Part 4

In the hall behind him Ostby heard the sound of running feet, and he knew he had to act, fast and forcefully. He set himself flat on his feet and brought his right arm around with fierce strength. His fist landed squarely against the Imperator's jaw.

The Imperator stood motionless and his eyes rolled slowly back. He swayed--with his body still unbending--and fell across the upturned table. He lay very still.

Ostby ran quickly to the balcony ledge and dived over.

* * * * *

Ostby swam underwater until his burning lungs forced him to the surface. He observed with relief that he had placed a bend in the harbor shore between him and the view from the balcony. He pulled himself from the water and walked rapidly away. The first shadows of evening had begun to fall and he hoped his wet clothing would not arouse too much attention. His broken right hand throbbed with dull anguish.

A half-hour later Ostby entered the Flats and made his way toward Siggen's house. He was only a few blocks from his destination when a tightening between his shoulder blades warned him of danger. Swiftly he turned. His throat quickened as he saw two men, a half-block behind, hurrying to overtake him. He began to run. He'd be safe if he could reach Siggen's.

Then with dismay he noted two men ahead of him blocking the walk. He looked desperately to either side for a way out.

He spied a passageway between two houses and cut sharply in between them. Behind him he heard a shout and men running. In front loomed a high fence. A blind alley!

Without pausing, he leaped high and caught the top of the fence, his shattered hand protesting every movement. Swinging his body like a pendulum he pulled his feet up. "I've got to make it!" he breathed.

He didn't!

His feet missed the top of the fence and fell back. He hung for a second, helpless.

He felt the sting of steel in his neck. He hung in shocked stupor as his life poured out in a flood of blood that ran down his shoulder.

Ostby crumbled to the ground. Painfully he clasped his fingers over the gaping wound but the blood continued to ooze out between his fingers. All strength and power of movement left him.

Oddly enough his mind remained clear. There was no fear in him now, and no pain. The thing that had happened to him seemed the misfortune of some other person and he viewed it almost dispassionately. There was only regret that he would never be able to finish his job. And he had been so close.

Soon he became aware that someone stood beside him. He looked up with eyes that still registered clearly everything they saw. The cynical figure, wiping a short knife on a handful of grass, Ostby knew, was the man who had assaulted him. There was no emotion in the man. No hate and no rancor.

Abruptly another figure stood beside the assassin. With a shock Ostby recognized Rinda. For a second hope flickered as he noted the anguish on her face and the tears in her eyes. But the face hardened resolutely.

"I want you to know I had it done," the Duchess said. She drew back her foot and kicked him. Then she was gone.

So it had been she, Ostby reflected. Ironic justice. The one diversion he had allowed himself had been his undoing.

The assassin still stood at his side, Ostby noted. Was the ghoul waiting to enjoy the finish, he wondered. Then his mind, which even in this extremity refused to accept its fate, conceived the shred of a plan. He strove to speak. At the third attempt he succeeded.

"How much.... How much did ... she pay you?" he asked.

"One thousand heds."

"If you get me ... take me...." Ostby's reasoning was beginning to leave him. Vision and speech blurred. A fiery ball of pain strained at the base of his head, as though striving to break out.

The immediacy of his need helped him focus his vision once more on the face above him. He gasped, "Take me to Siggen. He will pay you two thousand if you get me there alive."

Ostby felt himself being lifted carefully off the ground.

The ball of fire in his head burst and he fell through darkness. He fell until he struck the bottom of a black pit, went through and fell some more. Consciousness left him.

* * * * *

For six days Death sat on the wooden prop at the foot of Ostby's bed and grinned at the thing that clung so tenaciously to life. The spark within its destitute body flickered feebly those days and the nearest Ostby came to lucidity was when he sat up in bed and cursed the grinning spectre.

Each time fat but gentle hands eased him back and murmured to him until he returned to sleep.

By the sixth day Death's grin became strained. Why would the creature not die? All the vitality had been drained from the husk, yet the thing within--the thing called Will--would not surrender its life. Each minute it forced the body to breathe once more. And the next minute it breathed again. The minutes stretched into days, and the days to a week; and the seventh day, when Ostby opened his eyes, Death was gone. He had won the hardest battle of his life.

Death's frost still lay along his nerves during the next two weeks. Ostby realized how far he had been along the road to dying by the reluctance with which his strength returned. This was the first time in his life he could remember having been weak, so weak that the last frayed ends of his vitality lay naked. And with this weakness came a kind of humbleness. He lay quietly in the placid embrace of the apathy which the humbleness brought.

"I wish I knew some way to thank you," he said to Siggen.

"Don't try," Siggen urged. "If I'd ever had a son," he added, "I would have liked him to be like you."

An hour later Siggen said, "I'll do what you ask, but only on one condition: that you wait until you are stronger before you move."

Ostby considered. "I'll give myself two more days," he said. "By that time you should have everything ready."

Reluctantly Siggen agreed.

The sun had not yet risen, but its light was creeping into the sky as Siggen and Ostby stood huddled in a cold doorway across from the palace. All around them Ostby's discerning eye caught signs of life. But the signs did not disturb him. They were Siggen's men, and they were here at his request.

Suddenly a small splash of sound came from within the palace. A few minutes later two men, dressed in the uniform of the Imperator's guard, emerged. They were followed by four more. And during the next half-hour almost a hundred came from the palace. Some of them carried their belongings in their arms, and all of them were in a hurry.

"Something unusual is happening in there," Siggen said.

