perform his traditional duty." He looked at Donseriously.
"Remember the private conversation between claimant and prime minister?About that time, the warden is the only protection the claimant has.
"And this is one time a claimant may really need protection."
* * * * *
Daniel Stern slapped a folder down on his desk and got to his feet. Hecircled the large office, then stopped, looking down at Gorham's vacantdesk.
What had happened to Gorham? Papers were stacked all over his own desk.And they should be here. Most of them had been old Jake's concern. Hehadn't realized how much detail the old man had controlled.
But where was Gorham? He'd come in from Riandar. Reports showed thatmuch. Then, his flier had suddenly dashed over and landed on theFederation pad. They'd tried to stop him, but----
Something must have gone wrong up there at Riandar. Something must havemade Gorham decide to come back and make a separate deal of his own.But why? There was that pile of clothes in the Waern house. Had he----?
Maybe that blast had killed Gorham and destroyed his evidence.
He looked around hopefully. It was possible. No effort had been made torestrain him. He still controlled the Ministry. No effort had been madeto limit his authority.
He picked up a sheet of paper. Oh, no? They didn't want to limithim--they wanted everything. Here was this demand for a conclave.
And with that Waern kid running around loose, that was bad.
And he had no one to talk to! Of all the people in this palace, not asingle one could serve as confidant. With Gorham gone----
He shuffled through the papers. Yes, here was the formal demand for aconclave. He looked at it unhappily.
And here was the transcript of the Waern claim. It looked too good.
He tossed the papers back to the desk. It was good, and he knew it.He'd seen the originals in the heraldric files. They were destroyed, ofcourse. But here was a photo of that clan book!
And worse, here was the notice from the Resident Commissioner that theclaimant had requested protective intervention from the GalacticFederation. That was really bad. He could remember his interview withthe commissioner on that.
Jackson had always been something of a problem. He was a stubborn man.But up to now, he'd always backed down--if enough pressure was put onhim. This time? Hah!
He'd come in, bringing that rancher--that Kent Michaels. Stern frowned.
Hadn't old Jake said that guy had been shot down--was dead?
He hadn't looked very dead. As councilor of the Waern clan, Michaelswas supposed to be calling on Jackson for backing. Who, Stern wondered,was backing who? He recalled the interview.
They'd come in. And he'd started to establish dominance over Jackson.
Then that Michaels had butted in. He was worse than old Jake. What withone thing and another, he'd backed Stern into every corner in theoffice.
It had ended very simply.
Jackson had simply declared that there would be a conclave.
The Stellar Guard detachment would be in attendance. No irregularitieswould be tolerated.
And he'd even named the day--today. Then the two of them had walkedout.
Stern twisted his chair around viciously and sat down. He punched at abutton on his desk.
An aide came through the door. That was another thing. After thatfiasco at the Michaels ranch, he'd had to get a new aide. He motionedthe man forward impatiently.
"You have made final arrangements for the conclave?"
"Yes, sir. The Heraldric Branch has everything set up. The clans havealready gathered in the Throne Room. The private conversation will beheld in the Blue Palace. After the conversation, you will escort theclaimant across the south lawn, to the Throne Room." The aide halfturned.
"I can get you the plan and diagrams, sir."
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 itproperly serviced?"
The aide paused. "Yes, sir." He looked curious, but said no more.
Stern examined him haughtily. "Very well," he said. "You will remembermy instructions. Discuss the yacht with no one. You may go."
He watched as the door closed, then got out of his chair again. It wastime for the conversation. He glanced about the office, then went outinto the private garden.
* * * * *
As he walked, he looked at the side paths among the trees, which seemedto beckon to ever more enticing vistas beyond. There were the miniaturelandscapes, with their mountains and lakes. There were the smallcottages, where one could sit and enjoy a cooling drink. He smiledwryly and walked across a miniature bridge.
As he reached the other side, he stopped, to lean against the rail.This was not going to be easy to give up.
He watched the water birds for a while, then went on his way.
As he came through a small grove, he saw the yacht. It had been setdown where it could easily take off, and yet where it was impossible tosee unless one came within a few meters. The aide had done well. He'dhave to remember----
No, he thought, someone else would be dealing with that aide in thefuture. He'd be long gone.
He walked up to the ship and opened the door, looking inside. Then, heclimbed in, glancing at his watch. It was past time for theconversation. The claimant and his warden would be waiting. So wouldthe other clan wardens, who waited to make up the advance guard ofhonor.
He wondered how long they'd wait.
He sat down in the pilot's chair and glanced at the gauges. Then heflipped on the view panels and looked outside at the trees.
It had been a lot of fun. But----
"No use taking foolish chances," he told himself.
He reached for the starting bar, then hesitated.
"Wait a minute," he told himself. "Who's the prime minister aroundhere, anyway? I can----"
He sat back, thinking. Of course. It was such a beautifully simpleidea. Really foolproof. He should have thought of it before.
There would be only the few of them in that private conversation. Heshould have realized that. They'd present no difficulty. The wardens?He snorted.
Just a bunch of dressed-up idiots. No trouble there. Anyway, only oneof them was directly concerned. And he wouldn't really know what wasgoing on. Only the claimant would know. He laughed.
"Wonder just how it feels to get ordered around like that?"
After the conversation, he could walk into the conclave with signedpapers. And who would dare challenge that? Even the commissioner'speople would have to admit defeat. He smiled. Michaels? He'd bestanding there with his mouth open. Nothing he could do. It would betoo late.
And once he got that crowd back into his jurisdiction, there'd be nofurther problems. He'd be sure of that.
This was actually what he'd been waiting for! This was a formalconclave, called at the request of the tribes themselves. They'd haveto choose now. And there was no one else.
He, Daniel Stern, would walk out of that Throne Room with the silverrobes over his shoulders.
King Daniel!
He climbed out of the yacht and paced toward the small doorway, at theback of the Blue Palace.
He came into the private conference room and walked with dignifiedstride toward his place. As he came under the canopy, he stopped andplaced his hands on the rail.
With haughty appraisal, he allowed his gaze to roam over the men whostood to flank the outer door. At last, he stopped, to center hisattention on the two who stood in the doorway.
Here were the two key figures--the claimant and his warden.
The man on the right was dressed as for battle, his polished slingstick shoved into his sash at an angle so as to be easy to his righthand, just to the left of it was thrust the long hillman's knife. Therewas only one thing unorthodox about his equipment. Stern frowned as heinspected that.
In his right hand, the man
carried a long device of wood and metal.Obviously, it was a weapon of sorts. Stern examined it carefully,speculating as to its nature.
It was, he finally decided, some type of beam projector. Judging fromthe long barrel, it would throw a narrow cone. Mentally, Sterncalculated the probable dispersion.
Some Stellar Guard weapon, he thought, that had been loaned to thisfellow. Well, it made no difference. Whoever the fellow was, he'd neverdare use such a device here. He turned his attention to the other--theclaimant.
So this was Pete Waern?
The boy was slight, he noted, even for a native. Definitely, thestudious type, decided Stern. He'd present no problem at all.
The regent almost allowed himself a smile. This was going to be easy!He motioned the two forward.
"You have matters for our attention?" he inquired formally.
Waern stepped to the rail.
"I here claim to be the rightful heir to the throne of Oredan," he saidslowly. He took a book from