"It was because you didn't dare face your twelve old enemies," Kesley said mercilessly. "Even though Antarctica had continued scientific development and they had shunned it, even though you now had the weapons and the techniques to blast the twelve of them off their thrones at long distance, you still kept thinking of yourself as the poor relation who got shunted away. That's why you ran away when the bandits caught me in Argentina; you dreaded going before Miguel. You had to escape even at the cost of leaving me behind."
"That's part of it." Van Alen seemed to recover some of his former poise. "If you'll remember, though, I couched my refusal of your ideas five years ago in such a way that you'd almost certainly react by running away."
"I remember. Why?"
"You've seen the world. You've seen other Dukes. You know what the world is like. You've matured. It was a sink-or-swim process, and you swam."
Kesley began to see what was coming. His fingers started to tremble.
"Five years ago," van Alen went on, "I said no. Today's answer is different. It's yes."
Van Alen laid his still powerful hand on Kesley's shoulder. "I can't take down the Barrier myself. I need it up there, as protection—protection against emotional fears that even I know, intellectually, are foolish.
"But you can take it down, Dryle—as Duke of Antarctica!"
Kesley had seen it coming. He nodded. "I'm so used to thinking of myself as Dale Kesley that it's hard to remember my name's the same as yours—Dryle van Alen."
"Dux et Imperator," the older man added, grinning. "A little while ago I dictated an abdication. At knifepoint, to be sure, but I kept my voice calm. That message is still on the tapes. Any time you want, you have my permission to broadcast it."