Wing Alak puffed on his cigarette in nervous breaths. It was, he reflected bleakly, not exaggerated more than political oratory required, and the anger of Luan’s Tranis Voal had its counterpart on more planets than he cared to think about.

The speech paused for cheers, and the door chime sounded in Alak’s room. He turned in his seat, scowling, to face the viewplate. It showed him a hard, unfamiliar face, and his hand stole toward his tunic pocket. Then he thought: No, you fool! Force is the most useless possible course—here!

He rose, pressing the admittance button, and he felt his spine crawl as four men entered. They were obviously secret agents—only what did police want with a harmless commercial traveler from Maxlan IV?

“Wing Alak of Sol III,” declared one of the men, “you are under arrest for conspiracy against the state.”

“There…must be some mistake.” Alak licked his lips with just the right amount of nervousness, but his stomach was turning over with the magnitude of this catastrophe. “I am Gol Duhonitar of Maxlan IV—here, my papers.”

The detective took them and put them in a pocket. “Forged identity papers are important evidence,” he said tonelessly.

“I tell you, they’re genuine, you can see the Patrol stamp and the League secretary for Maxlan has his signature—”

“Sure. Doesn’t prove a thing. Search him, Gammal.”

Voal’s voice roared from the telescreen: “As of today, Luan has officially seceded from the Galactic League and war has been declared on Marhal. And let the Patrol’s criminals dare try to stop us!”

* * *

Thokan looked across the table at his visitor, and then back at the notes heaped before him. “Just what does this mean?” he asked slowly.

The newcomer, a Sirian like himself, shrugged. “Let’s not waste time,” he said. “You want to win the coming system-wide election. Here are fifty thousand League credits, good anywhere in the civilized Galaxy, as a retainer. There are a million more waiting if you lose.”

Thokan half rose, then settled back. His tendrils hung limply. “Lose?” he whispered.

“Yes. We don’t want you as Director of this system. But we have nothing against you personally, and would rather pay you to conduct a losing campaign than spend even more money corrupting the electorate and otherwise fighting you. If you really try, you can win an honest election. But we are determined that Ruhoc shall continue as Director, and, to put it melodramatically, we will stop at nothing to insure your defeat.”

Strickenly, Thokan looked into the visitor’s bleak eyes: “But you said you were from the Patrol!”

“I am.”

“The Patrol—” Thokan’s voice rose. “But Cosmos! The Patrol is the law-enforcement agency of the League!”

“That’s right. And, friend, you don’t know what a really dirty campaign is like till you’ve seen the Patrol in action. However, we don’t want to ruin your reputation and your private business and the honesty of a lot of officials connected with elections. We would much prefer simply to pay you to stop campaigning so effectively.”