“It is!” Tarat said.
Romal nodded unhappily. “I guess there’s no other way.”
The others agreed.
Altai remained silent. But Merdon could read the question in her eyes: Is there no other way? Is there absolutely no other possible way?
In a small chamber within his main tent, Okatar Kang watched the six young Shinarian rebels on a tabletop viewscreen as they walked back from the trees at the edge of the camp and returned to their own tents.
“The remote receptor picks up their every word, does it not, my lord?” asked the Komani noble at his elbow.
“Indeed so,” Okatar said. “My compliments to the technicians.”
“You have seen enough?”
Okatar nodded. “Yes. Quite enough.”
The four lieutenants scattered to their private tents, while Altai accompanied Merdon back to his own quartersInside the plastic bubble, Sittas was sitting quietly, his eyes closed. The old priest looked up as the two youngsters entered.
“Were you sleeping or praying?” Merdon asked jokingly.
“A little of both, I fear.”
Merdon sat on a comer of the table and faced the priest. Altai stood beside her uncle’s chair.
“You want to talk to me about the Watchman.”
Sittas nodded. “You must ask Okatar to pardon him. Keep him a prisoner if you must, but a cold-blooded execution …”
Merdon held up three fingers. “First, Okatar would not pardon a man he has sentenced to death. The Komani aren’t interested in clemency. Secondly, the Watchman has killed Komani warriors, and can hardly be treated as an innocent ambassador of goodwill. Thirdly, if he got back to the Terrans he would end up by killing our own people. So how can you ask for mercy?”