Everett B. Cole

“ A figure wobbled up from the field, weapon weaving unsteadily toward the wall. The rifle snapped viciously and the figure melted back into the ground.
There was another motion and a sudden spurt of dust followed immediately after the sound of a shot. The motion ceased.
The sound of the click of the rifle action was loud against the silence of the scene.
No more figures moved. Bright flames were growing—working toward one another, to form a widening lake of flame in the grass. Don sighed and started pulling the sling from his arm. Pete stood up, looking at him. ”

“ There was a flurry of paws and the gersal struggled up to its haunches, then sat up, its brilliant red eyes fixed on Don. It stretched out short forelegs in seeming supplication, then batted futilely at the punching staff end.
Disregarding the pleading attitude of the beast, Don continued to punch at the squirming body till it was obvious that no vestige of life could remain. Then, he looked at the other man.
The fellow had managed to get to the center of the path before he had collapsed. He half sat, half lay against his pack, breathing raggedly. Sweat stood out on his forehead. ”

“ He reached up to his lapel, twisting at the bronze button.
"If you should say that to a tribesman, your life would be over. Right then, unless you were very quick. And if you should be quick enough, or lucky enough, to kill the man you insulted, his clan brothers would take it up. It would be either you—or the whole tribe." He stood up.
"I'm not a tribesman. I don't carry the sling, and I'm of galactic ancestry, so I don't have a compulsion toward blood vengeance. But I don't accept that insult. I shall go back to the Morek today and place you out of my mind." ”

“ From the edge of this depression, rose the slender rod of a speaker, a small, directional loud-speaker blossoming from it.
Michaels grinned and turned aside for an instant.
"Just like the big broadcasts, Pete," he remarked. "Feel important? You're going to have a big audience."
"Kind of like it better if I were making a personal appearance. Be a lot nicer if I could talk to them—and they could see my face."
"They can't let you do that," Don grinned. "You don't look enough like any of those guys they're supposed to be hunting. Spoil the whole effect that way." ”

“ 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." ”

“ In the fields about the house, men were getting to their feet, to stretch cramped muscles and exercise chilled limbs. A few of them started toward the ruins and the man by the speaker got to his feet to wave them back.
"Too hot to approach yet," he shouted. "We'll let a clean-up crew go over it later."
The scene faded. For an instant, the royal colors of Oredan filled the screen, then the banner folded back and Daniel Stern faced his audience, his gaze seeming to search the thoughts of those before him. ”

“ One could, without too much effort, imagine himself standing on the enclosed walkway of a palace, facing away from the inner garden. The furniture, he noted, was of excellent quality. In fact, when he started refinishing the ranch, maybe he'd come in here. He glanced at the display floor. The mats were similar in design to those in his pack.
Suddenly, he remembered his own present status and stepped back, away from the window. Simple mat makers don't concern themselves with examining displays that would cost more than they'd make in a lifetime. ”

“ Don looked at the man carefully, noting the details of his appearance. Finally, he shook his head.
"Mr. Masterson," he said slowly, "up to now, I've always thought you were a good instructor and a fine advisor. I've sat in your classes, and I even developed a lot of respect for you. All at once, you've shown me how wrong I could be." He held up a hand.
"Be quiet," he said sharply, "both of you. And listen carefully. I want to make myself fully understood. I want to drive one thought into your stupid heads. You're in the wrong part of the galaxy for such remarks as that one you just made." ”

“ Don shook his head.
"Youngster named Petoen Waern. He's old enough—older than he looks. His mother's a niece of the last king. Conclave of the tribes could put him on the throne tomorrow morning. He's a bet Stern missed a while back. Now, he's trying to make up for it."
Don frowned. "Is that really why——"
"Right. That's why the row in the locker room. That would have eliminated that claimant in a hurry. Nobody wants a king with a family criminal record and a habit of starting brawls—especially when he loses those brawls. Kings just aren't supposed to go in for that sort of thing." ”

“ He planted his left hand on the desk before Stern and leaned over a little.
"We got an agreement, you and I, remember? I do the thinking. Me—old Jake Gorham—I'm the brain. You got this talent, see. You tell people they should go do something, they go do it. But not old Jake. No, no. With him, it don't work so good. Everybody else, maybe, but not old Jake." He waved his head to and fro, keeping watchful eyes on Stern. ”

“ But he was on guard. And, friend, you don't get informal with a clansman when he's on guard.
"This is just like a little nation, and the Korental is just as surely a ruler as any king of a huge country," he went on. "Even more so than most."
He fixed his eyes on the council hut, across the narrow end of the valley.
"Everyone in his clan is his child—symbolically, at least. He tells them what to do. He tells them what to plant and when—and how much. He tells them when to hunt, and where. Governs their lives down to some pretty fine points. ”

“ Your father wants to advance a member of his clan as a claimant for the throne of Oredan. He needs the support of other clans to do this. And this is important clan business. See?"
Pete rubbed at an ear. "I begin to get the idea, I guess, but it just doesn't make too much sense. He could have you speak for him. Or I could plead my own case, for that matter, couldn't I?"
"Makes all kinds of sense." Don shook his head. "Look, you can't talk to the Korental—not on even terms—not now. You're just a clansman. If he accepts you as king-to-be, then you'll be a sort of super clan head. ”

