"What happened?" he asked, fretfully.
Artana spoke soberly. "The Queen is dead." He turned to Illeria, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. "Long live the Queen!"
Ross glanced at Moore. The navigator winked. "Order is restored, Chief," he explained. "That blow-up finished Horta and all his works. And Earth is on the phone. All serene there, since the Los Angeles disaster. You are ordered to return and report."
Illeria dropped to her knees beside Ross. "You will not go? You will stay—and my people shall make you king!"
Ross looked long into her eyes, and the Earth seemed far away and an unreal world. But he slowly shook his head as he rose and gently lifted her to her feet. "I must go, Illeria," he said. "But—perhaps I shall return. Good-bye, Artana, you will restore peace to the Moon."
The Lord of the Peaks bowed his head, "That I will, farewell, Ross!"
With one last glance at the white-faced princess, Ross nodded shortly to Moore. They strode to their ship without a backward glance. At a curt order the helmsman took her off, and in seconds the two figures on Peak Four's platform had dwindled to specks.
"You can come back," Moore grunted.
"Think so?"
"Sure. When the Council hears what you've done they'll give you twenty years' leave. With pay."