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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29437-h.zip b/29437-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bf23f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/29437-h.zip diff --git a/29437-h/29437-h.htm b/29437-h/29437-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f0a91e3 --- /dev/null +++ b/29437-h/29437-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4310 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Martian Cabal, by R. F. Starzl + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +.p1 { + margin-top: 2em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { width: 60%; padding: 1em; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.tocch { text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + +.tocpg {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + + +.f1 { font-size:smaller; } +.f2 { font-size: xx-large; margin-left:50%; } +.f3 { font-size: x-large; margin-left:40%; } +.f4 { font-size: larger; margin-left:40%; } +.f5 {font-size:xx-large; font-weight:bolder; } + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; +} /* page numbers */ + +a[name] { position: static; } + a:link { border:none; color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; } + +.blockquote { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Martian Cabal, by Roman Frederick Starzl + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Martian Cabal + +Author: Roman Frederick Starzl + +Release Date: July 18, 2009 [EBook #29437] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTIAN CABAL *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Astounding Stories May 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> +<p class="center">The Table of Contents is not part of the original magazine.<br /> +The pages have been renumbered.</p></div> + + + +<div> +<img class="figright" src="images/image_001_01.jpg" width="500" height="421" alt="" /></div> +<div><img class="figright" src="images/image_001_02.jpg" width="246" height="399" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="p1"> </p> +<p class="f2">The<br /> +Martian Cabal</p> + +<p class="f4">A Complete Novelette</p> + +<p class="f3">By R. F. Starzl</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> +<table summary="Contents"> +<tr> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg f1">Page</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">I</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Strange Intruder</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">II</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Scar Balta</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">III</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">The Price of Monarchy</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IV</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Torture</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">V</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Wrath of Tolto</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VI</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Fight in the Fort</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VII</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Flight of a Princess</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">VIII</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">In the Desert</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">IX</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Plot and Counter-Plot</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">X</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">One Thousand to One</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XI</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Giant Against Giant</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tocch">XII</td> + <td> </td> + <td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">"He Must Be a Man of Earth"</a></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I +</h2> +<h2><i>Strange Intruder</i></h2> + + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime Hemingway did not sleep well his first night on Mars. There was +no tangible reason why he shouldn't. His bed was soft. He had dined +sumptuously, for this hotel's cuisine offered not only Martian +delicacies, but drew on Earth and Venus as well.</p> + +<div class="sidenote">Sime Hemingway, of the I. F. P., strikes at the insidious +interests that are lashing high the war feeling between Earth and +Mars.</div> + +<p>Yet Sime did not sleep well. He tossed restlessly in the caressing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>softness of his bed. He turned a knob in the head panel of his bed, +tried to yield to the soothing music that seemed to come from nowhere. +He turned another knob, watched the marching, playing, whirling of +somnolent colors on the domed ceiling of his room.</p> + +<p>At last he gave it up. Some sixth sense had him all jumpy. It was not +usual for Sime Hemingway to be jumpy. He was one of the coolest heads +in the I. F. P., the Interplanetary Flying Police who patrolled the +lonely reaches of space and brought man's law to the outermost orbit +of the far-flung solar system.</p> + +<p>Now he jumped out of bed and examined the fastening of his door, the +door to the hotel corridor. There was only one, and it was secure. +Windows there were none, and investigation showed that the small ports +were all covered with their pivoted safety plates. He extinguished the +light, swung aside one of the plates, and peered out into the Martian +night. It was moonlight—both Deimos and Phobos were racing across the +blue-black sky. The waters of Crystal Canal stretched out before him, +seemingly illimitable. Sime knew that the distance to the other side +was twenty miles or more. Clear-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>cut through the thin atmosphere of +Mars, he could see the jeweled lights of South Tarog, on the other +side.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he hotel grounds, too, were well lighted. Long, luminous tubes, part +of the architecture of the buildings, aided the moons, shedding their +serene glow on the gentle slope of the red lawns and terraces, the +geometrically trimmed shrubs and trees. They were reflected warmly in +the dancing waves of the canal, though Sime knew that even in this, +the height of the summer season, the outside temperature was very near +freezing.</p> + +<p>Now a hotel guard came along. He carried at his belt a neuro-pistol, a +deadly weapon whose beam would destroy the nervous structure of any +living creature. He went past the port with measured stride, and Sime +slid back the safety plate with a puzzled frown.</p> + +<p>Why was he so nervous? This wasn't the first dangerous mission on +which he had embarked in the course of his official duty. And danger +was the element that gave zest to his life.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_002.jpg" width="500" height="186" alt="Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resisted +the warped gravitational drag." /> +<span class="caption">Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resisted +the warped gravitational drag.</span> +</div> + +<p>He began a methodical examination of his room, peering under the bed, +into closets, a wardrobe. Yet <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>there was no sign of danger. Carefully +he inspected his bed for signs of the deadly black mold from Venus +that would, once it found lodgment in the pores of a man's skin, +inexorably invade his body and in the space of a few hours reduce him +to a black, repulsive parody of humanity. But the sheets were +unsullied.</p> + +<p>Then his gaze fell on the mist-bath. Travelers who have visited Mars +are, of course, familiar with this simple device, used to overcome to +some extent the exceeding dryness of the red planet's atmosphere. +Resembling the steam bath of the ancients, there was just enough room +in the cylindrical case for a man to sit inside while his skin was +sprayed with vivifying moisture. But his head would project, and there +was no head visible.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, so strong was Sime's intuition, he leveled his +neuro-pistol at the cabinet and approached. With a sweep of his +muscular arm he swung it open—and gasped!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he sight that greeted him was enough to make any man gasp, even one +less young and impressionable than Sime. In all of his twenty-five +years he had not seen a woman so lovely. Her complexion was the +delicate coral pink of the Martian colonials—descendants of the +original human settlers who had struggled with, and at last bent to +their will, this harsh and inhospitable planet. She was little over +five feet tall, although the average Martian is perhaps slightly +bigger than his terrestrial cousin. Her hair was dark, like that of +most Martians, drawn back from her forehead and fastened at the nape +of her neck, from there to fall in an abundant, rippling cascade down +her slim, straight back. Her figure was like those delicate and +ancient creations of Dresden china to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> seen in museums, but +elastic, and full of strength. She was dressed in the two-piece +garment universally worn by both sexes on Mars—a garment, so +historians say, that was called "pyjamas" by our forebears.</p> + +<p>And she was defiant. In her hand was a stiletto with long, slim blade. +Sime made a darting grasp for her wrist and wrung the weapon from her. +It fell to the metal floor with a tinkling clatter.</p> + +<p>"And now tell me, young lady, what's the meaning of this?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she smiled.</p> + +<p>"I came to warn you, Sime Hemingway." She spoke softly and sweetly, +and with effortless dignity.</p> + +<p>"You came to warn me?"</p> + +<p>"You are in grave danger. Your mission here is known, and powerful +enemies are preparing to destroy you."</p> + +<p>"You talk like you knew something, kid," Sime admitted. "What is my +mission here?"</p> + +<p>"You have been sent to Mars by the I. F. P. in the guise of a mining +engineer. You are to discover what you can about a suspected plot of +interplanetary financiers to plunge the Earth and Mars into a war."</p> + +<p>"How so?" Sime asked enigmatically, concealing his dismay at the +girl's ready reply. Here was inside information with a vengeance!</p> + +<p>"Several shiploads of gray industrial diamonds from Venus have been +seized by war vessels carrying the insignia of the Martian atmospheric +guard."</p> + +<p>Sime nodded. "Go on!"</p> + +<p>"Curiously enough, these raids were so timed that they were witnessed +by the news telecasters. All of the people on Earth were thus +eye-witnesses, and feeling ran high. Am I right?"</p> + +<p>"Go on!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And of course you know about the raids on the Martian borium mines by +pirates armed with modern weapons. In the fights, some of the pirates' +weapons were captured. They bore the ordnance marks of the terrestrial +government."</p> + +<p>"I'm way ahead of you, girlie!" Sime conceded. "Certain financial +interests would like to see a war. They're cookin' up these overt acts +to get the people all steamed up till they're ready to fight. I'll go +further, since you seem to know all about it anyway, and admit that +I'm here to find out just who's back of all this. And how does all +that tie up with you hiding in my mist-bath with a long and mean +lookin' knife?"</p> + +<p>The girl dropped her dark lashes in a sidelong glance at the stiletto +on the floor. There was a little smile on her lips.</p> + +<p>"My usual weapon. Don't you know most of us Martians go armed all the +time?"</p> + +<p>"Yeh?" Sime grinned skeptically. "And is it a habit of yours to hide +in the bedroom of visiting policemen? Come on, kid. I'm going to turn +you over to the guard."</p> + +<p>For a second it looked as if she would make a dash for the blade +glistening there on the floor. But she straightened up, and with a +look of infinite scorn said:</p> + +<p>"So the mighty policeman of the Sun calls a hotel guard, does he? +Please! Believe me, I am myself working for the same object as +yourself—the prevention of a horrible war!"</p> + +<p>She was pleading now.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, you are against forces that you don't understand! I can +help you, if you will listen. Let me tell you, the Martian government +is itself corrupted. The planetary president, Wilcox, is in alliance +with the war party. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> will have to fight the police. You will have +to fear poison. You will be set upon and killed in the first dark +passage. Yet if you help me you may accomplish your object. You must +help me!"</p> + +<p>"What do you want of me?"</p> + +<p>"Help me change our government!"</p> + +<p>Sime laughed shortly. He began to suspect that this amazing girl was +demented. He thought of the powerfully entrenched rulers of this +theoretically republican government. For more than two hundred years, +if he remembered rightly, the Martians had been ruled by a small group +of rich politicians.</p> + +<p>"You propose a revolution?" he asked curiously.</p> + +<p>"I propose the return of Princess Sira to the throne!" she declared +vehemently. "But enough! Are you going to betray me—I, who have +risked much to warn you? Or are you going to let me go?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime looked into her warm, earnest little face. Her lips were parted +softly, showing perfect little teeth, and she was breathing quickly, +anxiously. Sime was woman hungry, as men of the service often are on +the long, lonely trail. He seized her quickly, pressed her little +figure to him and kissed her.</p> + +<p>For a thrilling instant it seemed that she relaxed. But she tore away, +furious, her eyes cold with anger.</p> + +<p>"For that," she panted, raging, "you must die!"</p> + +<p>She reached the door before he could stop her, and in a trice she was +out in the gallery. He raced after her, staring stupidly. +Surprisingly, when her escape was assured, she turned back. Her look +was still hurt, angry, as she called to him in low tones:</p> + +<p>"Look out for Scar Balta, you brute!"</p> + +<p>"Who is Scar Balta?" Sime asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> himself after locking the door again. +The name was not unusual and did not bring any familiar associations +to his mind. The given name, Scar, once a nickname, had been in +general use for centuries. As for Balta—oh, well—</p> + +<p>His mind reverted to the girl again. Her warm, palpitant presence +disturbed him.</p> + +<p>He composed himself to sleep, strapping his dispatch belt around his +waist before crawling into bed. He did not believe that the girl had +hidden in his room with murderous intent; rather that she had hoped to +inspect and perhaps to steal any papers that he carried. But his last +conscious thought of her had nothing to do with her connection with +this planet of intrigue, but the soft curve of her throat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h2><i>Scar Balta</i></h2> + + +<p>Sime breakfasted on one of the juicy Martian tropical pears, and as he +dug into the luscious fruit with his spoon he looked about the +spacious dining hall, filled with wide-eyed tourists on their first +trip to Mars, blissful and oblivious honeymooners, and a sprinkling of +local residents and officials.</p> + +<p>Through broad windows of thick glass (for on Mars many buildings +maintain an atmospheric pressure somewhat higher than the normal +outside pressure) could be seen the north banks of the canal, teeming +with swift pleasure boats and heavily loaded work barges. Down the +long terraces strolled hundreds of people, dressed in garments of +vivid colors and sheer materials suitable to the hot and cloudless +days. Brilliant insects floated on wide diaphanous wings, waiting to +pounce on the opening blossoms.</p> + +<p>But the terrestrial agent felt that in this scene of luxury there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +a menace. Out of sight, but instantly available, were frightful +engines of destruction, waiting to be mobilized against the Earth +branch of the human race. And on that distant green planet were people +much like these, unconscious still of the butchery into which they +were being deftly maneuvered by calculating psychologists, expert +war-makers.</p> + +<p>His meal completed, Sime sauntered out into the wide, clean streets of +North Tarog. He purchased a desert unionall suit, proof against the +heat of day and cold of night, and a wide-brimmed Martian pith helmet. +Hailing a taxi, he relaxed comfortably in the cushions.</p> + +<p>"Nabar mine," he told the driver.</p> + +<p>The driver nosed the vehicle up, over the domed roofs of the city and +over the harsh desert landscape. The rounded prow cut through the thin +air with a faint whistling, and the fair cultivated area along the +canal was soon lost to sight.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>fter half an hour the metal mine sheds grew out of the horizon. But +even from a distance of several miles Sime could see that everything +was not as it should be. There were no moving white specks of the +laborers' white fatigue uniforms against the brown rocks, and no +clouds of dust from the borium refuse pile.</p> + +<p>The levitator screws of the taxi sank from their high whine to a +groan, and the wheels came to the ground before the company office. A +man in the Martian army uniform came out. His beetle-browed face was +truculent, and his hand rested on the hilt of his neuro-pistol.</p> + +<p>"No visitors allowed!" snapped the guard.</p> + +<p>"I'm not exactly a visitor," Sime objected, but making no move to get +out of the taxi. "I'm an engineer sent here by the board of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> directors +to see why the output of this mine has dropped. Where's Mr. Murray?"</p> + +<p>"All settled!" the guard retorted. "Murray's in jail for mismanagement +of planetary resources, and the mine's been expropriated to the +government. Now, you—off!"</p> + +<p>The driver needed no further order from his fare. The taxi leaped into +the air and tore back toward the city. It was clear that the military +rules of Mars brooked no nonsense from the civilian population, and +that the latter were well aware of it.</p> + +<p>"Fast work!" Sime said to himself with grudging admiration. Murray was +a trusted agent of the terrestrial government. It was he who had first +uncovered the war cabal. Sime knew his face well from the stereoscopic +service record—a bald, placid man of about forty, a bonafide +engineer, a spy with an unbroken record of success, until now. And a +fighter who asked no odds, who could manage very well on less than an +even break. Well, he was up against something now.</p> + +<p>They passed the line of shield-ray projectors, North Tarog's first +line of defense against an attack of space, hovered over the teeming +streets and parks, and settled on the pavement at the Hotel of the +Republic. Sime wanted to go to his room and think things over.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">F</span>rom the concealment of a doorway an officer with a squad of soldiers +came up quickly.</p> + +<p>"You are under arrest!" said the officer, placing, his hand on Sime's +shoulder, while the soldiers rested their hands on their +neuro-pistols.</p> + +<p>"Would it be asking too much to inquire on what charge?" Sime asked +politely.</p> + +<p>"Military arrests do not require the filing of charges," the officer +explained stiffly. "Come out of there now, Mr. Hemingway."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I demand to see the terrestrial consul," Sime said, getting out.</p> + +<p>"How about my fare?" asked the taxi-driver.</p> + +<p>Sime put his hand into his pocket, where he kept a roll of +interplanetary script; but the officer restrained him.</p> + +<p>"Never mind now," he said ironically. "You are a guest of the +government." Then to the driver he added:</p> + +<p>"Get on, now! Get on! File your claim at the divisional office."</p> + +<p>The driver departed, outwardly meek before the power of the military, +and Sime was hustled into an official car. He had little hope that his +demand to see the terrestrial consul would be complied with, and this +opinion was verified when the car rose into the air and sped over the +waters of the canal to South Tarog. It did not pause when it came over +the military camps there—the massive ordnance depots in which were +stored new and improved killing tools that had long been idle in that +irksome interplanetary peace.</p> + +<p>They flew on, over the desert, until the Gray Mountains loomed on the +horizon. On, over the tumbled rocks, interspersed with the strange red +thorny vegetation common in the Martian desert.</p> + +<p>Far below them, in a ravine, a cylindrical building was now visible, +and toward this the car began to drop. It landed on a level space +before the structure. A sliding gate opened, and the car wheeled into +a sort of courtyard, protected from the cold of night by an arching +roof of glass.</p> + +<p>Sime was hustled out and led into an office located on the lower floor +of the fortification, or whatever the structure was.</p> + +<p>As he saw the man who sat at the desk he gave a startled explanation.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Barkins!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he elderly, white-haired man smiled. He brushed back his hair with a +characteristic gesture, and his twinkling blue eyes bored into those +of the I. F. P. special officer. The colonel wore the regular uniform +of the service; his little skullcap, with the conventionalized sun +symbol denoting his rank, was on the table before him. He put out his +lean, strong hand.</p> + +<p>"Surprised to see me, eh, Hemingway?" he inquired pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Sime managed an awkward salute. "I don't quite understand, sir. You +gave me my instructions at the Philadelphia space port just before I +made the <i>Pleadisia</i>. She's the fastest passenger liner in the solar +system: I've barely landed here, and it seems you got here before me. +It don't seem right!"</p> + +<p>Sime watched the colonel narrowly, a vague suspicion in his mind, and +he thought he saw a slight flicker in the man's eye when Sime spoke.</p> + +<p>But the colonel answered smoothly, with a hint of reproof.</p> + +<p>"Never mind questioning me now, Hemingway. The mission is important. I +want to know if you remember every detail of what I told you." He +nodded to the men, and they filed out of the room. "Repeat your +orders."</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing, Colonel!" Sime replied promptly and respectfully. "In +fact, Colonel, you can go to hell! This is the first time that a man +of the I. F. P. has turned traitor, and if your men hadn't so +thoughtfully taken my neuro I'd be pleased to finish you right now!"</p> + +<p>"But you observe I have a neuro in my hand," remarked the colonel +pleasantly, "and so you will remain standing where you are."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>o saying, he slipped off the white wig he was wearing, wiped his face +so that the brown powder came off, and sat, obviously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> pleased with +the success of his masquerade, useless though it was. He was a typical +Martian, dark, sleek-haired, coral-skinned.</p> + +<p>"I hate to send a man to his death mystified," said the Martian after +a moment, "so I'll explain that I am Scar Balta!"</p> + +<p>"Scar Balta!"</p> + +<p>"You've heard of me?"</p> + +<p>"Uh—yes and no," Sime suddenly remembered the girl of the evening +before—the imperious little Martian. She had warned him of Scar +Balta.</p> + +<p>"If I do say it," said the Martian, "I am the best impersonator in the +service of the interests I represent. I did not expect to get +information of great value from you, but we do not neglect even the +most unpromising leads."</p> + +<p>He pressed a button; two Martian soldiers answered promptly.</p> + +<p>"Take this man to the cell," Balta ordered. "Provide him with writing +materials so that he can write a last message to his family. In the +morning take him to the end of the ravine and finish him with your +short sword."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Colonel!"</p> + +<p>"The fellow's a colonel, anyway," Sime thought as they led him away.</p> + +<p>They led him downward, along a straight corridor that evidently went +far beyond the boundaries of the ravine fortress. In places the walls, +adequately lit by the glow-wands the guards carried, were plainly cut +out of the solid rock; in others they were masonry, as though the +channel were passing through pockets of earth; or—the thought +electrified him—through faults or natural caverns.</p> + +<p>At last they came to the end. One of the guards unlocked a metal door, +motioned his prisoner into the prison cell. A light-wand, badly run +down and feeble, with only a few active cells left, gave the only +light. As the door slammed behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> him, Sime took in the depressing +scene.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he stone walls were mildewed, leprous. The only ventilation was +through small holes in the door. Chains, fastened to huge staples in +the uneven stone floor, with smooth metal wrist and ankle cuffs, were +spaced at regular intervals, and musty piles of canal rushes showed +where some forgotten prisoner had dragged out his melancholy last +days. Sime was glad they had not chained him down. Probably didn't +consider it necessary unless there were many prisoners, who might rush +the guards.</p> + +<p>"Ho, there, sojer!"</p> + +<p>The voice was startling, so hearty and natural in this sad place. Sime +saw something coming out of a far corner. It was a man in the blouse +and trousers of civilian wear; a bald and good-natured man, with a +shocking growth of beard.</p> + +<p>"Murray's the name," said this apparition with mock ceremony. "And +you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm Hemingway, Sime Hemingway. Sergeant Sime Hemingway, to be exact. +Suppose you'd like to hear my orders?"</p> + +<p>"I don't get you," said Murray, shaking hands.</p> + +<p>"I mean," Sime explained elaborately, "that I'd like to know if you're +Scar Balta, or really Murray, as you say you are."</p> + +<p>The other laughed.</p> + +<p>"I'm Murray, all right. Feel this scalp. Natural, ain't it? That's one +thing Balta won't do—shave off his hair. Too vain. He'd hate to have +the Princess Sira see him that way. Ever hear of her? Say, she's a +raving beauty. This Balta'd like to be elected planetary president, +see—to succeed Wilcox, who has bigger plans. There's always been a +strong sentiment for the old monarchy, anyway. The oligarchy never did +go big. Follow me?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yeh; go on."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">"W</span>ell, this Princess Sira has ideas. She wouldn't mind sitting on the +throne again. Her great-great-grandpa was jobbed and murdered, and the +nobles who did it formed a closed corporation and called it a +republican government. So Sira started holding audiences, and gained a +lot of power. Among the people—even among some of the nobles.</p> + +<p>"Get the idea? Scar Balta is one of the electors. If he married Sira +he'd have the backing of the monarchists, and of course he's done a +lot for the bosses. They'd elect him to head off the monarchists, +anyway. Then heigh-ho for a war with the Earth, to kill off a lot of +the kickers—and soft pickins in a lot of ways. Neat, huh?"</p> + +<p>"Very neat!" Sime assented drily. "But we won't live to see it. +Anyway, I won't. They're going to bump me off in the morning."</p> + +<p>"As they have a lot of our men," Murray agreed. "But they won't do it +in the morning. Or for several days. Look here!"</p> + +<p>He held up his hand. On the back of it was what appeared to be a boil.</p> + +<p>"But it isn't a boil," Murray explained. "That was done by a stream of +water, fine as a needle, under a thousand pounds pressure. They held +it there for a minute at a time—I don't know how many times, because +I keeled over. Any time I was willing to give them the information +they wanted they'd turn it off. Wasn't important info, either. But +what is it to them, how much they make me suffer for a trifle?"</p> + +<p>Sime couldn't help the lump that rose in his throat. Men like Murray +certainly justified the world's faith in the service.</p> + +<p>"Listen, old man," Sime said in a low voice, "out in the corridor—"</p> + +<p>But Murray squeezed his hand warningly, pulled him to the floor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>.</p> + +<p>"Might as well get some sleep," the old man said in ordinary tones. +"Plenty cool here. Let's lie together."</p> + +<p>He kept his hold on Sime's wrist, and, by alternately squeezing and +releasing, began to talk in a silent telegraphic code.</p> + +<p>"Don't say anything of importance," he spelled out. "They have mikes +in here to pick up all we say. Probably infra-red telenses too, so +they can see what we do."</p> + +<p>So Sime told him, as they huddled together in simulated sleep, about +the walled passages, and they speculated on the possibility of felling +the guards and breaking their way to freedom through some underground +cavern. But at last they slept soundly to await the tortures of the +next morning.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h2><i>The Price of Monarchy</i></h2> + + +<p>Had Sime been able to follow and watch the girl he had kissed under +such unusual circumstances on the night of his arrival on Mars, he +would have been both puzzled and enlightened. After her final warning +about Scar Balta she dashed into the luxurious gloom of the passage. +At an intersection a maid was awaiting her. She curtseyed as she threw +a cape over the girl's shoulder, and together they hurried out into +the night.</p> + +<p>A magnificently uniformed hotel servant called a private car, drew the +vitrine curtains, and saluted as the car lifted sharply into the +chilly night air. The car sped across the canal to the jeweled city +across the water, to a residence district whose magnificence even the +pale night light revealed.</p> + +<p>The two women entered a mansion of glittering metal and came to a +private apartment.</p> + +<p>"Everybody's gone to bed," said the girl, addressing her maid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +"That's one thing we can be thankful for."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Your Highness. Did you discover anything of importance in the +man's room?"</p> + +<p>"No. Draw me a bath, Mellie. He—he caught me—and kissed me!"</p> + +<p>The maid, with flasks of perfume and aromatic oils in her hand, +paused, discreetly impudent.</p> + +<p>"You seem not displeased, Your Highness."</p> + +<p>"But of that he had no inkling." And Princess Sira laughed. "I left +him standing, utterly at a loss. He took me for a common assassin, and +yet he wanted to kiss me. That pleased me. But if he had valuable +information he kept it. And I promised him death for his kiss."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>s Princess Sira, claimant to the throne of a planet, slipped into the +tepid waters of her bath, Mellie stood by, her smooth little Martian's +face disturbed. For she loved her mistress, and could not comprehend +the things she did under ambition's sway.</p> + +<p>"Your Highness, couldn't you let your royal friends do these dangerous +things for you?"</p> + +<p>"For what? For fear? And how could a Martian princess who knows fear +lay claim to a throne? No, Mellie, one gets used to it. The enemies of +the house of Sira are ever alert. Didn't they murder my father and my +mother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as in +the room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people—"</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left the +alcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince of +Hanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room.</p> + +<p>"At this hour!" exclaimed the princess. "Did he say what brought him +here?"</p> + +<p>"Something about a new plot."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait."</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe that +made her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince.</p> + +<p>"Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night."</p> + +<p>The prince, a thin, elderly man of medium stature, smiled admiringly. +His sharp features and bright little button eyes gave some hint of the +energy which suffused him. Here was a man both ruthless and loyal to +his royal house. He addressed her by her given name.</p> + +<p>"The hour seems to make no difference with you; Phobos has set, but as +long as you are awake there is loveliness enough. I have come, dear +one, to tell you that success is ours at last!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira smiled. "I will restrain my joy, my good Joro, until I hear the +price."</p> + +<p>"Always the same!" Joro chuckled. "A price, 'tis true, but not too +heavy, since you are, in a manner, fond of him."</p> + +<p>"I've had vague promises from Wilcox," Sira said, with a wry smile. "I +would rather trade places with Mellie than be espoused by that +madman."</p> + +<p>"Not Wilcox, but Scar Balta. He is badly smitten, for which I can not +blame him. He has great political power, and the backing of the +military. He could have dictated better terms, but for love of you has +yielded, point after point. He wants nothing now but your hand in +marriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all the +advantages he has gained—"</p> + +<p>"Not to mention," Sira interjected, "the royal prestige he will gain +with the common people."</p> + +<p>Joro laughed, a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>"True, true! But after all, what does the support of the people amount +to? They are powerless. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> you are ever to establish your royal house +you must have other help."</p> + +<p>"And I suppose," Sira continued sweetly, "that you have also arranged +a deal with the central banks and the secret war interests?"</p> + +<p>Joro coughed uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact—you see, my dear princess, there are certain +commercial interests—transportation, mining, and so forth. They have +defied the power of the bankers. They are likely to upset our whole +order of society. They need a set-back. And the military men are +chafing at their inaction. The war will be ended before too much harm +is done, by agreement of the interplanetary bankers. You see—"</p> + +<p>"No!" Sira interrupted him coldly. "No! No! No! Oh, I'm sick of the +whole thing! I'm sick of the men I know! I hate Scar Balta, and you +too. I would rather be the wife of a common interplanetary patrolman +than queen of Mars! I withdraw, now!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">J</span>oro, struck by her vehemence, paled. The muscles of his jaw lumped. +From a pocket he took a portable disk-radio, an inch in diameter, and +spoke a few words. From outside there was a sudden uproar, shouts and +curses. The draperies moved, as with an outrush of air caused by the +careless handling of an airlock, and the temperature dropped suddenly.</p> + +<p>Sira was irresolute only a split second. With a cat-like leap she +seized a short sword from the wall, made a lunge at the prince. But +Joro, the veteran of many a battle of wits and arms, parried the +stroke with the thick barrel of his neuro-pistol, caught the girl's +wrist and disarmed her. The screams of the maid went unheeded.</p> + +<p>From the other parts of the palace came sounds of struggle, the +clashing of sword on sword.</p> + +<p>"Sira! Sira!" Joro panted, strug<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>gling to hold the girl. "You must +give up your impractical ideas! Take the world as it is. Do as I tell +you and you'll not be sorry."</p> + +<p>"I relinquish my claims!" the girl cried fiercely. "To-morrow I will +publicly announce that decision. All my life has been spent feeding +that hopeless ambition. Now I will be free!"</p> + +<p>"I am loyal to the monarchy," Joro grunted, pinioning her arms at +last. "I will guard your interest against yourself."</p> + +<p>He began to shout:</p> + +<p>"Hendricks, Mervin, Carpender, Nassus! Here, to the princess's +chamber."</p> + +<p>Several men, after further delay and fighting, responded. They wore +civilian blouses and trousers, but there was that something in their +alert carriage that proclaimed them trained fighting men. One of them +sat down with a grunt on the threshold, holding his hand to a bleeding +wound under his armpit. He appeared to be mortally wounded.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">M</span>ost of the others carried minor wounds, showing that the palace +guards had put up a good battle in the sword-play. Both sides had +refrained from using the neuro-pistols for fear that the beams, which +readily penetrated walls at short range, might injure the princess.</p> + +<p>"Let go!" Sira wrenched herself free. "Where is Tolto? Has Tolto +turned traitor? How did you get past Tolto?"</p> + +<p>"Do not use that ugly word against me. I implore you!" Joro protested. +"What we are doing is out of loyalty to the monarchy—not treason. The +monarchy is of greater importance than individuals. Consider your duty +to the rule of your fathers! As for Tolto—"</p> + +<p>He issued a curt command, and there was the sound of movement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +Presently four men staggered in, one to each leg, each arm, of the +most impressive giant Mars had ever produced—Tolto, to whom there was +no god but the one divinity: and Princess Sira was she. Slow of +perception, mighty of limb, he had come into her service from some +outlying agricultural region of the red planet. His tremendous muscles +were hers to command or destroy, as she wished. He would not have +consented to this invasion of her home, she knew!</p> + +<p>And he had not. Joro had been too wise to try. A dose of <i>marchlor</i> in +a glass of wine had done what fifty men could not have accomplished by +main strength. Tolto was in a drugged sleep.</p> + +<p>Joro said: "He isn't hurt. We will simply send him back to his valley, +and you, my dear princess, will do your duty to your subjects!"</p> + +<p>And there, though he probably did not know it, Prince Joro harked back +to the youth of the human race—the compensatory, atavistic principle +that gods, rulers, kings, must hold themselves in readiness as +sacrifices for the good of their subjects. Joro might have been a +tribal high priest invoking their dread rule in the dawn of time. The +Martians were, for all their scientific advancement, still the +descendants of those prehistoric human savages. Sira knew, +instinctively, that the people who loved her would nevertheless +approve of Joro's judgment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h2><i>Torture</i></h2> + + +<p>When Sime awoke it was to the rattling of the door. Murray stirred. +The light was even weaker than before.</p> + +<p>"If they offer you a drink, drink hearty!" Murray muttered, sitting +up. "I've got an idea it's going to be a hard day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>But they were not offered any water. Instead they were again conducted +before Scar Balta, who looked at them morosely. At last he remarked +gruffly:</p> + +<p>"If you tin sojers weren't so cursed stubborn, you could get yourself +a nice berth in the Martian army. Ever consider that?"</p> + +<p>"Talk sense!" Sime said contemptously. "If I threw down the service +how could you trust me?"</p> + +<p>"That'd be easy," Balta rejoined. "Once the I. F. P. finds out you +joined us you'd have to stick with us to save your skin."</p> + +<p>He laughed at his prisoners' look of surprise.</p> + +<p>"Come, come!" he bantered. "You didn't think that I was ignorant of +your purpose here? You, Murray; your spying was excellent, I'll admit. +You were the first to give away certain plans of ours. Well, well! We +don't hold that against you. Wheels within wheels, eh? It would +perhaps astonish certain braided gentleman of our high command to +learn that I, a mere colonel, control their destinies. As our +ancestors would say, it's dog eat dog.</p> + +<p>"Now, how about it? I can make a place for you in my organization. It +seems to run to secret service, oddly enough. You will be rewarded far +beyond anything you could expect in your present career of chasing +petty crooks from Mercury to Pluto and back again."</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" Murray asked softly, with a bearded grin.</p> + +<p>"Oh no. You will turn over to me all the information you can about the +I. F. P. helio code. You will name and describe to me each and every +plainclothes operative of the service—and you should have an +extensive acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Before you answer," Murray said quietly at Sime's side, "let me +suggest that you consider what's in store for us—or you—if you don't +take up this offer."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, you—" Sime whirled in astonished fury upon his companion. +"Didn't you—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">B</span>ut he did not complete his reference to last night's surreptitious +conversation. It seemed that he saw the merest ghost of a flicker in +Murray's left eye.</p> + +<p>"—Didn't you say you'd stick no matter what they did?" he finished +lamely.</p> + +<p>Murray hung his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm getting along," he muttered. "Not as young as I used to be. This +life is getting me nowhere. Why be a fool? Come along with me!"</p> + +<p>"Why, you dirty, double-crossing hound!" Sime's exasperation knew no +bounds. For an instant he had believed that Murray was enacting a +little side-play in the pursuit of a suddenly conceived plan. But he +looked so obviously hangdog—so guiltily defiant....</p> + +<p><i>Crack!</i> Sime's fist struck Murray's solid jaw, scraping the skin off +his knuckles, but Murray swayed to the blow, sapping its force, and +came in to clinch. They rolled on the floor. Murray twisted Sime's +head painfully, bit his ear. But in the next split second he was +whispering:</p> + +<p>"Keep your head, Sime. Can't you see I'm stringing him? Take that!" +And he planted a vicious short hook to Sime's midriff.</p> + +<p>Balta had squalled orders, and now Martian soldiers were bursting the +buttons off their uniforms in the scrimmage to separate the battlers. +Bruised and battered, they were dragged apart. Murray's one eye was +now authentically closed, and rapidly coloring up. Unsteadily he got +to his feet. With mock delicacy he threw a kiss to his late +antagonist.