“You know what I think,” the executive officer stated, rather than asked. “I think the whole mess is a plan by the Komani to take over this planet, and it’s just the first step in a much bigger Komani plan.”
“But they were our allies against the Masters,” Vorgens said.
“That was a hundred years ago, Watchman. Times have changed since then.”
Vorgens nodded.
“Well,” said the exec, “good luck with the Old Man.”
“You’re not coming in with me?”
“No, I’ve got several chores to carry off before I get my supper. If I get a chance to eat tonight.” He flicked a salute at Vorgens and turned away.
Vorgens automatically returned the salute, then turned and confronted the brigadier’s door. After an instant’s hesitation, he knocked twice.
“Enter.”
He stepped into the compartment, saluted, and stood at ramrod attention. Aikens. sitting behind his desk, regarded the young Watchman for a moment, then indicated with a nod the only other chair in the office. Vorgens sat down.
No two men on Oran VI looked less like each other. Vorgens was small and wiry, and his golden brown skin and coppery hair proclaimed him to be of non-Earthly stock. His thin, fine-boned face, surmounted by a high forehead, gave him a peculiarly babyish look-
Aikens was a typical Terran, towering above Vorgens’ height and outweighing him by half again. The brigadier’s only sign of encroaching years was his thinning hair and well-creased face. He had made it a point to foster carefully the impression among his men that he was a flamboyant and daring leader. Even now he was wearing the Imperial Marines’ semi-dress uniform of green, red and gold, as opposed to Vorgens’ standard Star Watch blackand-silver.