“The other possibility-if you want, we could use a good administrator in our development department. We could give you some training back on Earth, and probably find you a job as planetary administrator on a new world somewhere, maybe even as supervisor on an opening. There's no guarantee of how that will turn out, of course; development of rediscovered planets is a tricky business. They won't be like Godsworld, most of them. And you won't have a shot at a dictatorship; that's only possible here because you're a native, which makes you acceptable to the CRA, and because the market here on Godsworld isn't going to be expanding any further. We don't set up static situations on planets where there are still untapped profits. If you move on, you'll have one of the most challenging jobs in the galaxy; if you stay here you'll have the whole planet. It's your choice."

“If I go,” John asked, “who'll take over here?"

“Montez,” Szebenyi replied, “Kwam? Montez.” He stood up. “You'd have to stay long enough to train him and get everything squared away here-five or six months, Terran calendar."

John stood as well.

“You don't need to decide immediately,” Szebenyi said. “Just let me know before I leave, or send a message on the next ship. If you wait any longer than that I can't promise the offer will still be open."

“I'll let you know,” John assured him, as he saw him out of the office.

When Szebenyi had gone he settled behind his desk and turned his chair to stare out at the landing field.

Two small fliers were cruising overhead, their polished steel sides gleaming bright in the last rays of the setting sun; he remembered how his sword had flashed in much the same way when he led his cavalry charge into Marshside. He remembered the madness of the battle and the mess afterward.

After all this time, so far from the machine gun that Little St. Peter had sold the elders of Marshside, Bechtel-Rand was giving up, defeated by ITD's competition; he had finally won his long battle, and without ever killing a single Bechtel-Rand employee, yet the fight and eventual victory were none the less satisfying for that.

Now, if he chose, he could sit back and enjoy the fruits of his victory. He had just been offered Godsworld, the entire planet, as his reward-but he didn't want it. Kwam? could have it. The fun, the excitement, the challenge lay in the taking, not the having! Much as he hated to admit it, America Dawes had been right, right from the first; she had understood him before he understood himself. He would not, could not rest on his laurels. He looked up to where the stars were coming out above the Clydesdale.

Whether by sword or starship, he was a conqueror, and the entire galaxy awaited his steel.

– END-

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