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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f67694c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50668 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50668) diff --git a/old/50668-h.zip b/old/50668-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8b11381..0000000 --- a/old/50668-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50668-h/50668-h.htm b/old/50668-h/50668-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c47560c..0000000 --- a/old/50668-h/50668-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6570 +0,0 @@ -<!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=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Secret Martians - -Author: Jack Sharkey - -Release Date: December 11, 2015 [EBook #50668] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET MARTIANS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="364" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE SECRET MARTIANS</h1> - -<p>by JACK SHARKEY</p> - - -<p>ACE BOOKS, INC.<br /> -23 West 47th Street,<br /> -New York 36, N. Y.</p> - -<p>THE SECRET MARTIANS<br /> -Copyright, 1960, by Ace Books, Inc.<br /> -All Rights Reserved</p> - -<p>Printed in U.S.A.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence<br /> -that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph3">MASTER SPY OF THE RED PLANET</p> - - -<p>Jery Delvin had a most unusual talent. He could detect the flaws in -any scheme almost on sight—even where they had eluded the best brains -in the ad agency where he worked. So when the Chief of World Security -told him that he had been selected as the answer to the Solar System's -greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental -agility.</p> - -<p>But when he got to Mars to find out why fifteen boys had vanished from -a spaceship in mid-space, he found out that even his quick mind needed -time to pierce the maze of out-of-this-world double-dealing. For Jery -had become a walking bomb, and when he set himself off, it would be the -end of the whole puzzle of THE SECRET MARTIANS—with Jery as the first -to go!</p> - -<p>Jack Sharkey decided to be a writer nineteen years ago, in the Fourth -Grade, when he realized all at once that "someone wrote all those -stories in the textbooks." While everyone else looked forward variously -to becoming firemen, cowboys, and trapeze artists, Jack was devouring -every book he could get his hands on, figuring that "if I put enough -literature into my head, some of it might overflow and come out."</p> - -<p>After sixteen years of education, Jack found himself teaching high -school English in Chicago, a worthwhile career, but "not what one would -call zesty." After a two-year Army hitch, and a year in advertising -"sublimating my urge to write things for cash," Jack moved to New York, -determined to make a career of full-time fiction-writing.</p> - -<p>Oddly enough, it worked out, and he now does nothing else. He says, -"I'd like to say I do this for fulfillment, or for cash, or because -it's my destiny; however, the real reason (same as that expressed by -Jean Kerr) is that this kind of stay-at-home self-employment lets me -sleep late in the morning."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>1</h2> - - -<p>I was sitting at my desk, trying to decide how to tell the women of -America that they were certain to be lovely in a Plasti-Flex brassiere -without absolutely guaranteeing them anything, when the two security -men came to get me. I didn't quite believe it at first, when I looked -up and saw them, six-feet-plus of steel nerves and gimlet eyes, staring -down at me, amidst my litter of sketches, crumpled copy sheets and -deadline memos.</p> - -<p>It was only a fraction of an instant between the time I saw them and -the time they spoke to me, but in that miniscule interval I managed -to retrace quite a bit of my lifetime up till that moment, seeking -vainly for some reason why they'd be standing there, so terribly and -inflexibly efficient looking. Mostly, I ran back over all the ads I'd -created and/or okayed for Solar Sales, Inc. during my five years with -the firm, trying to see just where I'd gone and shaken the security -of the government. I couldn't find anything really incriminating, -unless maybe it was that hair dye that unexpectedly turned bright green -after six weeks in the hair, but that was the lab's fault, not mine. -So I managed a weak smile toward the duo, and tried not to sweat too -profusely.</p> - -<p>"Jery Delvin?" said the one on my left, a note of no-funny-business in -his brusque baritone.</p> - -<p>"... Yes," I said, some terrified portion of my mind waiting -masochistically for them to draw their collapsers and reduce me to a -heap of hot protons.</p> - -<p>"Come with us," said his companion. I stared at him, then glanced -hopelessly at the jumble of things on my desk. "Never mind that stuff," -he added.</p> - -<p>I rose from my place, slipped my jacket from its hook, and started -across the office toward the door, each of them falling into rigid step -beside me. Marge, my secretary, stood wide-eyed as we passed through -her office, heading for the hall exit.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Delvin," she said, her voice a wispy croak. "When will you be -back? The Plasti-Flex man is waiting for your—"</p> - -<p>I opened my mouth, but one of the security men cut in.</p> - -<p>"You will be informed," he said to Marge.</p> - -<p>She was staring after me, open-mouthed, as the door slid neatly shut -behind us.</p> - -<p>"<i>W-Will</i> I be back?" I asked desperately, as we waited for the -elevator. "At all? Am I under arrest? What's up, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"You will be informed," said the man again. I had to let it go at that. -Security men were not hired for their loquaciousness. They had a car -waiting at the curb downstairs, in the No Parking zone. The cop on the -beat very politely opened the door for them when we got there. Those -red-and-bronze uniforms carry an awful lot of weight. Not to mention -the golden bulk of their holstered collapsers.</p> - -<p>There was nothing for me to do but sweat it out and to try and enjoy -the ride, wherever we were going.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"<i>You</i> are Jery Delvin?"</p> - -<p>The man who spoke seemed more than surprised; he seemed stunned. His -voice held an incredulous squeak, a squeak which would have amazed his -subordinates. It certainly amazed me. Because the speaker was Philip -Baxter, Chief of Interplanetary Security, second only to the World -President in power, and not even that in matters of security. I managed -to nod.</p> - -<p>He shook his white-maned head, slowly. "I don't believe it."</p> - -<p>"But I am, sir," I insisted doggedly.</p> - -<p>Baxter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, -then sighed, grinned wryly, and waggled an index finger at an empty -plastic contour chair.</p> - -<p>"I guess maybe you are at that, son. Sit down, sit down."</p> - -<p>I folded gingerly at knees and hips and slid back into the chair, -pressing my perspiring palms against the sides of my pants to get rid -of their uncomfortably slippery feel. "Thank you, sir."</p> - -<p>There was a silence, during which I breathed uneasily, and a bit too -loudly. Baxter seemed to be trying to say something.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you're wondering why I've called—" he started, then stopped -short and flushed with embarrassment. I felt a sympathetic hot wave -flooding my own features. A copy chief in an advertising company almost -always reacts to an obvious cliche.</p> - -<p>Then, with something like a look of relief on his blunt face, he -snatched up a brochure from his kidney-shaped desktop and his eyes -raced over the lettering on its face.</p> - -<p>"Jery Delvin," he read, musingly and dispassionately. "Five foot eleven -inches tall, brown hair, slate-gray eyes. Citizen. Honest, sober, -civic-minded, slightly antisocial...."</p> - -<p>He looked at me, questioningly.</p> - -<p>"I'd rather not discuss that, sir, if you don't mind."</p> - -<p>"Do you mind if I do mind?"</p> - -<p>"Oh ... Oh, well if you put it like that. It's girls, sir. They block -my mind. Ruin my work."</p> - -<p>"I don't get you."</p> - -<p>"Well, in my job—See, I've got this gift. I'm a spotter."</p> - -<p>"A what?"</p> - -<p>"A spotter. I can't be fooled. By advertising. Or mostly anything else. -Except girls."</p> - -<p>"I'm still not sure that I—"</p> - -<p>"It's like this. I designate ratios, by the minute. They hand me a new -ad, and I read it by a stopwatch. Then, as soon as I spot the clinker, -they stop the watch. If I get it in five seconds, it passes. But if I -spot it in less, they throw it out and start over again. Or is that -clear? No, I guess you're still confused, sir."</p> - -<p>"Just a bit," Baxter said.</p> - -<p>I took a deep breath and tried again.</p> - -<p>"Maybe an example would be better. Uh, you know the one about 'Three -out of five New York lawyers use Hamilton Bond Paper for note-taking'?"</p> - -<p>"I've heard that, yes."</p> - -<p>"Well, the clinker—that's the sneaky part of the ad, sir, or what we -call weasel-wording—the clinker in that one is that while it seems to -imply sixty percent of New York lawyers, it actually means precisely -what it says: Three out of five. For that particular product, we had -to question seventy-nine lawyers before we could come up with three who -liked Hamilton Bond, see? Then we took the names of the three, and the -names of two of the seventy-six men remaining, and kept them on file."</p> - -<p>"On file?" Baxter frowned. "What for?"</p> - -<p>"In case the Federal Trade Council got on our necks. We could prove -that three out of five lawyers used the product. Three out of those -five. See?"</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Baxter, grinning. "I begin to. And your job is to test these -ads, before they reach the public. What fools you for five seconds will -fool the average consumer indefinitely."</p> - -<p>I sat back, feeling much better. "That's right, sir."</p> - -<p>Then Baxter frowned again. "But what's this about girls?"</p> - -<p>"They—they block my thinking, sir, that's all. Why, take that example -I just mentioned. In plain writing, I caught the clinker in one-tenth -of a second. Then they handed me a layout with a picture of a lawyer -dictating notes to his secretary on it. Her legs were crossed. Nice -legs. Gorgeous legs...."</p> - -<p>"How long that time, Delvin?"</p> - -<p>"Indefinite. Till they took the girl away, sir."</p> - -<p>Baxter cleared his throat loudly. "I understand, at last. Hence your -slight antisocial rating. You avoid women in order to keep your job."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. Even my secretary, Marge, whom I'd never in a million years -think of looking at twice, except for business reasons, of course, has -to stay out of my office when I'm working, or I can't function."</p> - -<p>"You have my sympathy, son," Baxter said, not unkindly.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir. It hasn't been easy."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't imagine it has...." Baxter was staring into some far-off -distance. Then he remembered himself and blinked back to the present. -"Delvin," he said sharply. "I'll come right to the point. This thing -is.... You have been chosen for an extremely important mission."</p> - -<p>I couldn't have been more surprised had he announced my incipient -maternity, but I was able to ask, "Me? For Pete's sake, why, sir?"</p> - -<p>Baxter looked me square in the eye. "Damned if I know!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>2</h2> - - -<p>I stared at him, nonplussed. He'd spoken with evidence of utmost -candor, and the Chief of Interplanetary Security was not one to be -accused of a friendly josh, but—"You're kidding!" I said. "You must -be. Otherwise, why was I sent for?"</p> - -<p>"Believe me, I wish I knew," he sighed. "You were chosen, from all -the inhabitants of this planet, and all the inhabitants of the Earth -Colonies, by the Brain."</p> - -<p>"You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? -That's crazy, if you'll pardon me, sir."</p> - -<p>Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. -"When the current emergency arose and all our usual methods failed, we -had to submit the problem to the Brain."</p> - -<p>"And," I said, beginning to be fascinated by his bewildered manner, -"what came out?"</p> - -<p>He looked at me for a long moment, then picked up that brochure again, -and said, without referring to it, "Jery Delvin, five foot eleven -inches tall—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, but read me the part where it says why I was picked," I said, a -little exasperated.</p> - -<p>Baxter eyed me balefully, then skimmed the brochure through the air in -my direction. I caught it just short of the carpet.</p> - -<p>"If you can find it, I'll read it!" he said, almost snarling.</p> - -<p>I looked over the sheet, then turned it over and scanned the black -opposite side. "All it gives is my description, governmental status, -and address!"</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh," Baxter grunted laconically. "It amuses you, does it?" The -smile was still on his lips, but there was a grimness in the glitter of -his narrowing eyes.</p> - -<p>"Not really," I said hastily. "It baffles me, to be frank."</p> - -<p>"If you're sitting there in that hopeful stance awaiting some sort of -explanation, you may as well relax," Baxter said shortly. "I have none -to make. IC had none to make. Damn it all to hell!" He brought a meaty -fist down on the desktop. "No one has an explanation! All we know is -that the Brain always picks the right man."</p> - -<p>I let this sink in, then asked, "What made you ask for a man in -the first place, sir? I've always understood that your own staff -represented some of the finest minds—"</p> - -<p>"Hold it, son. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. We asked for no man. -We asked for a solution to an important problem. And your name was what -we got. You, son, are the solution."</p> - -<p>Chief of Security or not, I was getting a little burned up at his -highhanded treatment of my emotions. "How nice!" I said icily. "Now if -I only knew the problem!"</p> - -<p>Baxter blinked, then lost some of his scowl. "Yes, of course;" Baxter -murmured, lighting up a cigar. He blew a plume of blue smoke toward the -ceiling, then continued. "You've heard, of course, of the Space Scouts?"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Like the old-time Boy Scouts, only with rocket-names for -their various troops in place of the old animal names."</p> - -<p>"And you recall the recent government-sponsored trip they had? To Mars -and back, with the broadly-smiling government picking up the enormous -tab?"</p> - -<p>I detected a tinge of cynicism in his tone, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>"What a gesture!" Baxter went on, hardly speaking directly to me at -all. "Inter-nation harmony! Good will! If these mere boys can get -together and travel the voids of space, then so can everyone else! Why -should there be tensions between the various nations comprising the -World Government, when there's none between these fine lads, one from -every civilized nation on Earth?"</p> - -<p>"You sound disillusioned, sir," I interjected.</p> - -<p>He stared at me as though I'd just fallen in from the ceiling or -somewhere. "Huh? Oh, yes, Delvin, isn't it? Sorry, I got carried away. -Where was I?"</p> - -<p>"You were telling about how this gesture, the WG sending these kids -off for an extraterrestrial romp, will cement relations between those -nations who have remained hostile despite the unification of all -governments on Earth. Personally, I think it was a pretty good idea, -myself. Everybody likes kids. Take this jam we were trying to push. -Pomegranate Nectar, it was called. Well, sir, it just wouldn't sell, -and then we got this red-headed kid with freckles like confetti all -over his slightly bucktoothed face, and we—Sir?"</p> - -<p>I'd paused, because he was staring at me like a man on the brink of -apoplexy. I swallowed, and tried to look relaxed.</p> - -<p>After a moment, he found his voice. "To go on, Delvin. Do you recall -what happened to the Space Scouts last week?"</p> - -<p>I thought a second, then nodded. "They've been having such a good time -that the government extended their trip by—Why are you shaking your -head that way, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Because it's not true, Delvin," he said. His voice was suddenly old -and tired, and very much in keeping with his snowy hair. "You see, the -Space Scouts have vanished."</p> - -<p>I came up in the chair, ramrod-straight. "Their mothers—they've been -getting letters and—"</p> - -<p>"Forgeries, Fakes. Counterfeits."</p> - -<p>"You mean whoever took the Scouts is falsifying—"</p> - -<p>"No. <i>My</i> men are doing the work. Handpicked crews, day and night, -have been sending those letters to the trusting mothers. It's been -ghastly, Delvin. Hard on the men, terribly hard. Undotted <i>i</i>'s, -misuse of tenses, deliberate misspellings. They take it out of an -adult, especially an adult with a mind keen enough to get him into -Interplanetary Security. We've limited the shifts to four hours per man -per day. Otherwise, they'd all be gibbering by now!"</p> - -<p>"And your men haven't found out anything?" I marvelled.</p> - -<p>Baxter shook his head.</p> - -<p>"And you finally had to resort to the Brain, and it gave you my name, -but no reason for it?"</p> - -<p>Baxter cupped his slightly jowled cheeks in his hands and propped his -elbows on the desktop, suddenly slipping out of his high position to -talk to me man-to-man. "Look, son, an adding machine—which is a minor -form of an electronic brain, and even works on the same principle—can -tell you that two and two make four. But can it tell you why?</p> - -<p>"Well, no, but—"</p> - -<p>"That, in a nutshell is our problem. We coded and fed to the Brain -every shred of information at our disposal; the ages of the children, -for instance, and all their physical attributes, and where they were -last seen, and what they were wearing. Hell, everything! The machine -took the factors, weighed them, popped them through its billions of -relays and tubes, and out of the end of the answer slot popped a single -sheet. The one you just saw. Your dossier."</p> - -<p>"Then I'm to be sent to Mars?" I said, nervously.</p> - -<p>"That's just it," Baxter sighed. "We don't even know that! We're like a -savage who finds a pistol: used correctly, it's a mean little weapon; -pointed the wrong way, it's a quick suicide. So, you are our weapon. -Now, the question is: Which way do we point you?"</p> - -<p>"You got me!" I shrugged hopelessly.</p> - -<p>"However, since we have nothing else to go on but the locale from which -the children vanished, my suggestion would be to send you there."</p> - -<p>"Mars, you mean," I said.</p> - -<p>"No, to the spaceship <i>Phobos II</i>. The one they were returning to Earth -in when they disappeared."</p> - -<p>"They disappeared from a spaceship? While in space?"</p> - -<p>Baxter nodded.</p> - -<p>"But that's impossible," I said, shaking my head against this -disconcerting thought.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Baxter. "That's what bothers me."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>3</h2> - - -<p><i>Phobos II</i>, for obvious reasons, was berthed in a Top Security -spaceport. Even so, they'd shuttled it into a hangar, safe from the -eyes of even their own men, and as a final touch had hidden the ship's -nameplate beneath magnetic repair-plates.</p> - -<p>I had a metal disk—bronze and red, the Security colors—insigniaed -by Baxter and counterembossed with the President's special device, a -small globe surmounted by clasping hands. It gave me authority to do -anything. With such an identification disc, I could go to Times Square -and start machine gunning the passers-by, and not one of New York's -finest would raise a hand to stop me.</p> - -<p>And, snugly enholstered, I carried a collapser, the restricted weapon -given only to Security Agents, so deadly was its molecule-disrupting -beam. Baxter had spent a tremulous hour showing me how to use the -weapon, and especially how to turn the beam off. I'd finally gotten the -hang of it, though not before half his kidney-shaped desk had flashed -into nothingness, along with a good-sized swath of carpeting and six -inches of concrete floor.</p> - -<p>His parting injunction had been. "Be careful, Delvin, huh?"</p> - -<p>Yes, parting. I was on my own. After all, with a Security disc—the -Amnesty, they called it—such as I possessed, and a collapser, I could -go anywhere, do anything, commandeer anything I might need. All with -no questions asked. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty chipper as I -entered the hangar housing <i>Phobos II</i>. At the moment, I was the most -influential human being in the known universe.</p> - -<p>The pilot, as per my videophoned request, was waiting there for me. I -saw him as I stepped into the cool shadows of the building from the hot -yellow sunlight outside. He was tall, much taller than I, but he seemed -nervous as hell. At least he was pacing back and forth amid a litter -of half-smoked cigarette butts beside the gleaming tailfins of the -spaceship, and a fuming butt was puckered into place in his mouth.</p> - -<p>"Anders?" I said, approaching to within five feet of him before -halting, to get the best psychological effect from my appearance.</p> - -<p>He turned, saw me, and hurriedly spat the butt out onto the cement -floor. "Yes, sir!" he said loudly, throwing me a quivering salute. His -eyes were a bit wild as they took me in.</p> - -<p>And well they might be. An Amnesty-bearer can suddenly decide a subject -is not answering questions to his satisfaction and simply blast the -annoying party to atoms. It makes for straight responses. Of course, -I was dressing the part, in a way. I wore the Amnesty suspended by a -thin golden chain from my neck, and for costume I wore a raven-black -blouse and matching uniform trousers and boots. I must have looked -quite sinister. I'm under six feet, but I'm angular and wiry. Thus, -in ominous black, with an Amnesty on my breast and a collapser in -my holster, I was a sight to strike even honest citizens into quick -examinations of conscience. I felt a little silly, but the outfit was -Baxter's idea.</p> - -<p>"I understand you were aboard the <i>Phobos II</i> when the incident -occurred?" I said sternly, which was unusual for my wonted demeanor.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir!" he replied swiftly, at stiff attention.</p> - -<p>"I don't really have any details," I said, and waited for him to take -his cue. As an afterthought, to help him talk, I added, "At ease, by -the way, Anders."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir," he said, not actually loosening much in his rigid -position, but his face looking happier. "See, I was supposed to pilot -the kids back here from Mars when their trip was done, and—" He gave -a helpless shrug. "I dunno, sir. I got 'em all aboard, made sure they -were secure in the takeoff racks, and then I set my coordinates for -Earth and took off. Just a run-of-the-mill takeoff, sir."</p> - -<p>"And when did you notice they were missing?" I asked, looking at the -metallic bulk of the ship and wondering what alien force could snatch -fifteen fair-sized young boys through its impervious hull without -leaving a trace.</p> - -<p>"Chow time, sir. That's when you expect to have the little—to have -the kids in your hair, sir. Everyone wants his rations first—You know -how kids are, sir. So I went to the galley and was about to open up -the ration packs, when I noticed how damned quiet it was aboard. And -especially funny that no one was in the galley waiting for me to start -passing the stuff out."</p> - -<p>"So you searched," I said.</p> - -<p>Anders nodded sorrowfully. "Not a trace of 'em, sir. Just some of their -junk left in their storage lockers."</p> - -<p>I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I'd be interested in seeing this junk, -Anders."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, sir. Right this way, sir. Watch out for these rungs, they're -slippery."</p> - -<p>I ascended the retractable metal rungs that jutted from a point -between the tailfins to the open airlock, twenty feet over ground -level, and followed Anders inside the ship.</p> - -<p>I trailed Anders through the ship, from the pilot's compartment—a -bewildering mass of dials, switches, signal lights and wire—through -the galley into the troop section. It was a cramped cubicle housing a -number of nylon-webbed foam rubber bunks. The bunks were empty, but I -looked them over anyhow. I carefully tugged back the canvas covering -that fitted envelope-fashion over a foam rubber pad, and ran my finger -over the surface of the pad. It came away just slightly gritty.</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh!" I said, smiling. Anders just stared at me.</p> - -<p>I turned to the storage lockers. "Let's see this junk they were -suddenly deprived of."</p> - -<p>Anders, after a puzzled frown, obediently threw open the doors of -the riveted tiers of metal boxes along the rear wall; the wall next -to the firing chambers, which I had no particular desire to visit. I -glanced inside at the articles therein, and noted with interest their -similarity.</p> - -<p>"Now, then," I resumed, "the thrust of this rocket to get from Mars to -Earth is calculated with regard to the mass on board, is that correct?" -He nodded. "Good, that clears up an important point. I'd also like to -know if this rocket has a dehumidifying system to keep the cast-off -moisture from the passengers out of the air?"</p> - -<p>"Well, sure, sir!" said Anders. "Otherwise, we'd all be swimming in our -own sweat after a ten-hour trip across space!"</p> - -<p>"Have you checked the storage tanks?" I asked. "Or is the cast-off -perspiration simply jetted into space?"