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to his mouth. “Can you drink? You’ll feel better.”
    Hetzel drank the potion and indeed felt somewhat better. He focused his eyes on his watch. Today the Triarchy met in executive session…In consternation he saw the time, and thrust himself up into a sitting position. The nurse expostulated. “Please, Vv. Hetzel, you must rest!”
    “It’s more important that I get to the Triskelion. Where are my clothes?”
    The nurse ran to the telephone while Hetzel thrust his stiff limbs into his garments. Kerch appeared. “You seem to be alive.”
    “Yes, I’m alive. I’ve got to get over to the Triskelion.”
    “Easy then. Do you feel capable?”
    “Not altogether. What happened to me?”
    “Gas—I don’t know what kind. They came into your rooms and set off alarms, but they escaped out the back window. Are you missing any valuables?”
    “My money is in the hotel safe, with most of my papers. My wallet is missing, with about a hundred SLU and a few documents. Nothing important.”
    “You are lucky.”
    Hetzel bathed his face in cold water, drank another cup of the nurse’s potion, drew a few deep breaths. The throbbing in his head had subsided; he felt weak and limp, but capable of ordinary activity. Perhaps robbery had been the motive for last night’s incursion, perhaps someone had not wanted him at the Triarchic session. Too bad for his assailants. They had gained small loot and he would attend the session. Somewhat late, perhaps, but he would be there. He assured Kerch and the nurse of his viability and set off across the plaza, trotting, then walking.
    The Triskelion loomed above him. Hetzel referred to his watch. If the session began punctually, on the hour, he would be late. He mounted the three wide steps, crossed the fore-court. As he reached to push open the crystal portal, it slid abruptly wide, and Hetzel was thrust aside by the furious passage of a Gomaz warrior. Hetzel received an instant impression of a pinched face of polished bone, black optic balls blazing with an inner star; he sensed the creature’s rancid odor then it was gone in a jangle of chain and medals, striding off across the plaza. Hetzel looked after it, thinking to recognize one of the Gomaz who had alighted from the carrier on the previous evening. Where were its fellows? Odd, thought Hetzel. Why should the creature act in this fashion?
    He continued into the central lobby and immediately sensed stress and excitement. At the Gaean leg of the reception desk, portly Vvs. Felius stood quivering and pale; the young man leaned forward, peering toward a curved flight of stairs.
    Hetzel approached. “I came to attend the session,” he told the young man. “I hope I’m not too late.”
    Vvs. Felius emitted a choking, half-hysterical laugh. “Too late, ha ha! Too late indeed! There’ll be no session now! No more sessions ever; they’ve all been killed!”
    The young man muttered: “Come now, Vvs. Felius; control yourself.”
    “No, Vv. Kylo, let me be; it’s all so terrible!”
    “What’s this?” asked Hetzel. “Who’s been killed?”
    “The Triarchs—all! Poor Sir Estevan, ah, poor man!”
    Vv. Kylo spoke in annoyance. “Just a minute; we don’t really know what’s happened. There’s Captain Baw; he’ll tell us the facts.”
    Vvs. Felius called out, “Captain Baw, oh Captain Baw! Whatever in the world has happened?”
    Captain Baw, his round face pink and purposeful, his mouth coiled into a rosebud, paused by the desk. “Assassination, that’s what’s happened.”
    “Oh, Captain Baw, how dreadful! And who—?”
    “The Liss and Olefract Triarchs—both struck down, and a pair of Gomaz as well.”
    “Ah! aliens all. But what of Sir Estevan?”
    “I called a warning to him; he dropped behind his desk and escaped by the flicker of an eyelash.”
    “Great Praise!” cawed Vvs. Felius, rolling up her eyes. “I vow a thousand pastilles for the Sacred Arch!”
    Vv. Kylo said, “Vow the pastilles instead to Captain