"We need a scapegoat," Reif said without expression.
Joe Chessman thought about that. He looked to Barry Watson again.
Watson said, "The whole Texcocan State is about to topple. Not only do
we have to give them immediate reform, but we're going to have to blame
the past hardships and mistakes on somebody. Somebody has to take the
rap, be thrown to the wolves. If not, maybe we'll all wind up taking the
blame."
"Ah," Chessman said. His red-rimmed eyes went around them again,
thoughtfully. "We should be able to dig up a few local chieftains and
some of the Security Police heads."
They shook their heads. "It has to be somebody big," Natt Roberts said
thickly, "a few of my Security Police won't do it."
Joe Chessman's eyes went to Reif. "The Khan is the highest ranking
Texcocan of all," he said, finally. "The Khan and some Security Police
heads would satisfy them."
Reif's face was as frigid as the Earthman's. He said, "I am afraid not,
Joseph Chessman. You are Number One. It is your statue that is in every
commune square. It is your portrait that hangs in every distribution
center, every messhall, every schoolroom. You are the Number One--as you
have so often pointed out to us. My title has become meaningless."
Joe Chessman spat out a curse, fumbled the gun into his hand and fired
before the Tulan soldiers could get to him. In a moment they had wrested
the weapon from his hand and had his arms pinioned. It was too late.
Reif had been thrown backward two paces by the blast of the
heavy-calibered gun. Now he held a palm over his belly and staggered to
a chair. He collapsed into it, looked at his son, let a wash of
amusement pass over his face, said, "Khan," meaninglessly, and died.
Natt Roberts shrilled at Chessman, "You fool, we were going to give you
a big, theatrical trial. Sentence you to prison and then, later, claim
you'd died in your cell and smuggle you out to the _Pedagogue_."