Suddenly, he smiled. That was it! It would spread out too much. He flipped out the little khroal from its hiding place in his sleeve and placed it against Pete's back. With his other hand, he gripped the boy around the throat. Then he turned, seeking to locate Michaels. The fellow was out of sight. Probably, Stern thought, he had remained in the shadow of the huge pillars of the porch--or even inside the Blue Palace itself. His whole body itched. The man might fire without thinking! He raised his voice. "Can you hear me, Michaels?" He had been right. The answering voice came from the palace doorway. "I can hear." "Then listen carefully." Stern put all his persuasive power into his voice. "I shall not harm this boy unless I am forced to, but I assure you that if I am interfered with, I'll not hesitate. From where you are, you can do nothing. Any blast you release will spread out to kill him as well as me. You realize that?" "I can hear you." Don's voice was expressionless. "And," added Stern loudly, "if I am struck or attacked, I will have time to release this khroal. This is also obvious, is it not?" There was no answer. Stern frowned. What was the fellow doing? He drew a deep breath. He'd have to go through with it now, no matter what. "I am going to the gate in the wall over there. Shortly after I go through that gate, I shall release this boy, and use a means of escape which I have prepared. You may watch me, of course, but make no effort to stop me--or this boy dies." He paused again, waiting for an answer. The wardens, he could see, had stopped and stood, undecided. None of them was close enough to be dangerous. This, he thought with a surge of hope, was going to work out after all. He turned his eyes for a swift glance at his captive. Once at the yacht, he could release a bit of energy from the khroal. This boy had destroyed all his careful plans. No, he decided, Pete Waern could not be allowed to live and enjoy those good things the palace afforded. He tightened his grip about the boy's neck. * * * * * Don Michaels had strapped his sling on his arm. Now, he lay on the floor of the Blue Palace. Stern's head was centered in the scope and the cross hairs bobbed slowly about a spot just in front of the man's right ear. "No question about it," Don told himself, "if Stern gets Pete through that gate, that'll be the end of Pete." He put pressure on the trigger. "The guy's as sore as a singed gersal," he told himself. "And half nuts besides. He'll spray Pete with that thing if it's the last thing he ever does." He continued his pressure on the trigger. The cross hairs still hovered about the man's ear. "Hope that anatomy book was right," he told himself. Of course, he realized, if he missed the tiny target--if the bullet failed to destroy the motor centers on impact--Stern would die anyway. But he just might be able to press the release on that khroal. And that wouldn't be good.