Stern glared angrily at the warden.
"You will go back to your place," he ordered. "Do not attempt to
interfere again."
Incredulously, he watched as the warden shook his head.
"Sorry, fellow," he heard the man say, "but that doesn't work on me.
And it won't work on Pete--not again. Now suppose we do this thing
right."
Stern examined the man more closely.
He was larger than the Waern boy, and more strongly built. But he was
very little older--and definitely no giant. He was at least fifteen
centimeters shorter than Stern himself, and much lighter. Looked, Stern
decided, like a galactic. He felt a surge of hatred.
No little man could dare defy him!
He tilted his head a little and looked downward into the warden's eyes.
"Your duties are to protect the person of this boy, so long as he is a
legitimate claimant for the throne," he said contemptuously, "not to
advise him. Your presence here is merely required by tradition, not by
real need."
He smiled coldly. "And, since his claim is obviously nonexistent, you
have no standing here. Leave this palace at once!" He pointed
imperiously at the door, then turned his attention to Pete again.
"You will write as I told you. Now!"
"Ignore him, Pete." The warden raised his weapon a little.
"Name's Michaels," he told Stern conversationally. "Donald Michaels.
You've met my father already." He moved the long weapon again.
"You sent some of your people up to our place a while ago. I destroyed
them with this." He jerked his head downward at the barrel of the
weapon.
"Brought it along with me when I came down here. It's quite capable of
taking you apart, I assure you." He moved a hand on the stock.
"And if you attempt any more of that unlawful coercion," he added,
"that's just what will happen. I'll protect my claimant, you see."
He tilted his head, to indicate the other clan wardens.
"These men know what is supposed to be done here as well as you and I,"
he added. "We all know this is a purely formal meeting. The validity of
these documents has already been determined."
"As Prime Minister, I----"
"It is no part of your duty here to rule on the validity of any
document," Michaels interrupted. "And it certainly isn't proper to
attempt in any manner to persuade a claimant to abandon his claim. Not
here. These things are proper only before the full conclave."
"Are you trying to tell me my duties?" Stern looked incredulous. This
was not going well at all!
"I am doing just that," Don told him evenly. "Apparently someone has
to." He glanced around the room.
"Are there any other claimants present?"
Stern felt drained of energy. What was this? The father had been
impossible to control--like Gorham. Did the son combine other powers
with that resistance? Where had these Michaels people come from? He
tried once more.
"There are no valid claimants present," he snapped sharply. "I----"
"That's not exactly what I asked," Don told him. "But we'll take it as
meaning that Pete's the only claimant. So, I demand that you follow the
ritual and escort him to the conclave." He waved the weapon.
"Come on. We've been held up here long enough. Let's go."
* * * * *
Suddenly, Stern felt powerless. This whole thing had fallen apart. He
should never have come in here. He should have just taken off--as he
had intended. In space, he would have been safe, at least. Here? He
bent his head resignedly.
He could try one more thing. This was a young man--inexperienced.
Maybe----
"You will precede us," he said.
"No," Don told him, "I don't think I will. I think it will be better if
I leave that honor to one of the other wardens. I want to be able to
see you." He jerked his head at a man who stood to the left of the
door.
"Will you honor us, Mernar-dar?"
The other tilted his head. "It is I who am honored," he said. He turned
and went out the door.
Dazedly, Stern walked forward, pacing with the claimant. He paused as
he got to the porch. Michaels was still standing inside the door.
"Right here," he said coldly, "we shall return to a very old custom. I
shall remain, to protect the rear. And I shall watch the entire
progress of the advance to the Throne Room." He smiled grimly.
"You are, I suppose, familiar with the range of a medium duty blaster?"
Stern nodded. "I've seen them operate," he admitted.
"Good." Don nodded. "This thing will outrange them a little. I'll have
you in my sights all the way. Remember that, and don't do anything that
might cause me to fear for Pete's safety."
