He took a step, then reconsidered. He had a better idea.
"This place," he said savagely, "has just plain gone to hell!" He
stalked through the door.
The commissioner's amused voice followed him.
"Not yet," it said, "but it very possibly might, lieutenant. Don't
forget to double your guard."
* * * * *
As the door closed, Jackson looked at Don, a smile wrinkling the
corners of his eyes.
"Afraid you were just a little rough on him," he said. "He'll get over
it, but it's pretty unsettling, you know." He shrugged.
"But you haven't introduced yourself. Special Corps?"
Don looked at him blankly, then shook his head.
[Illustration]
"I'm afraid I don't know what that is," he admitted.
Jackson examined him carefully. "Hm-m-m," he said slowly. "Interesting!
Tell me, how long have you been ordering people around like this?"
Don spread his hands. "Why, I don't really know," he said. "You see,
I----"
Jackson held up a hand, smiling. "Never mind. Do you always go around
... ah ... dressed like that?"
Don glanced down, then grinned. "I'm sorry, sir, but I was in something
of a dither a while ago. Truth is, I forgot to dress after I----"
"Wait a minute." Again, Jackson held up a hand. "Start at the
beginning. While you're giving me the story, I'll have some clothes
brought in for you." He touched a button on his desk, then leaned back.
"All right," he said, "let's have it. First, of course, who are you?"
While Don was talking, an impassive aide brought an outfit for him. He
slipped into the clothing as he finished his account.
"So," he concluded, "all we need to do now is to force a conclave and
it's all over. From what Gorham told me, I'm pretty sure I can tear
Stern apart myself." His eyes clouded.
"Of course, there's Mr. Masterson. I guess they've got him in one of
the torture cells."
Jackson waved a hand. "There's no problem about Masterson. We'll have
him over here by morning.
"And I have an idea your father is all right. From what you tell me,
I'd say he used one of the evasion tricks they teach Guard pilots.
Then, he probably made a safe landing." He leaned forward and snapped
down the key on his intercom.
"Emergency operation schedule, Lorenz," he said, "as of now. Have the
department heads report here immediately. Have Communications get out
an immediate message to Deloran Base. I want at least three squadrons,
and I want 'em now. Tell 'em to burn the grass." He lifted the switch
and turned to Don.
"I'm not going to take any chances from here on," he remarked. "We'll
send a squadron of fighters along with you to pick up young Waern and
the clan leaders. That way, they'll have protection." He frowned.
"Now, that leaves us with only one more problem."
Don looked up questioningly and the commissioner nodded.
"We'll have to find someone to represent the Waernu before the
conclave. And he'll have to be acceptable to the Waernu."
"That's simple. They've already picked me."
"Won't work now. You can bring them before the clans, of course. But
they'd be in a hole if you got snapped out on civil charges right in
the middle of the conclave."
"Civil charges?"
"That's right. Little matter of that body out in the flier. You know,
and I know, the story on that. It's clearly line of duty. But up to the
decision of the conclave, you're vulnerable. Remember, Stern can claim
Gorham as a police agent. So, you were resisting arrest. Catch?"
"Ow!" Don looked down at the floor. Then he shrugged.
"But Stern has no way of knowing what happened to Gorham."
"Admitted." Jackson smiled. "But he might guess. You'd have to be
consulting with his people for some time before the conclave, you know.
And he'd have time to figure things out. Here you are. Here's the clan
book. But where's Gorham? And Gorham went up to find that book. Adds
up, you see."
"You mean I've got to stay under cover from now on?"
"Not necessarily. The clan warden doesn't have to be identified ahead
of time. Usually, it's just an honorary job, any way. But this time, he
might really have to perform his traditional duty." He looked at Don
seriously.
"Remember the private conversation between claimant and prime minister?
About that time, the warden is the only protection the claimant has.
"And this is one time a claimant may really need protection."
* * * * *
Daniel Stern slapped a folder down on his desk and got to his feet. He
circled the large office, then stopped, looking down at Gorham's vacant
desk.
What had happened to Gorham? Papers were stacked all over his own desk.
And they should be here. Most of them had been old Jake's concern. He
hadn't realized how much detail the old man had controlled.
