It was warmed up by this time. He moved swiftly over to it, his body jerking in a peculiar, off-beat cadence as he walked.
As he sat down before the controls, a calm voice echoed in his memory, going through his mind like a cold breeze.
"Let yourself get emotionally involved in a problem and it'll turn around and bite you."
He forced himself to sit back, his hands away from the controls.
Then he looked back at the body on the courtyard paving.
Gorham had implied that he was the power behind the whole present regime. Maybe he'd been bragging. But again, maybe he hadn't. There had been a queer, hard force about the man. There had been an aura which Don had sensed, but could not analyze. One thing was certain. This man had never been able to work under someone else's orders.
He looked around the interior of the flier.
"It's a Royal Guard job," he told himself.
He could see painted legends, giving cautions and instructions to whomever should pilot the ship. He felt under the dash.