He paused again, waiting for an answer.
The wardens, he could see, had stopped and stood, undecided. None of them was close enough to be dangerous.
This, he thought with a surge of hope, was going to work out after all. He turned his eyes for a swift glance at his captive.
Once at the yacht, he could release a bit of energy from the khroal. This boy had destroyed all his careful plans. No, he decided, Pete Waern could not be allowed to live and enjoy those good things the palace afforded.
He tightened his grip about the boy's neck.
Don Michaels had strapped his sling on his arm. Now, he lay on the floor of the Blue Palace. Stern's head was centered in the scope and the cross hairs bobbed slowly about a spot just in front of the man's right ear.
"No question about it," Don told himself, "if Stern gets Pete through that gate, that'll be the end of Pete."
He put pressure on the trigger.
"The guy's as sore as a singed gersal," he told himself. "And half nuts besides. He'll spray Pete with that thing if it's the last thing he ever does." He continued his pressure on the trigger. The cross hairs still hovered about the man's ear.