"One peep out of them," chortled Chuck, "and we'll blast 'em from here to breakfast! Our guns is manned, and I've notified the Supreme Council that if they don't surrender unconditionally and Johnny-on-the-spot we'll put all Daans to sleep for the next couple of thousand years!"
Loala stirred in Steve's arms. And curiously, in those eyes which should have shown grief at the defeat of her empire, there was something akin to pride. She whispered,
"Then you succeeded after all, my Steve. Somehow ... I am ... almost glad...."
"Loala!" choked Steve. Then an idea struck him. He turned to the silent surgeon. "Time!" he rasped. "You said time is what you need?"
"Yes, earthman. She cannot live much longer—"
"She can," roared Steve, "and she will! Chuck! Send someone here to the Mental Laboratory of the palace with methioprane. And—hurry, man! For God's sake, hurry! The life of a brave woman depends on the speed of your actions!"
Then, to the medical experts, "Get your tables ready, and what instruments you need. My men are bringing you an anesthetic which will give you all the time you need. Under it, the Lady Loala will not die because she cannot. And by the time she comes to—God knows how long hence—her scars will be completely healed.
"Loala, you understand what I am doing? It will be a long sleep. When you waken, I will be gone. But it is the only way—"
He stopped speaking. For the gray-green eyes had closed, and the Lady Loala lay unconscious in his arms. Stephen Duane bent tenderly. For the first, last, and only time in his life he touched his lips to the brow of the silver princess. And:
"Sleep well, my Lady Loala!" whispered Steve. "Sleep well and safely, O Mistress of a Thousand Charms...."