go
through that gate, I shall release this boy, and use a means of escape
which I have prepared. You may watch me, of course, but make no effort
to stop me--or this boy dies."

He paused again, waiting for an answer.

The wardens, he could see, had stopped and stood, undecided. None of
them was close enough to be dangerous.

This, he thought with a surge of hope, was going to work out after all.
He turned his eyes for a swift glance at his captive.

Once at the yacht, he could release a bit of energy from the khroal.
This boy had destroyed all his careful plans. No, he decided, Pete
Waern could not be allowed to live and enjoy those good things the
palace afforded.

He tightened his grip about the boy's neck.

* * * * *

Don Michaels had strapped his sling on his arm. Now, he lay on the
floor of the Blue Palace. Stern's head was centered in the scope and
the cross hairs bobbed slowly about a spot just in front of the man's
right ear.

"No question about it," Don told himself, "if Stern gets Pete through
that gate, that'll be the end of Pete."

He put pressure on the trigger.

"The guy's as sore as a singed gersal," he told himself. "And half nuts
besides. He'll spray Pete with that thing if it's the last thing he
ever does." He continued his pressure on the trigger. The cross hairs
still hovered about the man's ear.

"Hope that anatomy book was right," he told himself.

Of course, he realized, if he missed the tiny target--if the bullet
failed to destroy the motor centers on impact--Stern would die anyway.
But he just might be able to press the release on that khroal. And that
wouldn't be good.

The aiming point moved a trifle and Don eased back into position.

What had happened to the trigger on this thing? Had he forgotten to
take off the safety? Again, the cross hairs started to wander and he
eased them back--back toward that little spot.

The rifle leaped upward with a roar, slamming back against Don's
shoulder. He let it settle again, examining the scene anxiously through
his sight.

Stern was still on his feet, but his hands were dropping limply to his
sides. Don could just see the glitter of the khroal by Pete's feet.
Then, Stern's knees bent and he flowed to the ground.

Pete had turned at the sound of the shot. He looked back at the palace
door, then glanced at the khroal.

At last, he knelt beside the body on the ground. He felt the throat,
then