egards himself as a rare
combination of irresistible woman-killer and rugged man-among-men."

"Husband-by-proxy?" Hunter asked.

"The king worshiped his daughter and his dying request to her was that
she promise to marry Lord Narf. Narf's father had been the king's
closest friend and the king was sure that his old friend's son would
always love and care for Lyla. Lyla dutifully, at once, married Narf by
proxy, which is like a legally binding formal engagement under Vestan
law. Four days from now the time limit is up and they'll be formally
married. Unless she should do the unprecedented thing of renouncing the
proxy marriage."

Rockford drained the last of the beer from the can. "Those are the
characters involved in our play. I have a plan. That's why I told Space
Patrol to send me a brand-new second lieutenant--young, strong, fairly
handsome--and expendable. I hope you can be philosophical about the
latter."

"Sir," Hunter said, unable to keep a touch of stiffness out of his tone,
"it is not exactly unknown in the Space Patrol for a man to die in the
line of duty."

"Ah ... yes." Rockford was regarding him with disturbing amusement. "You
are thinking, of course, of dying dramatically behind a pair of blazing
blasters. But you will soon learn, my boy, that a soldier's duty is to
protect the worlds he represents by whatever actions will produce the
best results, no matter how unheroic those actions may be."

* * * * *

"Attention, please." It was the voice of the pilot. "We are now going to
land."

Hunter preceded Rockford out of the helicopter and onto the green grass
of a small valley, across which tall, red-trunked cloud trees were
scattered. Pale gray ghost trees, with knobby, twisted limbs, grew
thickly among the cloud trees. There was a group of rustic cabins,
connected by gravel paths, and a much larger building which he assumed
would be a meeting hall.

"Hello."

He turned, and looked into the brown eyes of a girl. Her green skirt and
orange blouse made a gay splash of color, her red-brown hair was
wind-tumbled and carefree about her shoulders, in her hand was a bouquet
of bright spring flowers.

But there was no smile of spring in the dark eyes and the snub-nosed
little face was solemn and old beyond its years.

"You're Lieutenant Hunter, aren't you?" she asked in the same low, quiet
voice.

"Princess Lyla!" There seemed to be genuine delight in Rockford's
greeti