Front matter (continued 3)

But as he stared, somehow, the lines and contours kept shifting, changing, till it was as if he were gazing at one of the primitives' hideous, leering masks.

Bleakly, he pushed her away.

Her face sagged, incredulous. But it was Ktar Wassreck himself who spoke: "You know what this means, Jarl—?"

"I know."

"Then it doesn't count that I came for you on Horla? Loyalty means nothing...?"

"Loyalty—?" Jarl laughed a bitter laugh. "And what are you loyal to, then, Wassreck? Your friends who'll die down on Ceresta?"

The gaunt man's face grew cold and bleak. He did not answer.

Jarl turned his head; slashed out at rey Gundre, still standing by the viziscreen: "You, Commissioner! What are you loyal to? The Federation, that you betray? Ylana, your own daughter, who'd rather die in the desert than live here with you?"

A trace of color came to the high commissioner's grey, sagging face. Unspeaking, he looked away.

"Loyalty—!" Jarl spat. "How can any of you even pretend to know what it means? Because a man's first loyalty is to his own conscience—and conscience is a thing you neither have nor understand!"

Wassreck's gaunt face contorted. "A pretty speech—to die with."

His finger went white on the blaster's trigger.

Jarl Corvett whipped up his ray-gun.

Yet even in that moment, Jarl knew the truth: that his strength had gone; that he was too slow. Before he could even fire himself, Wassreck would kill him.

But he didn't dare to die—not while Ktar Wassreck still lived and held the secret of the mighty warrior robots. Too much was at stake. Too many could suffer.

Only now, there was nothing he could do. At last, the gods of the void had ridden on their way without him.

But then, incredibly, another figure hurtled across his field of vision.

The figure of High Commissioner rey Gundre.

For a split second, Wassreck's eyes wavered.

Jarl dived to one side as the blaster roared. The bolt seared a flaming path diagonally along his ribs.

But now, Jarl, too, was firing—lancing a ray-beam into Wassreck's midriff.

The gaunt body stiffened ... straightened ... fell.

Jarl threw himself round, searching for Sais and rey Gundre.

They lay in a tumbled heap near the farthest wall. The commissioner was twitching, moaning faintly.

Jarl stumbled across to where he lay, tried to help him to turn over.

A blaster bolt had taken the man high in the chest. Blood already was trickling from his mouth. "Ylana—!" he gasped, then choked on the blood.

A moment later, he died.

Jarl turned to Sais.

She, too, was dead. She held a blaster in her hand—and her neck was broken.

Dully, head throbbing, Jarl remembered rey Gundre's mad, unexplained rush.

Now it needed no explanation.

Outside, someone was pounding on the door. Dim sounds of tumult sifted through the portal.

So the guards had come already....

Struggling to his feet again, Jarl made his way to the viziscreen. He had lost all track of time. He half expected to find Ceres already blasted, broken.

It still was there. But the clustered pinpoints that were the Federation fleet had begun converging high above, readying for the final plunge.

With trembling fingers, Jarl set a cross for the lead ship; switched on the communicator unit. Harshly, in rey Gundre's name, he rasped out orders.

The wheeling ships veered; peeled off on a different course.

Ceres was saved.

Jarl sagged against the screen. He felt incredibly old, incredibly weary.

The pounding on the door grew louder.

Jarl thought: Another minute and they'll break in....

And he would die.

Only all at once, he didn't care. His job was done. What difference did it make, what happened now?

His only regret was that Ylana would never know that at the last, when the crisis came, her father had broken clean and died to save him.

And Sais.... What things had been in her mind when she raised that blaster to try to kill the man she claimed to love?

It was strange, though: he felt no hatred towards her.

But, neither did he feel love, or sorrow, or pity. It was as if she were an utter stranger, some passer-by he'd never known.

So different from Ylana....

Ylana the golden. He spoke her name aloud, and liked its sound.

Ylana the golden. Red lips, grey eyes, and rippling hair.

Such queer things to be thinking about at a time like this. But then, his whole state of mind just now was somewhat queer.

Out in the hall, some heavy object smashed against the door. Soon, he knew the panel would crash down.

Why wait for it? Why not go out and meet death as a raider should?

Jarl laughed drunkenly. Reeling, he stumbled to the door; with a clumsy jerk threw back the bolt and braced himself to take the blasts.

Then the door burst open. Beings of half-a-dozen planets charged in upon him—and Big Ungo of Jupiter was in their van.

Jarl knew then that this was a nightmare—the delirium of a fevered, over-weary brain. He closed his eyes and let himself go limp; slumped to the floor.

But when he looked up again, Ungo was still there, and now Ylana, too, knelt beside him, whispering, "Jarl—! Jarl Corvett...." while the red lips quivered and tears spilled from the cool grey eyes.

Ungo said: "She made us come, Jarl—all of us that were left from Bor Legat's ships. With her to talk for us, we didn't even have to fight to get in here."

"You're lying!" Jarl accused him, twisting as pain stabbed along his wounded side. "You're not here. I'm just dreaming. When I wake up, if I'm not dead, you'll all be gone."

"No, Jarl. This isn't dreaming. This is real." All at once Ylana was smiling through her tears. "Sleep, now, Jarl. I'll still be here when you waken—or forever, if you want me...."

As she spoke, she reached out and gently closed his eyes.

He didn't mind. As a matter of fact, of a sudden he wanted to let sleep come, and quickly.

For now he knew that waking would be better than any dream.