</p> - -<p>"No. It's saved, sir. It gets distilled and stored for washing and -drinking. Otherwise, we'd all dehydrate, with no water to replace the -water we lost."</p> - -<p>"Check the tanks," I said.</p> - -<p>Anders, shaking his head, moved into the pilot's section and looked at -a dial there. "Full, sir. But that's because I didn't drink very much, -and any sweating I did—which was a hell of a lot, in this case—was a -source of new water for the tanks."</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh." I paused and considered. "I suppose the tubing for these -tanks is all over the ship? In all the hollow bulkhead space, to take -up the moisture fast?"</p> - -<p>Anders, hopelessly lost, could only nod wearily.</p> - -<p>"Would it hold—" I did some quick mental arithmetic—"let's say, about -twenty-four extra cubic feet?"</p> - -<p>He stared, then frowned, and thought hard. "Yes, sir," he said, -after a minute. "Even twice that, with no trouble, but—" He caught -himself short. It didn't pay to be too curious about the aims of an -Amnesty-bearer.</p> - -<p>"It's all right, Anders. You've been a tremendous help. Just one thing. -When you left Mars, you took off from the night side, didn't you?"</p> - -<p>"Why, yes, I did, sir. But how did you—?"</p> - -<p>"No matter, Anders. That'll be all."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir!" He saluted sharply and started off.</p> - -<p>I started back for Interplanetary Security, and my second—and I hoped, -last—interview with Chief Baxter. I had a slight inkling why the Brain -had chosen me; because, in the affair of the missing Space Scouts, my -infallible talent for spotting the True within the Apparent had come -through nicely. I had found a very interesting clinker.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>4</h2> - - -<p>"Strange," I remarked to Chief Baxter when I was seated once again in -his office, opposite his newly replaced desk. "I hardly acted like -myself out at that airfield. I was brusque, highhanded, austere, almost -malevolent with the pilot. And I'm ordinarily on the shy side, as a -matter of fact."</p> - -<p>"It's the Amnesty that does it," he said, gesturing toward the disc. It -lay on his desk, now, along with the collapser. I felt, with the new -information I'd garnered, that my work was done, and that the new data -fed into the Brain would produce some other results, not involving me.</p> - -<p>I looked at the Amnesty, then nodded. "Kind of gets you, after awhile. -To know that you are the most influential person in creation is to -automatically act the part. A shame, in a way."</p> - -<p>"The hell it is!" Baxter snapped. "Good grief, man, why'd you think the -Amnesty was created in the first place?"</p> - -<p>I sat up straight and scratched the back of my head. "Now you mention -it, I really don't know. It seems a pretty dangerous thing to have -about, the way people jump when they see it."</p> - -<p>"It is dangerous, of course, but it's vitally necessary. You're young, -Jery Delvin, and even the finest history course available these days -is slanted in favor of World Government. So you have no idea how tough -things were before the Amnesty came along. Ever hear of red tape?"</p> - -<p>I shook my head. "No, I don't believe so. Unless it had something to do -with the former communist menace? They called themselves the Reds, I -believe...."</p> - -<p>He waved me silent. "No connection at all, son. No, red tape was, well, -involvement. Forms to be signed, certain factors to be considered, -protocol to be dealt with, government agencies to be checked with, -classifications, bureaus, sub-bureaus, congressional committees. It -was impossible, Jery, my boy, to get anything done whatsoever without -consulting someone else. And the time lag and paperwork involved made -accurate and swift action impossible, sometimes. What we needed, of -course, was a person who could simply have all authority, in order to -save the sometimes disastrous delays. So we came up with the Amnesty."</p> - -<p>"But the danger. If you should pick the wrong man—"</p> - -<p>Baxter smiled. "No chance of that, Jery. We didn't leave it up to any -committee or bureau or any other faction to do the picking. Hell, that -would have put us right back where we'd been before. No, we left it up -to the Brain. We'd find ourselves in a tight situation, and the Brain -after being fed the data, would come up with either a solution, or a -name."</p> - -<p>I stared at him. "Then, when I was here before, I was here solely to -receive the Amnesty, is that it?"</p> - -<p>Baxter nodded. "The Brain just picks the men. Then we tell the men the -situation, hand over the Amnesty, and pray."</p> - -<p>I had a sudden thought. "Say, what happens if two men are selected by -the Brain? Who has authority over whom?"</p> - -<p>Baxter grimaced and shivered. "Don't even think such a thing! Even -your mentioning such a contingency gives me a small migraine. It'd be -unprecedented in the history of the Brain or the Amnesty." He grinned, -suddenly. "Besides, it can't happen. There's only one of these—" he -tapped the medallion gently "—in existence, Jery. So we couldn't have -such a situation!"</p> - -<p>I sank back into the contour chair, and glanced at my watch. Much too -late to go back to work. I'd done a lot in one day, I reasoned. Well, -the thing was out of my hands. Baxter had the information I'd come -up with, and it had been coded and fed to the Brain. As soon as the -solution came through, I could be on my way back to the world of hard -and soft sell.</p> - -<p>"You understand," said Baxter suddenly, "that you're to say nothing -whatever about the disappearance of the Space Scouts until this office -makes the news public? You know what would happen if this thing should -leak!"</p> - -<p>The intercom on Baxter's desk suddenly buzzed, and a bright red light -flashed on. "Ah!" he said, thumbing a knob. "Here we go, at last!"</p> - -<p>As he exerted pressure on the knob, a thin slit in the side of the -intercom began feeding out a long sheet of paper; the new answer from -the Brain. It reached a certain length, then was automatically sheared -off within the intercom, and the sheet fell gently to the desktop. -Baxter picked it up and swiftly scanned its surface. A look of dismay -overrode his erstwhile genial features.</p> - -<p>I had a horrible suspicion. "Not again?" I said softly.</p> - -<p>Baxter swore under his breath. Then he reached across the desktop and -tossed me the Amnesty.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"I hope you know what you're doing," said Baxter at the gleaming glass -doorway of the spaceport. "Why a man who has absolute authority should -choose to ride public transportation when he could have his pick of the -fleetest government ships on Earth—"</p> - -<p>I didn't tell him it was because of little details like stereovision, -autobars, and, not least of all, comfort, that I had chosen to ride -the <i>Valkyrie</i>. She sat waiting even now, far out in the center of the -landing strip, two hundred towering feet of silver, crammed with all -the luxuries engineering ingenuity could put aboard her. I had, thanks -to a government credit card, a private cabin. I intended to enjoy -myself, this trip.</p> - -<p>I'd managed to convince Baxter that it was less likely the public would -suspect there was anything amiss if I went to Mars incognito, with -the Amnesty worn under my clothing, for use only in emergencies. An -Amnesty-bearer arriving on Mars in a government ship might cause talk. -Disastrous talk.</p> - -<p>Baxter was rattling on and on, giving me the names of my contacts on -Mars for the seventeenth time, and I was giving him perfunctory nods as -though I was paying attention, though I was actually watching the other -passengers leaving the check-in desk. After all, I'd be in space with -them for almost two days. You never know what might develop.</p> - -<p>The co-rider I had in mind was a girl, with hair like irridescent -cornsilk, and a figure that made the stereovision starlets look 2-D in -comparison. She had her back to me, but even before she turned around, -I knew she was beautiful. It was just the way she stood there, facing -the passenger-check robot. She—well, she <i>stood</i> like a girl who is -beautiful.</p> - -<p>Then she turned around, and I gave my instincts an A plus.</p> - -<p>Her eyes were the deepest of blues, actually a purple tone, and they -were wide, serious and shining. There was a certain determination -about the set of her jaw that I liked, and her lips were like soft red -velvet. A man could kiss those lips and sink slowly into warm crimson -seas; lose himself in the heated softness of their gentlest pressures.</p> - -<p>"Delvin!"</p> - -<p>Baxter's voice shattered my reverie, and I tore my eyes from the -girl, though the after-effects of dreaming left my mind in confused -fragments. "Huh?" I said, looking at his face and almost failing to -recognize it.</p> - -<p>"I said—" Baxter's voice was impatient and over loud, "—that you had -best, in the interests of open-space safety, not flash that Amnesty -while you're aboard the <i>Valkyrie</i>. Passengers have a way of working -themselves into a panic that is almost an uncanny gift! They'll all -start suspecting their neighbors of treason, or worse, and—"</p> - -<p>But I wasn't hearing his diatribe any more. As he'd spoken that first -sentence, the girl with the shimmering cornsilk hair had been passing -within a few feet of us, and I'd felt, rather than actually seen, her -slender shoulders stiffen beneath the blue silken fabric of her blouse. -And she'd hesitated for a moment in midstep, as though she were going -to turn about and see which man in the universe was the one to whom the -Amnesty had been given.</p> - -<p>I watched her move out into the sunlight, crossing the field in brisk -but dainty strides. Any second now, I told myself. She thinks she -hasn't been seen. She's getting far enough away so that—Aha! Now!</p> - -<p>Halfway to the ship, the girl turned, apparently busily concerned about -the clasp of her handbag, as though it had come open without warning. I -kept my head turned, to look as though I were watching Baxter. But my -eyes were still on her. She looked at me. Then she turned and went on -toward the ship.</p> - -<p>"Had to see who I was!" I said to myself. "So now she knows I've got -the Amnesty. And so—And so, <i>what</i>?"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>5</h2> - - -<p>Since antigravity, artificial gravity, and low-thrust take-offs were -still in the realm of science-fiction, even the luxury liners like -the <i>Valkyrie</i> had to bed their passengers down in shock-absorbing -couches until the ship was free of gravitation. So it wasn't until we'd -achieved escape velocity from Earth that I saw the girl again.</p> - -<p>I'd decided to wander into the lounge and try to locate her. It would -be an easy task if she were present, what with her startling good -looks. But it turned out to be even simpler than that.</p> - -<p>She came to me.</p> - -<p>I was just easing myself out of my couch, when my cabin door opened and -closed. And locked.</p> - -<p>That last part intrigued me even before I turned about. I was wondering -what sort of menace I had to meet, and bewailing the fact that the -collapser was still in my luggage, when I saw who my visitor was. I -started to smile, but the smile left as I saw the saw-edged steak knife -in her hand.</p> - -<p>"Listen, whoever you are!" she said. Her voice was low, angrily -intense, but still a pleasure to hear, somehow.</p> - -<p>"I'm listening, I assure you!" I said, politely. "A voice like yours -doesn't caress these tired old eardrums every day."</p> - -<p>She accorded my compliment a smile, but it was a bleak one, and there -was a certain wry lift to her left eyebrow. "Very suave, I'm sure," she -said. "But I'm not in the mood, thank you. Now, you just sit down on -your bunk and behave, and—"</p> - -<p>"Mind if I get a cigarette?" I asked, gesturing toward my traveling -case. I tried to be casual about it, but I must have failed. I lose my -head around women, as I've said.</p> - -<p>"I'll get them for you," she said, waving the knife's glittering blade -at me. I moved away and sat on the edge of my bunk. She flicked the -clasp open, and spread the two halves apart. There were two shirts and -some underwear in the case, plus the collapser. Not a cigarette to be -seen. She looked at me, narrow-eyed.</p> - -<p>"I don't smoke," I explained weakly.</p> - -<p>"You Amnesty-bearers!" she grated between even, white teeth. "Ready to -destroy everybody with impunity, aren't you! You wouldn't even wait to -find out what I wanted!"</p> - -<p>"I haven't said a word," I pointed out delicately.</p> - -<p>"You lied about the cigarettes," she accused.</p> - -<p>"How would you treat a stranger who burst into your cabin with an -unsheathed knife?" I said, exasperated.</p> - -<p>She looked down at the knife, and reddened. "Maybe I was a bit abrupt -about this. It's just that—" Her face suddenly crinkled up, and her -deep blue-violet eyes burst into tears. Then the knife fell to the -carpet, and her face was buried in her hands. I leaned forward and -removed the knife from within her reach, then took her by the shoulders.</p> - -<p>She whimpered hopelessly, between shuddering sobs, "Am I under arrest?"</p> - -<p>"Depends," I said. "Depends entirely on why you came in here like this. -And what my possession of the Amnesty has to do with it. And how," I -added, puzzled, "you seemed to know so much about Amnesty-bearers and -their vile dispositions!"</p> - -<p>She took her hands from her face, streaked with tears, and said, with a -shy grin, "I was guessing at that part. I just kind of assumed they'd -all be pretty intolerant. Who wouldn't be, with all that power?"</p> - -<p>"Well, <i>I</i> wouldn't for one," I said defensively. "I only bite when I'm -bitten."</p> - -<p>She found a handkerchief somewhere and began sopping up the wet spots -from her complexion; a complexion, I noted happily, that did not come -off with water.</p> - -<p>"Have a chair," I said, and rang for the steward. "I hope you drink?"</p> - -<p>"Not a lot," she admitted. "But I could use one right now."</p> - -<p>"Good," I said, watching her as she poised gracefully on the chair -before my cabin's private stereo set. "By the way, my name's Jery. Jery -Delvin."</p> - -<p>She flushed scarlet again, and said, "Mine is White."</p> - -<p>"First name?" I asked. She paused. "What is your first name?"</p> - -<p>She looked at the carpet. "Snow," she said softly.</p> - -<p>"For real?" I said. "Like with the dwarfs?"</p> - -<p>She nodded, as one who'd been over the same conversational ground many -wearisome times in the past. "Mother was a Walt Disney fan, back in the -Age of Movies."</p> - -<p>I shook my head, and rang for the steward again. "I think we both could -use a drink."</p> - -<p>Later, the puzzled steward departed for the dining salon to return the -steak knife which Snow had "accidentally" picked up. We sipped our -drinks in mutual silence for a minute or two, regarding one another -over the rims of our tumblers. To me, Snow was looking better by the -minute. I even had a momentary thought of flashing the Amnesty at her -to see if those red velvet lips could fulfill in a tactile way the -promise they made visually.</p> - -<p>But instead, I said, "Tell me, do you always attack Amnesty-bearers -with the nearest weapon you can lay hold of?"</p> - -<p>Snow laughed musically, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to come in -at full threat, Jery," she said softly. "I just wanted some sort of -defense in case—Well, Amnesty-bearers think they can ask <i>anything</i> -of a person, and—"</p> - -<p>She left the explanation unfinished, but I found myself glad I hadn't -tried pulling rank for a fast romance. "I'm very curious to know just -what you did come in here for, Snow. Or did you just want a peep at the -Amnesty? I saw you react when Baxter let it slip back at the spaceport."</p> - -<p>"Is that who that was? Chief Baxter, of International Security?" she -exclaimed.</p> - -<p>I realized I was blurting things, and sighed, "Damn, I'm talking too -much."</p> - -<p>Snow's eyes gave me the once-over, and she tilted her head to one side, -curiously. "You know, Jery, you don't look like a government official. -You seem to be just an average man."</p> - -<p>I thought of my dossier and frowned. "Not quite average, I'm afraid. I -can be hopelessly confused by women."</p> - -<p>Snow digested this, then shrugged. "Like I said, you seem to be just an -average man."</p> - -<p>I laughed. "I guess I'd better explain."</p> - -<p>I told her all about my erstwhile job at Solar Sales, and my mental -bloc regarding females. When I finished, she was fighting a grin. It -was a losing fight. The grin won.</p> - -<p>"If I'd known that, I'd have skipped that steak knife and just entered -in a bikini," she said.</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't have to go even that far," I told her. "One friendly wink -of your big blue eyes and I'd be putty."</p> - -<p>Snow raised her eyebrows appraisingly. "Hmmm. I'll have to remember -that in the future." It was in fun, but I caught a tinge of serious -consideration in it. It gave me an uneasy feeling, a feeling that -brought me sharply back to my main query, from which I'd been -sidetracked a few moments before.</p> - -<p>"But you still haven't told me why you came in here."</p> - -<p>"To find you. I figured that if an Amnesty-bearer was on his way to -Mars, there was big trouble. And I think I know what the trouble is, -but I need some of the answers you can give me."</p> - -<p>"What do you want with government information?" I said, trying to be -stiffly formal. "And what makes you think I'd give it to you?"</p> - -<p>"Two reasons," she said, answering my last question first. "I can -simply wink a big blue eye—unless you've been pulling my leg—and get -all the information I desire."</p> - -<p>"That's only one reason," I said carefully. "What else makes you think -I'd tell you the information?"</p> - -<p>Snow eyed me soberly, and her face hovered between grim determination -and fathomless concern. "My brother Ted is one of the missing Space -Scouts."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>6</h2> - - -<p>"Don't pretend," Snow said. "I know. The last two letters from Ted -convinced me something was wrong. He never wrote those letters."</p> - -<p>I thought of Baxter's agents sweltering to turn out perfect facsimiles -of children's letters, all for nothing. I sighed, and determined to -make one last effort to keep the secret a secret. "You're imagining -things. Sometimes, when a person is in an alien environment—which you -must admit a strange planet is—their outlook changes a bit."</p> - -<p>She was staring at me, her eyes disconcertingly steady, just waiting -for me to complete my lie, hardly listening to me. I gave it up and -stopped. Snow, seeing I was through, unclasped her handbag and handed -me a letter.</p> - -<p>I read it through. When I was finished, I looked at her with what I -hoped was a noncommittal expression.</p> - -<p>"See what I mean?" said Snow. "Three <i>l</i>'s in <i>really</i>, and terrible -spellings of <i>ancient</i> and <i>Martian</i>. But words like ruins and -civilization come through perfectly. It's an obvious attempt on the -part of someone to deceive me. I just know something's wrong. That's -why I drained my savings account and took this flight. I've got to find -out what's happened."</p> - -<p>"You could have gone to the police." I suggested lamely.</p> - -<p>"I did." Snow's voice was cold and flat. "They laughed at me, said I -was imagining things. I don't really blame them; all I have to go on -is a hunch. That, plus the fact that Ted didn't say anything in our -special code."</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes and groaned. She would have a special code with her -brother! "Sure he didn't simply overlook it?" I tried.</p> - -<p>Snow's face was solemnly earnest. "In one letter, by the longest -stretch of the imagination, possibly. But not two in a row." She leaned -forward, her eyes housing desperation. "So when I learned that you, an -Amnesty-bearer, were aboard, I just knew it had to be connected with -whatever happened to Ted. There is something wrong, isn't there!"</p> - -<p>I hesitated, wondering what to do. This thing was a tightly kept -secret, one which I'd sworn to keep. On the other hand, Snow had the -most devastating blue eyes. I shifted in my position and felt cold -metal bump lightly against my chest beneath my blouse. I'd forgotten -about the Amnesty. Hell! I was the most influential, powerful person in -the universe, wasn't I? If I wanted to plaster the secret across the -face of the moon, no one had the authority to say no. Not even Baxter, -however purple he might turn at the idea, could tell me not to do -anything! And hadn't I been picked by the Brain? Didn't that mean that -my instincts in this thing would be the correct ones?</p> - -<p>I took one more look into her deep blue eyes and decided that even if -it was the most disastrous thing to do, I was going to tell her the -truth.</p> - -<p>"It depends on what you mean by <i>wrong</i>," I said.</p> - -<p>Snow's brow crinkled. "Then the boys have vanished?"</p> - -<p>I nodded, and she went deathly pale. "But don't worry," I said quickly. -"It may not be as bad as we think."</p> - -<p>"What!" she gasped. "Fifteen little boys missing on an alien planet, -and it may not be bad? Are you out of your mind?"</p> - -<p>"If you'll calm down a bit and let me explain." I suggested.</p> - -<p>Snow leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Go ahead," she said -resignedly.</p> - -<p>I told her about my being picked up at work by the Security Agents, of -my meeting with Baxter, and of my investigation of <i>Phobos II</i>. She -listened that far in silence, then could hold back no longer.</p> - -<p>"But what did you find in those lockers? And what does the takeoff -thrust and the dehumidifying system have to do with the boys' -disappearance?"</p> - -<p>I smiled reassuringly at her. "Listen, Snow. Baxter, myself, and -probably you, too, have one reaction in common about the boys' -vanishment from a ship in space. Our very first word on the subject -is an incredulous 'Impossible.' Of course, we're using it in the -colloquial sense; that of 'I don't believe it!' But if we take it in -its literal sense, we'll be absolutely correct. Such a thing <i>is</i> -impossible."</p> - -<p>Snow opened her mouth, but I shushed her unspoken words with a wave -of my hand. "I know, you're about to spout something about magnetic -grapples and mid-space boardings, or even about long distance -teleporting rays—none of which have as yet, so far as we know, been -invented—or some such rot. But what are the arguments against these -two solitary possibilities?</p> - -<p>"As to the first; Anders, the pilot, would surely have noticed another -ship in his vicinity. The meteorite warnings would have begun jangling -when the ship was still hundreds of miles away. And if it could, -somehow, evade the signalling devices, Anders would still have heard -the ship make contact. You can't drive up in a spaceship big enough to -hold at least fifteen normal-sized boys, besides your own crew, and -just not be noticed!</p> - -<p>"So we come to the second, and only other, possibility: Were the boys -kidnapped by some ultrasuper teleportation beam? The answer, of course, -is a resounding, 'Hell, no!'"</p> - -<p>Snow frowned. "Why?"</p> - -<p>"The thrust, Snow, that's why. If that weight were suddenly removed -from the ship—boys of Space Scout age usually run to an average -weight of one hundred pounds, or, in this case, a total of about -fifteen hundred pounds—if that weight had suddenly become missing, -then Anders' fuel consumption, remaining the same but with less mass -to thrust, would have made him overshoot Earth. This, however, did not -happen. In fact, the gauges in the pilot's compartment plainly show -that the ship's mass was, on landing, within a fraction of an ounce of -its takeoff mass. Therefore, no mass at all was lost in space except -that expended by the consumption of fuel."</p> - -<p>Snow shook her head, bewildered. "But that doesn't make sense!" she -cried. "If they weren't taken off the ship in space, and they weren't -aboard her when she landed, then—" All at once, she got it, and sat -back with a sharp gasp.</p> - -<p>"Exactly," I said. "They never even left Mars."</p> - -<p>"But you said that this man Anders had seen to it that they were all -aboard before takeoff."</p> - -<p>"Which I have no doubt he did. But the civilian mind skips a few -details when it thinks over his report. They see him look at the boys, -nod, then go up front and press the starter button. It doesn't happen -quite that simply. There are a lot of other things to be done. Anders -had to go into the pilot's cabin, strap himself in place, check the -guages which showed his course, mass, fuel supply, thrust control, -oxygen-nitrogen mixture, and a million and one other things. He had to -check the last and most important dial examined before takeoff; the one -which told him that each of the fifteen takeoff racks in the ship were -occupied."</p> - -<p>"But—" Snow cut in, bewildered, leaning forward.</p> - -<p>"Let me finish." She set her mouth and sat back again. "He had to know -that, because takeoff thrust on a human being <i>not</i> snugly in his -padded rack would probably squash him to pieces against a bulkhead. So -there had to be something in those racks in order to fool Anders into -thinking that the scouts were still aboard; something which, by the -time Anders had maneuvered the ship into its flight vector, would be -gone without leaving a trace, or not much of a trace, unless one were -actually looking for it."</p> - -<p>"What?" asked Snow, fascinated.</p> - -<p>"Ice," I said. "Hunks of ice in every one of the fifteen bunks. Ice -which the temperature control unit would commence to melt immediately."