“. . . Well, gentlemen,” the Senior Captain was saying, “there you have it as Staff sees it. Your job—yours personally, as Staff Liaisons—is to observe. We want to know anything you can see, anything you can discover, anything you can, or think you can, deduce. And of course”—he hesitated, with a wry smile—”there’s nothing we’d appreciate quite so much as a prisoner.”

There was a ripple of general laughter at this, as all men there knew the fantastic odds against being able to scoop up a man from an already broken-open enemy ship under the velocities and other conditions of a space battle—and find him still alive, even if you succeeded.

“That’s all,” said the Senior Captain. The Staff Liaisons rose and began to crowd out the door.

“Just a minute, Graeme!”

Donal turned. The voice was the voice of Lludrow. The Patrol Chief had come down from the platform and was approaching him. Donal turned back to meet him.

“I’d like to speak to you for a moment,” said Lludrow. “Wait until the others are out of the room.” They stood together in silence until the last of the Staff Liaisons had left, and the Senior Captain had disappeared.

“Yes, sir?” said Donal.

“I’m interested in something you said—or maybe were about to say the other day—when I met you at Marshal Galt’s in the process of assessing this Oriente business. You said something that seemed to imply doubt about the conclusions we came to. But I never did hear what it was you had in mind. Care to tell me now?”

“Why, nothing, sir,” said Donal.

“Staff and the marshal undoubtedly know what they’re doing.”

“It isn’t possible, then, you saw something in the situation that we didn’t?” Donal hesitated.

“No, sir. I don’t know any more about enemy intentions and plans than the rest of you. Only—” Donal looked down into the dark face below his, wavering on the verge of speaking his mind. Since the affair with Anea he had been careful to keep his flights of mental perception to himself. “Possibly I’m just suspicious, sir.”

“So are all of us, man!” said Lludrow, with a hint of impatience. “What about it? In our shoes what would you be doing?”

“In your shoes,” said Donal, throwing discretion to the winds, “I’d attack Newton.”

Lludrow’s jaw fell. He stared at Donal.

“By heaven,” he said, after a moment. “You’re not shy about expedients, are you? Don’t you know a civilized world can’t be conquered?”

Donal allowed himself the luxury of a small sigh. He made an effort to explain himself, once again, in terms others could understand.