Edmond Hamilton - The Star Kings

Gordon might have blurted out the truth then and there had not remembrance of his promise to Zarth Arn steadied him. He tried to look unruffled.

“Of course-the Disruptor,” he said hastily. “That's what I was referring to.”

“You certainly did not sound like it!” snapped Arn Abbas. He uttered a fierce exclamation. “By Heaven, at a time when I need sons to help me, I've got one real son and I've got another who's so cursed dreamy-eyed he doesn't even remember the Disruptor.”

The massive ruler leaned forward, anger dissolving momentarily into an earnestness that betrayed his deep anxiety.

“Zarth, you've got to wake up. Do you realize that the Empire stands on the verge of a terrible crisis? Do you realize just what that devil Shorr Kan is planning? “He's sent ambassadors to the Hercules Barons, to the kingdoms of Polaris and Cygnus, even to Fomalhaut Kingdom. He's doing everything to detach our allies from us. And he's building every new warship and weapon he can, there inside the Cloud.”

Grizzled Commander Corbulo nodded grimly. “It's certain vast preparations are going on inside the Cloud. We know that, even though our scanner-beams can't get through the screens that Shorr Kan's scientists have flung around their work.”

“It's the dream of his life to crack the Empire and reduce the galaxy to a ruck of small warring kingdoms that the League could devour one by one!” Arn Abbas went on. “Where we are trying to unify the galaxy in peace, he wants to split and separate it.

“Only one thing holds Shorr Kan back and that is the Disruptor. He knows we have it, but he doesn't know just what it is or what it can do, anymore than anyone else does. And because only you and Jhal and I know the secret of the Disruptor, that arch devil has tried to get his hands on you.”

Light broke upon John Gordon's mystification. So that was what the Disruptor was-some mysterious weapon whose secret was known only to three men of the Empire's ruling house?

Then Zarth Arn knew that secret. But he didn't know it, even though he wore Zarth Arn's body. Yet he had to pretend that he did.

“I never thought of it that way, father,” Gordon said hesitatingly. “I know the situation is critical.”

“So critical that things may well come to a crisis within weeks!” affirmed Arn Abbas. “It all depends on how many of our allied kingdoms Shorr Kan is able to detach, and whether he will dare to risk the Disruptor.”

He added loudly, “And because of that, I forbid you to go back to your hideout on Earth any more, Zarth! You'll stay here and do your duty as the second prince of the Empire should.”

Gordon was appalled. “But father, I've got to go back to Earth for at least a short time-”

The massive ruler cut him off. “I told you I forbade it, Zarth. Do you dare to argue with me?”

Gordon felt the crash of all his desperate plans. This was disaster.

If he couldn't go back to Earth and the laboratory there, how could he contact Zarth Arn and re-exchange their bodies? “I'll hear no more objections!” continued the emperor violently as Gordon started to speak. “Now get out of here. Corbulo and I have things to discuss.”

Blindly, helplessly, Gordon turned back toward the door. More strongly than even before, he felt a dismayed consciousness of being utterly trapped and baffled.

Jhal Arm went with him, and when they had reached the ante-chamber the tall elder prince put his hand on Gordon's arm.

“Don't take it too hard, Zarth,” he encouraged. “I know how devoted you are to your scientific studies, and what a blow Vel Quen's death must have been to you. But father is right, you are needed here, in this gathering crisis.”

Gordon, even in his dismay, had to choose his words. “I want to do my duty. But what help can I give?”

“It's Lianna that father is referring to,” Jhal Arn said seriously. “You have dodged your duty there, Zarth.”

He added, as though anticipating objections from Gordon, “O, I know why-I know all about Murn. But the Fomalhaut Kingdom is vital to the Empire in this crisis. You'll have to go through with it.”

Lianna? Murn? The names had no meaning to John Gordon. They were mystery, like everything else in this mad imposture.

“You mean that Lianna-,” he began, and left the words hanging in hope of provoking further explanation from Jhal Am.

But Jhal only nodded. “You've got to do it, Zarth. Father is going to make the announcement at the Feast of Moons tonight.”

He clapped Gordon on the back. “Buck up, it's not as bad as all that. You look as though you'd been condemned to death. I'll see you at the Feast.”

He turned back into the inner room, leaving Gordon staring blankly after him.

Gordon stood, bewildered and badly worried. What kind of tangled complications was his involuntary impersonation of Zarth Arn getting him into? How long could he hope to carry it through?

Hull Burrel had gone into the inner room when Gordon came out. Now as Gordon stood frozenly, the big Antarian came out too.

“Prince Zarth, I owe you good fortune!” he exclaimed. “I expected to get reprimanded by Commander Corbulo for putting off my regular patrol course to touch at Sol.”

“And he didn't reprimand you?” Gordon said mechanically.

“Sure he did-gave me the devil with bells on,” Burrel grinned. “But your father said it turned out so lucky in giving me a chance to rescue you, that he's appointed me aide to the Commander himself.”

Gordon congratulated him. But he spoke perfunctorily, for his mind was upon his own desperately puzzling position.

He couldn't just stand here in the ante-room longer. Zarth Arn must have apartments in this great palace, and he'd be expected to go to them. The devil of it was he had no idea where they were He couldn't let his ignorance be suspected, though. So he took leave of Hull Burrel and walked confidently out of the ante-room by a different door, as though he knew quite well where he was going.

Gordon found himself in a corridor, on a gliding motowalk. The motowalk took him into a great circular room of shining silver. It was brilliantly illuminated by white sunlight pouring through high crystal windows. Around its walls marched black reliefs depicting a wilderness of dark stars, embers of burned out suns and lifeless worlds.

John Gordon felt dwarfed by the majesty and splendor of this great, somber chamber. He crossed it and entered another vast room, this one with walls that flamed with the glowing splendor of a whirling nebula.

“Where the devil are Zarth Arn's quarters in this place?” he wondered.

He realized his helplessness. He couldn't ask anyone where his own quarters were. Neither could he wander aimlessly through this vast palace without arousing wonder, perhaps suspicion.

A gray-skinned servant, a middle-aged man in the black livery of the palace, was already looking at him wonderingly across this Hall of the Nebula. The man bowed deeply as Gordon strode to him.

Gordon had had an idea. “Come with me to my apartments,” he told the servant brusquely. “I have a task for you.”

The gray man bowed again. “Yes, highness.”

But the man remained there, waiting. Waiting for him to walk ahead, of course.

Gordon made an impatient gesture. “Go ahead. I'll follow.” If the servant found it strange he let none of that feeling appear in his mask like face. He turned and proceeded softly out of the great nebula room by another door.

Gordon followed him into a corridor and onto a motowalk that glided upward like a sliding ramp. Swiftly and quietly the moving walk took them up through splendid, lofty corridors and stairs.

Twice they confronted groups coming downward by the return walk, two brilliantly-jeweled white women and a laughing, swarthy naval captain in one; two grave gray officials in the other. All of them bowed in deep respect to Gordon.