The orbiting fleet was set to Capital time, which meant that for Prince James it was also two in the morning. He hadn't expected to be able to sleep but had retired to his room on the off chance that he might.

He had expected that the night before the Convocation he would be insomniac with nerves — supposing it all went wrong? supposing they were as mistaken as Krishnamurthy? — but the unforeseen events of the last few hours had driven the nerves away completely. Where he had expected to be worried in case he failed to secure the bid, he had actually been terrified for his life. It put a new perspective on his problems and sleep was able to creep up on him after all.

And then the light was on. He squinted at the clock by his bed: quarter to three. He was sure he had turned the light off. He stretched and rolled over-

"Aaagh!" He sat bolt upright and stared at the apparition that was sitting at the end of the bed. A slightly dishevelled R.V. Krishnamurthy.

"I need to talk to you," said Krishnamurthy.

"What the hell about?" James muttered. He rubbed his neck and looked down to hide his chagrin at his startled reaction. Krishnamurthy was a very unwelcome visitor in his room and yet already the Indian had an element of control.

"Things," Krishnamurthy said vaguely, waving his hand in an equally undecisive manner. He swayed slightly. James frowned and sniffed delicately, trying not to show it. Whisky. "I want to talk about things."

"Go on," James said, now reasonably sure he wasn't about to be murdered. One of the secrets of Krishnamurthy's success had always been to get others to do the dirty work.

"I am a ruined man," Krishnamurthy said mournfully. James couldn't have cared less and he shrugged. "I underestimated the Rusties. I was so sure, so ... but I was wrong, and I was humiliated."

"There's still the Convocation," James said.

"The Convocation," Krishnamurthy said with scorn. "A chance to fall into whatever trap the Rusties have set for us. I thought I could meet them on their own terms. I was wrong."

"You think they've set a trap?" James said. He allowed himself a small smile.

"Whatever. They say they've forgiven and forgotten, but you and I know, Your Royal Highness, there is no such thing. Whatever I say tomorrow — today — however convincing it is, they'll remember. This is the clown Krishnamurthy who gambled all and who lost. We will give our planet to him? I think not."

"Just this planet," James said, probing. He remembered Krishnamurthy's previous proud talk of "insights" and wanted to see exactly how much the man had guessed correctly.

"This is their planet," Krishnamurthy said with irritation. "They let us think it was a colony as another one of their little tests, but no, this is their home. I put it bluntly to our Rustie on Shivaji and he confirmed it. They're like that, you know. They'll hedge and prevaricate and hide behind their translators, but put something straight to them, demonstrate your reasoning, and they'll give an equally straight yes or no. This whole mission has been one big guessing game. I was right, there. I know I was. Wasn't I?"

James smiled more broadly and leaned back against the wall. "Surely the whole point of the Convocation is that everyone comes to it on exactly equal terms."

Krishnamurthy ignored him. "I have myself to blame. I fell into your trap." He pointed an accusing finger.

"My trap?" James said.

"The white man's trap. You can't let your history lie. Your day on Earth is past but in space you persist, and you carry with you the old attitudes that the white man has always had. Seek out new lands, conquer them, impose your way of life on them and let the natives be grateful. You did it to India, you did it to Africa and we all tried to do it here. The Rusties are four legged and unthreatening, so of course they are going to roll belly-up and let us trample all over them. I, who have spent my life undoing the damage done to my India by your countrymen-"

James didn't mention that the British had left India two centuries ago.

"-fell into the same trap. The stupid aliens. The dumb aliens. The aliens who should be bloody grateful for the privilege of allying with us, humanity, greatest species in the galaxy."

James yawned. He could probably overpower Krishnamurthy and throw him out: on the other hand, it might be easier to yell loudly ...

"Do you know why they let me come on this mission?" Krishnamurthy said. "Your Royal Highness, I almost had to beg. I had to spell out the benefits in letters ten feet high and eventually they got so tired of my nagging that they let me have my own rope. I am not a popular man in New Delhi. I have been successful, I have given my life to India and as a result there are factions who would happily see me out of the way. There are those who thought Rangoon was excessive."

"The Burmese?" James said.

"Those whose opinions matter," said Krishnamurthy. "There were only two possible outcomes to this business, Your Royal Highness, either of which would have made them happy. Krishnamurthy wins this world for India, so naturally I would stay here and govern India's affairs. India's prestige would be enhanced, I would be removed from the local political scene and the terrestrial politicians would be content. Or, I could return in disgrace. Krishnamurthy's career is over. Let him retire to Poona for the rest of his days, or even better make him Prefect of Bhutan for a laugh, until we're bored of him and can spare some NVN for the execution. But!" He held up a finger and focused with an effort on it. Then he looked at James again. "I will show them. There is a third choice."

"Really?" James said. Krishnamurthy leaned forward and James delicately waved the whisky fumes away.

"Really. I ask for political asylum."

James choked. "What?"

"Political asylum in the UK. A simple enough request."

"You ... you ..." said James. "A few hours ago, you were offering me the choice of subjugation or execution-"

"That was politics!" Krishnamurthy said. "I thought it would get me in with the Rusties. I was wrong. It was not personal."

"Can I ask, why me?" James said.

"Expediency. Who else here could I turn to? None of the terrestrial nations would be of any use because they are on the same planet as India, and wherever I went, India's agents would eventually find me. Think of Trotsky."

"Who?"

"Starward and Galactic ... well, they are primarily space-based, Starward especially, but they have no secure, firm footing. But you! UK-1 is an independent, stable, permanent base for you. All toing and froing is kept under control and you can keep tags on everyone without lifting a finger. India would never get me there. And, it is big enough. Big enough for us all. You and your family need never see me. All I ask is a suite of rooms large enough for myself and my staff."

"Very interesting. And what do we get in return for alienating one of the Earth's most powerful nations?"

"You can survive without India's custom. What do you get? You get my undoubted talents as an administrator, as a coordinator. And my loyalty. My loyalty to my chosen masters can never be doubted, Your Royal Highness."

"Except when you choose to defect."

"And, best of all, Your Royal Highness, I will make you a personal gift of two thousand lacs. Two hundred million rupees. Not your father, not your parliament, you."

"Drawn on your friendly Delhi bank, no doubt?"

"My funds are kept in Zurich and the First Lunar Bank at Armstrong. Those bastards can't touch them."

This nonsense had gone on long enough. "Krishnamurthy, you're drunk," James said. "Sleep it off and we'll both pretend this never happened."

"Your Royal Highness, I beg you!" Krishnamurthy grabbed James' lapels and pulled him forward. James froze. "I am a desperate man. And don't tell me you are not at least tempted by two thousand lacs?"

James slowly undid Krishnamurthy's grasp, finger by finger. "My father would never consent to such a deal. I would be delighted to accept such an offer, but it is out of my hands."

"That is what it comes down to?"

"That is what it comes down to." Anything to get rid of this man. "Now, go away and let me sleep." James lay down and pulled the cover over his head, but he kept his eyes open until he knew Krishnamurthy had left the room.