might well provoke a tragedy wanted by neither side, as the
obliteration of Nagasaki in World War II had been provoked
by the mistranslation of a single word. Under such circum-
stances, a man with a feeling for strange words in odd rela-
tionships might well prove to be useful, or even vital.
Nevertheless, it was with a certain grim enjoyment that
12-Upjohn poured into Robin One a good two-ounce jolt
of vodka. Robin coughed convulsively and sat up, blinking.
“Your Excellencyhowwhat’s happened? I thought we
were dead. But we’ve got lights again, and gravity.”
He was observant, that had to be granted. “The lights are
ours but the gravity is Calle’s,” 12-Upjohn explained tersely.
“We’re in a part of the ship that cracked up.”
“Well, it’s good that we’ve got power.”
“We can’t afford to be philosophical about it. Whatever
shape it’s in, this derelict is a thoroughly conspicuous object
and we’d better get out of it in a hurry.”
“Why?” Robin said. “We were supposed to make contact
with these people. Why not just sit here until they notice
and come to see us?”
“Suppose they just blast us to smaller bits instead? They
didn’t stop to parley with the fleet, you’ll notice.”
“This is a different situation,” Robin said stubbornly.
“I wouldn’t have stopped to parley with that fleet myself, if
I’d had the means of knocking it out first. It didn’t look a bit
like a diplomatic mission. But why should they be afraid of
a piece of a wreck?”
The Consort of State stroked the back of his neck re-
flectively. The boy had a point. It was risky; on the other