The wardens spread out, to fan out before Stern and Pete. Acting the
part of scouts before a column, they started across the wide lawn,
toward the Throne Room.
Stern watched them for a moment, then took Pete's arm. Together, they
walked down the long flight of steps. For a moment, they paused at the
path, as ritual demanded, for a signal to continue.
Stern allowed his thoughts to race.
There was no question about it now, he thought. This boy would be
upheld by the conclave--if he got before it. And if he were now
sustained, an ex-regent named Stern would find himself in very grave
trouble indeed.
This was much worse than that mob in Tonar City. He glanced toward the
gate in the wall ahead and to his right.
Just beyond that door lay his yacht--and safety. If he could only
figure out a way----
* * * * *
Across the lawn, a warden was making the signal for the advance. The
way, then, was ritually clear. Stern stepped forward, still glancing
toward that door.
They would pass within just a few meters of it. Now, where was that
Michaels?
Suddenly, he realized he could never hope to get out his hidden weapon,
find Michaels with it, and vaporize him. Not until the other had plenty
of time to release a beam of his own. He shuddered, remembering the
destruction that weapon had caused up in the Morek.
At this range, even the narrowest blaster beam would fan out enough to
destroy a man's entire body. And that thing, whatever it was----
Suddenly, he smiled. That was it! It would spread out too much.
He flipped out the little khroal from its hiding place in his sleeve
and placed it against Pete's back. With his other hand, he gripped the
boy around the throat. Then he turned, seeking to locate Michaels. The
fellow was out of sight.
Probably, Stern thought, he had remained in the shadow of the huge
pillars of the porch--or even inside the Blue Palace itself.
His whole body itched. The man might fire without thinking! He raised
his voice.
"Can you hear me, Michaels?"
He had been right. The answering voice came from the palace doorway.
"I can hear."
"Then listen carefully." Stern put all his persuasive power into his
voice.
"I shall not harm this boy unless I am forced to, but I assure you that
if I am interfered with, I'll not hesitate. From where you are, you can
do nothing. Any blast you release will spread out to kill him as well
as me. You realize that?"
"I can hear you." Don's voice was expressionless.
"And," added Stern loudly, "if I am struck or attacked, I will have
time to release this khroal. This is also obvious, is it not?"
There was no answer. Stern frowned. What was the fellow doing? He drew
a deep breath. He'd have to go through with it now, no matter what.
"I am going to the gate in the wall over there. Shortly after I go
through that gate, I shall release this boy, and use a means of escape
which I have prepared. You may watch me, of course, but make no effort
to stop me--or this boy dies."
He paused again, waiting for an answer.
The wardens, he could see, had stopped and stood, undecided. None of
them was close enough to be dangerous.
This, he thought with a surge of hope, was going to work out after all.
He turned his eyes for a swift glance at his captive.
Once at the yacht, he could release a bit of energy from the khroal.
This boy had destroyed all his careful plans. No, he decided, Pete
Waern could not be allowed to live and enjoy those good things the
palace afforded.
He tightened his grip about the boy's neck.
* * * * *
Don Michaels had strapped his sling on his arm. Now, he lay on the
floor of the Blue Palace. Stern's head was centered in the scope and
the cross hairs bobbed slowly about a spot just in front of the man's
right ear.
"No question about it," Don told himself, "if Stern gets Pete through
that gate, that'll be the end of Pete."
He put pressure on the trigger.
"The guy's as sore as a singed gersal," he told himself. "And half nuts
besides. He'll spray Pete with that thing if it's the last thing he
ever does." He continued his pressure on the trigger. The cross hairs
still hovered about the man's ear.
"Hope that anatomy book was right," he told himself.
Of course, he realized, if he missed the tiny target--if the bullet
failed to destroy the motor centers on impact--Stern would die anyway.
But he just might be able to press the release on that khroal. And that
wouldn't be good.
The aiming point moved a trifle and Don eased back into position.
