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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Pretender gently pointed out that the formation was to remain perfectly still and in ranks. Therefore, each globe had to be launched with no velocity at all, so it would remain in fixed position with relation to the others, to convincingly appear to be a fleet of ships. Far away the Sylva hurtled through space with a much-agitated Morgan on board. Gwenlyn, too, was frightened.
So Bors and Gwenlyn and Morgan got a ground-car and were driven to Kandar's commercial spaceport. There they found the Sylva. It was far larger than the usual space-yachts. There were commercial space-craft which were no larger. But it was a workmanlike sort of ship, at that. It had two lifeboat blisters, and there were emergency rockets for landings where no landing-grids existed.
Then it would seek out the fleet, and destroy it, and then it would move from one to another of its rebellious tributaries and take revenge upon them.... And Bors could only hope to salvage the life of one girl from the wreckage of everything that human beings prefer to believe in. He could only hope to send Gwenlyn away if he was not already too late.
Communication had been three-way, and Gwenlyn said quickly; "Just a moment! Did you pick up any news-reports on Tralee?" "Hm. Yes. I'd better send them " "You'd better?" echoed Gwenlyn, scolding. "My father stayed with the fleet to try to explain what Talents, Incorporated can do! He kept most of the Talents with him, for demonstrations! The Department for Predicting Dirty Tricks is there!
"Better not," said Bors curtly, and mumbled thanks. He ordered the cargo-ship to send as much of its stores as the space-boat could conveniently carry. "Then how about some cigars?" asked Gwenlyn. She seemed at once amused and approving, because Bors would not indulge himself in a really satisfying meal while his crew lived on far from appetizing emergency foodstuffs. "No," said Bors.
I'm going to ask the king to insist that the Sylva get away from here fast! Before the Mekinese turn up." Gwenlyn shook her head, her eyes searching his face. "The Sylva's not here. It's gone to Kandar as a sort of dispatch-boat." Bors groaned. "Then I'll try to get another ship assigned to take you away," he said formidably. "Maybe one of the captured cargo-ships I sent back."
He meant to build another low-power overdrive at once. He cleared for departure with the flagship. He was swinging the ship toward his first destination when a call came from the Sylva. He was asked for. He went to a screen. He preferred to see Gwenlyn when he talked to her. She was there. "I've a memo for you," she said briskly. "There are cargo-ships aground on Cassis and Dover.
"In that case I'll go pilfer some provisions so the fleet will be prepared to do what you tell me it won't, but which it has to be prepared to do. I suppose I'll be back?" "I hope so," said Gwenlyn, smiling. She gave him her hand. He left. He shook his head as he made his way to the Sylva's space-boat blister. He had it immediately taken to his new ship.
While you're waiting for the cabinet to call you back?" "I've no authority," said Bors. "My uncle's the Pretender of Tralee, and I was originally commissioned in the fleet as a sort of courtesy to him. I can't speak for anybody but myself." "You can speak for common sense," said Gwenlyn. "After all, you know what the people really want.
"Any calculations he needs, of course." He looked about him with a confident, modestly complacent air. Bors walked with Morgan and his daughter to the airlock. He turned to Gwenlyn. "I don't mean to be ungallant, refusing to let you run risks." "I'm flattered but annoyed," Gwenlyn answered. "It means I'll have to take drastic measures. Luck!" She and her father went into the Sylva's space-boat.
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