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, Trueheart!" He bowed ironically, and the men all laughed.</p> + +<p>Balta grinned too. "Still the same mind, Hemingway? All right, men,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +take him up to the observation post. Here, Murray, have a drink."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime was led up a seemingly endless circular staircase. After an +interminable climb he saw the purplish Martian sky through the glass +doors of an airlock. Then they were outside, in the rarefied +atmosphere that sorely tried Sime's lungs, still laboring after the +fight and long ascent. The Sun, smaller than on Earth but intensely +bright, struck down vindictively.</p> + +<p>"A good place to see the country," laughed the corporal in charge. +"Off with his clothes!"</p> + +<p>It was but a matter of seconds to strip Sime's garment from him. They +dragged him to an upright post, one of several on the roof, and with +his back to the post, tied his wrists behind it with rawhide. His +ankles they also tied, and so left him.</p> + +<p>It was indeed an excellent point of vantage from which to see the +country. The fortress was high enough to clear the nearby cliffs of +low elevation, and on all sides the Gray Mountains tumbled to the +horizon. To the north, beyond that sharply cut, ragged horizon, lay +the big cities, the industrial heart of the planet. To the south, at +Sime's back, was the narrow agricultural belt, the region of small +seas, of bitter lakes, of controlled irrigation. Here the canals, +natural fissures long observed by astronomers and at first believed to +be artificial, were actually put to the use specified by ancient +conjecture, just as further north they had been preempted as causeways +of civilization. Sime painfully worked his way around the post so that +he could look south. But here too nothing met his eye but the orange +cliffs with their patches of gray lichen. There was no comfort to be +had in that desolate landscape. Nevertheless, Sime kept moving +around,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> to keep the post between himself and the Sun. Already it was +beginning to scorch his skin uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>By the time it was directly overhead Sime had stopped sweating. The +dry atmosphere was sucking the moisture out of his body greedily, and +his skin was burned red. His suffering was acute.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he Martian day is only a little more than a day on Earth, but to Sime +that afternoon seemed like an eternity. Small and vicious, with deadly +deliberation, the sun burned its way down a reluctant groove in the +purple heavens. Long before it reached the horizon, Sime was almost +unconscious. He did not see its sudden dive into the saw-edge of the +western mountains—knew only that night had come by the icy whistle of +the sunset wind that stirred and moaned for a brief interval among the +rocks. The keen, thin wind that first brought relief and then new +tortures, to be followed by freezing numbness.</p> + +<p>Above, in the blackness, the stars burned malignantly. Drug to his +misery they were, those familiar constellations, which are about the +only things that look the same on all planets of the solar system. But +they were not friendly. They seemed to mock the motionless human +figure, so tiny, so inconsequential, that stared at them, numerous +tiny pinpricks of light, so remote.</p> + +<p>There was no dawn, but after aeons Sime saw the familiar green disk of +Earth coming up in the east, one of the brightest stars. Sime fancied +he saw the tiny light flick of the moon. There would be a game of +blackjack going on somewhere there about now. He groaned. The Sun +would not be far behind now.</p> + +<p>But he must have slept. The Sun was up before he was aware of it. A +man with a caduceus on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> blouse collar was holding his wrist, +feeling his pulse. He seemed to be a medical officer of the Martian +army. His smooth, coral face was serious as he prodded Sime's +shriveled tongue.</p> + +<p>"Water, quick!" he snapped,—"or he's done for."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>is head was tipped back and water poured into his mouth, but Sime +could not swallow. The soldier with the bucket poured dutifully, +however, almost drowning the helpless man. It helped, anyway; and Sime +returned to half-consciousness. A few minutes later, when Scar Balta +came to inquire if he had changed his mind, Sime was able to curse +thickly. And around noon, when Murray, jauntily dressed in the uniform +of a Martian captain, bid him a cheerful good-by, Sime was almost +fluent.</p> + +<p>His torture had now reached the pitch of exquisite keenness that made +it something spiritual. Solicitously they kept him alive, and far back +in his mind Sime wondered why they bothered to do that. Couldn't they +be satisfied with what they could learn from Murray?</p> + +<p>So passed the second day, and the third.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day Sime was able to drink water freely, and to eat the +food they placed into his mouth, a fact which the medical officer +noted. The torture was wearing itself out. Sime's body was emaciated, +stringy, burnt black. But his extraordinary toughness was weathering +conditions that would kill most men. Balta shook his head in +wonderment when this was reported to him.</p> + +<p>"Can't wait any longer for him. Must get back to Tarog. You might as +well put him out of his misery. By the way, I'm convinced that Murray +is double-timing me. But I'll attend to that personally."</p> + +<p>From his post of pain Sime saw the official car leave toward Tarog.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Had he known of Balta's remark he would not have been puzzled so much +by what he saw.</p> + +<p>As the ship was about to disappear over the ragged northern horizon, +Sime's bleared eyes saw, or he thought they saw, a human figure +silhouetted against the pitiless sky. It was a tiny-seeming figure at +that distance, but it was clear-cut in the rare atmosphere. Then it +plunged from sight.</p> + +<p>"Somebody taken for a ride," he muttered, half grateful for the brief +distraction from his own misery.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he medical officer, to whom the long climb was arduous, delayed his +mission to the roof, and that was why, several hours later, Sime was +still alive to see another ship appear to the north. It was large, +sumptuous, evidently a private yacht. Its course would bring it within +a mile of the fortress, and with sudden wild hope Sime realized that +if he were seen he might expect relief. He began to tug at his bonds. +They were tough, but they would stretch a little. His haphazard +movements had already worn them against the rough post, and now he +began to struggle violently. If he could only get his hands loose, he +could wave....</p> + +<p>The thongs cut into his flesh, but his wrists were numb and swollen, +and he did not mind the pain. His muscles stood out hard and sharp, +and with a supreme effort, aided by the growing brittleness of the +rawhide in the dry atmosphere, he snapped his bonds.</p> + +<p>The ship was now quite near, and he waved frantically. He fancied he +saw movement back of the pilot ports. Faintly he heard the hum of the +levitators. Now it turned—no! It yawed, now toward him, now away, +purposelessly, like a ship in distress. It made an abrupt downward +plunge that scraped a crag, and just missed a canyon wall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again it twisted, came down with a long, twisting motion, struck a +rock upside down, slitting a long gash in its skin, clattered to the +rocks so close to the fortress that Sime could not see it. Now +desperation gave the prisoner superhuman strength. Regardless of the +pain, he burst the thongs about his ankles, tottered to the edge of +the roof.</p> + +<p>There was a battle going on below. Men seemed to be running, shouting. +Someone, using a massive plate of metal as a partial shield against +the neuro-pistols, was creating havoc. Sime tried to focus his giddy +eyes on the scene. It seemed always to be turning to the left, to be +circling around him. With tottering steps he tried to follow it, +keeping to the brink of that lofty tower—uselessly. Now it was +rocking, flying straight toward him, and, gratefully, Sime gave up the +struggle, closed his eyes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h2><i>The Wrath of Tolto</i></h2> + + +<p>Tolto awoke from his drugged sleep in the cargo room of a pleasure +ship. He was thoroughly trussed up, for Prince Joro's servants had a +wholesome respect for the giant's strength. Even in his supine +position power was evident in every line of his great torso, revealed +through great rents in his blouse. His thighs were as big around as an +ordinary man's body, and the smooth pink skin of his mighty arms and +shoulders rippled with every movement that brought into play the +broad, flat bands of muscle underneath.</p> + +<p>A chain of beryllium steel was passed around Tolto's waist, and close +in front of him the smooth, shining cuffs of steel around his wrist +were locked to the chain. Short lengths of chain led to cargo +ringbolts in the floor, holding fast Tolto's cuffed ankles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>To anyone looking at Tolto, just then, these extreme precautions might +have seemed absurd. Prince Joro, however, was a good judge of men. It +would have pleased him best if Tolto had been quietly eased from his +sleep into death, but he knew that such a murder would have destroyed +forever his chances of winning Sira to his plans. He meant to see +Tolto safely and demonstrably returned to his home valley, and in +order to accomplish this the more surely, he had him loaded aboard his +own ship, and instructed his captain to take the little used desert +route.</p> + +<p>Tolto lifted his hands as far as he could and looked wonderingly at +them. His child-like face, with the soft, agate eyes, expressed only +bewilderment. He lifted his voice, a powerful bass.</p> + +<p>"Hi, hi! Let Tolto go! The princess may call!"</p> + +<p>There was no answer, only the rhythmic hum of the levitators. Again +Tolto cried out. But there was no answering sound. The Sun poured in +through the ports, and when presently the ship changed its course, the +light fell full in his face, almost blinding him. The giant endured +this without complaint.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>everal hours later, however, his patience snapped, and he roared and +bellowed so loudly that a door opened and a frightened face appeared. +Back of it was the chromium glitter of the ship's galley.</p> + +<p>"Be still, big one!" admonished the cook. "The captain is resting. He +will have you chained standing if you disturb him with your +bellowing."</p> + +<p>"I wanted only to know where I am," Tolto replied, subsiding meekly. +"I drank overmuch and some larksters tied me up like this. Release me, +so that if the princess calls I may answer."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The princess will have to call loudly for you to hear," the cook +answered jocularly.</p> + +<p>"The princess need only whisper for Tolto to hear," the giant boasted, +"Come now, shrimp, take these things off!"</p> + +<p>"Are you really as dumb as that?" the cook marveled. "Why, sonny boy, +the princess couldn't even hear you! Don't you know where you're +goin'?"</p> + +<p>Vague alarm began to creep over Tolto.</p> + +<p>"Where is she?" he asked anxiously. "Isn't she in this ship? Princess +Sira never goes anywhere without Tolto. Ask her. Ask anybody."</p> + +<p>"The princess may never go anywhere without you, you head of bone," +remarked the cook, rather enjoying his own humor, "but <i>this</i> time +you're going somewhere without her."</p> + +<p>"You talk funny talk, but I can't laugh at it. Little bug, tell me now +what this is all about, or I will take you between my fingers and +squash you!"</p> + +<p>The cook's coral face paled almost to white despite himself.</p> + +<p>"Listen, big one," he said placatingly. "Have an orange?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>olto refused the gift, although he knew this rare and luscious +importation from the Earth and was very fond of it.</p> + +<p>"Once more I ask you, bug, where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, now, listen!" the cook whined. "Don't blame me! I'm only a +servant around here. How can I help what they do? Don't glare at me +so. Well, she's at Tarog."</p> + +<p>"But why—why does she send me away?"</p> + +<p>The cook failed to recognize his opportunity to lie in time.</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is—" he hesitated. "The boss—Prince Joro's sending +you away. You see, she's going to get hitched up-big important guy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +They didn't want you around, bustin' up things every time you turn +around. So they're sendin' you back home."</p> + +<p>"The princess would not send me home like this," Tolto objected. But +he held his peace, and the cook went back to his work, satisfied that +he had subdued this dangerous prisoner.</p> + +<p>In this he was guilty of no greater error than Prince Joro and the +other monarchists. For ages there had been an unfounded opinion that +big men are generally slow and stupid. They may often act so, for +their great strength serves as a substitute for the quick wit of +smaller men. But in Tolto, at all events, this prejudice was wrong. In +Tolto's bullet head was a healthy, active brain, and a primitive +cunning.</p> + +<p>So instead of wasting his strength in vain struggles against the tough +steel, he rested, marshalling the facts in his mind.</p> + +<p>He utterly rejected the thought that Princess Sira had consented to +his removal in this manner, or in any manner. That meant that she was +being coerced, and Tolto's eyes grew small and hard at the thought.</p> + +<p>Presently he began to test the chains. They were of great hardness and +toughness, and so smooth that he could not twist them, for the links +slid over one another harmlessly. However, after much quiet effort he +found that he could shift his body several inches toward either side +of the narrow hold. Here there were a number of locked boxes. One of +them, he reasoned, might contain tools.</p> + +<p>His closely confined hands were practically useless. He found that he +could not reach any of the boxes with his fingers, strain as he might. +But he grinned with hope when his head struck one of the handles. His +strong teeth closed down on it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>hat would have been something to see! The box was of thin, strong +metal, but it was heavy. With no other purchase but his teeth, Tolto +dragged it to him, on top of him. Now his hands could help a little. +He inched it down toward his knees, fearful each moment that a lurch +of the ship might precipitate it to the floor with a crash. When his +head could push no longer his knees grasped the end of the chest, and +managed to pull it down.</p> + +<p>Tolto had never heard of the wrestling hold known as the scissors, but +he applied it to that box. His mighty sinews cracked under the strain, +and stabbing pain tore at his hips. But he persisted, and with a +protesting rasp the lid was telescoped inward, breaking the lock.</p> + +<p>Breathless, he waited. After minutes he decided that the sound had not +attracted attention.</p> + +<p>Again he brought his teeth into play, and this time, when the box +stood open, Tolto's lips were lacerated by the jagged edges of twisted +metal. Triumphantly, he looked inside.</p> + +<p>The box contained a set of counterweights for the hydrogen integrator +motors.</p> + +<p>No bar, nothing that might be utilized to twist off the eyebolts!</p> + +<p>Again he set to work. The next box was longer, heavier. It was coated +with unpleasantly rancid oil. Tolto's broad chest was covered with +blood, partly from gouges in his skin, partly from his crushed lips. +But this time he found a bar. It was in the bottom, under some extra +valves, but eventually his teeth closed on it, and he fell back, +nearly exhausted, for a moment's rest.</p> + +<p>He heard a door slam beyond the galley. The words floated out:</p> + +<p>"—better go see how he's coming along."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he horrified mate saw the wrecked boxes, the blood-covered giant with +a thick steel bar in his teeth, the extra valves scattered about the +floor. He whipped out his neuro-pistol, pointed it at Tolto.</p> + +<p>But Tolto made no move to resist when the shaken officer gingerly took +the bar out of his mouth. He did not move when several shipmen, called +by the officer, moved everything out of reach. After half an hour, +with many awed comments, they left him alone.</p> + +<p>Tolto's battered lips opened in what might have been a grin. Painfully +he rolled off the single valve that had been digging into the small of +his back. He patiently resumed the tedious task of bringing the valve +in reach of his locked hands.</p> + +<p>The valve stem was stout, and a foot long. It was just long enough so +that Tolto, by lying on his side, could reach one of the eyebolts.</p> + +<p>Inserting the stem, Tolto pulled toward him.</p> + +<p>The eyebolt turned without resistance. It was free to rotate, and +could not be twisted off. A groan escaped from the prisoner.</p> + +<p>But in a few moments he tried bending upward. The leverage was highly +disadvantageous that way. Still, straining with the last ounce of his +strength, he was just able to do it. Pulling down was not so hard.</p> + +<p>It took fifty-four motions, up and down, before the tough metal +cracked and one chain trailed free.</p> + +<p>It was not long afterward that the cook, turning from his work at the +electric grill, stared into a face that had once been innocent and +peaceful. It seemed the face of a demon.</p> + +<p>He would have shrieked, but Tolto took his arm between thumb and +forefinger, saying gently:</p> + +<p>"Remember, little bug, what I said!"</p> + +<p>He was cast, dumb with fear, into the late prisoner's cell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>olto had not bothered to remove the chains, but only to twist them +apart by means of such tools as he could find to permit free movement +of his arms and legs. They dangled from him, tinkling musically.</p> + +<p>Now he strode into the main cabin. The ship's crew, having no guests, +were playing the part of guests. A man who was shuffling cards, was +the first to see him. The cards flew up and showered all over the +room.</p> + +<p>"He's loose!" this shipman croaked, diving under the table.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Yens! Mr. Yens!" shouted the captain, a small, bristling Martian +with graying, stiff hair. He snatched the neuro-pistol at his side, +pointed it at Tolto, pressed the trigger.</p> + +<p>Tolto felt a numbing cold as the ray struck him. But his great body +absorbed the weapon's energy to such an extent that he was not killed +at once. His flailing arms continued their arc, and one end of chain, +whistling through the air, struck the weapon from the officer's hand. +Tolto stumbled, recovered. He picked up the pistol and stuck it in his +chain belt.</p> + +<p>His impulse was to rend, to crush with his hands. The shipmen, except +for the officers, were unarmed, and they went down helplessly before +the giant fists. Some of them found riot guns, but they might as well +have pounded a Plutonian mammoth for all the effect they had on Tolto.</p> + +<p>Mr. Yens, the mate, sitting at the controls in the glassed-in cabin +forward, turned his head at the captain's cry, and, looking down the +short corridor into the main cabin, saw the blood-covered giant coming +toward him. Mr. Yens was a brave man; but he had been careless. His +neuro-pistol was in his own cabin. He did the best he knew, and +snapped the lock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Tolto's great bulk smashed in the door as if it were nothing. The +unbreakable glass did not splinter, but it bent like sheet metal, and +a blow of the giant's fist broke the mate's neck.</p> + +<p>The mate had not engaged the gyroscopic control, and immediately the +ship began a series of eccentric maneuvers, so sharp and unexpected +that no one on board could keep his feet. For a few seconds she +straightened, and one of the crew bethought himself of the pistol in +the mate's cabin. He sighted on Tolto, clearly visible ahead. Before +he could release the ray the ship went into another breath-taking +maneuver.</p> + +<p>A mountain peak came sliding toward them ominously. They scraped by. +The ship dived, throwing Tolto forward, and his instinctive grab threw +the elevator up. The levitators screamed madly as they lost their +purchase on the air, due to the ship's unstable keel.</p> + +<p>"We're goners!" someone shouted. "Kill that fool!"</p> + +<p>They bounced off a cliff, turned over and over like a tumbleweed. A +cylindrical building, unexpected in this wilderness, loomed up. They +seemed about to hit it, but floated past. The rock floor of the valley +rushed up. With a crash the ship rolled over, split wide open.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h2><i>The Fight in the Fort</i></h2> + + +<p>Its coming had been observed. Men wearing the uniforms of the Martian +army dashed out, their pistols ready. A man dropped out of a gaping +hole in the ship's skin, sat down unsteadily. Others dribbled out.</p> + +<p>"Crazy man in there!" one of them shouted. "Look out, he's murderous!" +The pistols came up. The soldiers began to close in, showing a certain +professional eagerness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>They were perhaps within ten feet when a metal plate, sheared off from +the pilot's cabin in the fall, lifted up. Barely visible under it was +a pair of large, running feet. One soldier, trying to oppose it with +his hands, was knocked senseless and bleeding. He might as well have +tried to stop an oncoming rocket ship.</p> + +<p>Neuro-pistols, bearing from every side, spanged briskly. They partly +neutralized one another. Their charges were partly reflected by the +metal and partly absorbed by Tolto's great bulk. He was thoroughly +confused now. Every way he looked in this glaring wilderness of desert +and rocks were enemies.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">B</span>ut there! An opening loomed, cool and dark. The fortress entrance. +Tolto dashed into it. There was the sharp challenge of a guard, +unanswered; the futile hiss of a weapon.</p> + +<p>The improvised shield wedged on a narrowing stairway. Tolto let it +stick, ran up alone. The stairway went round and round, climbing ever +higher. The fugitive's lungs were bursting.</p> + +<p>At last he came to an airlock. He did not know how to operate it, so +smashed through. There was no rush of air, because the pressure had +already been equalized in the rush to the wreck at ground level. +Panting, listening for pursuers, Tolto looked around.</p> + +<p>He found himself on a circular roof, bare except for the airlock and a +number of upright posts, whitened by the Sun.</p> + +<p>It was some moments before he saw the unconscious figure of a man +lying on the very edge of the lofty tower on which he was standing—a +man naked and blackened. He was lying on his face, one arm and one +foot hanging over space as though he had fallen unconscious at the +very edge of the abyss.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tolto collected his excited wits. This, at least was no enemy. His +enemies were in power here. This must be a victim, a possible ally.</p> + +<p>The man was stirring. The overhanging arm was feebly trying to grasp +something. If he were to roll over—</p> + +<p>He did not have time. Tolto dragged him in to the safety of the +airlock opening, where he could watch.</p> + +<p>There were sounds of pursuit, faint and cautious.</p> + +<p>Tolto grinned at the naked stranger.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, little bug?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Sime Hemingway tried to tell him but his swollen tongue would not +behave. Instead, he waved in the general direction of the Sun.</p> + +<p>Tolto understood. "From Earth? Good guy, prob'ly. Want this dingus?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime was able to take the neuro-pistol. He knew what was expected of +him, and strove to collect his faculties so he could obey orders. He +crawled a little way into the lock, where he could be in comparative +darkness, setting the little focalizer wheel at the side of the pistol +for maximum concentration. Such a beam would require good aiming, +being narrow, but if it touched a vital center would be infallibly +fatal.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Tolto appraised one of the posts on the roof. It was firmly +set in masonry, but he found he could loosen it a little by shaking +it. Presently he had it uprooted. It made a splendid battering ram, a +war club fit for a giant such as he.</p> + +<p>"Here they come!" Sime croaked, and, peering around a corner, took +careful aim at the foremost attacker. At the first whispering impact +of the beam the Martian sprawled, dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>The soldiers were caught at a disadvantage. They were expecting club +or fist, but not the neuro-beam. Nevertheless Sime had no more easy +opportunities. The Martians flung themselves down behind the bulge of +the curved stairway, and the air became acrid under the malignant +neuro-beams.</p> + +<p>None of them reached Sime directly, but the stone walls reflected them +to some extent, and even under their greatly weakened power he become +cold and sick.</p> + +<p>The situation was by no means to his liking. There were other weapons +to be reckoned with, and he tried to keep consciousness from slipping +away from him. When at last his breathing became easier and his +diaphragm moved without pain, Sime knew that danger was greatest. For +this relief meant that the Martians had withdrawn down the stairway.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, boys!" he thought, as he sprinted up into the comparative +safety of the open. He motioned to Tolto, who stood hopefully waiting +with his great war club, to stand clear.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>here it was! Sime saw the faint phosphorescent reflection against the +stone where the stairway curved. He did not wait to see the tiny +pellet of the atomic bomb floating up, but threw himself flat on the +roof, tugging at Tolto, who understood and followed suit.</p> + +<p>Even lying prone, and below the edge of the explosion cone, they were +nearly blown off the roof. Though no larger than a pinhead, the bomb +had the power of a thousand times its weight in fulminate of mercury. +When the rain of small stones and dust had subsided, they rubbed their +eyes and saw that the airlock was no more. In its place was a shallow +pit, ending with the top of the battered stairway.</p> + +<p>"Down after 'em!" Sime husked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> out of a raw throat. "Before they think +it's safe to come after us!"</p> + +<p>He led the way, the giant after him, carrying his club and a huge rock +fragment. Sime saw a cautious peering head, and that Martian died +instantly. Then they were around the bend and in the middle of a +fight. Sime deflected a hand that held a pistol, and its beam killed +another Martian who was about to let Tolto have it at close range.</p> + +<p>There was a light-wand affixed to the wall a trifle further down. +Tolto waded through the ruck of smaller men, tore it from its socket +and hurled it up the stairs. A short sword bit into Sime's shoulder, +but there was no force in the stroke, for in that instant Sime +paralyzed his enemy's heart with the beam.</p> + +<p>An officer barked a command, and the spang of neuro-beams ceased, to +be followed by the lethal rustling of swords. The passage was too +crowded for the neuro-pistols, giving the outnumbered prisoners the +advantage.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>olto could not swing his club, but he hurled it, like a battering +ram, into the middle of twenty or twenty-five of the garrison who were +still below him on the steps, trying to get closer. The heavy timber +cleared a lane and the two stumbled down over crushed bodies. Sime was +now the only one to use his pistol, for he had no friends there to +kill accidentally.</p> + +<p>The Martians, were putting up a game battle. They were heirs to the +traditions and the spirit of Earth's best fighting men. Science had +given them deadly and powerful weapons that could kill over long +distances, but they preferred to get close to their adversaries.</p> + +<p>But Tolto was a Martian too. He had seized a sword from a dying hand +and was wielding it with aptitude and power. No formal thrust and +parry for him, but merely a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> savage sweep that sent swords, arms and +heads flying indiscriminately.</p> + +<p>Sime, following him, his neuro hissing death from side to side, +marveled at his ferocity. He saw a bare-bodied, bleeding fighter leap +to Tolto's back, his sword poised for a downward stab for the jugular. +Kicking viciously at the man who was just then coming at him, Sime +tried to bring Tolto's would-be killer down. But Tolto himself +attended to him, dashing him to his death with the elbow of his sword +arm.</p> + +<p>That diversion nearly cost Sime his life. Fortunately for him he +tripped, and the sword-thrust that was to disembowel him merely gashed +his side. Sime was beginning to enjoy the fight. The exercise was +loosening up his cramped muscles, and the shaky feeling due to the +reflected beams of the neuro-pistols was leaving him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>olto had smashed down the light-wands as they fought their way down +the steps, so that now they were in almost complete darkness. One +could still see the occasional rise and fall of a glinting sword and +the dark shadow of an arm or head. They were almost clear when Tolto +received his first serious wound, a stab in the abdomen that let out a +sticky stream of blood.</p> + +<p>There was an interval of silence, broken only by the groans of the +wounded. The air was thick with the odor of raw blood and pungent with +ozone. They had fought their way down perhaps two hundred feet of the +stairway, and due to its curve they could see neither top nor bottom.</p> + +<p>"I'm stuck!" Tolto muttered.</p> + +<p>"Bad?" Sime edged to his side, stepping, in the darkness, on the body +of the man who had succeeded in delivering that sword-stroke before +Tolto's own blade had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> cleft him. He felt the edges of the wound, but +in the darkness could not tell how serious it was.</p> + +<p>"Feel sick? Any retching?" he croaked anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Tolto's all right," the giant assured him. "I just said I was stuck."</p> + +<p>Sime managed to make a hurried bandage out of the slashed fragment of +Tolto's blouse, and again they resumed their descent. Strangely, their +enemies further up made no move to attack, although there were many +left alive.</p> + +<p>Sime laid his hand on Tolto's arm.</p> + +<p>"Something wrong here. There's somebody at the bottom of the steps, +and the fellows above want to give him elbow room. Well, we'll soon +see!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>hey crawled up a short distance, began to haul inert bodies down, +dragging them as far as the last curve, until they had formed a +barricade of nineteen or twenty of their late enemies. It was +unpleasant work, but justified by following events.</p> + +<p>"Can you just see the loom of it?" Sime asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Watch!"</p> + +<p>Sime felt about until he found a small fragment broken from the stone +steps. Keeping well within the shelter of the convex wall, he crept +toward the bend.</p> + +<p>"Dig your fingers into a joint and hold on," he instructed Tolto, +locating a crack for himself. Then he tossed the fragment gently over +the barricade of bodies.</p> + +<p>There was the click of its fall, and a moment later things seemed to +turn around. Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resisted +the warped gravitational drag that would have flung them down upon +their waiting enemies below. They seemed to be hanging in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> well. +Sime had a confused impression of piled-up bodies hurtling down—down.</p> + +<p>Thereafter everything was normal again, and they were running down the +normal steps. Both had swords in their hands now, and within a hundred +feet they were upon the "gravitorser" gun. It was a rather cumbersome +weapon, comprising a great deal of electrical apparatus, with a +D-solenoid surmounting, whose object was to twist the normal lines of +gravitation. It was intended for large-scale operations in the open; +the few men remaining below had tried a rather risky experiment, for +they might have brought the whole fortress down upon them. Now they +were untangling themselves from the corpses that had flown at them as +iron flies to a magnet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime and Tolto struck them like a tempest. The light was good and the +battle short and sweet. Tolto was slowed up a little, but was +irresistible, nevertheless. There is nothing surprising about the +seeming immunity of a reckless man in battle. He fights by instinct, +taking short-cuts that are not as dangerous as they look because the +enemy is not expecting them. So Sime and Tolto fought their way down, +until there was no one able to oppose them.</p> + +<p>Sime pressed a neuro-pistol into Tolto's hand, warned him to sweep the +stairs with it, while he coursed around for some of the pellet bombs. +He found them, and two of them closed that avenue of attack with a +mass of jumbled ruins.</p> + +<p>Now they had a breathing spell. A combination of blind luck and +foolhardiness had given them temporary possession of this desert +outpost. That was their pawn in the game of life and death—the chance +to get back and hide among the millions in the cities of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +industrial belt. Certain routine precautions had to be taken. They +destroyed the radio apparatus, picked a few days supply of food, threw +a couple more bombs and made a search for means of transportation: for +there was a desert wilderness of four or five hundred miles to be +traversed.</p> + +<p>They discovered the egg-shaped hull of an enclosed levitator car in +the covered courtyard. It was distinguished by the orange and green +stripes which are the Martian army standard. Like all army equipment, +it was in excellent condition. The hydrogen gages showed a full supply +of fuel.</p> + +<p>"We're getting the breaks," Sime crowed to Tolto at they surfeited +themselves with water before starting. He had covered his nakedness +with an ill-fitting fatigue suit.</p> + +<p>"Yeh," Tolto agreed, referring to their numerous wounds with sly +humor: "lots of 'em."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">N</span>evertheless, they felt pretty happy when the levitator screws took up +their melancholy whine. The rocky valley floor dropped away, and the +windowless stone walls of the fortress slid down past them. Now they +were even with the top.</p> + +<p>Through the ports they could see a group of their late adversaries on +the roof, standing in strained attitudes. Their immobility was +explained a moment later by an electric blue spark from something in +the shadow of their bodies.</p> + +<p>Instantly Sime, who was at the controls, threw her hard-a-port, dived, +looped up. The first explosion of the tiny projectile tossed them up +like a monstrous wave, allowed them to drop sickeningly. The exhaust +tubes poured out a dense haze as Sime sought for distance. But they +were following him. He was five miles away when they finally got the +range. The vessel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> was jarred as if it had hit a rock. One of the +atomic pellets had exploded within a few feet of it. There was a +dismaying lurch. Sime picked himself up from the floor and dashed to +the controls.</p> + +<p>"Everything's all right!" he shouted excitedly.</p> + +<p>Tolto, however, was listening anxiously. There was a sharp crackling +at the stern, where, in a narrow space, the reaction motors provided +the forward motive power. In moments of excitement he referred to +himself in the third person. He did so now.</p> + +<p>"Tolto's afraid that something's wrong! Smells hot, too!"</p> + +<p>"Here, take the wheel!" Sime ordered. The explosions of the shells +were becoming less dangerous; they were getting too far away.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime burned his hand opening the narrow door. The paint was already +blistering off it. The trouble was immediately apparent. One of the +integrator chambers, in which atomic hydrogen was integrated to form +atomic iron and calcium (sometimes called the Michelson effect), had +sprung a leak. The heat escaping into the little room was not the +comparatively negligible heat of burning hydrogen, but the cosmic +energy of matter in creation. Sime slammed the door. The radiated +light was so intense that it stung even his hardened skin.</p> + +<p>Looking through the rear range-finding periscope, he saw that they +were about twenty miles from the fort. They had ceased firing.</p> + +<p>"Won't be long, Tolto," he said, taking over the controls himself +again, "before our tail's going to drop off. Got to make time."</p> + +<p>It was, in fact, about ten minutes when, without warning, their nose +dropped.</p> + +<p>"Tail's gone!" Sime announced.</p> + +<p>Their momentum, under the destructive rate of speed they had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> been +making, was great, and as the levitators, with independent power +supply, still held them up, Sime continued to steer a course for the +twin cities of Tarog. He was aided by a light breeze, and the Sun was +nearing the western horizon by the time their rate of motion had +become negligible.</p> + +<p>"Might at well land," Sime decided. "Conserve fuel. If we get a +favorable wind to-morrow we can go up and drift with it."</p> + +<p>But Tolto, who had been narrowly scanning the terrain, advised +continuing a little longer.</p> + +<p>"I thought I saw a little smoke, a few miles ahead. Seems to be gone +now. But we're still drifting slow."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime searched the indicated spot in the ground glass of the forward +magnifying periscope. After a few minutes he discovered a blackened +spot which might be the remains of a fire. It was surrounded by huge +blocks of orange rock, the igneous rock which is the outstanding +feature of the Martian desert landscape.</p> + +<p>"Looks like he built the fire around there so nobody on the same level +would see him," he hazarded. He set the altitude control to fifty +feet. There was part of the globular skeleton of a desert hog in the +fire; whoever had built it had dined most satisfyingly not long +before, and as the fugitives looked their stomachs contracted +painfully.</p> + +<p>"I could eat a whole one of them myself," Tolto said wistfully.</p> + +<p>The urge to descend here was strong upon Sime too. He realized that +the fire might have been made by some dangerous criminal—a fugitive +from justice; but dangerous men are no novelty to the I. F. P. On the +other hand, there was a possibility that it was just some political +offender, driven into the desert by persecution. Or a prospector. At +any rate, he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> have food, or would know where it could be +procured.</p> + +<p>They had drifted some hundreds of yards farther and the ground was +getting constantly more broken, so the best time to land was as soon +as possible. Slowly the little ship settled, scraped on a rock and +arrested its slight forward motion, crunching solidly in the stony +soil.</p> + +<p>"Take a neuro, Tolto," Sime advised. "Whoever's here, if he or they +are dangerous, we won't get close enough to touch 'em with a sword."</p> + +<p>Tolto took the weapon without a word. They locked the door of the +ship. Men have been marooned for neglecting that little precaution.</p> + +<p>They walked in a spiral course, making an ever-widening circle, +looking sharply from left to right. Presently they came to the remains +of the fire. The ashes were hotter than the ground, proving that they +had been recently made.</p> + +<p>But nowhere was there any sign of men. They shouted, but only weird +echoes answered.</p> + +<p>The ship was now out of sight, and solitude pressed upon them. They +felt an uneasy desire to get within comfortable constricting walls.</p> + +<p>They found the ship without difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Well, whoever it was has lammed," Sime concluded. "Tolto, you climb +on top of that rock. Watch me. If you see anybody after me, let 'em +have it. I'm going to see if I can scare up a desert hog somewhere."</p> + +<p>Neither had stirred from his place, however, before they were suddenly +stricken to the ground. They felt the familiar sensation of cold and +suffocation—the paralysis caused by a diffused beam from a +neuro-pistol. Tolto was a little slower to fall, but he only lasted a +second longer. They knew that someone was taking the weapons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> out of +their helpless hands. Then life returned.</p> + +<p>"Get up," said a languid voice back of them, "and let's have a look at +the looks of ye."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h2><i>The Flight of a Princess</i></h2> + + +<p>The province of Hanlon, Prince Joro's hereditary domain, began about +fifty miles west of South Tarog. It was a region of thorn forests, +yielding a wood highly valued for ship-building, and the canal was +lined with shipyards, most of which belonged to the prince. The +so-called republic had been established before Joro was born, but the +reigning family of Hanlon had always been richly endowed with +astuteness. Deprived of their feudal holdings by a coup of state, they +had won back nearly all they had lost in the fields of finance and +trade. Joro was a monarchist for sentimental reasons, not for the +profits that might accrue to him.</p> + +<p>It was the purity of Joro's devotion to his ideal that made him so +dangerous to all who might oppose him. Lesser men might be bribed, +frightened, distracted. Not Joro: he believed that the monarchy would +soothe the rumblings of internal dissension that continually disturbed +the peace and tranquillity of Mars. He drove forward to that +consummation with a steadfastness and singleness of purpose such as +have carried other fanatics to glory or to the grave. And in addition +to his zeal he carried into the struggle his exceptional ability, a +knowledge of government and of people.