“My temper!” The unfairness of that left me speechless. “I know. You had provocation. But if you had controlled your righteous wrath—” he spoke the words with a flavor of sour irony — “Dyan would have been clearly in the wrong. As it is — well, you broke Comyn immunity — first, and that’s serious. Dyan swears he’ll write a writ of exile on you.”

I said, almost indulgently, “He can’t. The law requires at least one laran heir from every Domain — or why did you go to such trouble to have me recalled? I am the last living Alton, and childless. Even Dyan can’t break up the Comyn that way.”

Hastur scowled. “So you think you can break all our laws — being irreplaceable? Think again, Lew. Dyan swears he’s found a child of yours.”

“Mine? It’s a stinking, sneaking lie,” I said angrily. “I’ve lived off-world for six years. And I’m a matrix mech. You know what that means. And it’s common knowledge I’ve lived celibate.” Mentally I absolved myself for the single exception. If Dio had borne my child, after that summer on Vainwal, I would have known. Known? I’d have been murdered for it!

The Regent looked at me skeptically. “Yes, yes, I know. But before that? You weren’t too young to be physically capable of fathering a child, were you? The child is an Alton, Lew.”

Regis said slowly, “Your father wasn’t exactly a recluse. And I suppose — how old was Marius? He might have fathered a chance-child somewhere.”

I thought it over. It seemed unlikely that I should have a son. Not impossible, certainly, remembering certain adventures of my early manhood, but improbable. On the other hand, no Darkovan woman would dare swear me, or my dead kinsmen, father to her child unless she were sure past all human doubts. It takes more courage than most women have, to lie about a telepath.

“And suppose I call Dyan’s bluff? To produce this alleged child, prove his paternity, set him up where I am now, write his writ of exile and be damned\to him? I never wanted to come back anyhow. Suppose I say go right ahead?”

“Then,” said Hastur, gravely, “we’d be right back where we started.” He laid his lined old hand on my arm. “Lew, I fought to have you recalled, because your father was my friend and because we Hasturs were pretty desperately outnumbered in council. I thought the Comyn needed you. Downstairs just now, when you were raking them out for their squabbles — like children in a playground, you said — I had high hopes. Don’t make a fool of me by breaking the peace at every turn!”

I bent my head, feeling grieved and unhappy. “I’ll try,” I said at last, bleakly, “but by the sword of Aldones, I wish you’d left me out in space.”

After the Hasturs left me, I went back to my rooms and thought over what I’d learned.

I had walked into Dyan’s trap and it had snapped shut on me. I had Hastur to thank if I hadn’t been already exiled. All along — I could see now — they had been goading me into open defiance. Then there was this child of mine, or my father’s or Marius’, a docile puppet; not a grown man with power in his own hands.

And Callina. That idea that a Keeper must be a virgin-superstitious drivel, but there must be some grain of scientific truth behind it, as with all other fables and Comyn traditions.

The superstitious could believe what they liked. But out of my own experience I knew this; any telepath working among the monitor screens will discover that his nervous and physical reflexes are all keyed into the matrix patterns. A matrix technician undergoes some prolonged periods of celibacy — strictly involuntary. This impotence is nature’s safeguard. A matrix mech who upsets his nerve reactions, or through physical or emotional excesses, upsets his endocrine balance, pays for it. He can overload his nervous system to the point where he will short-circuit and blow out like a fuse; nervous depletion, exhaustion and usually death.

A woman does not have the physical safeguard of impotence. The Keepers have always been severely cloistered. Once a girl has been aroused, once that first sensual response is awakened, so disastrously physical in its effect on nerves and brain, there is no way to determine the limit of safety. For a woman the picture is black or white. Absolute chastity, or giving up her work in the screens.

I, too, must be careful; I exposed Callina to a terrible danger.

I turned around to see old Andres scowling at me; a squat, ugly Terran, fierce and surly; but I knew him too well to be deceived by his fierce looks.

I never knew how a Terran ex-spaceman had won his way into my father’s confidence, but Andres Ramirez had been part of our home since I could remember. He’d taught me to ride, made toys for Marius, spanked us when we punched each other’s heads or raced at too breakneck a pace, and told us endless lying tales which gave no hint about his true history. I never knew whether he could not return to Terra, or whether he would not; but twenty years dropped from my age as he growled, “What are you standing there sulking about?”

“Not sulking, damn you! Thinking!”

The old fellow snorted. “Young Ridenow is waiting to see you. You keep fine company these days!”

In the other room Lerrys stood waiting for me, tense, seemingly uneasy; his attitude made my nerves jump, but with a curt semblance of politeness, I motioned him to a seat. “If you came as Dyan’s proxy, tell him not to bother. The fight’s off. Hastur said so.”

down. “Well, no. As a matter of fact, I had a

Lerrys proposition for you. Has it occurred to you, now that your father’s gone, you and I and Dyan are the strength of the Comyn?”

“You keep good company,” I said dryly.

“Let’s do without the insults. There’s no reason we should fight among ourselves, there’s enough for us all. You’re half Terran; I suppose you have some Terran common sense. You know how the Terran Empire will handle this, don’t you? They’ll deal with anyone who’s in a position to give orders. Why shouldn’t you, and I, and Dyan, make the terms for Darkover?”

“Treason,” I said slowly. “You’re speaking as if the Comyn were already out of the way.”

“It’s bound to fall apart in a generation or two,” Lerrys said quietly. “Your father, and Hastur, have been holding it together by pure force of personality for the last dozen years. You’ve seen Derik. Do you think he can take Hastur’s place?”

I didn’t. “Nevertheless,” I said, “I am Comyn, and I’m vowed to stand behind Derik while he lives.”

“And hold off disaster one more generation, at any cost?” Lerrys asked. “Isn’t it better to make some arrangement now, rather than waiting for the big smash, and letting things lapse into anarchy for years before we can get them squared away again?”

He leaned his chin on his hands, regarding me intently. “The Terrans can do a lot for Darkover and so can you. Listen to me, Lew. Every man has his price. I saw the way you looked at Callina today. I wouldn’t touch that she-devil’s fingers, let alone take her to bed, but I suppose it’s a matter of taste. I thought for a while it was Dio you wanted. But you’d fit perfectly well into our plans. You’d be better than Beltran. You’re educated on Terra, but you look Darkovan. You’re Comyn — one of the old aristocracy. The people would accept you. You could rule the planet!”

“Under the Terrans?”

“Someone will. And if you don’t — well, you’re unpopular because of the Sharra rebellion. And you’re Comyn. The

Terranan make a habit of disposing of hereditary monarchies, unless they collaborate. Terra wouldn’t care whether you lived or died.”

Lerrys was probably right. In these days of toppling empires, no man is overburdened with loyalties. The Comyn would come crashing down eventually; why shouldn’t I salvage something from the ruins?