control every disk-wearer on Vinin--including
yourself, Dirrul. You understand, I think, that there can never be
any disloyalty among our leaders--they're consciously aware of the
consequences. And revolt in the ranks is physically impossible. We're
safe, you see, even from ourselves."

Once again there was a slight trace of emotion in the weary voice. "No
doubt you also gather, Dirrul, who is the real ruler of Vinin. There
are a hundred thousand of us, more or less, scattered throughout the
Confederacy. All right--tell me what I need to know. If your Plan
succeeds I'll deputize you for Agron when we annex it."

Suddenly Dirrul saw the answer. His heart leaped with joy and it was
difficult to keep the feeling out of his voice when he said, "You have
been talking to me in my own tongue." Carefully he inched toward the
desk. "And understanding me."

"Entirely beside the point."

"Not entirely. You hear what I say--which means that you must wear a
disk too."

Dirrul sprang across the desk. At the same time the Chief raised his
weapon and fired. Flame seared Dirrul's cheek. A red mist welled
before him and he reeled back against the control panel as the Chief
fired again. The second explosion was so close it seemed to be within
his own mind.

The Chief's hand clawed at Dirrul's tunic, ripping the disk away from
him. Recoiling in anticipation of the dread shock wave, Dirrul hurled
himself at the Chief.

But instead of the screaming terror he felt nothing. An inexplicable
force seemed to close in on him. His head spun dizzily but his mind
still functioned. He smashed his fist into the face of the Chief and
the body sagged to the floor.

Dirrul stood bewildered, looking at his hand. A mass of flesh-like
material, torn from the Chief's face, clung to his knuckles. Dirrul
bent over the man and touched his skin. It crumbled under pressure and
the lifelike purple coloring ran. Dirrul peeled the putty away until
he could make out the shape of the pale wrinkled very aged face
beneath.

Sickened he moved away--for he had seen the ruler of Vinin.

IX

Dirrul backed into the desk, knocking a fragile statuette to the
floor. When it lay shattered at his feet he understood why he could
still plan and reason, even though the disk was gone. The Chief's
shot, fired so close to his head, had deafened him either temporarily
or permanently.

Dirrul ran to the control panel and twisted dials frantically, pulling
every lever h