplaced...?
Jurgen, Prince Trevannion, acceptedthe coffee cup and lifted it tohis lips, then lowered it. These Navyrobots always poured coffee too hot;spacemen must have collapsium-linedthroats. With the other hand, hepunched a button on the robot's keyboardand received a lighted cigarette;turning, he placed the cup onthe command-desk in front of himand looked about. The tension was relaxingin Battle-Control, the purposefulpandemonium of the last threehours dying rapidly. Officers of bothsexes, in red and blue and yellow andgreen coveralls, were rising fromseats, leaving their stations, gatheringin groups. Laughter, a trifle loud; herealized, suddenly, that they had beenworried, and wondered if he shouldnot have been a little so himself. No.There would have been nothing hecould have done about anything, soworry would not have been useful.He lifted the cup again and sippedcautiously.
"That's everything we can do now,"the man beside him said. "Now wejust sit and wait for the next move."
Like all the others, Line-CommodoreVann Shatrak wore shipboardbattle-dress; his coveralls were black,splashed on breast and between shoulderswith the gold insignia of hisrank. His head was completely bald,and almost spherical; a beaklike nosecarried down the curve of his brow,and the straight lines of mouth andchin chopped under it enhancedrather than spoiled the effect. He wasgetting coffee; he gulped it at once.
"It was very smart work, Commodore.I never saw a landing operationgo so smoothly."
"Too smooth," Shatrak said. "I don'ttrust it." He looked suspiciously upat the row of viewscreens.
"It was absolutely unnecessary!"
That was young Obray, Count Erskyll,seated on the commodore's left.He was a generation younger thanPrince Trevannion, as Shatrak was ageneration older; they were bothsmooth-faced. It was odd, how beardswent in and out of fashion with alternategenerations. He had been worried,too, during the landing, but fora different reason from the others.Now he was reacting with anger.
"I told you, from the first, that itwas unnecessary. You see? Theyweren't even able to defend themselves,let alone...."
His personal communication-screenbuzzed; he set down the coffeeand flicked the switch. It was LanzeDegbrend. On the books, Lanze wascarried as Assistant to the MinisterialSecretary. In practice, Lanze was hischess-opponent, conversational foil,right hand, third eye and ear, and,sometimes, trigger-finger. Lanze wasnow wearing the combat