the planet—"
"I will make the
necessary arrangements with Ghia." The President made a decisive
gesture. His next words came hesitantly; he was considering each
carefully. "I assume that since you are aware of her, she is
also aware of you—"
"Yes, sir. But
there is nothing to fear. She will not escape me."
"I remind you,
Derek, that her brother escaped you— through death."
"I am aware of
that, sir. You forget, my lord, I know this woman. She is a Guardian.
The last of the Guardians. As long as the boy lives, her vow to
protect him will bind her to this life."
"You know this to
be true? You are in contact?"
"No, Mr.
President." Sagan was beginning to lose patience. His body
ached, he needed rest, and there was still work to be done to prepare
for his journey. Yet he had to put up with this. "The mind-link
is still very fragile. I sense her presence in this universe, as she
senses mine. It grows hourly, but she is fighting against it. Only by
direct and constant contact will I be able to break down her strong
mental barriers. We have time, however. Should she try to take her
life, there is one who will stop her."
"And who is that?"
"God, Mr.
President."
Sagan had the weary
satisfaction of seeing Peter Robes shift uncomfortably in his chair.
The President adjusted the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, straightened
his tie, and cleared his throat. To an avowed atheist, as were all
good democrats, this bold reference to a god who didn't exist was
embarrassing.
The President abruptly
changed the subject.
"You stated that
Lady Maigrey will be of help to you in finding the boy. I fail to
understand how, if she is swom to protect him."
"She is a
visionary, sir. She can visualize events as they are transpiring.
Once the mind-link is reforged, I will 'persuade' her to contact the
boy."
"She is not a
woman who can be easily persuaded, if I remember her correctly."
"There are ways.
You forget, I know her. I know her well," Sagan repeated. The
words left a bitter taste in his mouth, as though he had drunk
tainted water.
Perhaps the President
heard this, even through the scrambler. Or perhaps he saw the grim,
dark expression on the already grim face, shadowed by a weariness
that came from struggling not so much with outer conflict as with
inner.
"I congratulate
you, Derek," Robes said, his hands coming together on the
tabletop, fingertips meeting. "It seems that at last, after all
these years, our long search is ended. It will be a splendid day when
we can bring this royalist to public trial and remind the populace of
the injustices they suffered under the monarchy. Her execution should
end once and for all this talk of—"
"May I offer my
advice, sir?" Sagan broke in.
"Since when have
you ever felt the need to ask permission, Derek?" Robes said
acidly, irritated at having his flow of thought stopped.
"Allow me to kill
her swiftly and quietly when I am finished with her. She is of the
Blood Royal, bred to exert a power over the minds and hearts of
others. I warn you, if you give her access to the public, she will
turn your trial into a royalist forum and make herself a martyr."
The President's face
flushed in anger. The hands on the table slowly clenched. "I
have put up with a great deal from you today, Derek. I have allowed
you to interrupt me. I have endured references to a religion now
known by all to be weak-minded superstition and the practicing of
such by all"— he emphasized the word—"considered
a traitorous act. I tolerate this in you, Derek, because of my
gratitude for the help you have given me in the past and because you
are one of the best of my military commanders. But you are only one,
Derek. You are one . . . and I am many. Remember that. And never tell
me again how I am to run my government."
"Yes, Mr.
President."
"When you have
gleaned the necessary information from this woman, she is to be
brought to the Congress, fit to stand trial. At such time, you will
deliver the boy
"I will make the
necessary arrangements with Ghia." The President made a decisive
gesture. His next words came hesitantly; he was considering each
carefully. "I assume that since you are aware of her, she is
also aware of you—"
"Yes, sir. But
there is nothing to fear. She will not escape me."
"I remind you,
Derek, that her brother escaped you— through death."
"I am aware of
that, sir. You forget, my lord, I know this woman. She is a Guardian.
The last of the Guardians. As long as the boy lives, her vow to
protect him will bind her to this life."
"You know this to
be true? You are in contact?"
"No, Mr.
President." Sagan was beginning to lose patience. His body
ached, he needed rest, and there was still work to be done to prepare
for his journey. Yet he had to put up with this. "The mind-link
is still very fragile. I sense her presence in this universe, as she
senses mine. It grows hourly, but she is fighting against it. Only by
direct and constant contact will I be able to break down her strong
mental barriers. We have time, however. Should she try to take her
life, there is one who will stop her."
"And who is that?"
"God, Mr.
President."
Sagan had the weary
satisfaction of seeing Peter Robes shift uncomfortably in his chair.
The President adjusted the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, straightened
his tie, and cleared his throat. To an avowed atheist, as were all
good democrats, this bold reference to a god who didn't exist was
embarrassing.
The President abruptly
changed the subject.
"You stated that
Lady Maigrey will be of help to you in finding the boy. I fail to
understand how, if she is swom to protect him."
"She is a
visionary, sir. She can visualize events as they are transpiring.
Once the mind-link is reforged, I will 'persuade' her to contact the
boy."
"She is not a
woman who can be easily persuaded, if I remember her correctly."
"There are ways.
You forget, I know her. I know her well," Sagan repeated. The
words left a bitter taste in his mouth, as though he had drunk
tainted water.
Perhaps the President
heard this, even through the scrambler. Or perhaps he saw the grim,
dark expression on the already grim face, shadowed by a weariness
that came from struggling not so much with outer conflict as with
inner.
"I congratulate
you, Derek," Robes said, his hands coming together on the
tabletop, fingertips meeting. "It seems that at last, after all
these years, our long search is ended. It will be a splendid day when
we can bring this royalist to public trial and remind the populace of
the injustices they suffered under the monarchy. Her execution should
end once and for all this talk of—"
"May I offer my
advice, sir?" Sagan broke in.
"Since when have
you ever felt the need to ask permission, Derek?" Robes said
acidly, irritated at having his flow of thought stopped.
"Allow me to kill
her swiftly and quietly when I am finished with her. She is of the
Blood Royal, bred to exert a power over the minds and hearts of
others. I warn you, if you give her access to the public, she will
turn your trial into a royalist forum and make herself a martyr."
The President's face
flushed in anger. The hands on the table slowly clenched. "I
have put up with a great deal from you today, Derek. I have allowed
you to interrupt me. I have endured references to a religion now
known by all to be weak-minded superstition and the practicing of
such by all"— he emphasized the word—"considered
a traitorous act. I tolerate this in you, Derek, because of my
gratitude for the help you have given me in the past and because you
are one of the best of my military commanders. But you are only one,
Derek. You are one . . . and I am many. Remember that. And never tell
me again how I am to run my government."
"Yes, Mr.
President."
"When you have
gleaned the necessary information from this woman, she is to be
brought to the Congress, fit to stand trial. At such time, you will
deliver the boy
Similar Books