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>e had need for all of his rare skill now. It had been an easy matter +to carry forcibly the Princess Sira to his palace in Hanlon. Tolto was +safely out of the way; Mellie had been dismissed. As for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> the other +palace servants, they had been silenced with bribery or the stiletto.</p> + +<p>But Sira had remained adamant, and Joro, abstractedly toying with his +laboratory apparatus in the basement of his palace, tried to find the +key to her change of heart.</p> + +<p>"Can't understand it!" he mused. "She always seemed to have all the +royal instincts: cold to suitors, with that delicacy and reserve one +finds ideal in a princess. She does all things well, handles a sword +nearly as well as I do. Her mind is as keen and limpid as a diamond. +She swims like an eel...."</p> + +<p>He sighed. "I thought she and I saw eye to eye in this matter. Not +more than a week ago she seemed eager for news of the accord I was +arranging. She had no great aversion to Scar Balta. Now she says she +will die before she espouses him."</p> + +<p>He paused, thought a moment, added, with that absolute fairness and +impartiality that was characteristic of him:</p> + +<p>"True, Balta is not the ideal prince consort. He would not add kingly +qualities to the royal line. But he would confer cunning upon his +offspring; and energy—neither to be despised in a royal family that +must forever resist intrigue." He sighed again. "The responsibility of +king-making is a hard one!"</p> + +<p>A sudden thought struck him. "She spoke warmly about the proposed war; +could that be at the root of her strange change of heart? After all, +she is a woman, and with all her fine, true temper she has a gentle +heart. To her the death of a few thousands of her subjects may not +outweigh the unhappiness that millions are now experiencing. But the +financiers demand the war to consolidate their position, and Wilcox is +solidly with them."</p> + +<p>With new hope he set down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> beaker he was toying with. "Perhaps we +can outwit them."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>e left the laboratory, climbed a flight of stairs, entered the +spacious reception hall. This, like most Martian buildings, was domed. +It was richly furnished. The walls were hung with burnished, metallic +draperies of gorgeous colors, the floor a lustrous black, the +furniture of glittering metal. As the prince entered a servant stepped +forward.</p> + +<p>"Go at once to the Princess Sira's chamber!" Joro commanded sharply. +"Request her to come here. Tell her I have thought of the solution to +our difficulty."</p> + +<p>Impatiently he paced up and down, stopping at a window for a moment +and looking out into the night.</p> + +<p>"Your Highness! Your Highness!" The servant was sobbing with +excitement. "Your Highness, Princess Sira has escaped!"</p> + +<p>Joro left the man babbling, dashed up the broad stairs, unheeding the +servants who scattered before him. Their punishment could wait. Just +inside the princess's chamber, still unconscious from a blow on the +head, lay the guard whose duty it had been to stand before that door. +How long ago had she gone? Probably not more than a few minutes.</p> + +<p>Joro saw to it that her start would not be much longer. In a few +seconds men and women were scouring the palace grounds, and radio +orders to the provincial police of Hanlon were crowding the ether.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira had contrived her escape without any particular plan in mind. In +fact, it had been initiated on impulse. The fellow on guard at her +door had excited intense dislike in her. High-strung, and excited by +her kidnaping, she had been further annoyed by his officiousness, his +fawning, which thinly disguised impudence. The third or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> fourth time +that he intruded on her privacy to ask if she wanted anything she was +ready, with the heavy leg, unscrewed from a chair. She felled him in +the middle of a smirk, and seized the opportunity created.</p> + +<p>It happened that there was a service corridor close at hand. Down this +she sped, into the darkness of a boat-house. The doors were barred and +locked, of course, but the depths of the water showed a faint greenish +glimmer of light. Sira dived in, unhesitatingly, and after an easy +underwater swim she emerged in the open canal. There was a +considerable swell, for there was a slight breeze blowing from the +north across twenty miles of water, but this did not distress Sira at +all. She undulated through the waves with perfect comfort. Phobos was +just rising in the west, and orientating herself by this tiny moon she +struck out in a north-easterly direction, seeking a favorable current +to carry her toward Tarog.</p> + +<p>Early explorers on Mars were astonished to find that the canals were +not stagnant bodies of water, but possessed currents, induced by wind, +by evaporation, and the influx of fresh water from the polar ice caps.</p> + +<p>This was near the equator, however, and the water was not unreasonably +cold, although the night air was, as usual, chilly. After a few +minutes Sira discarded her clothing, and so settled down to a long +swim.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>en miles out she struck a brisk easterly current, flowing toward +Tarog, and she gave herself up to it. Floating on her back she saw the +lights of the prince's ships flying back and forth over the water in +search of her—or her body. But none came near her, and she was +content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The abrupt tropical dawn found her in mid-canal, half-way to Tarog. +She had no intention of swimming all the way to the capital city, to +be fished ignominiously out of the canal by the police. She was in +need, not only of clothing, but of clothing that would disguise her. +Her coral pink body near the surface of the water would attract +attention for considerable distance, and would lead to unwelcome +inquiries.</p> + +<p>She was glad when she saw a fishing scow anchored in the current ahead +of her. The man who owned it had his back to her, fishing +down-current. She approached the boat silently and worked her way +around it by holding to the gunwale.</p> + +<p>Sira now saw that the fisherman was old, gnarled and sunburned so dark +that he was almost black, despite the dilapidated and dirty pith +helmet he was wearing. His lumpish face was deeply seamed and +wrinkled. His sunken mouth told of missing teeth, and his long, +unkempt hair was bleached to a dirty gray.</p> + +<p>"Have you an old coat you can lend me?" Sira asked, swimming into +view.</p> + +<p>The rheumy eyes rolled, settled on the water nymph. The old man showed +no surprise, but pious disgust. His eyes rolled up, and in a cracked +voice intoned:</p> + +<p>"Wicked, wicked! O great Pantheus, thy temptations are great—thy +visions tormenting. In my old age must I ever and ever live over—"</p> + +<p>"Foolish old man!" Sira snapped. "I'm not a vision!" She dragged down +an old sack that hung over the gunwale, washed it, and tearing holes +in the rotten fabric for her arms and head, slipped it on. It was a +large sack, coming to her knees; satisfied, she climbed aboard, where +she spread her black hair to dry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not a vision?" the old man quavered. "Then thou art reality, come to +gladden my old age—nay—to return youth to me! In my hut there is an +old hag. She shall go—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira did not answer. She was neither disgusted nor amused by the dark +torrent that stirred in this decrepit old fisherman. She saw only that +he had pulled in his nets and was bowing his long arms to the oars, +pulling for shore.</p> + +<p>It took about two hours before they reached the fisherman's hut, a +nondescript, low-ceilinged shelter of logs, driftwood and untarnished +metal plates off some wreck. Several times they were hailed by other +fishermen, who addressed the old man as "Deacon" and asked jocularly +about what kind of a fish he had there.</p> + +<p>The deacon's wife awaited them. The old man's description of her as a +hag had not been far wrong. She, was as diminutive and weakened as he +was ponderous and heavy. She was acid. Her skin was like a pickled +apple's; her expression sour, her voice sharp.</p> + +<p>"Hoy there, you old hypocrite!" she hailed when they came in earshot. +"So this is the way you lose a day! Who's the hussy with you?"</p> + +<p>The deacon nosed the old and evil-smelling scow into the bank. His +eyes rolled piously.</p> + +<p>"The great Pantheus sent her. He said—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he old woman came closer and inspected Sira, who endured her gaze +calmly. That look was like the bite of acid that reveals the structure +of crystal in metals.</p> + +<p>"Why, she's a lady!" she exclaimed then. "Not fittin' to be on the +same canal with you! Come in, my dear. You must be nearly dead!"</p> + +<p>She conducted Sira into the hut, which was far neater and cleaner than +its exterior suggested.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A lady!" she repeated. "In that heat! Young woman, what made you do +it? Look at those arms—near burnt! Let me take off that old sack. But +wait!"</p> + +<p>She tip-toed to the door, threw back the faded curtain sharply. The +deacon, too surprised to move, was standing there in the attitude of +one who seeks to see and hear at the same time. He lingered long +enough to receive two resounding slaps before fleeing to his boat, +followed by a string of curdling remarks.</p> + +<p>Back inside, she proceeded to anoint Sira's body, exclaiming her +pleasure at its perfection. The oil smelled fishy, but it was +soothing, and it was not long before the claimant to the throne of +Mars was deep in restful slumber.</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon the deacon returned and hung his nets up to dry. +He was dour, his fever having left him. But he had a strange story to +impart.</p> + +<p>"I think that girl I picked up is the Princess Sira," he told the old +woman. "On the fish buyer's barge, in the teletabloid machine, I saw +the forecast of her wedding to Scar Balta. And I'll swear it's the +same girl!"</p> + +<p>"And why," queried his wife, "would she be swimming in the middle of +the canal if she was getting ready to marry Scar Balta?"</p> + +<p>"That's just it!" the deacon exclaimed, and his eyes began to roll +again. "They say it's not a love match! Oh, not in the teletabloid! +They wouldn't dare hint such a thing. But the men on the barge. They +say there's a rumor that she ran away. And she looks like the girl I +picked up, though I thought—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind what you thought!" she snapped. "It may be, I served the +oligarchy and the noble houses—before I was fool enough to run away +with a no-good fisherman—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> I can see she is a lady. Well, she can +trust in me."</p> + +<p>"They say," the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, and +inquired at the proper place, there would be a reward."</p> + +<p>The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly.</p> + +<p>"Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to Scar +Balta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, because +I'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Considerably shaken, the deacon said he understood.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">B</span>ut the next morning, on the placid bosom of the canal, he forgot her +warning. The fleshpots of Tarog called him. Tarog, where he had spent +youth and money with a lavish hand. Tarog, where a reward awaited him.</p> + +<p>He hauled in his anchor, gave the unwieldy boat to the current and +bent to the oars.</p> + +<p>Back in the hut, unsuspecting of treachery, Mrs. Homms and Sira were +rapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of character +herself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without any +prying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilled +her, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully.</p> + +<p>"You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me."</p> + +<p>"I will do what I can gladly."</p> + +<p>"I need a workingman's trousers and blouse, and a sun-hat that will +shade my face. I have a plan, but I must get to Tarog. Can you get me +these things?"</p> + +<p>"I have no money, but wait!" She rummaged with gnarled fingers in a +chink in the wall, withdrew a small brooch-pin of gold, with a pink +terrestrial pearl in its center.</p> + +<p>"My last mistress gave me this,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> she said smiling sadly. "I will row +to the trading boat and buy what you need. There will be a little +money left to buy your passage on a freight barge."</p> + +<p>And that was why, when the deacon arrived at the head of a squad of +soldiers that evening, there was no girl of any description to be +found. Ignoring the cowering and unhappy reward seeker, the old woman +delivered her dictum to the sergeant in charge.</p> + +<p>"Princess? Ha! The deacon, sees princesses and mermaids in every mud +bank. His imagination grew too and crowded out his conscience. No, +mister, there ain't any princess here."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h2><i>In the Desert</i></h2> + + +<p>Mellie, Sira's personal maid, was too disturbed by her mistress's +kidnaping to seek other employment. She saw the teletabloid forecasts +of the wedding, made life-like by clever technical faking, but rumors +of the princess' escape were circulating freely despite a rigid +censorship. She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of the +canal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror.</p> + +<p>Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother. +Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of the +Interplanetary Radio and Television Co., and his income was ample to +provide a better than average home on the desert margin of South +Tarog. Here Mellie sat in the glass-roofed garden, staring moodily at +the luxuriant vegetation.</p> + +<p>She looked abstractedly at the young man coming down the garden walk, +annoyed by the disturbance. There was something familiar in the sway +of his hips as he walked.</p> + +<p>And then she flew up the path.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> Her arms went around the visitor, and +Mellie, the maid, and Princess Sira kissed.</p> + +<p>Mellie was immediately confused. A terrible breach of etiquette, this. +But Sira laughed.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Mellie. It is good for me, a fugitive, to find a home. +Will you keep me here?"</p> + +<p>"Will I?" Mellie poured into these words all her adoration.</p> + +<p>"Mellie, the time has come for action. Not for the monarchy. I am sick +of my claims. I would give it all—You remember the young officer of +the I. F. P.? The one who kissed me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, that comes later. First I must consider the war conspiracy. +Have you heard of it?"</p> + +<p>"There are rumors."</p> + +<p>"They are true. Will Wasil help me?"</p> + +<p>"He has worshiped you, my princess, ever since the time I let him help +me serve you at the games."</p> + +<p>"One more question." Sira's eyes were soft and misty. "My dear Mellie, +you realize that I may be trailed here? What may happen to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my princess. And I don't care!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>s Murray parted from his brother-in-arms, Sime Hemingway, on the roof +of the cylindrical fortress in the Gray Mountains, he felt the +latter's look of bitter contempt keenly. He longed bitterly to give +Sime some hint, some assurance, but dared not, for Scar Balta's +cynical smile somehow suggested that he could look through men and +read what was in their hearts. So Murray played out his renegade part +to the last detail, even forcing his thoughts into the role that he +had assumed in order that some unregarded detail should not give him +away. He convinced the other I. F. P. man, anyway.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Murray had an uneasy feeling that Balta was laughing at him, and +when the shifty soldier politician invited him into his ship for the +ride back to Tarog, Murray had a compelling intuition that he would +not be in a position to step out of the ship when it landed on the +parkway of Scar Balta's hotel.</p> + +<p>Having infinite trust in his intuitions, Murray thereupon made certain +plans of his own.</p> + +<p>He noted that the ship, which was far more luxurious than one would +expect a mere army colonel to own, had a trap-door in the floor of the +main salon. Murray pondered over the purpose of this trap. He could +not assign any practical use for it, in the ordinary use of the ship.</p> + +<p>But he could not escape the conviction that it would be a splendid way +to get rid of an undesirable passenger. Dropped through that trap-door +a man's body would have an uninterrupted fall until it smashed on the +rocks below.</p> + +<p>Murray then examined the neuro-pistol that had been given him. It +looked all right. But when he broke the seal and unscrewed the little +glass tube in the butt, he discovered that it was empty. The gray, +synthetic radio-active material from which it drew its power had been +removed.</p> + +<p>Murray grinned at this discovery, without mirth. It was conclusive.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>t the first opportunity he jostled one of the soldiers, knocking his +neuro-pistol to the floor—his own, too. And when he apologetically +stooped and retrieved them the mollified soldier had the one with the +empty magazine.</p> + +<p>So far, so good. Murray noted that the wall receptacles were all +provided with parachutes. It would be simple to take one of these, +make a long count, and be on the ground before he was missed. Provided +that he could leave unobserved.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>The ship was now well in the air, and beginning to move away from the +fort. But they were only ten miles away, and Murray had hardly +expected that Balta would be in such a hurry.</p> + +<p>"You get off here!" Balta said, and Murray felt the muzzle of the +neuro-pistol on his spinal column.</p> + +<p>A grinning soldier seized a countersunk ring and raised the trap-door.</p> + +<p>"So you're going to murder me," Murray said, speaking calmly.</p> + +<p>"I take no chances," was Balta's short answer. "Step!"</p> + +<p>Murray stepped, swaying like a man in deadly fear. He lowered his feet +through the hole. Looking down, he saw that they were about to pass +over a bitter salt lake, occasionally found in the Martian desert. He +looked up into the muzzle of the menacing neuro-pistol.</p> + +<p>"Balta, you're a dog!" he stated coldly.</p> + +<p>"A live dog, anyway," the other remarked with a twisted grin. "You +know the saying about dead lions."</p> + +<p>Murray's fingers clenched on the edge of the rug. It was thin and +strong, woven of fine metal threads. They were just over the edge of +the salt lake.</p> + +<p>Murray dropped through, but retained his death-like grip on the rug. +It followed jerkily, as the men above tripped, fell, and rolled +desperately clear.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">M</span>urray's heart nearly stopped as he fell the first thousand feet. The +rug, sheer as the finest silk, failed to catch the wind. It ran out +like a thin rivulet of metal, following Murray in his unchecked drop.</p> + +<p>But he had a number of seconds more to fall, and he occupied the time +left to him. He fumbled for corners, found two, lost precious time +looking for the others. He had three corners wrapped around one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> hand +when the wind finally caught the sheer fabric, bellied it out with a +sharp crack. The sudden deceleration nearly jerked his arm out.</p> + +<p>Even so, he was still falling at a fearful rate. The free corner was +trailing and snapping spitefully, and the greasy white waters of the +lake were rushing up!</p> + +<p>At any rate, the rug held him upright, so that he did not strike the +water flat. His toes clove the water like an arrow, and the rug was +torn from his grasp. The water crashed together over his head with +stunning force. After that it seemed to Murray that he didn't care. It +didn't matter that his eyes stung—that his throat was filled with +bitter alkali. All of his sensations merged in an all-pervading, +comfortable warmth. There was a feeling of flowing blackness, of time +standing still.</p> + +<p>Murray's return to consciousness was far less pleasant. His entire +body was a crying pain: every internal organ that he knew of harbored +an ache of its own. He groaned, and by that token knew that he was +breathing.</p> + +<p>As unwillingly he struggled back to consciousness he realized that he +was inside a rock cave, lying on a thin, folded fabric that might well +be the rug that had served as an emergency parachute. He could see the +irregular arch of the cave opening, could catch hints of rough stone +on the interior.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>e sat up with an effort. There was a vile taste in his mouth, and he +looked around for something to drink. There was a desert water bottle +standing on the floor beside him. That meant he had been found and +rescued by some Martian desert rat who had probably witnessed his +fall. He rinsed out his mouth with clean, sweet spring water from the +bottle, drank freely. His stomach promptly took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> advantage of the +opportunity to clear itself of the alkali, and Murray, controlling his +desire to vomit, crawled outside into the blinding light of the +Martian afternoon. He saw that the cave was high up on the side of one +of the more prominent cliffs. There were many such hollowed places, +indicating that the sloping shelf on which he now lay had once been +the beach of a vast sea which at some time must have covered all but +the higher peaks of the Gray Mountains. It was, of course, the sea +that had deposited the scanty soil which here and there covered the +rocks. During geologic ages it shrunk until it all but disappeared, +leaving only a few small and bitter lakes in unexpected pockets.</p> + +<p>There was a succession of prehistoric beaches below Murray's vantage +point, marking each temporary sea level, giving the mountain a +terraced appearance. A thousand feet below was the white lake, +sluggish and dead.</p> + +<p>Murray was looking for the man who had saved him. He was able to +discern him, after a little effort, toiling up the steep slopes. He +was still nearly all the way down. He could see only that he seemed to +be dressed in white desert trousers and blouse, and that he wore a +broad-brimmed sun helmet. He was carrying something in a bag over his +shoulder. He was making the difficult ascent with practiced ease, his +body thrown well forward, making fast time for such an apparently +deliberate gait.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he desert glare hurt Murray's eyes. He closed them and fell asleep. +He awoke to the shaking of his shoulder, looked up into a +black-bearded face, a beard as fierce and luxuriant as his own. But +where Murray was bald, this man's hair was as thick and black as his +beard. He had thrown off his helmet, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> that his massive head was +outlined against the sky. His torso was thick, his shoulders broad. +Large, intelligent eyes and brilliant coral skin proclaimed the man to +be a native of Mars.</p> + +<p>The man's white teeth flashed brilliantly when he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Feeling better? Man, you can feel good to be here at all! Time and +again have I seen Scar Balta drop 'em into that lake, but you're the +first one ever to break the surface again. He gave you a break, +though. First time he ever gave anybody as much as a pocket +handkerchief to ease his fall. That lake is useful to Scar. It keeps +the bodies he gives it, and none ever turn up for evidence."</p> + +<p>Murray was still struggling with nausea. "Want to thank you," he +managed. "I got it bad enough. Ow! I feel sick!"</p> + +<p>The Martian bestirred himself. He scraped up the ancient shingle, +making a little pillow of sand for Murray's head. The Sun was already +nearing the western horizon, and its heat was no longer excessive. +Murray watched through half-closed lids as the big man descended a +short distance, returning with an armful of short, greasy shrubs. He +broke the shrub into bits, made a neat stack; stacked a larger ring of +fuel around this, until he had a flat conical pile about eight inches +high and two feet in diameter.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">F</span>rom a pocket safe he procured a tiny fire pellet. This he moistened +with saliva and quickly dropped into the center of his fuel stack. The +pellet began to glow fiercely, throwing off an intense heat. In a few +seconds the fuel caught, burning briskly and without smoke.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't dare do this in the open," the Martian explained, "if this +stuff gave off any smoke at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> all. The pulpwood mounds down in the +flats make a nice fire, but they smoke and leave black ashes, easy to +see from the sky. Now you just rest easy. You'll feel better soon as +you get some skitties under your belt."</p> + +<p>The skitties proved to be a species of quasi-shellfish, possessing +hemispherical houses. In lieu of the other half of their shell they +attached themselves to sedimentary rocks. They were the only form of +life that had been able to adapt themselves to the chemicalization of +the ancient sea-remnant. The Martian had left them thin flakes of +rock. Now he placed the shells in the red-hot coals, and in a very +short time the skitties were turning out, crisp and appetizing. +Following his host's example, Murray speared one with the point of his +stiletto, blew on it to cool it. It proved to be delicious, although +just a trifle salty.</p> + +<p>"Drink plenty water with it," the Martian advised him. "Plenty more +about five hundred feet down. Artesian spring there. Fact is, that's +all that keeps that lake from drying up. You ought to see the mist +rise at night."</p> + +<p>Murray ate four of the skitties. Then, because the sun was getting +ready to plop down, they carefully extinguished the fire, scattering +the ashes. The I. F. P. agent felt greatly strengthened by his meal +and assisted his host with the evening chores. Nightfall found them in +their darkened cave, ready for an evening's yarning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">"I</span> took the liberty of examining your effects," the Martian began. +"Sort of introduced you to myself. The fact that you wore the Martian +army uniform was no fine recommendation to me, though I once wore it +myself. Your weapons I hid, except for the knife you needed to eat. +But you'll find them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> in that little hollow right over your head. The +fact that you're an enemy of Scar Balta is enough for the present. +That alone is repayment for the labor of carrying you up all this +way."</p> + +<p>Murray then told him of work on Mars. There was no use concealing +anything from one who was obviously a fellow fugitive, and who might +be persuaded to do away with his guest, should he have strong enough +suspicions. He told of the war cabal, of the financial-political +oligarchy and its opposing monarchists. He related his own discovery +and arrest; the pretended enlistment in Scar Balta's forces which +terminated in Scar's prompt and ruthless action. When he finished he +sensed that he had made a deep impression on his host. The latter +spoke.</p> + +<p>"What you have told me, Murray, relieves me very much," he said. "I +know that we can work together. You might as well know how I came to +be here. Perhaps I look forty or fifty years old. Well, I'm thirty. I +was news director for the televisor corporations. I didn't have to be +very smart to realize that a lot of the stuff we were ordered to send +out was propaganda, pure and simple. Propaganda for the war interests, +propaganda for the financiers. Commercial propaganda too.</p> + +<p>"Why, the stuff we put out was a crime! The service to the +teletabloids was the worst. You know how they outstrip the news; hired +actors take the part of personages in the news. Ever watch 'em? The +way they enact a murder is good, isn't it?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">"W</span>e got orders to bear down on your service too, the I. F. P. Your +crew has too many points of contact, hiking from planet to planet. The +high command couldn't see things the bankers liked, I guess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So whenever a man of the I. F. P. figured in the news we always gave +him the worst of it. We hired bums to play his part, criminals, +vicious degenerates. People believe what they see—that's the idea. I +had seen very few of your men but I knew we were giving them a dirty +deal. Orders were orders, though. We got lots of orders we didn't +understand. Then secret deals were made, and those orders +countermanded.</p> + +<p>"But the order against the I. F. P. remained standing, and we +certainly did effective work against 'em. The people had no way of +knowing the difference, either, for the company controls all means of +communication, and the I. F. P. does most of its work in out of the +way places. Why just to show you how effective our work was—the +people, in a special plebiscite, voted to withdraw their support from +the Plutonian campaign! But that was going too far; the financiers +quietly reversed that.</p> + +<p>"At the same time, we got orders to glorify Wilcox, the planetary +president. It was Wilcox signing a bill to feed the hungry—after +their property had been stripped by the taxes. It was Wilcox the +benevolent; Wilcox the superman. Wilcox, in carefully rehearsed +dramatic situations, reproduced on the stereo-screens in every home. +You know who put over the slogan, 'Wilcox, the Solar Savior?' We did +it. It was easy!" He laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>"The only time we failed was, when they wanted to end, once and for +all, the prestige of the royal house. That was after they had bought +the assassination of the claimant, his wife and their son. Didn't dare +take Princess Sira too, because she has always been a popular darling. +It would have been too raw, wiping out the whole family. They left one +claimant, see? And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> then put it up to us to discredit her!</p> + +<p>"Man! That fell down! The first attempt was very smooth, at that. But +it brought in such a storm of condemnation they had to drop that.</p> + +<p>"You can guess how we boys at the central office felt about it. No +wonder we got cynical and lost all self-respect. We couldn't have +stood it at all, but sometimes we'd put on a special party, just to +let off steam. Did we rip 'em up high and handsome? The more +outrageous the flattery we sent out, disguised as news, the more +baldly truthful we were in those early morning rehearsals, with the +mikes and telegs dead. Wilcox was our special meat.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it was foolhardy. One night a mixer in the room below us +got his numbers mixed, killing a banquet program on a trunk channel +and sending our outrageous burlesque out instead. When the poor fellow +discovered his mistake he made for the bottom of the canal. As for me, +I made for the desert. I never heard what became of the others, and +that was six years ago. I wonder if I've changed much."</p> + +<p>"What's your name?" Murray asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Tuman. Nay Tuman."</p> + +<p>"The others must have been caught. As for yourself, orders have been +sent all over the solar system to kill you on sight. They hung the +killing of that electrician on you."</p> + +<p>"That's their way!" Nay Tuman absented gloomily. "A price on my head. +They thought I'd stow away on some rocket liner, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Weren't you afraid some desert rat would give you away?"</p> + +<p>"No danger. They're just about all fugitives themselves. They hid me +till I grew this foliage. They showed me how to find food and water +where seemingly there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> none. The desert isn't sterile. Why, I know +of three or four men within fifty miles of here! Sometimes they stop +at my spring for water. As for the harness frames at the fort, those +sojers might as well be blind, considering all they miss."</p> + +<p>"You asked a while ago if you've changed much. You have. I remember +your picture. All of us studied it, because there's a 100,000 I. P. +dollar reward out. You were a slim lad then, not the fuzzy bear you +are now. How would you like to go in to Tarog with me? They seem to +have us licked now—but did you ever hear that the I. F. P. is most +dangerous when it's been thoroughly licked?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—I'm used to the solitude," Tuman demurred. "In the city +I'd be lost."</p> + +<p>But Murray won him over. He had a persuasive way with him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he next morning they started, guiding their course by the Sun. They +made no attempt to travel fast, but the going was easy. Although they +rested during the heat of the day, and buried themselves for the +nights in the sun-warmed sand, they made about fifteen miles a day. +They saw no other human being. These desert dwellers did not meet for +mere sociability.</p> + +<p>They left the mountains on the second day, descending to the lower +level of a broad, sterile plain which was studded by the low, greenish +pulp-mounds, that resembled mossy rocks more than vegetation. After +two days more they came to a region where huge blocks of stone, of the +prevailing orange or brick color, lay scattered around on the plain.</p> + +<p>"They look good to me," Tuman said. "If some patrol comes along now +we'll have plenty of cover, at least. This belt is a hundred miles +wide, maybe a little more. Good hunting there. Plenty of desert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> hogs, +as fat and as round as a ball of bovine butter. I can knock 'em over +with a rock, and you can use your neuro, in a pinch."</p> + +<p>They did, in fact, succeed in capturing one of the little creatures +soon afterward, and, dropping a moistened fire pellet on top of a +pulp-mound, soon were roasting their meat.</p> + +<p>Not once, however, did either one relax his vigilance. Almost +simultaneously they discovered the little black dot that seemed to pop +out of the irregular southern horizon. They leaped to their feet, +kicked out the fire. They would have covered the ashes with sand but +for hundreds of feet in either direction there was nothing but bare +rock.</p> + +<p>"Never mind!" Murray said. "Let's make for cover. They may think it's +an old fireplace. With rains only about once in three years that spot +will look like that indefinitely."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Tuman agreed, running along, "if they didn't see the smoke!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>s the craft neared they could make out the orange and green of the +Martian army.</p> + +<p>"From the fort," Murray guessed. "Scar Balta must have had his doubts +about me. He ordered them out to finish the job, if necessary."</p> + +<p>"It's drifting," Tuman observed. "The driving tail seems to be +missing."</p> + +<p>"Well, anyway, it's coming down, and where an army ship comes down is +no place for us."</p> + +<p>They heard the scrape of her keel as she settled down. Murray gave a +gasp of surprise.</p> + +<p>"Tuman," he muttered, "that fellow wearing the Martian uniform is an +I. F. P. agent named Hemingway. The uniform doesn't fit and I bet the +man he took it from is no longer alive. Do you know the giant with +him?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Under that dirt and blood, I'd say he's Tolto, Princess Sira's +special pet. No other man of Mars could be that big! Seven or eight +years ago—she was just a kid, you know—she picked him up in some +rural province. Kids just naturally do run to pets, don't they? And +the princess was no exception. But he looks like nobody's pet now. I'd +rather have him peg me with his neuro, though, than to take me in his +hands!"</p> + +<p>They watched as Sime and Tolto slowly walked about in widening +circles, and when they were sufficiently far away Murray and Tuman +closed in. They had no expectation of finding the ship unlocked, and +wasted no time trying to get it. Instead they climbed a flat-topped +block of stone about ten feet high. From this position they could +command, with Murray's neuro, anyone who might seek to enter the ship.</p> + +<p>"These fellows are our best hope," Murray told Tuman. "But we have to +convince 'em that we're friends first. Otherwise we're liable to be +cold meat, and cold meat can't convince anybody. Keep your head down."</p> + +<p>The necessity of lying flat, in order to keep from silhouetting +themselves against the sky, deprived them of the opportunity to see. +Nevertheless, they could tell, by the sound of their voices, when Sime +and Tolto returned. When it seemed that they were directly beneath, +Murray risked a look. There they were.</p> + +<p>Murray carefully set the little focalizer wheel for maximum diffusion. +He felt sure that it would not be fatal, considering the distance and +the physical vigor of the men he meant to hold. He pressed the +trigger.</p> + +<p>"Get down quick!" he snapped. "I'll let up for a second; you grab +their neuros."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tuman executed the order with dispatch. Stepping back, he trained the +pistols on their late owners, while Sime and Tolto, a little dazed, +stumbled to their feet. A man may argue, or take chances, when menaced +by a needle-ray, but mere bravery does not count with the neuros. All +men's nervous systems are similar, and when nerves are stricken, +courage is of no avail.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h2><i>Plot and Counter-Plot</i></h2> + + +<p>As these four men faced one another in the slanting rays of the +setting Sun far out on the desert, the planetary president, Wilcox, +sat in his office in the executive palace in South Tarog, situated, as +were so many of the public buildings, on the banks of the canal.</p> + +<p>Wilcox was in his sixties. A gray man, pedantic in his speech, his +features were strong: his nose, short and straight, somehow, expressed +his intense intolerance of opposition. His long, straight lower jaw +protruded slightly, symbolizing his tenacity, his lust for power. His +eyes, large, gray, intolerant, looked before him coldly. Wilcox was +the result of the union of two root-stocks of the human race, of a +terrestrial father, a Martian mother. He had inherited the +intelligence of both—the conscience of neither.</p> + +<p>Now he sat in a straight, severe chair, before a severe, heavy table. +Even the room seemed to frown. Wilcox's face was free of wrinkles, yet +it frowned too. He seemed not to see the flaming path the setting Sun +drew across the broad expanse of the canal, for he was thinking of +bigger things. Wilcox was a little mad, but he was a madman of +imagination and resource, and he was not the first one to control the +destinies of a world.</p> + +<p>"Waffins!" His voice rang out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> sharp and querulous. A servant, +resplendent in the palace livery of green and orange, was instantly +before him bowing low.</p> + +<p>"Who awaits our pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"Scar Balta, sire," answered Waffins, bowing low again.</p> + +<p>"We will see him."</p> + +<p>Waffins disappeared. Scar Balta came in alone, sleek as usual showing +no trace of his irritation over his long wait. He did not even glance +at the somber hangings that concealed a number of recesses in the +wall. Scar knew that guards stood back of those hangings, armed with +neuro-pistols or needle-rays as a precaution against the ever-present +menace of assassination. And of the loopholes back of these recesses, +with still other armed men, as a constant warning to any of the inner +guards whose thoughts might turn to treachery.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>car Balta bowed respectfully.</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency desired to see me?"</p> + +<p>"I wished to see you, or I should not have had you called," Wilcox +replied irritably. "I wish to have an explicit understanding with you +as to our proceeding next week at our conference with the financial +delegates. Sit here, close to me. It is not necessary for us to shout +our business to the world."</p> + +<p>Balta took the chair beside Wilcox, and they conversed in low tones.</p> + +<p>"First of all," Wilcox wanted to know, "how is your affair with the +Princess Sira progressing?"</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency knows." Balta began cautiously, "that the news +agencies have been sending out pictorial forecasts—"</p> + +<p>"Save your equivocation for others!" Wilcox interrupted sharply. "I am +aware of the propaganda work. It was by my order that the facilities +were extended to you. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> am also aware that the princess escaped from +Joro's palace. An amazing piece of bungling! Did she really escape or +is Joro forwarding some plot of his own?"</p> + +<p>"He seems genuinely disturbed. He has spent a fortune having the canal +searched by divers, flying ships and surface craft. If Sira fails to +marry me Joro's life ambition will fail, for the hopes of the +monarchists will then be forever lost."</p> + +<p>"True; but his Joro some larger plan? His is a mind I do not +understand, and therefore I must always fear. A man with no ambition +for himself, but only for an abstract. It is impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Not impossible!" Balta insisted. "Joro is a strange man. He believes +that the monarchy would improve conditions for the people. And, Your +Excellency, wouldn't I be a good king?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">W</span>ilcox looked at him morosely. His low voice carried a chill.