</p> - -<p>"But that would mean ice blocks of hundred-pound weights! They couldn't -melt so fast. Wouldn't Anders be likely to come back to the racks and -find them still there?"</p> - -<p>"Not," I said, "with the efficiency of the temperature control system. -Sharp deviations from comfortable levels in a spaceship can be -disastrous. So the thermostat in the ship is set for a rigid fifty-five -degrees, and it's built to keep the interior heat at that level. Put -fifteen-hundred pounds of ice on board, and the heat in the rack cabin -goes up, trying to get the temperature back to its correct level. The -ice, lying there melting, absorbs the heat swiftly. So more heat is -pumped into the room. Well, figure fifteen minutes before all the ice -was liquified. More than enough of a margin of safety."</p> - -<p>"Safety for whom?" Snow asked.</p> - -<p>"For whoever didn't want Anders finding any evidence of how the -disappearance was accomplished. About an hour passed between takeoff -and the time he checked the cabin. You must remember that Anders had to -maneuver the ship free of Mars' gravity, set his course for Earth, and -then make a final check of all his equipment before going back into the -ship proper. That takes plenty of time."</p> - -<p>"But how could you figure this out?" Snow asked, her eyes wide with -interest. "And where did the ice come from?"</p> - -<p>"From the night side of Mars," I said. "Where the temperature drops -below zero as soon as the sun has gone down. Remember, the ship was -in a landing berth, and had just been prepared for a takeoff. The -technicians would have moved away to be clear of the blast. In fact, -they'd all be inside their shacks, having coffee against the chilly -weather they'd been exposed to. All it took was someone bright enough -to get hold of the water tank, and to spray the water into any handy -container where it would freeze solid in a few seconds. Then the chunks -of ice were substituted for the boys in the bunks, and Anders took off -with no one but himself on board."</p> - -<p>"You reasoned this out?" Snow said, incredulously. "How?"</p> - -<p>"My gift for spotting, which I told you about. Once I knew that the -boys could not have been kidnapped from space, and that something had -to be making up for their mass aboard the <i>Phobos II</i>, I tried to think -of <i>where</i> this something could be kept. It wasn't in the open, nor in -any of the storage space. Therefore, it had to be within the bulkheads. -But what could go within the bulkheads? Only water which had been taken -from the air to keep the humidity down. And yet this water had to -remain—without a container, mind you—in the fifteen racks at takeoff -time so that Anders' dial would register them as all being securely in -place before he pressed the starter. So in what form could water sit on -a bunk without a container?"</p> - -<p>Snow smiled helplessly, "Ice, of course. You make it sound almost -idiotically simple." Then her face fell. "But it's only a theory, isn't -it! Or is it?"</p> - -<p>I shrugged. "It seems borne out by a few things, Snow. When I entered -the <i>Phobos</i>, I checked beneath the canvas covering on one of the -takeoff racks. There was grit there, which is a little unusual on a -military vessel, with their one-track-mindedness about things being -spic and span. And water running through canvas, taking along the dirt -that even a military white-glove inspection can't find, leaves behind a -residue of grit."</p> - -<p>"It still doesn't seem enough," she said wistfully, as if begging me to -prove my theory correct for her peace of mind. I was glad to oblige.</p> - -<p>"There's more. Water weighs in at 62.4 pounds per cubic foot. So, -fifteen hundred pounds of water would occupy approximately twenty four -cubic feet; the exact surplus found aboard the <i>Phobos II</i>, in the -bulkhead tubing."</p> - -<p>Snow looked startled, but still unconvinced. "To kidnap fifteen -boys, without Anders noting even the slightest sign of a struggle or -disturbance...."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Right. It is odd, isn't it! This bothered me, too, until I -checked the contents of those storage lockers."</p> - -<p>"Oh. I'd forgotten about that!" she exclaimed. "What did you find?"</p> - -<p>"Roughly, without going into precise itemization, there were bottles of -space sickness capsules, clean handkerchiefs, toothbrushes, packets of -soap and the like."</p> - -<p>"And the like?" Snow remarked. "What likeness is there between those -things?"</p> - -<p>I smiled happily, and told her, simply, the clinker I'd spotted at once -on seeing those items: "They're all items which small boys hate with -almost apocalyptic fury. But I did not find such things as jackknives, -candy, chewing gum—Shall I go on?"</p> - -<p>"You mean that whoever kidnapped the boys took along the things which -the boys wanted?" she asked, her lovely voice making an unbelieving -squeak on the last word.</p> - -<p>"I mean," I said softly, "that I believe the Space Scouts left the -<i>Phobos II</i> of their own free will."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>7</h2> - - -<p>By evening of the following day we were in descent toward Marsport; a -slow planet-circling downward spiral with a steady braking by the nose -jets, lest we hit the atmosphere too fast and burn up. Even a thin -atmosphere like that of Mars was no fun to enter at interplanetary -speeds.</p> - -<p>Snow, looking through the viewport beside her chair in the lounge, -sighed gently and turned her lovely gaze back to my face. "I wish—" -she began softly.</p> - -<p>I laid my hand upon hers. "We've been over that, Snow. You must return -to Earth. You haven't a chance of finding those boys. Hell, if you -had, the Brain would have picked you. And I, with the Amnesty, can go -anywhere, do anything, get results in a hurry."</p> - -<p>"But if I came with you...." she pleaded in a tense whisper.</p> - -<p>I shook my head, with finality. "I've told you over and over. You wreck -my spotter's instinct, Snow. If you're with me, I'll never be able to -locate those boys. I'll miss even obvious clues."</p> - -<p>"You weren't so fuddleheaded yesterday when you told me how you'd -reasoned out the real facts about the disappearance," she accused.</p> - -<p>"Hell, your presence affects my thinking, not my memory! Come on, now, -see it my way, will you?"</p> - -<p>I stood up. "It looks like good-by for a while, Snow."</p> - -<p>She faced me, solemnly. "Yes, it does. You'll be careful, won't you? -And you'll let me know if—if—"</p> - -<p>"I promise. Before I let Baxter know, even!"</p> - -<p>We stood like that a moment, scarcely a foot apart, and I fought an -impulse to take her into my arms. Then, with no warning, she flung her -arms about my neck, and I had my first taste of those red velvet lips.</p> - -<p>Then she was gone from the lounge. I glanced at the wall chronometer, -and began to move toward my cabin in a hurry. Less than five minutes -till set-down. I entered at a dead run.</p> - -<p>I'd barely lashed myself to the rack when the landing thrust began. -However, I'd taken two antipressure tablets, as per the instructions -posted in the room, and I was comfortably unconscious even before the -pressure began to grow.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When I awoke, there were two men in red and bronze uniforms standing -over my rack. They didn't seem very pleased to find me there. One of -them had my bag open, and was holding my collapser in his hand, and the -look he was giving me wasn't the cheeriest I'd ever seen.</p> - -<p>"What are you guys doing here?" I demanded. In speaking, I tried to -gesture. That's when I became aware of the cold steel manacles on my -wrists. "What the hell?"</p> - -<p>The one with the weapon hefted it thoughtfully in his palm. "Don't you -know it's a death-penalty offense to have possession of a collapser, -chum?" he said.</p> - -<p>The other one, not waiting for my answer, began undoing the straps -across my body, and assisting me to my feet.</p> - -<p>"Say, look, what do you guys mean by coming here and—"</p> - -<p>"We were alerted," said the first man. "By an Amnesty-bearer."</p> - -<p>I simply stared at him for an unbelieving instant. Then I said, -"You're crazy! There's only one Amnesty in existence, and—"</p> - -<p>With horrible clarity, I recalled Snow's impassioned farewell in the -lounge, and the way her hands had darted about; my neck.</p> - -<p>I brought my manacled hands up to my blouse and felt frantically for -the red and bronze disc. The Amnesty was gone.</p> - -<p>"Come along, now," said the one who'd helped me up.</p> - -<p>"Where are we going?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"You're to be held incommunicado," he said, "until the Amnesty-bearer -returns. Come along, now. We haven't got all day!"</p> - -<p>"Day?" I said, and looked toward the viewport. Sure enough the glaring -Martian sunlight was pouring into the cabin. "But we were landing on -the night side," I said, confused.</p> - -<p>"You did," said the one with the collapser. "Only it was arranged that -you'd stay asleep for a while, till we could get here."</p> - -<p>"Arranged how?" I choked furiously. Then I remembered the capsules -I'd taken. I looked toward the instruction posted on the inside of -the cabin door. Now that I was in no great hurry, I could see where -someone had, with ordinary pen and ink, gone over the numeral 1, and -made it into a passable 2. Someone, I thought bitterly, with shimmering -cornsilk hair and red velvet lips!</p> - -<p>"Now, just a minute, you guys, I can explain." I said.</p> - -<p>"Stow it," said the one with the gun. "Come on, get moving."</p> - -<p>"When Chief Baxter hears about this—" I growled.</p> - -<p>He laughed. "You know Baxter has no authority to over-ride an -Amnesty-bearer's orders!" Once again, he motioned with the collapser in -the direction of the door.</p> - -<p>"Well then, boys," I said, in as threatening a tone as I could muster, -"let your fat heads chew on this for a while: the girl who has that -Amnesty stole it from me! You just get hold of Baxter and verify it. -Because if you don't, there are going to be two slightly-used Security -Agent's uniforms for sale!"</p> - -<p>They looked at each other, frowning. Then the one with the gun scowled. -The other guy paled. "Say, Charlie, what if there is something to his -story? What do you think we ought to do?"</p> - -<p>Charlie blinked and thought hard. Then a smile crossed his face. -"Nothing," he said. "We were given orders by an Amnesty-bearer, and all -we have to do is carry them out to be in the clear."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yeah?" I grunted. "Five'll get you ten Baxter thinks differently!"</p> - -<p>The one who wasn't Charlie hesitated, and his grip, hitherto vise-tight -on my upper arm, went suddenly slack. "Disobeying an Amnesty-bearer is -unprecedented," he said carefully.</p> - -<p>"So is the theft of the Amnesty!" I shouted in exasperation.</p> - -<p>The other one looked at Charlie. "Maybe we ought to call Baxter, just -in case."</p> - -<p>"In my book," Charlie muttered, "that's not holding a guy -incommunicado!"</p> - -<p>"The hell it's not," I snorted. "I won't communicate with him. You two -guys do it. Do it any way you can square it with your sense of duty. -Either tell Baxter you have a man in custody by the name of Jery Delvin -or that the Amnesty is in the possession of a blue-eyed blonde girl, -and see what he says!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Two hours later, I was facing the image of a purple-faced Chief Baxter -on an interplanetary videoscreen. "Sorry to be so long, Delvin," he -said apologetically. "But I'd left orders not to be disturbed. Anyway, -I've given the men instructions to return the collapser to you, and an -authorization permit for it, in case you meet any more agents."</p> - -<p>"Which heaven forbid!" I growled. "No red tape with an Amnesty. Ha!"</p> - -<p>"Uh. Yes. So you can continue with your search, Delvin. Have you found -anything interesting?"</p> - -<p>"Full report when I get back, Baxter," I said. "Right now, I have a -date with a beautiful blonde."</p> - -<p>"A date?" he choked out. "But—"</p> - -<p>"Signing off," I said, and cut the circuit. I belted the collapser into -place around my waist, and started off for the city proper. Somewhere -in Marsport there was a lovely blonde girl named Snow White, who could -do anything, anything at all, and get away with it. Anything but one -thing.</p> - -<p>She couldn't get within a foot of me again! Not if I had anything to -say about it.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>8</h2> - - -<p>Marsport, the largest—if you excluded the prospecting encampments -within a hundred-mile radius of the place—city on the Planet, -had grown fast, from the time of its founding in 2014. Originally -simply a mining site for the Tri-Planet Refining Corporation, it -had spread backward from the area of the original mines in a rough -circle, beginning with the monotonous quonset huts of the miners, and -modulating in its move toward the perimeter to smart iron-and-adobe -structures. Some of these, thanks to the less-than-half Earth's normal -gravity, as high as fifteen stories.</p> - -<p>The planet, barely half the diameter of Earth and a tenth of Earth's -mass, was a minerologist's paradise. The rusty red sands of the Martian -desert were almost pure ferrous oxide, a source of both iron for the -profitable refineries and oxygen for the inhabitants of Marsport.</p> - -<p>Going Los Angeles one ridge better, Marsport was completely -circumscribed by high crimson hills, and this natural bowl formation, -plus oxygen's heavier-than-air-density, allowed the city to be filled -with breathable atmosphere, much as tobacco smoke can lie surging -gently within an ashtray if the air in a room is still. This made -planetary wind-storms a hazard.</p> - -<p>Outside the hills, of course, the air was thin, cold and barely -able to support life, being comparable to the biting cold air atop -Mount Everest. Human lungs could not breathe it for long without -freezing. Naturally, there was a high casualty rate amongst the -prospectors, despite their pressurized metal huts and oxygen masks. -But uranium, as it had been since the advent of the atomic age, was -enormously well-paying to the one miner in twenty to find any in -Mars' body breaking hinterlands with its roasting dry heat of day and -blood-freezing cold by night.</p> - -<p>And then there was parabolite.</p> - -<p>This mineral, found in abundance beneath the Martian sands, was, -theoretically, worth ten times its weight in gold to the people who -might mine it. I say theoretically, because no one had as yet found -a way of getting any ore. Paradoxically, the feature which made -parabolite so vitally desired was the same feature which prevented -anyone from mining it: it was totally indestructible.</p> - -<p>The name had been given it by the scientists who studied the three -solitary fragments of it found small enough for shipping back to Earth. -There was just no way of chipping a piece loose for analysis. The name -was due to the oddly shaped molecules which made up this mineral. All -of them seemed to be joined atomically into perfect parabolas, no -matter which way you came at them. Which meant, in effect, that when -anything was brought to bear against the substance, pressure which -struck one end of the parabolically curved molecules was retransmitted -by the other end, back to the thing putting pressure on it. Result: it -"hit back" with a violence equal to that applied to it, and sustained -no damage whatsoever to itself. Chemicals were tried when pickaxes had -failed, but the substance was inert. It gave no sign of reacting either -to hydrofluoric acid, which could eat its way through glass, or to aqua -regia, which could eat through anything else.</p> - -<p>They even tried using the collapsers on it. These deadly weapons, which -worked by the simple process of killing the attraction between the -protons and electrons, could, in the briefest time, reduce anything -to less than dust. The electrons spun away in a blinding blue-white -flash, and the stripped-down protons, being less than atomic in size, -fell silently down into the heart of the planet, leaving a virtual -nothingness where the object had been.</p> - -<p>But on parabolite, even these mighty weapons were useless. Oh, they had -found that training a battery of them on a chunk of parabolite, for -a period of days, with an enormous drain of power keeping the weapons -firing continuously, did get results. The overall mass of the chunk -was reduced by one-millionth of a gram. Which was less than useless, -because not only was that amount completely impractical to obtain, -but it was not even obtained, thanks to the collapsers' destructive -potency. It was merely destroyed.</p> - -<p>And so, vast acres of this fortune-making mineral lay all about the -planet, as common as sandstone was on Earth. And no one had any idea of -how to get any of it, not even the natives.</p> - -<p>Yes, there were natives, of a sort, on Mars. Strange beings, albeit -friendly, made up, except for a fraction of a percent, of sugar.</p> - -<p>They were crystalline, these beings, covered over with prisms of bright -red sugar that gave them, with their scuttling gait and long pointed -tails, the appearance of man-sized lizards. A lot of their metabolism -was a mystery to us, but we did know that they, like plants on Earth, -lived by a sort of modified photosynthesis.</p> - -<p>At first thought, this seems strange, since we are used to green as the -primary necessity in a photosynthetic metabolism. But it made sense -when you remember that foliage looks green because the green rays of -the sun are reflected, and the red rays absorbed. Since a crystal -passes only the rays which correspond to its color-structure, they -did quite well, photosynthetically. Air and water were their chief -foods, of course. The water they inhaled through rubbery-looking hollow -tongues which extended a good two feet from their wide, dragon like -mouths. The distance was a necessity, due to their exteriors, which, as -I've said, were made of red crystalline sugar. They could take water on -the inside, but it was fatal on the outside.</p> - -<p>The first men on Mars had felt pretty silly standing guard over their -encampments with water pistols. But the sugarfeet, as they came to be -called, proved friendly enough in a nonobsequious way. They seemed, on -investigation, to be the Martian equivalent of cats.</p> - -<p>By that I mean that they must have been the self-sufficient pets of the -Ancient Martians. They tended to be standoffish and annoyingly smug, -but not menacing in any way. After all, why should they be menacing? -We had nothing they wanted. Our food was useless to them, as were our -clothes, gold or anything else in the way of possessions. They liked -our water, of course, but long evolution in the Martian deserts had -kept their physical need for this commodity down to a minimum. The -average sugarfoot drank about a pint of water per week, which was no -menace to us, even when we'd first landed and water was in short supply.</p> - -<p>But of the Ancients, they could tell us nothing, any more than an -alien landing on a depopulated Earth could find out about men from an -alley cat. We knew there had been intelligent life, though. There were -remnants of buildings still to be seen half-buried in the rust-red -sands, and bewildering little artifacts for which no conceivable use -had as yet been convincingly postulated. There was one thing, though, -that bothered us about these buildings and artifacts.</p> - -<p>They were made out of parabolite.</p> - -<p>How had the Martians carved, or molded, or otherwise affected the shape -of this indestructible mineral? We had no idea.</p> - -<p>Marsport had a population of about one hundred thousand families, -averaging five people to a family, so it was a good-sized city for Snow -to hide herself in.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, I wasn't absolutely sure just why I was looking for -her. After all, I didn't really need the Amnesty. A collapser carries a -lot of weight on its own. And an Amnesty's power was only in proportion -to the esteem in which an approached individual held the authority of -the World Government.</p> - -<p>The more I thought of it, the more I wondered why I was so determined -to find Miss Snow White. She'd only be a hindrance to me, really, what -with short-circuiting my spotting technique. And a man on a mission of -such grave importance wouldn't simply seek out a girl because she had -cornsilk hair and red velvet lips, would he? Well, would he?</p> - -<p>As I thought all of this, I was striding swiftly along Von Braun -Street, the main thoroughfare, ignoring the stares of passers-by as -they spotted the golden collapser belted about my waist. Passing a -small bar, I happened to glance in through the window. And there was -her photograph on the stereo over the bar. The men along its polished -metal length were staring at her with interest.</p> - -<p>Curious and puzzled, I turned back and went inside the bar to hear what -was being said about her.</p> - -<p>"Shoot to kill! Repeat: Shoot to kill!" said the announcer's voice from -the speaker. "She is not to be obeyed under any circumstances. The -Amnesty is a forgery. Repeat: A forgery."</p> - -<p>I found myself leaning weakly against a wall by the door as the sense -of the message came home to me. Baxter had lost no time making up for -my stupidity in losing the Amnesty. He didn't dare admit it had been -stolen, because Amnesty-bearers, like myself, were considered by the -populace to be intelligent, and very clever. It wouldn't do to weaken -public opinion of IS.</p> - -<p>But to kill! From Baxter's viewpoint, it made sense. If she were simply -shot down, then she couldn't mention the fact that it had been stolen, -either.</p> - -<p>As a patriot, I should have been happy to see my government operating -with such efficient dispatch. For some reason, I was not happy at all. -I thought of those soft warm lips pressing gently upward upon my own, -albeit in the act of deception, and felt suddenly sick inside.</p> - -<p>"Something for you, buddy?"</p> - -<p>I looked up. The bartender, his voice mirroring the polite caution with -which people spoke to collapser toters, was down at my end of the bar, -by the doorway, his face strained into a nervously hearty anxiety to -please.</p> - -<p>Irritably, I leaned forward to rasp a negation into his face at close -range, and then I decided to create no more ruckus than I had to. -"Okay," I grunted.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," he said, spinning about and commencing to do dexterous -things with the flashy array of bottles behind the bar and a tall -frosty mixer.</p> - -<p>"Down the hatch," he smiled, setting the glass of shining chartreuse -liquid before me.</p> - -<p>I nodded, and took a sip. It was good, whatever it was. It was a -little nose-tingling, like a stinger, and yet there was something, a -not unpleasant bitterish aftertaste. The glass fell from my suddenly -numb fingers and shattered loudly on the bar. I tried to get up, and -couldn't.</p> - -<p>The floor of the bar was warping, tugging at me. I was unconscious -halfway down.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>9</h2> - - -<p>My first awareness was the whine of the converters, audible everywhere -in Marsport, if not by ear, then by the soles of one's feet. Their -thundering dynamos plunged potent destructive rays against the Martian -sands, leaving in their wake invisible fountains of nascent oxygen and -shimmering puddles of orange-white molten iron. They went on day and -night without ceasing, partly to keep the mining companies on Earth -from losing their franchises with Tri-Planet, but primarily to keep the -Marsport populace from tumbling down in the streets with cyanosed lips -and glazing eyes, as the breathable atmosphere sloughed away over the -hilltops.</p> - -<p>So I knew that I was in Marsport, at least. But not much else. My -hands, when I tried to move them, proved to be bound, and tightly, at -that. My fingers felt swollen and numb when I tried to flex them. There -was something, a hood, a sack, a cloth, over my head, fastened about my -throat, impairing my breathing slightly and my vision altogether.</p> - -<p>I found, though, that I could move my legs, but it was little help when -I wouldn't know where they were carrying me if I chanced using them. -For all I knew, I was lying on my back atop a precipice. Moving about -could be disastrous.</p> - -<p>So I lay still and spent my time wondering why that bartender should -have slipped me a mickey.</p> - -<p>It was senseless, in a way. I mean, even granting that there was some -sort of inimical agency here attempting to forestall investigation -of the missing Space Scouts, how did they know that I was the proper -Amnesty-bearer? Or that there was an Amnesty-bearer around? And, -knowing this, how would they know that I'd turn into that particular -bar?</p> - -<p>The thoughts were too confusing, so I gave them up, and just lay there -in darkness, worrying. And not, strangely enough, about my fate, but -about Snow's. Security Agents were keen-sighted and perfect shots. And -a collapser beam wasn't choosy about what it annihilated.</p> - -<p>I'd come to while lying on my back, but had chanced turning over on my -face to get my body weight off my hands. A little life seemed to be -oozing back into my thickened fingers. I tried the cords on my wrists -again, but they were still taut and firm. Then one of my fingers found -the loose end of the cord, and felt its surface. It was one of those -nylon ropes with a steel wire center. I gave up trying to undo it.</p> - -<p>How long had I been lying wherever I was, anyhow? I had no means of -knowing. It might have been an hour, a day, or merely minutes. How far -behind Snow's trail had I fallen thanks to this damnable delay? And did -she know she was being hunted?</p> - -<p>I shifted over onto my right hip to feel if my collapser holster were -still in place. Something pressed back against me, but it had too much -give to it. The holster was there, all right, but it was empty.