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independent member of the galaxy. No more than that.” Navarre grinned broadly. “Enough of this. Domrik, Joroiran will be proud of us! He sent us to find the Chalice, and we succeeded!”

Chapter Six
    Coming home to a planet that wasn’t home was a bleak, painful business, Hallam Navarre thought. The Earthman stood alone in the midst of the crowd at the Jorus City Spaceport, letting the familiar colors and smells of Jorus become part of him again. He wondered just how much had changed in his year’s absence.
    One thing was certain: Kausirn had solidified his position with Joroiran. Perhaps, thought Navarre, the Lyrellan had been making ready against the eventual return of Navarre from his wild quest. He would soon find out.
    He hailed a jetcab.
    â€œTo the palace,” he said.
    The driver shot off toward the main district of Jorus City. They took the chief highway as far as the Street of the Lords, swung round into Central Plaza, and halted outside the palace.
    â€œOne unit and six,” the driver said. Navarre handed the man a bill and two coins and sprang out. He paused for a moment at the approach to the palace, looking up.
    A year had gone by since the scheming Lyrellan had contrived to send him off on the fool’s errand of searching for the Chalice. It had been a busy year.
    Eight thousand of the reborn Earthmen from the Chalice Navarre had left on Earth, instructing them to marry and bring forth children. The remaining two thousand he had transported to the neighbor system of Procyon.
    His plan was that the years would pass, and children would be born, and children’s children. And a restored race of Earthmen would spring up to reunite their shattered home-world of thirty thousand years before.
    Navarre smiled. If only he could keep his plan a secret for a few years, until they were ready …
    Well, he thought, he would manage. But he was apprehensive about the sort of reception he would get in the Overlord’s palace, where once he had been the power behind the man on the throne.
    The place hadn’t changed much, physically. There were still the accursed fifty-two steps to climb, still the black-walled corridor guarded by bland monoptics from Triz. But he became conscious of the first change when he reached the Trizians.
    He chucked back the hood that covered his scalp, and, his status thus revealed, he started to go past. But one of the Trizians thrust out a horny palm and said, in a dull monotone voice, “Stop.”
    Navarre glared up angrily. “Have I been forgotten so quickly?”
    â€œState your name and purpose here, Earthman.”
    â€œI’m Hallam Navarre, Earthman to the Court. I’ve just returned from a long mission on behalf of His Majesty. I want to see him.”
    â€œWait here,” the Trizian said. “I’ll check within.”
    He waited impatiently. After a few moments the Trizian returned, followed by two armed members of the Overlord’s personal guards—Daborians, tusked, vicious-looking seven-footers.
    â€œWell?” Navarre demanded.
    â€œI was unable to reach His Majesty. But the Lord Adviser wishes you brought to him for interrogation.”
    Navarre tensed. The Lord Adviser, eh? That undoubtedly meant Kausirn; the Lyrellan seemed to have coined a shiny new title for himself in Navarre’s absence.
    â€œVery well,” he said resignedly. “Take me to the Lord Adviser.”
    Kausirn was sitting behind a desk about ten feet wide, in a luxuriously-appointed office one level beneath the main throne room. His pale, ascetic face looked waxier than ever—a sign of health among the Lyrellans, Navarre knew.
    The Daborian guards at either side of Navarre nudged him roughly.
    â€œKneel in the presence of the Lord Adviser, Earthman!”
    â€œThat’ll be all right,” Kausirn said stiffly. He gestured dismissal to the guards with one dizzying wave of a ten-fingered hand. “Hello,