Jonnie thought all he would have to do was reassure Mr. Tsung he would be polite and not slap anybody and that would be that. But not so!

Mr. Tsung made the Coordinator stand right there and translate everything he said exactly with no changes. Mr. Tsung hunkered down close to the side of the bed and started talking. The Coordinator translated at each pause.

It is one thing, translated the Scot, " 'to be a mighty warrior...but although you have won every battle...and driven the enemy to rout...from a field of slaughter...the entire war...can be lost...at the conference table!' "

Jonnie digested that. They actually hadn't won the war yet by a long ways, but even if they did, they could lose the whole thing in that conference room. He had known that, but he was impressed. Mr. Tsung had obviously sought this job, not as somebody who cleaned up a room, but as an advisor. Well, heavens knew he needed advice. He had come up with no ideas.

“Your attitude, the Coordinator continued to translate as the little Mr. Tsung spoke on, " '...must be calculated to impress.... A lord is used to handling inferiors.... He is impressed by being handled as an inferior.... Be

haughty.... Do not be polite.... Be cold and disdainful.... Be distant and aloof.'

“Say, this old man is really wringing out my Mandarin. That's real court Chinese he's talking!”

Mr. Tsung motioned him not to add his own comments.

Do not, the Scot obediently translated, " 'agree or seem to agree to anything.... Your words can be tricked into seeming to agree...so avoid the word: yes.... They will make preposterous demands they know they cannot attain...just to gain bargaining points...so you in return should advance to them...impossible demands even if you feel they won't agree, and who knows, you might win them...! All diplomacy is a matter of compromise.... There is a middle ground between the two opposite poles of impossible demands...which will become the eventual treaty or agreement.... Always work for the most advantageous position you can get.'

The Scot paused. “He wants to know if you've got all that.”

“Yes, sir!” said Jonnie. “And welcome.”

He was feeling this was useful even though it didn't give him the idea he needed.

“And now,” said the Coordinator, “he wants to give you lessons in deportment. Watch him.”

Well, they were dealing with creatures from many another race, and their ideas of deportment and those from ancient imperial China might not agree at all. So Jonnie felt a bit tolerant as he watched the Chinese. But almost immediately he felt he was wrong. These manners fitted any race!

How to stand. Feet apart, tall, leaning slightly back. Firmly fixed to the earth. Position eminent. Got that?

Then do it!

How to hold a scepter or wand. One hand on grip end, other end laid in the other palm. Grip both ends to show control. Tap one end into palm to hint the small possibility of punishment when one might wish to seem a bit offended. Wave idly in air to show that the other's argument was of no consequence and was like the wind. Got that? Here is a wand. Do it! Not quite right. Be easy, lordly. Now do them all again.

Walk as though not caring what lies before you. Suggest power. Steady, unstoppable. Like this. Got it? Do it!

For half an hour Mr. Tsung worked on Jonnie. And Jonnie realized that his own walk was like that of a panther whereas for this conference it must be stately.

Mr. Tsung made him go through the whole lesson and then the postures and walks again before he was satisfied. Jonnie, who had always had a sinking feeling about being a diplomat, began to feel a bit more confident. There was an art to this thing. It was like hunting game but a different kind of game. It was like a battle but a different kind of battle.

He thought he was all through. He could see on the screen that more and more emissaries were arriving. But Mr. Tsung said they would all have to present their credentials at the first meeting in the conference room and that there was lots and lots of time. Had Jonnie thought of a strategy? A strategy was very necessary. How to approach the diplomatic battle, what one intended to use to maneuver. Well, Jonnie could think about it. It was like a battle but your infantry and cavalry were ideas and words. Maneuvered wrongly, it meant defeat!

Meanwhile, they had to handle this other matter, and leaving Jonnie a bit mystified, Mr. Tsung went out in the hall.

Seeing that for the moment Jonnie wasn't busy, Chief Chong-won slid in the door. He was beaming and bobbing his head. “The dam!” And he made a tight grip with both fists and gestured with his hands. “The hole. The outflow is decreasing. The level of the lake is rising.” He bobbed his head vigorously, bowed deeply, and vanished.

Jonnie thought, well that was one thing that had gone right. The power wouldn't go off and leave some diplomat parked in some wrong space! All he had to worry about now was a burning planet, the fate of its people, and this conference.

That shot had worked. He wasn't dizzy.

Chapter 6

The “other matter” turned out to be a haircut. The daughter came in and sat him in a chair facing the viewscreens and got to work with a small pair of scissors and a comb. The idea was rather novel to Jonnie-he usually just hacked his hair off with a knife when it got too long.

She seemed to be very practiced and expert and no doubt took care of the tonsorial requirements of many, for she just sailed in with her scissors moving so fast they sounded like an ore belt running at high speed, clip, clip, clip.

So diplomacy was like a battle, Jonnie was thinking. Watching these lords arrive one could see that they practically oozed authority and power. The visitors attacking Earth were almost local small fry, controlling at the most a few dozen planets. Some of those arriving, he knew from earlier readings, were from other universes and controlled hundreds of planets in just one governmental sphere. And they were very arrogant, very sure of themselves. Whatever their physical form, there was no doubt that they were ministers plenipotentiary to powerful heads of state. What wealth and striking power they represented! Behind them were collective populations numbering trillions in just one state alone. They were the veterans and victors of hundreds of such conferences. Yes, a conference was a battle and an even more important one than a war.

And what chance did he and Sir Robert have against these experienced diplomats? They were both warriors, not glib, smooth, cunning courtiers with a thousand parliamentary tricks up their sleeves. With no guns or battalions, but with only his wits and the tips Mr. Tsung had given him, he felt quite outnumbered. And so far he had no strategy at all.

The girl had a small mirror she was holding up so he could see. She had cut his hair to collar height in back and combed and rolled it at the bottom. It looked kind of like a helmet he had seen with a back neck guard. And the hair was shiny. His beard and mustache looked very precise, much shorter. He hardly knew himself– had she seen some old paintings of men with beards and mustaches cut like this? Indeed she had– there was an ancient man-book, English, open on the bed to a picture of somebody named “Sir Francis Drake” that had defeated somebody called “the Spaniards” long, long ago.

His attention was attracted by something and he took the mirror from her. His neck! The scars had been quite faint for they were really callouses. And they were gone.

He had to look very hard to see the remains of the Brigante grenade scar on his cheek. That would probably vanish too.

Somehow he felt freed with the collar scars gone. He understood the irony of it and would have smiled but his attention was pulled to the ops room screen. The sound relay had been off and he gave the girl back the mirror and hit the button.