Two
escaped us. Menes is dead. Cagliostro tricked us successfully. You are
all we have left. And we can't even supply labor beyond those you see
here. The people no longer obey us, since we have no food to give them."
"You're the only hope," Bork agreed. "They've saved what they could of
the tools from the camp and what magical instruments are still useful.
They've held on only for your return."
Hanson stared at them and around at the collection of bric-a-brac and
machinery they had assembled for him. He opened his mouth, and his
laughter was a mockery of their hopes and of himself.
"Dave Hanson, world saver! You got the right name but the wrong man,
Sather Karf," he said bitterly. He'd been a pretender long enough, and
what punitive action they took now didn't seem to matter. "You wanted my
uncle, David Arnold Hanson. But because his friends called him Dave and
cut that name on his monument, and because I was christened by the name
you called, you got me instead. He'd have been helpless here, probably,
but with me you have no chance. I couldn't even build a doghouse. I
wasn't even a construction engineer. Just a computer operator and
repairman."
He regretted ruining their hopes, almost as he said it. But he could see
no change on the old Sather's face. It seemed to stiffen slightly and
become more thoughtful, but there was no disappointment.
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