Free none

window of the Darkovan city below and the mountains beyond, almost took hisbreath away. The Legate’s office was high up, bright and filled with lowering red sunshine; for a moment,as he stepped into the brilliant glassed-in room, a curious thought flashed through Larry’s mind:   He seesmore of this world than he wants anyone to know about   .

    The Legate was a stocky man, dark and grizzled, with thoughtful eyes and a permanent frown. Nevertheless he had dignity, and something which made Larry think quickly of Lorill Hastur.   What is it? Is it just that they’re used to power, or to making decisions that other people have to live with   ?
    “Commander Reade—my son Larry.”
    “Sit down.” It was a peremptory command, not an invitation. “So you’ve been roaming around in the
    city? Tell me about it—tell me everything you’ve done there.”
    His face was unreadable; without anger, but without friendliness. Reserving judgment. Neither kind norunkind. But there was immense authority in it, as if he expected Larry to jump at once to obey him; andafter ten days of sulking in Quarters, Larry wasn’t feeling especially humble.
    “I didn’t know it was against any rules, sir. And I didn’t hurt anyone, and nothing happened to me.”
    Reade made a noncommittal sound. “Suppose you let me decide about that. Just tell me about it.”
    Larry told the whole story: his wanderings in the city day after day, his meeting with the gang of toughs,and the intervention of Kennard Alton. Finally he told of his last visit to the Alton house, making it clearthat he had gone without his father’s knowledge and consent. “So don’t blame Dad, sir.   He   didn’t breakany laws, at least.”
    Montray said quickly, “Just the same, Reade, I’ll take the responsibility. He’s my son, and I’ll beresponsible for his not doing it again.”

    Page 32

    Reade gestured him to silence. “That’s not the problem. ”We’ve heard from the Council—on behalf ofthe Altons. It seems that they are deeply and gravely offended.“
    “What? Why?”
    “Because you have refused your son permission to pursue this friendship—they say you have insulted
    them, as if they were unfit to associate with your son.”
    Montray put his hands to his temples, wearily. He said, “Oh, my God.”
    “Exactly,” Reade said in a soft voice. “The Altons are important people on Darkover—aristocrats,
    members of the Council. A snub or slight from a Terran can create trouble.”
    Suddenly his voice exploded in wrath. “Confound the boy anyhow! We aren’t ready for this sort ofepisode. We should have thought of it ourselves and made preparation for it, and now when it hits us, wecan hardly make good use of it! How old is the boy?”
    Montray gestured at Larry to answer for himself, and Reade grunted. “Sixteen, huh? Here, they’re menat that age—and we ought to realize it! What about it, young Larry? Are you intending—have you everconsidered going into the Empire service?”
    Puzzled by the question, Larry said, “I’ve always intended that, Commander.”
    “Well, here’s your chance.” He tossed a small squarish slip of paper across the table. It was thick and bordered, and had Darkovan writing on it, the straight squarish script of the city language. He said, “I understand you can read some of this stuff. God knows why you bothered, but it makes it handy for us. Figure it out later when you get the chance; as it happens, I can read it too, though most people in Administration   don’t   bother. It’s an invitation from the Altons—coming through Administration as a slap in the face: they don’t like the way Terrans tend to go through channels on every little thing—for you, Larry, to spend the next season at their country estate, with Kennard.”
    Montray’s face went dark as if a shutter had dropped over his eyes. “Impossible, Reade. I know whatyou have in mind, and I won’t go along with it.”
    Reade’s face