A new thought occurred to Kesley. "When did you come to Antarctica? You said you'd only been ruling three hundred sixty-odd years. The Blast was more than four hundred years ago."
Van Alen seemed to be trembling. "I came to Antarctica in 2164, established control, and erected the barrier the following year." His voice wavered. "Do you want the rest of it?"
"I don't need it." Kesley jabbed a forefinger at the Duke. "You never told me this, but now I understand. 2162—that's the year the Twelve Dukes met and divided up the world, all except Antarctica. Right?"
"Yes," van Alen said tonelessly.
"Okay. In 2162, there were twelve Empires—and thirteen Immortals! You were the odd man out!"
Van Alen winced, and Kesley felt a surge of pity now that he finally had voiced the words. Van Alen had lived alone with these memories for hundreds of years.
"They cast you out," Kesley went on. "You were an Immortal—it was obvious, you were a hundred years old and still in the prime of life—and everyone else grabbed a Dukedom before you did. So you slunk off to Antarctica with your tail wrapped around your hind legs, and founded yourself an Empire down here."
"No more, please," van Alen said. "Please."
"I want to go on." Kesley's eyes flashed. "You built that barrier out of fear and hatred; you closed yourself away from the Twelve who rejected you! And now—"
"And now I'm very tired," said van Alen. He rose. "Five years ago you argued for overthrowing the Barrier. I refused without citing reason. Now you understand why."