</p> - -<p>Obviously, I couldn't do anything else until I could see. I tried -catching at the hooding material with my teeth, but it was stretched -tautly across my features, and evaded them with maddening efficiency. -On reflection, I saw that this was the reason I hadn't smothered. -Looser cloth would have leaped easily to block mouth and nostrils -against my unconscious breathing. I wondered if the tautness was an -over-sight, or purposely done to ensure my staying alive.</p> - -<p>That took me about three seconds to figure out. If I was still alive, -then they wanted me for something further. If they hadn't, then the -cord binding the hood to my neck would have been used as a simple, -efficient garrote.</p> - -<p>If my hands could reach the neck cord, though, I might be able to untie -it, and then try my hand cords with my teeth.</p> - -<p>Slowly, I managed to slide my knees forward until I was resting solely -on kneecaps and chin. Then I twisted, stretched, and tugged with my -arms until the binding cord slipped over my rump and slid to the backs -of my knees. My chin, from all the weight on it, felt as though it had -been kicked by a fullback, but I ignored the pain and flopped awkwardly -over onto my side, then rolled carefully onto my back, with my ankles -somewhere over my face.</p> - -<p>Now came the rough part. I found myself, in the next five minutes of -torture, wishing I'd done more toe-touching exercises in my erstwhile -sedentary life. The cord slipped down as far as the tendons behind my -heels, but would budge no further, no matter how I strained. With my -boots off, I might have made the last inch or so, but they were on, and -had thick durex heels. It was going to be a struggle.</p> - -<p>When it happened, it happened all at once. I was wrenching at my bonds, -gritting my teeth and pulling, despite the binding agony that flared in -my wrists. And then I smacked myself in the face with my own hands as -my feet jackknifed back to the ground. I lay there panting awhile, then -started feeling about my neck for the end of the cord fastening the -hood in place.</p> - -<p>My fingers, thicker than ever after my struggles, were almost without -the power to feel as I fumbled them against the knot in the cord. In -their bloated state, they were just slightly more manageable than -sausages.</p> - -<p>I let them work by touch, and kept my mind away from what they were -doing, lest I begin to scream in frustration at their bumbling efforts. -Then something slipped and gave way. The bottom folds of the hooding -cloth fell open from my throat. I fairly tore the thing from my head -and looked around me.</p> - -<p>There wasn't much light to see by, just a pallid gray glow in the -air, but I could tell I was in a cellar of some sort. The walls had -that dusty look to them, and there was a flight of stone stairs going -up toward a door, under which seeped a dim sheet of light. I started -looking around for some other way out. There was none visible, although -I couldn't see too much outside the area where that dim light struck -and diffused before vanishing into darkness.</p> - -<p>I licked my lips, took in some deep draughts of air, then began dulling -my incisors on the wrist cords. The knot, unfortunately, was on the -ulnar side of the wrists, just behind the little fingers. The only -way I could get at that was to bend my hands tightly up to my neck, as -though I were about to choke myself, and work over the underside of my -wrists. It was awkward as hell, but finally that cord, too, dropped -away, and I was free.</p> - -<p>Well, relatively free. I didn't know how my chances were of getting out -of that cellar or whatever it was.</p> - -<p>While it was probably only setting myself up for a return to my bonds, -I decided to do the obvious thing and head up that flight of stairs.</p> - -<p>But before I did so, I scouted around for some sort of weapon. On a -pile of empty crates I located a pair of shears, the sort used to snip -through the metal tape that binds bulky crates like those. It wasn't -much, and was clumsy to hold, but it was all I had, so I took it along -with me.</p> - -<p>Creeping up the stairs, I found the door locked from the outside, but -it was a handle-or-key operated lock, the kind that can be opened from -the inside by simply turning the knob. Apparently my captors were less -concerned about me getting out than they were about anyone else getting -in. It figured, though. I was supposed to be unconscious, hooded, and -bound.</p> - -<p>Shutting the door behind me, I found myself in a corridor, not itself -lighted, but getting light from somewhere at the far end. As I moved -cautiously down its length, I was thankful for the treeless Martian -topography which had occasioned all edifices being built of metal -and/or stone. There wasn't a chance of my making the floor creak.</p> - -<p>I arrived at the end of the corridor, and paused behind the edge of an -open door, through which the light came streaming.</p> - -<p>And there were voices, too. Voices, and odd clacking noises.</p> - -<p>Gingerly, I lowered myself all the way to the flooring and peeked -around the very bottom of the door frame, below, I hoped, the eye level -of anyone in that room.</p> - -<p>It was, I saw, the bar in which I'd been mickeyed. But long opaque -blinds were latched in place over the windows and glass door, and the -people in the place didn't seem to be customers. Some of them were -seated on the barstools, and some on the bar itself. Others occupied -tables and chairs along the wall opposite the bar. All were facing the -area between the bar and the tables, in which was set another table. -There was a man seated at it. A man, and something else.</p> - -<p>It was this something else which was emitting the clacking noises I'd -heard. I looked with fascinated horror at its long, flare-nostrilled -face, and rheumy-looking wide-set eyes. It had no hair, nor could I -discern anything like ears, until it turned its head and I saw the hole -just behind the back edge of the cruelly-toothed jaw. The overhead -light, as this creature turned its head, glinted red off squarish -conical scales, and I realized with a little shock that I was seeing my -first sugarfoot.</p> - -<p>Seen in the flesh, as it were, it looked considerably more menacing -than the photos I'd seen of it back on Earth. At that cosmic distance, -I could believe that it was docile, albeit standoffish, and was, while -not a friend to man, at least an accepted neutral. But looking at those -eyes and teeth, I decided the Public Information Bureau on Earth was -full of beans. That damned thing looked dangerous!</p> - -<p>As I watched, it made some more clacking noises, and the man beside -it, whom I recognized as the bartender, frowned and clacked something -back. His sounds didn't have the same snapping quality to them, but I -couldn't doubt they were conversing in some language. Which language -just had to be the sugarfoot's.</p> - -<p>And that was another thing the PIB on Earth hadn't mentioned. Contact -between man and sugarfoot was supposed to be impossible, except in the -form of rudimentary gestures. They were supposed to be able to learn to -follow certain Earth words, if you dinned them at them often enough. -But that was all. Now, here was an Earthman talking to one! It'd make -interesting news for Baxter when I got back.</p> - -<p>If I got back.</p> - -<p>The bartender, in the course of his speech, pointed at something on -the table before him and shook his head. I raised up slowly on my -hands from my prone position, and got a glimpse of the object under -discussion. It was my collapser, goldenly glinting in the incandescent -light.</p> - -<p>Just from following the bartender's gestures and facial expressions, -I began to gather some of what was going on. I didn't know why, but -they seemed to be dickering over possession of the weapon. And unless -I misjudged the man's now-and-then pointing in the direction of where -that stone cellar lay, I, too, was on the auction block.</p> - -<p>The way I figured it, this sugarfoot wanted me, and it wanted the -collapser. The bartender seemed willing enough to surrender me, but was -nixing a deal on the weapon.</p> - -<p>The drawn blinds and the men's lowered voices indicated that it must be -nightfall. I'd started out into Marsport at midday. The rotation of the -planet is only fractionally different from Earth's, so that meant that -at least six hours had gone by since my capture. But a bar closing down -at sunset, just when its business would begin picking up, would look -pretty suspicious, so I could figure on probably another six hours, -putting the time at somewhere past midnight.</p> - -<p>I wished I could leave with the collapser, but I had my doubts that I -could cross the floor of that room to snatch it from the table without -being grabbed by someone. I shook my head and withdrew back into the -corridor to think. No point in risking my life to get that weapon back, -when I could simply slip out some other way and alert IS. A team of -agents could reduce the bar to a sparkling crater in seconds, along -with the men, sugarfoot and collapser.</p> - -<p>It wouldn't be quite as glorious as acting the hero by myself, but it'd -be considerably safer. I got back to my feet and started inspecting the -rest of the corridor, seeking a less populated exit than the one onto -Von Braun street.</p> - -<p>Back the way I'd come, there was only the door to that cellar. I -doubled back toward the other door by the bar itself, ducked down low, -and scuttled past it on my hands and knees. No outcry came from the -room, just the vociferous clacking noises, and an occasional mutter -from one of the surrounding men. I figured I'd made it okay. The -corridor bent, just past that doorway, and ended in a window. It was -open. I stuck my head out and looked around.</p> - -<p>Something was glowing just beneath me, something that reflected almost -intolerable heat against my face when I looked down at it.</p> - -<p>A river of liquified iron, ten feet wide, ran along a bed carved into -the rocky soil. It was a good five feet between the bottom of the -window and the sullen smolder of that hellish stream, but my face and -throat felt already parboiled. Before ducking back into the relatively -cooler temperature inside the corridor, I shot a glance toward the -source of this impassable moat, and understood why it was there.</p> - -<p>About two miles along this radiant river, I saw the towering metallic -hulk of the converters, their shimmering molecule-blasting rays -leaping from a multi-noded sender plate to a cup-shaped receiver. And, -silhouetted against the black velvet night sky, above and between these -deadly twins, was a monster escalator, carrying ton after ton of rich -red Martian sand to a point in space directly above the flashing beam, -and spilling it downward through the raw energy below.</p> - -<p>Where the sand—pure ferrous oxide—struck the beam, I could not look -without daring blindness, so violent were those disruptive reactions. -But just above it, a silvery cloud arose and dissipated itself; the -freed oxygen, enriching the atmosphere in this gigantic crater that was -Marsport. And below it, a cataract of burning metal sprayed downward -into an enormous vat, the sides of which were spouting a continual flow -of this dangerous liquid into troughs which spread out in a fanlike -pattern that must have encompassed the entire city.</p> - -<p>It took me a few minutes of thought, but I figured it out, as I -drew back through the window from the heat. It was not enough that -the converters could supply the citizenry with breathable air. The -planetary temperature at night was below the level at which a man could -live, save with the most cumbersome, demanding precautions, such as are -demanded by arctic exploration on Earth.</p> - -<p>And so, instead of merely letting the metal cool into ingots before it -was shipped where it was needed, it was channeled through the city, -passing behind all the buildings where alleys would normally be, and -warming the environment so that going into the night air would not mean -sure death by freezing. I could not see the far end of the trough, but -I knew that beyond the city limits the troughs would converge, and iron -would be cooled, shaped and shipped.</p> - -<p>It was ingenious, and something I'd never run across in my readings -about Mars. But then, I was never much of a space exploration fan. -However, ingenious or not, it was a crumby trick on me, really. I -hadn't a chance of passing through that rushing inferno outside.</p> - -<p>That left me one way out: through the front door.</p> - -<p>Hefting the wirecutter in my hand, and breathing a silent prayer, I -moved back to that open doorway.</p> - -<p>Things, when I peeked out, seemed no more advanced. Man and sugarfoot -were still clacking away at one another, neither side giving ground. -However, the other men round about were showing signs of restlessness.</p> - -<p>"Whyn't ya just blast him, Jim, and forget it?" suggested an oldster -just over to my left.</p> - -<p>Jim, the bartender, faced the other men with a black scowl, furious -at the interruption. "You keep your mouth shut, Barry! You know these -things can understand a little English!"</p> - -<p>The older man, Barry, subsided with a sullen look at Jim, and I turned -my gaze there to see what would happen next. I'd quite overlooked the -fact that Jim's looking toward Barry had sent his eyes in the general -direction of the corridor, and that I was leaning my fool head around -the doorway. Jim was looking right at me, his mouth wide open.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" he cried, leaping to his feet and pointing with such violence -that his chair crashed to the floor. "He's loose!"</p> - -<p>I took a step back, as the entire roomful of men jumped up and turned -to face me. My mind leaped about, like a fish flung alive onto a -skillet, trying to make some sensible decision. Should I chance -flinging myself over that red hot river outside, or rush back to the -deadend of the cellar? Neither course seemed very profitable, somehow.</p> - -<p>But my time was running out. After the first startled pause at seeing -me there, the group came at me in a rapid scuttle, hands outstretched -to take me.</p> - -<p>So none of them ever saw what I saw, facing into the room. The sight -they missed was one which sent me diving to my left, to fall prone on -the corridor floor, hugging the raw stone there and clamping my eyes -shut.</p> - -<p>I heard that terrible throbbing buzz in that bar room, and then my -skin prickled and stung as an eight-foot segment of the wall above me -vanished into a cloud of white sparks.</p> - -<p>When I at last lifted myself carefully for a look, the sugarfoot was -gone. Gone with the collapser I'd seen it snatch up from that table -when Jim's guard was down.</p> - -<p>And the men were gone, too. Gone with most of the wall, half the bar, -and a large quantity of chairs and tables.</p> - -<p>A collapser is nothing to fool with.</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot must have flicked it on and sent the blue-white beam in a -sweeping curve that turned everything it touched into hot protons and -electrical energy. He'd turned it off, however, as soon as the last man -vanished from his ken.</p> - -<p>I realized with a sick feeling of shock that a second's more energy -would have dissolved the back wall, and I would have been buried -beneath a flood of molten iron.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>10</h2> - - -<p>When I got outside, there was no sign of the sugarfoot along the -street. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. Marsport, despite the -caloric values of the heating troughs is still pretty chilly at night. -I gathered no one went out much, or that this was a slack night for the -local merchants, because even the stores were closed, and the public -stereovision auditorium was shut down, too.</p> - -<p>It was eerie, walking down that rocky street, with no sound but that of -my durex heels smacking the ground. To left and right, dark shuttered -windows moved by as I advanced. My nose still felt irritated by the -good whiff of ozone it had inhaled when the sugarfoot cut loose with -the collapser, and I was rubbing the tip of it with the back of my -wrist when I saw a figure down the street, facing toward me.</p> - -<p>It seemed to be a man, but his figure was lost in the deep shadows -thrown by the eye-searing glow of the distant converter. I kept moving -toward him, but slowed my pace. There was something in his attitude -that I didn't like. He was waiting there for me, I realized with a -small shock. And I sensed his intentions weren't the best possible.</p> - -<p>While moving toward him, I started darting my eyes about me, to see if -there were some way of getting off the street. But the buildings were -all side-to-side with one another, and shut tight. I could, of course, -hurl myself through the glass front of one. But assuming I didn't brain -myself on the blinds in the process, what then? All these places were -backed by that infernal molten river. There'd be no escape. And then -my eyes saw something that sent brazen alarm bells clanging through my -nervous system. In the entrance of one store, the glass curved at a -forty-five degree angle to my line of movement, and, reflected in its -depths, I could see the broad avenue behind me.</p> - -<p>It was filled with creeping figures.</p> - -<p>I spun about with an involuntary cry, and looked at them, head on. It -was a group of men, armed with rude weapons, mostly clubs, but a few -glittering knives. And they were obviously after me.</p> - -<p>As soon as they knew I'd spotted them, they left all pretense of -stealth, and came at me in a run, brandishing their weapons.</p> - -<p>I staggered back one frightened step, then turned and ran down the -street like a madman. Not one of them, however, was making a sound. -Only their heavy footfalls told me they were still in earnest pursuit -as I stumbled up the street toward that solitary waiting figure in the -shadows. It was like a nightmare; the relentless pursuers chasing one -down an endless avenue with no turnoff.</p> - -<p>My ribs ached with panicky breathing, and my vision was swimming -giddily as I came to where the solitary figure stood. "Here we go," I -said to myself. "Now he steps out and stops me. And I'm too winded to -put up a fight."</p> - -<p>As I came nearly abreast of the figure, it stepped out into the -blue-white glow that glared from the converter. Brilliant light -coruscated over glassy scales as it moved out into the avenue in a -queer scuttling motion.</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot! I knew it was the same one. My collapser was still -clutched in its three-fingered hand. Blindly, I shot my arms in front -of me to wrest the thing from its grasp, but it simply tossed the gun -into its other hand, and with the free hand caught me by the collar and -held on.</p> - -<p>Then a humming blaze filled the avenue for a split second, and I got my -second whiff of ozone that night. The sugarfoot released me, and I fell -to the street panting. I managed to lift my head, and look back toward -where my pursuers had been. They were gone.</p> - -<p>I raised myself on my hands, and looked up into the scaly face of my -rescuer, wary and alert. But the sugarfoot had lowered the collapser, -and wasn't menacing me with it.</p> - -<p>"Why did you kill those men?" I asked, bewildered.</p> - -<p>It flickered out a horrible-looking tongue that resembled a segment of -hollow rubber tubing, and made some clacking noises. I shook my head. -The thing ceased making noises, and tried sign language instead. It -pointed toward where the men had been, then pointed at me.</p> - -<p>"You mean," I said slowly, "you annihilated those men simply because -they were after me?"</p> - -<p>The thing didn't change expression—I didn't really see how it could, -what with its rigid crystalline structure—but it gave a slow nod. It -seemed to have difficulty doing it, as though it weren't used to that -particular form of expression.</p> - -<p>"But why?" I said, getting to my feet and staring at the creature. "Why -go to these lengths to protect me? Is there something special about me?"</p> - -<p>Again the ponderous nod. Then the sugarfoot pointed at me, and pointed -at its head. I simply shook my head. It did the action again, patiently.</p> - -<p>"Because I'm smart?" I choked, not really thinking this was the case.</p> - -<p>The lumpy red head moved from right to left and back to center again.</p> - -<p>"Then what?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>It looked about, suddenly, then pointed to the ground and shook its -head again.</p> - -<p>"Not here, you mean?"</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot nodded, then raised a hand and beckoned.</p> - -<p>"You want me to come with you; is that it?" I said.</p> - -<p>It nodded, with less patience, and moved off a few paces. When I -didn't go with it, it turned to face me again, and gave its head a -questioning tilt.</p> - -<p>"Because," I answered its unspoken question, "I don't know if I can -trust you, that's why."</p> - -<p>It stared at me with its wide-set eyes for a second, then pointed to -the empty space in the street, then to the collapser, and nodded.</p> - -<p>"I—I should trust you because you didn't use the collapser on me? -Because if your motives were bad, you would already have destroyed me?"</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot nodded violently.</p> - -<p>"Unh-uh!" I said, backing off. "Not a chance. You tell me why, and -maybe I'll come along. But not before." Even as I said it, I felt -regret for my own irrationality. Were its intentions even the best, it -could certainly not prove them to me, or even demonstrate its reasons -with the language barrier between us.</p> - -<p>It stood there, looking at me, apparently thinking hard. We seemed to -be at an impasse. I didn't want to go with it. On the other hand, I -didn't want it to go off and leave me with the most baffling mystery -of my life unsolved. I had to know why it had spared me, and what it -wanted.</p> - -<p>But an alien, on a strange planet, with that dragonish form, and the -shark-mouth full of teeth, not to mention a thick three-foot tail ... I -couldn't bring myself to trust it.</p> - -<p>At that moment, there was a shout down the street, and a flashing -light. Someone was coming. Probably, I realized an instant later, the -Security men from the rocket field. They had a gadget there that could -not only spot, but track down, any use of atomic energy in the region. -And there had been, within ten minutes of each other, two such uses of -that all-annihilating collapser.</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot took a step backward.</p> - -<p>"Hold on," I said. "These guys are okay. Maybe, after I get a -tranquillizer, I'll be more in the mood for coming with you. If you'll -just wait a moment."</p> - -<p>But the sugarfoot was having none of it. It gave me an angry glance, -then, before I could dodge, it grabbed my arm. I went to pull away, -then saw that it was trying to tell me something. The fingers not -holding my arm were indicating my wrist. It took me a second to catch -on.</p> - -<p>"Wrist—wristwatch?" A swift nod. "Time of some sort?" Another. -"You—You'll come for me at a later time?" A very brief nod, then a -surprisingly friendly clasp of those clawlike fingers on my shoulder.</p> - -<p>Then, with a bound that took my breath away, the sugarfoot sprang -upward from the street and landed on the rooftop of one of the nearby -stores. It landed running, and as I watched, it reached the rear of the -store and took a soaring leap out over the molten river between it and -the next rooftop. Then it vanished into the blackness beyond the trough -alley. I turned to await the arrival of the Security men.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>11</h2> - - -<p>Charlie and the other Security Agent, whose name turned out to be -Foster, sat stolidly listening as I recounted events since I'd last -seen them.</p> - -<p>"You say," Charlie interrupted with a frown, "this here sugarfoot told -you why he didn't shoot you down?"</p> - -<p>"Not quite," I said. "He didn't seem to have the time. But he said he'd -see me l—"</p> - -<p>"Look, Delvin, that's not what I mean. Everybody from Mars to Venus -knows that the sugarfoots are dumb animals. So I'd like to know what -you're trying to hand us."</p> - -<p>There was something funny in his tone. As though he were saying, not -"It can't be true," but, "It's not supposed to be true, and that's the -way things stay!"</p> - -<p>I paused, considering. I'd had a hard time for a while, when I was -first picked up. But I'd been able to get myself brought, by the men -who found me, to Charlie and Foster, after giving Charlie's name -and describing the two. They'd identified me, and gotten me off the -hook for the damage to that bar. It was damage possible only by a -collapser. And I, of course, had been picked up wearing a collapser -holster.</p> - -<p>But from the time I'd been left with them, there was a bothersome -something about their attitude; an impatience, as though they had -something to say to me, or even do to me, but had to hold off until I -was through.</p> - -<p>"He told me by sign language," I said. "He made a gesture, and I -interpreted it. Nothing baffling in that, is there?"</p> - -<p>Foster gave me a half-lidded stare, as though suppressing anger. Then -he said, "Tell me, Mister Delvin. Just what is the sign for 'I must go -now, but I'll see you at a later time'?"</p> - -<p>I took a deep breath and controlled myself. "Look, I was picked for -this job because I have a gift for interpretation, or deduction, or -whatever you want to call it."</p> - -<p>"If you're such a hotshot figure-outer," Charlie snapped, "how come you -didn't get suspicious when that bartender was forcing free drinks on -you? Any sap would've expected a mickey with the guy acting like that!"