was younger than he had thought earlier.

Finally, the conference got down to business.

"My people," said Daphne Foster, "ask but a few minor concessions, which we believe will benefit the remainder of the Empire as much as Jursa."

"We are disposed to believe your good intentions," said Vyrtl encouragingly.

He caught himself smiling, and immediately resumed the mask of dignity.

The Jursans, it developed, would give up demands for autonomy and resume allegiance to the Empire. They pleaded, however, for freedom of scientific research, promising that their discoveries would be placed promptly at Vyrtl's disposal.

In the matter of indemnities, they were willing, Daphne Foster said with an intimate glance for Vyrtl alone, to rely upon his generosity. They asked only that they be allowed a reasonable time to restore the damage suffered in the fighting and that they be permitted to make part of the payments in the technical equipment they were so skilled at manufacturing.

Some of the officers raised objections that Vyrtl thought well-put, but he overruled them. The main point, he pronounced, was to restore a valuable possession to productivity. There would be no looting and destruction.

He felt less sure of himself when old Tzyfol protested that free research was one of the roots of the trouble. Consequently, perhaps, the imperial glare that silenced the Marshal was the more withering.

After that, Vyrtl sat back and allowed his cohorts to promulgate a number of minor, harassing conditions. These would satisfy their egos to some degree, keep the Jursans aware of the folly of questioning his authority again, and show their envoy how things might have gone had Vyrtl not been merciful.

In the end, he added one condition of his own.

"It will be necessary," he said, "to hold frequent conferences on these affairs. If the Jursan Council should appoint their envoy as permanent ambassador to our court, we should be inclined to approve."

It was tantamount to a command, but the girl showed no resentment. Not that Vyrtl expected anything so rash as outward reluctance—but a lifetime of piercing the flattery of courtiers had made him a shrewd reader of facial expressions.

He granted permission for an immediate broadcasting of the treaty, overriding Tzyfol's desire for deeper consideration in favor of Daphne Foster's plea that delay would cost lives.

After having copies of the rather simple document drawn up for the facsimile broadcasters, Vyrtl gave her leave to depart. Without seeming to watch, he admired her gait as she walked from the conference chamber.

fterwards, he left the generals to their post-mortem and retired with Wilkins to a private balcony for a bottle of wine.

"How did it go?" he asked, leaning back more comfortably when his aide had removed the heavy robe.

"You were most generous, Sire, or so I thought."

"It is a virtue that requires a public display now and then, to strengthen the roots of the myth that grows from it. Too bad old Tzyfol failed to see that. Why do you suppose he tried to be obstinate?"

"I expect, Sire, he disliked having an old woman seem to get the better of him after he had won the military victory."

Vyrtl laughed indulgently and sipped his wine.

"Even Tzyfol," added Wilkins, "might have been generous had she been young and pretty. Unfortunately, I suppose, it takes an old head to be an envoy."

The Emperor set his glass down very carefully.

"What did you say?" he demanded evenly.

Wilkins stared, with the expression of a man who fears he may suddenly recall having used an obscene word in polite company, or having bragged falsely and unwittingly of tax-evasion to an imperial collector.

Vyrtl repeated his question in a tone a note higher.

"I-I-I said that if