“We left when your squad of guards arrived,” Hector added, “and came here, just a few steps ahead of you.”
Kanus’ knees boggled.
Romis relaxed. His hands dropped to his sides. “It’s all over. ChancellorYou are deposed. My men have seized the Intelligence Ministry; most of the army is against you. You can avoid a good deal of bloodshed by surrendering yourself to me and ordering your guards not to fight their countrymen.”
Kanus tried to shriek, but no sounds would come from his throat. Wild-eyed, he threw himself between Odal and Hector and dashed to the door.
“Don’t shoot him!” Romis shouted. “We need him alive if we’re going to prevent a civil war!”
Kanus raced blindly down the halls to the dueling machine. Without a word to the startled guards standing around the machine, he punched a half-dozen buttons on the control board and bolted into one of the booths. He slapped the neurocontacts to his head and chest and took a deep, long breath. His pounding heart slowed, steadied. His eyes slid shut. His body relaxed-
He was sitting on a golden throne at the head of an enormously long hall. Throngs of people lined the richly tapestried walls, and the most beautiful women in the galaxy sat, bejeweled and leisurely, on the cushioned steps at his feet. At the bottom of the steps knelt Sir Harold Spencer, shackled, blinded, his once proud uniform grimy with blood and filth. No. not blind. Kanus wanted him to see, wanted to look into the Star Watch Commander’s eyes as he described in great detail how the old man would be slowly, slowly killed.