"Sabotage agents!" Aram spat.
"... it is expected that the worker population will conduct itself with courage and resourcefulness under the threatened attack," continued the announcer smoothly. "Our newly organized armed forces are even now taking measures against the tyrants' home worlds ..."
Aram shuddered, thinking about the "measures" Santane had devised for use against the Tetrarchy. The brutalizing virus....
"... it is not to be expected that the war will be of long duration. Our scientists have developed a weapon that will make active resistance on the part of the tyrants impossible. They will not dare to attack us ..."
Confirmation, thought Aram bleakly, of Santane's dream of winning power by threats. A savage, terrible blunder!
"Generalissimo Santane has struck the shackles of the Tetrarchy from the people of Kaidor! Work and fight for victory!" The announcement was followed by the playing of martial music.
Jerrold snapped the radio off with a curse. Kant Mikal a prisoner—very likely dead already. The Fleet converging on Kaidor. Santane, drunk with power, brandishing his awful weapon over the heads of the mute billions of the Thirty Suns!
"What now, Aram?" asked Deve quietly.
"We must go to Kaidor V ... now!" he replied.
In space again, Aram tried to shake off his forebodings and failed miserably. They were speeding into a tempest of stellar magnitude, and they were but two—a man and a woman—against a war-mad galaxy.