Flick kept out of sight until he was sure the gate was closed and then he ran out and, accompanying the limping Madison, tried to brush him off.

"I told you not to go near that place," said Flick.

Madison didn't like this decline of image. "I shouldn't have gone for the guard's saber. I should have aimed for his windpipe."

"Comets! Well, at least they threw you out instead of in. Even His Majesty is careful how he orders that lot around."

As Madison climbed into the airbus he noticed the sun was almost set. He had Flick go up a few thousand feet. He thought hard for a few moments and then suddenly a plan came to him.

He straightened up his clothes, put on a reassuring face and called Teenie.

She answered instantly. "That's better!" she said. "I'm sure," and there was a threatening edge in her voice, "that you have good news. Did you see the (bleepard)?"

"Oh, yes," said Madison. "And Teenie-I mean, Your Majesty-you would be absolutely boiled over. I spoke of you and he gave the most insulting laugh I have ever heard."

"WHAT?"

"And he leaned back, idly eating grapes-he's getting fat as a pig-and he said, 'Madison, when you see her, give her my best: up her (bleep)!'"

"Oh, the (bleepard)."

"Yes, I thought so, too. They've got him writing his memoirs and he showed me some of them, what he thought were funny passages about you. He absolutely rolled on the floor with laughter over his own jokes! Oh, I could have killed him, but the warders were right there and they'd taken away my knife. Such a crass exhibition of unfeeling callousness, I have never before witnessed in my life."

She had gone white as a sheet.

"He's bragging," continued Madison, "of how he led you on just for the pleasure of casting you aside."

She was grinding her teeth. She suddenly snapped, "That settles it!"

Madison went into sudden alarm. He had overshot his mark. He had not intended for her to do anything. His plan was very simple: he would simply begin to try Gris in the press and push it to such a public pitch that the Emperor would have no choice but to issue a Royal order for a trial. Then, under that guise, he would get Gris to start testifying all sorts of accusations against Hel­ler and he could make these into headlines that would shake the universe.

It was a very good plan. Just plain straight PR, Earth style, done all the time. But it required preparation and work and time. It didn't need any sudden interventions.

Teenie had not gone on speaking. Madison said, "What settles what?"

"They're not even going to try him, are they?"

"Well, they will if I work on it hard enough."

"Yah? Well, Madison, you be out here at dawn tomorrow. I see back of you on this viewer-phone, you've got a new car. Fuel it up. We're going to take a trip."

Before he could say a word, she had hung up. It left him in quite a quandary.

That was the trouble with amateurs. They got ideas. And ideas from an amateur PR were mostly useless and ideas from Teenie might be very deadly.

He very well recalled the chaos Gris caused. Everything had been running along well until Gris tried to muscle in on the PR business. Amateurs just didn't understand the smooth nuances of it.

Madison scanned over his plan again. It was quite standard and flawless. Create a public storm around Gris, using the media, and then get the trial itself to create a public storm around Heller. And even if His Majesty, for some reason, illness or otherwise, didn't stamp an order for the trial, public pressure would make it vital that Lord Turn change his mind. It would work.

What in Heaven's name was Teenie planning? It could well wreck everything! He had only intended to keep her interested! Not throw her into a stampede of senseless activity!

Oh, he mustn't let this gorgeous victory elude him just when it was beckoning.

He thought of the sad plight of Heller, shivering unknown in some lonely hideout, waiting for Madison to rescue him for posterity. What a waste of material!

Knowing how to handle Gris and Heller in PR terms was easy. Handling an almost-woman like Teenie might be quite something else! What a potential obstruction!

"Eighteen point," he said, "quote Madison on Edge of Cliff."

"What?" said Flick.

"Go home," said Madison. "We need rest. Tomorrow is going to be an awful day."

At that very second, but more than twenty-two light-years away, the object of Madison's concern, Jettero Hel­ler, was not shivering in any dark cave. He was riding down Fifth Avenue, New York City, Earth, deafened by the roar of the ticker-tape parade that was celebrating the investiture of new top officials for New York, but which was being led by Babe after her assumption of the title Capa di Tutti Capi and whom people were now starting to call "Queen Babe." Heller, resplendent in U. S. Army full dress, on the seat beside her, was smiling into the newsreel and TV cameras, totally oblivious of the storm that threatened his whole future on Voltar and his good name and the future existence of Earth as well. The Countess Krak, on the other side, wasn't smiling. She had a premonition that was giving her nightmares.

Madison, as ordered-what else could he do? – was before the entrance of Teenie's palace at the crack of dawn. His fingernails were not in very good shape: he had been chewing them all night.

A guard captain came out, saw Madison and promptly went back in. When he came out a second time, he was buckling an electric saber around his silver tunic and he was followed by two sergeants with electric battle-axes. They took positions beside the airbus door, waiting for Queen Teenie to emerge.

Madison was in no mental state for any kind of a wait. The morning had already started badly enough. Flick, at the townhouse, when he got into the car, was seen to have an eye that was rapidly turning black. His footwoman had gotten in, disdainfully aloof, and then during flight had elaborately ignored Flick.

From various veiled remarks, Madison had gathered that Flick had been incautiously raving about Hightee Heller and both his bedroom girl and his footwoman had cleaned up on him.

Women! thought Madison. They were always trouble.

And here came more trouble: Teenie, in a suit that was a shimmering jet black, came out the door, drawing on a pair of long, red gloves. She was wearing her crown pulled forward on her forehead and her ponytail was swishing out behind like the tail of an angry cat.

She didn't comment on the car. She simply got in and took the best seat.

The guard captain got in and then both sergeants.

"Where in hell do you think you're going?" Teenie said to the guard captain.

"We're not going to trust you with that man," the guard captain said, pointing at Madison.

"You got good sense," said Teenie. "He's a PR and they don't deliver, never."

At that moment the major-domo, very portly, came running down the stairs, clutching rolls of scrolls and trying at the same time to get into his ceremonial robe. He sprang into the airbus.

It did not leave much room for Madison and he had to sit on a ledge across from Teenie.

"Where are we going?" said Madison.

The major-domo ignored him and, leaning forward, passed a slip of paper to Flick. The driver looked at it, glanced back to see if the doors were closed and then took off.

Thinking that they were going into Government City or some such place, Madison was very alarmed when, having emerged from the gate and gone through the nausea that always resulted from the violent time shift, Flick headed the airbus west of south.

As they built altitude, the desert wind devils dwin­dling in size, Madison tried to lean forward and see the map on Flick's screen. It looked blank!

The alarm on Madison's face must have been very pronounced. Teenie scowled at him and said, "Take it easy, buster. You've got a long ride. Three hours at the very least."