"Perhaps," said Clea. "Look, like I said, I don't want to keep you--I mean I do, but. Well, when will you have some time?" "Probably tomorrow afternoon." "Fine," said Clea. "We'll have a picnic then, all right?" Tomar grinned. "Yes," he said. "Yes." He took both her hands, and she smiled back at him. Then he turned away, and was gone through the crowd. Clea watched a moment, and then turned toward the taxi stand. The sun was beginning to warm the air as she pushed into the shadow of the great transit ribbon that soared above her between the towers. * * * * * Buildings dropped bands of shadow across the ribbon, as it wound through the city, although occasional streaks of light from an eastward street still made silver half-rings around it. At the center of the city it raised a final two hundred feet and entered the window of the laboratory tower in the west wing of the royal palace of Toron. The room in which the transit ribbon ended was deserted. At the end of the metal band was a transparent crystal sphere, fifteen feet in diameter which hovered above the receiving platform. A dozen small tetron units of varying sizes sat around the room. The viewing screens were dead gray. On a control panel by one ornate window, a bank of forty-nine scarlet-knobbed switches pointed to off. The metal catwalks that ran over the receiving platform were empty. In another room of the palace, however, someone was screaming. "Tetron!" "... if your Highness would only wait a moment to hear the report," began the aged minister, "I believe...." "Tetron!" "... you would understand the necessity," he continued in an amazingly calm voice, "of disturbing you at such an ungodly hour ..." "I never want to hear the word tetron again!" "... of the morning." "Go away, Chargill; I'm sleeping!" King Uske, who had just turned twenty-one though he had been the official ruler of Toromon since the age of seven, jammed his pale blond head beneath three over-stuffed pillows that lay about the purple silken sheets of his bed. With one too-slender hand he sought feebly around for the covers to hide himself completely. The old minister quietly picked up the edge of the ermine-rimmed coverlet and held it out of reach. After several half-hearted swipes, the pale head emerged once more and asked in a coldly quiet voice, "Chargill, why is it that roads have been built, prisoners have been reprieved, and traitors have been disemboweled at every hour of the afternoon and evening without anyone expressing the least concern for what I thought? Now, suddenly, at--" Uske peered at the jewel-crusted chronometer by his bed in which a shimmering gold light fixed the hour, "--my God, ten o'clock in the morning! Why must I suddenly be consulted at every little twist and turn of empire?"