"No. I've seen him in the halls a few times since then. He always
avoided me--up to now."
"I see." Don nodded. "But today, he suddenly went for you--with
reinforcements."
Pete grinned wanly. "I guess I'll have to get used to things like
that," he said. "Ever since Uncle Harle was----" He clasped his hands
together, then turned suddenly aside.
For an instant, he stood, head averted, then he ran over to lean
against a row of lockers, facing away from Michaels.
"Uncle Harle didn't---- Oh, why don't you just leave me alone?"
Don considered him for a moment, then walked over, to place a hand on
his shoulder.
"Hey, hold up a minute, Chum," he said. "I'm not trying to give you a
bad time. Now suppose you calm down a little. Doesn't do you a bit of
good to tear yourself apart. You're not responsible for whatever your
uncle got into, you know."
Pete faced him, his back braced against the lockers.
"That's what you say here," he said bitterly. "Sure, we've been in the
same classes. You know me, so you try to be decent. But what do you
really think? And how about everyone else? You think they're being all
nice and understanding about this?" He snorted.
"Know why I'm not in class now? Got no class to go to. I was in Civics
Four this period. They threw me out. Faculty advisor said I'd do better
in ... in some Shop Study."
Don frowned. "Funny," he said. "You always got good grades. No trouble
that way?"
"Of course not." Pete spread his hands. "I----"
A low snicker interrupted the words and Don looked around, to see Gerry
Kelton close by. Behind him were his brother and Maurie. Gerry laughed
derisively.
"Go ahead," he commented, "let him talk. You might learn something from
the little----"
Don motioned impatiently with his head.
"Get going, you three," he said sharply. "You've got less than a minute
before late bell."
"Sure we have," Gerry told him. "We might even be late to class. Now
wouldn't that be awful? Some jerk wants to write up a bunch of lousy
report slips, make him look good, we're----"
"Move!" Michaels' voice rose sharply. "Don't try that one on me. It's
been tried before. Doesn't work."
Gerry paused in mid-stride, then seemed to deflate. He turned away.
"Come on, guys," he said. "Let's get out of here. We'll take care of
this later."
* * * * *
As the three disappeared down the hall, Don turned back. Pete was
staring at him curiously.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Oh, you know what I mean." Pete shook his head impatiently. "Make
people do things. There's only one of you and three of them. And
they're all bigger than you are. Why did they just do what you told
them without making a lot of trouble?"
Don shrugged, then touched the button in his lapel.
"They were in the wrong and they knew it. They've got enough trouble
now. Why should they look for more?"
Pete shook his head again. "They didn't have to give their names," he
said. "All you did was tell them to."
"What else could they do? After all, you know who Gerry is. So he had
no out."
Pete laughed wryly. "Who'd take my word? Besides, Gerry's shoved
guardians around before. He's got friends all over school. Ever hear of
the 'Hunters'?"
"Who hasn't? Supposed to be some sort of gang, but I've never talked to
anyone that knew much about who they are, or what they do." Don was
thoughtful. "Supposed to be all galactic kids. I've heard the police
are trying to break them up. Those three part of that bunch?"
Pete nodded wordlessly.
Don's eyebrows rose a little. "Prove that," he remarked, "and it won't
just be the school that'll be giving them trouble. The police would
probably give a lot to really get their hands on some of them."
"I'm not so sure about that," Pete told him. "It was my uncle who was
interested in the Hunters. Now, it's different. Maybe the guy that went
and got the proof of their membership would be the one who'd have the
trouble. Real, final type trouble."
"What's that?"
"Look, I just told you. Among other things, my uncle was interested in
the Hunters." Pete bent his knees and took a squatting position. His
elbows rested on his knees and he relaxed, resting his chin on folded
hands and looking up at Don.
"Seems as though some other people didn't like to have him asking too
many questions around." He paused.
"You think my uncle was getting a lot of money from the gamblers and
some smuggling combine. That right?"
"Well----" Don hesitated.