</p> - -<p>"The reason," I said, stiffly, hating to admit my mental weakness, "is -that at that particular moment, the picture of Miss Snow White was on -the stereo. That's why! I—I don't function properly when there are -women about."</p> - -<p>Charlie and Foster exchanged a look, and both shrugged: I felt a hot -blush of embarrassment and anger burning upon my face. "And that's the -story!" I finished stubbornly.</p> - -<p>Charlie heaved himself lazily to his feet. "What do you think, Foster?"</p> - -<p>Foster, emulating the same lazy motion, looked thoughtful for a second, -then nodded. "I think that's all we're going to get. Come on, let's -stash him away."</p> - -<p>"Stash me away?" I cried indignantly. "What the hell are you talking -about?"</p> - -<p>"You're going into a nice cell, buddy," said Charlie, an ugly smile -on his face. "And you'll be let out when the time comes. So quit your -bellyaching and come on. It'll be easier if you don't try to get rough."</p> - -<p>"You can't arrest me," I said. "I'm—or, I should be—the -Amnesty-bearer!"</p> - -<p>It was as if they hadn't heard me.</p> - -<p>"Come on, come on," said Foster, crooking a finger at me.</p> - -<p>"You guys can't pull this kind of trick!" I said. "When Chief Baxter -hears about this—"</p> - -<p>Charlie and Foster threw back their heads and laughed.</p> - -<p>"W-what's so funny?" I asked, a dreadful inkling growing inside my mind.</p> - -<p>The door opened and a third security man walked in. It was Chief Philip -Baxter. He gave me a tolerant smile.</p> - -<p>"They're laughing, Delvin," he said smoothly, "because I gave the order -for your arrest."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The cell was of cold Martian stone, and had no window. I sat, -miserable, on the thin cot provided for me, and pondered all that had -happened to me in the last few days. None of it made the slightest -sense to me. Not my selection by the Brain, nor my arrest by Baxter's -men. It was crazy!</p> - -<p>Baxter, when I'd demanded to know the reason for his duplicity, had -merely said, "You've served your purpose." And then Charlie and -Foster had taken me away, their collapser muzzles forming unarguable -persuaders against my spine.</p> - -<p>I didn't even give a moment's consideration to thoughts of escape. I -was in a Security prison, and a maximum-security Security prison at -that. The door to my cell was a massive foot-thick stone which swung -into place on ponderous hinges, and sealed by making a half-twist -in the circular entrance. Air was provided through vents, vents -which could be closed off if the prisoner showed signs of aggressive -tendencies. A few hours without air made most men pretty docile.</p> - -<p>I wondered how long I'd sit there before they fed me. Or if they would -feed me at all. Hell, no one knew I was on Mars. My last contact with -my regular associates had been my good-by to Marge at the office. For -all anyone knew, I'd been arrested for anarchy, or something. I knew, -with a cold sinking feeling, that no one would even ask about me. -Security had taken me, Security was good for the country, and Security -never made mistakes. Topic closed. Jery Delvin written off as an -uninteresting memory.</p> - -<p>There seemed to be nothing to do but think, so I did a lot of it.</p> - -<p>I noted with chagrin that they hadn't removed my belt, or socks. I -could, if I so desired, escape my fate by simply knotting them into -a cord, and passing one end through the overhead air grillwork and -the other about my neck. Maybe that was the reason why they hadn't -taken them. I had a distinct feeling, a served-my-purpose feeling, -that whether I died by my own hand or of claustrophobia made little -difference to Baxter and his boys.</p> - -<p>I folded my hands behind my head and sank back onto the hard cot, -puzzling over everything that had happened to me.</p> - -<p>The Brain selects me as the key figure in the finding of the missing -Space Scouts. Fine, so far. Just what my duties are, it doesn't say, -but I'm the man for the job, whatever it is. Okay.</p> - -<p>So Baxter hands over the Amnesty, I get a preliminary lead from Anders, -the pilot of the Scouts. I take off for Mars to find the kids, who -seem to have left of their own volition. Swell. Only, a cute blonde by -the unlikely name of Snow White filches the Amnesty, and nearly has me -tossed in prison. Except that Baxter, still on my side, gets me loose. -I take off looking for Snow, and get mickeyed in a Martian bar. Then—</p> - -<p>Then things start getting confusing.</p> - -<p>I get loose and come upon a sort of council of Earthmen, dickering with -a sugarfoot, a supposedly dumb animal, for me and my collapser.</p> - -<p>I get spotted, the men try to snatch me, and they all get vaporized by -the sugarfoot, who runs off. I follow, and next thing, another mob is -on my heels. Same bit with the sugarfoot. Zzzzzzurp! No more men! Only -this time it doesn't run off. It dallies a bit, and tries to get me to -go somewhere with it. Why it has suddenly decided to take me along, I -don't know, because it had the opportunity much earlier, when it made -its first massacre.</p> - -<p>However, I decline the invitation, and, like a good boy, report all -events to Security. Upshot: I am stashed in a solid rock cell, possibly -never to emerge alive.</p> - -<p>I lay there pondering these facts. One thing seemed clear: I -didn't know the angles. What was Snow's angle? Or Baxter's? Or the -sugarfoot's? Or the mob's?</p> - -<p>Hell, what was mine?</p> - -<p>I snorted and sat up, rubbing my neck. I had a headache coming on, -and it felt like the start of a migraine, an occupational hazard with -ad men. I tried rotating my head on my neck, a good relaxer for those -tensed neck muscles. And then I noticed that I was perspiring like mad, -and that my throat felt hot inside.</p> - -<p>With a sick apprehension, I sprang up and thrust my nose near the grill -on the wall. Nothing. I tried poking a finger between the latticework. -It was stopped by a metal plate.</p> - -<p>The air-supply grill was sealed off. In that tiny cell, I had maybe two -hours more of breathing time. After that—Well, I wouldn't be feeling -my oxygen-starvation headache any more.</p> - -<p>I sat down on the cot once more and scowled at the floor. I was tired -of puzzles, but even this didn't make sense! Why take the time and -trouble to smother me?</p> - -<p>A collapser could wipe me off the slate in seconds. No annoying corpus -delicti cluttering up the premises. Not even a bit of fingernail left, -nothing to incriminate the murderers. So they smother me.</p> - -<p>But why kill me, for heaven's sake? It couldn't be to keep me from -telling what I knew! I didn't know a damned thing. Except that Baxter, -motive unknown, must have left Earth immediately after I spoke to him -on that interplanetary hook-up. Or was it interplanetary? Come to think -of it, he could've been in the next room when I talked to him. Damn. It -was baffling.</p> - -<p>Why he hadn't simply told me that it was no use, and sent me back -to Earth, I couldn't figure out. He could have made all sorts of -reasonable excuses for my not continuing in my search for the missing -boys, and I'd have swallowed any one of them. Instead, he locks me up, -throws away the key, and turns off the air supply.</p> - -<p>What did I know that I could communicate to people back on Earth? What -knowledge did I have that was a menace of some sort to Security? Or, to -be more near the truth, to Baxter?</p> - -<p>The only interesting fact I'd stumbled on was—</p> - -<p>But maybe that was it: the fact that the sugarfeet were something other -than what Earth had claimed. That one I'd met was certainly no dumb -animal. He had a language; I'd heard that bartender talking to him. -That put him a few steps ahead of cats and dogs. Maybe a lot further.</p> - -<p>But what difference did it make if the sugarfeet were or weren't -dumb animals? I didn't care one way or the other. And I was pretty -representative of an Earthman, wasn't I? Who'd care, anyhow, if it -turned out the sugarfeet were nearer human than had been supposed?</p> - -<p>Well, I knew the who, if not the why.</p> - -<p>Baxter obviously cared tremendously. Which deduction left me -approximately nowhere.</p> - -<p>The air seemed to be getting staler by the minute. I found I could -breathe better lying flat on my back, not even using enough energy to -remain in a sitting position.</p> - -<p>My skin was clammy with sweat from head to foot, my windpipe felt like -someone had just given it a brisk toweling with a hot doormat.</p> - -<p>I thought desperately of pounding on that impervious stone door, in the -chance that my suffocation was an over-sight on their part. But I knew -in my heart it wasn't.</p> - -<p>I held myself on the cot, fighting that deadly tug of irrational -emotion. If I was going to suffocate, I wanted to do it with as little -pain as possible.</p> - -<p>My lungs, though were telling me a different story. They had that "time -to go up for air" feeling, the hideous pre-strangulation hot wave that -floods through the ribs, begging, and then ordering, the swimmer to -head to the surface before his lungs rip apart.</p> - -<p>I fought the feeling, breathing faster to keep that dull nudging from -becoming a full-scale command. But it was harder and harder not to -fling myself at that bare store and try, in the last few minutes of -life, to dig my way free with my fingertips.</p> - -<p>And then, with my eyes burning in my own perspiration, and tongue -half-protruding between gaping lips, I felt that stinging, prickling -sensation along my limbs.</p> - -<p>Then a blinding blaze of blue-white sparks showered me, and I jumped to -my feet in fright.</p> - -<p>The wall opposite the cell door was raggedly missing, its three-foot -slabs of granite jutting wildly into the area where their companions -had just been. And there was air; cold, chilling air, terribly thin to -breathe. But it was air, and I leaped through that gap like a madman, -flooding my hot lungs with the elusive draughts of black Martian night.</p> - -<p>I staggered, dizzy at the sparseness of the atmosphere, and then -a tight clamp closed upon my arm and kept me from falling. A -three-fingered clamp.</p> - -<p>I looked into the glittering face of the sugarfoot. It had the -collapser in its free hand, and its eyes were locked on mine. It was -waiting for me to say something.</p> - -<p>"Brother," I said, managing a grin, "I would love coming with you, no -matter where!"</p> - -<p>Surprisingly, it shook its dragon head, and made gestures toward my -blouse, then an upward movement of its arms.</p> - -<p>"You want me to take it off?" I said, in bewilderment. "But I'm half -frozen already."</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot was adamant. Again it pointed to the blouse, and did that -slip-it-over-your-head motion.</p> - -<p>I gave up fighting it. The creature was obviously not inimical to me. -Even if it were, I thought, I owed it something for pulling me out of -that stone coffin.</p> - -<p>Hoping pneumonia was less painful than outright suffocation, I -obediently tugged it, loose from within my belt, and slid the thing -over my head and off.</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot took it from me, turned it inside-out, and held it out -close to my face for inspection, in the dim criss-cross lighting of -tiny Phobos and barely larger Deimos, as they scurried across the cold -black sky.</p> - -<p>I stared stupidly at the inside surface of the blouse, the black one -which Baxter had insisted I wear, and then I caught the glint of -reflected moonlight where there should have been plain shirt material. -Tiny metallic filaments had been woven into the garment, too light and -flexible for the wearer to feel them, but strong enough not to break -with constant flexing.</p> - -<p>I nodded, and handed the blouse back to the sugarfoot. "I see them. -Wires," I said. "But what does it mean?"</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot pointed toward the Security prison, which at this point -of the topography was on the outside of the hills which surrounded -Marsport. Security had burrowed into those hills to make themselves an -escape-proof dungeon. Even though I was out of it, I hadn't yet, in the -real sense of the word, escaped. It was easily twenty below zero, and -the air was thin as the inside of a vacuum tube.</p> - -<p>I was dizzy, and sick, and barely able to keep from falling, but I made -myself ask, "What's the blouse got to do with the prison?"</p> - -<p>The sugarfoot pointed to the prison, the blouse, and made a circular -gesture with his finger.</p> - -<p>"The prison...." I said slowly. "It—It tracks the shirt around!"</p> - -<p>A nod. Then the sugarfoot turned its head and, extending that hollow -tongue, produced a shrill piercing whistle through the vibrating tip. I -heard a scrunching sound on the rocky hillside where we stood, and then -the damnedest little beast hove into view. It was about the size of a -burro. But it had six legs, no visible head or neck, and was covered -with spiky hairs that seemed more like lengths of straw than anything -else I could think of. This ambulant bale of hay approached us, and -halted before the sugarfoot. The sugarfoot whistled again, and from -somewhere in the front—I assume it was the front—of this creature, a -claw-tipped tentacle wormed out through the hay, and took the blouse -from the sugarfoot's hand. A third and final whistle, and the thing, -clutching the blouse, went off down the hillside with remarkable speed, -heading toward the open desert that lay sullenly gray beneath the -moonlight. It had that busy-busy-busy ant-motion to it, the front and -rear legs on one side moving forward simultaneously with the middle leg -on the opposite side, then a swift, jerky reverse and the other trio of -legs moved forward, giving it a strangely graceful—awkward wriggling -gait. But it was fast, damned fast. Within a minute, it was out of -sight.</p> - -<p>I swayed woozily, and hung onto the sugarfoot's shoulder for support. -"Blazing a false trail, huh?"</p> - -<p>It didn't answer, but reached out for me, and swung me up into its -powerful arms, as a man carries a child. It clacked something which -I took to be a term of reassurance, and then, holding me tightly so -I wouldn't get jounced to death, it took off in a leaping bound in a -direction at right angles to that taken by the hay-bale creature. It -jolted me a little, but the cold and lack of enough oxygen had taken -its toll of my stamina. I passed out before the third bound.</p> - -<p>And when I awoke, there was warmth and air, and a comfortable bed -beneath me. And I was looking into the face of Snow White.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>12</h2> - - -<p>I forgot I was supposed to be mad at her. Instead of chewing her out -for her sneak-thievery, I grasped her soft little hands, and murmured, -"Are you okay?"</p> - -<p>"Miraculously," she said. "I hadn't got twenty yards into town before -my face and name were being blazoned on every stereo in Marsport. -Things were a bit rough for a while."</p> - -<p>I propped myself up on my elbows, the better to see that lovely face, -framed in a halo of silky pale yellow hair, and said, "What happened? -How'd you escape? What's with these mobs and sugarfeet, and—And where -are we, for pete's sake?"</p> - -<p>"Whoa, boy!" she laughed, pressing me back onto the bed, her hands -lingering on my chest for a delicious moment before she sat back again. -"You've been very sick, whether you know it or not. Here, take a look."</p> - -<p>She picked up her handbag from the floor, took out a small mirror, and -held it in front of my face. I took one look, then shut my eyes. My -face was the cheery color of porcelain, with purplish eyelids and gray -lips.</p> - -<p>"What hit me?" I sighed, opening my eyes again.</p> - -<p>"Oxygen-starvation, exposure, and near pneumonia. I thought you were -dead when Clatclit carried you in here. You've been sleeping for nearly -thirty-six hours."</p> - -<p>"Clatclit?" I said. "Is that the ambient hunk of dextrose who blasted -me out of stir?"</p> - -<p>"Let's not be colorful," said Snow, deprecatingly. "You owe your life -to him, you know."</p> - -<p>"I know," I said. "That was the ad man in me coming through. But look, -my mind's a whirlpool of confusion. Could you please tell me what's -been going on here, anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"Lie back and rest," said Snow, "and I will."</p> - -<p>I burrowed deeper into the warm coverlet, sighed, and kept my eyes on -her lovely face. In the midst of her discourse, I even sneaked a hand -out and laid it gently over her own. It was smartly slapped, without -rancor, and I withdrew it from active duty for a while.</p> - -<p>"Well, first thing, I'd like to apologize for that dirty trick I pulled -back on the <i>Valkyrie</i>," Snow said. My heart turned over, and I felt -an idiot grin of forgiveness spreading across my ghastly features. I -found it quite impossible to stay angry with the girl. As I've said, -something happens to my brain when around women.</p> - -<p>"Accepted," I croaked.</p> - -<p>"I knew that you'd have no trouble getting away from those Security men -I sent," she said smilingly.</p> - -<p>"Then why did you send them?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"To keep them from asking me any questions," she said, with a small -shrug. "For all I knew, they were expecting a man with the Amnesty. -However, knowing that just having it carried a lot of weight, I gave -them the order to pick you up as soon as they approached me at the -customs booth."</p> - -<p>"And if they hadn't believed me?" I complained.</p> - -<p>"Well," she said carefully, "I suppose I'd have sent them a note, or -something, telling them to release you."</p> - -<p>"Thanks for the kind thought," I muttered.</p> - -<p>Snow ignored my minor irritation, and went blithely on.</p> - -<p>"My next move was to go to the Port Authority, and find out just where -the <i>Phobos II</i> was berthed before takeoff. I thought that Ted might -have left me a clue of some sort."</p> - -<p>"You sound as if he were expecting you to traipse up here after him," I -said, dubiously.</p> - -<p>"He wouldn't count on my coming, if that's what you mean. But Ted's a -good kid. I've practically had to raise him myself. He knew I'd worry -if I didn't hear from him. He couldn't know, of course, that IS would -send forged letters to the relatives of the missing boys. So I assumed -that, if he had the chance, he'd leave a clue of some kind for me, in -case I did come."</p> - -<p>"An assurance of sorts, you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Something like that. Like 'I'm okay, Snow, so don't worry,' or some -such message. So that's what I looked for at the rocket berth."</p> - -<p>"Just a minute," I interrupted. "I used to be a boy, once, myself, and -while I didn't have any sisters of my own, I knew a lot of buddies -who did. The last thing in the world they'd expect would be for their -sister to follow them into danger! Hell, they'd feel like sissies if -they had to count on a sister for aid."</p> - -<p>"I—" Snow hesitated. "I'm not what you'd call the typical sister, -Jery."</p> - -<p>"Oh?"</p> - -<p>She blushed prettily. "When you have to raise a brother, you have to -learn a lot of things, if you're going to bring him up fairly normally. -I had to teach him to play ball, to box, to ski, to—Well, I was more -like a father to him than anything. So Ted, knowing my more belligerent -side, would just about figure I'd come storming up here to find him."</p> - -<p>"I don't know," I pondered aloud. "If you and Ted have this friendly -relationship, why the hell would he put you to all this trouble? It -seems like a lousy thing on his part to go wandering off without a -word."</p> - -<p>"It would be," Snow agreed, "unless there was a mighty important reason -for his going. And it wasn't without a word."</p> - -<p>"Then you did find a message?" I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>She nodded. "After a few minutes' inspection of the berth, I found it -scratched onto one of the supporting beams."</p> - -<p>"Funny IS didn't spot it," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"It's in our special <i>code</i>, silly!" Snow said. "To anyone else, it'd -look like hen scratches."</p> - -<p>"Just what is this code of yours?" I asked, curious.</p> - -<p>Snow looked at me a moment, frowning.</p> - -<p>"I'll carry the secret to my grave." I said generously.</p> - -<p>She laughed, then, and said, "All right, Jery. Just a second."</p> - -<p>From her handbag, she took out a small address book and a pencil, found -a blank sheet at the back, and drew the following diagrams:</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="600" height="148" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"See?" she said. "It's very simple, really. You just remember the -position of each letter in its portion of the diagram, and draw -the corresponding shape instead of the letter; a square for E, -square-plus-dot for N, an L-shape for G, same with a dot for P, an -inverted V-shape for U—"</p> - -<p>"I get it," I said. "Gad, it looks positively runic when you write that -way."</p> - -<p>Snow put the address book back into her bag. "So that's what I found -scratched onto that supporting beam. The message said, simply: <span class="smcap">Snow -I am all right find Clatclit the sugarfoot and he will explain</span>."</p> - -<p>I stared at her. "Not a very easy task he set, was it?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing easier, as it turned out," she said airily. "Of course," she -admitted, when I gave her a cold stare, "I didn't know it was easy, at -the time. I was actually pretty much bewildered. I mean, I thought, -like everybody else, that sugarfeet were like cats or dogs."</p> - -<p>"So how'd you accomplish locating him?" I said.</p> - -<p>She grinned. "I went into Marsport, went up to the first one I -saw—they're as common as pigeons around the town—and said, feeling -like a damned fool, 'Clatclit?' Instead of the blank-eyed stare of -uncomprehending nonintelligence which I expected for my efforts, the -thing looked to left and right, I guess to insure that no Earthmen were -watching, then beckoned to me and started waddling off. Still feeling -like an idiot, I followed it. It led me back toward the airstrip. For a -while, I had the stupid impression that it was going to point me out -the spot from which the boys had vanished, and that I'd be right back -where I started."</p> - -<p>"So what happened?" I demanded impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Back of the berth where the <i>Phobos II</i> had been, there was a slope, -the beginning of the hills that surround Marsport. I followed the -sugarfoot partway up the slope to a sort of cave mouth, and it gestured -that I should go inside."</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay," I prodded. "You went inside, and—"</p> - -<p>Snow shook her head. "No, I didn't. If <i>you</i> were on a strange planet, -would you go into a cave after a red-scaled creature that looked like -a pint-sized dragon?" She added, matter-of-factly, "Besides, there -was a sign in front of the cave mouth, telling Earth people that it -was forbidden to enter any of the many Martian caves that lay on -the hillsides. It seems they're old volcanic tunnels, and wind like -labyrinths into the planet. Some of the earlier colonists vanished -there, you know."</p> - -<p>"Ye gods!" I growled. "What did you do, then? Leave the sugarfoot -standing at the cave mouth like an untipped bellboy?"</p> - -<p>"More or less," she admitted. "It seemed to want to take me with it, -but I begged off as politely as possible, and went back into town. -Only, when I got there, the first thing I saw was my own picture on the -stereo screen outside the public auditorium."</p> - -<p>"With shoot-to-kill commands ringing into the street," I nodded. "I -suppose you swooned away on the pavement?"</p> - -<p>Snow gave me a black look. "Mister Delvin, I do not swoon!"</p> - -<p>I shrugged. "Just as well. Marsport has no pavement, anyhow."</p> - -<p>"Ho ho," she said. "Do you want to hear the rest of this, or not?"</p> - -<p>"Sorry," I said. "Go on."</p> - -<p>"Well, there didn't seem to be anything else to do then, but to get out -of town, fast. I hadn't been spotted, yet. I guess my picture had only -just gotten onto the screen. So I hurried back to where that cave mouth -was, and the sugarfoot was still there, waiting for me."</p> - -<p>"He does sound like an untipped bellboy at that," I remarked.</p> - -<p>Snow ignored this, and continued. "Well, I went into the cave with -him. After all, getting eaten by a dragon has no worse end result than -getting hit with a collapser-bolt."</p> - -<p>"The process is a bit more painful, though," I said.</p> - -<p>"I took that chance," Snow said. "I had to. So I followed it for what -seemed miles of slippery tubular tunnels—knowing, and it scared me -stiff, that I'd never find my way out without a map—and it led me -here, where I met Clatclit."</p> - -<p>"And where, by the way," I said, "are we?"</p> - -<p>"Darned if I know," said Snow. "We're at present in a room off one of -those tunnels I mentioned. The sugarfeet have been wonderful, helping -you. Especially in bringing water for you; they're deathly scared of -the stuff."</p> - -<p>"I would be, too, in their case," I said. "It'd be like toting around a -carboy of sulphuric acid."</p> - -<p>"Well, anyhow, you're alive," she said, "and that's something. But as -for Ted—" her voice faltered.</p> - -<p>I looked up, startled. "He's not dead?"</p> - -<p>"D—? Oh, no. At least I hope not!" she said. "I only meant that, -while I've located Clatclit, I can't figure out either his gestures or -his—pardon the expression—words."</p> - -<p>"He understands English, even if his vocal apparatus can't form it," I -said. "Why don't you just ask him yes-and-no questions? He nods easily -enough."