Hastur Lord Read Free

vapors.
    Regis paused the recording. “Danilo, if what Lew says is true, then Darkover could lose its status as a Class D Closed World.”
    The immensely powerful corporations that had hired the World Wreckers would like nothing better than to have free access to Darkover. Only the Empire’s restrictive laws governing Closed Worlds prevented others from turning Darkover into a colony planet. Without legal protections, nothing would stand in the way of those who wanted to exploit Darkover’s resources or its pivotal position in the galactic arm.
    Not even the Comyn, Danilo sent the telepathic thought.
    “Although I hate to admit it, the Telepath Council is completely inadequate to this challenge.” With a sigh, Regis resumed the recorded message.
    “The new Federation must tread lightly at first,” Lew said. “The Expansionist alliance will be fragile, and they will need every vote. They dare not alienate their supporters by forcing full membership on any planet that does not desire it. Therein lies our hope. If Darkover refuses to change its Closed World status, then we have a chance of surviving this period of instability. Eventually the political pendulum will swing back to a more sane and compassionate balance between the benefits of cooperation and the need for self-determination.
    “Regis . . . if anyone can preserve Darkover’s independence during this dangerous time, it is you. For the sake of all we hold dear, may the gods walk with you. Adelandeyo, my friend.”
    The screen went blank, then words appeared: MESSAGE DESTROYED. Regis read Terran Standard well enough to make out the words.
    They sat for a moment in silence, letting the weight of Lew’s words sink in. Disgust rose up in Regis, abhorrence of the glass and metal cage around him, the machines, the regulations, the artificiality, the smug implied superiority. He reminded himself that he had survived crises before. Having been raised and shaped by Darkover’s greatest living statesman, he knew the uses of power.
    “Let’s get out of here,” Danilo said. “This place is not good for either of us.”
    He opened the door and followed Regis into the reception room. Dan Lawton bent over his secretary’s desk, going over some documents with her. He looked up, and his expression shifted.
    “Is it something you can tell me?” he asked Regis. “Can I be of any service?”
    “I’m afraid not.” Regis tried not to sound curt, to lash out as he badly wanted to. This man, despite his Terran uniform, was not his enemy. The offer of help had been sincere. “Perhaps later.”
    “Of course.”
    “We’ll see ourselves out.” Danilo strode to the outer door and opened it. He had shifted back into his role as bodyguard, eyes alert, posture fluid and balanced, fingertips brushing the hilt of his sword.
    Corridors sped by in a blur of glass and metal, of chemically treated air and people in strange, immodest uniforms. Regis wondered if this was the future of the world he had sworn to defend. Only when they were out on the street, with the swollen red sun casting the sky into a glory of color and the Venza Hills rising like waves of living stone beyond the city, did Regis draw a free breath.

2
    R egis waited until they were well away from the Terran sector and once more surrounded by familiar sights and sounds—street vendors calling out their wares, wagon wheels creaking and hoofbeats muffled in the snow. “The problem,” he said to Danilo, “is that some people will see this move as a good thing. They will want what the Expansionists offer them. The Ridenow in particular have agitated for us to join the Empire—excuse me, the Federation.”
    Danilo nodded. “It surprised no one when Lerrys and Geremy went off-world for good. They had always been . . .” he hesitated, as if searching for the phrase that conveyed both disdain and proper respect for Comyn lords, “. . . enamored of off-world ways and technologies.”
    “Especially the pleasures of