«If we escape to hide,» said Slinh gloomily.
When they were within a kilometer of Voal’s home, Alak halted the car and hung motionless on its gravity beams. «They’d detect a metal object coming any closer,» he said. «I’ll wait here for you, Slinh.»
Wordlessly, the reptile opened the door. His leathery wings flapped and the night swallowed him.
The servants were wakened by a shout and the sound of falling bodies. A blaster roared in the dark. Someone screamed and there was heard a beating of wings out the nursery window.
When order of a sort was restored, it was found that—something—had come into the room, rendering several guards unconscious on the way; one, who had had a brief glimpse at which he had fired, swore it was a devil complete with tail and bat wings. Be that as it may, Alia, youngest daughter of the Premier of Luan, was missing, and a note addressed to her father lay on the floor.
He read it with his cheeks whitening:
Bring ten thousand League credits in unmarked bills tomorrow night at 0100 hours to that island in the Mortha River lying one hundred and three kilometers due south-southwest of your country house. Do not tell police or make any attempt to use tracer beams or otherwise trail us, or you will not see your child again.
The Zordoch of the Branna Kai was dead, and over the whole planet Cromman and such other planets of the system as had been colonized, there was mourning; for the hereditary chief of the most powerful of the clans had been well loved.
Duwan stood at the window and looked out over the great estate of his fathers. Torches bobbed through the dusk, a long ceremonial procession approached the castle with the slowness of ancient ritual. The weird skirl of pipes and the rolling thunder of drums rose in the evening, breaking in a surf of sound against the high stone walls, surf that sent its broken spindrift up to the ears of Duwan. He savored the sound, hungrily.
The Zordoch of the Branna Kai was dead; and the chiefs of the clans were coming with their immemorial ceremonies to give the crown to his eldest son.
A slave entered, genuflecting before the tall arrogant figure, purple-robed and turbaned, that stood before the window. «Your pardon, lord,» he said fearfully, «but a stranger desires admittance.»
«Eh?» Duwan scowled. The castle was closed to all but the slowly approaching chiefs. The old rituals were not to be disturbed nor did Duwan wish distraction in his greatest of hours. He snarled his gathering anger: «I’ll have the warders’ heads for this.»
«Sire,» mumbled the slave «he did not come in by the gates. He landed on the roof in an airship. He is not of Cromman, but from some strange world—»
«Hm-m-m?» Duwan pricked up his ears, and an ominous tingle ran along his spine. He could not imagine a Galactic having much interest in as newly discovered and backward a system as this. Later, of course, after a progressive had held the Zordochy for a few years—but now—«Send him in.»
The stranger came so quickly that Duwan suspected he had been on the way while the slave went ahead to get permission. The Crommanite recognized him as terrestrial, though he did not have the look of a Solarian—probably some colonist. What was more to the point, he wore the blue uniform of the League Patrol.
The human bowed formally. «Your pardon,» he said, «but I am on an urgent mission.» He glanced out the window at the approaching torches. «In fact, I am almost too late.»
«That is true,» replied Duwan coldly. «I must ask you to leave before the chiefs reach the castle’s gates.»
«My business can be accomplished in less time. I am, as you see, a representative of the Patrol—here are my credentials, if you wish to see them.»
Duwan barely glanced at the papers. «I am familiar with the like,» he said. «After all, Cromman has been in the League for almost a century now, though we have had little outside contact.» He felt, somehow, irritated at the compulsion, that he must explain the fact: «When we were introduced to spaceships and the like, we naturally wished to develop our own planet and its sisters first before venturing into other worlds. Also, most of the Zordochs were conservatives. But a newer generation of leaders is arising—I myself, as you see, am about to become head of the most influential clan—and we will see some changes now.»
«That is what I came about,» said the Patrolman. «It may seem strange, but I will make it short: I bear a most urgent request from Galactic headquarters that you refuse the crown when it is offered you tonight and direct that it be given to your younger brother Kian.»
For a moment the sheer barefaced effrontery of it held Duwan paralyzed. Then the black rage that made him grab for his sword was throttled by a grim control, and when he spoke his voice was unnaturally leveclass="underline" «You must be mad.»
«Perfectly sane, I assure you. But hurry, please, the procession will be here soon.»
«But what imaginable reason—Why, Kian is more hopelessly conservative than even my father—And the League constitution specifically forbids interference in the internal affairs of member planets—» Duwan shook his head, slowly, slowly. «I can’t comprehend it.»
«The Patrol recognizes no laws save those of its own making—otherwise there is only immediate necessity,» said the human cynically. «I will tell you why we wish this later, if you desire, but there is no time now. You must agree at once.»
«Why… you are just crazy—» The rage came again, bitter in Duwan’s throat: «If you try to impose your will forcibly on Cromman, you’ll find that our boast of being a warrior race is not idle.»
«There is no question of force. It is not necessary.» The Patrolman reached into his portfolio. «You traveled quite a bit through the Galaxy some years ago. And the moral code of Cromman is stern and inflexible. Those two facts are sufficient.»
With a horrible feeling of having stepped over the edge of the world, Duwan watched him extract a bundle of stereofilms, psychographs, and other material from his case. «When the chiefs arrive with the crown,» said the Patrolman smugly, «I will explain that, while the League does not wish to meddle, it feels it to be a duty to warn its member planets against making mistakes. And the coronation of a Zordoch who had been guilty of, shall we say, moral turpitude in the fleshpots of the Galaxy, would be a definite mistake.»
«But—» With a feeling of physical illness, Duwan looked at the pictures. «But… by the Spirit, I was young then—»
«So you were. But will that matter to Cromman?»
«I… I’ll deny—»
«Stereofilms could be faked, yes, but not psychographic recordings, and there are plenty of scientists on Cromman who know that. Also we could produce a Crommanite or two who had been with you—»
«But—Oh, no!—Why, one of those Crommanites was a Patrolman who… who took me to that place—»
«Certainly. In fact, just between us—and I shall deny it on oath if you repeat it in public—the Patrol maintains that house and others like it and makes a point of persuading as many influential and potentially influential beings as possible to have a fling there. The records we get are often useful later on.»
Duwan reached for his sword. The Patrolman said evenly: «If I fail to report back, this evidence will be made public. I think you will be wiser to refuse the Zordochy for reasons of… well, ill health. Then this information can safely gather dust in the Patrol’s secret files.»
For a long, long moment Duwan stared at the sword. The tears blurring his eyes seemed like a film of rust across the bright steel. Then he clashed it back into its sheath.
«I have no choice,» he said. «But when the League breaks its own laws, and employs the filthiest blackmailers to do the job, then justice is dead in the Galaxy.»