</p> + +<p>"Do not anticipate events, my friend! There are certain arrangements +to be made with the bankers regarding the election of a solar +governor!" His large gray eyes burned. "Solar governor! Never in +history has there been a governor of the entire solar system. Destiny +shapes all things to her end, and then produces a man to fill her +needs!"</p> + +<p>"And that man sits here beside me, Balta added adroitly. Wilcox did +not sense the irony of the quick take-up. He had been about to +complete the sentence himself. But his mind was practical.</p> + +<p>"The bankers must be satisfied. The terrestrial war must be assured +before they will lend their support."</p> + +<p>"It is practically assured now," Balta insisted. "Our propaganda +bureau has been at work incessantly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> and public feeling is being +worked up to a satisfactory pitch. Only last night two terrestrial +commercial travelers were torn to pieces by a mob on suspicion that +they were spies."</p> + +<p>"Good!" Wilcox approved. "Let there be no interruption in the work. +Our terrestrial agents report excellent results on Earth. They +succeeded in poisoning the water supply of the city of Philadelphia. +Thousands killed, and the blame placed on Martian spies. Our agents +found it necessary to inspire a peace bloc in the pan-terrestrial +senate in order to keep them from declaring war forthwith. But these +things are of no concern to you. Have you made the necessary +arrangements with the key men of the army?"</p> + +<p>"I have, Your Excellency. They are chafing for action. The overt act +will be committed at the appointed time, and the terrestrial liner +will be disintegrated without trace."</p> + +<p>"And have you made arrangements for the disposal of the ship's +records?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">"O</span>ur own ship? I thought it best to have a time bomb concealed aboard. +That way not only the records will be destroyed but there will be no +men left to talk when the post-war investigating commission comes +around."</p> + +<p>"Well managed!" Wilcox approved shortly. "See that there is no +failure!" He dismissed the young man by withdrawing to his inner self, +where he rioted among stupendous thoughts.</p> + +<p>Scar Balta emerged into the streets, brightly illuminated with the +coming of night, and his thoughts were far from easy. The absence of +the princess was a serious handicap—might very easily be disastrous. +With her consent and help it would have been so simple!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> The people, +entirely unrealizing that their emotions were being directed into just +the channels desired, could most easily be reached through the +princess.</p> + +<p>First the war, of course, and then, when the threatened business +uprising against financial control had been crushed, a planet-wide +sentimental spree over the revival of the monarchy and the marriage of +the beautiful and popular princess. As prince consort, Scar would then +find it a simple matter to maneuver himself into position as authentic +king.</p> + +<p>But without the princess! Ah, that was something else again! For the +first time in his devious and successful career, Scar Balta felt +distinctly unhappy. He had schemed, suffered and murdered to put +himself in reach of this glittering opportunity, and he would +inevitably lose it unless he could find Sira.</p> + +<p>In the midst of his unhappy reflections he thought of Mellie.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira knew well that Wasil adored her. He had for her the same dog-like +devotion that Mellie had. She knew she could ask for his life and he +would give it. And what she had planned for him was almost equivalent +to asking for his life.</p> + +<p>She told him as much, sitting beside him on a bench in the garden. His +smooth coral face was alight, his large eyes inspired.</p> + +<p>"I will do just as you have commanded me!" he declared solemnly, and +would have kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>"You must not only do it; you must keep every detail to yourself. You +must not even tell Mellie. Do you promise?"</p> + +<p>"I promise!"</p> + +<p>She kissed him on the forehead. "Farewell, Wasil. I have been here two +days already—far longer than prudence allows. They will be here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +looking for me. Have you any money?"</p> + +<p>Wasil produced a roll of I. P. scrip; handed it to her.</p> + +<p>"Kiss Mellie for me," she called, as she slipped out of the garden. +She was still dressed in the coarse laborer's attire that she had +bought on the trading boat, and mingled readily with the crowds in the +streets. She hoped she would not meet Mellie, for the girl's devotion +might outweigh her judgment.</p> + +<p>The rest of that day Sira prowled about the city. Mingling with the +common people, she came to have a new insight in their struggles, +their sorrows. Passing the walls of her own palace, now locked and +sealed, she felt, strangely, resentment that there should be such +piled-up wealth while people all around lacked almost the necessities +of life.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>he surprised herself, also, by a changing attitude toward the life +ambition of Prince Joro. The old man's discussions of social +conditions that could be corrected by a benevolent monarch had always +before seemed to her merely academic and without great interest. Such +co-operation as she had given him was motivated entirely by personal +ambition. Now she recalled some of Joro's theories, reviewed them in +her mind, half consenting.</p> + +<p>Always she would strike a barrier when she came to Scar Balta. The +more she thought of him the more he repelled her. She puzzled over +that. Scar was quite personable.</p> + +<p>Tarog, every industrial city along the equatorial belt, and even the +remotest provinces, were seething with war talk. The teletabloids at +the street corners always had intent audiences. Sira watched one of +them. Disease germs had been found in a shipment of fruit juices from +the Earth. The teletabloids<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> showed, in detail, diabolical looking +terrestrials in laboratory aprons infecting the juices. Then came +shocking clinical views of the diseases produced. Men, on turning +away, growled deep in their throats and women chattered shrilly. The +parks were milling with crowds who came to hear the patriotic +speakers.</p> + +<p>There was hardly anyone at the stereo-screens, where the news of real +importance was given.</p> + +<p>"President Wilcox announced to-day that an interplanetary conference +of financiers will be held in his office three days from to-day, +beginning at the third hour after sunrise. President Wilcox, whose +efforts have been unremitting to prevent the war which daily seems +more inevitable, declared that the situation may yet be saved unless +some overt act occurs." At the same time the device showed a +three-dimensional picture of the planetary president, impressive, +dominating, stern with a sternness that could mean almost anything.</p> + +<p>Sira, hurrying home to an inexpensive lodging house, thought:</p> + +<p>"Three days from to-day! I have done what I could. The hopes of the +solar system now rest with Wasil. I am only a helpless spectator."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>arog awaited the conference on the morrow bedecked like a bride. The +Martian flag, orange and green, fluttered everywhere. On both sides of +the canal the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares were restless with +pedestrians, and the air was swarming with taxicabs. Excitement was +universal, and business was good.</p> + +<p>The glare of the twin cities could be seen far out in the cold desert. +Four men, stumbling along wearily, occasionally estimated the distance +with wearied eyes and plodded onward.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a long silence Murray remarked:</p> + +<p>"It's just as well that the levitators gave out when they did. We were +drifting mighty slow—making practically no time at all. Probably we'd +have been spotted if we'd gone much further."</p> + +<p>"Yeh?" Sime Hemingway conceded doubtfully. "But they may spot us +anyway. We have no passes, and none of us looks very pretty. As for +Tolto, we could hide a house as easy as him."</p> + +<p>"But we must go on," said Tuman, the Martian. "Yonder lights seem too +bright, too numerous for an ordinary day. There's some kind of +celebration."</p> + +<p>They trudged on for several hours more. Although weariness made their +feet leaden and pressed on their eyelids, they dared not halt. Each +one nursed some secret dread. Tolto thought of his princess, his child +goddess, and mentally fought battle with whomever stood between him +and her. Sime and Murray saw in those lights only war, swift and +horrible. Tuman imagined a city full of enemies, ruthless and +powerful.</p> + +<p>Gradually, as they came closer, the lights began to go out one by one. +The city was going to bed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>n hour later they came to an illuminated post marking the end of a +street. A teletabloid was affixed to this post, buzzing, but its +stereo-screen blank. Murray found a coin, inserted it in the slot.</p> + +<p>"Marriage of the Princess Sira and Scar Balta will be held immediately +after the financial congress," the machine intoned briskly, and in +time with its running comments it began to display pictures.</p> + +<p>Sime, watching indifferently, caught his breath. It seemed to him that +he knew this girl, who appeared to be walking toward him up a stately +garden alley. She came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> steadily forward with a queenly, effortless +stride. And now it seemed as if she had seen him, for she turned and +looked straight into his eyes. It seemed that her expression changed +from laughing to pleading. And he recognized the girl with the +stiletto whom he had caught in his hotel room.</p> + +<p>He said nothing, however. He could hardly explain the feeling of +sadness that came over him. He stood silent, while the others +commented excitedly over the overshadowing war news.</p> + +<p>"It's all in the box," Tuman said gloomily. "Many times I've helped +cook up something like this. The boys in the central offices are +laughing, or swearing, as the cast may be. The poor devils don't own +their own souls, if they're equipped with any. I'd rather be here, +expecting to be thrown into a cell by daylight!" He shivered in the +night chill.</p> + +<p>They ran into a little luck when they needed it most. A roving taxi +swooped down upon them, hailed them for fares. They flew the rest of +the way in. Their luck held. A city policeman, noting their stumbling +walk as they lurched into a cheap hotel, did not trouble them for +their passes. He had seen many such men that night, soldier and +civilian, with clothes bloody and torn. The excitement of the day, +coupled with the fact that nearly everyone carried arms, had led to +numerous fights, not a few of which ended fatally.</p> + +<p>"Merclite!" grinned the policeman, suppressing a hiccup of his own. +"And besides, that big 'un would make two of me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h2><i>One Thousand to One</i></h2> + + +<p>The scheme that Sira had imparted to Wasil was simple—simple and +direct. Moreover, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> sure, provided it succeeded. Its execution +was something else again. Its chances were, mathematically expressed, +about as follows:</p> + +<p>If every single detail worked as expected, a great and smashing +success. Ratio: 1:1,000.</p> + +<p>If one single detail failed, immediate and certain death for Wasil. +Ratio: 1,000:1.</p> + +<p>The princess knew that the power of Wilcox, his supporting oligarchy +and the interplanetary bankers, was all based on the skilful use of +propaganda. If the people of Mars and of Earth knew the forces that +were influencing them, their revulsion would be swift and terrible. +There would be no war. There would be events painful and disastrous to +their present rulers, but a great betterment of humanity's condition.</p> + +<p>The key to the situation was the news monopoly, the complete control +of all broadcasting—of the stereo-screens, the teletabloids—that +colored all events to suit the ends of the ruling group. The people of +Mars as well as of Earth were capable of intelligent decision, of +straight thinking, but they rarely had an opportunity to learn the +truth.</p> + +<p>They had now, by a knowing play on their emotions, directed by +psychologists, been wrought to a point of frenzy where they demanded +war. Their motives were of the highest in many individuals—pure +patriotism, the desire to make the solar system safe for civilization. +The bright, flaming spirit of self-sacrifice burned clear above the +haze and smoke of passion.</p> + +<p>What would happen if all these eager millions of two neighboring +planets were to learn the true state of affairs? Sira knew what +transpired in those secret conventions, when double guards stood at +all doors and at the infrequent windows; when all communication was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +cut off and the twin lenses of the telestereos and the microphones +were dead. Prince Joro had told her, with weary cynicism. But Joro had +also told her that the oligarchs guarded this vital and vulnerable +point with painstaking care.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira had reached inside their first defense, however. Wasil was loyal +to his salt, but he had both loyalty and affection for Princess Sira. +As the day of the interplanetary financial conference leaped into +being, he was on his way to the executive hall that lay resplendently +on the south canal bank, ready to lay down his life.</p> + +<p>The hall proper was really only the west wing of the magnificent, +high-arched building. Its brilliant, polished metal facade reflected +the light of the rising Sun redly. The east wing, besides housing +various minor executive offices, also contained the complicated +apparatus for handling the propaganda broadcastings. On the roof, +towering high into the air, was a huge, globular structure, divided +into numerous zones, from which were sent various wave bands to the +news screens both on Mars and on Earth. The planetary rulers had taken +no chances of tampering with their propaganda. The central offices, +where news and propaganda were dramatized, were in another building, +but as everything from that source had to pass the reviewing officer, +a trusted member of the oligarchy himself, in his locked and guarded +office, this did not introduce any danger of the wrong information +going out to the public.</p> + +<p>When Wasil reached the broadcasting plant, he was admitted by four +armed guards. He locked the door behind him, to find his associates +already busy, testing circuits and apparatus. Stimson, the chief +engineer, was sitting at his desk studying orders.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span> few minutes later he called the men to him. There were three others +besides Wasil: young Martians, keen, efficient, and, like most +technies, loyal to the government that employed them.</p> + +<p>"Sure are careful to-day," Stimson grunted, scratching his snow-white +hair, which was stiffly upstanding and showed a coral tinge from his +scalp. "Must be mighty important to get this out right. Wilcox +personally wrote the order. If any man fumbles to-day, it's the polar +penal colony for him!" The Sun-loving old Martian shivered.</p> + +<p>"And here's another bright idea. Only one man's to be allowed in the +plant after the circuits are all tested! How'n the name of Pluto will +he handle things if a fuse blows? But what do they care about that! +We're technies! We're supposed to know everything, and never have +anything go wrong!"</p> + +<p>"But why only one man?" cried Scarba, one of the associate engineers. +"It's asking too much! I'll not take it on, far as I'm concerned. My +resignation will be ready soon's I can get a blank!"</p> + +<p>"I too! I'm with you, Scarba!" "We work like dogs to get everything in +first-line condition, and then—" The hard-working and uncomplaining +technies were outspoken in their resentment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see your point," Stimson agreed. "I could stand Balta, but +Wilcox is just one too many for me. But do you boys think for one +minute we could get away with a strike?" He laughed angrily. "I can +remember when the technies were able to demand their guild rights. But +you boys weren't even born then. Now, let's get this straight:</p> + +<p>"We are going to do just as we are told. Wilcox, of course, never +explains an order, but the reason for having only one operator on the +job is simply to concentrate responsibility on that one man. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +will be no excuse if he fails. Before the convention starts, and after +it is over, there will be a message to send out. The convention itself +will be secret, as usual. During the convention, there will be some +kind of filler stuff from the central office."</p> + +<p>"Yeh!" snorted one of the men. "That's the dope, all right. One of us +is stuck, but if it's me I'll walk out and head for the desert."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>timson looked at him with a sardonic smile. "I forgot to mention: the +doors will be locked and barred, and of course there's no such thing +as windows."</p> + +<p>Wasil whistled. "They're sure careful. Well, Stimson. I haven't a +thing to do all day. I'll take it on."</p> + +<p>They all looked at him, not sure that they had heard him right.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, sonny?" Stimson said slowly. "Too much Merclite +last night? You're shaking!"</p> + +<p>"It's an opening!" Wasil insisted.</p> + +<p>"An opening to tramp ice at the pole for the rest of your life!"</p> + +<p>"All right. I'll chance it!"</p> + +<p>They consented, without very much argument, to let Wasil have the +dangerous responsibility. At 2:30, two and a half hours after sunrise +by the Martian reckoning, he signed a release acknowledging all +circuits to be in proper order, and was locked behind the heavy doors, +alone with a maze of complicated apparatus and cables that filled the +large room from floor to ceiling.</p> + +<p>Now it was done! Chance had thrown Wasil into a position where he +could, without great danger of failure, carry out his plan. But at the +same time things had so fallen that he, Wasil, must now die, +regardless of the outcome!</p> + +<p>If he succeeded in broadcasting the proceedings of the convention, and +if they had the effect of arousing the public against Wilcox,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> there +would still be no escape for Wasil. Wilcox, or Scar Balta, would come +straight for this prison, neuro-pistol or needle-ray in hand!</p> + +<p>Even if he should fail, death would be his portion for the attempt.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>o thinking, Wasil sat down and carefully re-checked the circuits. The +filler broadcast from central office must be sent to the twin cities +of Tarog. Otherwise the convention would learn too soon what was +happening, and would interrupt its business. The thousands who waited +outside on the broad terraces must be regaled with entertainment, as +had been originally planned.</p> + +<p>But as for the rest of Mars, and Earth, they would get the truth for +once. Those bankers would speak frankly, in the snug isolation of the +hall. No supervision here. Conventions, empty politeness, would be +forgotten. Sharp tirades, biting facts, threats, veiled and open, +would pass across the table between these masters of money and men.</p> + +<p>But this time they would be pitilessly bared to the worlds!</p> + +<p>Feverishly, Wasil inspected the repeater. It was a little-used device +that would, an hour or two later, as desired, give out the words and +pictures fed into it. Although Tarog would not learn the convention's +secrets as quickly as the rest of Mars, or Earth, Tarog would learn. +Wasil threw over the links and clamped down the bolts with a grunt of +satisfaction. When a man is about to die, he wants to do his last job +well.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a red light glowed, and a voice spoke.</p> + +<p>"Special broadcast. Tarog circuit only!"</p> + +<p>"Mornin', Lennings," Wasil remarked to the face in the screen. "All +set? Go ahead."</p> + +<p>The central office man held up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> a thick bundle of I. P. scrip, smiled +pleasantly, saying:</p> + +<p>"Somebody in North or South Tarog, or in the surrounding territory, is +going to be 100,000 I. P. dollars richer by to-morrow. How would you +like to have 100,000 dollars? You all would like this reward. It +represents the price of a snug little space cruiser for your family; a +new home on the canal; maybe an island of your own. It would take you +on a trip to the baths of Venus and leave you some money over. Of +course you all want this reward!</p> + +<p>"Now, if you'll excuse me a moment—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>he man's picture faded, and the screen glowed with the life and +beauty of Princess Sira—Sira, smiling and alluring.</p> + +<p>"You all know this young lady," the announcer's voice went on. "The +beloved and lovable Sweetheart of Mars, the bride of Scar Balta—"</p> + +<p>The Martian's sleek and well-groomed head appeared beside that of the +girl.</p> + +<p>"—Scar Balta, whose services to Mars have been great beyond his +years; who, in the threatening war with Earth, would be one of our +greatest bulwarks of security."</p> + +<p>The announcer's face appeared again, stern and sorrowful.</p> + +<p>"A great disaster has befallen these lovers—and all the world loves a +lover, you know. Some thugs, believed by the police to be terrestrial +spies, have kidnapped the princess from the palace of her uncle, +Prince Joro of Hanlon. It is believed that they had drugged her and +hypnotized her, so that she has forgotten her duty to her lover and +her country."</p> + +<p>The green light flashed, and Wasil broke the circuit. The central man +lingered a moment, favoring Wasil with a long wink.</p> + +<p>"What a liar you're getting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> be!" Wasil remarked coldly. But the +central man, not offended, laughed.</p> + +<p>So they were offering a reward! And urging further treachery as an act +of patriotism! Wasil was not too much excited, however. The disguise +the princess had chosen would probably serve her well. Besides, she +had promised to keep in retirement as much as possible.</p> + +<p><i>Clack! Clack!</i> The electrically controlled lock of the door was +opening. Only Wilcox knew the wave combination. Wasil felt a chill of +apprehension as the door opened and Scar Balta strode in. He was fully +armed, dressed in the military uniform; but the former colonel was now +wearing on his shoulder straps the concentric rings denoting a +general's rank.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h2><i>Giant Against Giant</i></h2> + + +<p>Although Princess Sira had promised to keep out of the way, she could +not resist the powerful attraction of the executive hall, in which, on +this day, the fate of two planets was to be decided. As the crowds of +people began to drift toward the hall, she joined them, still dressed +in her laboring man's shapeless garments, the broad sun-helmet hiding +her face effectively. Her long, black hair was concealed under the +clothing. Having nearly been drawn into a brawl the day before, she +now carried a stained but still very serviceable short sword that she +had purloined from a merclite-drunken reveler in a gutter.</p> + +<p>Thousands were already on the terraces surrounding the government +buildings. They were milling about, for it was still too soon after +the night's chill to sit down or lie on the rubbery red sward. Taxis +were bringing swarms over the canal from North Tarog, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> water +vehicles were crossing over in almost unbroken lines.</p> + +<p>Already the merclite vendors were busy, making their surreptitious way +from group to group, selling the highly intoxicating and legally +proscribed gum that would lift the users from the sordid, miserable +plane of their daily existence to exalted, reckless heights.</p> + +<p>War vessels now began to course overhead, their solid, heavily plated +hulls glinting dully in the sun. Their levitator helices moaned +dismally, and as their long, slanting shadows slid over the assembled +thousands, it seemed that they cast a prophetic pall; that there was a +hush of foreboding.</p> + +<p>But the psychological expert high in a nearby tower immediately noted +the slump in the psycho-radiation meter whose trumpet-shaped antenna +pointed downward. At the turn of the dial the air was filled with +throbbing martial music, and the expert noted with contemptuous +satisfaction that the needle now stood even higher than before.</p> + +<p>Sira, caught like all the rest of the people in that stirring flood of +music, felt her own pulse leap. But she thought:</p> + +<p>"This is the day! Wasil, could I only be with you!"</p> + +<p>She thought sadly of Joro, whose shrewd observations and counsel she +missed more than she had ever thought possible.</p> + +<p>"Poor, dear Joro! You would be a better king than any man you could +ever find! I wish I could have done as you wished me to."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>here was a stir near the main entrance of the hall. A large private +yacht was slowly descending. She was bedecked with the green and gold +bunting of the terrestrial government, the green and orange of Mars. +Her hull glittered goldenly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Back!" shouted the captain of a Martian guard detail, the soldiers +running with pennant-decked ropes looping after them. The crowd surged +against the barrier, but more guards were sent out as reinforcements, +until they had cleared a space for the ship and a lane to the hall +entrance.</p> + +<p>"Mars greets the distinguished guests from our sister planet!" boomed +the giant loudspeaker in the tower. Immediately afterward came the +strains of the song—"Terrestria—Fair Green Terrestria"—in a rushing +torrent of sound. But the frank and fluent melody was strangely +distorted, with unpleasant minor turns and harsh whisperings of +menace, and the tower psychologist noted a further rise of the needle.</p> + +<p>There was a diversion of interest now. The mob of first arrivals, as +well as the ever-freshening stream of newcomers, was moving toward the +teletabloids and the more conservative stereo-screens. On this +occasion they were both carrying the same message, however. Sira heard +the propaganda division's latest fabrication about her alleged +kidnaping by terrestrial agents. She needed no radiation meter to tell +her of the intense wave of hatred for the Earth that swept over the +densely packed area. And this was followed by another emotion—a wave +of cupidity—set up by the offer of 100,000 I. P. dollars reward for +her return. She saw about her faces greedy, faces wistful, even +compassionate faces. But outnumbering them by far were faces set in +truculent mold.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ira moved restlessly from place to place, feeling more deeply +depressed with every moment. She felt as if she had been left entirely +out of life, friendless, alone. Among all these thousands she had no +friend. It seemed to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> that never before had there been such a +paucity of monarchists. Sharp-featured, with a wire-drawn manner of +efficiency and resolution about them, they had constituted almost +another race among this practically enslaved people, maintaining for +themselves a tolerable position despite the opposition of the +oligarchy. Now, however, they seemed to have vanished. All that +morning Sira had not seen one. She would not have disclosed her +identity, but it would have been comforting to see one of those +friends of old.</p> + +<p>She was stopped by a jam. Looking between the bodies of two large and +sweaty men, she realized that someone was standing on a surveyor's +marking block, delivering a speech.</p> + +<p>"The great Pantheus has so decreed it," the speaker was shouting in a +cracked voice that at times dribbled into a whine. "We must shake off +forever this menace from the green planet—this planet dominated by +wicked women.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my friends, last night they came to me in dreams, these pale +women of the green star. They tempted me and they mocked me. They laid +their cold hands on my throbbing brow, and their cold hands burned me!</p> + +<p>"Oh great Pantheus! How I have suffered! The creatress who in her +malice created this wicked world beyond the gulf—"</p> + +<p>The Martians were entertained by the quavering denunciation. Some +grinned broadly at one another; others placed their thumbs in their +ears and wiggled their fingers. But the old man continued. Finally, +two of the foremost spectators, sensing the tiny body crowded between +them, stepped aside.</p> + +<p>"Don't miss this, my little man. Listen, and maybe you will laugh +yourself a little bigger." He gave Sira a gentle shove, so that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +almost stumbled over the block on which the speaker was standing.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span>nd that old man suddenly stopped talking, so that his toothless mouth +sucked in, then stood agape. The rheumy eyes rolled, and a wisp of +dirty gray hair strayed across his gnarled face. He lifted a shaking +hand, pointed a knotty finger.</p> + +<p>"There she is!" he croaked. "There she is! I claim—"</p> + +<p>"There she is!" guffawed a tipsy merclite chewer. "The creatress, come +to punish you! Cut off his nose, O creatress, and stuff it into his +mouth!"</p> + +<p>There were shouts of laughter, a surge to see better.</p> + +<p>"No! No! I, Deacon Homms, claim the reward!" the old man screamed. +"She is the princess; I know her. She came out of the canal to tempt +me! She is the Princess Sira. Now shall I at last enter the Palace of +Joys! I claim the 100,000 dollars!"</p> + +<p>But he still had to catch Sira. The crowd, suddenly sensing that this +old fanatic might be telling the truth, rushed in savagely, each eager +to seize the prize, or at least to establish some claim to a share of +the award. Men and women went down, to be trampled mercilessly. +Inevitably they got in one another's way, and soon swords were rising +redly, falling again.</p> + +<p>"Guards! Guards! A riot!" Some were fleeing the scene; others rushing +in, grateful for the opportunity to expend excess pugnacity. A fresh +platoon of soldiers tumbled out of a kiosk leading to an underground +barracks like ants out of a disturbed nest. They deployed, holding +their neuro-pistols before them, focalizers set for maximum +dispersion, therefore non-fatal—merely of paralyzing intensity. Some +of the rioters now turned to run, but others persisted, willing to be +ren<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>dered unconscious, just so it would be near the valuable princess.</p> + +<p>A few moments later the captain of the guard surveyed the mass of +paralysed bodies and the sword-slashed corpses, all intermingled.</p> + +<p>"What's this all about?" he demanded of a scarred, evil-looking fellow +who was the first to rise to his elbow.</p> + +<p>"The Princess Sira! I claim the reward. In there! She stood right +there!"</p> + +<p>"Get out, you galoon!" the captain growled, knocking the fellow +unconscious with the heavy barrel of his neuro. "Sort 'em out there. +Moggins, Schkamitch. On the double. You will share, according to +rank."</p> + +<p>But eagerly as they searched, they did not find Sira. Creeping between +the legs of the maddened reward seekers, she had fought clear, had +gained the shelter of a tall, red conical tree whose closely laced +branches pressed her to the ground, clinging to the greasy trunk.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>he realized that her sanctuary was none too secure. There would +surely be a methodical search after the first excitement, and she +would be discovered. She had lost her sun-helmet, but nevertheless she +must risk making a break. A large proportion of the people were +wearing such helmets. Perhaps she could snatch one.</p> + +<p>But before such an opportunity came, she saw a chance to dash to a +nearby clump of shrubbery. On the other side was a long hedge, leading +to an alley back of a group of warehouses. If she could gain this +alley, she felt sure she would be safe for the time being.</p> + +<p>All over the park, which was thirty or forty acres in extent, there +were minor riots, as some unfortunate was mistaken for the princess +and blindly struggled for.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sira lost no time. She scuttered along the hedge like a frightened +kangrat. But as she crossed a small open space, a stentorian voice +shouted:</p> + +<p>"There she is! That's her! The princess!"</p> + +<p>Out of the corner of her eye she saw him, running toward her +lumberingly, his great arms outspread. Tuman had been wrong in saying +that on all of Mars there was no man as big as Tolto. This one was, +and he looked more formidable. Instead of Tolto's normally +good-natured face, this one looked like an enraged terrestrial +gorilla, although at the moment it was really expressing joy and +eagerness.</p> + +<p>Several other men joined the chase, and then scores. They were fleeter +of foot than the ape-man, but as they passed him in the narrow alley +he smashed them to the pavement with casual blows of his terrifying +hands. Thereafter he was undisputedly in the lead; the others content +to follow in his rear, although many were armed, and the giant was +not.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>his was an advantage to Sira. The whole mob was slowed by the +lumbering pace of the ape-man, and she was able to keep in the lead +without difficulty. Several times some of her pursuers ran ahead by +other routes, intent on snatching her into some doorway. But each time +she slashed at them with her sword, springing past.</p> + +<p>She had not run very far when her fear of another danger was realized. +There was a high, keen whistle overhead, and a scouting police car +flashed near. Under the neuro-pistols both hounds and hare would be +paralyzed, and she would be easily taken. Sira longed for one of these +handy weapons herself, but they were too expensive: she had been +unable to secure one.</p> + +<p>Now the police car was coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> back. The sliding forward door was +drawn back, and a man was leaning out, neuro alert. Judging the +distance expertly, he pulled the trigger, and a hundred men fell +unconscious.</p> + +<p>"Got 'em!" he snapped over his shoulder. "The princess as well. Down +quick!"</p> + +<p>Sira, spared because of the officer's unwillingness to take a chance +on injuring her, leaped through a gap in a wall and sprinted through a +garden smothered with thick, leathery-leaved weeds, some of them +higher than her head. She almost laughed with relief, but as she +flitted around the corner of a house toward the street she saw the +gorilla faced giant again in pursuit, and beyond the garden wall the +police ship was just settling to the ground.</p> + +<p>It just seemed to be raining giants that day. Sira ran out of a narrow +gate at the front of the house into the street, to be stopped by a +tremendous human framework as solid and unyielding as a mountain. She +stepped back, drew her sword—</p> + +<p>"Softly! Softly!" a rumbling bass implored. "Doesn't the Princess Sira +recognize her servant, Tolto?"</p> + +<p>"Tolto!" All at once the tautness went out of her, and Sira leaned +against the wall, divided between laughing and crying.</p> + +<p>"Tolto and his good friends were looking for you," the big man rumbled +anxiously. "The teletabloids said there was a riot coming—"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>e got no further. The gorilla-faced pursuer catapulted himself +sideways through the portal, being too wide to go through in the +regular way. He emitted a raucous shout of triumph:</p> + +<p>"I got her! It's her, all right! I claim—"</p> + +<p>As he reached out his enormous sun-blackened arm there was a thud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +that seemed to shake the ground. Instantly enraged, the man's little +red-rimmed eyes jerked quietly to the dealer of that shocking blow. +Then the conical little head sank between the bulging shoulders, the +long, thick arms bowed outward, and the ape-man launched himself at +Tolto.</p> + +<p>That was a battle! On the one side devotion, simple-minded loyalty and +a fighting heart in a body of such mechanical perfection as Mars had +never seen before or since. On the other side a primal beast, just as +huge, rage-driven, atavistic, savage.</p> + +<p>Fists as large as an average man's head, or larger, crashed against +unprotected face and body. Gigantic muscles rippled and crackled. +Blows echoed from wall to house and seemed to thud against the hearts +of the spectators.</p> + +<p>It was as if time and memory had come to a standstill. The present was +not, nor present ambitions and duties. The soldiers came plunging out +into the street, swords in their hands, but they stopped to watch. +Sime, Murray and Tuman, used to instant and automatic battle, watched. +A struggle so titanic, by tacit, by unconsidered consent, must be left +to decide its own course.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">T</span>olto seemed to be slowly gaining an advantage. During his novitiate +as a palace guard the other men had instructed him in the science of +their pastime-fighting. Although he scorned to guard against the blows +of his savage antagonist, he placed his own punches more shrewdly, +more effectively. The ape-faced one, through a red film, sensed that +he was being beaten, and that this fight would end in death.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he changed his tactics. Rushing in, he threw his arms around +Tolto's great torso. He opened his jaws, and his long yellow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> fangs +bit into the flesh of Tolto's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Tolto, taken slightly by surprise, met this new menace promptly. +Placing his powerful forearm against the battered, hairy face, he +attempted to bend the head back. But it was so small, in proportion, +and so slippery with blood, that he was unable to dislodge it.</p> + +<p>So Tolto matched brute strength against brute strength. His arms +encircled his enemy's body, and the tremendous muscles of his +shoulders and body began to arch.</p> + +<p>So they stood poised for a few seconds, as if on the brink of +eternity.</p> + +<p>"Go-o-o-wie!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, awed.</p> + +<p>Slowly, like the agonizingly slow plastic creep of metal under great +pressure, the gorilla-faced giant was yielding. His dark skin became +mottled. His breath came gaspingly. His rope-knotted arms slipped a +little.</p> + +<p>But it was not in him to surrender, which might still have saved his +life. With a vicious twisting motion of his head he tried to drag his +fangs through the thick muscles of Tolto's shoulder. The wound began +to bleed more freely, choking the savage at each labored breath.</p> + +<p>Now Tolto began to walk forward. Always his antagonist had to yield a +little, unwillingly, grudgingly, just enough to keep the paralyzing +pressure on his spine from becoming unbearable. And slowly, +inexorably, Tolto followed. His arms tightened. His leg slipped +suddenly between the ape-faced man's supports. Tolto grunted. The +sound seemed to labor upward from his innermost being, his body's +protest as he called upon it for its last reserve of strength.</p> + +<p>Like an echo, there was a dull crack, a brief, agonized moan from the +ape-faced one; and the savage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> unknown giant slumped to the pavement, +dead with a broken back. Tolto staggered to the wall, breathing +deeply.</p> + +<p>"Man, what a fight! What a <i>fight</i>!" The young Martian captain passed +a shaking hand over his face. The battle had stirred him more deeply +than he wanted to admit. But in a few seconds he came out of his +mental maze.</p> + +<p>"Attention! All right, men, you're under arrest. As for the girl—"</p> + +<p>"As for the girl," came a clear feminine voice, as Sira stepped out +from the shelter of a buttress some dozen feet away, "—the girl took +advantage of your preoccupation to relieve you of your neuros. As you +see I have two of them in my hand. The rest of them are over by that +wall. No! Don't try to rush! You are welcome to your swords, but they +are useless here."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h2>"<i>He Must Be a Man of Earth</i>"</h2> + + +<p>Friend and foe looked stupefied. But they were used to the give and +take of battle. That this girl should disarm a detachment of soldiers +while they and their own men were absorbed in such a common thing as a +fight struck them as humorous. They laughed.</p> + +<p>"This is a better break then we deserve," Sime said, grinning with a +trace of sheepishness. "Captain, you take your men across the street +and hold 'em there. We're going to borrow your car. No funny stuff!" +Civilians were flooding into the streets. There would soon be a mob.</p> + +<p>"We will not," replied the captain, "try any funny stuff. Some day, my +friend, I hope to open you up with my sword," he added.</p> + +<p>"By all means," Sime agreed pleasantly. "My time is pretty well +occupied, but there's no telling when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> I may meet you again, in my +business. Good day, Captain!"</p> + +<p>Tuman stayed at the front gate with his neuro while the others +struggled through the weedy garden to the police ship in the alley, +rejoining them as they were ready to rise.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">A</span> crowd had gathered. If they wondered at the appearance of these +ragged, scarred and bewhiskered men; at sweat and blood-covered giant +Tolto; the obviously high-bred girl in the laboring man's garments, +they wisely refrained from comment or action, in deference to the +neuros with which the party was bristling.</p> + +<p>Once inside and safely in the air, they had time to breathe. Murray, +with a gallantry that sat ill on the scarecrow figure he was, cleared +matters up a trifle.