"Sure you do. So does everybody else. The galactics are telling each
other about why don't they get somebody in authority besides some
stupid Khlorisana. And the Khlorisanu talk about the old nobility--how
they can't stop robbing the people. It all goes along with what the
papers have been saying. There's been more, too, but those bribery
charges are what they've really worked on. They keep telling you some
of the same stuff on the newscasts. And everybody believes them. But it
isn't true. My uncle was an honest policeman. They got him out of the
way because he wouldn't deal with them--and maybe for...." He held out
a hand.
"Figure it out. Why didn't they just give him a trial and put him into
prison if he were guilty? Or, if they were going to have an execution,
why not make it legal--over in Hikoran?" He paused, then waved the hand
as Don started to speak.
"They didn't dare have a trial. It would be too public, and there was
no real evidence. So they say he escaped. They say he slugged a
guard--took his weapons. And he's supposed to have shot his way out of
Khor Fortress, after releasing some other prisoners. They say he forced
his way clear from Hikoran to the Doer valley." He laughed bitterly.
"Did you ever see Khor Fortress?
"And you should have seen my uncle. He was a little, old man. He'd
stand less chance of beating up some guard and taking his weapons than
I would have of knocking out all three of those fellows a few minutes
ago." Again, he paused, looking at Don searchingly.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this, unless maybe I better tell
someone while I'm still around to talk," he added.
"Now wait." Don shook his head. "Aren't you making----"
"A great, big thing? No." Pete shook his head decidedly. "I've talked
to my uncle. I've heard my uncle and father talk about things. And ...
well, maybe I've gotten mixed up in things a little, too. Maybe I'm
really mixed up in things, and maybe----" He stopped talking suddenly
and got to his feet.
"No, my uncle didn't escape. That whole affair was staged, so they
wouldn't have to bring him to trial. Too many things would have come
out, and they could never make a really legal case. This way ... this
way, he can't talk. No one can defend him now, and no one will ask too
many questions." He turned away.
"Oh, listen." Don was impatient. "That flight developed into a national
affair. All kinds of witnesses. It was spread out all over the map.
People got killed. Who could set up something like that and make it
look genuine?"
Pete didn't look around.
"Look who got killed. A lot of old-line royalists," he said shortly.
"And some of the Waernu. You think my uncle would kill his own
clansmen?" He expelled an explosive breath.
"And there's one man who could set up something like that. He doesn't
like the old royalists very well, either. And he hates the Waernu.
Think it over." He walked quickly out of the room.
* * * * *
Don looked after him for a few seconds, then sat down and fixed an
unseeing gaze on the far wall of the locker room.
"Gaah!" he told himself, "the kid really pulled the door open. Wonder
why he picked me?"
Come to think of it, he wondered, why was it people seemed to tell him
things they never mentioned to anyone else? And why was it they seemed
to get a sort of paralysis when he barked at them? He scratched an ear.
He couldn't remember the time when the ranch hands hadn't jumped to do
what he wanted--if he really wanted it. The only person who seemed to
be immune was Dad. He grinned.
"Imagine anyone trying to get the Old Man into a dither--and getting
away with it."
He laughed and looked at the wall for a few more seconds, then opened a
book.
"Wonder," he said to himself. "Seems as though anyone should be able to
do it--if they were sure they were right." Then he shook his head.
"Only one trouble with that idea," he added. "They don't." He shrugged
and turned his attention to the book in his hands.
The click of heels on the flooring finally caused him to look up. He
examined the new arrival, then smiled.
"Oh, hello, Jack."
"Hi, Don." The other looked at the array of books. "You look busy
enough. Catching up on your skull-work?"
"Yeah. Guy has to study once in a while, just to pass the time away.
Besides, this way, the prof doesn't have to spend so much money on red
pencils."
"Yeah, sure." Jack Bordelle grinned. "Be terrible if he went broke
buying red leads. I go to a lot of trouble myself to keep that from
happening." He paused, looked sideways at Don, then rubbed his cheek.
"Speaking of trouble, I hear you had a little scrape here at the
beginning of the period."
"That right? Where'd you get that word?"
"Seems as though Gerry Kelton didn't make it to class in time. Teacher
ran him out for a late slip and he got me to write him up. He's pretty
sore."
Don frowned. "Funny he'd need a late slip. He already had a write-up."
