"Plenty." Beliakoff grimly did some quick figuring. "It'll be a year, their time, when we can get back. Kelly, take us out of hyperspace!"

"Now?" Kelly gasped. "Here?"

"At once!"

"But we might come out inside a star or—"

"That," Beliakoff said, his voice filled with righteousness, "simply cannot be helped. We must return at once to Mala!"

General Drak, Commander of the Forces of the Empress, Wearer of the Gold Star of Mala, sat at his desk in the Supreme Command Post, which had recently been converted from a hardware store. He was engaged in a fiery argument over the telephone with Nob, the Empress's right-hand man.

"But damn it all," General Drak shouted, "I must have it! I am the Supreme Commander, the General of All the Armies of the Dictatorship! Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Not under the circumstances," Nob answered.

Two soldiers, standing guard in the General's quarters, listened interestedly.

"Think he'll get it?" one asked.

"Not a chance," the other answered.

Drak glared them into silence, then returned to the argument. "Will you please attempt to understand my position?" he said hoarsely. "You put me in command. At my orders, the Armies of the Dictatorship move against the Allied Democracies. All the other generals obey me. Me! Correct?"

"He's got a point," one soldier said.

"He'll never get it," the other replied.

"Shut up, you two!" Drak roared. "Nob, aren't I right? It's the Earthly way, Nob. Authority must be recognized!"

"I'm sorry," Nob said. "Extremely sorry. Personally, I sympathize with you. But the Book of Terran Rank Equivalents is quite specific. Seven shoulder stars are the most—the absolute most—that any general can wear. I absolutely cannot allow you to wear eight."

"But you gave Frix seven! And he's just Unit General!"

"That was before we understood the 

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