</p> - -<p>"I did that," she sighed. "I asked if Ted were alive, and he nodded. -Then I asked to be brought to him, and he spread his hands. I said, -'Does that mean you don't know where Ted is?' He seemed stymied; he -nodded, then shook his head immediately. You figure that one out!"</p> - -<p>I tried hard. Nothing happened inside my head. It was filled with the -picture of Snow, her lips slightly parted, her violet eyes anxious, her -hair like a misty golden corolla.</p> - -<p>"I can't. Not with you around. Remember?" I said, helplessly.</p> - -<p>She stood up from my bedside. "Then close your eyes, or something, -Jery! I'll stand here, quiet as a mouse."</p> - -<p>"Well," I said, doubtfully, "I'll try."</p> - -<p>I shut my eyes and tried to convince myself that Snow wasn't anywhere -about. I couldn't do it.</p> - -<p>"No use," I sighed, opening my eyes again. "I can feel you here."</p> - -<p>"I guess the only thing to do is send Clatclit in to see you, and stay -outside myself," she said.</p> - -<p>"Good idea," I said. "Send him around with a lunch, though, will you? -I've gone all hollow inside."</p> - -<p>Snow smiled, and left through a rocky archway.</p> - -<p>I lay there looking about me. With Snow in the room, I hadn't paid -attention to my less stimulating environment. Now I found myself gazing -over dark crimson walls, smooth and glossy looking. The room was just -a bubble in the rock, about ten feet in diameter, with an artificially -leveled floor.</p> - -<p>Light came from a narrow ridge that ran around the walls near the top, -a sort of ledge covered with fuzzy stuff that glowed pallidly white.</p> - -<p>I threw back the coverlet and eased myself to my feet, and was grateful -to find my trousers folded neatly upon a small hump of rock that -probably served a sugarfoot as a stool. I slipped them on hurriedly, -then investigated the stuff on that ledge.</p> - -<p>It seemed to be a kind of crumbly dry fungus, not unlike the stuff -found in dead logs on Earth, the phosphorescent foxfire. But it was a -lot brighter, and also gave off a detectable amount of heat, too, which -explained why I wasn't still turning blue.</p> - -<p>I left off looking at the heaps of fungi, and went to the archway for -a look. Beyond the room, the cave dissolved into a riot of diverging -tunnels. I decided to stay put, rather than risk getting myself -entombed in some pahoehoeal cavity, and succumbing to the fate Baxter -had planned for me.</p> - -<p>And besides, those tunnels were black as oil, further off from the -chamber I was in. My feet might find me a quick shortcut to the center -of the planet, in that treacherous gloom.</p> - -<p>Sugarfeet, I decided, could either see in the dark, or else they -carried a handful of that white-glowing fungus with them when they went -for a stroll.</p> - -<p>I went back to the cot, and sat down to wait for Clatclit's appearance, -passing the time by struggling back into my durex boots. I felt a bit -more competent, once trousered and shod, than I had felt while lying -beneath that coverlet in my shorts. A man without his pants is only -half a man, somehow.</p> - -<p>From the corridor, there came a series of sharp, regular clicks, -and then Clatclit waddled in. When not going full speed, in that -gravity-defying bound of theirs, the sugarfeet moved rather clumsily, -like an old sailor rocking down the street on legs trained to fight a -rolling deck. I think it was the tail's weight that accounted for that -lumbering gait. It was fully as long as the legs, and nearly as thick, -except where it dwindled at the end to a solitary prismatic red spike. -I rather judged that that four-inch crystalline dagger came in handy -during a fight.</p> - -<p>Clatclit made a gesture with both hands, and clacked something at me. -His attitude and inflection were unmistakeable.</p> - -<p>I gave him the Earth equivalent of the gesture, raising my right hand -in a sort of lazy wave. "Hello, yourself," I said. "Snow seems to be -having trouble communicating with you."</p> - -<p>Clatclit nodded, and seated himself on that stool.</p> - -<p>"What's this about her brother Ted?" I went on. "She asked if you knew -where he was, and got a yes-no answer."</p> - -<p>The nod again.</p> - -<p>"Do you know where he's at?" I persisted.</p> - -<p>Clatclit made the same yes-no motion with his nubbly head that Snow had -described. I thought it over.</p> - -<p>"You know, <i>in a way</i>, where he is, but not <i>specifically</i>?"</p> - -<p>Violent nods, three of them.</p> - -<p>"Ah, so that's it!" I said. "Let's see. Can you take us to him?"</p> - -<p>The yes-no business again.</p> - -<p>"You can take us to a point, but no further, maybe?"</p> - -<p>The violent triple nod.</p> - -<p>"Is there danger?"</p> - -<p>Three nods.</p> - -<p>"To you?"</p> - -<p>Headshake.</p> - -<p>"To me and Snow, then?"</p> - -<p>Headshake.</p> - -<p>"Ah! To <i>Ted</i>."</p> - -<p>Nods.</p> - -<p>"How about his companions? Are they in danger too?"</p> - -<p>Yes.</p> - -<p>"From whom?" I said, forgetting our limitations.</p> - -<p>Disgusted stare.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yeah, that's right. Uh ... from Baxter?"</p> - -<p>A rocking of the head from side to side. This was a new one. I wrinkled -up my forehead, puzzling it out.</p> - -<p>"Baxter's a danger in general, you mean, but that's not the danger you -meant, right?"</p> - -<p>Nods again.</p> - -<p>"Okay, then, let's see who's left.... Danger from Earthmen, like those -mobs who came after me?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"Surely not danger from me or Snow?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"From—from you Martians?" I choked, bewildered.</p> - -<p>The head rocked from side to side.</p> - -<p>"Danger.... Danger from sugarfeet?"</p> - -<p>A very violent negative.</p> - -<p>"But from <i>Martians</i>?" I queried, blinking.</p> - -<p>A slow, positive nod.</p> - -<p>"But there are no Martians but you sugarfeet. Unless—" An icy cold -hand grabbed my adrenal glands and squeezed, hard. "The Ancients!" I -gasped, in horror.</p> - -<p>A triple yes.</p> - -<p>"Then they're not extinct!"</p> - -<p>A disgusted stare.</p> - -<p>I realized he couldn't answer till I rephrased that one, or I'd be -stuck with wondering if he meant yes, they are, or yes, they aren't. -"Are they extinct?" I said.</p> - -<p>Headshake.</p> - -<p>"And they've got the boys!"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"And they're inimical to man, in some way!"</p> - -<p>Violent negative.</p> - -<p>I stared, confused, into Clatclit's lizardy eyes.</p> - -<p>"They—they aren't dangerous to man?"</p> - -<p>The sideways rocking motion.</p> - -<p>"They're a danger to some men—Baxter's men!"</p> - -<p>A nod, but with a kind of hesitation about it.</p> - -<p>"But also to the boys?" I marvelled.</p> - -<p>The yes-no motion.</p> - -<p>"Under certain conditions, they're a danger to the boys!"</p> - -<p>Yes.</p> - -<p>"These conditions; do they have anything to do with Baxter?"</p> - -<p>Yes.</p> - -<p>"Hmmm...." I leaned back on my hands on the cot, and studied Clatclit's -face, thinking hard. "Could it be that these Ancients want something -with regard to Baxter, but that the boys' safety is the price of it?"</p> - -<p>A jump up from the stool, a laughably Earthlike clap of the hands, and -a triple series of very positive nods. Clatclit sat down again, a much -happier sugarfoot than when he'd entered.</p> - -<p>"But," I protested, "Baxter, from my last contact with him, isn't the -sort who'd care about the boys, right?"</p> - -<p>Nods.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, for pete's sake," I protested loudly, "over whose heads -are the Ancients holding the safety of the boys?"</p> - -<p>Clatclit extended a ruddy talon directly at me, and then aimed it -toward the corridor outside.</p> - -<p>"Me and Snow?" I cried, standing up. "They're trying to force me and -Snow to do something for them, and making the boys' safety the price of -it. Why, that's—that's criminal!"</p> - -<p>In my rage, I'd taken a step toward Clatclit, not even thinking of the -fact that his crystalline constitution would be an easy match for my -fists. Genially, though, Clatclit leaned back on the stool, widened his -already wide eyes, and, pointing two index fingers at his chest, shook -his head from side to side.</p> - -<p>"What?" I said, not getting it. Then, "Oh, I see. It's not your fault -what the Ancients have done. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Clatclit."</p> - -<p>He shrugged off the apology, and waited for more of my investigative -monologue.</p> - -<p>I dropped back to sit on the edge of the cot, and let him wait a -while, while I tried to figure the whole mess out. Then I remembered -something, and looked up at him.</p> - -<p>"Clatclit, back in Marsport, when I first met you, I asked why I had -been chosen, and you indicated that you'd tell me later. Why was I -chosen?"</p> - -<p>Clatclit just stared, uncertainly.</p> - -<p>"You know what I mean. Why was I the one you didn't blast with that -collapser? And why'd you go off without me the first time, but want to -take me along the second?"</p> - -<p>A very disgusted stare.</p> - -<p>I slowed down and fed him questions one at a time.</p> - -<p>"Back at that bar, you blasted the other men, then left without me. -Why?"</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed to himself, then to his cranium, then to me, then made -a palms-down hand-spreading gesture.</p> - -<p>"You ... thought ... I ... negation—You thought I'd been blasted, too! -Except that I'd flattened out behind that wall, and you couldn't see me -behind the remaining bottom section. You originally meant to get me out -of there alive?"</p> - -<p>Nods, vigorous.</p> - -<p>"And you thought you'd goofed with the collapser, and gotten me, too!"</p> - -<p>Nods.</p> - -<p>"So what happened in the street? How'd you happen to stick around?"</p> - -<p>The talon went to his earhole, then he spread his hands wide, in a -gesture of "many-ness," and waited hopefully.</p> - -<p>"You heard a lot of—what? Oh! You heard those men coming up the -street, and stuck around to see what was up. But I didn't hear them, -and I was closer. In fact, they were sneaking after me."</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed to his ears and nodded, then indicated mine and shook -his head.</p> - -<p>I got it then. Supersensitivity. It made sense. Just as man's ears, -accustomed to use in air, are even more receptive to sounds in a -denser medium, as, for instance, underwater, where sound waves are -more powerful; so the sugarfeet's ears, built for use in the rarefied -Martian atmosphere, could hear all the better in the heavier air of -Marsport.</p> - -<p>"Okay, so you heard them, saw me, and came to the rescue. Fine. Now, -the big question: Why? What is so special about me, Clatclit?"</p> - -<p>He stood up and made the same strange gesture he'd made the night on -Von Braun Street. Alternate pointing to his head, then to me.</p> - -<p>The "me" part was easy enough, but the other.... I tried a series of -likely meanings.</p> - -<p>"That motion to your head, Clatclit. You mean I'm the head of -something, the investigation, for instance?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"I'm intelligent?"</p> - -<p>A pause, then the yes-no motion.</p> - -<p>"You mean I am, but that's the wrong answer. Hmmm. Very tactful of you, -Clatclit. You could have given me a no on that one."</p> - -<p>Clatclit showed a friendly array of deadly-looking teeth. I interpreted -this as an evidence of camaraderie, so I just grinned back.</p> - -<p>"Okay, Clatclit. Let's see. It has nothing to do with my brain power?"</p> - -<p>A wild light came into his eyes, and he seemed ready to crack out of -his glittering pelt, so agitated did he become. Apparently, I'd hit on -something, but he didn't know what sort of signal to make.</p> - -<p>"I'm getting warm?" I said.</p> - -<p>Clatclit stared, and I realized that, even knowing and understanding -colloquial English, he might still have missed a few of the slangier -expressions.</p> - -<p>"That is," I said, "I'm close to the answer?"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"Something to do with brain power?"</p> - -<p>Vigorous nod.</p> - -<p>"Mine?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"Baxter's?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"Anyone's?"</p> - -<p>I got the yes-no and a climactic shrug. Clatclit was apparently stuck -for a response.</p> - -<p>I tried to figure it out. Brain power, but not mine, not really -anyone's, and yet, in a way, someone's. Then I jumped up and faced him, -elated.</p> - -<p>"The Brain! The composite brain of International Cybernetics!"</p> - -<p>Clatclit emitted something that sounded very much like a sigh of -relief, and nodded.</p> - -<p>I thought back to his head-then-me gesture. "Then you mean I was -rescued because I was the man chosen by the Brain?"</p> - -<p>Three brisk nods.</p> - -<p>Now I was really confused. I shook my head at Clatclit, and said, "I -give up, friend. I'm out of questions you can answer."</p> - -<p>He gave me a curious look, an expectant look.</p> - -<p>"The only question I can think of is 'Why should Mars be interested in -me just because I was selected by the Brain back on Earth?' And that's -a tough one to do in pantomime."</p> - -<p>Clatclit rose up proudly on tiptoe, as if stubbornly denying the slur -I'd cast on his miming abilities. He looked hurt, and I felt like a -crumb.</p> - -<p>"Okay, friend. Try. But I don't guarantee I'll get it."</p> - -<p>Clatclit stood a moment in thought, then pointed upward.</p> - -<p>"Up? Out? Above?" I said. All received negatives. "It's no use, -Clatclit, I can't—Oh, all right, once more. Uh ... away up?"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"Earth?" I said, excitedly.</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"Well, what about it?" I said.</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed up to Earth, then to me, and shook his head. Then he -pointed down, to Mars, I guessed by association, and to me again. This -time he nodded.</p> - -<p>"Earth-me-no. Mars-me-yes," I said mechanically. "Earth-no-<i>what</i>?"</p> - -<p>Talon to head.</p> - -<p>"Earth-me-no brain?" I choked out. "The Brain did not select me?"</p> - -<p>Side-to-side motion.</p> - -<p>"Not exactly? Well, then—No, that's crazy!"</p> - -<p>Clatclit looked a question.</p> - -<p>I laughed wearily and sank back onto the cot. "All I get, chum, is the -ridiculous impression that Mars was behind the Brain's selecting me -back on Earth—"</p> - -<p>I sat bolt upright, slightly stunned.</p> - -<p>Clatclit was nodding.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>13</h2> - - -<p>An hour later, when Clatclit had gone off to do whatever it is that -sugarfeet do when they're not playing charades with Earthmen, I joined -Snow in a so-so luncheon she'd been able to put together with the help -of a few of our dragonish friends. It seemed to be mostly a species of -watery tumble-weed, plus a smattering of rubbery white cubes that tried -hard to taste like mushrooms, but failed. I was trying to be light and -casual.</p> - -<p>"We may be poisoned, you know," I remarked, chewing valiantly on a -mouthful of the stuff.</p> - -<p>"It's quicker than starving," she observed, continuing to eat. "If we -don't eat, we're sure to die, but—"</p> - -<p>"Yeah, yeah, I know. If we do, we've got a fifty-fifty chance of -survival. Too bad you don't carry sandwiches in that all-purpose -handbag of yours."</p> - -<p>"I do," she said, calmly. "But they're all enjoyably gone, thank you. I -couldn't wait forever for you to come out of your coma."</p> - -<p>"Thanks loads," I muttered, chomping doggedly on a stubborn white cube, -and wishing I didn't have to tell her what I knew.</p> - -<p>"So tell me more about what Clatclit said," she urged, washing down her -alien meal with a cupped rock filled with clear but alkaline water.</p> - -<p>I shrugged, and let the rest of the vegetation sit where it was. Until -I grew a lot hungrier, it was safe from my alimentary system for a -spell.</p> - -<p>"As I see it, Baxter is a menace to the Ancients. They, as a -self-protective gesture, decided to get an Earthman up here who could -find the fact of their existence, and make it known to Earth. Then a -meeting between Earth and Mars can be arranged, and we can come to some -sort of peaceful co-existence. Right now, Baxter's in the dastardly -position of being able to destroy the Ancients with no one back home -even knowing there was anyone to destroy, see?"</p> - -<p>"All but how they got hold of you."</p> - -<p>"They exerted some kind of influence—heaven only knows what kind of -technology they possess—and it triggered the Brain, back on Earth, -into selecting me. Then the sugarfeet, who are, by the way, not -servants of the ancients, but another distinct race, were used as -go-betweens. First one to spot me got the hand-painted ashtray, or -something. Who knows? But anyhow, they selected me, and—"</p> - -<p>"Jery," said Snow, crinkling up her brow, "how did they know that you -even existed?"</p> - -<p>"I guess I could have put that more clearly; they didn't know there was -a <i>me</i>, a Jery Delvin. But they knew what qualifications such a man -must have, and so they influenced the Brain to choose such a man when -Security tried to find a solution to the mystery of the missing Scouts."</p> - -<p>"Who are missing only in order to create a mystery so that the IS -people would use the Brain to select the man whom the Martians had -gimmicked the Brain to fake." Snow shook her head, and shut her eyes. -"It's got my head going in circles, Jery!"</p> - -<p>I grinned at her. "Okay. We'll take it from the top. Baxter, for -reasons yet unknown, is a menace to the ancients. In a manner yet -unknown, also. Their plight must come to the attention of the peoples -of Earth. With me so far?"</p> - -<p>She nodded impatiently.</p> - -<p>"Okay, then. So what would make the people back home sit up and take -notice of little old Mars? Well, how about swiping the Space Scouts? -It's a great plan, really. Not only are Earthmen suckers for a child -in trouble, but these particular children are representatives of every -civilized nation on our planet. So they are swiped."</p> - -<p>"Jery...." Snow tried to interrupt.</p> - -<p>"I know. The kids left of their own free will. I'll get to that in a -minute."</p> - -<p>She bit her lip and kept still, and I went on.</p> - -<p>"Baxter, sensing the hand of the Ancients in this, makes a good -countermove. He keeps the Earth people under the impression that all is -well with the kids. This, of course, cannot go on for too damned long; -he's got to find those kids and fast. So, unwittingly following the -plan set up by the ancients, he feeds the known data into the Brain. -However, they've geared the Brain to react to that particular data by -selecting a man who will not conform to Baxter's standards—that is, -a man who would have assisted Baxter's race-destruction plan—but one -who will be able to size up the situation and act on it in a manner -beneficial to the Martians."</p> - -<p>"How can you be so sure of this?" Snow demanded.</p> - -<p>"I'm not, for pete's sake!" I snapped. "Remember, I had to dredge all -this information out of Clatclit by tortuous questioning. A lot of it I -had to conjecture, to fill the gaps. But hell, it fits, doesn't it?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," Snow said, contritely.</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay," I said, relenting. "Pardon me for biting your head off. -Where was I?"</p> - -<p>"Acting beneficial to the ancient Martians."</p> - -<p>"Ummm. Yeah, okay. So I'm picked. Baxter is a little surprised when I -show up, since I just don't look the race-annihilating type, I guess, -but he has to follow what the Brain selected, since he has no other way -of getting to those missing kids. Still with me? Okay. However, unknown -to even Baxter, there is a third contingent at work: Neo-Martians."</p> - -<p>"Those men who tried to kill you," said Snow.</p> - -<p>"Right. These are the characters who want to team with the Martians -against Earth, and make this planet the ruling one in the solar system."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand their motivation at all."</p> - -<p>"It's—Well, it's a little like the feelings of the early colonists -in New England toward King George. They're off here on a new planet, -but they're still paying taxes to Earth, and—At any rate, they want -to be a separate country. Not all the Neo-Martians feel this way, just -a disgruntled few. But it's always those few groaners who seem to run -things, because the other people, in their neutral way, don't take any -action against them.... Hell, I don't want this turning into a lecture -on political science. Let me go on.</p> - -<p>"When the news hits the stereos that a girl with a forged Amnesty is -on the loose in Marsport, these people show a lot of sense. Since the -customs office wouldn't let you off Earth with such a thing, and the -customs people here wouldn't have let you bring one onto Mars, they -know it must be the real McCoy. But if real, why this to-do about -shooting to kill? Obviously, you've taken the Amnesty from the real -person who should have it. Now, they don't know me from Adam, but they -put the word out all over town to keep watch for anyone who might be -the actual Amnesty-bearer. I qualify."</p> - -<p>"How?" Snow asked, narrowing her eyes with interest.</p> - -<p>"First, I'm a stranger. Secondly, though not in a Security uniform, -I'm toting a collapser, which means—unless I have the approval of -IS—the death penalty. I've carried it openly, so they know I haven't -stolen it anyplace. Okay, I'm a stranger who has an in with Security, a -collapser on my belt, and the word is out that an Amnesty-bearer minus -the Amnesty is in town. What would you do if you were a Neo-Martian and -I walked into your bar?"</p> - -<p>"I'd slip you a mickey," Snow said sweetly.</p> - -<p>"Uh.... Yeah, okay." I muttered, declining an urge to snarl something -back at her. Besides, she had a cruel blow coming.</p> - -<p>"But why did they want you?" Snow demanded.</p> - -<p>"Honey—" I said, before I could catch myself. But she hadn't flinched, -so I decided to let the appelation stand."—they don't know the -Scouts are missing! As far as Marsport is concerned, those kids took -off in the <i>Phobos II</i>, see? So what do you suppose they decide the -Amnesty-bearer is after?"</p> - -<p>Snow's eyes widened into violet pools, and she exclaimed, finally -getting the point, "Them!"</p> - -<p>"At last a light dawns in that lovely skull," I sighed. "They figured -I was here to round up the rebels among the Neo-Martians and stash -them in that lousy prison I was blasted free of. So they lock me in -that cellar, and have a meeting to decide what's to be done. Only, -Clatclit, knowing I'm the guy the ancients have been waiting for, can't -let these men keep me. So he goes to the meeting, too."</p> - -<p>"But wouldn't the rebels be surprised at a sugarfoot—"</p> - -<p>"Dearest girl, the rebels are well aware of the fact that sugarfeet are -more than just dumb animals. Clatclit tells me that they're counting on -the sugarfeet for support, if it even comes to open battle. Why do you -suppose that bartender went to the trouble of learning that gosh-awful -clacketty language of theirs?"</p> - -<p>"But why would the sugarfeet join with them?" Snow asked. "Aren't they -friendly, on the neutral side?"</p> - -<p>"Unh-uh," I said. "Not in the way you mean. The sugarfeet, from -planetary sympathies, are on the side of the Ancients. The Neo-Martians -were anti-Earth, hence, anti-Baxter. So Plan A of the Ancients was a -joining of forces between sugarfeet and rebel Neo-Martians. It was -a slim chance, but they needed allies. Clatclit tells me that this -thing's been growing for nearly a year, now. But a few weeks ago, what -happens? Up to Mars come these kids, who are not only good emotional -contacts with Earth, but with all the powerful nations. The ancients -immediately scrap the first scheme, and switch to Plan B, the one we're -currently enmeshed in."</p> - -<p>"So that's why Clatclit was dickering for the collapser at that meeting -you eavesdropped on!" Snow exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said. "The rebels wanted that collapser for purposes of -duplication. Its mechanism is one of Security's best-kept secrets. Only -now, the Ancients don't want to help the rebel cause, so Clatclit was -instructed to get that thing from them at all costs. He did. You know -the cost."</p> - -<p>Snow shuddered. "All those men—poof! Just like that!"</p> - -<p>"Honey, this is war," I sighed sadly. "And you and I are the key -figures in it, whether we like it or not."</p> - -<p>"I think I'm all clear except on the one point: Why did the boys leave -the <i>Phobos II</i> willingly?"</p> - -<p>"Male children, especially that brother of yours, love intrigue and -adventure and secret codes. Clatclit and his ruby-red friends, knowing -they'd pique the kids' curiosity, let them know that they were more -than dumb animals. This, being in direct conflict with all they'd been -taught back on Earth, put them in the enviable position of being 'in -the know.' And kids are quick to pick up new tongues, too. I have no -doubts that within three hours those kids knew more of the sugarfoot -language than I'll learn in a lifetime. Here, they were told, was their -chance to be heroes. Plan B was told to them, and the part they must -play in it. What kid wouldn't go along with a chance to take part in -a real-life adventure? And so, after leaving the evidence that they'd -apparently vanished in space—Clatclit tells me this was one of the -boys' idea; nice kids we grow on Earth!—leaving this baffling trail, -they tramped off after the sugarfeet into the cave, like the happy -youngsters following the Pied Piper."</p> - -<p>I slowed down. This was the part I didn't want to say.</p> - -<p>"And?" Snow said, sensing my distress, and going tense.</p> - -<p>"And they wound up neatly jailed by the Ancients," I said. "The -Ancients had made sure to select a man—me—that could be coerced by -threats to those poor kids."