Part 27 (2/2)

”It's a Royal Guard job,” he told himself.

He could see painted legends, giving cautions and instructions to whomever should pilot the s.h.i.+p. He felt under the dash.

There was a light board snapped into clips. He pulled it out and turned on the cabin lights.

Yes, it was all there. Instructions for the identification devices--description of the identification and warning lights. It gave the location of switches--the settings for communications. There was even a small card inserted in a pocket. It gave the communications code used by patrol fliers in routine communication. Don smiled happily.

Now, he could fly back to the hills. It would only take a few minutes, and----

Why should he? There was an easier way now.

It would be much easier to ride this flier right on into Oreladar. If he headed for the hills, questions might be asked which would be hard to answer. But Oreladar would be the normal place for Gorham to go. And the Federation compound wasn't too far from the Palace. He could feint at the Palace landing pad, then---- He nodded and studied the lighting plan and identification settings.

At last, he nodded in satisfaction, then turned his attention to the small card with the operations code. It was a simple, systematic arrangement, obviously arranged for day-to-day use, not for secrecy. He nodded and clipped it in front of him under the panel light, where he could see it easily. Then, he looked thoughtfully at the courtyard.

There was a small chance that some guard might decide to come into the house, he decided. Of course, it was still to be regarded as a private home, and they had no right to---- He laughed sarcastically.

”That would worry them!” he said aloud.

He got out of the flier and leaned over the body of Gorham. It was surprisingly light. The man had been carrying almost unbelievable strength and power of will in a tiny, frail body. Don threw his load over his shoulder and climbed back into the flier. Then he sat back and looked dully at the control panel.

Suddenly, he felt completely drained. It was just too much effort to get this s.h.i.+p off the ground. And that long flight to Oreladar? Just how much was a guy supposed to do in one day?

He sat supinely for a few minutes, simply staring at a nothingness beneath the surface of the panel. A small noise from the house aroused him, and he jerked up. He'd have to move.

Unwillingly, he pulled at the controls and the flier raised from the paving.

A blast of air hit the side of his face and he turned his head. He'd forgotten to close the door. He snarled at himself in annoyance, then leaned over and jerked at the handle. The s.h.i.+p swayed and dipped toward the lighted streets and he straightened quickly and righted it with a jerk. Then he snapped off the cabin lights and reached down to set up the identification patterns.

A tinny voice snapped at him.

”Rano ninety-one, Riandar control. Seven three seven.”

Don looked at the code card before him. Yes, there it was. ”Return to station.” He glanced at the call sign on the panel before him. He was Onarati three. He nodded. Only an important official would be in this flier. Probably Gorham hadn't been bragging so much.

Another voice had acknowledged the order. Don looked at the speaker grill and shrugged. He set his course southward.

Again and again, the speaker rattled with calls and answers. Riandar control appeared to be busy tonight. Don smiled.

”The busier they are, the better,” he told himself. ”Then they can't bother me.” He coughed.

”Wonder how Korentana made out?” He looked overside.

Abruptly, he was aware of another flier close to his. On its top a blue light blinked glaringly. He looked at it in consternation. Had they----? But how? He started to pull the control to him and go into evasive flight. Then he stopped.

”Use your head,” he advised himself.

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