Dirzed drew it and checked--a man of his craft took no statement about
weapons without verification--then slipped it back into the holster.

"Shall I use it?" he asked.

"By all means; I'd had that in mind when I selected it for you."

Another man, to the left of Girzon, received a cigarette case and
lighter. He and Garnon hooked fingers and clapped shoulders.

"Our views haven't been the same, Garnon," he said, "but I've always
valued your friendship. I'm sorry you're doing this, now; I believe
you'll be disappointed."

Garnon chuckled. "Would you care to make a small wager on that,
Nirzav?" he asked. "You know what I'm putting up. If I'm proven right,
will you accept the Volitionalist theory as verified?"

Nirzav chewed his mustache for a moment. "Yes, Garnon, I will." He
pointed toward the blankly white screen. "If we get anything
conclusive on that, I'll have no other choice."

"All right, friends," Garnon said to those around him. "Will you walk
with me to the end of the room?"

Servants removed a section from the table in front of him, to allow
him and a few others to pass through; the rest of the guests remained
standing at the table, facing toward the inside of the room. Garnon's
son, Girzon, and the gray-mustached Nirzav of Shonna, walked on his