Chapter 9

"John, I'm going to visit the palace, and I feel like I need some backup. Will you go with me?"

"Son of a bitch, Hank, you don't do easy ones, do you? Yeah, it's against my better judgment, but I will go into the lion's den with you. There is one problem, though. How do we get out without having our asses splattered with machine gun slugs?

"You haven't talked to Mary about this, have you?" He stared at me for a moment and said, "Okay, I thought not. You know as well as I do what she is going to say about this. The only way to get her to go along with this crazy scheme it to give her some major part to play in it.

"Look, the only way that we can get back out alive is with some heavy pressure from outside. The Mark 8 guns mounted on the ATVs can make some serious holes in that spaceship skin they call a palace. We need to take the other ATVs with us to have some outside artillery to keep them from trying to hold us as hostages. Give Mary command of the two ATVs that stay outside, and I am sure that she will go along with you on this.

"Yeah, I know that she is pregnant, but you can use that as the excuse for leaving her outside. She can drive or man the big gun at her current state of pregnancy without causing herself any problems, so this is a good way for you to win your argument and still have that extra backup that we will need."

"Okay, John, you have made your point. I'll go find Mary and start the ball rolling."

The next day, the three ATVs rolled into town and up to the entrance ramp of the palace. John and I got out and very carefully made a point of checking our guns. Meanwhile, Mary and Ed had driven up and parked on either side of my ATV. Betty and Bill were manning the Mark 8s, and they certainly looked like they knew what they were doing. They were strapped into their harnesses and standing on the passenger seats with their hands very near to triggers. Even machine gun fire from the palace was not likely to keep them from getting off at least one or two rounds of the shaped charge explosive ammunition.

The door was open, not in welcome, but because it was something of a production to get that large door closed. Whoever designed that door certainly never gave a thought to a situation when someone would want to close the door in a hurry.

We walked in, and damned if the reception desk didn't have a woman sitting behind it. She had clothes on, so she obviously was an overseer, but she looked scared when she recognized who, or at least what, we were. We were dressed, so we could not be serfs, yet we were not wearing the uniform of an overseer. Not only that, but we were carrying some very impressive looking guns.

I said, "Good day, Ma'am. I am the person formerly known as Hank King, but for sometime, I have been going by the name of Hank Edson. I hope that is sufficient information for you to identify me.

"I am here to see the man who calls himself King. I suggest you contact him and verify that he will want to see me. Please see to that immediately. By the way, there is no way that we plan to surrender our guns. I suspect that you will be the first one killed if anybody does start shooting."

I remained facing the receptionist and John turned his back to me so that there would be no way for someone to sneak up behind us without him seeing that person. We had our guns set for the explosion sound when the trigger was pulled so that our people outside would know that trouble had started.

The receptionist wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to a boy dressed as an old fashioned page. The boy ran down the hall, and John and I waited to see what would happen.

It didn't take long for a man dressed in another one of those ridiculous outfits walked up and said, "Our Gracious King has agreed to grant you and you friend an audience. Please come with me."

"Not so fast! Just where are we going? We will not go as petitioners into a throne room. It has to be a regular office meeting room or nothing. And you better believe that 'nothing' means a lot of trouble for your so-called king. Tell him that we have plenty of firepower to back up our words, and we are getting tired of standing out here waiting for him to act."

That produced a sour expression on the man's face, but I didn't let that bother me. Yes, I was laying it on pretty thick. I had researched the psychological characteristics of bullies, and I was letting him know that I could not be pushed around. I wanted him to realize that, for practical purposes, the shoe was on the other foot.

The man was back in a reasonable time, and I thought that meant that I was making some progress. We were led to a room that looked like a regular office meeting room, and John and I sat down. I knew that the king would take the head of the table, so I took the foot. There was no physical difference between the two ends of the table, so I could claim to be at the head of the table. The only real problem was that the door to the corridor was directly behind my back, but John sat immediately to my right so that he would have an easy shot at the doorway if that became necessary.

We had to wait a couple of minutes for the other side to show up. Obviously, they were trying to established superiority by arriving after we had some time to fidget while waiting on them. That also didn't work because I was lounging in the very comfortable office chair. I had my Mark 5 lying across the arms of my chair in a position where I could put it into action in a fraction of a second.

On the other hand, John was holding his shotgun so that his right hand was on the receiver of the gun and he only had to move his finger to pull the trigger. The butt plate of the stock was resting on the seat beside his thigh, and the muzzle was pointing toward the ceiling. I would have placed bets on how long it would take for him to get the gun into shooting position and send off the first shot.

When the other side finally showed up, they came in with some pomp and circumstance. The chief engineer came in with his bodyguard. Both men stood behind a chair. The bodyguard was carrying a truncheon. Next came the navigator and his bodyguard equipped the same as the first one. They also stood behind a chair.

Finally, in came the king in his usual crazy outfit. He had two bodyguards, and these men were armed with machine pistols. A-ha, those I had never seen before. The machine pistols looked to be in the range of 9 mm, so I was relieved to see that the body armor that John and I were wearing would surely be adequate.

John had warned me that if shooting started, I should go for a crotch or neck shot because the other side would surely be wearing body armor. Undoubtedly, that was why they had agreed to let us keep our guns.

The king looked at me as if he expected me to rise until he was seated, but I never moved. After a little fiddling around, he sat down, followed by the rest of his people. Only the bodyguards remained standing.

The king opened the meeting with the obvious question, "Pray tell Us why you wish to speak to Us, Sirrah." For those of you who don't know, "Sirrah" was a very old insult indicating that my social standing was about on the same level as the ancient live stock.

Well, two could play at that game. "Look here, Buster. My friend and I are here to try to extract you from a very serious dilemma that you have set up for yourselves. The problem started roughly 15 years ago when you landed, and the problem has steadily gotten worse. You have now worked yourselves into a position from which you cannot escape.

"Formerly, you could have left at any time in this spaceship, but that is no longer possible. The pilot was killed, and no one else knows how to fly the monster you call your palace. Therefore, you are stuck here on Hafh, and you have to makedo with whatever is at hand.