"You see, we've got some colonists that would yell at the top of their lungs for protection of their interests by the Federation. And then there would be a conclave--with plenty of supervision. Either way, he'd get right into checkmate." He clasped one knee in his hands and rocked back and forth. "But there's one thing that stands in our way. Jasu Waern's scared to death. We've never quite dared explain this whole thing to him, and now no one can get near enough to talk to him. Harle was the clan head and the one with the nerve. He's gone, and Jasu's holed up. Won't let his son out of the house. Won't let anyone in. We can't move." He got back to his feet and walked over to the window. "Now, let's take some more suppositions. Suppose a flier went out of control and crashed in the middle of the Waern house. Or suppose some major criminal took refuge close to the place and decided to shoot it out with the Enforcement Corps. Seems to be a habit criminals have gotten into lately. And suppose a stray inductor beam just happened to graze the Waern living room. "Then, who's checkmated?" He looked down at his chair, then walked over and dropped into it. "There's only one way to get Jasu in motion. You're it. The way you slammed Rayson back in his chair yesterday gave me an idea. You can get in there, and you'll have to move him--by force--compulsion--however you want to. "Meantime, I'll get some things going. Your father can start the hill tribes getting together. He knows all the important head men. I'll give him a little push in that direction. Then, we'll get some more people to work." Don looked at him for a moment. "Well, Dad told me I'd probably have to earn my keep. Anything else I ought to know?" * * * * * Jasu Waern looked up in annoyance, then got to his feet. "Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?" He reached into a pocket. Don Michaels spread his hands away from his body. "Leave that weapon alone," he said sharply. "I came as a friend, and I'd hate to have someone shooting at me." "But who are you?" "I'm Donald Michaels. I want to talk to Pete ... Petoen, I should say." "My son is seeing no one. There has been----" "I know," interrupted Don. "Trouble. Listen, I've had trouble myself in the past couple of days. It all started when I prevented a bunch of roughnecks from slapping Pete around." He frowned. "Since then, things haven't been too pleasant." He held up a finger. "I got accused of falsifying my report on the affair in the locker room. Pete didn't show up to testify, and everyone was looking at me." He extended a second finger. "Pressure was put on me to sign a statement saying Pete used mental influence to make me put in a false statement. And I got into it with the school psychologist." A third finger snapped out.