LITMIR.BIZ

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      There was Rima on Nadron…true. He respected her. For her he felt—though he had known her but a short time—a great tenderness and affection. But it was not true love. It was a brotherly feeling; a comfortable confidence in her presence and companionship.

      This girl, the Princess Lenore, alone could stir his veins to running fire; she alone quickened a hungry spark within him. It was mad…it was impossible…but true. He loved—and the knowledge of it struck Dirk Morris with brutally staggering force—he loved an enemy and the daughter of his bitterest foe!

      Stranger yet…she loved him!

      Now she was talking again, hurriedly arguing a case to win his life.

      "It is not necessary to kill this man, my parent. It would be folly to do so. Think! On all this world…in all this universe…there are few men worthy of the name of man! Your court is a melange of smirking nincompoops and weaklings. Who amongst them can match in strength and vigor the spirit of Dirk Morris? Which can compare with him in audacity and daring?"

      "That," responded her father darkly, "is why he must die. I cannot allow so dangerous a foe to live—"

      "No? Have you forgotten the medical science of which your attendants are capable? Think, my father…were it not better to make slight alterations in this man’s brain, converting him to a true and faithful servant, than to destroy forever the bravery in his heart?"

      The words struck home. Garroway frowned thoughtfully.

      "It is true," he mused. "A slight operation…a period in the Mental Clinic to erase from his brain-passage all thoughts of rebellion…would make him a new man. But it is too great a chance. Were anything to go wrong—"

      The Princess Lenore gazed at him scornfully.

      "I see. Very well, then—" With slow, deliberate movements she reached up, stripped from her raven hair the glittering imperial emblem which designated her a member of the Family Royal—"if such must be your decision, so be it? But I…I shall no longer confess myself a Garroway. If the word of the Emperor is so lightly to be given...."

      And this time she was triumphant. Her scorn hit the Overlord in his one most vulnerable spot…his colossal vanity. His dark eyes flamed with petulance. He snarled, "Oh, let be! No man shall say the Overlord retracted a pledge. If you must have this man—" He turned to Morris—"Well, what say you, rebel? Are you too proud to buy your life at the expense of rebellion? Or will you accept life at the price of a new existence of loyalty…to me?"

      *

      Dirk wavered, sorely tempted. Until this moment his life had been consecrated to a single Cause…the overthrow of Garroway’s cruel empire. But now, suddenly, strangely, singingly, had entered into it another influence…love for a woman of matchless courage and beauty.

      His attempts to destroy Garroway had failed. He was hopelessly ensnared, his cohorts could not save him. Years might pass before another Dirk Morris arose to lead malcontents in rebellion. Neil Hardesty was a good man, a strong and faithful friend…but he lacked the spark of genius that leads lost causes to success.

      Perhaps it would be better, in the long run, to accept defeat…and in accepting it, accept also such share of happiness as this world had to offer. As the mate of Lenore he would live a new life, all rebellious thoughts exiled from his brain by the surgery of Garroway’s physicians....

      So he hesitated, and for those tense moments the fate of a world hung in the balance. But then…honor won! With infinite sadness, but with courage too, Dirk Morris made his answer. It was symbolic that he made it to the Princess.

      "I am sorry, my Princess," he said quietly. "I know a great wonder, and a great pride, that you have made this plea for me. But…I cannot accept life on such terms. For me there is but one clear and unavoidable path…to go on. This path I must choose to glory or…the grave."

      "Don’t be a fool!" cried the girl. "Don’t you see you can gain nothing by this gesture. You have no choice!"

      Her words were sharp…but her voice was fearful. Dirk, recognized this as he said, still softly, "Yes, that, too, I see. And, believe me, Princess, I am deeply sorry. But I have made my choice."

      For an instant that seemed eternities the Princess Lenore, she who had until a fortnight since known passion for nothing save costly baubles, stared into Dirk’s eyes. Then a little sob broke from her lips, and she turned away.

      And the Emperor nodded.

      "Guards!" he said. "Take this man—"

      It was a command that was never obeyed…an order never completed! For at that moment came interruption in the form of a violent blast that shook the entire council hall as a thatched shack trembles in a cyclone’s wake. A column of living fire blossomed in the room; eyes burned and eardrums throbbed to see and hear the tingling of an unleashed and unguessable force turned loose in their midst.

      And in the heart of this column, loose-girt in shining white, radiant as a goddess, but calm with the ominous quiet of powers unfathomable…stood the girl, Rima of Nadron!

      *

      It was Morris who first recovered sufficiently from the unexpected appearance to make a movement. A cry broke from his lips, "Rima! " He moved toward the girl. But her voice lifted in crisp warning.

      "Back, Dirk! To touch this flame means death!"

      Her words stopped not only Morris, but a group of the Imperial Guards who, as one, had now spun toward the visitant. They faltered, stopped dead in their tracks and turned to the Overlord for guidance.

      Graed Garroway’s black eyebrows were knit with rage and bafflement. He demanded hoarsely, "Who is this woman? And whence comes she, that she dares enter the stronghold of the Emperor?"

      It was incredible how forceful could be the tones of Rima. Her voice was dulcet sweet, but carried conviction.

      "I am of a race that ruled this world before your ilk was spawned, Black Garroway…a race whose least remembered knowledge so surpasses your own that you are as pawns with which we play at will.

      "I came because the evil in your heart has inspired you to do a great wrong…a wrong upon mankind that we, who once loved Earth, can neither condone nor allow. I came to free Dirk Morris, and to free Earth of a tyrant.

      "Dirk…bid the Emperor step from his dais. He no longer rules this city or this System."

      "No longer rules—" choked Garroway.

      "The city has fallen," said Rima. "While in this tower you plotted for the life of a rebel leader, you have lost an empire. Listen…or better yet, turn on your visi-screens. Therein you will see I speak the truth."

      In sudden, fumbling haste Graed Garroway turned to a vision-unit set in the auditorium wall. Instantly a section of the capital city sprawled before the gaze of those assembled. It was as Rima had foretold. No matter where the dial was swung, there reflected the same scene: people leaping, laughing, rejoicing in the streets…marching in vast, inchoate crowds, singing and cheering. Here and there were grisly evidences of the reason for their rejoicing…a knot of tumbled bodies garbed in the uniform of Garroway’s forces…a burning pyre which had been an Imperial blockhouse…a torn, stained militiaman’s cap lying in a gutter.

      And now, to further the evidence, came the sound of voices, running footsteps, through the tower itself. And into the council hall flooded a host of jubilant freedmen, led by a trio at sight of whom Dirk’s heart filled with gladness. The gigantic Vurrth, grinning from ear to ear and wearing a jacket snatched from a fallen foe…a jacket that had ripped up the back under the strain of the Venusian’s mighty muscles. Brian Shaughnessey, bellowing loud greetings. Neil Hardesty, grave and quiet as ever, even in this hour of triumph, as he spoke to his leader.

      "It is over, Dirk. You have succeeded here, too?"

      Dirk said ruefully, "I have succeeded, yes. But it was not of my doing. Rima—"

      "He

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