</p> + +<p>"Princess Sira? As I thought. Princess, or Your Highness, to be +formal, I am your humble and disreputable servant, Lige Murray, of the +Interplanetary Flying Police. Likewise this gentleman behind the +brush—Sime Hemingway. You know Tuman? You've missed something, Your +Highness! And Tolto! Lucky man!"</p> + +<p>Sira recovered quickly from her reaction following the fight. She +found a first-aid kit, bandaged Tolto's wounded shoulder skilfully and +quickly. She had given no sign of recognition as Sime awkwardly bowed, +during Murray's introduction, but now, as Sime held a roll of bandage +for her, she gave him a sidewise look, agleam with mischief.</p> + +<p>"But I have decided to remit the punishment—the sentence I passed on +you, Mr. Hemingway," she said, her sweet, child-like face innocent.</p> + +<p>"What punishment?" Sime gasped.</p> + +<p>"Why, the punishment of death! For kissing me that night!" she +laughed, turning her back.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>Murray was heading back for the government park. It was a short +distance with the police car. Soon the broad grounds, with their +scattered, magnificent buildings, lay below them. But the parks were +strangely bare of living creatures. Here and there lay the bodies of +men or women.</p> + +<p>"Something's happened!" Murray shouted excitedly. "Look out!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">H</span>e swerved the ship sharply. They escaped damage as an atomic bomb, +unskilfully aimed, exploded far to one side.</p> + +<p>"Funny thing, firing on a police car," Sime puzzled. "They might have +got news from that detachment we grounded, but how do they know this +isn't some other police or military car?"</p> + +<p>"Those aren't soldiers," Murray decided. "There's been a riot, and +some civilian's got hold of an ato-projector."</p> + +<p>"I know what's happened!" Sira exclaimed suddenly. "Wasil—a +technie—has managed to broadcast the secret session! That upset their +psychology. Oh!" Her face was alight, and she threw up her arms in +ecstasy. As quickly she subsided, and tears came to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Wasil!" she cried. "If he is dead, Mellie will never forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"Where is this technie?" Sime asked bruskly.</p> + +<p>"In the broadcast room. But they have probably killed him."</p> + +<p>"Never can be sure. Head her smack for the main entrance, Murray!"</p> + +<p>Murray threw the car into a steep dive, and the hall portal rushed up +to meet them. A soldier came partially out of concealment, waved a +signal. Murray paid him no heed.</p> + +<p>They struck with a crash. The stout car crushed through the glittering +doors of metal and glass, and before the fragments fell the four men +were in the thick of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> short, sharp and decisive battle. Their neuros +hissed venomously, spanged as they met opposing beams. And the +princess, struggling through the wreckage, wept tears of rage as the +coarse fabric of her clothing caught, entangled hopelessly, and held +her.</p> + +<p>"Something queer!" Murray said, as they halted for breath after +routing what little opposition they had encountered. "Maybe it's a +trap. But what an expensive trap for somebody! Where's this +broadcasting plant?"</p> + +<p>"This way!" Tuman called eagerly. "Maybe we can still save the poor +fellow who turned the trick. Broadcast the secret sessions! Don't tell +me that little girl isn't fit to rule!"</p> + +<p>The heavy metal doors were open, and they hurried in. But Tolto, +noting that the princess had not followed, hurried out in search for +her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">S</span>ime stumbled over a body. It had been a dark, sleek, youngish man. A +jagged burn on his throat told of the needle-ray. "Who's this fellow, +Murray?"</p> + +<p>Murray glanced at the body. He smiled a brief smile of satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"That's Scar Balta. Got what's coming to him at last. Help me with +this bird: he's still alive. Cold, though!"</p> + +<p>"Got a shot of neuro. Could this be the technie?"</p> + +<p>Sime found a fountain of water. He filled a cup, dashed it over the +still face. The shock made the man's lips move.</p> + +<p>"Mellie, I did it!" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Who's Mellie?" Sime asked.</p> + +<p>"Mellie? Seems to me the princess mentioned her name, This is her +brother. He's the right guy! Take it easy, brother!"</p> + +<p>But Wasil was able to sit up.</p> + +<p>"I sure fooled him!" he gasped. "Mixed up the circuits. Scar Balta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +sat right here while I broadcast the secret sessions, and he was +watching a lot o' haywah in the control screen.</p> + +<p>"When Wilcox got word from outside he knew he was done. He thought +Scar'd double-exed him, so came here in person and gave him the +needle-ray."</p> + +<p>Despite his nausea, Wasil looked happy.</p> + +<p>"Wilcox tried for me, but I dodged back of those frames. So he tried +for me with the neuro. The mob was getting wild outside; there was—"</p> + +<p>He could not finish. There was an explosion that shook the building to +its foundations. Tolto came running in. Sira close after him:</p> + +<p>"Joro is coming. Joro has detonated the warships. The hall guards have +surrendered. The council is locked up. It can't escape!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">E</span>vents were transpiring too fast for comprehension. It was several +days later, on a bench in Prince Joro's palace grounds, that Sira +summed it up for Sime Hemingway.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to accept the throne!" she said. "I'm going to be a real +queen. Joro has convinced me that it will be a real service to Mars. +The dear old man has schemed and worked so long, so unselfishly."</p> + +<p>"Yeh, and he wasn't afraid to fight!" Sime added admiringly. "When he +came charging out of those ships with his gang of monarchists, swords +flashing, it was a pretty sight to see. And when they closed in on +that gang of cheap politicians! Talk about rats in a corner!"</p> + +<p>"The prince can fight with his brains as well as with his sword." Sira +submitted. "The whole thing would have been hopeless, if he hadn't +invented the detonating ray that disposed of the warships. You +remember those heavy explosions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> shortly after we dropped in the +hall, as one might say? Those were the last of them."</p> + +<p>A silence fell between them, and Sime was now conscious of the +fragile-seeming, so deceiving beauty of this Martian girl. Something +had come between them, stripped away the masculine frankness that had +existed during their short and dangerous time together. Perhaps it was +the softly revealing drape of the thread-of-gold robe she was +wearing—true queenly garb, donned by her for the first time.</p> + +<p>"There is one requirement that Joro insists on," Sira said in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Sime, marveling that such transparently pink +fingers should handle a sword so well.</p> + +<p>"He says that I must choose a mate, to insure the stability of the +royal house."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class="f5">I</span>t seemed to Sime that this announcement gave him a pang out of all +proportion.</p> + +<p>"That should be easy," he managed. "Every Martian is crazy about you."</p> + +<p>"He may not be a Martian. He must be a man of Earth," Sira stated +firmly.</p> + +<p>"Is that so?" Sime asked, genuinely surprised. "Why does Joro insist +on that?"</p> + +<p>"It is not Joro who insists. It is myself."</p> + +<p>Sime found himself looking into eyes filled with shy pleading. He +could not, would not, for all of the solar system, have committed the +unpardonable affront of rejecting the love so frankly offered. And yet +he did not know how to accept this miracle. He did it clumsily, +haltingly disclosing the secret recesses of his own heart and what had +transpired there since the night he had taken the knife away from her +and kissed her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Martian Cabal, by Roman Frederick Starzl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTIAN CABAL *** + +***** This file should be named 29437-h.htm or 29437-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/3/29437/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Martian Cabal + +Author: Roman Frederick Starzl + +Release Date: July 18, 2009 [EBook #29437] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTIAN CABAL *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Astounding Stories May 1932. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + The Table of Contents is not part of the original magazine. + The pages have been renumbered. + + + The Martian Cabal + + A Complete Novelette + + + By R. F. Starzl + + * * * * * + + + + + Contents + + + Page + I Strange Intruder 2 + II Scar Balta 10 + III The Price of Monarchy 18 + IV Torture 23 + V The Wrath of Tolto 30 + VI The Fight in the Fort 37 + VII The Flight of a Princess 49 + VIII In the Desert 57 + IX Plot and Counter-Plot 71 + X One Thousand to One 79 + XI Giant Against Giant 86 + XII "He Must Be a Man of Earth" 96 + + * * * * * + + + + +[Sidenote: Sime Hemingway, of the I. F. P., strikes at the insidious +interests that are lashing high the war feeling between Earth and +Mars.] + +CHAPTER I + +_Strange Intruder_ + + +Sime Hemingway did not sleep well his first night on Mars. There was +no tangible reason why he shouldn't. His bed was soft. He had dined +sumptuously, for this hotel's cuisine offered not only Martian +delicacies, but drew on Earth and Venus as well. + +Yet Sime did not sleep well. He tossed restlessly in the caressing +softness of his bed. He turned a knob in the head panel of his bed, +tried to yield to the soothing music that seemed to come from nowhere. +He turned another knob, watched the marching, playing, whirling of +somnolent colors on the domed ceiling of his room. + +At last he gave it up. Some sixth sense had him all jumpy. It was not +usual for Sime Hemingway to be jumpy. He was one of the coolest heads +in the I. F. P., the Interplanetary Flying Police who patrolled the +lonely reaches of space and brought man's law to the outermost orbit +of the far-flung solar system. + +Now he jumped out of bed and examined the fastening of his door, the +door to the hotel corridor. There was only one, and it was secure. +Windows there were none, and investigation showed that the small ports +were all covered with their pivoted safety plates. He extinguished the +light, swung aside one of the plates, and peered out into the Martian +night. It was moonlight--both Deimos and Phobos were racing across the +blue-black sky. The waters of Crystal Canal stretched out before him, +seemingly illimitable. Sime knew that the distance to the other side +was twenty miles or more. Clear-cut through the thin atmosphere of +Mars, he could see the jeweled lights of South Tarog, on the other +side. + + * * * * * + +The hotel grounds, too, were well lighted. Long, luminous tubes, part +of the architecture of the buildings, aided the moons, shedding their +serene glow on the gentle slope of the red lawns and terraces, the +geometrically trimmed shrubs and trees. They were reflected warmly in +the dancing waves of the canal, though Sime knew that even in this, +the height of the summer season, the outside temperature was very near +freezing. + +Now a hotel guard came along. He carried at his belt a neuro-pistol, a +deadly weapon whose beam would destroy the nervous structure of any +living creature. He went past the port with measured stride, and Sime +slid back the safety plate with a puzzled frown. + +Why was he so nervous? This wasn't the first dangerous mission on +which he had embarked in the course of his official duty. And danger +was the element that gave zest to his life. + +[Illustration: Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resisted +the warped gravitational drag.] + +He began a methodical examination of his room, peering under the bed, +into closets, a wardrobe. Yet there was no sign of danger. Carefully +he inspected his bed for signs of the deadly black mold from Venus +that would, once it found lodgment in the pores of a man's skin, +inexorably invade his body and in the space of a few hours reduce him +to a black, repulsive parody of humanity. But the sheets were +unsullied. + +Then his gaze fell on the mist-bath. Travelers who have visited Mars +are, of course, familiar with this simple device, used to overcome to +some extent the exceeding dryness of the red planet's atmosphere. +Resembling the steam bath of the ancients, there was just enough room +in the cylindrical case for a man to sit inside while his skin was +sprayed with vivifying moisture. But his head would project, and there +was no head visible. + +Nevertheless, so strong was Sime's intuition, he leveled his +neuro-pistol at the cabinet and approached. With a sweep of his +muscular arm he swung it open--and gasped! + + * * * * * + +The sight that greeted him was enough to make any man gasp, even one +less young and impressionable than Sime. In all of his twenty-five +years he had not seen a woman so lovely. Her complexion was the +delicate coral pink of the Martian colonials--descendants of the +original human settlers who had struggled with, and at last bent to +their will, this harsh and inhospitable planet. She was little over +five feet tall, although the average Martian is perhaps slightly +bigger than his terrestrial cousin. Her hair was dark, like that of +most Martians, drawn back from her forehead and fastened at the nape +of her neck, from there to fall in an abundant, rippling cascade down +her slim, straight back. Her figure was like those delicate and +ancient creations of Dresden china to be seen in museums, but +elastic, and full of strength. She was dressed in the two-piece +garment universally worn by both sexes on Mars--a garment, so +historians say, that was called "pyjamas" by our forebears. + +And she was defiant. In her hand was a stiletto with long, slim blade. +Sime made a darting grasp for her wrist and wrung the weapon from her. +It fell to the metal floor with a tinkling clatter. + +"And now tell me, young lady, what's the meaning of this?" + +Suddenly she smiled. + +"I came to warn you, Sime Hemingway." She spoke softly and sweetly, +and with effortless dignity. + +"You came to warn me?" + +"You are in grave danger. Your mission here is known, and powerful +enemies are preparing to destroy you." + +"You talk like you knew something, kid," Sime admitted. "What is my +mission here?" + +"You have been sent to Mars by the I. F. P. in the guise of a mining +engineer. You are to discover what you can about a suspected plot of +interplanetary financiers to plunge the Earth and Mars into a war." + +"How so?" Sime asked enigmatically, concealing his dismay at the +girl's ready reply. Here was inside information with a vengeance! + +"Several shiploads of gray industrial diamonds from Venus have been +seized by war vessels carrying the insignia of the Martian atmospheric +guard." + +Sime nodded. "Go on!" + +"Curiously enough, these raids were so timed that they were witnessed +by the news telecasters. All of the people on Earth were thus +eye-witnesses, and feeling ran high. Am I right?" + +"Go on!" + +"And of course you know about the raids on the Martian borium mines by +pirates armed with modern weapons. In the fights, some of the pirates' +weapons were captured. They bore the ordnance marks of the terrestrial +government." + +"I'm way ahead of you, girlie!" Sime conceded. "Certain financial +interests would like to see a war. They're cookin' up these overt acts +to get the people all steamed up till they're ready to fight. I'll go +further, since you seem to know all about it anyway, and admit that +I'm here to find out just who's back of all this. And how does all +that tie up with you hiding in my mist-bath with a long and mean +lookin' knife?" + +The girl dropped her dark lashes in a sidelong glance at the stiletto +on the floor. There was a little smile on her lips. + +"My usual weapon. Don't you know most of us Martians go armed all the +time?" + +"Yeh?" Sime grinned skeptically. "And is it a habit of yours to hide +in the bedroom of visiting policemen? Come on, kid. I'm going to turn +you over to the guard." + +For a second it looked as if she would make a dash for the blade +glistening there on the floor. But she straightened up, and with a +look of infinite scorn said: + +"So the mighty policeman of the Sun calls a hotel guard, does he? +Please! Believe me, I am myself working for the same object as +yourself--the prevention of a horrible war!" + +She was pleading now. + +"Believe me, you are against forces that you don't understand! I can +help you, if you will listen. Let me tell you, the Martian government +is itself corrupted. The planetary president, Wilcox, is in alliance +with the war party. You will have to fight the police. You will have +to fear poison. You will be set upon and killed in the first dark +passage. Yet if you help me you may accomplish your object. You must +help me!" + +"What do you want of me?" + +"Help me change our government!" + +Sime laughed shortly. He began to suspect that this amazing girl was +demented. He thought of the powerfully entrenched rulers of this +theoretically republican government. For more than two hundred years, +if he remembered rightly, the Martians had been ruled by a small group +of rich politicians. + +"You propose a revolution?" he asked curiously. + +"I propose the return of Princess Sira to the throne!" she declared +vehemently. "But enough! Are you going to betray me--I, who have +risked much to warn you? Or are you going to let me go?" + + * * * * * + +Sime looked into her warm, earnest little face. Her lips were parted +softly, showing perfect little teeth, and she was breathing quickly, +anxiously. Sime was woman hungry, as men of the service often are on +the long, lonely trail. He seized her quickly, pressed her little +figure to him and kissed her. + +For a thrilling instant it seemed that she relaxed. But she tore away, +furious, her eyes cold with anger. + +"For that," she panted, raging, "you must die!" + +She reached the door before he could stop her, and in a trice she was +out in the gallery. He raced after her, staring stupidly. +Surprisingly, when her escape was assured, she turned back. Her look +was still hurt, angry, as she called to him in low tones: + +"Look out for Scar Balta, you brute!" + +"Who is Scar Balta?" Sime asked himself after locking the door again. +The name was not unusual and did not bring any familiar associations +to his mind. The given name, Scar, once a nickname, had been in +general use for centuries. As for Balta--oh, well-- + +His mind reverted to the girl again. Her warm, palpitant presence +disturbed him. + +He composed himself to sleep, strapping his dispatch belt around his +waist before crawling into bed. He did not believe that the girl had +hidden in his room with murderous intent; rather that she had hoped to +inspect and perhaps to steal any papers that he carried. But his last +conscious thought of her had nothing to do with her connection with +this planet of intrigue, but the soft curve of her throat. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +_Scar Balta_ + + +Sime breakfasted on one of the juicy Martian tropical pears, and as he +dug into the luscious fruit with his spoon he looked about the +spacious dining hall, filled with wide-eyed tourists on their first +trip to Mars, blissful and oblivious honeymooners, and a sprinkling of +local residents and officials. + +Through broad windows of thick glass (for on Mars many buildings +maintain an atmospheric pressure somewhat higher than the normal +outside pressure) could be seen the north banks of the canal, teeming +with swift pleasure boats and heavily loaded work barges. Down the +long terraces strolled hundreds of people, dressed in garments of +vivid colors and sheer materials suitable to the hot and cloudless +days. Brilliant insects floated on wide diaphanous wings, waiting to +pounce on the opening blossoms. + +But the terrestrial agent felt that in this scene of luxury there was +a menace. Out of sight, but instantly available, were frightful +engines of destruction, waiting to be mobilized against the Earth +branch of the human race. And on that distant green planet were people +much like these, unconscious still of the butchery into which they +were being deftly maneuvered by calculating psychologists, expert +war-makers. + +His meal completed, Sime sauntered out into the wide, clean streets of +North Tarog. He purchased a desert unionall suit, proof against the +heat of day and cold of night, and a wide-brimmed Martian pith helmet. +Hailing a taxi, he relaxed comfortably in the cushions. + +"Nabar mine," he told the driver. + +The driver nosed the vehicle up, over the domed roofs of the city and +over the harsh desert landscape. The rounded prow cut through the thin +air with a faint whistling, and the fair cultivated area along the +canal was soon lost to sight. + + * * * * * + +After half an hour the metal mine sheds grew out of the horizon. But +even from a distance of several miles Sime could see that everything +was not as it should be. There were no moving white specks of the +laborers' white fatigue uniforms against the brown rocks, and no +clouds of dust from the borium refuse pile. + +The levitator screws of the taxi sank from their high whine to a +groan, and the wheels came to the ground before the company office. A +man in the Martian army uniform came out. His beetle-browed face was +truculent, and his hand rested on the hilt of his neuro-pistol. + +"No visitors allowed!" snapped the guard. + +"I'm not exactly a visitor," Sime objected, but making no move to get +out of the taxi. "I'm an engineer sent here by the board of directors +to see why the output of this mine has dropped. Where's Mr. Murray?" + +"All settled!" the guard retorted. "Murray's in jail for mismanagement +of planetary resources, and the mine's been expropriated to the +government. Now, you--off!" + +The driver needed no further order from his fare. The taxi leaped into +the air and tore back toward the city. It was clear that the military +rules of Mars brooked no nonsense from the civilian population, and +that the latter were well aware of it. + +"Fast work!" Sime said to himself with grudging admiration. Murray was +a trusted agent of the terrestrial government. It was he who had first +uncovered the war cabal. Sime knew his face well from the stereoscopic +service record--a bald, placid man of about forty, a bonafide +engineer, a spy with an unbroken record of success, until now. And a +fighter who asked no odds, who could manage very well on less than an +even break. Well, he was up against something now. + +They passed the line of shield-ray projectors, North Tarog's first +line of defense against an attack of space, hovered over the teeming +streets and parks, and settled on the pavement at the Hotel of the +Republic. Sime wanted to go to his room and think things over. + + * * * * * + +From the concealment of a doorway an officer with a squad of soldiers +came up quickly. + +"You are under arrest!" said the officer, placing, his hand on Sime's +shoulder, while the soldiers rested their hands on their +neuro-pistols. + +"Would it be asking too much to inquire on what charge?" Sime asked +politely. + +"Military arrests do not require the filing of charges," the officer +explained stiffly. "Come out of there now, Mr. Hemingway." + +"I demand to see the terrestrial consul," Sime said, getting out. + +"How about my fare?" asked the taxi-driver. + +Sime put his hand into his pocket, where he kept a roll of +interplanetary script; but the officer restrained him. + +"Never mind now," he said ironically. "You are a guest of the +government." Then to the driver he added: + +"Get on, now! Get on! File your claim at the divisional office." + +The driver departed, outwardly meek before the power of the military, +and Sime was hustled into an official car. He had little hope that his +demand to see the terrestrial consul would be complied with, and this +opinion was verified when the car rose into the air and sped over the +waters of the canal to South Tarog. It did not pause when it came over +the military camps there--the massive ordnance depots in which were +stored new and improved killing tools that had long been idle in that +irksome interplanetary peace. + +They flew on, over the desert, until the Gray Mountains loomed on the +horizon. On, over the tumbled rocks, interspersed with the strange red +thorny vegetation common in the Martian desert. + +Far below them, in a ravine, a cylindrical building was now visible, +and toward this the car began to drop. It landed on a level space +before the structure. A sliding gate opened, and the car wheeled into +a sort of courtyard, protected from the cold of night by an arching +roof of glass. + +Sime was hustled out and led into an office located on the lower floor +of the fortification, or whatever the structure was. + +As he saw the man who sat at the desk he gave a startled explanation. + +"Colonel Barkins!" + + * * * * * + +The elderly, white-haired man smiled. He brushed back his hair with a +characteristic gesture, and his twinkling blue eyes bored into those +of the I. F. P. special officer. The colonel wore the regular uniform +of the service; his little skullcap, with the conventionalized sun +symbol denoting his rank, was on the table before him. He put out his +lean, strong hand. + +"Surprised to see me, eh, Hemingway?" he inquired pleasantly. + +Sime managed an awkward salute. "I don't quite understand, sir. You +gave me my instructions at the Philadelphia space port just before I +made the _Pleadisia_. She's the fastest passenger liner in the solar +system: I've barely landed here, and it seems you got here before me. +It don't seem right!" + +Sime watched the colonel narrowly, a vague suspicion in his mind, and +he thought he saw a slight flicker in the man's eye when Sime spoke. + +But the colonel answered smoothly, with a hint of reproof. + +"Never mind questioning me now, Hemingway. The mission is important. I +want to know if you remember every detail of what I told you." He +nodded to the men, and they filed out of the room. "Repeat your +orders." + +"Nothing doing, Colonel!" Sime replied promptly and respectfully. "In +fact, Colonel, you can go to hell! This is the first time that a man +of the I. F. P. has turned traitor, and if your men hadn't so +thoughtfully taken my neuro I'd be pleased to finish you right now!" + +"But you observe I have a neuro in my hand," remarked the colonel +pleasantly, "and so you will remain standing where you are." + + * * * * * + +So saying, he slipped off the white wig he was wearing, wiped his face +so that the brown powder came off, and sat, obviously pleased with +the success of his masquerade, useless though it was. He was a typical +Martian, dark, sleek-haired, coral-skinned. + +"I hate to send a man to his death mystified," said the Martian after +a moment, "so I'll explain that I am Scar Balta!" + +"Scar Balta!" + +"You've heard of me?" + +"Uh--yes and no," Sime suddenly remembered the girl of the evening +before--the imperious little Martian. She had warned him of Scar +Balta. + +"If I do say it," said the Martian, "I am the best impersonator in the +service of the interests I represent. I did not expect to get +information of great value from you, but we do not neglect even the +most unpromising leads." + +He pressed a button; two Martian soldiers answered promptly. + +"Take this man to the cell," Balta ordered. "Provide him with writing +materials so that he can write a last message to his family. In the +morning take him to the end of the ravine and finish him with your +short sword." + +"Yes, Colonel!" + +"The fellow's a colonel, anyway," Sime thought as they led him away. + +They led him downward, along a straight corridor that evidently went +far beyond the boundaries of the ravine fortress. In places the walls, +adequately lit by the glow-wands the guards carried, were plainly cut +out of the solid rock; in others they were masonry, as though the +channel were passing through pockets of earth; or--the thought +electrified him--through faults or natural caverns. + +At last they came to the end. One of the guards unlocked a metal door, +motioned his prisoner into the prison cell. A light-wand, badly run +down and feeble, with only a few active cells left, gave the only +light. As the door slammed behind him, Sime took in the depressing +scene. + + * * * * * + +The stone walls were mildewed, leprous. The only ventilation was +through small holes in the door. Chains, fastened to huge staples in +the uneven stone floor, with smooth metal wrist and ankle cuffs, were +spaced at regular intervals, and musty piles of canal rushes showed +where some forgotten prisoner had dragged out his melancholy last +days. Sime was glad they had not chained him down. Probably didn't +consider it necessary unless there were many prisoners, who might rush +the guards. + +"Ho, there, sojer!" + +The voice was startling, so hearty and natural in this sad place. Sime +saw something coming out of a far corner. It was a man in the blouse +and trousers of civilian wear; a bald and good-natured man, with a +shocking growth of beard. + +"Murray's the name," said this apparition with mock ceremony. "And +you?" + +"I'm Hemingway, Sime Hemingway. Sergeant Sime Hemingway, to be exact. +Suppose you'd like to hear my orders?" + +"I don't get you," said Murray, shaking hands. + +"I mean," Sime explained elaborately, "that I'd like to know if you're +Scar Balta, or really Murray, as you say you are." + +The other laughed. + +"I'm Murray, all right. Feel this scalp. Natural, ain't it? That's one +thing Balta won't do--shave off his hair. Too vain. He'd hate to have +the Princess Sira see him that way. Ever hear of her? Say, she's a +raving beauty. This Balta'd like to be elected planetary president, +see--to succeed Wilcox, who has bigger plans. There's always been a +strong sentiment for the old monarchy, anyway. The oligarchy never did +go big. Follow me?" + +"Yeh; go on." + + * * * * * + +"Well, this Princess Sira has ideas. She wouldn't mind sitting on the +throne again. Her great-great-grandpa was jobbed and murdered, and the +nobles who did it formed a closed corporation and called it a +republican government. So Sira started holding audiences, and gained a +lot of power. Among the people--even among some of the nobles. + +"Get the idea? Scar Balta is one of the electors. If he married Sira +he'd have the backing of the monarchists, and of course he's done a +lot for the bosses. They'd elect him to head off the monarchists, +anyway. Then heigh-ho for a war with the Earth, to kill off a lot of +the kickers--and soft pickins in a lot of ways. Neat, huh?" + +"Very neat!" Sime assented drily. "But we won't live to see it. +Anyway, I won't. They're going to bump me off in the morning." + +"As they have a lot of our men," Murray agreed. "But they won't do it +in the morning. Or for several days. Look here!" + +He held up his hand. On the back of it was what appeared to be a boil. + +"But it isn't a boil," Murray explained. "That was done by a stream of +water, fine as a needle, under a thousand pounds pressure. They held +it there for a minute at a time--I don't know how many times, because +I keeled over. Any time I was willing to give them the information +they wanted they'd turn it off. Wasn't important info, either. But +what is it to them, how much they make me suffer for a trifle?" + +Sime couldn't help the lump that rose in his throat. Men like Murray +certainly justified the world's faith in the service. + +"Listen, old man," Sime said in a low voice, "out in the corridor--" + +But Murray squeezed his hand warningly, pulled him to the floor. + +"Might as well get some sleep," the old man said in ordinary tones. +"Plenty cool here. Let's lie together." + +He kept his hold on Sime's wrist, and, by alternately squeezing and +releasing, began to talk in a silent telegraphic code. + +"Don't say anything of importance," he spelled out. "They have mikes +in here to pick up all we say. Probably infra-red telenses too, so +they can see what we do." + +So Sime told him, as they huddled together in simulated sleep, about +the walled passages, and they speculated on the possibility of felling +the guards and breaking their way to freedom through some underground +cavern. But at last they slept soundly to await the tortures of the +next morning. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +_The Price of Monarchy_ + + +Had Sime been able to follow and watch the girl he had kissed under +such unusual circumstances on the night of his arrival on Mars, he +would have been both puzzled and enlightened. After her final warning +about Scar Balta she dashed into the luxurious gloom of the passage. +At an intersection a maid was awaiting her. She curtseyed as she threw +a cape over the girl's shoulder, and together they hurried out into +the night. + +A magnificently uniformed hotel servant called a private car, drew the +vitrine curtains, and saluted as the car lifted sharply into the +chilly night air. The car sped across the canal to the jeweled city +across the water, to a residence district whose magnificence even the +pale night light revealed. + +The two women entered a mansion of glittering metal and came to a +private apartment. + +"Everybody's gone to bed," said the girl, addressing her maid. +"That's one thing we can be thankful for." + +"Yes, Your Highness. Did you discover anything of importance in the +man's room?" + +"No. Draw me a bath, Mellie. He--he caught me--and kissed me!" + +The maid, with flasks of perfume and aromatic oils in her hand, +paused, discreetly impudent. + +"You seem not displeased, Your Highness." + +"But of that he had no inkling." And Princess Sira laughed. "I left +him standing, utterly at a loss. He took me for a common assassin, and +yet he wanted to kiss me. That pleased me. But if he had valuable +information he kept it. And I promised him death for his kiss." + + * * * * * + +As Princess Sira, claimant to the throne of a planet, slipped into the +tepid waters of her bath, Mellie stood by, her smooth little Martian's +face disturbed. For she loved her mistress, and could not comprehend +the things she did under ambition's sway. + +"Your Highness, couldn't you let your royal friends do these dangerous +things for you?" + +"For what? For fear? And how could a Martian princess who knows fear +lay claim to a throne? No, Mellie, one gets used to it. The enemies of +the house of Sira are ever alert. Didn't they murder my father and my +mother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as in +the room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people--" + +She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left the +alcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince of +Hanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room. + +"At this hour!" exclaimed the princess. "Did he say what brought him +here?" + +"Something about a new plot." + +"Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait." + +Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe that +made her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince. + +"Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night." + +The prince, a thin, elderly man of medium stature, smiled admiringly. +His sharp features and bright little button eyes gave some hint of the +energy which suffused him. Here was a man both ruthless and loyal to +his royal house. He addressed her by her given name. + +"The hour seems to make no difference with you; Phobos has set, but as +long as you are awake there is loveliness enough. I have come, dear +one, to tell you that success is ours at last!" + + * * * * * + +Sira smiled. "I will restrain my joy, my good Joro, until I hear the +price." + +"Always the same!" Joro chuckled. "A price, 'tis true, but not too +heavy, since you are, in a manner, fond of him." + +"I've had vague promises from Wilcox," Sira said, with a wry smile. "I +would rather trade places with Mellie than be espoused by that +madman." + +"Not Wilcox, but Scar Balta. He is badly smitten, for which I can not +blame him. He has great political power, and the backing of the +military. He could have dictated better terms, but for love of you has +yielded, point after point. He wants nothing now but your hand in +marriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all the +advantages he has gained--" + +"Not to mention," Sira interjected, "the royal prestige he will gain +with the common people." + +Joro laughed, a little impatiently. + +"True, true! But after all, what does the support of the people amount +to? They are powerless. If you are ever to establish your royal house +you must have other help." + +"And I suppose," Sira continued sweetly, "that you have also arranged +a deal with the central banks and the secret war interests?" + +Joro coughed uncomfortably. + +"As a matter of fact--you see, my dear princess, there are certain +commercial interests--transportation, mining, and so forth. They have +defied the power of the bankers. They are likely to upset our whole +order of society. They need a set-back. And the military men are +chafing at their inaction. The war will be ended before too much harm +is done, by agreement of the interplanetary bankers. You see--" + +"No!" Sira interrupted him coldly. "No! No! No! Oh, I'm sick of the +whole thing! I'm sick of the men I know! I hate Scar Balta, and you +too. I would rather be the wife of a common interplanetary patrolman +than queen of Mars! I withdraw, now!" + + * * * * * + +Joro, struck by her vehemence, paled. The muscles of his jaw lumped. +From a pocket he took a portable disk-radio, an inch in diameter, and +spoke a few words. From outside there was a sudden uproar, shouts and +curses. The draperies moved, as with an outrush of air caused by the +careless handling of an airlock, and the temperature dropped suddenly. + +Sira was irresolute only a split second. With a cat-like leap she +seized a short sword from the wall, made a lunge at the prince. But +Joro, the veteran of many a battle of wits and arms, parried the +stroke with the thick barrel of his neuro-pistol, caught the girl's +wrist and disarmed her. The screams of the maid went unheeded. + +From the other parts of the palace came sounds of struggle, the +clashing of sword on sword. + +"Sira! Sira!" Joro panted, struggling to hold the girl. "You must +give up your impractical ideas! Take the world as it is. Do as I tell +you and you'll not be sorry." + +"I relinquish my claims!" the girl cried fiercely. "To-morrow I will +publicly announce that decision. All my life has been spent feeding +that hopeless ambition. Now I will be free!" + +"I am loyal to the monarchy," Joro grunted, pinioning her arms at +last. "I will guard your interest against yourself." + +He began to shout: + +"Hendricks, Mervin, Carpender, Nassus! Here, to the princess's +chamber." + +Several men, after further delay and fighting, responded. They wore +civilian blouses and trousers, but there was that something in their +alert carriage that proclaimed them trained fighting men. One of them +sat down with a grunt on the threshold, holding his hand to a bleeding +wound under his armpit. He appeared to be mortally wounded. + + * * * * * + +Most of the others carried minor wounds, showing that the palace +guards had put up a good battle in the sword-play. Both sides had +refrained from using the neuro-pistols for fear that the beams, which +readily penetrated walls at short range, might injure the princess. + +"Let go!" Sira wrenched herself free. "Where is Tolto? Has Tolto +turned traitor? How did you get past Tolto?" + +"Do not use that ugly word against me. I implore you!" Joro protested. +"What we are doing is out of loyalty to the monarchy--not treason. The +monarchy is of greater importance than individuals. Consider your duty +to the rule of your fathers! As for Tolto--" + +He issued a curt command, and there was the sound of movement. +Presently four men staggered in, one to each leg, each arm, of the +most impressive giant Mars had ever produced--Tolto, to whom there was +no god but the one divinity: and Princess Sira was she. Slow of +perception, mighty of limb, he had come into her service from some +outlying agricultural region of the red planet. His tremendous muscles +were hers to command or destroy, as she wished. He would not have +consented to this invasion of her home, she knew! + +And he had not. Joro had been too wise to try. A dose of _marchlor_ in +a glass of wine had done what fifty men could not have accomplished by +main strength. Tolto was in a drugged sleep. + +Joro said: "He isn't hurt. We will simply send him back to his valley, +and you, my dear princess, will do your duty to your subjects!" + +And there, though he probably did not know it, Prince Joro harked back +to the youth of the human race--the compensatory, atavistic principle +that gods, rulers, kings, must hold themselves in readiness as +sacrifices for the good of their subjects. Joro might have been a +tribal high priest invoking their dread rule in the dawn of time. The +Martians were, for all their scientific advancement, still the +descendants of those prehistoric human savages. Sira knew, +instinctively, that the people who loved her would nevertheless +approve of Joro's judgment. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +_Torture_ + + +When Sime awoke it was to the rattling of the door. Murray stirred. +The light was even weaker than before. + +"If they offer you a drink, drink hearty!" Murray muttered, sitting +up. "I've got an idea it's going to be a hard day." + +But they were not offered any water. Instead they were again conducted +before Scar Balta, who looked at them morosely. At last he remarked +gruffly: + +"If you tin sojers weren't so cursed stubborn, you could get yourself +a nice berth in the Martian army. Ever consider that?" + +"Talk sense!" Sime said contemptously. "If I threw down the service +how could you trust me?" + +"That'd be easy," Balta rejoined. "Once the I. F. P. finds out you +joined us you'd have to stick with us to save your skin." + +He laughed at his prisoners' look of surprise. + +"Come, come!" he bantered. "You didn't think that I was ignorant of +your purpose here? You, Murray; your spying was excellent, I'll admit. +You were the first to give away certain plans of ours. Well, well! We +don't hold that against you. Wheels within wheels, eh? It would +perhaps astonish certain braided gentleman of our high command to +learn that I, a mere colonel, control their destinies. As our +ancestors would say, it's dog eat dog. + +"Now, how about it? I can make a place for you in my organization. It +seems to run to secret service, oddly enough. You will be rewarded far +beyond anything you could expect in your present career of chasing +petty crooks from Mercury to Pluto and back again." + +"Is that all?" Murray asked softly, with a bearded grin. + +"Oh no. You will turn over to me all the information you can about the +I. F. P. helio code. You will name and describe to me each and every +plainclothes operative of the service--and you should have an +extensive acquaintance." + +"Before you answer," Murray said quietly at Sime's side, "let me +suggest that you consider what's in store for us--or you--if you don't +take up this offer." + +"Why, you--" Sime whirled in astonished fury upon his companion. +"Didn't you--" + + * * * * * + +But he did not complete his reference to last night's surreptitious +conversation. It seemed that he saw the merest ghost of a flicker in +Murray's left eye. + +"--Didn't you say you'd stick no matter what they did?" he finished +lamely. + +Murray hung his head. + +"I'm getting along," he muttered. "Not as young as I used to be. This +life is getting me nowhere. Why be a fool? Come along with me!" + +"Why, you dirty, double-crossing hound!" Sime's exasperation knew no +bounds. For an instant he had believed that Murray was enacting a +little side-play in the pursuit of a suddenly conceived plan. But he +looked so obviously hangdog--so guiltily defiant.... + +_Crack!