“ Pete looked at him thoughtfully.
"You know, they always tell people to throw their weapons out and come out with their hands in the air. What would happen if someone took 'em up on it—like the wrong someone—like me, for instance?"
"Good question," Don told him. "Saw a guy come out in one broadcast. Someone vaporized him. No way of telling which direction the spray came from, of course. No tracer on the beam." He shrugged.
"Somehow, I don't think it would lead to a long and happy life."
"No." Pete nodded. "I didn't suppose it would." He looked at the long target rifle in Don's hands. ”

“ But he's one of those people. If he tells a man to go out and shoot himself, the next thing you hear is the sound of a falling body." His eyes clouded and he looked searchingly at Don.
"You should know what I mean. Like when you told that Ghar thief to tell us all about it—remember?"
"Look, Dad, that's something I'd like to know...."
Kent Michaels waved a hand. "So would I. But I know less about it than you do, so it's no use. All I know is that some people can tell most anyone to do almost anything—and it gets done. As I said, Stern seems to be one of them." ”

“ Don interrupted. "Are you Commissioner Jackson?"
"Yes. But——"
"Good! Here, take this." Don shoved the book out. "And let's go into your office."
Benton Jackson looked incredulously at the figure before him. He reached out and accepted the book, then turned.
"Another of those!" he said softly.
Hense followed them inside. There were, he was discovering, peculiar things about this dream business. He had completed his mission. He hadn't been dismissed. But he could wait here, or he could tag along and see what happened.
"Well, now," he told himself. "Things are looking up." ”

“ Stern looked up in annoyance. The Waern boy had started to take the pen. Now, he stopped and jerked around.
"You will listen to nothing this man tells you," ordered the warden. "You will do nothing he asks. Do you understand that?"
The boy nodded. "Thanks, Don," he said. "He almost got me that time."
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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ He looked out the port again, then pointed.
"But that weapons carrier was shielded. I didn't think you could touch one of those with anything but another inductor."
Don leaned the rifle against the wall.
"That's the way they figured it, too," he remarked. "But they forgot something.
"You see, rifles have been obsolete for so long everybody's forgotten their capabilities. Everybody, that is, except a few crazy hobbyists. And no one ever thinks in terms of long-range missile throwers." ”

“ Don shook his head, smiling. "They won't do too much searching," he said calmly. "If they actually do attack this place, they'll get some genuine resistance. And there'll be a Federation patrol out here right after the shooting, to investigate the destruction of a Galactic Citizen's property."
His smile broadened. "At least, that'll be a good excuse. You see, Mr. Masterson's alerted people at the Commissioner's office. They know who's here—or will, when the shooting starts."
"But with this build-up, it will seem like an ordinary hunt for a criminal gang." Pete shook his head doubtfully. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Kent Michaels got up and reached out to the weapons rack.
"Got one more shot on this target. Then we'll talk it over, hm-m-mm?"
He stepped up to a line inlaid in the floor. Deliberately, he placed a cartridge in the rifle and closed the action. Then, he raised the weapon, seated it on his shoulder, and brought it into position with a twisting motion.
Don watched, smiling in spite of himself, as the front sight rose and fell with his father's breathing. That routine never changed. From the time the Old Man picked up his weapon till he laid it down, you could predict every move he'd make. ”

“ They wouldn't like a dictator—as such. But the Korental doesn't need force to govern his people. They do things his way because ... well, it's a matter of tradition. It's the only honorable way to do things. See what I mean?"
Pete shook his head doubtfully and Don frowned.
"Pete, your family was originally a mountain clan. I should think you'd know these customs better than I do."
Again, Pete shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, "but I don't. You see, my father and my uncle thought it would be better if I learned the customs and culture of your people and of the plainsmen. ”

“ The man nodded wordlessly, his fascinated stare fixed on Don's face.
"Then I want you to fix this in your mind," Don told him. "Should you be so unwise as to attempt to mention any of these things that have happened since you came down those stairs—should you even allow your memory to dwell on these things for too long—these are the things that will happen to you.
"You will sink to your knees. Your muscles will be unable to support you, and you will fall to your back. ”

“ Stern's face was bloodless. He dropped into his chair, then put his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Jake," he said. "Sorry. I guess I'm just a little tired right now. Forget it, will you?"
"Sure, Danny-boy. Sure. We forget all about it. Now suppose we quit for the night, eh? Then in the morning, we get this Masterson fellow in here. And you find out from him just who he is and why he comes here. And you can let him tell us what he's been doing and who he's been working with, eh?" Gorham smiled and stuck the weapon back in his sleeve.
"We ain't doing so bad," he went on. ”

“ 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. ”

“ The khroal remained steadily pointed at its target.
Don hesitated. This was about as far from good as it could get, he thought. Now who was this? Where did he fit into the situation?
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Oh, I don't mind telling you that. Name's Jake. Jake Gorham. But come on. Let's get on our way. We got a nice, long ride, you and me, see?" Gorham waved his weapon again.
"Come on," he repeated. "Nice young fella like you, he don't wanna get all scattered around. Shame to mess up this nice pretty little garden, you know?" ”