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“The Senesin boy says he has a lead on the tapes. That’s all I could get out of him just now, but I have an appointment with him at eleven tonight. How far shall I let him go, Sire?”

The sensitive microphone in the tip of his thumb picked up the nearly inaudible sounds; the speaker in his middle finger vibrated against his skull and brought him the answer to his question.

“For the moment, I’ll leave that up to you. But I wouldn’t try to stop him just yet.”

“Very well, Sire,” murmured the colonel. He had already made up his mind to let the Senesin boy go as far as he could. The lad was smart, and his attack would at least provide a test for the psycho-sociological defenses that surrounded the Emperor.

“Do you think those tapes–if they exist–are genuine?” the voice asked.

“According to young Senesin,” the colonel said carefully, “the tapes are supposed to show that certain … ah … ‘highly-placed persons’ in the Imperial hierarchy are influencing members of the Government illegally. You figure out what that might mean, Sire; it’s a little too ambiguous to mean much to me.”

“‘Influencing,’ eh? That could mean anything from a broad hint, through pressure and bribery, to actual brainwashing,” said the voice from the finger.

“Which one do you think it is, Sire?” the colonel asked with mock innocency.

The voice chuckled, then said, “I haven’t tried brainwashing yet.”

“No-o-o,” agreed the colonel, “but you might have to if Lord Evondering gets in, and if you have to, you will.”

“Colonel,” said the voice gently, “there are times when I believe you don’t have a very high opinion of your Sovereign’s moral outlook.”

The colonel grinned, although he knew the listener couldn’t see it. But he knew the other was grinning, too. “I humbly beg your majesty’s pardon.”

“You’ll have to wait a while, colonel; Imperial pardons have to be by the Portfolio for the Interior. Your Sovereign is an impotent figurehead.”

“Sure you are, Sire,” said the colonel. “Meanwhile, what about those tapes?”

“Get them–or copies of them. They can’t be dangerous in themselves, but if they’re genuine, I want to know who’s bugging this place. I can’t have spies in the Palace itself. Otherwise, keep your eyes on the Senesin boy.”

The voice went on giving instructions, but the colonel lifted the thumb of his left hand from his larynx; the waiter was approaching, and if he wanted to speak to him, it would be better not to have to interrupt the flow of words from his finger.

The android put the dishes on the table. “Coffee, sir?”

“Yes,” said the colonel. “Cream, no sugar. And bring a second cup as soon as I’ve finished with the first.” Only a part of his attention was given to the waiter; the rest was focused on the instructions he was receiving. The instructions kept coming until after the coffee had been brought. Then the voice said:

“Any questions?”

“No, Sire,” said the colonel, replacing his thumb.

“Very well. I’ll be expecting your report sometime between eleven and midnight.”

The colonel nodded, brought his hand down from the side of his jaw to pick up his fork and begin a concerted attack on his lunch.

* * * * *

Hawaii, with its beauty and its perfect climate, had been the obvious choice for the center of the Terran Empire. For centuries before the coming of interstellar travel, the islands had been used to a mixture of tongues and races, and the coming of the Empire had merely added to that mixture. In the five centuries since Man had begun his explosive spread to the stars, more “races” had come into being due to the genetic variations and divisions that occurred as small groups of isolated colonists were cut off from Earth and from each other. The fact that interstellar vessels incorporating the contraspace drive were relatively inexpensive to build, plus the fact that nearly every G-type sun had an Earth-like planet in Bode’s Third Position, had made scattering to the stars almost an automatic reflex among men.