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the conversation. The Emperor had spent years trying to perfect that drink of his youth.
    "We'll have another one of these," the Emperor said, pouring out two more shots, "and then I'll get out some heavy-duty spirits." He carefully picked up Sten's knife, which was lying between them, examined it one more time, and then handed it back. It was a slim, double-edged dagger with a needle tip and a skeleton grip. Hand-formed by Sten from an impossibly rare crystal, its blade was only 2.5 mm thick, tapering to a less-than-hair-edge 15 molecules wide. Blade pressure alone would cause it to slice through a diamond. The Emperor watched closely as Sten curled his fingers and let the knife slip into his arm-muscle sheath.
    "Clotting marvelous," the Emperor finally said. "Not exactly regulation, but then neither are you." He let his words sink in a little. "Mahoney promised me you wouldn't be."
    Sten didn't know what to say to this, so he just sipped at his drink.
    "Ex-street thug," the Emperor mused, "to Captain of the Imperial Guard. Not bad, young man. Not bad."
    He shrugged back some Scotch. "What are your plans after this, Captain?" He quickly raised a hand before Sten blurted something stupid like "at your Majesty's pleasure," or whatever. "I mean, do you really like all this military strut and stuff business?"
    Sten shrugged. "It's home," he said honestly.
    The Emperor nodded thoughtfully.
    "I used to think like that. About engineering, not the clotting military, for Godsakes. Don't like the military.
    Never have. Even if I am the commander in clotting chief of more soldiers than you could… you could…"
    He left that dangling while he finished his drink.
    "Anyway. Engineering it was. That was gonna be my whole life—my permanent home."
    The Eternal Emperor shook his head in amazement at this thousand-year-old-plus memory.
    "Things change, Captain," he finally said. "You can't believe how things change."
    Sten tried a silent nod of understanding, hoping he was doing one of his better acting jobs. The Emperor caught this, and just laughed. He reached into the drawer of his antique desk, pulled out a bottle of absolutely colorless liquid, popped open the bottle and poured two glasses full to the brim.
    "This is your final test, young Captain Sten," he said. "Your final, ninety-cycle-on-the-job test. Pass this one and I okay you for the Imperial health plan."
    The Emperor slugged back the 180-proof alcohol and then slammed down the glass. He watched closely as Sten picked up the glass, sniffed it briefly, shrugged, and then poured white fire down his throat.
    Sten set the glass down, then, with no expression on his face, slid the glass toward the bottle for some more. "Pretty good stuff. A little metallic…"
    "That's from the radiator," the Emperor snapped. "I distill it in a car radiator. For the flavor."
    "Oh," Sten said, still without expression. "Interesting… You wouldn't mind if I tried some more…"
    He poured two more equally full glasses. He gave a silent toast, and the Emperor watched in amazement as Sten drank it down like water.
    "Come on," the Emperor said in exasperation. "That's the most powerful straight alcohol you've ever tasted in your life and you know it. Don't con me."
    Sten shook his head in innocence. "It's pretty potent, all right," he said. "But—no offense—I have tried something stronger."
    "Like what?" The Emperor fumed.
    "Stregg," Sten said.
    "What in clot is Stregg?"
    "An ET drink," Sten answered. "People called the Bhor. Don't know if you remember them but—"
    "Oh, yeah," the Emperor said. "Those Lupus Cluster fellows. Didn't I turn a system over to them, or something like that?"
    "Something like that."
    "So what's this Stregg swill like? Can't be better than my pure dee moonshine—you got any?"
    Sten nodded. "In my quarters. If you're interested, I'll send a runner."
    "I'm interested."
    The Emperor raised the glass to toast position.
    "By my mother's," he said through furry tongue, "by my