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the decor of his sparsely furnished office, had come straight out of a book of regulations. With an expression that was perfectly correct for the situation, he was stiff even when attempting to be friendly; the typical Edraitian snobbishness multiplied in him by a factor of ten. This would not be easy.
    "You will not find me tolerant of bribes or any other forms of persuasion,"
    Beontal was saying with a smile that showed every one of his even, white teeth. His shaved head revealed no trace of the red hair of his kind, and he regarded Grekkor with a gaze that seemed capable of seeing past any form of concealment. "Anyone not following the regulations set down by the Council will be expelled from the station. That is my final word on the subject."
    "But Commander," Grekkor said smoothly. "Many of the more successful merchants on this station rely on the, shall we say, byproducts of the less desirable."
    "I don't believe I know what you mean," Beontal said.
    "Oh, surely you realize that those who are here to trade in unapproved
    commodities--"
    "By that you mean illegal weapons, drugs, and slaves?" Beontal interjected.
    "There are no slaves being bought and sold here!" Grekkor asserted. He took a deep breath and composed his chiseled face into the disarming smile he'd so carefully cultivated, rather than the murderous glare he would have preferred to direct at the station commander.
    "So you say," Beontal said with obvious skepticism. "But I have heard otherwise."
    "Your sources have been misinformed," Grekkor said. "What I was about to say was that all tradesmen benefit from traffic through the station--whether it be within the regulations or not."
    "Let me make this perfectly clear," said Beontal, sitting up straighter--if that was possible. He already looked like he had a rod stitched into the back of his uniform. "I will not tolerate illegality--of any kind--on my station."
    "And the brothels?" Grekkor said, tilting his head back to look down his nose at Beontal. He had control of himself now. "Will they be allowed to continue?"
    "They are legal, approved, and follow their specific regulations as set down by the Council. I see no reason to remove them from the station."
    "Hmm," said Grekkor. "There are those who would disagree."
    Beontal smiled again. "But they are not on the Council, are they?"
    "Go by the book, then, do you?"
    "Always."
    "Well, then," Grekkor said lightly, "it's fortunate that I am not personally involved in any illegal trade--far from it, in fact. I merely wished to point out to you that there are those who will object to being banned from the station."
"I'm sure there will be," Beontal said. "And as the head of the regional Commerce Consortium, I would expect you to sympathize with their situation but not cater to their whims--particularly when those 'whims' are contrary to the law."
    Grekkor smiled, but without any pleasure whatsoever. "I do my best to see to it that all commerce is conducted in the proper manner."
    "I'm glad we understand one another."
    "Oh, to be sure," Grekkor said, rising to his feet. His powerful but elegant form was accentuated rather than concealed by the shimmering cape he wore over his carefully chosen attire. Rich, but not ostentatious. It wouldn't do to appear to possess more wealth than was appropriate for his standing in the Consortium--just enough to look the part, and no more. "I'll pass the results of our meeting along to the members. Perhaps, knowing your stand, those who are in violation of the regulations will leave voluntarily."
    "I certainly hope so," said Beontal. "But I wouldn't count on it."
    Grekkor's smile turned grim. "Neither would I."
    Nor would he count on Beontal remaining alive for long if he maintained this
    stand. Grekkor had gone up against far more formidable opponents than the stiff-necked Edraitian and emerged victorious. He might even kill Beontal himself... and with a great deal of pleasure.

    ***
Windura headed back to her post after lunch still