, Sira's personal maid, was too disturbed by her mistress's
kidnaping to seek other employment. She saw the teletabloid forecasts
of the wedding, made life-like by clever technical faking, but rumors
of the princess' escape were circulating freely despite a rigid
censorship. She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of the
canal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror.

Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother.
Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of the
Interplanetary Radio and Television Co., and his income was ample to
provide a better than average home on the desert margin of South
Tarog. Here Mellie sat in the glass-roofed garden, staring moodily at
the luxuriant vegetation.

She looked abstractedly at the young man coming down the garden walk,
annoyed by the disturbance. There was something familiar in the sway
of his hips as he walked.

And then she flew up the path. Her arms went around the visitor, and
Mellie, the maid, and Princess Sira kissed.

Mellie was immediately confused. A terrible breach of etiquette, this.
But Sira laughed.

"Never mind, Mellie. It is good for me, a fugitive, to find a home.
Will you keep me here?"

"Will I?" Mellie poured into these words all her adoration.

"Mellie, the time has come for action. Not for the monarchy. I am sick
of my claims. I would give it all--You remember the young officer of
the I. F. P.? The one who kissed me?"

"Yes."

"Well, that comes later. First I must consider the war conspiracy.
Have you heard of it?"

"There are rumors."

"They are true. Will Wasil help me?"

"He has worshiped you, my princess, ever since the time I let him help
me serve you at the games."

"One more question." Sira's eyes were soft and misty. "My dear Mellie,
you realize that I may be trailed here? What may happen to you?"

"Yes, my princess. And I don't care!"

* * * * *

As Murray parted from his brother-in-arms, Sime Hemingway, on the roof
of the cylindrical fortress in the Gray Mountains, he felt the
latter's look of bitter contempt keenly. He longed bitterly to give
Sime some hint, some assurance, but dared not, for Scar Balta's
cynical smile somehow suggested that he could look through men and
read what was in their hearts. So Murray played out his renegade part
to the last detail, even forcing his thoughts into the role that he
had assumed in order that some unreg