"Whatever it is, it suits our plans," Ostby said. "There can't be many guards left inside. Your men should have little trouble overpowering the remainder."

"I don't like it," Siggen said. "But every fear grows worse by not being looked at. Shall we go in?"

"Soon," Ostby answered. "Take me to the water-duct first."

"It's just around the corner," Siggen replied. "Come on."

They turned the corner of the building and Siggen paced off eight steps. "It should be right here," he said. He kicked in the dust until his foot struck a loose brick. "Right," he grunted.

Siggen bent and lifted the brick from its loose-fitting hole. "I supervised the job myself to see that it was done right," he said.

Ostby could hear a faint gurgle of water coming from the hole.

He rolled back the sleeve of his left arm and probed with his fingers until he found the spot he sought. "Cut here," he said.

Siggen shook his head disapprovingly but did as he was told. Blood crept out around the knife blade as it did its work. Ostby said nothing.

When Siggen had extracted the capsule, he handed it to Ostby.

Ostby knelt on one knee and broke the capsule, holding it carefully over the hole in the street. He counted the drops that fell.

"Six," he said. "And one more." He shook the broken halves, and dropped them into the water flowing beneath the hole. "That should do it," he commented, with satisfaction. "One drop will effectively impregnate two hundred fifty thousand gallons of water."

"I wish I knew what you were trying to do," Siggen said, "but I suppose that you'll tell me in your own good time. Do I send my men in yet?"

"Yes, we'd better start. They know that they're to take over the entire first floor and to hold it against all comers?"

Siggen nodded and lifted his hand in a prearranged signal. The shadows about the buildings gave up their skulkers, and figures slipped out from every doorway and hiding place and entered the palace.

* * * * *

Ten minutes passed and not a sound came from within.

"It's too quiet," Siggen said. "I don't like it."

"We'll go in now," Ostby said.

Once in the palace Siggen called over one of his men. "Anything doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," the man replied. "The whole place seems deserted."

"What do we do now?" Siggen asked, turning to Ostby.

"We'll go upstairs. Magogar should be there."

"Will I bring along some of the men?"

"No," Ostby said. "I have a feeling that we won't need them."

Siggen and Ostby went slowly up the stairway. When they reached the room that housed the Brain, Ostby entered first.

"You timed it very well," a hollow voice greeted him, but it failed to catch Ostby's entire attention for he was looking down at a figure lying on the floor.

The figure was that of the Imperator, with a knife buried in his breast!

"Yes, he's dead," the hollow voice said, "and you killed him."

"I?" Ostby brought his attention up to the huge eye that gazed at him unwinking.

"You," the Brain answered. "Technically it's suicide. But when you defeated him in a test of strength, you killed him as surely as though you plunged the knife into his heart!"

"Then my work may be finished," Ostby said. He looked at the Brain with a question in his gaze.

"Yes," the Brain answered his unspoken question. "It is done. You were wise in deducing that I must use water to function, and thus would be exposed to the potion you placed in the palace water-duct. I'll never be able to open the 'door' again."

"I'm happy to hear that," Ostby said, letting his shoulders ease down. Only with the release did he realize the weight of the burden he had been carrying all these past months. "I hope it didn't harm you otherwise," he said.

"Not at all," the Brain answered. "You merely changed the pitch of a subtle brain resonance necessary for the opening of the 'door.' It is analogous to a growing boy's loss of the ability to sing tenor. His vocal cords are in no way injured when they grow too coarse to attain a certain pitch. But...."

The Brain paused. "What now?"

"How do you mean?" Ostby asked.

"You know that you will never be able to return to Earth after this. And, as you are the nominal successor to Magogar, I presume you will take over the city's government?"

"You're wrong," Ostby replied unhesitatingly. "I have no slightest desire to be Imperator."

"If you don't there will be chaos in the city."

"You told me once that the people would be happier if they returned to their pastoral way of life. So now let them."

"That's correct," the Brain replied. "But if you leave the city without a government it will collapse in a bath of blood. It would be much better if you allowed the disintegration to occur gradually under your control. Furthermore, here is a thought which may not have entered your mind. There are thousands of Earth people in the city. If given the opportunity they could be quite happy here. They would be the technicians and tradesmen. In time they, and their descendants would be assimilated into the population, perhaps giving it many of their better traits. Would you give that up and expose them to death under the anarchy you would leave?"

"No," Ostby said. "But I have a different plan. One in which you play an integral part. Would you be willing to give Siggen the cooperation he'd need if he took over as Imperator?"

For the first time Ostby saw Siggen show surprise. His eyes widened at the first realization of what Ostby had proposed, but he said nothing and his features settled back into their usual placid tranquillity. Only in his eyes did Ostby see how greatly he was pleased.

"You think, perhaps, that you surprise me," the Brain answered. "But I, too, have given Siggen thought since Magogar took his life. Siggen is the head of the element most likely to get out of hand, and he would be best able to control them. The so-called aristocracy may not like the choice but they have very little actual strength. As for the guards and police, with my, and your, sanction, I am certain that they will be happy to return to their former posts. And finally, Siggen is an able administrator. You may not like this, but he will make a better Imperator than yourself."

"Then it's settled," Ostby said. He turned to Siggen and held out his hand. "My friend, Siggen--Imperator--I leave the city in your capable hands. For the present, I bid you goodby." He turned and walked from the room.

For the first time Siggen spoke. "He is at heart very romantic," he said to the Brain. "He goes now to renew an affair of courtship with a certain Duchess, Rinda!"