Garroway, who had been standing at the vision plate, staring as a man transfixed at the image of his own downfall, now turned to his destroyers. His dark eyes were haggard, his sagging jowls suddenly no longer the harsh features of a ruler, but those of a defeated old man. He whispered:
"This, then, is the end? Very well—" A burst of his former defiance flamed in him. He forced a laugh. "You have won, Dirk Morris. And the death I promised you lies in store for me? Well ... so be it. It has been a long game, but one worth the playing. Of one thing you cannot rob me ... the memory that once I ruled the mightiest empire known to man."
But again it was Rima who spoke. Her voice was like a crystal bell.
"Not death, Graed Garroway. It is the right of none to judge that ultimate penalty on another. Exile shall be your fate. Those who know your system better than I shall decide which planet ... or planetoid far removed from Earth ... shall be your final refuge.
"Neil Hardesty—" She turned to the listening captain—"send him away. Your new government shall sit in judgment on him later."
Hardesty nodded, motioned to Shaughnessey, and the erstwhile Overlord was led away. With him were herded from the room, none too gently, those who had been his companions in the attempt to trap Dirk. Within a matter of minutes the hall was cleared save for a handful: Dirk and Rima, in her glowing pillar of flame; Hardesty, the Princess Lenore.
In the Princess' eyes glittered a great defiance and a great sorrow. She asked, "And I? I join my father in exile?"
Rima looked at Dirk.
"Well, Dirk Morris?" she asked.