He shrugged. "Oh, well. I should get excited about making some of the
lower school crowd sore?"
Bordelle lifted one shoulder. "Well, Michaels, you know your own
business, I guess, but Kelton's got a lot of friends around, they tell
me."
"Yeah. I've heard." Don looked steadily at the other.
"And, well----" Bordelle examined the toes of his shoes carefully.
"Well, maybe you ought to think it over about turning in those slips
you wrote up, huh?"
"Think so?"
"Well, I would." Bordelle looked up, then down again. "You know, I've
known a few guys, crossed the Keltons. Right away, they found
themselves all tangled up with the Hunters. Makes things a little
rugged, you know?"
"A little rugged, huh?"
"Yeah." Bordelle spread his hands. "Look, Michaels, I've got nothing in
this one. It's just ... well, I've known you for a few years now--ever
since Lower School. Been in some classes with you. And you seem like a
pretty decent, sensible guy. Hate to see you walk into a jam, see?
Especially over some native kid with a stinking family record." He
paused.
"Of course, it's your own business, but if it were me, I'd tear up
those slips, you know?"
"Easy to tear up slips. Only one trouble. They're numbered. How would
you explain the missing numbers?"
"Well, guys lose books now and then, remember? Maybe they wouldn't
holler too loud."
Don smiled. "I knew a guy once that lost a book. They took it pretty
hard. Got real rough about it."
Bordelle shrugged. "Yeah. But maybe Al Wells might not be so rough
about it this time, huh? He might just sort of forget it, if you told
him you just sort of ... well, maybe you were checking the incinerator
on your way to the office, and the book slipped out of your pocket--you
know?"
"You think it could happen that way?"
"It could--easy."
Don stood up.
"Tell you," he said, "I might lose a book some day. But they don't come
big enough to make me throw one away." He picked up his books and put
them under his arm.
"I'm going to turn those slips in tonight. Maybe you'd better turn in
the one you wrote up, too. Then nobody'll get burned for losing a
book."
"I always thought you were a pretty sensible guy, Michaels." Bordelle
shook his head. "After all, you stopped that beef. Nobody got hurt, and
you've got nothing to prove about yourself. Know what I mean? So why
the big, high nose all at once?"
A bell clanged and the crash and roar of students dashing about echoed
through the halls. Don shrugged carelessly.
"Oh, I don't know. Can't even explain it to myself. Maybe I just don't
like people pushing other people around. Maybe I don't like to be
threatened. Maybe I've even got bit by some of those principles
Masterson's always talking about. I don't know." He turned away.
"Well, this is the end of my school day. See you."
Bordelle looked after him.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It's the end of your day all right. Better
look out it doesn't turn out to be the end of all your days."
* * * * *
Don glanced down at his textbook, then looked out the window. A blanket
of dark clouds obscured the sky. Light rain filtered coldly down, to
diffuse the greenery of the school grounds, turning the scene outside
into a textured pattern of greens, dotted here and there with a reddish
blur. To the west, the mist completely hid the distant mountains.
It would be cold outside--probably down around sixteen degrees or so.
It had dropped to fifteen this morning, and unless the weather cleared
up, there'd be no point in going up to the hills this weekend. The
Korental and his clan would be huddled in their huts, waiting for
warmer weather. A wild Ghar hunt would be the last thing they'd be
interested in. Besides, the Gharu would be----
He jerked his attention back to the classroom. A student was reciting.
"... And ... uh, that way, everything was all mixed up with the taxes
and the government couldn't get enough money. So King Weronar knew he'd
have to get someone to help un ... straighten the taxes out, so he ...
uh, well, Daniel Stern had been in the country for a couple of years,
and he had ... well, sort of advised. So the king----"
Don looked out the window again.
With this weather, the ranch would be quiet. Hands would be all in the
bunkhouses, crowding around the stoves. Oh, well, he and Dad could fool
around down in the range. Since Mom had---- He jerked his head around
to face the instructor.
Mr. Barnes was looking at him.
"Um-m-m, yes. That's good, Mara," he said. "Michaels, suppose you go on
from there."
