Kesley began to see what was coming. His fingers started to tremble.

  “Five years ago,” van Alen went on, “I said no. Today’s answer is different. It’s yes”

  Van Alen laid his still powerful hand on Kesley’s shoulder. “I can’t take down the Barrier myself. I need it up there, as protection—protection against emotional fears that even I know, intellectually, are foolish.

  “But you can take it down, Dryle—as Duke of Antarctica!” Kesley had seen it coming. He nodded. “I’m so used to thinking of myself as Dale Kesley that it’s hard to remember my name’s the same as yours—Dryle van Alen.”

  “Dux et Imperator,” the older man added, grinning. “A little while ago I dictated an abdication. At knifepoint, to be sure, but I kept my voice calm. That message is still on the tapes. Any time you want, you have my permission to broadcast it."

  Young van Alen stared evenly at his father. "The Barrier will come down. The Dukes will fall. Til get Narella back from Miguel.”

  "These things will happen. Remember, though, there will be others after Narella. It's one of the prices you pay for long life.”

  "I know,” he said gravely. He grinned. ‘Tm still young, yet, and so is she. There’s time for me to start learning how to take the long view later.”

  He turned away and extended a hand toward the control that would broadcast his father’s message to all the continent of Antarctica.

  His hand hovered for a moment.

  Once, he knew, Antarctica had been covered with ice, a frozen, desolate land. Men had cleared the ice and built a garden continent.

  Now, the new Duke thought, it was the other nine-tenths of the world that lay under an icy pall. That could be altered, too. The Twelve Dukes could be swept away; the walls around the cities and around men’s minds could be destroyed. And it was not necessary that the tragedy of 2062 be repeated.

  His finger brushed the stud and his father’s words began to echo through the city and out over the entire continent.

  "People of Antarctica, hear and believe this message. Today, in the 362nd year of my rule, I am giving up my throne.”

  As the abdication decree resounded through the halls of the Ducal palace, he tinned and saw the robots rolling toward him, ready to give allegiance to their new lord.

  He drew a deep breath. Plenty of work lay ahead. The years of the freeze were at their end; the great thaw was just beginning.

  THE END

 

 

  Robert Silverberg, The 13th Immortal

 

 

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