_ Sime's fist struck Murray's solid jaw, scraping the skin off +his knuckles, but Murray swayed to the blow, sapping its force, and +came in to clinch. They rolled on the floor. Murray twisted Sime's +head painfully, bit his ear. But in the next split second he was +whispering: + +"Keep your head, Sime. Can't you see I'm stringing him? Take that!" +And he planted a vicious short hook to Sime's midriff. + +Balta had squalled orders, and now Martian soldiers were bursting the +buttons off their uniforms in the scrimmage to separate the battlers. +Bruised and battered, they were dragged apart. Murray's one eye was +now authentically closed, and rapidly coloring up. Unsteadily he got +to his feet. With mock delicacy he threw a kiss to his late +antagonist. + +"Farewell, Trueheart!" He bowed ironically, and the men all laughed. + +Balta grinned too. "Still the same mind, Hemingway? All right, men, +take him up to the observation post. Here, Murray, have a drink." + + * * * * * + +Sime was led up a seemingly endless circular staircase. After an +interminable climb he saw the purplish Martian sky through the glass +doors of an airlock. Then they were outside, in the rarefied +atmosphere that sorely tried Sime's lungs, still laboring after the +fight and long ascent. The Sun, smaller than on Earth but intensely +bright, struck down vindictively. + +"A good place to see the country," laughed the corporal in charge. +"Off with his clothes!" + +It was but a matter of seconds to strip Sime's garment from him. They +dragged him to an upright post, one of several on the roof, and with +his back to the post, tied his wrists behind it with rawhide. His +ankles they also tied, and so left him. + +It was indeed an excellent point of vantage from which to see the +country. The fortress was high enough to clear the nearby cliffs of +low elevation, and on all sides the Gray Mountains tumbled to the +horizon. To the north, beyond that sharply cut, ragged horizon, lay +the big cities, the industrial heart of the planet. To the south, at +Sime's back, was the narrow agricultural belt, the region of small +seas, of bitter lakes, of controlled irrigation. Here the canals, +natural fissures long observed by astronomers and at first believed to +be artificial, were actually put to the use specified by ancient +conjecture, just as further north they had been preempted as causeways +of civilization. Sime painfully worked his way around the post so that +he could look south. But here too nothing met his eye but the orange +cliffs with their patches of gray lichen. There was no comfort to be +had in that desolate landscape. Nevertheless, Sime kept moving +around, to keep the post between himself and the Sun. Already it was +beginning to scorch his skin uncomfortably. + +By the time it was directly overhead Sime had stopped sweating. The +dry atmosphere was sucking the moisture out of his body greedily, and +his skin was burned red. His suffering was acute. + + * * * * * + +The Martian day is only a little more than a day on Earth, but to Sime +that afternoon seemed like an eternity. Small and vicious, with deadly +deliberation, the sun burned its way down a reluctant groove in the +purple heavens. Long before it reached the horizon, Sime was almost +unconscious. He did not see its sudden dive into the saw-edge of the +western mountains--knew only that night had come by the icy whistle of +the sunset wind that stirred and moaned for a brief interval among the +rocks. The keen, thin wind that first brought relief and then new +tortures, to be followed by freezing numbness. + +Above, in the blackness, the stars burned malignantly. Drug to his +misery they were, those familiar constellations, which are about the +only things that look the same on all planets of the solar system. But +they were not friendly. They seemed to mock the motionless human +figure, so tiny, so inconsequential, that stared at them, numerous +tiny pinpricks of light, so remote. + +There was no dawn, but after aeons Sime saw the familiar green disk of +Earth coming up in the east, one of the brightest stars. Sime fancied +he saw the tiny light flick of the moon. There would be a game of +blackjack going on somewhere there about now. He groaned. The Sun +would not be far behind now. + +But he must have slept. The Sun was up before he was aware of it. A +man with a caduceus on his blouse collar was holding his wrist, +feeling his pulse. He seemed to be a medical officer of the Martian +army. His smooth, coral face was serious as he prodded Sime's +shriveled tongue. + +"Water, quick!" he snapped,--"or he's done for." + + * * * * * + +His head was tipped back and water poured into his mouth, but Sime +could not swallow. The soldier with the bucket poured dutifully, +however, almost drowning the helpless man. It helped, anyway; and Sime +returned to half-consciousness. A few minutes later, when Scar Balta +came to inquire if he had changed his mind, Sime was able to curse +thickly. And around noon, when Murray, jauntily dressed in the uniform +of a Martian captain, bid him a cheerful good-by, Sime was almost +fluent. + +His torture had now reached the pitch of exquisite keenness that made +it something spiritual. Solicitously they kept him alive, and far back +in his mind Sime wondered why they bothered to do that. Couldn't they +be satisfied with what they could learn from Murray? + +So passed the second day, and the third. + +On the fourth day Sime was able to drink water freely, and to eat the +food they placed into his mouth, a fact which the medical officer +noted. The torture was wearing itself out. Sime's body was emaciated, +stringy, burnt black. But his extraordinary toughness was weathering +conditions that would kill most men. Balta shook his head in +wonderment when this was reported to him. + +"Can't wait any longer for him. Must get back to Tarog. You might as +well put him out of his misery. By the way, I'm convinced that Murray +is double-timing me. But I'll attend to that personally." + +From his post of pain Sime saw the official car leave toward Tarog. +Had he known of Balta's remark he would not have been puzzled so much +by what he saw. + +As the ship was about to disappear over the ragged northern horizon, +Sime's bleared eyes saw, or he thought they saw, a human figure +silhouetted against the pitiless sky. It was a tiny-seeming figure at +that distance, but it was clear-cut in the rare atmosphere. Then it +plunged from sight. + +"Somebody taken for a ride," he muttered, half grateful for the brief +distraction from his own misery. + + * * * * * + +The medical officer, to whom the long climb was arduous, delayed his +mission to the roof, and that was why, several hours later, Sime was +still alive to see another ship appear to the north. It was large, +sumptuous, evidently a private yacht. Its course would bring it within +a mile of the fortress, and with sudden wild hope Sime realized that +if he were seen he might expect relief. He began to tug at his bonds. +They were tough, but they would stretch a little. His haphazard +movements had already worn them against the rough post, and now he +began to struggle violently. If he could only get his hands loose, he +could wave.... + +The thongs cut into his flesh, but his wrists were numb and swollen, +and he did not mind the pain. His muscles stood out hard and sharp, +and with a supreme effort, aided by the growing brittleness of the +rawhide in the dry atmosphere, he snapped his bonds. + +The ship was now quite near, and he waved frantically. He fancied he +saw movement back of the pilot ports. Faintly he heard the hum of the +levitators. Now it turned--no! It yawed, now toward him, now away, +purposelessly, like a ship in distress. It made an abrupt downward +plunge that scraped a crag, and just missed a canyon wall. + +Again it twisted, came down with a long, twisting motion, struck a +rock upside down, slitting a long gash in its skin, clattered to the +rocks so close to the fortress that Sime could not see it. Now +desperation gave the prisoner superhuman strength. Regardless of the +pain, he burst the thongs about his ankles, tottered to the edge of +the roof. + +There was a battle going on below. Men seemed to be running, shouting. +Someone, using a massive plate of metal as a partial shield against +the neuro-pistols, was creating havoc. Sime tried to focus his giddy +eyes on the scene. It seemed always to be turning to the left, to be +circling around him. With tottering steps he tried to follow it, +keeping to the brink of that lofty tower--uselessly. Now it was +rocking, flying straight toward him, and, gratefully, Sime gave up the +struggle, closed his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +_The Wrath of Tolto_ + + +Tolto awoke from his drugged sleep in the cargo room of a pleasure +ship. He was thoroughly trussed up, for Prince Joro's servants had a +wholesome respect for the giant's strength. Even in his supine +position power was evident in every line of his great torso, revealed +through great rents in his blouse. His thighs were as big around as an +ordinary man's body, and the smooth pink skin of his mighty arms and +shoulders rippled with every movement that brought into play the +broad, flat bands of muscle underneath. + +A chain of beryllium steel was passed around Tolto's waist, and close +in front of him the smooth, shining cuffs of steel around his wrist +were locked to the chain. Short lengths of chain led to cargo +ringbolts in the floor, holding fast Tolto's cuffed ankles. + +To anyone looking at Tolto, just then, these extreme precautions might +have seemed absurd. Prince Joro, however, was a good judge of men. It +would have pleased him best if Tolto had been quietly eased from his +sleep into death, but he knew that such a murder would have destroyed +forever his chances of winning Sira to his plans. He meant to see +Tolto safely and demonstrably returned to his home valley, and in +order to accomplish this the more surely, he had him loaded aboard his +own ship, and instructed his captain to take the little used desert +route. + +Tolto lifted his hands as far as he could and looked wonderingly at +them. His child-like face, with the soft, agate eyes, expressed only +bewilderment. He lifted his voice, a powerful bass. + +"Hi, hi! Let Tolto go! The princess may call!" + +There was no answer, only the rhythmic hum of the levitators. Again +Tolto cried out. But there was no answering sound. The Sun poured in +through the ports, and when presently the ship changed its course, the +light fell full in his face, almost blinding him. The giant endured +this without complaint. + + * * * * * + +Several hours later, however, his patience snapped, and he roared and +bellowed so loudly that a door opened and a frightened face appeared. +Back of it was the chromium glitter of the ship's galley. + +"Be still, big one!" admonished the cook. "The captain is resting. He +will have you chained standing if you disturb him with your +bellowing." + +"I wanted only to know where I am," Tolto replied, subsiding meekly. +"I drank overmuch and some larksters tied me up like this. Release me, +so that if the princess calls I may answer." + +"The princess will have to call loudly for you to hear," the cook +answered jocularly. + +"The princess need only whisper for Tolto to hear," the giant boasted, +"Come now, shrimp, take these things off!" + +"Are you really as dumb as that?" the cook marveled. "Why, sonny boy, +the princess couldn't even hear you! Don't you know where you're +goin'?" + +Vague alarm began to creep over Tolto. + +"Where is she?" he asked anxiously. "Isn't she in this ship? Princess +Sira never goes anywhere without Tolto. Ask her. Ask anybody." + +"The princess may never go anywhere without you, you head of bone," +remarked the cook, rather enjoying his own humor, "but _this_ time +you're going somewhere without her." + +"You talk funny talk, but I can't laugh at it. Little bug, tell me now +what this is all about, or I will take you between my fingers and +squash you!" + +The cook's coral face paled almost to white despite himself. + +"Listen, big one," he said placatingly. "Have an orange?" + + * * * * * + +Tolto refused the gift, although he knew this rare and luscious +importation from the Earth and was very fond of it. + +"Once more I ask you, bug, where is she?" + +"Aw, now, listen!" the cook whined. "Don't blame me! I'm only a +servant around here. How can I help what they do? Don't glare at me +so. Well, she's at Tarog." + +"But why--why does she send me away?" + +The cook failed to recognize his opportunity to lie in time. + +"Well, the fact is--" he hesitated. "The boss--Prince Joro's sending +you away. You see, she's going to get hitched up-big important guy. +They didn't want you around, bustin' up things every time you turn +around. So they're sendin' you back home." + +"The princess would not send me home like this," Tolto objected. But +he held his peace, and the cook went back to his work, satisfied that +he had subdued this dangerous prisoner. + +In this he was guilty of no greater error than Prince Joro and the +other monarchists. For ages there had been an unfounded opinion that +big men are generally slow and stupid. They may often act so, for +their great strength serves as a substitute for the quick wit of +smaller men. But in Tolto, at all events, this prejudice was wrong. In +Tolto's bullet head was a healthy, active brain, and a primitive +cunning. + +So instead of wasting his strength in vain struggles against the tough +steel, he rested, marshalling the facts in his mind. + +He utterly rejected the thought that Princess Sira had consented to +his removal in this manner, or in any manner. That meant that she was +being coerced, and Tolto's eyes grew small and hard at the thought. + +Presently he began to test the chains. They were of great hardness and +toughness, and so smooth that he could not twist them, for the links +slid over one another harmlessly. However, after much quiet effort he +found that he could shift his body several inches toward either side +of the narrow hold. Here there were a number of locked boxes. One of +them, he reasoned, might contain tools. + +His closely confined hands were practically useless. He found that he +could not reach any of the boxes with his fingers, strain as he might. +But he grinned with hope when his head struck one of the handles. His +strong teeth closed down on it. + + * * * * * + +That would have been something to see! The box was of thin, strong +metal, but it was heavy. With no other purchase but his teeth, Tolto +dragged it to him, on top of him. Now his hands could help a little. +He inched it down toward his knees, fearful each moment that a lurch +of the ship might precipitate it to the floor with a crash. When his +head could push no longer his knees grasped the end of the chest, and +managed to pull it down. + +Tolto had never heard of the wrestling hold known as the scissors, but +he applied it to that box. His mighty sinews cracked under the strain, +and stabbing pain tore at his hips. But he persisted, and with a +protesting rasp the lid was telescoped inward, breaking the lock. + +Breathless, he waited. After minutes he decided that the sound had not +attracted attention. + +Again he brought his teeth into play, and this time, when the box +stood open, Tolto's lips were lacerated by the jagged edges of twisted +metal. Triumphantly, he looked inside. + +The box contained a set of counterweights for the hydrogen integrator +motors. + +No bar, nothing that might be utilized to twist off the eyebolts! + +Again he set to work. The next box was longer, heavier. It was coated +with unpleasantly rancid oil. Tolto's broad chest was covered with +blood, partly from gouges in his skin, partly from his crushed lips. +But this time he found a bar. It was in the bottom, under some extra +valves, but eventually his teeth closed on it, and he fell back, +nearly exhausted, for a moment's rest. + +He heard a door slam beyond the galley. The words floated out: + +"--better go see how he's coming along." + + * * * * * + +The horrified mate saw the wrecked boxes, the blood-covered giant with +a thick steel bar in his teeth, the extra valves scattered about the +floor. He whipped out his neuro-pistol, pointed it at Tolto. + +But Tolto made no move to resist when the shaken officer gingerly took +the bar out of his mouth. He did not move when several shipmen, called +by the officer, moved everything out of reach. After half an hour, +with many awed comments, they left him alone. + +Tolto's battered lips opened in what might have been a grin. Painfully +he rolled off the single valve that had been digging into the small of +his back. He patiently resumed the tedious task of bringing the valve +in reach of his locked hands. + +The valve stem was stout, and a foot long. It was just long enough so +that Tolto, by lying on his side, could reach one of the eyebolts. + +Inserting the stem, Tolto pulled toward him. + +The eyebolt turned without resistance. It was free to rotate, and +could not be twisted off. A groan escaped from the prisoner. + +But in a few moments he tried bending upward. The leverage was highly +disadvantageous that way. Still, straining with the last ounce of his +strength, he was just able to do it. Pulling down was not so hard. + +It took fifty-four motions, up and down, before the tough metal +cracked and one chain trailed free. + +It was not long afterward that the cook, turning from his work at the +electric grill, stared into a face that had once been innocent and +peaceful. It seemed the face of a demon. + +He would have shrieked, but Tolto took his arm between thumb and +forefinger, saying gently: + +"Remember, little bug, what I said!" + +He was cast, dumb with fear, into the late prisoner's cell. + + * * * * * + +Tolto had not bothered to remove the chains, but only to twist them +apart by means of such tools as he could find to permit free movement +of his arms and legs. They dangled from him, tinkling musically. + +Now he strode into the main cabin. The ship's crew, having no guests, +were playing the part of guests. A man who was shuffling cards, was +the first to see him. The cards flew up and showered all over the +room. + +"He's loose!" this shipman croaked, diving under the table. + +"Mr. Yens! Mr. Yens!" shouted the captain, a small, bristling Martian +with graying, stiff hair. He snatched the neuro-pistol at his side, +pointed it at Tolto, pressed the trigger. + +Tolto felt a numbing cold as the ray struck him. But his great body +absorbed the weapon's energy to such an extent that he was not killed +at once. His flailing arms continued their arc, and one end of chain, +whistling through the air, struck the weapon from the officer's hand. +Tolto stumbled, recovered. He picked up the pistol and stuck it in his +chain belt. + +His impulse was to rend, to crush with his hands. The shipmen, except +for the officers, were unarmed, and they went down helplessly before +the giant fists. Some of them found riot guns, but they might as well +have pounded a Plutonian mammoth for all the effect they had on Tolto. + +Mr. Yens, the mate, sitting at the controls in the glassed-in cabin +forward, turned his head at the captain's cry, and, looking down the +short corridor into the main cabin, saw the blood-covered giant coming +toward him. Mr. Yens was a brave man; but he had been careless. His +neuro-pistol was in his own cabin. He did the best he knew, and +snapped the lock. + +But Tolto's great bulk smashed in the door as if it were nothing. The +unbreakable glass did not splinter, but it bent like sheet metal, and +a blow of the giant's fist broke the mate's neck. + +The mate had not engaged the gyroscopic control, and immediately the +ship began a series of eccentric maneuvers, so sharp and unexpected +that no one on board could keep his feet. For a few seconds she +straightened, and one of the crew bethought himself of the pistol in +the mate's cabin. He sighted on Tolto, clearly visible ahead. Before +he could release the ray the ship went into another breath-taking +maneuver. + +A mountain peak came sliding toward them ominously. They scraped by. +The ship dived, throwing Tolto forward, and his instinctive grab threw +the elevator up. The levitators screamed madly as they lost their +purchase on the air, due to the ship's unstable keel. + +"We're goners!" someone shouted. "Kill that fool!" + +They bounced off a cliff, turned over and over like a tumbleweed. A +cylindrical building, unexpected in this wilderness, loomed up. They +seemed about to hit it, but floated past. The rock floor of the valley +rushed up. With a crash the ship rolled over, split wide open. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +_The Fight in the Fort_ + + +Its coming had been observed. Men wearing the uniforms of the Martian +army dashed out, their pistols ready. A man dropped out of a gaping +hole in the ship's skin, sat down unsteadily. Others dribbled out. + +"Crazy man in there!" one of them shouted. "Look out, he's murderous!" +The pistols came up. The soldiers began to close in, showing a certain +professional eagerness. + +They were perhaps within ten feet when a metal plate, sheared off from +the pilot's cabin in the fall, lifted up. Barely visible under it was +a pair of large, running feet. One soldier, trying to oppose it with +his hands, was knocked senseless and bleeding. He might as well have +tried to stop an oncoming rocket ship. + +Neuro-pistols, bearing from every side, spanged briskly. They partly +neutralized one another. Their charges were partly reflected by the +metal and partly absorbed by Tolto's great bulk. He was thoroughly +confused now. Every way he looked in this glaring wilderness of desert +and rocks were enemies. + + * * * * * + +But there! An opening loomed, cool and dark. The fortress entrance. +Tolto dashed into it. There was the sharp challenge of a guard, +unanswered; the futile hiss of a weapon. + +The improvised shield wedged on a narrowing stairway. Tolto let it +stick, ran up alone. The stairway went round and round, climbing ever +higher. The fugitive's lungs were bursting. + +At last he came to an airlock. He did not know how to operate it, so +smashed through. There was no rush of air, because the pressure had +already been equalized in the rush to the wreck at ground level. +Panting, listening for pursuers, Tolto looked around. + +He found himself on a circular roof, bare except for the airlock and a +number of upright posts, whitened by the Sun. + +It was some moments before he saw the unconscious figure of a man +lying on the very edge of the lofty tower on which he was standing--a +man naked and blackened. He was lying on his face, one arm and one +foot hanging over space as though he had fallen unconscious at the +very edge of the abyss. + +Tolto collected his excited wits. This, at least was no enemy. His +enemies were in power here. This must be a victim, a possible ally. + +The man was stirring. The overhanging arm was feebly trying to grasp +something. If he were to roll over-- + +He did not have time. Tolto dragged him in to the safety of the +airlock opening, where he could watch. + +There were sounds of pursuit, faint and cautious. + +Tolto grinned at the naked stranger. + +"Who are you, little bug?" he asked. + +Sime Hemingway tried to tell him but his swollen tongue would not +behave. Instead, he waved in the general direction of the Sun. + +Tolto understood. "From Earth? Good guy, prob'ly. Want this dingus?" + + * * * * * + +Sime was able to take the neuro-pistol. He knew what was expected of +him, and strove to collect his faculties so he could obey orders. He +crawled a little way into the lock, where he could be in comparative +darkness, setting the little focalizer wheel at the side of the pistol +for maximum concentration. Such a beam would require good aiming, +being narrow, but if it touched a vital center would be infallibly +fatal. + +Meanwhile Tolto appraised one of the posts on the roof. It was firmly +set in masonry, but he found he could loosen it a little by shaking +it. Presently he had it uprooted. It made a splendid battering ram, a +war club fit for a giant such as he. + +"Here they come!" Sime croaked, and, peering around a corner, took +careful aim at the foremost attacker. At the first whispering impact +of the beam the Martian sprawled, dead. + +The soldiers were caught at a disadvantage. They were expecting club +or fist, but not the neuro-beam. Nevertheless Sime had no more easy +opportunities. The Martians flung themselves down behind the bulge of +the curved stairway, and the air became acrid under the malignant +neuro-beams. + +None of them reached Sime directly, but the stone walls reflected them +to some extent, and even under their greatly weakened power he become +cold and sick. + +The situation was by no means to his liking. There were other weapons +to be reckoned with, and he tried to keep consciousness from slipping +away from him. When at last his breathing became easier and his +diaphragm moved without pain, Sime knew that danger was greatest. For +this relief meant that the Martians had withdrawn down the stairway. + +"Good-by, boys!" he thought, as he sprinted up into the comparative +safety of the open. He motioned to Tolto, who stood hopefully waiting +with his great war club, to stand clear. + + * * * * * + +There it was! Sime saw the faint phosphorescent reflection against the +stone where the stairway curved. He did not wait to see the tiny +pellet of the atomic bomb floating up, but threw himself flat on the +roof, tugging at Tolto, who understood and followed suit. + +Even lying prone, and below the edge of the explosion cone, they were +nearly blown off the roof. Though no larger than a pinhead, the bomb +had the power of a thousand times its weight in fulminate of mercury. +When the rain of small stones and dust had subsided, they rubbed their +eyes and saw that the airlock was no more. In its place was a shallow +pit, ending with the top of the battered stairway. + +"Down after 'em!" Sime husked out of a raw throat. "Before they think +it's safe to come after us!" + +He led the way, the giant after him, carrying his club and a huge rock +fragment. Sime saw a cautious peering head, and that Martian died +instantly. Then they were around the bend and in the middle of a +fight. Sime deflected a hand that held a pistol, and its beam killed +another Martian who was about to let Tolto have it at close range. + +There was a light-wand affixed to the wall a trifle further down. +Tolto waded through the ruck of smaller men, tore it from its socket +and hurled it up the stairs. A short sword bit into Sime's shoulder, +but there was no force in the stroke, for in that instant Sime +paralyzed his enemy's heart with the beam. + +An officer barked a command, and the spang of neuro-beams ceased, to +be followed by the lethal rustling of swords. The passage was too +crowded for the neuro-pistols, giving the outnumbered prisoners the +advantage. + + * * * * * + +Tolto could not swing his club, but he hurled it, like a battering +ram, into the middle of twenty or twenty-five of the garrison who were +still below him on the steps, trying to get closer. The heavy timber +cleared a lane and the two stumbled down over crushed bodies. Sime was +now the only one to use his pistol, for he had no friends there to +kill accidentally. + +The Martians, were putting up a game battle. They were heirs to the +traditions and the spirit of Earth's best fighting men. Science had +given them deadly and powerful weapons that could kill over long +distances, but they preferred to get close to their adversaries. + +But Tolto was a Martian too. He had seized a sword from a dying hand +and was wielding it with aptitude and power. No formal thrust and +parry for him, but merely a savage sweep that sent swords, arms and +heads flying indiscriminately. + +Sime, following him, his neuro hissing death from side to side, +marveled at his ferocity. He saw a bare-bodied, bleeding fighter leap +to Tolto's back, his sword poised for a downward stab for the jugular. +Kicking viciously at the man who was just then coming at him, Sime +tried to bring Tolto's would-be killer down. But Tolto himself +attended to him, dashing him to his death with the elbow of his sword +arm. + +That diversion nearly cost Sime his life. Fortunately for him he +tripped, and the sword-thrust that was to disembowel him merely gashed +his side. Sime was beginning to enjoy the fight. The exercise was +loosening up his cramped muscles, and the shaky feeling due to the +reflected beams of the neuro-pistols was leaving him. + + * * * * * + +Tolto had smashed down the light-wands as they fought their way down +the steps, so that now they were in almost complete darkness. One +could still see the occasional rise and fall of a glinting sword and +the dark shadow of an arm or head. They were almost clear when Tolto +received his first serious wound, a stab in the abdomen that let out a +sticky stream of blood. + +There was an interval of silence, broken only by the groans of the +wounded. The air was thick with the odor of raw blood and pungent with +ozone. They had fought their way down perhaps two hundred feet of the +stairway, and due to its curve they could see neither top nor bottom. + +"I'm stuck!" Tolto muttered. + +"Bad?" Sime edged to his side, stepping, in the darkness, on the body +of the man who had succeeded in delivering that sword-stroke before +Tolto's own blade had cleft him. He felt the edges of the wound, but +in the darkness could not tell how serious it was. + +"Feel sick? Any retching?" he croaked anxiously. + +"Tolto's all right," the giant assured him. "I just said I was stuck." + +Sime managed to make a hurried bandage out of the slashed fragment of +Tolto's blouse, and again they resumed their descent. Strangely, their +enemies further up made no move to attack, although there were many +left alive. + +Sime laid his hand on Tolto's arm. + +"Something wrong here. There's somebody at the bottom of the steps, +and the fellows above want to give him elbow room. Well, we'll soon +see!" + + * * * * * + +They crawled up a short distance, began to haul inert bodies down, +dragging them as far as the last curve, until they had formed a +barricade of nineteen or twenty of their late enemies. It was +unpleasant work, but justified by following events. + +"Can you just see the loom of it?" Sime asked. + +"Yes." + +"Watch!" + +Sime felt about until he found a small fragment broken from the stone +steps. Keeping well within the shelter of the convex wall, he crept +toward the bend. + +"Dig your fingers into a joint and hold on," he instructed Tolto, +locating a crack for himself. Then he tossed the fragment gently over +the barricade of bodies. + +There was the click of its fall, and a moment later things seemed to +turn around. Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resisted +the warped gravitational drag that would have flung them down upon +their waiting enemies below. They seemed to be hanging in a well. +Sime had a confused impression of piled-up bodies hurtling down--down. + +Thereafter everything was normal again, and they were running down the +normal steps. Both had swords in their hands now, and within a hundred +feet they were upon the "gravitorser" gun. It was a rather cumbersome +weapon, comprising a great deal of electrical apparatus, with a +D-solenoid surmounting, whose object was to twist the normal lines of +gravitation. It was intended for large-scale operations in the open; +the few men remaining below had tried a rather risky experiment, for +they might have brought the whole fortress down upon them. Now they +were untangling themselves from the corpses that had flown at them as +iron flies to a magnet. + + * * * * * + +Sime and Tolto struck them like a tempest. The light was good and the +battle short and sweet. Tolto was slowed up a little, but was +irresistible, nevertheless. There is nothing surprising about the +seeming immunity of a reckless man in battle. He fights by instinct, +taking short-cuts that are not as dangerous as they look because the +enemy is not expecting them. So Sime and Tolto fought their way down, +until there was no one able to oppose them. + +Sime pressed a neuro-pistol into Tolto's hand, warned him to sweep the +stairs with it, while he coursed around for some of the pellet bombs. +He found them, and two of them closed that avenue of attack with a +mass of jumbled ruins. + +Now they had a breathing spell. A combination of blind luck and +foolhardiness had given them temporary possession of this desert +outpost. That was their pawn in the game of life and death--the chance +to get back and hide among the millions in the cities of the +industrial belt. Certain routine precautions had to be taken. They +destroyed the radio apparatus, picked a few days supply of food, threw +a couple more bombs and made a search for means of transportation: for +there was a desert wilderness of four or five hundred miles to be +traversed. + +They discovered the egg-shaped hull of an enclosed levitator car in +the covered courtyard. It was distinguished by the orange and green +stripes which are the Martian army standard. Like all army equipment, +it was in excellent condition. The hydrogen gages showed a full supply +of fuel. + +"We're getting the breaks," Sime crowed to Tolto at they surfeited +themselves with water before starting. He had covered his nakedness +with an ill-fitting fatigue suit. + +"Yeh," Tolto agreed, referring to their numerous wounds with sly +humor: "lots of 'em." + + * * * * * + +Nevertheless, they felt pretty happy when the levitator screws took up +their melancholy whine. The rocky valley floor dropped away, and the +windowless stone walls of the fortress slid down past them. Now they +were even with the top. + +Through the ports they could see a group of their late adversaries on +the roof, standing in strained attitudes. Their immobility was +explained a moment later by an electric blue spark from something in +the shadow of their bodies. + +Instantly Sime, who was at the controls, threw her hard-a-port, dived, +looped up. The first explosion of the tiny projectile tossed them up +like a monstrous wave, allowed them to drop sickeningly. The exhaust +tubes poured out a dense haze as Sime sought for distance. But they +were following him. He was five miles away when they finally got the +range. The vessel was jarred as if it had hit a rock. One of the +atomic pellets had exploded within a few feet of it. There was a +dismaying lurch. Sime picked himself up from the floor and dashed to +the controls. + +"Everything's all right!" he shouted excitedly. + +Tolto, however, was listening anxiously. There was a sharp crackling +at the stern, where, in a narrow space, the reaction motors provided +the forward motive power. In moments of excitement he referred to +himself in the third person. He did so now. + +"Tolto's afraid that something's wrong! Smells hot, too!" + +"Here, take the wheel!" Sime ordered. The explosions of the shells +were becoming less dangerous; they were getting too far away. + + * * * * * + +Sime burned his hand opening the narrow door. The paint was already +blistering off it. The trouble was immediately apparent. One of the +integrator chambers, in which atomic hydrogen was integrated to form +atomic iron and calcium (sometimes called the Michelson effect), had +sprung a leak. The heat escaping into the little room was not the +comparatively negligible heat of burning hydrogen, but the cosmic +energy of matter in creation. Sime slammed the door. The radiated +light was so intense that it stung even his hardened skin. + +Looking through the rear range-finding periscope, he saw that they +were about twenty miles from the fort. They had ceased firing. + +"Won't be long, Tolto," he said, taking over the controls himself +again, "before our tail's going to drop off. Got to make time." + +It was, in fact, about ten minutes when, without warning, their nose +dropped. + +"Tail's gone!" Sime announced. + +Their momentum, under the destructive rate of speed they had been +making, was great, and as the levitators, with independent power +supply, still held them up, Sime continued to steer a course for the +twin cities of Tarog. He was aided by a light breeze, and the Sun was +nearing the western horizon by the time their rate of motion had +become negligible. + +"Might at well land," Sime decided. "Conserve fuel. If we get a +favorable wind to-morrow we can go up and drift with it." + +But Tolto, who had been narrowly scanning the terrain, advised +continuing a little longer. + +"I thought I saw a little smoke, a few miles ahead. Seems to be gone +now. But we're still drifting slow." + + * * * * * + +Sime searched the indicated spot in the ground glass of the forward +magnifying periscope. After a few minutes he discovered a blackened +spot which might be the remains of a fire. It was surrounded by huge +blocks of orange rock, the igneous rock which is the outstanding +feature of the Martian desert landscape. + +"Looks like he built the fire around there so nobody on the same level +would see him," he hazarded. He set the altitude control to fifty +feet. There was part of the globular skeleton of a desert hog in the +fire; whoever had built it had dined most satisfyingly not long +before, and as the fugitives looked their stomachs contracted +painfully. + +"I could eat a whole one of them myself," Tolto said wistfully. + +The urge to descend here was strong upon Sime too. He realized that +the fire might have been made by some dangerous criminal--a fugitive +from justice; but dangerous men are no novelty to the I. F. P. On the +other hand, there was a possibility that it was just some political +offender, driven into the desert by persecution. Or a prospector. At +any rate, he would have food, or would know where it could be +procured. + +They had drifted some hundreds of yards farther and the ground was +getting constantly more broken, so the best time to land was as soon +as possible. Slowly the little ship settled, scraped on a rock and +arrested its slight forward motion, crunching solidly in the stony +soil. + +"Take a neuro, Tolto," Sime advised. "Whoever's here, if he or they +are dangerous, we won't get close enough to touch 'em with a sword." + +Tolto took the weapon without a word. They locked the door of the +ship. Men have been marooned for neglecting that little precaution. + +They walked in a spiral course, making an ever-widening circle, +looking sharply from left to right. Presently they came to the remains +of the fire. The ashes were hotter than the ground, proving that they +had been recently made. + +But nowhere was there any sign of men. They shouted, but only weird +echoes answered. + +The ship was now out of sight, and solitude pressed upon them. They +felt an uneasy desire to get within comfortable constricting walls. + +They found the ship without difficulty. + +"Well, whoever it was has lammed," Sime concluded. "Tolto, you climb +on top of that rock. Watch me. If you see anybody after me, let 'em +have it. I'm going to see if I can scare up a desert hog somewhere." + +Neither had stirred from his place, however, before they were suddenly +stricken to the ground. They felt the familiar sensation of cold and +suffocation--the paralysis caused by a diffused beam from a +neuro-pistol. Tolto was a little slower to fall, but he only lasted a +second longer. They knew that someone was taking the weapons out of +their helpless hands. Then life returned. + +"Get up," said a languid voice back of them, "and let's have a look at +the looks of ye." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +_The Flight of a Princess_ + + +The province of Hanlon, Prince Joro's hereditary domain, began about +fifty miles west of South Tarog. It was a region of thorn forests, +yielding a wood highly valued for ship-building, and the canal was +lined with shipyards, most of which belonged to the prince. The +so-called republic had been established before Joro was born, but the +reigning family of Hanlon had always been richly endowed with +astuteness. Deprived of their feudal holdings by a coup of state, they +had won back nearly all they had lost in the fields of finance and +trade. Joro was a monarchist for sentimental reasons, not for the +profits that might accrue to him. + +It was the purity of Joro's devotion to his ideal that made him so +dangerous to all who might oppose him. Lesser men might be bribed, +frightened, distracted. Not Joro: he believed that the monarchy would +soothe the rumblings of internal dissension that continually disturbed +the peace and tranquillity of Mars. He drove forward to that +consummation with a steadfastness and singleness of purpose such as +have carried other fanatics to glory or to the grave. And in addition +to his zeal he carried into the struggle his exceptional ability, a +knowledge of government and of people. + + * * * * * + +He had need for all of his rare skill now. It had been an easy matter +to carry forcibly the Princess Sira to his palace in Hanlon. Tolto was +safely out of the way; Mellie had been dismissed. As for the other +palace servants, they had been silenced with bribery or the stiletto. + +But Sira had remained adamant, and Joro, abstractedly toying with his +laboratory apparatus in the basement of his palace, tried to find the +key to her change of heart. + +"Can't understand it!" he mused. "She always seemed to have all the +royal instincts: cold to suitors, with that delicacy and reserve one +finds ideal in a princess. She does all things well, handles a sword +nearly as well as I do. Her mind is as keen and limpid as a diamond. +She swims like an eel...." + +He sighed. "I thought she and I saw eye to eye in this matter. Not +more than a week ago she seemed eager for news of the accord I was +arranging. She had no great aversion to Scar Balta. Now she says she +will die before she espouses him." + +He paused, thought a moment, added, with that absolute fairness and +impartiality that was characteristic of him: + +"True, Balta is not the ideal prince consort. He would not add kingly +qualities to the royal line. But he would confer cunning upon his +offspring; and energy--neither to be despised in a royal family that +must forever resist intrigue." He sighed again. "The responsibility of +king-making is a hard one!" + +A sudden thought struck him. "She spoke warmly about the proposed war; +could that be at the root of her strange change of heart? After all, +she is a woman, and with all her fine, true temper she has a gentle +heart. To her the death of a few thousands of her subjects may not +outweigh the unhappiness that millions are now experiencing. But the +financiers demand the war to consolidate their position, and Wilcox is +solidly with them." + +With new hope he set down the beaker he was toying with. "Perhaps we +can outwit them." + + * * * * * + +He left the laboratory, climbed a flight of stairs, entered the +spacious reception hall. This, like most Martian buildings, was domed. +It was richly furnished. The walls were hung with burnished, metallic +draperies of gorgeous colors, the floor a lustrous black, the +furniture of glittering metal. As the prince entered a servant stepped +forward. + +"Go at once to the Princess Sira's chamber!" Joro commanded sharply. +"Request her to come here. Tell her I have thought of the solution to +our difficulty." + +Impatiently he paced up and down, stopping at a window for a moment +and looking out into the night. + +"Your Highness! Your Highness!" The servant was sobbing with +excitement. "Your Highness, Princess Sira has escaped!" + +Joro left the man babbling, dashed up the broad stairs, unheeding the +servants who scattered before him. Their punishment could wait. Just +inside the princess's chamber, still unconscious from a blow on the +head, lay the guard whose duty it had been to stand before that door. +How long ago had she gone? Probably not more than a few minutes. + +Joro saw to it that her start would not be much longer. In a few +seconds men and women were scouring the palace grounds, and radio +orders to the provincial police of Hanlon were crowding the ether. + + * * * * * + +Sira had contrived her escape without any particular plan in mind. In +fact, it had been initiated on impulse. The fellow on guard at her +door had excited intense dislike in her. High-strung, and excited by +her kidnaping, she had been further annoyed by his officiousness, his +fawning, which thinly disguised impudence. The third or fourth time +that he intruded on her privacy to ask if she wanted anything she was +ready, with the heavy leg, unscrewed from a chair. She felled him in +the middle of a smirk, and seized the opportunity created. + +It happened that there was a service corridor close at hand. Down this +she sped, into the darkness of a boat-house. The doors were barred and +locked, of course, but the depths of the water showed a faint greenish +glimmer of light. Sira dived in, unhesitatingly, and after an easy +underwater swim she emerged in the open canal. There was a +considerable swell, for there was a slight breeze blowing from the +north across twenty miles of water, but this did not distress Sira at +all. She undulated through the waves with perfect comfort. Phobos was +just rising in the west, and orientating herself by this tiny moon she +struck out in a north-easterly direction, seeking a favorable current +to carry her toward Tarog. + +Early explorers on Mars were astonished to find that the canals were +not stagnant bodies of water, but possessed currents, induced by wind, +by evaporation, and the influx of fresh water from the polar ice caps. + +This was near the equator, however, and the water was not unreasonably +cold, although the night air was, as usual, chilly. After a few +minutes Sira discarded her clothing, and so settled down to a long +swim. + + * * * * * + +Ten miles out she struck a brisk easterly current, flowing toward +Tarog, and she gave herself up to it. Floating on her back she saw the +lights of the prince's ships flying back and forth over the water in +search of her--or her body. But none came near her, and she was +content. + +The abrupt tropical dawn found her in mid-canal, half-way to Tarog. +She had no intention of swimming all the way to the capital city, to +be fished ignominiously out of the canal by the police. She was in +need, not only of clothing, but of clothing that would disguise her. +Her coral pink body near the surface of the water would attract +attention for considerable distance, and would lead to unwelcome +inquiries. + +She was glad when she saw a fishing scow anchored in the current ahead +of her. The man who owned it had his back to her, fishing +down-current. She approached the boat silently and worked her way +around it by holding to the gunwale. + +Sira now saw that the fisherman was old, gnarled and sunburned so dark +that he was almost black, despite the dilapidated and dirty pith +helmet he was wearing. His lumpish face was deeply seamed and +wrinkled. His sunken mouth told of missing teeth, and his long, +unkempt hair was bleached to a dirty gray. + +"Have you an old coat you can lend me?" Sira asked, swimming into +view. + +The rheumy eyes rolled, settled on the water nymph. The old man showed +no surprise, but pious disgust. His eyes rolled up, and in a cracked +voice intoned: + +"Wicked, wicked! O great Pantheus, thy temptations are great--thy +visions tormenting. In my old age must I ever and ever live over--" + +"Foolish old man!" Sira snapped. "I'm not a vision!" She dragged down +an old sack that hung over the gunwale, washed it, and tearing holes +in the rotten fabric for her arms and head, slipped it on. It was a +large sack, coming to her knees; satisfied, she climbed aboard, where +she spread her black hair to dry. + +"Not a vision?" the old man quavered. "Then thou art reality, come to +gladden my old age--nay--to return youth to me! In my hut there is an +old hag. She shall go--" + + * * * * * + +Sira did not answer. She was neither disgusted nor amused by the dark +torrent that stirred in this decrepit old fisherman. She saw only that +he had pulled in his nets and was bowing his long arms to the oars, +pulling for shore. + +It took about two hours before they reached the fisherman's hut, a +nondescript, low-ceilinged shelter of logs, driftwood and untarnished +metal plates off some wreck. Several times they were hailed by other +fishermen, who addressed the old man as "Deacon" and asked jocularly +about what kind of a fish he had there. + +The deacon's wife awaited them. The old man's description of her as a +hag had not been far wrong. She, was as diminutive and weakened as he +was ponderous and heavy. She was acid. Her skin was like a pickled +apple's; her expression sour, her voice sharp. + +"Hoy there, you old hypocrite!" she hailed when they came in earshot. +"So this is the way you lose a day! Who's the hussy with you?" + +The deacon nosed the old and evil-smelling scow into the bank. His +eyes rolled piously. + +"The great Pantheus sent her. He said--" + + * * * * * + +The old woman came closer and inspected Sira, who endured her gaze +calmly. That look was like the bite of acid that reveals the structure +of crystal in metals. + +"Why, she's a lady!" she exclaimed then. "Not fittin' to be on the +same canal with you! Come in, my dear. You must be nearly dead!" + +She conducted Sira into the hut, which was far neater and cleaner than +its exterior suggested. + +"A lady!" she repeated. "In that heat! Young woman, what made you do +it? Look at those arms--near burnt! Let me take off that old sack. But +wait!" + +She tip-toed to the door, threw back the faded curtain sharply. The +deacon, too surprised to move, was standing there in the attitude of +one who seeks to see and hear at the same time. He lingered long +enough to receive two resounding slaps before fleeing to his boat, +followed by a string of curdling remarks. + +Back inside, she proceeded to anoint Sira's body, exclaiming her +pleasure at its perfection. The oil smelled fishy, but it was +soothing, and it was not long before the claimant to the throne of +Mars was deep in restful slumber. + +Late that afternoon the deacon returned and hung his nets up to dry. +He was dour, his fever having left him. But he had a strange story to +impart. + +"I think that girl I picked up is the Princess Sira," he told the old +woman. "On the fish buyer's barge, in the teletabloid machine, I saw +the forecast of her wedding to Scar Balta. And I'll swear it's the +same girl!" + +"And why," queried his wife, "would she be swimming in the middle of +the canal if she was getting ready to marry Scar Balta?" + +"That's just it!" the deacon exclaimed, and his eyes began to roll +again. "They say it's not a love match! Oh, not in the teletabloid! +They wouldn't dare hint such a thing. But the men on the barge. They +say there's a rumor that she ran away. And she looks like the girl I +picked up, though I thought--" + +"Never mind what you thought!" she snapped. "It may be, I served the +oligarchy and the noble houses--before I was fool enough to run away +with a no-good fisherman--and I can see she is a lady. Well, she can +trust in me." + +"They say," the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, and +inquired at the proper place, there would be a reward." + +The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly. + +"Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to Scar +Balta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, because +I'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?" + +Considerably shaken, the deacon said he understood. + + * * * * * + +But the next morning, on the placid bosom of the canal, he forgot her +warning. The fleshpots of Tarog called him. Tarog, where he had spent +youth and money with a lavish hand. Tarog, where a reward awaited him. + +He hauled in his anchor, gave the unwieldy boat to the current and +bent to the oars. + +Back in the hut, unsuspecting of treachery, Mrs. Homms and Sira were +rapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of character +herself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without any +prying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilled +her, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant. + +"I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully. + +"You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me." + +"I will do what I can gladly." + +"I need a workingman's trousers and blouse, and a sun-hat that will +shade my face. I have a plan, but I must get to Tarog. Can you get me +these things?" + +"I have no money, but wait!" She rummaged with gnarled fingers in a +chink in the wall, withdrew a small brooch-pin of gold, with a pink +terrestrial pearl in its center. + +"My last mistress gave me this," she said smiling sadly. "I will row +to the trading boat and buy what you need. There will be a little +money left to buy your passage on a freight barge." + +And that was why, when the deacon arrived at the head of a squad of +soldiers that evening, there was no girl of any description to be +found. Ignoring the cowering and unhappy reward seeker, the old woman +delivered her dictum to the sergeant in charge. + +"Princess? Ha! The deacon, sees princesses and mermaids in every mud +bank. His imagination grew too and crowded out his conscience. No, +mister, there ain't any princess here." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +_In the Desert_ + + +Mellie, Sira's personal maid, was too disturbed by her mistress's +kidnaping to seek other employment. She saw the teletabloid forecasts +of the wedding, made life-like by clever technical faking, but rumors +of the princess' escape were circulating freely despite a rigid +censorship. She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of the +canal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror. + +Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother. +Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of the +Interplanetary Radio and Television Co., and his income was ample to +provide a better than average home on the desert margin of South +Tarog. Here Mellie sat in the glass-roofed garden, staring moodily at +the luxuriant vegetation. + +She looked abstractedly at the young man coming down the garden walk, +annoyed by the disturbance. There was something familiar in the sway +of his hips as he walked. + +And then she flew up the path. Her arms went around the visitor, and +Mellie, the maid, and Princess Sira kissed. + +Mellie was immediately confused. A terrible breach of etiquette, this. +But Sira laughed. + +"Never mind, Mellie. It is good for me, a fugitive, to find a home. +Will you keep me here?" + +"Will I?" Mellie poured into these words all her adoration. + +"Mellie, the time has come for action. Not for the monarchy. I am sick +of my claims. I would give it all--You remember the young officer of +the I. F. P.? The one who kissed me?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, that comes later. First I must consider the war conspiracy. +Have you heard of it?" + +"There are rumors." + +"They are true. Will Wasil help me?" + +"He has worshiped you, my princess, ever since the time I let him help +me serve you at the games." + +"One more question." Sira's eyes were soft and misty. "My dear Mellie, +you realize that I may be trailed here? What may happen to you?" + +"Yes, my princess. And I don't care!" + + * * * * * + +As Murray parted from his brother-in-arms, Sime Hemingway, on the roof +of the cylindrical fortress in the Gray Mountains, he felt the +latter's look of bitter contempt keenly. He longed bitterly to give +Sime some hint, some assurance, but dared not, for Scar Balta's +cynical smile somehow suggested that he could look through men and +read what was in their hearts. So Murray played out his renegade part +to the last detail, even forcing his thoughts into the role that he +had assumed in order that some unregarded detail should not give him +away. He convinced the other I. F. P. man, anyway. + +But Murray had an uneasy feeling that Balta was laughing at him, and +when the shifty soldier politician invited him into his ship for the +ride back to Tarog, Murray had a compelling intuition that he would +not be in a position to step out of the ship when it landed on the +parkway of Scar Balta's hotel. + +Having infinite trust in his intuitions, Murray thereupon made certain +plans of his own. + +He noted that the ship, which was far more luxurious than one would +expect a mere army colonel to own, had a trap-door in the floor of the +main salon. Murray pondered over the purpose of this trap. He could +not assign any practical use for it, in the ordinary use of the ship. + +But he could not escape the conviction that it would be a splendid way +to get rid of an undesirable passenger. Dropped through that trap-door +a man's body would have an uninterrupted fall until it smashed on the +rocks below. + +Murray then examined the neuro-pistol that had been given him. It +looked all right. But when he broke the seal and unscrewed the little +glass tube in the butt, he discovered that it was empty. The gray, +synthetic radio-active material from which it drew its power had been +removed. + +Murray grinned at this discovery, without mirth. It was conclusive. + + * * * * * + +At the first opportunity he jostled one of the soldiers, knocking his +neuro-pistol to the floor--his own, too. And when he apologetically +stooped and retrieved them the mollified soldier had the one with the +empty magazine. + +So far, so good. Murray noted that the wall receptacles were all +provided with parachutes. It would be simple to take one of these, +make a long count, and be on the ground before he was missed. Provided +that he could leave unobserved. + +The ship was now well in the air, and beginning to move away from the +fort. But they were only ten miles away, and Murray had hardly +expected that Balta would be in such a hurry. + +"You get off here!" Balta said, and Murray felt the muzzle of the +neuro-pistol on his spinal column. + +A grinning soldier seized a countersunk ring and raised the trap-door. + +"So you're going to murder me," Murray said, speaking calmly. + +"I take no chances," was Balta's short answer. "Step!" + +Murray stepped, swaying like a man in deadly fear. He lowered his feet +through the hole. Looking down, he saw that they were about to pass +over a bitter salt lake, occasionally found in the Martian desert. He +looked up into the muzzle of the menacing neuro-pistol. + +"Balta, you're a dog!" he stated coldly. + +"A live dog, anyway," the other remarked with a twisted grin. "You +know the saying about dead lions." + +Murray's fingers clenched on the edge of the rug. It was thin and +strong, woven of fine metal threads. They were just over the edge of +the salt lake. + +Murray dropped through, but retained his death-like grip on the rug. +It followed jerkily, as the men above tripped, fell, and rolled +desperately clear. + + * * * * * + +Murray's heart nearly stopped as he fell the first thousand feet. The +rug, sheer as the finest silk, failed to catch the wind. It ran out +like a thin rivulet of metal, following Murray in his unchecked drop. + +But he had a number of seconds more to fall, and he occupied the time +left to him. He fumbled for corners, found two, lost precious time +looking for the others. He had three corners wrapped around one hand +when the wind finally caught the sheer fabric, bellied it out with a +sharp crack. The sudden deceleration nearly jerked his arm out. + +Even so, he was still falling at a fearful rate. The free corner was +trailing and snapping spitefully, and the greasy white waters of the +lake were rushing up! + +At any rate, the rug held him upright, so that he did not strike the +water flat. His toes clove the water like an arrow, and the rug was +torn from his grasp. The water crashed together over his head with +stunning force. After that it seemed to Murray that he didn't care. It +didn't matter that his eyes stung--that his throat was filled with +bitter alkali. All of his sensations merged in an all-pervading, +comfortable warmth. There was a feeling of flowing blackness, of time +standing still. + +Murray's return to consciousness was far less pleasant. His entire +body was a crying pain: every internal organ that he knew of harbored +an ache of its own. He groaned, and by that token knew that he was +breathing. + +As unwillingly he struggled back to consciousness he realized that he +was inside a rock cave, lying on a thin, folded fabric that might well +be the rug that had served as an emergency parachute. He could see the +irregular arch of the cave opening, could catch hints of rough stone +on the interior. + + * * * * * + +He sat up with an effort. There was a vile taste in his mouth, and he +looked around for something to drink. There was a desert water bottle +standing on the floor beside him. That meant he had been found and +rescued by some Martian desert rat who had probably witnessed his +fall. He rinsed out his mouth with clean, sweet spring water from the +bottle, drank freely. His stomach promptly took advantage of the +opportunity to clear itself of the alkali, and Murray, controlling his +desire to vomit, crawled outside into the blinding light of the +Martian afternoon. He saw that the cave was high up on the side of one +of the more prominent cliffs. There were many such hollowed places, +indicating that the sloping shelf on which he now lay had once been +the beach of a vast sea which at some time must have covered all but +the higher peaks of the Gray Mountains. It was, of course, the sea +that had deposited the scanty soil which here and there covered the +rocks. During geologic ages it shrunk until it all but disappeared, +leaving only a few small and bitter lakes in unexpected pockets. + +There was a succession of prehistoric beaches below Murray's vantage +point, marking each temporary sea level, giving the mountain a +terraced appearance. A thousand feet below was the white lake, +sluggish and dead. + +Murray was looking for the man who had saved him. He was able to +discern him, after a little effort, toiling up the steep slopes. He +was still nearly all the way down. He could see only that he seemed to +be dressed in white desert trousers and blouse, and that he wore a +broad-brimmed sun helmet. He was carrying something in a bag over his +shoulder. He was making the difficult ascent with practiced ease, his +body thrown well forward, making fast time for such an apparently +deliberate gait. + + * * * * * + +The desert glare hurt Murray's eyes. He closed them and fell asleep. +He awoke to the shaking of his shoulder, looked up into a +black-bearded face, a beard as fierce and luxuriant as his own. But +where Murray was bald, this man's hair was as thick and black as his +beard. He had thrown off his helmet, so that his massive head was +outlined against the sky. His torso was thick, his shoulders broad. +Large, intelligent eyes and brilliant coral skin proclaimed the man to +be a native of Mars. + +The man's white teeth flashed brilliantly when he spoke. + +"Feeling better? Man, you can feel good to be here at all! Time and +again have I seen Scar Balta drop 'em into that lake, but you're the +first one ever to break the surface again. He gave you a break, +though. First time he ever gave anybody as much as a pocket +handkerchief to ease his fall. That lake is useful to Scar. It keeps +the bodies he gives it, and none ever turn up for evidence." + +Murray was still struggling with nausea. "Want to thank you," he +managed. "I got it bad enough. Ow! I feel sick!" + +The Martian bestirred himself. He scraped up the ancient shingle, +making a little pillow of sand for Murray's head. The Sun was already +nearing the western horizon, and its heat was no longer excessive. +Murray watched through half-closed lids as the big man descended a +short distance, returning with an armful of short, greasy shrubs. He +broke the shrub into bits, made a neat stack; stacked a larger ring of +fuel around this, until he had a flat conical pile about eight inches +high and two feet in diameter. + + * * * * * + +From a pocket safe he procured a tiny fire pellet. This he moistened +with saliva and quickly dropped into the center of his fuel stack. The +pellet began to glow fiercely, throwing off an intense heat. In a few +seconds the fuel caught, burning briskly and without smoke. + +"Wouldn't dare do this in the open," the Martian explained, "if this +stuff gave off any smoke at all. The pulpwood mounds down in the +flats make a nice fire, but they smoke and leave black ashes, easy to +see from the sky. Now you just rest easy. You'll feel better soon as +you get some skitties under your belt." + +The skitties proved to be a species of quasi-shellfish, possessing +hemispherical houses. In lieu of the other half of their shell they +attached themselves to sedimentary rocks. They were the only form of +life that had been able to adapt themselves to the chemicalization of +the ancient sea-remnant. The Martian had left them thin flakes of +rock. Now he placed the shells in the red-hot coals, and in a very +short time the skitties were turning out, crisp and appetizing. +Following his host's example, Murray speared one with the point of his +stiletto, blew on it to cool it. It proved to be delicious, although +just a trifle salty. + +"Drink plenty water with it," the Martian advised him. "Plenty more +about five hundred feet down. Artesian spring there. Fact is, that's +all that keeps that lake from drying up. You ought to see the mist +rise at night." + +Murray ate four of the skitties. Then, because the sun was getting +ready to plop down, they carefully extinguished the fire, scattering +the ashes. The I. F. P. agent felt greatly strengthened by his meal +and assisted his host with the evening chores. Nightfall found them in +their darkened cave, ready for an evening's yarning. + + * * * * * + +"I took the liberty of examining your effects," the Martian began. +"Sort of introduced you to myself. The fact that you wore the Martian +army uniform was no fine recommendation to me, though I once wore it +myself. Your weapons I hid, except for the knife you needed to eat. +But you'll find them in that little hollow right over your head. The +fact that you're an enemy of Scar Balta is enough for the present. +That alone is repayment for the labor of carrying you up all this +way." + +Murray then told him of work on Mars. There was no use concealing +anything from one who was obviously a fellow fugitive, and who might +be persuaded to do away with his guest, should he have strong enough +suspicions. He told of the war cabal, of the financial-political +oligarchy and its opposing monarchists. He related his own discovery +and arrest; the pretended enlistment in Scar Balta's forces which +terminated in Scar's prompt and ruthless action. When he finished he +sensed that he had made a deep impression on his host. The latter +spoke. + +"What you have told me, Murray, relieves me very much," he said. "I +know that we can work together. You might as well know how I came to +be here. Perhaps I look forty or fifty years old. Well, I'm thirty. I +was news director for the televisor corporations. I didn't have to be +very smart to realize that a lot of the stuff we were ordered to send +out was propaganda, pure and simple. Propaganda for the war interests, +propaganda for the financiers. Commercial propaganda too. + +"Why, the stuff we put out was a crime! The service to the +teletabloids was the worst. You know how they outstrip the news; hired +actors take the part of personages in the news. Ever watch 'em? The +way they enact a murder is good, isn't it?" + + * * * * * + +"We got orders to bear down on your service too, the I. F. P. Your +crew has too many points of contact, hiking from planet to planet. The +high command couldn't see things the bankers liked, I guess. + +"So whenever a man of the I. F. P. figured in the news we always gave +him the worst of it. We hired bums to play his part, criminals, +vicious degenerates. People believe what they see--that's the idea. I +had seen very few of your men but I knew we were giving them a dirty +deal. Orders were orders, though. We got lots of orders we didn't +understand. Then secret deals were made, and those orders +countermanded. + +"But the order against the I. F. P. remained standing, and we +certainly did effective work against 'em. The people had no way of +knowing the difference, either, for the company controls all means of +communication, and the I. F. P. does most of its work in out of the +way places. Why just to show you how effective our work was--the +people, in a special plebiscite, voted to withdraw their support from +the Plutonian campaign! But that was going too far; the financiers +quietly reversed that. + +"At the same time, we got orders to glorify Wilcox, the planetary +president. It was Wilcox signing a bill to feed the hungry--after +their property had been stripped by the taxes. It was Wilcox the +benevolent; Wilcox the superman. Wilcox, in carefully rehearsed +dramatic situations, reproduced on the stereo-screens in every home. +You know who put over the slogan, 'Wilcox, the Solar Savior?' We did +it. It was easy!" He laughed shortly. + +"The only time we failed was, when they wanted to end, once and for +all, the prestige of the royal house. That was after they had bought +the assassination of the claimant, his wife and their son. Didn't dare +take Princess Sira too, because she has always been a popular darling. +It would have been too raw, wiping out the whole family. They left one +claimant, see? And then put it up to us to discredit her! + +"Man! That fell down! The first attempt was very smooth, at that. But +it brought in such a storm of condemnation they had to drop that. + +"You can guess how we boys at the central office felt about it. No +wonder we got cynical and lost all self-respect. We couldn't have +stood it at all, but sometimes we'd put on a special party, just to +let off steam. Did we rip 'em up high and handsome? The more +outrageous the flattery we sent out, disguised as news, the more +baldly truthful we were in those early morning rehearsals, with the +mikes and telegs dead. Wilcox was our special meat. + +"Of course, it was foolhardy. One night a mixer in the room below us +got his numbers mixed, killing a banquet program on a trunk channel +and sending our outrageous burlesque out instead. When the poor fellow +discovered his mistake he made for the bottom of the canal. As for me, +I made for the desert. I never heard what became of the others, and +that was six years ago. I wonder if I've changed much." + +"What's your name?" Murray asked suddenly. + +"Tuman. Nay Tuman." + +"The others must have been caught. As for yourself, orders have been +sent all over the solar system to kill you on sight. They hung the +killing of that electrician on you." + +"That's their way!" Nay Tuman absented gloomily. "A price on my head. +They thought I'd stow away on some rocket liner, I suppose." + +"Weren't you afraid some desert rat would give you away?" + +"No danger. They're just about all fugitives themselves. They hid me +till I grew this foliage. They showed me how to find food and water +where seemingly there was none. The desert isn't sterile. Why, I know +of three or four men within fifty miles of here! Sometimes they stop +at my spring for water. As for the harness frames at the fort, those +sojers might as well be blind, considering all they miss." + +"You asked a while ago if you've changed much. You have. I remember +your picture. All of us studied it, because there's a 100,000 I. P. +dollar reward out. You were a slim lad then, not the fuzzy bear you +are now. How would you like to go in to Tarog with me? They seem to +have us licked now--but did you ever hear that the I. F. P. is most +dangerous when it's been thoroughly licked?" + +"I don't know--I'm used to the solitude," Tuman demurred. "In the city +I'd be lost." + +But Murray won him over. He had a persuasive way with him. + + * * * * * + +The next morning they started, guiding their course by the Sun. They +made no attempt to travel fast, but the going was easy. Although they +rested during the heat of the day, and buried themselves for the +nights in the sun-warmed sand, they made about fifteen miles a day. +They saw no other human being. These desert dwellers did not meet for +mere sociability. + +They left the mountains on the second day, descending to the lower +level of a broad, sterile plain which was studded by the low, greenish +pulp-mounds, that resembled mossy rocks more than vegetation. After +two days more they came to a region where huge blocks of stone, of the +prevailing orange or brick color, lay scattered around on the plain. + +"They look good to me," Tuman said. "If some patrol comes along now +we'll have plenty of cover, at least. This belt is a hundred miles +wide, maybe a little more. Good hunting there. Plenty of desert hogs, +as fat and as round as a ball of bovine butter. I can knock 'em over +with a rock, and you can use your neuro, in a pinch." + +They did, in fact, succeed in capturing one of the little creatures +soon afterward, and, dropping a moistened fire pellet on top of a +pulp-mound, soon were roasting their meat. + +Not once, however, did either one relax his vigilance. Almost +simultaneously they discovered the little black dot that seemed to pop +out of the irregular southern horizon. They leaped to their feet, +kicked out the fire. They would have covered the ashes with sand but +for hundreds of feet in either direction there was nothing but bare +rock. + +"Never mind!" Murray said. "Let's make for cover. They may think it's +an old fireplace. With rains only about once in three years that spot +will look like that indefinitely." + +"Yes," Tuman agreed, running along, "if they didn't see the smoke!" + + * * * * * + +As the craft neared they could make out the orange and green of the +Martian army. + +"From the fort," Murray guessed. "Scar Balta must have had his doubts +about me. He ordered them out to finish the job, if necessary." + +"It's drifting," Tuman observed. "The driving tail seems to be +missing." + +"Well, anyway, it's coming down, and where an army ship comes down is +no place for us." + +They heard the scrape of her keel as she settled down. Murray gave a +gasp of surprise. + +"Tuman," he muttered, "that fellow wearing the Martian uniform is an +I. F. P. agent named Hemingway. The uniform doesn't fit and I bet the +man he took it from is no longer alive. Do you know the giant with +him?" + +"Under that dirt and blood, I'd say he's Tolto, Princess Sira's +special pet. No other man of Mars could be that big! Seven or eight +years ago--she was just a kid, you know--she picked him up in some +rural province. Kids just naturally do run to pets, don't they? And +the princess was no exception. But he looks like nobody's pet now. I'd +rather have him peg me with his neuro, though, than to take me in his +hands!" + +They watched as Sime and Tolto slowly walked about in widening +circles, and when they were sufficiently far away Murray and Tuman +closed in. They had no expectation of finding the ship unlocked, and +wasted no time trying to get it. Instead they climbed a flat-topped +block of stone about ten feet high. From this position they could +command, with Murray's neuro, anyone who might seek to enter the ship. + +"These fellows are our best hope," Murray told Tuman. "But we have to +convince 'em that we're friends first. Otherwise we're liable to be +cold meat, and cold meat can't convince anybody. Keep your head down." + +The necessity of lying flat, in order to keep from silhouetting +themselves against the sky, deprived them of the opportunity to see. +Nevertheless, they could tell, by the sound of their voices, when Sime +and Tolto returned. When it seemed that they were directly beneath, +Murray risked a look. There they were. + +Murray carefully set the little focalizer wheel for maximum diffusion. +He felt sure that it would not be fatal, considering the distance and +the physical vigor of the men he meant to hold. He pressed the +trigger. + +"Get down quick!" he snapped. "I'll let up for a second; you grab +their neuros." + +Tuman executed the order with dispatch. Stepping back, he trained the +pistols on their late owners, while Sime and Tolto, a little dazed, +stumbled to their feet. A man may argue, or take chances, when menaced +by a needle-ray, but mere bravery does not count with the neuros. All +men's nervous systems are similar, and when nerves are stricken, +courage is of no avail. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +_Plot and Counter-Plot_ + + +As these four men faced one another in the slanting rays of the +setting Sun far out on the desert, the planetary president, Wilcox, +sat in his office in the executive palace in South Tarog, situated, as +were so many of the public buildings, on the banks of the canal. + +Wilcox was in his sixties. A gray man, pedantic in his speech, his +features were strong: his nose, short and straight, somehow, expressed +his intense intolerance of opposition. His long, straight lower jaw +protruded slightly, symbolizing his tenacity, his lust for power. His +eyes, large, gray, intolerant, looked before him coldly. Wilcox was +the result of the union of two root-stocks of the human race, of a +terrestrial father, a Martian mother. He had inherited the +intelligence of both--the conscience of neither. + +Now he sat in a straight, severe chair, before a severe, heavy table. +Even the room seemed to frown. Wilcox's face was free of wrinkles, yet +it frowned too. He seemed not to see the flaming path the setting Sun +drew across the broad expanse of the canal, for he was thinking of +bigger things. Wilcox was a little mad, but he was a madman of +imagination and resource, and he was not the first one to control the +destinies of a world. + +"Waffins!" His voice rang out sharp and querulous. A servant, +resplendent in the palace livery of green and orange, was instantly +before him bowing low. + +"Who awaits our pleasure?" + +"Scar Balta, sire," answered Waffins, bowing low again. + +"We will see him." + +Waffins disappeared. Scar Balta came in alone, sleek as usual showing +no trace of his irritation over his long wait. He did not even glance +at the somber hangings that concealed a number of recesses in the +wall. Scar knew that guards stood back of those hangings, armed with +neuro-pistols or needle-rays as a precaution against the ever-present +menace of assassination. And of the loopholes back of these recesses, +with still other armed men, as a constant warning to any of the inner +guards whose thoughts might turn to treachery. + + * * * * * + +Scar Balta bowed respectfully. + +"Your Excellency desired to see me?" + +"I wished to see you, or I should not have had you called," Wilcox +replied irritably. "I wish to have an explicit understanding with you +as to our proceeding next week at our conference with the financial +delegates. Sit here, close to me. It is not necessary for us to shout +our business to the world." + +Balta took the chair beside Wilcox, and they conversed in low tones. + +"First of all," Wilcox wanted to know, "how is your affair with the +Princess Sira progressing?" + +"Your Excellency knows." Balta began cautiously, "that the news +agencies have been sending out pictorial forecasts--" + +"Save your equivocation for others!" Wilcox interrupted sharply. "I am +aware of the propaganda work. It was by my order that the facilities +were extended to you. I am also aware that the princess escaped from +Joro's palace. An amazing piece of bungling! Did she really escape or +is Joro forwarding some plot of his own?" + +"He seems genuinely disturbed. He has spent a fortune having the canal +searched by divers, flying ships and surface craft. If Sira fails to +marry me Joro's life ambition will fail, for the hopes of the +monarchists will then be forever lost." + +"True; but his Joro some larger plan? His is a mind I do not +understand, and therefore I must always fear. A man with no ambition +for himself, but only for an abstract. It is impossible!" + +"Not impossible!" Balta insisted. "Joro is a strange man. He believes +that the monarchy would improve conditions for the people. And, Your +Excellency, wouldn't I be a good king?" + + * * * * * + +Wilcox looked at him morosely. His low voice carried a chill. + +"Do not anticipate events, my friend! There are certain arrangements +to be made with the bankers regarding the election of a solar +governor!" His large gray eyes burned. "Solar governor! Never in +history has there been a governor of the entire solar system. Destiny +shapes all things to her end, and then produces a man to fill her +needs!" + +"And that man sits here beside me, Balta added adroitly. Wilcox did +not sense the irony of the quick take-up. He had been about to +complete the sentence himself. But his mind was practical. + +"The bankers must be satisfied. The terrestrial war must be assured +before they will lend their support." + +"It is practically assured now," Balta insisted. "Our propaganda +bureau has been at work incessantly, and public feeling is being +worked up to a satisfactory pitch. Only last night two terrestrial +commercial travelers were torn to pieces by a mob on suspicion that +they were spies." + +"Good!" Wilcox approved. "Let there be no interruption in the work. +Our terrestrial agents report excellent results on Earth. They +succeeded in poisoning the water supply of the city of Philadelphia. +Thousands killed, and the blame placed on Martian spies. Our agents +found it necessary to inspire a peace bloc in the pan-terrestrial +senate in order to keep them from declaring war forthwith. But these +things are of no concern to you. Have you made the necessary +arrangements with the key men of the army?" + +"I have, Your Excellency. They are chafing for action. The overt act +will be committed at the appointed time, and the terrestrial liner +will be disintegrated without trace." + +"And have you made arrangements for the disposal of the ship's +records?" + + * * * * * + +"Our own ship? I thought it best to have a time bomb concealed aboard. +That way not only the records will be destroyed but there will be no +men left to talk when the post-war investigating commission comes +around." + +"Well managed!" Wilcox approved shortly. "See that there is no +failure!" He dismissed the young man by withdrawing to his inner self, +where he rioted among stupendous thoughts. + +Scar Balta emerged into the streets, brightly illuminated with the +coming of night, and his thoughts were far from easy. The absence of +the princess was a serious handicap--might very easily be disastrous. +With her consent and help it would have been so simple! The people, +entirely unrealizing that their emotions were being directed into just +the channels desired, could most easily be reached through the +princess. + +First the war, of course, and then, when the threatened business +uprising against financial control had been crushed, a planet-wide +sentimental spree over the revival of the monarchy and the marriage of +the beautiful and popular princess. As prince consort, Scar would then +find it a simple matter to maneuver himself into position as authentic +king. + +But without the princess! Ah, that was something else again! For the +first time in his devious and successful career, Scar Balta felt +distinctly unhappy. He had schemed, suffered and murdered to put +himself in reach of this glittering opportunity, and he would +inevitably lose it unless he could find Sira. + +In the midst of his unhappy reflections he thought of Mellie. + + * * * * * + +Sira knew well that Wasil adored her. He had for her the same dog-like +devotion that Mellie had. She knew she could ask for his life and he +would give it. And what she had planned for him was almost equivalent +to asking for his life. + +She told him as much, sitting beside him on a bench in the garden. His +smooth coral face was alight, his large eyes inspired. + +"I will do just as you have commanded me!" he declared solemnly, and +would have kissed her hand. + +"You must not only do it; you must keep every detail to yourself. You +must not even tell Mellie. Do you promise?" + +"I promise!" + +She kissed him on the forehead. "Farewell, Wasil. I have been here two +days already--far longer than prudence allows. They will be here +looking for me. Have you any money?" + +Wasil produced a roll of I. P. scrip; handed it to her. + +"Kiss Mellie for me," she called, as she slipped out of the garden. +She was still dressed in the coarse laborer's attire that she had +bought on the trading boat, and mingled readily with the crowds in the +streets. She hoped she would not meet Mellie, for the girl's devotion +might outweigh her judgment. + +The rest of that day Sira prowled about the city. Mingling with the +common people, she came to have a new insight in their struggles, +their sorrows. Passing the walls of her own palace, now locked and +sealed, she felt, strangely, resentment that there should be such +piled-up wealth while people all around lacked almost the necessities +of life. + + * * * * * + +She surprised herself, also, by a changing attitude toward the life +ambition of Prince Joro. The old man's discussions of social +conditions that could be corrected by a benevolent monarch had always +before seemed to her merely academic and without great interest. Such +co-operation as she had given him was motivated entirely by personal +ambition. Now she recalled some of Joro's theories, reviewed them in +her mind, half consenting. + +Always she would strike a barrier when she came to Scar Balta. The +more she thought of him the more he repelled her. She puzzled over +that. Scar was quite personable. + +Tarog, every industrial city along the equatorial belt, and even the +remotest provinces, were seething with war talk. The teletabloids at +the street corners always had intent audiences. Sira watched one of +them. Disease germs had been found in a shipment of fruit juices from +the Earth. The teletabloids showed, in detail, diabolical looking +terrestrials in laboratory aprons infecting the juices. Then came +shocking clinical views of the diseases produced. Men, on turning +away, growled deep in their throats and women chattered shrilly. The +parks were milling with crowds who came to hear the patriotic +speakers. + +There was hardly anyone at the stereo-screens, where the news of real +importance was given. + +"President Wilcox announced to-day that an interplanetary conference +of financiers will be held in his office three days from to-day, +beginning at the third hour after sunrise. President Wilcox, whose +efforts have been unremitting to prevent the war which daily seems +more inevitable, declared that the situation may yet be saved unless +some overt act occurs." At the same time the device showed a +three-dimensional picture of the planetary president, impressive, +dominating, stern with a sternness that could mean almost anything. + +Sira, hurrying home to an inexpensive lodging house, thought: + +"Three days from to-day! I have done what I could. The hopes of the +solar system now rest with Wasil. I am only a helpless spectator." + + * * * * * + +Tarog awaited the conference on the morrow bedecked like a bride. The +Martian flag, orange and green, fluttered everywhere. On both sides of +the canal the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares were restless with +pedestrians, and the air was swarming with taxicabs. Excitement was +universal, and business was good. + +The glare of the twin cities could be seen far out in the cold desert. +Four men, stumbling along wearily, occasionally estimated the distance +with wearied eyes and plodded onward. + +After a long silence Murray remarked: + +"It's just as well that the levitators gave out when they did. We were +drifting mighty slow--making practically no time at all. Probably we'd +have been spotted if we'd gone much further." + +"Yeh?" Sime Hemingway conceded doubtfully. "But they may spot us +anyway. We have no passes, and none of us looks very pretty. As for +Tolto, we could hide a house as easy as him." + +"But we must go on," said Tuman, the Martian. "Yonder lights seem too +bright, too numerous for an ordinary day. There's some kind of +celebration." + +They trudged on for several hours more. Although weariness made their +feet leaden and pressed on their eyelids, they dared not halt. Each +one nursed some secret dread. Tolto thought of his princess, his child +goddess, and mentally fought battle with whomever stood between him +and her. Sime and Murray saw in those lights only war, swift and +horrible. Tuman imagined a city full of enemies, ruthless and +powerful. + +Gradually, as they came closer, the lights began to go out one by one. +The city was going to bed. + + * * * * * + +An hour later they came to an illuminated post marking the end of a +street. A teletabloid was affixed to this post, buzzing, but its +stereo-screen blank. Murray found a coin, inserted it in the slot. + +"Marriage of the Princess Sira and Scar Balta will be held immediately +after the financial congress," the machine intoned briskly, and in +time with its running comments it began to display pictures. + +Sime, watching indifferently, caught his breath. It seemed to him that +he knew this girl, who appeared to be walking toward him up a stately +garden alley. She came steadily forward with a queenly, effortless +stride. And now it seemed as if she had seen him, for she turned and +looked straight into his eyes. It seemed that her expression changed +from laughing to pleading. And he recognized the girl with the +stiletto whom he had caught in his hotel room. + +He said nothing, however. He could hardly explain the feeling of +sadness that came over him. He stood silent, while the others +commented excitedly over the overshadowing war news. + +"It's all in the box," Tuman said gloomily. "Many times I've helped +cook up something like this. The boys in the central offices are +laughing, or swearing, as the cast may be. The poor devils don't own +their own souls, if they're equipped with any. I'd rather be here, +expecting to be thrown into a cell by daylight!" He shivered in the +night chill. + +They ran into a little luck when they needed it most. A roving taxi +swooped down upon them, hailed them for fares. They flew the rest of +the way in. Their luck held. A city policeman, noting their stumbling +walk as they lurched into a cheap hotel, did not trouble them for +their passes. He had seen many such men that night, soldier and +civilian, with clothes bloody and torn. The excitement of the day, +coupled with the fact that nearly everyone carried arms, had led to +numerous fights, not a few of which ended fatally. + +"Merclite!" grinned the policeman, suppressing a hiccup of his own. +"And besides, that big 'un would make two of me." