"Now, about security. Obviously, this jaunt can't be a matter of public knowledge." They all nodded, knowing how their people would react to the news that the Provisional Government was having any dealings whatsoever with the tabbies. "Officially, I'll be on exercises with the Fleet, and all transfer operations will be in the hands of people I can trust." "What if you're gone an unusually long time?" De Parma looked glum. "What ff questions come up for debate in the Assembly?" "Don't let them," Trevayne replied cheerfully. "You're here because together you can control the Assembly. As a countryman of mine named Disraeli, who had some small experience in these matters, once said, 'A majority is the best repartee."" Miriam gave him a glare beneath which a smile flick- ered. "You and your quotes! No one out here can ever be sure you're not making them up!" He smiled at her. "Would that I were so creative!" Trevayne came back to the present as the cutter's hatch opened. A proudly overconscientious young Cub of the Khan, whiskers almost visibly atwstteh with curiosity, to ed him to what would have been called the wardroom in a human capital ship, but no military courtesies were exchanged. The wardroom was under heavy guard, but when Trevayne entered only two individuals rose to greet him. He recognized Leornak at once, and the human beside him looked vaguely familiar. Trevayne felt he ought to recognize the man, but he couldn't quite place him.

Of course, their language and vocal apparatus gave them a considerable advantage there. There were no Orion homonyms, and Orion voice patterns were even more readily identifiable than human patterns, whieh made computer authentication much simpler. More importantly, perhaps, Orions tended to express strong emotions--like excitement and fear--with visual cues, not voice cues.

To date, the Federation had been unable to devise a voice-coded software paekage which could eope with human stress patterns without requiring a prohibitive amount of storage space.

Trevayne himself had been a gunnery officer aboard the superdreadnought Ranier the last time BuShips had tried to introduce voice-cuirig into Fleet use, and he still shuddered at the memory of that fiasco.

Leornak reclaimed his attention with a graceful gesture at his human guest. "Allow me to present an old colleague and sometime opponent, Mister Kevin Sanders, re. pre- senting the Prime Minister of the Terran Federation.

Of coursel Trevayne shook hands with the tallish, slen- der man, whose sharp features and gray Vandyke gave him a foxy look. He was well over 120, Trevayne remem- bered; in an age before longevity treatments, he might have been a sprightly and well-preserved sixty.

Like Trevayne, he wore conservative civilian clothing.

"Good to see you back on the active list, Admiral Sand- ers," Trevayne said after the initial greetings.

"Last I heard, you were still engaged in ruining the image of disllii retired officers." Sanders' merry blue eyes twl6kled upward into Trevayne's somber dark-brown ones, and he chuckled.

"Strictly speaking, I'm no longer an "admiral." True,1 was dusted off and brought back to ONI after the insurrection --comfor some reason, there were quite a lot of early retire- ments about then. But I resigned my commission last year to become a minister without portfolio in the Dieter Government--coma liaison of sorts between the cabinet and the intelligence community." He noted Trevayne's raised eyebrows at the words the Dieter Government, but he said nothing.

Privately, he was impressed by how well Trevayne had controlled the sur- prise he must have felt. "But," he concluded, "that's more than enough about me. It's a privilege to meet you, Admi- ral, and also a pleasure. For one thing, we're both mem- bers of a rare breed out here: I'm also from Old Terra." "Yes," Trevayne said. "I know." "Oh?" Sanders' gaze grew a trifle sharper.

"HowThat' Trevayne indulged himself. "I've always been fascinated by the variations with which we native English-speakers still manage to enliven what's become a universal trade language," he said with a professorial air Miriam would instantly have recognized. "You, sir, are a North American--- from either the old Canadian Maritime Provinces or the Tidewater area of the old American states of Virginia and

Leornak's grin grew and his whiskers quivered slightly as he regarded the two humans.

"Kevin," he said to Sanders, "I had a feeling this meeting would be a salutary experience for you.

Unfortunately, I have duties to attend to and I must leave, as much as I am enjoying this. And you gentlemen doubtless need a degree of privacybbut I shall expect you for dinner afterwards." Trevayne felt a momentary uneasiness at the invitation. Terran and Orion biochemistries were close enough to make such shared social events practical, but humans found some Orion culinary practices... disturbing. His queasiness died quickly as Leornak's slit-pupilled eyes laughed at him. Of course -coma confirmed old cosmopolite like Leornak could be expected to defer to his quests" sensibilities by avoiding such customs as munching live specimens of that species which had always reminded Trevayne of hairless mice.

After the door closed behind Leornak, the Terrans sat at a low table on the cushions which served Orions in lieu of chairs, and Sanders poured from the bottle he and Leornak had been sampling. Bourbon, Trevayne thought dourly, had become so popular among upper crust Orions that it was one of the Federation's major export items.

Why the bloody hell hadn't the tabbies had the common decency to take a liking to fine, malt Scotch?

He raised the glass, returning Sanders' brief salute, and drank. Then, somewhat fortified, he asked the question he had not cared to ask in Leornak's presence.

"Ah... correct me if I'm wrong, but did I understand you to refer to the Dieter government?" Why, yes," Sanders answered with a look of bland innocence. "I noticed you seemed surprised," he added. Damn the man!

"Well," Trevayne said carefully, "my last news from the Innerworlds was just before the mutinies. You must admit, at that time Mister Dieter's political star wasn't exactly in the ascendant. "Tle single time he'd met Dieter, the man had struck him as a typical, blindly avaricious Corporate World political hack. "It's just seems a trifle @u.. odd, from my perspective out here." "Admiral, never underestimate Oskar Dieter," Sanders said. "Simon Taliaferro did, and it cost him." Trevayne blinked at the other's sudden seriousness.

Clearly there had been some changes in the Innerworlds!

"But," Sanders went on more lightly, "the Admiralty's briefing chips will bring you up to date on background events and time is short, so allow me to discharge myself of my instructions and deal with the present and future." He set his glass aside to open an old-fashionod briefcase with an extremely modern security system.

"And so to business, Admiral... all of it pleasant business for you. You're now a Fleet Admiral, and all the field promotions you've lade are retroactively confirmed. As is your assumption of the title 'Governor-General." In fact, I should have greeted you as "Your Excellency," which is how the protocol experts have decided a governor-general should be addressed." Trevayne gave the older man what he hoped was a quelling glare, but it was difficult to tune up the full voltage against a man more than twice his age. And he suspected that even at full bore, his expression would have had little effect on Sanders, who only grinned and continued as flippantly as before.

"All was rati- fied. Oh, a few politicos are afraid you're setting up as aa autonomous warlord out here, but of course they keep quiet about it. They want to stay in office!" He ehueided, then paused at Trevayne's puzzled look, but understand-lng dawned quieldy.