rincess mentioned her name, This is her
brother. He's the right guy! Take it easy, brother!"

But Wasil was able to sit up.

"I sure fooled him!" he gasped. "Mixed up the circuits. Scar Balta
sat right here while I broadcast the secret sessions, and he was
watching a lot o' haywah in the control screen.

"When Wilcox got word from outside he knew he was done. He thought
Scar'd double-exed him, so came here in person and gave him the
needle-ray."

Despite his nausea, Wasil looked happy.

"Wilcox tried for me, but I dodged back of those frames. So he tried
for me with the neuro. The mob was getting wild outside; there was--"

He could not finish. There was an explosion that shook the building to
its foundations. Tolto came running in. Sira close after him:

"Joro is coming. Joro has detonated the warships. The hall guards have
surrendered. The council is locked up. It can't escape!"

* * * * *

Events were transpiring too fast for comprehension. It was several
days later, on a bench in Prince Joro's palace grounds, that Sira
summed it up for Sime Hemingway.

"I'm going to accept the throne!" she said. "I'm going to be a real
queen. Joro has convinced me that it will be a real service to Mars.
The dear old man has schemed and worked so long, so unselfishly."

"Yeh, and he wasn't afraid to fight!" Sime added admiringly. "When he
came charging out of those ships with his gang of monarchists, swords
flashing, it was a pretty sight to see. And when they closed in on
that gang of cheap politicians! Talk about rats in a corner!"

"The prince can fight with his brains as well as with his sword." Sira
submitted. "The whole thing would have been hopeless, if he hadn't
invented the detonating ray that disposed of the warships. You
remember those heavy explosions, shortly after we dropped in the
hall, as one might say? Those were the last of them."

A silence fell between them, and Sime was now conscious of the
fragile-seeming, so deceiving beauty of this Martian girl. Something
had come between them, stripped away the masculine frankness that had
existed during their short and dangerous time together. Perhaps it was
the softly revealing drape of the thread-of-gold robe she was
wearing--true queenly garb, donned by her for the first time.

"There is one requirement that Joro insists on," Sira said in a low
voice.

"What's that?" asked Sime, marveling that such transparently pink
finge