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +_One Thousand to One_ + + +The scheme that Sira had imparted to Wasil was simple--simple and +direct. Moreover, it was sure, provided it succeeded. Its execution +was something else again. Its chances were, mathematically expressed, +about as follows: + +If every single detail worked as expected, a great and smashing +success. Ratio: 1:1,000. + +If one single detail failed, immediate and certain death for Wasil. +Ratio: 1,000:1. + +The princess knew that the power of Wilcox, his supporting oligarchy +and the interplanetary bankers, was all based on the skilful use of +propaganda. If the people of Mars and of Earth knew the forces that +were influencing them, their revulsion would be swift and terrible. +There would be no war. There would be events painful and disastrous to +their present rulers, but a great betterment of humanity's condition. + +The key to the situation was the news monopoly, the complete control +of all broadcasting--of the stereo-screens, the teletabloids--that +colored all events to suit the ends of the ruling group. The people of +Mars as well as of Earth were capable of intelligent decision, of +straight thinking, but they rarely had an opportunity to learn the +truth. + +They had now, by a knowing play on their emotions, directed by +psychologists, been wrought to a point of frenzy where they demanded +war. Their motives were of the highest in many individuals--pure +patriotism, the desire to make the solar system safe for civilization. +The bright, flaming spirit of self-sacrifice burned clear above the +haze and smoke of passion. + +What would happen if all these eager millions of two neighboring +planets were to learn the true state of affairs? Sira knew what +transpired in those secret conventions, when double guards stood at +all doors and at the infrequent windows; when all communication was +cut off and the twin lenses of the telestereos and the microphones +were dead. Prince Joro had told her, with weary cynicism. But Joro had +also told her that the oligarchs guarded this vital and vulnerable +point with painstaking care. + + * * * * * + +Sira had reached inside their first defense, however. Wasil was loyal +to his salt, but he had both loyalty and affection for Princess Sira. +As the day of the interplanetary financial conference leaped into +being, he was on his way to the executive hall that lay resplendently +on the south canal bank, ready to lay down his life. + +The hall proper was really only the west wing of the magnificent, +high-arched building. Its brilliant, polished metal facade reflected +the light of the rising Sun redly. The east wing, besides housing +various minor executive offices, also contained the complicated +apparatus for handling the propaganda broadcastings. On the roof, +towering high into the air, was a huge, globular structure, divided +into numerous zones, from which were sent various wave bands to the +news screens both on Mars and on Earth. The planetary rulers had taken +no chances of tampering with their propaganda. The central offices, +where news and propaganda were dramatized, were in another building, +but as everything from that source had to pass the reviewing officer, +a trusted member of the oligarchy himself, in his locked and guarded +office, this did not introduce any danger of the wrong information +going out to the public. + +When Wasil reached the broadcasting plant, he was admitted by four +armed guards. He locked the door behind him, to find his associates +already busy, testing circuits and apparatus. Stimson, the chief +engineer, was sitting at his desk studying orders. + + * * * * * + +A few minutes later he called the men to him. There were three others +besides Wasil: young Martians, keen, efficient, and, like most +technies, loyal to the government that employed them. + +"Sure are careful to-day," Stimson grunted, scratching his snow-white +hair, which was stiffly upstanding and showed a coral tinge from his +scalp. "Must be mighty important to get this out right. Wilcox +personally wrote the order. If any man fumbles to-day, it's the polar +penal colony for him!" The Sun-loving old Martian shivered. + +"And here's another bright idea. Only one man's to be allowed in the +plant after the circuits are all tested! How'n the name of Pluto will +he handle things if a fuse blows? But what do they care about that! +We're technies! We're supposed to know everything, and never have +anything go wrong!" + +"But why only one man?" cried Scarba, one of the associate engineers. +"It's asking too much! I'll not take it on, far as I'm concerned. My +resignation will be ready soon's I can get a blank!" + +"I too! I'm with you, Scarba!" "We work like dogs to get everything in +first-line condition, and then--" The hard-working and uncomplaining +technies were outspoken in their resentment. + +"Oh, I see your point," Stimson agreed. "I could stand Balta, but +Wilcox is just one too many for me. But do you boys think for one +minute we could get away with a strike?" He laughed angrily. "I can +remember when the technies were able to demand their guild rights. But +you boys weren't even born then. Now, let's get this straight: + +"We are going to do just as we are told. Wilcox, of course, never +explains an order, but the reason for having only one operator on the +job is simply to concentrate responsibility on that one man. There +will be no excuse if he fails. Before the convention starts, and after +it is over, there will be a message to send out. The convention itself +will be secret, as usual. During the convention, there will be some +kind of filler stuff from the central office." + +"Yeh!" snorted one of the men. "That's the dope, all right. One of us +is stuck, but if it's me I'll walk out and head for the desert." + + * * * * * + +Stimson looked at him with a sardonic smile. "I forgot to mention: the +doors will be locked and barred, and of course there's no such thing +as windows." + +Wasil whistled. "They're sure careful. Well, Stimson. I haven't a +thing to do all day. I'll take it on." + +They all looked at him, not sure that they had heard him right. + +"What's the matter, sonny?" Stimson said slowly. "Too much Merclite +last night? You're shaking!" + +"It's an opening!" Wasil insisted. + +"An opening to tramp ice at the pole for the rest of your life!" + +"All right. I'll chance it!" + +They consented, without very much argument, to let Wasil have the +dangerous responsibility. At 2:30, two and a half hours after sunrise +by the Martian reckoning, he signed a release acknowledging all +circuits to be in proper order, and was locked behind the heavy doors, +alone with a maze of complicated apparatus and cables that filled the +large room from floor to ceiling. + +Now it was done! Chance had thrown Wasil into a position where he +could, without great danger of failure, carry out his plan. But at the +same time things had so fallen that he, Wasil, must now die, +regardless of the outcome! + +If he succeeded in broadcasting the proceedings of the convention, and +if they had the effect of arousing the public against Wilcox, there +would still be no escape for Wasil. Wilcox, or Scar Balta, would come +straight for this prison, neuro-pistol or needle-ray in hand! + +Even if he should fail, death would be his portion for the attempt. + + * * * * * + +So thinking, Wasil sat down and carefully re-checked the circuits. The +filler broadcast from central office must be sent to the twin cities +of Tarog. Otherwise the convention would learn too soon what was +happening, and would interrupt its business. The thousands who waited +outside on the broad terraces must be regaled with entertainment, as +had been originally planned. + +But as for the rest of Mars, and Earth, they would get the truth for +once. Those bankers would speak frankly, in the snug isolation of the +hall. No supervision here. Conventions, empty politeness, would be +forgotten. Sharp tirades, biting facts, threats, veiled and open, +would pass across the table between these masters of money and men. + +But this time they would be pitilessly bared to the worlds! + +Feverishly, Wasil inspected the repeater. It was a little-used device +that would, an hour or two later, as desired, give out the words and +pictures fed into it. Although Tarog would not learn the convention's +secrets as quickly as the rest of Mars, or Earth, Tarog would learn. +Wasil threw over the links and clamped down the bolts with a grunt of +satisfaction. When a man is about to die, he wants to do his last job +well. + +Suddenly a red light glowed, and a voice spoke. + +"Special broadcast. Tarog circuit only!" + +"Mornin', Lennings," Wasil remarked to the face in the screen. "All +set? Go ahead." + +The central office man held up a thick bundle of I. P. scrip, smiled +pleasantly, saying: + +"Somebody in North or South Tarog, or in the surrounding territory, is +going to be 100,000 I. P. dollars richer by to-morrow. How would you +like to have 100,000 dollars? You all would like this reward. It +represents the price of a snug little space cruiser for your family; a +new home on the canal; maybe an island of your own. It would take you +on a trip to the baths of Venus and leave you some money over. Of +course you all want this reward! + +"Now, if you'll excuse me a moment--" + + * * * * * + +The man's picture faded, and the screen glowed with the life and +beauty of Princess Sira--Sira, smiling and alluring. + +"You all know this young lady," the announcer's voice went on. "The +beloved and lovable Sweetheart of Mars, the bride of Scar Balta--" + +The Martian's sleek and well-groomed head appeared beside that of the +girl. + +"--Scar Balta, whose services to Mars have been great beyond his +years; who, in the threatening war with Earth, would be one of our +greatest bulwarks of security." + +The announcer's face appeared again, stern and sorrowful. + +"A great disaster has befallen these lovers--and all the world loves a +lover, you know. Some thugs, believed by the police to be terrestrial +spies, have kidnapped the princess from the palace of her uncle, +Prince Joro of Hanlon. It is believed that they had drugged her and +hypnotized her, so that she has forgotten her duty to her lover and +her country." + +The green light flashed, and Wasil broke the circuit. The central man +lingered a moment, favoring Wasil with a long wink. + +"What a liar you're getting to be!" Wasil remarked coldly. But the +central man, not offended, laughed. + +So they were offering a reward! And urging further treachery as an act +of patriotism! Wasil was not too much excited, however. The disguise +the princess had chosen would probably serve her well. Besides, she +had promised to keep in retirement as much as possible. + +_Clack! Clack!_ The electrically controlled lock of the door was +opening. Only Wilcox knew the wave combination. Wasil felt a chill of +apprehension as the door opened and Scar Balta strode in. He was fully +armed, dressed in the military uniform; but the former colonel was now +wearing on his shoulder straps the concentric rings denoting a +general's rank. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +_Giant Against Giant_ + + +Although Princess Sira had promised to keep out of the way, she could +not resist the powerful attraction of the executive hall, in which, on +this day, the fate of two planets was to be decided. As the crowds of +people began to drift toward the hall, she joined them, still dressed +in her laboring man's shapeless garments, the broad sun-helmet hiding +her face effectively. Her long, black hair was concealed under the +clothing. Having nearly been drawn into a brawl the day before, she +now carried a stained but still very serviceable short sword that she +had purloined from a merclite-drunken reveler in a gutter. + +Thousands were already on the terraces surrounding the government +buildings. They were milling about, for it was still too soon after +the night's chill to sit down or lie on the rubbery red sward. Taxis +were bringing swarms over the canal from North Tarog, and water +vehicles were crossing over in almost unbroken lines. + +Already the merclite vendors were busy, making their surreptitious way +from group to group, selling the highly intoxicating and legally +proscribed gum that would lift the users from the sordid, miserable +plane of their daily existence to exalted, reckless heights. + +War vessels now began to course overhead, their solid, heavily plated +hulls glinting dully in the sun. Their levitator helices moaned +dismally, and as their long, slanting shadows slid over the assembled +thousands, it seemed that they cast a prophetic pall; that there was a +hush of foreboding. + +But the psychological expert high in a nearby tower immediately noted +the slump in the psycho-radiation meter whose trumpet-shaped antenna +pointed downward. At the turn of the dial the air was filled with +throbbing martial music, and the expert noted with contemptuous +satisfaction that the needle now stood even higher than before. + +Sira, caught like all the rest of the people in that stirring flood of +music, felt her own pulse leap. But she thought: + +"This is the day! Wasil, could I only be with you!" + +She thought sadly of Joro, whose shrewd observations and counsel she +missed more than she had ever thought possible. + +"Poor, dear Joro! You would be a better king than any man you could +ever find! I wish I could have done as you wished me to." + + * * * * * + +There was a stir near the main entrance of the hall. A large private +yacht was slowly descending. She was bedecked with the green and gold +bunting of the terrestrial government, the green and orange of Mars. +Her hull glittered goldenly. + +"Back!" shouted the captain of a Martian guard detail, the soldiers +running with pennant-decked ropes looping after them. The crowd surged +against the barrier, but more guards were sent out as reinforcements, +until they had cleared a space for the ship and a lane to the hall +entrance. + +"Mars greets the distinguished guests from our sister planet!" boomed +the giant loudspeaker in the tower. Immediately afterward came the +strains of the song--"Terrestria--Fair Green Terrestria"--in a rushing +torrent of sound. But the frank and fluent melody was strangely +distorted, with unpleasant minor turns and harsh whisperings of +menace, and the tower psychologist noted a further rise of the needle. + +There was a diversion of interest now. The mob of first arrivals, as +well as the ever-freshening stream of newcomers, was moving toward the +teletabloids and the more conservative stereo-screens. On this +occasion they were both carrying the same message, however. Sira heard +the propaganda division's latest fabrication about her alleged +kidnaping by terrestrial agents. She needed no radiation meter to tell +her of the intense wave of hatred for the Earth that swept over the +densely packed area. And this was followed by another emotion--a wave +of cupidity--set up by the offer of 100,000 I. P. dollars reward for +her return. She saw about her faces greedy, faces wistful, even +compassionate faces. But outnumbering them by far were faces set in +truculent mold. + + * * * * * + +Sira moved restlessly from place to place, feeling more deeply +depressed with every moment. She felt as if she had been left entirely +out of life, friendless, alone. Among all these thousands she had no +friend. It seemed to her that never before had there been such a +paucity of monarchists. Sharp-featured, with a wire-drawn manner of +efficiency and resolution about them, they had constituted almost +another race among this practically enslaved people, maintaining for +themselves a tolerable position despite the opposition of the +oligarchy. Now, however, they seemed to have vanished. All that +morning Sira had not seen one. She would not have disclosed her +identity, but it would have been comforting to see one of those +friends of old. + +She was stopped by a jam. Looking between the bodies of two large and +sweaty men, she realized that someone was standing on a surveyor's +marking block, delivering a speech. + +"The great Pantheus has so decreed it," the speaker was shouting in a +cracked voice that at times dribbled into a whine. "We must shake off +forever this menace from the green planet--this planet dominated by +wicked women. + +"Oh, my friends, last night they came to me in dreams, these pale +women of the green star. They tempted me and they mocked me. They laid +their cold hands on my throbbing brow, and their cold hands burned me! + +"Oh great Pantheus! How I have suffered! The creatress who in her +malice created this wicked world beyond the gulf--" + +The Martians were entertained by the quavering denunciation. Some +grinned broadly at one another; others placed their thumbs in their +ears and wiggled their fingers. But the old man continued. Finally, +two of the foremost spectators, sensing the tiny body crowded between +them, stepped aside. + +"Don't miss this, my little man. Listen, and maybe you will laugh +yourself a little bigger." He gave Sira a gentle shove, so that she +almost stumbled over the block on which the speaker was standing. + + * * * * * + +And that old man suddenly stopped talking, so that his toothless mouth +sucked in, then stood agape. The rheumy eyes rolled, and a wisp of +dirty gray hair strayed across his gnarled face. He lifted a shaking +hand, pointed a knotty finger. + +"There she is!" he croaked. "There she is! I claim--" + +"There she is!" guffawed a tipsy merclite chewer. "The creatress, come +to punish you! Cut off his nose, O creatress, and stuff it into his +mouth!" + +There were shouts of laughter, a surge to see better. + +"No! No! I, Deacon Homms, claim the reward!" the old man screamed. +"She is the princess; I know her. She came out of the canal to tempt +me! She is the Princess Sira. Now shall I at last enter the Palace of +Joys! I claim the 100,000 dollars!" + +But he still had to catch Sira. The crowd, suddenly sensing that this +old fanatic might be telling the truth, rushed in savagely, each eager +to seize the prize, or at least to establish some claim to a share of +the award. Men and women went down, to be trampled mercilessly. +Inevitably they got in one another's way, and soon swords were rising +redly, falling again. + +"Guards! Guards! A riot!" Some were fleeing the scene; others rushing +in, grateful for the opportunity to expend excess pugnacity. A fresh +platoon of soldiers tumbled out of a kiosk leading to an underground +barracks like ants out of a disturbed nest. They deployed, holding +their neuro-pistols before them, focalizers set for maximum +dispersion, therefore non-fatal--merely of paralyzing intensity. Some +of the rioters now turned to run, but others persisted, willing to be +rendered unconscious, just so it would be near the valuable princess. + +A few moments later the captain of the guard surveyed the mass of +paralysed bodies and the sword-slashed corpses, all intermingled. + +"What's this all about?" he demanded of a scarred, evil-looking fellow +who was the first to rise to his elbow. + +"The Princess Sira! I claim the reward. In there! She stood right +there!" + +"Get out, you galoon!" the captain growled, knocking the fellow +unconscious with the heavy barrel of his neuro. "Sort 'em out there. +Moggins, Schkamitch. On the double. You will share, according to +rank." + +But eagerly as they searched, they did not find Sira. Creeping between +the legs of the maddened reward seekers, she had fought clear, had +gained the shelter of a tall, red conical tree whose closely laced +branches pressed her to the ground, clinging to the greasy trunk. + + * * * * * + +She realized that her sanctuary was none too secure. There would +surely be a methodical search after the first excitement, and she +would be discovered. She had lost her sun-helmet, but nevertheless she +must risk making a break. A large proportion of the people were +wearing such helmets. Perhaps she could snatch one. + +But before such an opportunity came, she saw a chance to dash to a +nearby clump of shrubbery. On the other side was a long hedge, leading +to an alley back of a group of warehouses. If she could gain this +alley, she felt sure she would be safe for the time being. + +All over the park, which was thirty or forty acres in extent, there +were minor riots, as some unfortunate was mistaken for the princess +and blindly struggled for. + +Sira lost no time. She scuttered along the hedge like a frightened +kangrat. But as she crossed a small open space, a stentorian voice +shouted: + +"There she is! That's her! The princess!" + +Out of the corner of her eye she saw him, running toward her +lumberingly, his great arms outspread. Tuman had been wrong in saying +that on all of Mars there was no man as big as Tolto. This one was, +and he looked more formidable. Instead of Tolto's normally +good-natured face, this one looked like an enraged terrestrial +gorilla, although at the moment it was really expressing joy and +eagerness. + +Several other men joined the chase, and then scores. They were fleeter +of foot than the ape-man, but as they passed him in the narrow alley +he smashed them to the pavement with casual blows of his terrifying +hands. Thereafter he was undisputedly in the lead; the others content +to follow in his rear, although many were armed, and the giant was +not. + + * * * * * + +This was an advantage to Sira. The whole mob was slowed by the +lumbering pace of the ape-man, and she was able to keep in the lead +without difficulty. Several times some of her pursuers ran ahead by +other routes, intent on snatching her into some doorway. But each time +she slashed at them with her sword, springing past. + +She had not run very far when her fear of another danger was realized. +There was a high, keen whistle overhead, and a scouting police car +flashed near. Under the neuro-pistols both hounds and hare would be +paralyzed, and she would be easily taken. Sira longed for one of these +handy weapons herself, but they were too expensive: she had been +unable to secure one. + +Now the police car was coming back. The sliding forward door was +drawn back, and a man was leaning out, neuro alert. Judging the +distance expertly, he pulled the trigger, and a hundred men fell +unconscious. + +"Got 'em!" he snapped over his shoulder. "The princess as well. Down +quick!" + +Sira, spared because of the officer's unwillingness to take a chance +on injuring her, leaped through a gap in a wall and sprinted through a +garden smothered with thick, leathery-leaved weeds, some of them +higher than her head. She almost laughed with relief, but as she +flitted around the corner of a house toward the street she saw the +gorilla faced giant again in pursuit, and beyond the garden wall the +police ship was just settling to the ground. + +It just seemed to be raining giants that day. Sira ran out of a narrow +gate at the front of the house into the street, to be stopped by a +tremendous human framework as solid and unyielding as a mountain. She +stepped back, drew her sword-- + +"Softly! Softly!" a rumbling bass implored. "Doesn't the Princess Sira +recognize her servant, Tolto?" + +"Tolto!" All at once the tautness went out of her, and Sira leaned +against the wall, divided between laughing and crying. + +"Tolto and his good friends were looking for you," the big man rumbled +anxiously. "The teletabloids said there was a riot coming--" + + * * * * * + +He got no further. The gorilla-faced pursuer catapulted himself +sideways through the portal, being too wide to go through in the +regular way. He emitted a raucous shout of triumph: + +"I got her! It's her, all right! I claim--" + +As he reached out his enormous sun-blackened arm there was a thud +that seemed to shake the ground. Instantly enraged, the man's little +red-rimmed eyes jerked quietly to the dealer of that shocking blow. +Then the conical little head sank between the bulging shoulders, the +long, thick arms bowed outward, and the ape-man launched himself at +Tolto. + +That was a battle! On the one side devotion, simple-minded loyalty and +a fighting heart in a body of such mechanical perfection as Mars had +never seen before or since. On the other side a primal beast, just as +huge, rage-driven, atavistic, savage. + +Fists as large as an average man's head, or larger, crashed against +unprotected face and body. Gigantic muscles rippled and crackled. +Blows echoed from wall to house and seemed to thud against the hearts +of the spectators. + +It was as if time and memory had come to a standstill. The present was +not, nor present ambitions and duties. The soldiers came plunging out +into the street, swords in their hands, but they stopped to watch. +Sime, Murray and Tuman, used to instant and automatic battle, watched. +A struggle so titanic, by tacit, by unconsidered consent, must be left +to decide its own course. + + * * * * * + +Tolto seemed to be slowly gaining an advantage. During his novitiate +as a palace guard the other men had instructed him in the science of +their pastime-fighting. Although he scorned to guard against the blows +of his savage antagonist, he placed his own punches more shrewdly, +more effectively. The ape-faced one, through a red film, sensed that +he was being beaten, and that this fight would end in death. + +Suddenly he changed his tactics. Rushing in, he threw his arms around +Tolto's great torso. He opened his jaws, and his long yellow fangs +bit into the flesh of Tolto's shoulder. + +Tolto, taken slightly by surprise, met this new menace promptly. +Placing his powerful forearm against the battered, hairy face, he +attempted to bend the head back. But it was so small, in proportion, +and so slippery with blood, that he was unable to dislodge it. + +So Tolto matched brute strength against brute strength. His arms +encircled his enemy's body, and the tremendous muscles of his +shoulders and body began to arch. + +So they stood poised for a few seconds, as if on the brink of +eternity. + +"Go-o-o-wie!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, awed. + +Slowly, like the agonizingly slow plastic creep of metal under great +pressure, the gorilla-faced giant was yielding. His dark skin became +mottled. His breath came gaspingly. His rope-knotted arms slipped a +little. + +But it was not in him to surrender, which might still have saved his +life. With a vicious twisting motion of his head he tried to drag his +fangs through the thick muscles of Tolto's shoulder. The wound began +to bleed more freely, choking the savage at each labored breath. + +Now Tolto began to walk forward. Always his antagonist had to yield a +little, unwillingly, grudgingly, just enough to keep the paralyzing +pressure on his spine from becoming unbearable. And slowly, +inexorably, Tolto followed. His arms tightened. His leg slipped +suddenly between the ape-faced man's supports. Tolto grunted. The +sound seemed to labor upward from his innermost being, his body's +protest as he called upon it for its last reserve of strength. + +Like an echo, there was a dull crack, a brief, agonized moan from the +ape-faced one; and the savage, unknown giant slumped to the pavement, +dead with a broken back. Tolto staggered to the wall, breathing +deeply. + +"Man, what a fight! What a _fight_!" The young Martian captain passed +a shaking hand over his face. The battle had stirred him more deeply +than he wanted to admit. But in a few seconds he came out of his +mental maze. + +"Attention! All right, men, you're under arrest. As for the girl--" + +"As for the girl," came a clear feminine voice, as Sira stepped out +from the shelter of a buttress some dozen feet away, "--the girl took +advantage of your preoccupation to relieve you of your neuros. As you +see I have two of them in my hand. The rest of them are over by that +wall. No! Don't try to rush! You are welcome to your swords, but they +are useless here." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +"_He Must Be a Man of Earth_" + + +Friend and foe looked stupefied. But they were used to the give and +take of battle. That this girl should disarm a detachment of soldiers +while they and their own men were absorbed in such a common thing as a +fight struck them as humorous. They laughed. + +"This is a better break then we deserve," Sime said, grinning with a +trace of sheepishness. "Captain, you take your men across the street +and hold 'em there. We're going to borrow your car. No funny stuff!" +Civilians were flooding into the streets. There would soon be a mob. + +"We will not," replied the captain, "try any funny stuff. Some day, my +friend, I hope to open you up with my sword," he added. + +"By all means," Sime agreed pleasantly. "My time is pretty well +occupied, but there's no telling when I may meet you again, in my +business. Good day, Captain!" + +Tuman stayed at the front gate with his neuro while the others +struggled through the weedy garden to the police ship in the alley, +rejoining them as they were ready to rise. + + * * * * * + +A crowd had gathered. If they wondered at the appearance of these +ragged, scarred and bewhiskered men; at sweat and blood-covered giant +Tolto; the obviously high-bred girl in the laboring man's garments, +they wisely refrained from comment or action, in deference to the +neuros with which the party was bristling. + +Once inside and safely in the air, they had time to breathe. Murray, +with a gallantry that sat ill on the scarecrow figure he was, cleared +matters up a trifle. + +"Princess Sira? As I thought. Princess, or Your Highness, to be +formal, I am your humble and disreputable servant, Lige Murray, of the +Interplanetary Flying Police. Likewise this gentleman behind the +brush--Sime Hemingway. You know Tuman? You've missed something, Your +Highness! And Tolto! Lucky man!" + +Sira recovered quickly from her reaction following the fight. She +found a first-aid kit, bandaged Tolto's wounded shoulder skilfully and +quickly. She had given no sign of recognition as Sime awkwardly bowed, +during Murray's introduction, but now, as Sime held a roll of bandage +for her, she gave him a sidewise look, agleam with mischief. + +"But I have decided to remit the punishment--the sentence I passed on +you, Mr. Hemingway," she said, her sweet, child-like face innocent. + +"What punishment?" Sime gasped. + +"Why, the punishment of death! For kissing me that night!" she +laughed, turning her back. + +Murray was heading back for the government park. It was a short +distance with the police car. Soon the broad grounds, with their +scattered, magnificent buildings, lay below them. But the parks were +strangely bare of living creatures. Here and there lay the bodies of +men or women. + +"Something's happened!" Murray shouted excitedly. "Look out!" + + * * * * * + +He swerved the ship sharply. They escaped damage as an atomic bomb, +unskilfully aimed, exploded far to one side. + +"Funny thing, firing on a police car," Sime puzzled. "They might have +got news from that detachment we grounded, but how do they know this +isn't some other police or military car?" + +"Those aren't soldiers," Murray decided. "There's been a riot, and +some civilian's got hold of an ato-projector." + +"I know what's happened!" Sira exclaimed suddenly. "Wasil--a +technie--has managed to broadcast the secret session! That upset their +psychology. Oh!" Her face was alight, and she threw up her arms in +ecstasy. As quickly she subsided, and tears came to her eyes. + +"Wasil!" she cried. "If he is dead, Mellie will never forgive me!" + +"Where is this technie?" Sime asked bruskly. + +"In the broadcast room. But they have probably killed him." + +"Never can be sure. Head her smack for the main entrance, Murray!" + +Murray threw the car into a steep dive, and the hall portal rushed up +to meet them. A soldier came partially out of concealment, waved a +signal. Murray paid him no heed. + +They struck with a crash. The stout car crushed through the glittering +doors of metal and glass, and before the fragments fell the four men +were in the thick of short, sharp and decisive battle. Their neuros +hissed venomously, spanged as they met opposing beams. And the +princess, struggling through the wreckage, wept tears of rage as the +coarse fabric of her clothing caught, entangled hopelessly, and held +her. + +"Something queer!" Murray said, as they halted for breath after +routing what little opposition they had encountered. "Maybe it's a +trap. But what an expensive trap for somebody! Where's this +broadcasting plant?" + +"This way!" Tuman called eagerly. "Maybe we can still save the poor +fellow who turned the trick. Broadcast the secret sessions! Don't tell +me that little girl isn't fit to rule!" + +The heavy metal doors were open, and they hurried in. But Tolto, +noting that the princess had not followed, hurried out in search for +her. + + * * * * * + +Sime stumbled over a body. It had been a dark, sleek, youngish man. A +jagged burn on his throat told of the needle-ray. "Who's this fellow, +Murray?" + +Murray glanced at the body. He smiled a brief smile of satisfaction. + +"That's Scar Balta. Got what's coming to him at last. Help me with +this bird: he's still alive. Cold, though!" + +"Got a shot of neuro. Could this be the technie?" + +Sime found a fountain of water. He filled a cup, dashed it over the +still face. The shock made the man's lips move. + +"Mellie, I did it!" he whispered. + +"Who's Mellie?" Sime asked. + +"Mellie? Seems to me the princess mentioned her name, This is her +brother. He's the right guy! Take it easy, brother!" + +But Wasil was able to sit up. + +"I sure fooled him!" he gasped. "Mixed up the circuits. Scar Balta +sat right here while I broadcast the secret sessions, and he was +watching a lot o' haywah in the control screen. + +"When Wilcox got word from outside he knew he was done. He thought +Scar'd double-exed him, so came here in person and gave him the +needle-ray." + +Despite his nausea, Wasil looked happy. + +"Wilcox tried for me, but I dodged back of those frames. So he tried +for me with the neuro. The mob was getting wild outside; there was--" + +He could not finish. There was an explosion that shook the building to +its foundations. Tolto came running in. Sira close after him: + +"Joro is coming. Joro has detonated the warships. The hall guards have +surrendered. The council is locked up. It can't escape!" + + * * * * * + +Events were transpiring too fast for comprehension. It was several +days later, on a bench in Prince Joro's palace grounds, that Sira +summed it up for Sime Hemingway. + +"I'm going to accept the throne!" she said. "I'm going to be a real +queen. Joro has convinced me that it will be a real service to Mars. +The dear old man has schemed and worked so long, so unselfishly." + +"Yeh, and he wasn't afraid to fight!" Sime added admiringly. "When he +came charging out of those ships with his gang of monarchists, swords +flashing, it was a pretty sight to see. And when they closed in on +that gang of cheap politicians! Talk about rats in a corner!" + +"The prince can fight with his brains as well as with his sword." Sira +submitted. "The whole thing would have been hopeless, if he hadn't +invented the detonating ray that disposed of the warships. You +remember those heavy explosions, shortly after we dropped in the +hall, as one might say? Those were the last of them." + +A silence fell between them, and Sime was now conscious of the +fragile-seeming, so deceiving beauty of this Martian girl. Something +had come between them, stripped away the masculine frankness that had +existed during their short and dangerous time together. Perhaps it was +the softly revealing drape of the thread-of-gold robe she was +wearing--true queenly garb, donned by her for the first time. + +"There is one requirement that Joro insists on," Sira said in a low +voice. + +"What's that?" asked Sime, marveling that such transparently pink +fingers should handle a sword so well. + +"He says that I must choose a mate, to insure the stability of the +royal house." + + * * * * * + +It seemed to Sime that this announcement gave him a pang out of all +proportion. + +"That should be easy," he managed. "Every Martian is crazy about you." + +"He may not be a Martian. He must be a man of Earth," Sira stated +firmly. + +"Is that so?" Sime asked, genuinely surprised. "Why does Joro insist +on that?" + +"It is not Joro who insists. It is myself." + +Sime found himself looking into eyes filled with shy pleading. He +could not, would not, for all of the solar system, have committed the +unpardonable affront of rejecting the love so frankly offered. And yet +he did not know how to accept this miracle. He did it clumsily, +haltingly disclosing the secret recesses of his own heart and what had +transpired there since the night he had taken the knife away from her +and kissed her. + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Martian Cabal, by Roman Frederick Starzl + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTIAN CABAL *** + +***** This file should be named 29437.txt or 29437.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/4/3/29437/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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