But where was Gorham? He'd come in from Riandar. Reports showed that
much. Then, his flier had suddenly dashed over and landed on the
Federation pad. They'd tried to stop him, but----
Something must have gone wrong up there at Riandar. Something must have
made Gorham decide to come back and make a separate deal of his own.
But why? There was that pile of clothes in the Waern house. Had he----?
Maybe that blast had killed Gorham and destroyed his evidence.
He looked around hopefully. It was possible. No effort had been made to
restrain him. He still controlled the Ministry. No effort had been made
to limit his authority.
He picked up a sheet of paper. Oh, no? They didn't want to limit
him--they wanted everything. Here was this demand for a conclave.
And with that Waern kid running around loose, that was bad.
And he had no one to talk to! Of all the people in this palace, not a
single one could serve as confidant. With Gorham gone----
He shuffled through the papers. Yes, here was the formal demand for a
conclave. He looked at it unhappily.
And here was the transcript of the Waern claim. It looked too good.
He tossed the papers back to the desk. It was good, and he knew it.
He'd seen the originals in the heraldric files. They were destroyed, of
course. But here was a photo of that clan book!
And worse, here was the notice from the Resident Commissioner that the
claimant had requested protective intervention from the Galactic
Federation. That was really bad. He could remember his interview with
the commissioner on that.
Jackson had always been something of a problem. He was a stubborn man.
But up to now, he'd always backed down--if enough pressure was put on
him. This time? Hah!
He'd come in, bringing that rancher--that Kent Michaels. Stern frowned.
Hadn't old Jake said that guy had been shot down--was dead?
He hadn't looked very dead. As councilor of the Waern clan, Michaels
was supposed to be calling on Jackson for backing. Who, Stern wondered,
was backing who? He recalled the interview.
They'd come in. And he'd started to establish dominance over Jackson.
Then that Michaels had butted in. He was worse than old Jake. What with
one thing and another, he'd backed Stern into every corner in the
office.
It had ended very simply.
Jackson had simply declared that there would be a conclave.
The Stellar Guard detachment would be in attendance. No irregularities
would be tolerated.
And he'd even named the day--today. Then the two of them had walked
out.
Stern twisted his chair around viciously and sat down. He punched at a
button on his desk.
An aide came through the door. That was another thing. After that
fiasco at the Michaels ranch, he'd had to get a new aide. He motioned
the man forward impatiently.
"You have made final arrangements for the conclave?"
"Yes, sir. The Heraldric Branch has everything set up. The clans have
already gathered in the Throne Room. The private conversation will be
held in the Blue Palace. After the conversation, you will escort the
claimant across the south lawn, to the Throne Room." The aide half
turned.
"I can get you the plan and diagrams, sir."
Stern waved a hand. "Never mind. I've seen them." He paused.
"Now, has my space yacht been positioned back of the Blue Palace? Is it
properly serviced?"
The aide paused. "Yes, sir." He looked curious, but said no more.
Stern examined him haughtily. "Very well," he said. "You will remember
my instructions. Discuss the yacht with no one. You may go."
He watched as the door closed, then got out of his chair again. It was
time for the conversation. He glanced about the office, then went out
into the private garden.
* * * * *
As he walked, he looked at the side paths among the trees, which seemed
to beckon to ever more enticing vistas beyond. There were the miniature
landscapes, with their mountains and lakes. There were the small
cottages, where one could sit and enjoy a cooling drink. He smiled
wryly and walked across a miniature bridge.
As he reached the other side, he stopped, to lean against the rail.
This was not going to be easy to give up.
He watched the water birds for a while, then went on his way.
As he came through a small grove, he saw the yacht. It had been set
down where it could easily take off, and yet where it was impossible to
see unless one came within a few meters. The aide had done well. He'd
have to remember----
No, he thought, someone else would be dealing with that aide in the
future. He'd be long gone.
He walked up to the ship and opened the door, looking inside. Then, he
climbed in, glancing at his watch. It was past time for the
conversation. The claimant and his warden would be waiting. So would
the other clan wardens, who waited to make up the advance guard of
honor.
He wondered how long they'd wait.
He sat down in the pilot's chair and glanced at the gauges. Then he
flipped on the view panels and looked outside at the trees.