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The government of Bairnvell, under the leadership of President Alverdan, was not, by any means, up to the standards of the Empire; the standard of living is lower, and the political freedom of the people is not at all what we are used to. But that is no excuse for interfering with the lawful government of any planet. If the Imperium uses these methods for extending its rule, the time must eventually come when our own civil liberties will be in peril.

Perhaps Lord Senesin’s actions are not so surprising, at that. This is the third time during his tenure as Prime Portfolio that he has arbitrarily exercised his power to interfere in the affairs of governments outside the Empire. Each such action has precipitated a crisis in Galactic affairs, and each has brought the Empire nearer to conflict with the Gehan Federation. This one may be the final act that will bring on interstellar war.

The …

* * * * *

Colonel Lord Sorban stopped reading as he noticed the approach of the man he’d been waiting for, but he didn’t look up until the voice said:

“I see you’ve been reading it, my lord.” The voice was bitter. “A real fiasco this time, eh?”

Sorban looked up. “It looks like it might mean trouble,” he said carefully. “Have you read all of it, Mr. Senesin?”

The young man nodded. The bitterness in his voice was paralleled by the bitterness reflected in his face. “Oh, yes. I read it. The other newsfacs pretty much agreed with the Globe. I’m afraid my father seems to be rather in the soup. Being Prime Portfolio in the Terran Empire isn’t the easiest way to stay out of trouble. They’ll be screaming for a Special Election next.” He sat down next to the colonel and lowered his voice just enough to keep anyone else from hearing it, but not enough to sound conspiratorial. “I think I’ve got a line on those tapes.”

Colonel Sorban raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, I wish you luck. If you can uncover them in time, you may be able to save your father’s career,” he said, in a voice that matched Senesin’s.

“You don’t sound very concerned, my lord,” said young Senesin.

“It’s not that,” said the colonel. “I just find it difficult to believe that–” He cut his words off as another man approached.

The second newcomer was a red-faced, plumpish man with an almost offensively hearty manner. “Well, well! Good afternoon, Lord Sorban! Haven’t seen you in some time. A pleasure to see you again, my lord, a distinct pleasure! I don’t get to Honolulu often, you know. How long’s it been? Four years?”

“Two, I think,” said the colonel.

“Really? Only two? It seems longer. How’ve you been?”

“Well enough,” said the colonel. “Excuse me–Mr. Heywood, I’d like to present you to the Honorable Jon Senesin; Mr. Senesin, this is Robar Heywood, of South African Metals.”

While the two men shook hands and mouthed the usual pleasantries, Colonel Lord Sorban watched them with an amusement that didn’t show on his placid face. Young Senesin was rather angry that the tete-a-tete had been interrupted, while Heywood seemed flustered and a trifle stuffy.

“So you’re the son of our Prime Portfolio, eh?” he said. There was a trace of hostility in his voice.

Colonel Sorban saw what was coming and made no effort whatsoever to stop it. Instead, he simply sat there in straight-faced enjoyment.

“That’s correct, Mr. Heywood,” Senesin said, a little stiffly.

“I should have known,” Heywood said. “You look a great deal like him. Although I don’t know that I’ve ever seen your picture in the newsfacs or on the screens.”

“Dad prefers to keep his family out of the spotlight,” said Senesin, “unless we get publicity for something other than the accidental fact that we happen to be the family of the Prime.”