FIREGOD BY WILLIAM SCARFF Some are born to greatness, others achieve the rulership of systems--but Merssu wanted to be a god. All he needed was a million years and a little luck! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Rocket Stories, July 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Your Majesty!" D'hai Merssu, Emperor of All the Suns, Protector of the Galaxy, looked up calmly as his prime minister burst into the room. His lean, brooding face did not change expression as he watched the pale and perspiring man cross the flagstoned floor with a sharp, nervous patter of leather. "Gently, Tors, gently," he said quietly, his eyes mocking under their overhang of dark eyebrow. "You're Prime Minister now--remember that. A prime minister doesn't come blundering into the palace looking as though the sky was falling. It creates unrest in the population. Try to remember that we're no longer a pair of obscure rabblerousers, trying to overthrow the Crown. We _are_ the Crown now. Try to act like it." "D'hai, the sky _is_ falling!" Tors burst out unheedingly, "I have word that the Earthmen are driving beyond the Rim and into the heart of the Empire itself! Their ships are irresistible. They're winning battle after battle! And the people are restless! They say it's time the False Emperor's rule was overthrown. Some of the garrisons are rebelling!" Still the Emperor's expression did not change. "So," he said calmly, "the Earthmen were not bluffing when they said they'd maintain the rights of the old Emperor." "Yes! You said they wouldn't, D'hai. What are we going to do?" "I was wrong, Tors," Merssu said evenly. "No matter. As for what we are going to do, why, I suppose you'd better arrange for another broadcast. Tell the people we have weapons ready if the situation becomes serious, that they have nothing to fear." "But the situation _is_ serious! And what weapons?" "No weapons, Tors," Merssu explained patiently. "But the story will serve to keep the people calm--and, perhaps, make them think twice about revolt. Now go. Hurry!" The prime minister's feet pattered over the floor again. The door to the room closed. Merssu smiled quietly. He rose, and opened the concealed door behind his chair. Closing it behind him, he slipped into a passage of which no one knew, and ten minutes later he was in a private tubeway that led half-way across the continent into the heart of an old and barren mountain range. As he sat comfortably in the padded upholstery of the tube car, Merssu smiled again. Poor Tors! So excitable. Always the hysteric--a perfect rabblerouser, perhaps, but not a clever man. No, never a clever man. A clever man knew when the game was over. And Merssu laughed.