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Updated: May 19, 2025
That was what it was; he was still under treatment. But that seemed so long ago; so many things he must have dreamed them seemed to have happened. Then he remembered, and struggled futilely to rise. "Elaine!" he called. "Elaine, where are you?" There was a stir and somebody came into his limited view; his cousin, Nikkolay Trask. "Nikkolay; Andray Dunnan," he said. "What happened to Elaine?"
A dozen men clustered around the bartending robot his cousin and family lawyer, Nikkolay Trask; Lothar Ffayle, the banker; Alex Gorram, the shipbuilder, and his son Basil; Baron Rathmore; more of the Wardshaven nobles whom he knew only distantly. And Otto Harkaman. Harkaman was a Space Viking. That would have set him apart, even if he hadn't topped the tallest of them by a head.
"All right; let's shove off," Cousin Nikkolay said, stepping forward. Ten minutes since they had come outside; another five to get into position. Fifty minutes, now, till he and Elaine Lady Elaine Trask of Traskon, for real and for always would be going home. "Sure the car's ready?" he asked, for the hundredth time. His cousin assured him that it was.
The household gentlemen, and their ladies. More guardsmen. There was a great burst of cheering; the news-service aircars got into position above the procession. Cousin Nikkolay and a few others stepped out from between the pillars into the sunlight; there was a similar movement at the other side of the terrace. The ducal party reached the end of the central walkway, halted and deployed.
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