was pretty bad luck."
"Where does luck enter into it?"
Dane snapped. "Are you going to tell me the Biology Board didn't act on your orders?"
"Are you aware," the Leader breathed, "that you have just spoken treason?"
The calm superiority of him maddened Dane. Bayard towered unsmilingly two inches above the chemist, obviously conscious of his importance and strength. His mind and body were an endorsement of the new eugenics. Broad of shoulder and large of bone, long-limbed and cleanly built, East Bayard was everything, physically that his father, shriveled old Loren, was not. His brain had the razor sharpness of his sire, however, and experience would probably make him an even greater dictator.
But his attainments were gall to Dane Cabot. A species of insanity possessed him. It was not enough that he should shout: "Sure I'm talking treason!" He had to lay hold of the scowling giant by the collar and roar into his face:
"I'm aware of this, too—that the day is coming when a man can say what he likes about political putrefaction and no one will lay a finger on him. That's how it was seventy-five years ago, and it's going to be that way again!"
Bayard took it very calmly. The back of his white-gloved hand slapped across Dane's mouth, and he turned his head quietly to summon an attendant.
Dane moved without warning. His left hand ripped the glasses from the leader's face and his right fist came up to smash into Bayard's mouth.
With a grunt, Bayard went down. He lay there with his face blood-spattered, staring unbelievingly at his attacker.
"Get up, you overgrown ward heeler!" Dane snarled. "Get up and see how much pull you've got without the other Ninety-Nine to back you!"
BROOKE was screaming and tugging at his arm, and somewhere a guard blew a whistle. Dane didn't give a damn for all the guards and whistles in New York right now.
East Bayard scrambled to his feet. He let out a queer, choked sound and rushed. He had no science, but he had tremendous strength. With arms widespread, he made for Dane.
Dane laughed and stepped in. He slugged Bayard twice with his bony fists and moved away. Bayard, staggered, wiped blood from his face and peered from under matted black brows. Then his myopic eyes found Dane again. Swinging wildly, he tore into the chemist.
Dane's dark features broke into a wicked grin. He had boxing science from his father, and it took little of it to keep out of Bayard's way. He kept punching at that battered face, cutting it, slashing it, bruising it, until the leader seemed to keep on his feet by leaning against Dane's fists.
But the pound of running footfalls was a dangerous sound around the corner. Dane feinted the big man off balance. Then his driving fist plumbed Bayard's relaxed stomach. East Bayard groaned and doubled up gasping upon the floor.
Brooke's small hand slapped Dane's cheek.
"You madman!" she cried. "They'll put you in prison for this—perhaps execute you! And you'll deserve it!"
Dane's liquor of vengeance was down to the lees, but he drew one last draught before running.
"They've got to catch me, first!" he challenged. "Tell them I've gone to talk it over with ten thousand soldiers!"
That was a reference to the legendary