What had happened to the trigger on this thing? Had he forgotten to
take off the safety? Again, the cross hairs started to wander and he
eased them back--back toward that little spot.
The rifle leaped upward with a roar, slamming back against Don's
shoulder. He let it settle again, examining the scene anxiously through
his sight.
Stern was still on his feet, but his hands were dropping limply to his
sides. Don could just see the glitter of the khroal by Pete's feet.
Then, Stern's knees bent and he flowed to the ground.
Pete had turned at the sound of the shot. He looked back at the palace
door, then glanced at the khroal.
At last, he knelt beside the body on the ground. He felt the throat,
then examined the man's head. For an instant, he looked a little sick,
then he looked away from the tiny hole in front of the man's ear. He
got to his feet and waved a hand.
"Pinwheel," he shouted.
* * * * *
The newly enrobed King of Oredan settled back in his chair and shook
the heavy cloth back from his shoulder.
"So," he said thoughtfully, "it's all over." He sighed.
"And it's all just beginning, too. Now, I'll have to form a
government." He smiled sadly.
"It's funny, Don. For years, I've dreamed of actually being king. Now
it's suddenly happened and I feel about as helpless as they come." He
stretched out a hand. "All at once, I'm realizing it's pretty rough for
a schoolboy to suddenly find himself with a whole nation to run. I
don't know where to start."
"You'll get used to it, Pete." Don smiled at him. "Get yourself a few
really competent advisors. Tell them what you want, and let them go out
and get some competent people to do things. And you've got it whipped."
"Yeah." Pete nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's the way it's done. But----
Well, I asked for it. And they handed it to me." He looked directly at
Don.
"How about you? You've got plenty of clan rank, you know. What
department do you want?"
Don shook his head slowly. "Don't look at me," he advised. "They
offered me a spot in the Stellar Guard and I'm signing up." He glanced
around the room.
"I've got no place here."
"What are you talking about?" Pete frowned. "I owe this whole thing to
you. I wouldn't even be alive if you hadn't been around. You can have
anything you want here, and you know it. What can the Federation offer
you?"
Don shrugged. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Lot of work, of course.
Pride of accomplishment, maybe. Peace of mind. Hard to say. Only one
thing I'm sure of. I wouldn't work out here."
"I don't get it." Pete shook his head.
Don looked at him, his face expressionless.
"Look, Pete. Do you really like me?"
"Why, of course. You saved my life and set me on the throne. I told you
that."
"Not just what I mean. Do you feel perfectly relaxed and easy when I'm
around? Would you really call me a close friend?"
Pete squirmed in his chair. Uneasily, he looked overhead at the tassled
canopy.
"That's a lousy way to put it," he complained.
"Well?" Don's face was still expressionless.
Pete forced himself to look directly at him.
"I don't know. I ... well, you've done so darn much. Well, I guess I am
a little afraid of you, at that." He looked at the floor.
"Oh, all right. I'll have to admit it. You do actually make me uneasy.
Always did, even back at school. Lot of fellows felt the same way."
Don stood. "That's what I mean. And it would get worse if I hung
around. You'd get so you hated yourself--and me." He held out a hand.
"You're the king--the ruler of this whole nation. That means you've got
to be the head man. No one can give you orders. They can suggest, but
no one can be even capable of giving you orders." He smiled.
"Dad will rebuild the ranch, of course. And I may come back once in a
while, in a very quiet way. But for the most part, I'd better not be
around too often."
Pete got to his feet. Suddenly, he looked relieved and at ease.
"I'll make certain your ranch is never interfered with," he promised.
"It's yours, so long as you or your father want it. And I hope that
some day it'll be a home for your kids." He paused.
"If you ever do decide to come to the capital," he added, "you'll be a
welcome guest at the palace."
"O.K." Don grinned. "Let's leave it that way. Good-by, then, and I hope
yours is the longest reign in history."
He turned and walked through the curtain.