Scotha was not unlike Terra--a little larger, a little farther from
its sun, the seas made turbulent by three small close moons. Flandry
had a chance to observe it telescopically--the ship didn't have
magniscreens--and as they swept in, he saw the mighty disc roll grandly
against the Galactic star-blaze and studied the continents with more
care than he showed.
The planet was still relatively thinly populated, with great forests
and plains standing empty, archaic cities and villages huddling about
the steep-walled castles of the nobles. Most of its industry was on
other worlds, though the huge military bases were all on Scotha and
its moons. There couldn't be more than a billion Scothani all told,
estimated Flandry, probably less, and many of them would live elsewhere
as overlords of the interstellar domain. Which didn't make them less
formidable. The witless hordes of humankind were more hindrance than
help to the Empire.
Cerdic's fleet broke up, the captains bound for their estates. He took
his own vessel to the capital, Iuthagaar, and brought it down in the
great yards. After the usual pomp and ceremony of homecoming, he sent
for Flandry.
"What is your attitude toward us now?" he asked.
"You are a very likeable people, sir," said the Terrestrial, "and it is
as you say--you are a strong and honest race."
"Then you have decided to help us actively?" The voice was cold.
"I really have little choice, sir," shrugged Flandry. "I'll be a
prisoner in any case, unless I get to the point of being trusted. The
only way to achieve that is to give you my willing assistance."
"And what of your own nation?"
"A man must stay alive, sir. These are turbulent times."
Contempt curled Cerdic's lip. "Somehow I thought better of you," he
said. "But you're a human. You could only be expected to betray your
oaths for your own gain."