</p> - -<p>"You mean if you don't do what they want...?" Snow said, but couldn't -complete the sentence.</p> - -<p>"The kids pay," I finished for her. "So, tell me, lady, what's my move?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," she said, kind of startled, as if just beginning to -realize the desperation of our situation. "I'm not sure who's right or -wrong in this, Jery."</p> - -<p>"Neither am I!" I said bitterly. "Baxter's a stinker, but he does -represent Earth, of which I'm currently in favor. The rebels may be -violent, but they have a few points in their favor, too. And the -Ancients—"</p> - -<p>Snow looked at me, expectantly. "The Ancients?"</p> - -<p>"Them I hate," I said suddenly. "I don't like their slip-and-slide -loyalties, Snow. They were the friends of the rebels, sure—until they -thought of a better plan. Then the rebels were calmly forgotten. Or -vaporized, when necessary. Right now, they're on my side, what with -ordering my escape, and protecting me from Baxter. But it's only for so -long as I serve their ends. Then it's good-by, Jery Delvin!"</p> - -<p>"Then—" Snow arose, a slim hand going to her throat "—we don't know -for sure if the boys are alive!"</p> - -<p>I shook my head, solemnly. "We don't know it at all."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>14</h2> - - -<p>Clatclit came lumbering into the chamber, and paused to survey the -remnants of our meal. He pointed to me, then to Snow, then made the -palms-down outward gesture and looked questioningly.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "We're finished, Clatclit. Thanks."</p> - -<p>He nodded, then beckoned to me, and pointed toward the tunneled gloom -beyond the archway.</p> - -<p>"Come with you?" I said. "Come where?"</p> - -<p>He pointed down.</p> - -<p>"Downstairs?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Furious glare.</p> - -<p>It was nearly impossible to think, with Snow sitting right there across -from me, but luckily my memory came through with what that gesture had -meant the last time he'd used it.</p> - -<p>"Mars?" I said softly.</p> - -<p>Side-to-side motion of the head.</p> - -<p>"Something like Mars. The Ancients!"</p> - -<p>Brisk nods.</p> - -<p>Snow got to her feet, apprehensive.</p> - -<p>"It's all right," I said. "Remember. So far, they want me alive. I -don't have to worry unless they think up a scheme that doesn't need me."</p> - -<p>"No, Jery, I'm coming with you!" she said, clutching my arm. Those -smooth little fingers bit in like dull teeth. She must have been better -at sports than her pupil, Ted.</p> - -<p>"Snow, the way I see it, this is going to be dangerous."</p> - -<p>Her fists went to her hips. "And by what omniscience are you certain -that I'll be safe back here?" she queried.</p> - -<p>She had me there. The sugarfeet were being buddies at the moment. -However, a quick change of plan, and Snow might end up vaporized, -gnawed, or just left to starve in this devious labyrinth.</p> - -<p>"Okay, come along," I sighed. "But hold my hand."</p> - -<p>"I won't get lost," she protested.</p> - -<p>"That wasn't the reason, honey," I grinned at her.</p> - -<p>Her eyes flashed a moment, and her nostrils made a perfunctory flare. -Then she smiled, surprisingly shy, and slipped her hand into mine. "For -moral support," she said.</p> - -<p>"Nice rationalizing," I said, but she didn't pull away. Together, we -followed Clatclit out of the chamber.</p> - -<p>And that's when I learned the primary function of that red spike at -the tip of the tail. No sooner were we away from the fungus-lighted -chamber, than that tiny trylon began to glow, first pale pink, then a -brighter scarlet, and finally a brilliant yellow-orange. We followed -that bobbing tailtip like the <i>ignis fatuus</i> through the bowels of -Hell. Snow's grip on my hand grew a little tighter as we progressed -along the slippery red rock of the nearly circular passage.</p> - -<p>"A regular candy-coated firefly," I joked, to lighten her mood. -"What'll they think of next!"</p> - -<p>She didn't answer.</p> - -<p>"Bad joke?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No ... it's—Did you notice, Jery? We're going <i>down</i>."</p> - -<p>We did seem to be descending, at that. I could imagine Snow's mind -conjuring up tons of planet pressing down on us without warning.</p> - -<p>"Not down," I said to her. "Downer. If it sets your mind at rest, we -just took off from a place way below ground. If the roof didn't fall in -there, it probably won't up ahead."</p> - -<p>"How do you know that?" she asked, her curiosity taking the place of -her trepidation, which was what I'd hoped for.</p> - -<p>"The air," I said. "We were breathing in that chamber, remember? For -the air to be that plentiful, we just had to be far under the ground, -already. The atmosphere grows denser as one descends, you know; like on -the canal bottoms."</p> - -<p>"I've never been on a canal bottom," she said.</p> - -<p>"Come to think of it, neither have I! I must have read that someplace."</p> - -<p>We followed Clatclit and his magic taillight a few more yards, then -Snow said, "You don't have to kid around to buck me up, Jery."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes I do," I disagreed sincerely. "For some reason or other, my -main worry at the moment is for you. So if I can keep you happy, I'm -happy. See?"</p> - -<p>"Uh-huh," she said softly. Her hand pressed mine more tightly for a -brief moment. "Thanks."</p> - -<p>"If you think you can repay my efforts with a mere word of gratitude," -I said in a villainous whisper, "you have lots to learn about men, poor -child."</p> - -<p>"Jery, don't joke any more. I'm frightened, really frightened," she -said, her voice trembling.</p> - -<p>"Okay," I said, and left off. I didn't tell her, but my own pulsebeat -wouldn't have qualified me for a hero medal, either. Then, up ahead -in the blackness beyond Clatclit's glowing tail spike, I heard a dull -roaring.</p> - -<p>A few hundred yards further on, the roar was louder, and I could feel -it through the soles of my boots.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Jery?" Snow whispered.</p> - -<p>"It sounds like water!" I said. "Like more water than I thought there -was on this whole spaceborne Death Valley!"</p> - -<p>"Jery!" Snow's fingers dug into my palm. "If this is the way to the -Ancients, then this must be what Clatclit meant when he told you he -could only take you so far and no further!"</p> - -<p>"Sure it is!" I exclaimed excitedly. "A child could have figured it -out. What else but water could impede these rock-hard things!"</p> - -<p>Clatclit was slowing his pace and moving more carefully. Then, not ten -feet in front of him, the fiery glow of his tail tip was reflected -from a million foaming, shifting wet surfaces. He took another few -courageous steps, then halted, pressed back against the curve of the -tunnel wall.</p> - -<p>He'd averted his gaze from the raging torrent beyond him, but his -outstretched hand still pointed in that direction. I felt a cold wet -spray on my face, and saw, with a little shock, that some of the -glittering facets of Clatclit's scaly hide were already becoming pocked -and eroded.</p> - -<p>"We'll have to go fast," I said, releasing Snow's hand only to clutch -her arm tightly against my side. "If we take too long, our luciferous -friend here will be a sticky red puddle. And I don't intend crossing -that in the dark!"</p> - -<p>"<i>That</i>" was a jagged ridge of rock that continued forward from where -our segment of tunnel ended, scant feet beyond Clatclit's cowering -form. It was glistening with pools of black water and wet froth, flung -up there by the raging river that passed less than a foot beneath its -slightly arched surface. The torrent rushed angrily from somewhere in -the hollow blackness to our right, leaped and sprayed past the natural -bridge of rock, barely two feet wide, that lay before our feet, and -then—</p> - -<p>My stomach grew sick at the sight just to the left of the bridge.</p> - -<p>The vaulted tunnel which contained this black Martian river dipped and -dropped. The river, just beyond our frail bridge, was a black cataract -falling into the heart of the planet.</p> - -<p>"Jery," Snow said, shivering. "Hold me. Hold me tight, or I'll never -get across that!"</p> - -<p>"It's all right," I said, with a calm tone that surprised the hell out -of me. "Here." I got directly behind her and ran my hands along the -undersides of her forearms, gripping them tightly midway to her wrists. -"Now, just walk as I direct you, Snow. Close your eyes if you want. I -won't guide you wrong."</p> - -<p>"I trust you, Jery," she said softly.</p> - -<p>"Okay then, honey." I kept my voice gentle, soothing. "Left foot -forward. No, a bit more. There! Okay, now the right foot." She swayed -a little in my grasp, on the first slippery section of that dangerous -arch of rock. "Easy! That's it, honey, you're doing fine. Now your -left. Ah! Okay. And then the right. Swell."</p> - -<p>Step by nightmare step, we crossed the arch, Snow moving her feet -blindly forward in exploratory shuffles, and I, forgetting my own -danger in my concern for her, moving steadily with her, eyeing each -spot on that rock ahead of her feet for safety. The light grew dimmer -by the minute as we crept further and further from Clatclit.</p> - -<p>I wondered how long I could have stood in a spray of liquid caustic or -acid, holding a light for some friends.</p> - -<p>Then the last step was made, and without my knowing how it happened, -Snow was tightly in my arms, facing me now, her silky hair against my -cheek, her arms locked about my waist.</p> - -<p>"Easy, baby, easy." I mumbled into her ear. "We've arrived, we're okay. -Just relax."</p> - -<p>She turned her face up to mine, and I forgot to speak. Suddenly my -mouth was down on hers, hard, my arms crushing her against me. We clung -like that for a dizzy moment, then broke apart.</p> - -<p>"Snow," I gripped her wrists and held her there, staring at me. "Snow, -darling, if we ever get out of this alive—"</p> - -<p>"I know," she breathed. "I know, Jery. I love you!"</p> - -<p>I kissed her again, gently, this time. Then we started off down the -tunnel, away from Clatclit's light. I hoped he wasn't melted beyond -repair. I knew, though, after that shattering exchange of affection -with Snow, that I sure was!</p> - -<p>Behind us the light vanished. I looked back, but could discern neither -Clatclit, nor the rock bridge, nor the torrent.</p> - -<p>"I guess we feel our way from here on in," I remarked.</p> - -<p>"No," said Snow, halting close beside me. "There, up ahead, Jery! A -light."</p> - -<p>Together we moved down the tunnel. The light grew in intensity. Then -we'd reached the lighted area. We were face to face with a peculiar -red-bronze stone wall. No other tunnels led off from where we stood. -There was no direction we could go from there except back toward that -perilous underground cataract.</p> - -<p>"Could we have come the wrong way?" Snow asked. "Maybe we missed a -turnoff back there in the tunnel where it was darker."</p> - -<p>"No," I said. "I had my hands feeling the walls all the way from the -bridge onward, until we could see our way. This must be the right -place."</p> - -<p>Then on a sudden instinctive hunch I turned to Snow. "Got a lipstick in -that handbag of yours?"</p> - -<p>She looked at me blankly, but nodded, and produced the slim metal tube -for my inspection.</p> - -<p>I took it from her fingers, slipped off the cap, and twirled up a -half-inch of the glossy red wax. "Now let's see if I'm right about this -wall," I said, and made a streaking motion across the rough surface -with the lipstick.</p> - -<p>The end of the wax cylinder came away a bit disturbed by its apparent -contact with the surface before us, but the wall held no trace, no -mark, not even a smudge. I saw the little curls of sheared-off wax -falling down the face of the wall to the floor of the tunnel.</p> - -<p>I handed the lipstick back to a bewildered Snow.</p> - -<p>"Just as I thought," I said. "That, honey, is the rock known as -parabolite. The toughest, most impervious substance in the solar -system. Nothing marks it, scratches it, or even budges it. We couldn't -get past here with an intercontinental size collapser!"</p> - -<p>"But Jery, look!" Snow cried, pointing at the wall. I looked. The flat -wall of parabolite, the impervious mineral, was going slowly concave in -the center. I took hold of Snow by the shoulders, and pulled her back -from that rapidly deepening hemisphere, expecting—I don't know <i>what</i> -I was expecting. But I was scared speechless.</p> - -<p>The thing bulged back away from us until its diameter was equal to that -of the tunnel itself, and then, before my hypnotized gaze, the deepest -section of the ruddy mineral gaped, like a hole suddenly pricked in the -side of a bubble. The remainder of the parabolite wrenched violently -away from the opening, leaving us a clear gateway into—</p> - -<p>Into a vast chamber of eye-disturbing metal, that shifted and shimmered -in some mind-chilling fashion that made me want to turn and run with -Snow back down that black tunnel behind us.</p> - -<p>"Come in, Jery Delvin," said the voice of an <i>ancient Martian</i>.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>15</h2> - - -<p>Snow and I stepped into the great gleaming chamber. I was very much -disconcerted when the wall behind us contracted suddenly back into -place. Wherever we were, we were there until the Ancients decided to -let us out.</p> - -<p>"Who is the person with you?" said a voice. It had a frowning note to -it, but I could not discern the source of the words anywhere in that -silver-white blur of metal universe that spread away from us in all -directions.</p> - -<p>"She—" I said as boldly as possible, feeling like an escapee from -Fenimore Cooper "—she is my woman!"</p> - -<p>Silence. Then, "She will be allowed."</p> - -<p>"Allowed to what?" I demanded.</p> - -<p>"Allowed to be," said the voice, without emotion.</p> - -<p>Snow's fingers nearly went through my hand.</p> - -<p>"Well, thanks," I said, figuring politeness wouldn't hurt. I held tight -to Snow, supplementing our hand grip with an arm-in-arm lock. We took -another step forward. "Where are you?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"You must come forward," said the voice.</p> - -<p>I took another step, then another, then came to a startled halt.</p> - -<p>As if materializing out of the air, the Martian was before me. I stared -at him, stupified.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter, Jery? What is it?" Snow said. Then she looked where -I was looking, giving a little scream.</p> - -<p>"It's all right, honey," I said, with hollow courage. "He's a little -impressionistic, but—"</p> - -<p>"He?" she cried, clinging to me. "That—that thing?"</p> - -<p>I looked at her, mystified, then back at the sort-of man I was standing -before. He made my head spin a bit, what with apparently seeing him -from front view and both profiles simultaneously, but he was mannish -looking.</p> - -<p>"This guy, the Martian, honey," I said. "Maybe you didn't take enough -steps forward."</p> - -<p>"She cannot see me as you see me, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. "Her -eyes only convey to her a fantastic whirl of hideous light and dark -shapes. She, along with most others of your race, cannot apprehend my -form as you can. This is why you were chosen, Jery Delvin."</p> - -<p>"That's crazy," I protested. "You're there, aren't you? You reflect -light into the eyes, right? Why can't she see you?"</p> - -<p>"The human eye is not the animal eye," said the Martian. "An animal eye -sees only meaningless shapes; animals use all their senses to identify -objects. But the human eye sees concepts, Jery Delvin. Where an animal -merely discerns eyes, feeding apparatus and breathing vents, the human -eye sees a face. Actually, there is no such thing as a face."</p> - -<p>It was true enough, in a way, that the human eye tended to group -otherwise unrelated objects into concepts of non-actual reality.</p> - -<p>"So how come I can see you, and she can't?" I reiterated.</p> - -<p>"You are gifted to see true," said the Martian. "Your mind apprehends -concepts where it has previously expected to find none. You relate -what you see, and correctly. As in the case of your deriving so much -information from your conversation with Clatclit. Another man would not -have succeeded in that."</p> - -<p>I shook my head, confused. "But I—I see you!"</p> - -<p>"No, Jery Delvin. Your mind sees me. Your eyes alone could not possibly -view me since I am never entirely here to be viewed. Your eyes see -one part of me, then another, then another and another. But your mind -rejects the idea that I am four separate entities, and sees me as I am, -a unit."</p> - -<p>"You're here, you say, but you're not here, too?" I choked, feeling -positively giddy.</p> - -<p>"I am not a three-dimensional creature," said the Martian. "We whom you -call the Ancients are existing in four dimensions."</p> - -<p>"I thought Einsteinian physics says that <i>time</i> is the fourth -dimension," I said slowly.</p> - -<p>"It is not <i>time</i>," said the Martian. "It is <i>place</i> that is the fourth -dimension. What is <i>here</i>, Jery Delvin? Or <i>there</i>? Remember, there is -no <i>here</i> or <i>there</i> except in relationship to something else. If only -one small globe of rock comprised existing matter, Jery Delvin, where -would it be?"</p> - -<p>"It—That's silly. <i>One</i> thing can't be anywhere!" I said. "It'd just -be floating in a void." Trying to picture such a void made my brain -whirl. I gave it up.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you understand," said the Martian. "Very well, then. We, your -Ancients, are existing in a perfect <i>here-ness</i>, of which you can have -no concept at all. We are living in not <i>a</i> location, but in <i>location</i> -itself."</p> - -<p>"It's no use," I said. "I can't even picture it."</p> - -<p>"You're not supposed to," said the Martian, with a mechanical smile of -contempt. "Even your mind, Jery Delvin, cannot fathom the magnitude of -our being."</p> - -<p>"Hold on a minute!" I said, changing the subject. "Clatclit told me -that you expected to compel my cooperation by keeping the Space Scouts -your prisoners unless I obeyed you."</p> - -<p>"That is correct, Jery Delvin. And so, our desire is that you—"</p> - -<p>"Damn it!" I exploded. "Stop taking so much for granted! Before I even -scratch where it itches to please you guys, I want to see those kids! -And in damned good shape, too!"</p> - -<p>Snow held onto my arm and trembled. This was it. Now we'd know for sure -if the boys were all right.</p> - -<p>The Martian looked exasperated, but then he reached an arm out from -himself—I couldn't tell exactly, without getting a blinding headache, -just which way his arm went, left, right, up or down. But he reached -away from himself in some direction or other, and the next moment, -the shimmering blur of metallic flooring between him and us gave way -to a red-bronze platform of parabolite which rose like a sluggish -elevator on close-intervalled narrow rods of the same mineral. Then, as -the apparatus halted, I realized that these rods were more than just -supports for that slab of rock. They were bars.</p> - -<p>And huddled together in this escape-free cage, I saw the fifteen -missing Space Scouts.</p> - -<p>"Snow!"</p> - -<p>One of the boys, his hair as raven as Snow's was blonde, tore away from -the group and rushed over to the bars, jamming his arms between them to -reach out for her.</p> - -<p>"Ted!" Snow cried, and rushed over to him. It was kind of awkward, -embracing with the bars in the way, but they did it anyhow.</p> - -<p>"Ted, dear Ted! Are you all right?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," he said, with a note of uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess we are. -Only, I was almost giving up on you."</p> - -<p>"Have you," the Martian's icy voice cut into the reunion, "seen quite -enough?"</p> - -<p>"Hold your horses!" I hollered at him through the cage. "She hasn't -checked him for broken bones, yet!"</p> - -<p>The Martian, whether out of patience or alien incomprehension of my -sarcasm, left the cage where it was, and stood waiting.</p> - -<p>"I knew you'd get my message, Snow!" said Ted eagerly, quite forgetting -his doubts of a few seconds before. "I just knew it. When do we get out -of here, hey? We want to go home!"</p> - -<p>Apparently adventure lost its tang when the cage had first been lowered -into the—the whatever it was that served us as a floor. The other boys -had come up to the bars, now, all of them looking at Snow with longing, -as the next best thing to a human-type mother.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you poor kids," Snow sobbed suddenly. "Have they been feeding you? -When did you last wash your face, Ted?"</p> - -<p>"They don't feed us at all!" Ted said sorrowfully. "It's been weeks now -since we ran out of candy, and—"</p> - -<p>"Jery Delvin!" the Martian's voice interrupted imperiously. "Before -that look on your woman's face erupts into some more of her tiresome -vituperation, will you explain to her what a metabolic stasis is?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said, folding my arms. "As soon as you explain it to me!"</p> - -<p>The Martian seemed to be gathering himself for a cry of utter -exasperation. Then he caught hold of himself and said with rigid calm, -"We merely have held the children within a field of radiation that -obviates the necessity of their taking alimental nourishment."</p> - -<p>Snow looked over her shoulder at me, wonderingly.</p> - -<p>"He means, honey, that they fixed it somehow so the kids didn't need to -eat. I guess it was simpler than running a catering service."</p> - -<p>"Didn't need to eat!" she exploded. "Doesn't that blob of black -sparklers know that growing boys need food to grow!"</p> - -<p>"There's no need to be redundant!" said the Martian.</p> - -<p>"To what?" she cried, standing back from the cage to glare at him the -better, with arms akimbo. The Martian took this golden opportunity to -let the cage drop suddenly back out of our ken. The shimmering blur of -metallic luster was once more at our feet.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she cried, stepping forward and staring down. "Ted! Teddy!"</p> - -<p>"Jery, Jery, Jery," Snow murmured tearfully, turning about and -burrowing her nose into my chest, while I held her helplessly. "He -looked s-so hungry!"</p> - -<p>I decided to let her sob. Neither I nor the Martian, no matter what our -brain power, could drive this fixed notion out of her pretty little -head.</p> - -<p>"Now that you have seen them," said the Martian, "perhaps we can get to -the business at hand?"</p> - -<p>I seemed to be out of dilatory alibis.</p> - -<p>"Okay," I said. "What do you want from me?"</p> - -<p>"We want you to destroy Philip Baxter," said the Martian.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>16</h2> - - -<p>"Destroy Baxter?" I echoed stupidly. "I was dragged all the way from -Earth to do that?"</p> - -<p>"Since we are here, and you were there," said the Martian, -condescendingly, "what other choice did we have?"</p> - -<p>"You could have sent a letter," I muttered.</p> - -<p>"Hardly," the Martian said, unperturbed. "Since physical contact -between our two dimensions is impossible."</p> - -<p>"It is?" I said, surprised.</p> - -<p>"Of course!" the Martian snapped. "If it were not, we'd have destroyed -Baxter ourselves."</p> - -<p>"Why didn't you use the sugarfeet?" I asked, bewildered. "Clatclit -seems to have shown no ineptness in disintegrating other Earthmen."</p> - -<p>"For the simple reason," said the Martian, with cold anger, "that on -your wretchedly humid planet, a sugarfoot would be corroded to death -before it could locate him. If, of course, it had already overcome the -other obvious difficulties such as getting there, since Earth does not -permit immigration of alien species."</p> - -<p>Like a hot spark flaring where only ice had been before, a tiny -light of hope began to burn in my heart. The Martians, for all their -four-dimensional superiority, didn't know that Baxter was on Mars! -Hell, why should they? I knew Baxter personally, and I didn't know he -was on Mars until he was good and ready to let me know it.</p> - -<p>"Jery—" said Snow, about to spill the beans.</p> - -<p>"Ixnay, lover!" I growled. "Unless you want these guys tossing in the -hand, and switching to Plan C! Remember?"</p> - -<p>I hoped she'd recall what had happened to those would-be rebels once -the Ancients no longer had a use for them. I could tell, a second -later, by her involuntary gasp, that she did.</p> - -<p>"What was the import of that exchange?" the Martian asked, fairly -smoldering with suspicion. "Your idioms were elusive."</p> - -<p>"My woman was about to beg me not to do your will," I lied carefully. -"I merely pointed out to her that if I refused, you would simply -obliterate us and utilize some other scheme."</p> - -<p>"Intelligent thinking, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. For a horrible -moment, I thought he meant he'd caught onto my misinterpretation of my -words. Then I knew all was well, relatively, as he went on. "As to the -method of destruction, we leave it to you to choose. However, haste is -of paramount importance to us."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but would you answer me one probably -idiotic question?"</p> - -<p>"If it is within my range of information," said the Martian.</p> - -<p>"Well, just why are you so set on getting rid of Baxter? Mind you, I -have no overwhelming affection for him myself. But I can't figure your -angle."</p> - -<p>"The motivation is the usual, basic one. Even you humans follow it: -Survival."</p> - -<p>"Survival?" I repeated, blinking.</p> - -<p>"Philip Baxter possesses the knowledge of the method of our -destruction," said the Martian. "That in itself is a bad thing, but -he has two more things besides this knowledge that make his removal -imperative. He also possesses the means and the intention of using this -means."