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Banshee, whole no. 5, June 1944
Page 12
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Curtis Carlyle's THE RULER IS NO MORE The Ruler stood in the doorway and watched them wheen the heavy machine into the room. His tall, six-foor figure did not show the weight of one thousand uears. But his frail shoulders did droop a little and the ermine cloak that was slung over his shoulders touched the floor. The Ruler did not care. He had not cared for anything for the past 300 years, but he could do nothing about it. "Is that all, sire?" the uniformed Guard of the Ruler siad as he finished placing the ponderous machine int he center of the floor. The Ruler did not smile as he answered. "Send the Scientist to me. I would speak with him." The Guard bowed low and departed. The shining doors of gold closed with a hissing sound. The Ruler stared at the throne, the Throne of the Ages, on which he had sat and ruled the Great Empire for a thousand years. He walked to the line of mirrors set int he walls and stared at himself. He was just as he had been that day the First Scientist had given him immortality. His blond hair had a solitary curl that twisted in the center of his forehead, and below that wisp of hair, his blue eyes peered. A thin face with small nostrils reflected into the glass and he smiled. He recalled the day when . . . "People of the Empire," the First Scientist said as he stared into the television screen, "today you are going to see for the first time the man who is going to rule you, your children, your children's children, and your descendants for eons of the Rule. He is a man of whom you have heard much. He is young, the youngest member of the Ruling Committee which has chosen him. He is . . . " The tall young man with the blue eyes stepped forward into view. His chest heavend with the honor and excitement of the moment. He was to be the Ruler! "Thank you, I will endeavor to live up to the high standards that the Ruling Committee have entrusted in me." That wasn't what he had intended to say, but his throat felt strangely clogged. The First Scientist stepped forward, a hypodermic needle in his
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Curtis Carlyle's THE RULER IS NO MORE The Ruler stood in the doorway and watched them wheen the heavy machine into the room. His tall, six-foor figure did not show the weight of one thousand uears. But his frail shoulders did droop a little and the ermine cloak that was slung over his shoulders touched the floor. The Ruler did not care. He had not cared for anything for the past 300 years, but he could do nothing about it. "Is that all, sire?" the uniformed Guard of the Ruler siad as he finished placing the ponderous machine int he center of the floor. The Ruler did not smile as he answered. "Send the Scientist to me. I would speak with him." The Guard bowed low and departed. The shining doors of gold closed with a hissing sound. The Ruler stared at the throne, the Throne of the Ages, on which he had sat and ruled the Great Empire for a thousand years. He walked to the line of mirrors set int he walls and stared at himself. He was just as he had been that day the First Scientist had given him immortality. His blond hair had a solitary curl that twisted in the center of his forehead, and below that wisp of hair, his blue eyes peered. A thin face with small nostrils reflected into the glass and he smiled. He recalled the day when . . . "People of the Empire," the First Scientist said as he stared into the television screen, "today you are going to see for the first time the man who is going to rule you, your children, your children's children, and your descendants for eons of the Rule. He is a man of whom you have heard much. He is young, the youngest member of the Ruling Committee which has chosen him. He is . . . " The tall young man with the blue eyes stepped forward into view. His chest heavend with the honor and excitement of the moment. He was to be the Ruler! "Thank you, I will endeavor to live up to the high standards that the Ruling Committee have entrusted in me." That wasn't what he had intended to say, but his throat felt strangely clogged. The First Scientist stepped forward, a hypodermic needle in his
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