Don glanced across at the student who had just finished her recitation,
but she merely gave him a blankly unfriendly stare. He looked back at
the instructor.
"I lost the last few sentences," he admitted. "Sorry."
Barnes smiled sardonically. "Well, there's an honest admission," he
said. "What's the last you picked up?"
Don shrugged resignedly.
"The appointment of Daniel Stern as Minister of Finance," he said.
"That would be in eight twelve."
"You didn't miss too much." Barnes nodded. "You just got a little
ahead. Take it from there."
"After a few months, the financial affairs of the kingdom began to
improve," Don commenced.
"By the middle of eight thirteen, the tax reforms were in full effect.
There was strong opposition to the elimination of the old system--both
from the old nobility, who had profited by it, and from some of the
colonists. But an Enforcement Corps was formed to see that the new
taxes were properly administered and promptly paid. And the kingdom
became financially stable." He paused.
Actually, he realized with a start, it had been Stern who had founded
and trained the Enforcement Corps--first to enforce the revenue taxes,
and later as a sort of national police force. And it had always been
Stern who had controlled the Enforcement Corps. It was almost a private
army, in fact. Maybe Pete---- He continued his recitation.
"Then Prime Minister Delon died rather ... rather suddenly, and the
king appointed Mr. Stern to the vacancy. And when King Weronar himself
died a little more than four years ago, Prime Minister Stern was
acclaimed as prince regent." Don paused thoughtfully.
* * * * *
Delon's death had been sudden--and a little suspicious. But no one had
questioned Stern or any of his people about it. And the death of the
king and queen themselves--now there was.... Again, he got back to his
recitation.
"There was opposition to Mr. Stern's confirmation as Regent, of course,
since he was a galactic and not native to the planet. But he was the
prime minister, and therefore the logical person to take the reins." He
frowned.
"The claims to the throne were--and still are--pretty muddled. No one
of the claimants supported by the major tribes is clearly first in line
for the throne, and no compromise has been reached." The frown
deepened.
"Traditionally," he went on, "the Star Throne should never be vacant
for more than five years. So we can expect to see a full conclave of
the tribes within a few months, to choose among the claimants and
select one to be either head of the clan Onar, or the founder of a new
royal line."
Barnes nodded. "Yes, that's fairly clear. But we must remember, of
course, that the tradition you mention is no truly binding law or
custom. It's merely a superstitious belief, held to by some of the
older people, and based on ... well----" He smiled faintly.
"Actually, under the present circumstances, with no claimant clearly in
line, and with the heraldic branch still sifting records, it is far
more practical and sensible to recognize the need for a continued
regency." He took a step back and propped himself against his desk.
"In any event, most of the claimants of record are too young for
independent rule, so the regency will be forced to carry on for some
time."
He looked for a fleeting instant at the inconspicuous monitor speaker
on the wall.
"As matters stand now, the tribes might find it impossible to decide on
any of the claimants. As you said, there is no truly clear line. King
Weronar died childless, you remember, and his queen didn't designate a
foster son." He shrugged.
"Well, we shall see," he added. "Now, suppose we go back a little,
Michaels. You said there was some opposition from the colonists to the
tax reforms of eight twelve. Can you go a little more into detail on
that?"
Don touched his face. He'd been afraid of that. Somehow, neither the
book nor the lectures really jibed with some of the things he'd heard
his father talk about. Something about the whole situation just didn't
make full sense. He shrugged mentally. Well....
The door opened and a student runner came into the room. Don watched
him walk up to Mr. Barnes with some relief. Maybe, after the
interruption, someone else would be picked to carry on.
The youngster came to the desk and handed a slip to the instructor, who
read it, then looked up.
"Michaels," he said, "you seem to have some business at the
self-government office. You may be excused to take care of it."
* * * * *
Al Wells looked up as Don entered the office.
"What's the---- Oh, Michaels. Got some questions for you on that row
you stopped in the locker room yesterday."
"Oh? I thought my write-up was pretty clear. What's up?"
The self-government chairman leaned back.
"You said this Gerry Kelton banged into this kid, Waern, started
pushing him around, and struck him once. That right?"