Weald in its enmity to blueskins.

And the people of Weald had refused to help Dara in a time of famine,
and had blockaded that pariah world for years afterward. And they had
other reasons for hating the people they'd treated badly. It was
entirely reasonable for some fanatic on Weald to consider that Calhoun
must be killed lest he be of help to the blueskins Weald abhorred.

In fact, it was quite possible that somebody had stowed away on the
Med Ship to murder Calhoun, so that there would be no danger of any
report favorable to Dara ever being presented anywhere. If so, such a
stowaway would be in the sleeping cabin now, waiting for Calhoun to
walk in unsuspiciously, only to be shot dead.

So Calhoun made coffee. He slipped a blaster into a pocket where it
would be handy. He filled a small cup for Murgatroyd and a large one
for himself, and then a second large one.

He tapped on the sleeping cabin door, standing aside lest a
blaster-bolt come through it.

"Coffee's ready," he said sardonically. "Come out and join us."

There was a long pause. Calhoun rapped again.

"You've a seat at the captain's table," he said more sardonically
still. "It's not polite to keep me waiting!"

He listened, alert for a rush which would be a fanatic's desperate
attempt to do murder despite premature discovery. He was prepared to