The Best Made Plans Part 35

He put pressure on the trigger.

"The guy's as sore as a singed gersal," he told himself. "And half nuts besides. He'll spray Pete with that thing if it's the last thing he ever does." He continued his pressure on the trigger. The cross hairs still hovered about the man's ear.

"Hope that anatomy book was right," he told himself.

Of course, he realized, if he missed the tiny target--if the bullet failed to destroy the motor centers on impact--Stern would die anyway.

But he just might be able to press the release on that khroal. And that wouldn't be good.

The aiming point moved a trifle and Don eased back into position.

What had happened to the trigger on this thing? Had he forgotten to take off the safety? Again, the cross hairs started to wander and he eased them back--back toward that little spot.

The rifle leaped upward with a roar, slamming back against Don's shoulder. He let it settle again, examining the scene anxiously through his sight.

Stern was still on his feet, but his hands were dropping limply to his sides. Don could just see the glitter of the khroal by Pete's feet.

Then, Stern's knees bent and he flowed to the ground.

Pete had turned at the sound of the shot. He looked back at the palace door, then glanced at the khroal.

At last, he knelt beside the body on the ground. He felt the throat, then examined the man's head. For an instant, he looked a little sick, then he looked away from the tiny hole in front of the man's ear. He got to his feet and waved a hand.

"Pinwheel," he shouted.

The newly enrobed King of Oredan settled back in his chair and shook the heavy cloth back from his shoulder.

"So," he said thoughtfully, "it's all over." He sighed.

"And it's all just beginning, too. Now, I'll have to form a government." He smiled sadly.

"It's funny, Don. For years, I've dreamed of actually being king. Now it's suddenly happened and I feel about as helpless as they come." He stretched out a hand. "All at once, I'm realizing it's pretty rough for a schoolboy to suddenly find himself with a whole nation to run. I don't know where to start."

"You'll get used to it, Pete." Don smiled at him. "Get yourself a few really competent advisors. Tell them what you want, and let them go out and get some competent people to do things. And you've got it whipped."

"Yeah." Pete nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's the way it's done. But---- Well, I asked for it. And they handed it to me." He looked directly at Don.

"How about you? You've got plenty of clan rank, you know. What department do you want?"

Don shook his head slowly. "Don't look at me," he advised. "They offered me a spot in the Stellar Guard and I'm signing up." He glanced around the room.

"I've got no place here."

"What are you talking about?" Pete frowned. "I owe this whole thing to you. I wouldn't even be alive if you hadn't been around. You can have anything you want here, and you know it. What can the Federation offer you?"

Don shrugged. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Lot of work, of course.

Pride of accomplishment, maybe. Peace of mind. Hard to say. Only one thing I'm sure of. I wouldn't work out here."

"I don't get it." Pete shook his head.

Don looked at him, his face expressionless.

"Look, Pete. Do you really like me?"

"Why, of course. You saved my life and set me on the throne. I told you that."

"Not just what I mean. Do you feel perfectly relaxed and easy when I'm around? Would you really call me a close friend?"

Pete squirmed in his chair. Uneasily, he looked overhead at the ta.s.sled canopy.

"That's a lousy way to put it," he complained.

"Well?" Don's face was still expressionless.

Pete forced himself to look directly at him.

"I don't know. I ... well, you've done so darn much. Well, I guess I am a little afraid of you, at that." He looked at the floor.

"Oh, all right. I'll have to admit it. You do actually make me uneasy.

Always did, even back at school. Lot of fellows felt the same way."

Don stood. "That's what I mean. And it would get worse if I hung around. You'd get so you hated yourself--and me." He held out a hand.

"You're the king--the ruler of this whole nation. That means you've got to be the head man. No one can give you orders. They can suggest, but no one can be even capable of giving you orders." He smiled.

"Dad will rebuild the ranch, of course. And I may come back once in a while, in a very quiet way. But for the most part, I'd better not be around too often."

Pete got to his feet. Suddenly, he looked relieved and at ease.

"I'll make certain your ranch is never interfered with," he promised.

"It's yours, so long as you or your father want it. And I hope that some day it'll be a home for your kids." He paused.

"If you ever do decide to come to the capital," he added, "you'll be a welcome guest at the palace."

"O.K." Don grinned. "Let's leave it that way. Good-by, then, and I hope yours is the longest reign in history."

He turned and walked through the curtain.

THE END