Regis drew himself to his full height. He knew that between the giant spaceforce men he still looked childishly small.
“I am Regis-Rafael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn,” he stated proudly.
Lawton’s eyes reflected amazement. “Then what, in the name of all your own gods, are you doing roaming around alone at this hour? Where is your escort? Yes, you look like a Hastur,” he said as he pulled an intercom toward him, speaking urgently in Terran Standard. Regis had learned it at Nevarsin. “Have the Comyn Elders left yet?” He listened a moment, then turned back to Regis. “A dozen of your kin-folk left here about half an hour ago. Were you sent with a message for them? If so, you came too late.”
“No,” Regis confessed, “I came on my own. I simply had a fancy to see the starships take off.” It sounded, here in this office, like a childish whim. Lawton looked startled.
“That’s easily enough arranged. If you’d sent in a formal request a few days ago, we’d gladly have arranged a tour for any of your kinsmen. At short notice like this, there’s nothing spectacular going on, but there’s a cargo transport about to take off for Vega in a few minutes, and I’ll take you up to one of the viewing platforms. Meanwhile, could I offer you some coffee?” He hesitated, then said, “You couldn’t be Lord Hastur; that must be your father?”
“Grandfather. For me the proper address is Lord Regis.” He accepted the proffered Terran drink, finding it bitter but rather pleasant. Dan Lawton led him into a tall shaft which rose upward at alarming speed, opening on a glass-enclosed viewing terrace. Below him an enormous cargo ship was in the final stages of readying for takeoff, with refueling cranes being moved away, scaffoldings and loading platforms being wheeled like toys to a distance. The process was quick and efficient. He heard again the waterfall sound, rising to a roar, a scream. The great ship lifted slowly, then more swiftly and finally was gone … out, beyond the stars.
Regis remained motionless, staring at the spot in the sky where the starship had vanished. He knew there were tears in his eyes again but he didn’t care. After a little while Lawton guided him down the elevator shaft. Regis went as if sleepwalking. Resolve had suddenly crystallized inside him.
Somewhere in the Empire, somewhere away from the Domains which had no place for him, there must be a world for him. A world where he could be free of the tremendous burden laid on the Comyn, a world where he could be himself, more than simply heir to his Domain, his life laid out in preordained duties from birth to grave. The Domain? Let Javanne’s sons have it! He felt almost intoxicated by the smell of freedom. Freedom from a burden he’d been born to—and born unfit to bear!
Lawton had not noticed his preoccupation. He said, “I’ll arrange an escort for you back to Comyn Castle, Lord Regis. You can’t go alone, put it out of your mind. Impossible.”
“I came here alone, and I’m not a child.” “Certainly not,” Lawton said, straight-faced, “but with the situation in the city now, anything might happen. And if an accident occurred, I would be personally responsible.”
He had used the casta phrase implying personal honor. Regis lifted his eyebrows and congratulated him on his command of the language.
“As a matter of fact, Lord Regis, it is my native tongue. My mother never spoke anything else to me. It was Terran I learned as a foreign language.” “You are Darkovan?” “My mother was, and kin to Comyn. Lord Ardais is my mother’s cousin, though I doubt he’d care to acknowledge the relationship.”
Regis thought about that as Lawton arranged his escort. Relatives far more distant than that were often seated in Comyn Council. This Terran officer—half-Terran—might have chosen to be Darkovan. He had as much right to a Comyn seat as Lew Alton, for instance. Lew could have chosen to be Terran, as Regis was about to choose his own future. He spent the uneventful journey across the city thinking how he would break the news to his grandfather.