“...can't think what they're up to!” Stormalong was saying as he angrily finished pulling another picture out of the drone resolver. "I’ve lost count!”

“Fifteen,” said somebody else.

“Look at this! A spray of fire bombs going down into this deserted...” he looked at a map. “Detroit! Why set Detroit on fire? There's been nobody in Detroit for over a thousand years! Are they trying to pull defenses over to that continent? They're insane.” He threw the picture down. "I’m not providing any air cover for a bunch of ruins! What's the latest from Edinburgh?”

“Antiaircraft still replying,” said someone at the ops board. “Smoke interfering with visual firing. Dunneldeen just shot down his sixteenth Hawvin strafing plane.”

Jonnie touched the button to “sound off.” He felt an impatience taking hold of him. These diplomats coming in one by one...it was too slow!

The Coordinator had come in with Mr. Tsung, who was holding a lot of things in his arms. It was obvious that Jonnie was under strain. Mr. Tsung said something in his singsong voice.

The Coordinator said, “Mr. Tsung reminds you that even a lost battle can be redeemed at a conference table, to be patient and use skill.”

Mr. Tsung had other things now. He took the haircut cloth off Jonnie and showed him a tunic.

It was a very plain garment at first glance. It was cut from shimmering black silk; it had a stand-up collar. It was supposed to be a tight form fit. But it was the silver-colored buttons that attracted Jonnie's attention.

He knew what they were. He had once remarked to Ker that it was surprising to see such pretty metal on a Psychlo emergency switch. It looked like silver at first glance but the least amount of light striking it made it glow in rainbow colors. Ker had said, no, it wasn't used for emergency switches because it was pretty. It was used because it was hard. It was a one-molecule-thick metal spray of an iridium alloy, and no matter how many claw points hit it, it wouldn't wear off. And when you were in a dark mine with little light, the emergency button was visible because it looked like it flashed in colors. He knew what the son-in-law had been doing– plating buttons. Enough to blind you!

Mr. Tsung had him put it and the black silk pants on and buttoned the tunic all up-iridium buttons every couple of inches down the front.

Then Mr. Tsung made him put on a pair of boots. They were Chinko boots but they had plated them with iridium alloy.

A belt was fastened around him, a wide one, and it was also plated. All except the buckle. And that was his old gold-colored “U.S. Air Force” buckle, shined until it gleamed. He remembered thinking once in the cage he might be the last surviving member of a long-gone force. A strange thing to think. But right now it sort of cheered him up.

He had thought he was getting dressed and was a bit dismayed to find that Mr. Tsung did not like a pucker on the shoulder and a certain gather in the tunic back and took it all off him and sent them back.

Mr. Tsung had something else now. It was his twisted knobkerrie with the carved figures. But they had plated it with iridium. It flashed like a length of flame. He knew he couldn't use it that way but he was glad not to be going into that conference totally without a weapon.

Then the son-in-law came in. He was carrying a helmet. Basically it was just a Russian helmet they had smoothed down. But what had they done to it? The chin strap was plated with iridium alloy. So was the whole helmet. But what was this? The son-in-law turned it, a bit proudly, so Jonnie could see what was on the front.

How had they done this? Then he saw that the son-in-law was holding the paper patterns he had laid down on the helmet front and sides, one after the other, and sprayed through the open holes with different metal sprays.

It was a dragon. And what a dragon!

Gold wings on the side of the helmet, clawed paws that seemed to grip the lower helmet edge, scales and spikes from the spine edged in blue, a ferocious face with what appeared to be real rubies for flaming eyes, white fangs in a scarlet mouth. Ferocious. And a round, whitish ball in its scarlet, otherwise gaping, mouth.

It looked three-dimensional. It was similar to the dragon at the console and the clay dragons lying on the building pile except for this big white ball in its mouth.

At first Jonnie felt it was far too fancy. And just then another emissary arrived on the platform wearing a towering gold crown. This was far less fancy than that. But still.

Jonnie looked at it. It was a bit different from the other dragons. “Very beautiful,” said Jonnie so the Coordinator could tell the son-in-law.

They were fixing his clothes. It wasn't time yet by a long way. Jonnie looked at the helmet. Via the Coordinator he said to Mr. Tsung, “Tell me about this dragon.”

Mr. Tsung tossed it off and via the Coordinator told Jonnie that the throne of China had been called the “Dragon Throne.” “Lung p'ao" or "Chi-fu" patterns or robes were court dress. It was an Imperial...

Jonnie knew all that. “Tell him to tell me about this dragon. It 's different.”

Mr. Tsung sighed. There were a lot of other things, far more important, that he should be telling Lord Jonnie, and he didn't think it was very applicable just now to embark on myths and fairy tales. But, well, yes. This dragon was different. The whole story? Oh, my. Well, it went this way. Once upon a time...

Jonnie lay back on the bed with the helmet on his stomach and listened. Unfortunately he did have time. So he listened as Mr. Tsung went on telling him the long and involved fairy tale.

Suddenly about halfway through it, Jonnie abruptly sat up and said to the Coordinator, “I thought so! Please send for Sir Robert.”

It startled Mr. Tsung and Jonnie said, “Thank you. Very good story. Thank you more than you know!”

As Lord Jonnie seemed pleased and things were a bit rushed, Mr. Tsung happily went out to make sure the silk suit was altered correctly.

Jonnie looked around to see whether there were any button cameras in the place. He couldn't really tell. He didn't think so, but he would be very brief and cryptic to play it on the safe side.

A couple minutes later Sir Robert came in. He too had been grooming himself. He was wearing a cloak with the Royal Stewart colors, a matching kilt, and Scottish white spats. The wool was made of shining hairs. He was the complete Scottish soldier and lord, excepting only weapons. Jonnie had never seen him dressed in full regimentals before. Quite impressive. But the old man looked a bit hollow-eyed and worried.

“This is going to be a tough one,” said Jonnie.

“Aye, lad. Did ye ken thet Tolnep? I be no diplomat, laddie, and there's nae chonce of bringing Fearghus oot. The danger lies in antagonizing them lords and states thet isna involved as yet. A false step and we'll be adding them tae the enemy!”

He was upset. Even talking in dialect.

Jonnie never thought he'd have to soothe Sir Robert. “We have a chance. A good one. Now here's what I propose we do: you go in there by yourself and do all you can.” Sir Robert didn't much care for that but he listened. “And then when you have finished or think you have gone as far as possible, you call me in, introduce me however you please but not too specifically.”

“The communicator they've been using as host will do a' the introductions,” said Sir Robert.

“well, tell him what I said. All right?”

"Verra good, laddie. I’ll do whativer I can. An if I havna a cease-fire, I’ll ca you.

The old War Chief turned to leave. “Good luck!” said Jonnie.

“Aye, lad, that's exactly what I’ll be a needin'! We're nae a doin' weel at a' in the field!”

Jonnie looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long now.

Chief Chong-won popped in, grinning. “The hole in the dam has stopped all but a trickle! My men are replacing the armor cable, patching and replacing it. The lake will be armored again before nightfall.” He threw his arms up simulating the earlier explosion Jonnie had made. “Boom!” he said and vanished.