ready. The windows staredblankly back.
The camera shifted back to the weapons carrier. A low voice spoke.
"Let's have a look at that scope, Walton."
A man's back moved aside and the light and dark pattern of the rangedetector showed on the screen. The low voice spoke again.
"Four of them," it said. "Looks as though they've got a small arsenalin there with 'em. See those bright pips?"
"Khroal?" queried another voice.
"A couple of those, yeah," the first voice said. "But that isn't toobad. Those are just antipersonnel. They've got a pair of rippers, too.Good thing we've got screens up. And there's a firebug. They could givethose guys on the ground a real hard time." A finger appeared in frontof the detector.
"See that haze with the lines in it?"
"Them the charges?"
"That's right. They show up like that on both scopes, see? You canalways spot heat-ray charges. They look like nothing else. Only troubleis, they louse up the range scale. You can't tell----"
* * * * *
Don looked critically at the carrier.
There was, he thought, evidence of carelessness. No deflector screenswere set up. A Moreku tribesman could put a stone from a sling inthere, and really mess them up--if he could sneak in close enough. Hegrinned inwardly.
"Of course, if he hit the right spot, he'd go up with 'em," he toldhimself. "Be quite a blast."
He continued to study the weapons carrier arrangements, noting that thechargers were hot, ready for instant activation. Even the gun currentwas on. He could see the faint iridescence around the beam-formingelements. He shook his head.
"Hit that lens system against something right now," he mutteredinaudibly, "or get something in the field, and that would be the end."
The loud-speaker clicked again and the camera swung to center the housein its field of view.
"Your time is running out, Waern." The amplified roar of the voicereverberated from the hills. "You have twenty seconds left."
Abruptly, the speaker became a blaze of almost intolerable light. Theman near it rolled away hurriedly, dropping his microphone. Another manquickly picked up a handset and spoke briefly into it.
Again, the camera picked up the weapons carrier. The crew chief had hishand on his microphone switch. He nodded curtly and adjusted a dial.The lens barrel of the projector swung toward the house, stopped, swungback a trifle, and held steady.
The pointer, sitting in front of the crew chief, moved a hand andflicked a switch.
"Locked on."
The crew chief glanced over the man's shoulder, reached out to put hishand on a polished lever, and pressed. Mechanism at the rear of thelong projector clicked. The faint glow over the beam formers became ablaze. A charge case dropped out and rolled into a chute. Anothercharge slid in to replace it and for a brief instant, a coruscatingstream of almost solid light formed a bridge between house and carrier.
Then the busy click of mechanism was drowned by the crash of anexplosion. A ragged mass of flame shot from the house, boiled skyward,then darkened, to be replaced by a confused blur of smoke and flyingdebris. The crew chief took his hand from the lever and waited.
At last, the drumroll of echoes faded to silence--the debris fell backto ground--the smoke drifted down the valley with the light breeze. Andthe rising sun again flooded its light over the estate.
The rambling white house, shaded by its miniature grove of trees, hadgone. Charred timbers reached toward the sky from a blackened scar inthe grass. On the carefully kept lawn, little red flowers bloomed,their black beds expanding as the flaming blossoms grew.
Near the charred skeleton of the house, one tree remained stubbornlyupright, its bare branches hanging brokenly. About it, bright flamesdanced on the shattered bits of its companions.
In the fields about the house, men were getting to their feet, tostretch cramped muscles and exercise chilled limbs. A few of themstarted toward the ruins and the man by the speaker got to his feet towave them back.
"Too hot to approach yet," he shouted. "We'll let a clean-up crew goover it later."
The scene faded. For an instant, the royal colors of Oredan filled thescreen, then the banner folded back and Daniel Stern faced hisaudience, his gaze seeming to search the thoughts of those before him.
"And so," he said, "Harle Waern came to bay and elected to shoot it outwith the Enforcement Corps." He moved his head from side to side.
"And with the armament he had gathered, he and his companions mighteven have succeeded in burning their way to the mountains, despite thecordon of officers surrounding their hide-out. He thought he could dothat. But precautions had been taken. Reinforcements were called in.And such force as was needed was called into play." He sighed.
"So there's an end. An end to one case. An end to a false official, whothought he was too big for the law he had sworn to uphold." He held outa hand.
"But there still remain those who hired this man--those who paid himthe price of those estates and those good things Waern enjoyed for atime. Your Enforcement Corps is searching for those men. And they willbe found. Wherever they are--whoever they are--your Enforcement Corpswill not rest so long as one of them remains at liberty." He staredpenetratingly at the camera for a moment, then nodded and turned away.
The musical salute to the ruler sounded from the speakers as the scenefaded. Once again, the green grass of the Royal Guard parade field cameinto view. As the color guard stood at attention, the band modulatedinto the "Song of the Talu."
Don Michaels got out of his seat. The Aud Call would be over in a fewminutes, he knew, and he'd have to be at his post when the crowdstreamed out. He moved back toward the doors, opened one a trifle, andslid through.
* * * * *
Some others had already come out into the hall. A few more slid out tojoin them, until a small group stood outside the auditorium. Theyexamined each other casually, then scattered.
Unhurriedly, Don walked through the empty corridors, turning at astairwell.
How, he wondered, did a man like Harle Waern get started on the wrongtrack? The man had been a member of one of the oldest of the noblefamilies--had always had plenty of money--plenty of prestige. What wasit that made someone like that become a criminal?
"Should've known he'd get caught sooner or later," he told himself,"even if he had no honesty about him. I don't get it."
He got to the bottom of the stairs and walked into the boy's lockerroom.
Between a couple of rows of lockers, a youth sat in an inconspicuouslyplaced chair. Don went up to him.
"Hi, Darrin," he said. "About ready to pack it up?"
The other gathered his books.
"Yeah. Guess so. Nothing going on down here. Wonder why they have ushanging around this place anyway?"
Don grinned. "Guess somebody broke into a locker once and they want awitness next time. Got to have something for us Guardians to do, don'tthey?"
"Suppose so. But when you get almost through with your pre-professional... hey, Michaels, how did you make out on the last exam? Looked to meas though Masterson threw us a few curves. Or did you get the sameexam? Like that business about rehabilitation? It ain't in the book."
"Oh, that." Don shrugged. "He gave us the low-down on that during classlast week. Suppose your group got the same lecture. You should'vechecked your notes."
Darrin shrugged and stood up. "Always somebody don't get the news," hegrumbled. "This time, it's me. I was out for a few days. Oh, well. Howwas the Aud?"
Don spread his hands. "About like usual, I'd say. Oh, they had a run onthe end of the Waern affair. Really fixed that bird for keeps.Otherwise?"
He waved his hands in a flapping motion.
The other grinned, then turned as a bell clanged.
There was a rumbling series of crashes, followed by a roar which echoedthrough the corridors. Darrin turned quickly.
"I'd better get going," he said, "be
fore I get caught in the stampede.Should be able to sneak up the back stairs right now. See you later."He strode away.
Michaels nodded and sat down, opening a notebook.
Students commenced rushing into the locker room and the roar in thehall was almost drowned out by the continuous clash and slam of lockerdoors. Don paid little attention, concentrating on his notes.
At last, the noise died down and Don looked up. Except for one slenderfigure, crouched by an open locker, the room was empty.
Don looked at the boy curiously. He was a typical Khlorisana--oliveskinned, slightly built, somewhat shorter than the average galactic.Don looked with a touch of envy at the smooth hairline, wondering whyit was that the natives of this planet always seemed to