</p> - -<p>"What?" said Snow, losing the pedantic thread.</p> - -<p>"He means, honey, that Baxter's not only got the knowhow to bump off -this bunch, but the wherewithal and the urge."</p> - -<p>"You Earthmen have a rather colorful succinctness of speech," the -Martian observed.</p> - -<p>Snow looked at me for help. "We what?"</p> - -<p>I grinned at her despite our situation. "We talk purty," I interpreted. -Then turning back to the Martian: "But if there cannot be physical -contact between the races, why worry about Baxter? It seems to me that -the worst he could do is snub you!"</p> - -<p>"I'd better give you a bit more detail."</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute." I held up a hand in protest. "If you tell me what -Baxter knows then won't I be—"</p> - -<p>"A threat to us? No. I do not intend to tell you the specific manner in -which we can be destroyed, simply the nature of the destruction."</p> - -<p>"All right. What?"</p> - -<p>"You're aware, of course, of the geocentric theory of the universe?"</p> - -<p>"Mmmm, I've heard of it. Isn't that the theory, once held by people -on earth, that the Earth was the center of all creation, and the sun -revolved around it, not vice-versa?"</p> - -<p>"That is the one. Now, though your race believed it to be a false -theory—"</p> - -<p>"It is false!" I protested.</p> - -<p>"For Earth, yes. But not, you see, for Mars. This place where you now -stand, this brief liaison-point between our dimension and yours, is the -center of your physical universe."</p> - -<p>"You're crazy," I said. "Why, the sun alone is too massive to swing -about this planet, let alone everything else! It'd be like a small boy -trying to twirl a ten-ton boulder on the end of a rope; even if he -managed, somehow, to get it started in motion, within ten seconds it'd -be swinging him!"</p> - -<p>"And if this small boy had another ten-ton boulder on the other side of -him?"</p> - -<p>"Well—uh ..."</p> - -<p>"And another one above, and below, and in all directions from him? What -then?"</p> - -<p>I thought it over. "He'd be a mighty tired boy."</p> - -<p>"That is not funny."</p> - -<p>"It needs work," I admitted.</p> - -<p>"Jery Delvin," said the Martian with open irritation, "time is -fleeting, and I cannot afford to dally while you play semantic -pingpong with my words! Kindly allow me to complete my statement of -this situation, or I shall decide by your flippancy that you no longer -desire the companionship of your woman!"</p> - -<p>That one, I detected by the sudden stiffening of Snow's hand in mine, I -didn't need to translate. I shut up.</p> - -<p>"This, then," the Martian went on more calmly, "is despite what your -scientists say, the center of your universe. If they will but compute -the masses, orbits and velocities of all other matter in the universe, -they will see that. Or are they yet aware of the universe in its -entirety?"</p> - -<p>"Not—not quite," I said carefully, not wanting to chance losing Snow. -"Our astronomical instruments have a limited sensitivity to light. We -see pretty damned far, but there's always something more beyond."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then, you'll have to take my word for it. However, if you -have properly understood the fact that our dimension exists at the -place of Location itself, you will see at once that our only possible -point of contact with your universe is at the central, non-moving -point."</p> - -<p>"I think I see," I said. "If you tried making contact anywhere else, -it'd go speeding off from you, so to speak."</p> - -<p>"Good. You understand perfectly. What Baxter proposes to do is to break -our liaison, thus confining us to our own dimension forever.</p> - -<p>"He proposes to do this by detonating a segment of our physical -universe, one which coexists with yours. This will produce only the -slightest of jolts in our world, but the balance between the two -universes is so delicate that even this minor tremor will move us—by -moving our contact-material—out of alignment. And we, since we exist -in Location, cannot then move ourselves back."</p> - -<p>"Would ... uh, would that be so terrible?" I asked nervously. "What do -you gain by the contact anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"The contact," said the Martian. "It is something we have always had. -We don't need it, but we like less the idea of having it arbitrarily -taken from us."</p> - -<p>"Oh," I said. "I don't suppose you happen to know Baxter's angle in all -this? I mean the reason for his urge to destroy you."</p> - -<p>"Power," the Martian said simply. "You have heard of the Amnesty, of -course?"</p> - -<p>"Have I!" I muttered.</p> - -<p>"Well, then. You know that the wearer cannot be countermanded by any -but the combined veto of the World President and Philip Baxter himself."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I said, puzzled.</p> - -<p>"Then who, if Philip Baxter were to wear the Amnesty, could countermand -him?"</p> - -<p>I realized with a shock that no one on the three planets of Earth's -domain could, the way the rules were set up.</p> - -<p>"But people wouldn't stand for a dictator," I argued. "They'd vote out -the power of the Amnesty."</p> - -<p>"And if there was no more vote? Jery Delvin, Interplanetary Security -is currently the most powerful organization in your world. Its agents -possess the most invincible of weapons, the collapser ray-gun. Philip -Baxter wields the power, even now. But he desires that it should become -known."</p> - -<p>"Known?" said Snow uncertainly.</p> - -<p>"He means, Snow, that it's no fun being the boss if nobody knows it. -The more I think of it, the more I think Baxter can actually get away -with it." I returned my attention to the Martian. "If he's held off -taking over until you people were unhitched from our universe, then you -must be a threat to him!"</p> - -<p>"Only in his mind, Jery Delvin. He learned that we exist. He also -learned that we had non-Earthly abilities. He decided that we therefore -were superior in knowledge of weapons of destruction. One cannot be a -successful dictator when another being has more power, or if one thinks -such is the case."</p> - -<p>"Then you haven't such weapons?"</p> - -<p>"We have. But, as I told you, physical contact between our races is -impossible." It gave a shrug. "Any attempt on our part to use our -weapons would result in that very jolt we are trying so desperately to -avoid."</p> - -<p>"I get it. You can shoot the charging rhino, but the recoil knocks you -off the cliff."</p> - -<p>"Overly metaphoric but substantially correct. So you must destroy -Baxter for us."</p> - -<p>"I'd like nothing better. I can get back to Earth, and alert the -president, and maybe get the wheels rolling for an investigation of IS."</p> - -<p>"Impossible!" the Martian snapped. "We dare not wait any longer. As -yet, Baxter has confided his <i>modus operandi</i> to no one. Once he tells -another man, then that man tells a third, and soon we become hopelessly -vulnerable. No, the man himself must be destroyed, not just his power. -When he dies, the power will die with him if you then tell your story."</p> - -<p>"But I can't just walk up to him and kill him," I said.</p> - -<p>"Since we are completely aware that you can, I must take it that you -mean you will not."</p> - -<p>"No, not that, exactly. But look, he's been a stinker, I know, but it's -not in my power to destroy a fellow human being in cold blood."</p> - -<p>"Then we shall heat your blood, Jery Delvin," the Martian replied. "We -will warm it with the racking anger you shall feel against us, knowing -that these human children shall perish if you fail!" A cunning light -came into the Martian's eyes. "And not only these children," it said. -"But your woman as well!"</p> - -<p>"No!" I cried, grabbing hold of Snow in both my arms. "I'll do it, but -just leave her alone!"</p> - -<p>"She stays here with us until you return successful."</p> - -<p>"She does not!" I yelled, shaking. "I can't leave the woman I love with -a creep that looks to her like a blob of black sparklers! I—"</p> - -<p>With cold horror, I realized that my arms were embracing nothingness. -Snow was standing, wide-eyed, ten feet away.</p> - -<p>"Jery!" she cried, trying to come toward me. Instead, her steps slid -over that shimmering metallic blur, and she remained in place.</p> - -<p>"We who live in the heart of Location," said the Martian affably, "have -a certain mastery over locale."</p> - -<p>"You can't do this," I said unreasonably. Because it was quite obvious -it was being done. Inexorably.</p> - -<p>"Snow—" I said, and couldn't go on. The vision of Snow was moving -back from me, or I was moving backward, or both. But the gap between -us widened by the second. Then I was back in the rocky red tunnel, the -parabolite sphincter narrowing swiftly before my face.</p> - -<p>"Be—be careful, Snow!" I called, like an imbecile.</p> - -<p>The wall was solid again.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>17</h2> - - -<p>Simultaneous with that parabolite wall shutting in my face, three -disturbing thoughts occurred to me: One, Baxter didn't have the -Amnesty; Snow did! Probably in that catch-all handbag of hers. Two, if -the Ancients could float me and Snow and the Space Scouts about like so -much helium, why the hell didn't they just de-localize Baxter into a -snake pit or something? And three, if physical contact was impossible -between the races, how in heaven's name did they gimmick the Brain back -on Earth? Which was also, come to think of it, moving awfully fast -in relation to their liaison-point with the geocentric point of the -universe!</p> - -<p>A very baffled man, I began feeling my way down the tunnel toward that -mighty roar of underground waters. The light paled and grew gray as I -moved away from the parabolite wall. Then I was in darkness, feeling -the bare stone with my fingers as I stepped carefully toward the -increasing volume of ragged sound.</p> - -<p>Then the wall curved away from my outstretched fingertips, and I knew I -stood at the brink of that precarious arch of rock. There was nothing -but blackness there, now.</p> - -<p>"Clatclit!" I hollered over the boom of the river waters. "Clatclit, -it's me, Jery!"</p> - -<p>The rush of the boiling rapids was too great, however. It thundered -by and swept the faint vibration of my voice along with it into that -enormous well to my right.</p> - -<p>Then I remembered Clatclit's manner of instruction to that hay-bale -beast, what seemed like ages ago, out on the craggy Martian hillside. I -put hooked thumb and forefinger into my mouth, and let off a piercing -whistle.</p> - -<p>Ahead of me in the darkness there was a glimmering of visibility, and -then a feeble pink taillight waggled slowly up and down, far back -beyond the other end of the bridge. Clatclit wasn't chancing moving as -close to the death-dealing spray as before.</p> - -<p>However, though a more powerful beam had been necessary to see by when -I'd been moving into darkness, the pale glow was sufficient for the -return trip. All I needed was a beacon, something to sight upon, so I -wouldn't go astray in my slow crawl across that slippery curve of rock. -Yes, crawl. This trip, I negotiated the arch on hands and knees.</p> - -<p>And then I was across and hurrying down the corridor to the bend around -which Clatclit shivered and waited. He stood up from his slouch against -the wall, from which weary stance he'd been waving me onward with his -taillight.</p> - -<p>"Wow!" I said, catching dim sight of him in the weak glow of his -water-pitted trylon. The sharp ruby glint was missing from his -erstwhile pyramidic facets; now they looked dull crimson, and ropy, -like taffy that has congealed after boiling over and dribbling down -the side of the saucepan. "Does it hurt?" I asked, feeling partially -responsible.</p> - -<p>Side-to-side motion.</p> - -<p>"It bothers you in some way, though, is that it?"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"How?" I asked, unable to think of a yes-no question.</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed to my wrist, shook his head, pointed to my wrist -again, and gestured upward, then nodded.</p> - -<p>"Time. No ... other time. Uh ... Earth?"</p> - -<p>Headshake. He rose on tiptoe and pointed up again.</p> - -<p>"Beyond Earth. The sun!"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>"You mean that at this time, it doesn't bother you. But it will later, -when you need the scales for absorbing sunlight?"</p> - -<p>A very weary nod.</p> - -<p>"Damn, that's rough. Will they grow back again?"</p> - -<p>Pause. Nod. Tiptoe point. Three taps on wrist. Shrug.</p> - -<p>"Yes. When the sun makes three times—In three days' time?"</p> - -<p>Nod. Wrist-tap. Hands clasped to belly. Disgusted shrug.</p> - -<p>"But in the meantime, you go hungry, sort of?"</p> - -<p>Nod. Then, the social amenities taken care of, Clatclit pointed to me, -to the ground, and looked questioningly.</p> - -<p>"The Ancients have decided I'm to bump off Baxter," I said. "Then -they'll release Snow and the boys. Not before."</p> - -<p>Clatclit stared at me a moment, placed a hand on my shoulder, and -shook his head, like a sympathetic friend. Then he took his claws and -made a tugging, struggling motion with them, as though trying to tear -something which wouldn't give. He followed it up with an incongruously -comic coin-flipping motion to the back of his hand. It was his devious -way of expressing the slang phrase, "Tough luck."</p> - -<p>"You said it," I muttered. "Come on, though. The less time I leave Snow -with the blob of black sparklers, the better. I've got to get to the -spaceport."</p> - -<p>Clatclit nodded and began his lumbering waddle off into the labyrinth. -The Ancients probably expected me to book passage on the next Earth -flight, to assassinate Baxter. They didn't know he was sitting right in -their laps, in the Security sector of the field. It was just as well. -I didn't relish the possibility of my elimination if they knew he was -right where a sugarfoot could blast him as well as anybody.</p> - -<p>As I trailed Clatclit up the wearisome slope that was taking us to the -surface, I did some heavy thinking. The Ancients, before Earthmen first -landed on Mars, probably had wandered about the planet freely, on the -surface, living in their dwellings of parabolite, using their artifacts -of the same impervious mineral. Then Earth, that paradoxically -peace-loving and war-making planet, lands colonists. The Ancients, just -from plain discretion, hide themselves and observe these unwelcome -newcomers. Once it becomes clear to them that there is a potential -menace from Baxter—who is no young chicken, having been in power -before the first landing—they stay hidden, and start scheming to get -rid of this guy who can jolt them out of their liaison.</p> - -<p>I pondered over that bit. The Ancient had said that Baxter intended -doing it by detonating a portion of their contact-material. Hell, they -must mean parabolite! What other substance in the solar system was so -alien to—</p> - -<p>And with that thought, I suddenly knew the secret of that apparently -impervious mineral's strength. No wonder it could not be destroyed! It -was only in existence in our skimpy three dimensions in a fractional -way. One-fourth of it was always present in the Ancients' world, since -it couldn't <i>fit</i> into our universe in its entirety. And that meant not -only one-fourth of its apparent mass, but one-fourth of even its atomic -structure!</p> - -<p>Even the collapsers, working on subatomic particles, were at a -disadvantage. You can't nudge an electron out of orbit if it isn't -actually fixed in that orbit. Three-quarters of those four-dimensional -electrons were always cushioned by that elusive final segment that lay -outside our universe. So trying to destroy parabolite by force was in -the same class as trying to shatter a rubber ball with a hammer; a -rubber ball which was hanging from an elastic cord, in fact! It just -gave into the other dimension and rebounded frisky as ever.</p> - -<p>"Boy," I thought, "this is going to put the skids under that scientific -theory about parabolite's imperviousness. Parabolic molecules, ha! -Well, it was a good theory while it lasted; it fit the known facts, at -least. Hell, the stuff even has the wrong name! It ought to be called -Elasto-plast, or some such euphonic label."</p> - -<p>Clatclit paused in his climb up the tunnel slope, and turned a querying -stare on me.</p> - -<p>"Was I talking aloud?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Curious nod.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, it's nothing," I said, indicating that he should proceed with -our journey. "Just the salesman in me coming to life. You can't have -public interest without catchy trade-names. Once an ad man, always an -ad man."</p> - -<p>Clatclit looked positively bewildered.</p> - -<p>"Sorry. Business talk," I explained.</p> - -<p>He shrugged and continued his upward climb, with me tagging after the -bobbing pink taillight.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As secure as the maximum-security Security prison was supposed to be, -we got in with no trouble. The planet must be a regular yarn-ball -of those rocky tubes. If you know the layout, you can apparently get -anywhere from anywhere.</p> - -<p>Our only excursion from the steady upward climb had been a brief -stop-off in one of those fungus-lighted rooms. Clatclit picked up my -collapser and returned it to me.</p> - -<p>I felt infinitely more confidant of success with its thick golden -handle jutting out of my holster once more. Perhaps I could just find -Baxter, sneak a bolt into his face, and scurry off into the labyrinth -on Clatclit's heels.</p> - -<p>I knew, even as I thought it, that I wouldn't be able to just blast -him like that. I'd probably have to face up to him, pull an "All -right, pardner—draw!" sort of sentence on him, and then pray that -I was faster. It was unthinkable for me to act in any other manner. -The give-a-guy-a-chance instinct was part of our national heritage, -something called the code of the West, handed down to us by pioneer -forefathers.</p> - -<p>The method of ingress to the building was simplicity itself. The tunnel -we'd been negotiating came to an abrupt end at a wall of granite slabs -such as had buttressed my prison cell. I reached for the collapser, but -Clatclit laid a restraining claw on my hand.</p> - -<p>I watched, curious, as he put his left ear-orifice to the wall and -listened intently. Then, seeming satisfied, he put his hands on the -biggest slab of granite and pushed.</p> - -<p>Nothing happened for a moment. Then the slab began to pivot about some -central axis, and a one-foot gap was exposed on either side of its -bulk. Beyond the open spaces, bright fluorescent tubing lighted a grim -prison corridor.</p> - -<p>"Isn't there an easier way to the spaceport?" I said.</p> - -<p>A prison meant guards, and guards meant collapsers, and collapsers -meant, possibly, good-by Jery Delvin.</p> - -<p>But Clatclit shrugged, pointed into the tunnel, and made zig-zag -motions with both hands, all the while shaking his head in weary -disgust.</p> - -<p>"There is, but it'd take forever to get there, huh?" I interpreted. He -nodded. Oh well.</p> - -<p>Clatclit leading the way, we sidled through the right-hand gap, then he -pressed the mammoth stone back into place.</p> - -<p>"You're coming with me all the way?" I asked, surprised. Somehow, I'd -thought his guideship ended at the same place the tunnel did.</p> - -<p>Clatclit nodded vigorously.</p> - -<p>"Is it that the Ancients don't trust me?"</p> - -<p>Headshake.</p> - -<p>"You have nothing better to do?"</p> - -<p>Negative.</p> - -<p>"Okay, I'll bite. Why?"</p> - -<p>Clatclit stepped toward me, placed a hand on my shoulder, then placed -his free hand over my heart, moved it over his own, held up two fingers -and crossed them.</p> - -<p>"Because we're friends," I said softly.</p> - -<p>Clatclit nodded.</p> - -<p>It took us an hour to locate Baxter. Clatclit showed no signs of -surprise when I did not go to the ticket office and book a passage for -Earth. Apparently, not being in on the finer points of the Ancients' -scheme, he found no wild incongruity in my being brought all the -way from Earth to obliterate a man who could just as easily have -been dispatched by a sugarfoot. Or else, through some extrasensory -awareness, something born of our friendship, he knew that imparting the -location of Baxter to the Ancients might well mean my death.</p> - -<p>Whatever his reasons, Clatclit simply followed me in my progress -through the prison dungeon which, thanks to its completely escape-proof -stone-corked cells, was left without guards. We went up into the more -well-appointed section of the building, the warmly plastic-decorated -halls that were open to the public who passed through the Security -inspection when entering or leaving the planet. It was good business to -hide the grimmer realities from colonists or casual tourists.</p> - -<p>And those who learned about the dungeons were never in a position to -pass the word around. Your first view of a Security dungeon was usually -your last view of anything.</p> - -<p>The public part of the building had too many people in it to suit -me. Even if I could get by the flight officials and robo-scanners -unchallenged, Clatclit couldn't. The building was rigidly off-limits to -extraterrestrials.</p> - -<p>So we went up the outside.</p> - -<p>Built against, and a good ways into, the high hills that surrounded -the town, the building was easy prey for anyone who cared to clamber -up the rocky slopes from which it jutted and climb through a window. -These slopes were lighted, but not patrolled. After all, under ordinary -circumstances, no one in his right mind would try sneaking into an IS -stronghold!</p> - -<p>Baxter, as it turned out, was seated at a desk not unlike his own back -on Earth, in the very office where I'd been last interrogated by the -team of Charlie and Foster. He was staring into space, and smoking a -cigar, the solitary incandescent lamp on his desk making his ice-white -mane of hair a sort of angelic aurora about that pleasantly rubicund -face. It was like seeing Satan sporting a good-conduct medal.</p> - -<p>Clatclit and I were crouched outside the window, on a narrow ledge we'd -reached from the slope. To my intense interest, lying before Baxter, in -the glaring circle of lamplight, was the black shirt I'd been wearing -when I was rescued by Clatclit, the shirt which had been towed off by -that hay-bale to obviate Baxter's being able to track the route of my -flight.</p> - -<p>I was about to whisper a question about the shirt to Clatclit, when -Baxter turned partway about in his chair, and started to stub out the -cigar in a black onyx ashtray. The question stuck in my throat, as I -caught sight of Baxter's breast.</p> - -<p>On a silver chain about his throat, he wore the Amnesty!</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>18</h2> - - -<p>Something was very definitely wrong.</p> - -<p>Until that moment when Baxter turned, I'd been certain that the Amnesty -was in Snow's possession. And now here it was, gleaming in bright red -and bronze against the front of his crisp black linen blouse.</p> - -<p>The sight of it twanged a chord in my mind, and I crouched there on -that narrow ledge, trying to grasp the fleeting thread of thought. The -Amnesty was exactly the same color as that parabolite wall down in the -tunnels, the barrier to the lair of the Ancients. Was it a coincidence -that this token of power was designed to match in shade and intensity -of color that unearthly mineral of another dimension?</p> - -<p>A queer notion began to take root in my mind. Baxter had given me the -Amnesty before I set off to find the missing boys. Or had he? Was that -the Amnesty I'd carried, or a copy, a perfect duplicate constructed not -of metal, but the impervious mineral.</p> - -<p>My brain was spinning as little unimportant facts suddenly burgeoned -and grew, and took on terrible significance. According to our science, -parabolite was invulnerable to all tools, and could not be worked or -shaped. Yet the Martian had said to me that Baxter possessed the means -to disengage the fragile bond that linked the two dimensions by—The -truth came home to me with an icy shock.</p> - -<p>By detonating a portion of their contact-material! And the Amnesty, my -Amnesty, was that material. I looked past Baxter to the black blouse, -its lining sparkling beneath the incandescent lamplight with thousands -of tiny metal filaments, and then I knew at last Baxter's monstrous -plan.</p> - -<p>Cold fury welled up inside me. I could easily, at that moment, have -leveled my collapser at him and flashed him out of existence with no -more feeling than that engendered by crushing a gnat between finger and -thumb. My hand was sliding back toward that cold metal handle jutting -from my holster, when there came an interruption.</p> - -<p>The door before Baxter's desk opened, and Charlie and Foster came in. -Clatclit and I ducked back from the pane, and listened, holding our -breaths.</p> - -<p>"About time!" Baxter growled. "Since you two are alone, I assume this -was another wild goose chase!"</p> - -<p>His fist slammed down atop the crumpled shirt, and I caught his -meaning. Apparently, when they'd discovered my cell empty, they'd -tracked my trail by whatever electronic device followed up the location -of that rigged garment, and had been led miles astray in the Martian -desert, finding only the empty blouse at the end of their quest.</p> - -<p>"Yes and no, sir," Charlie said. "It's—it's the weirdest thing."</p> - -<p>"Well? What?" Baxter snapped angrily.</p> - -<p>Charlie, while replying, was unhitching a sort of tanklike apparatus -from his back, from which a flexible tube ran into the end of -the pistol at his belt. With the surprise of sudden memory, I -recognized one of the weapons of the earlier settlers at Marsport: a -sugarfoot-repelling water pistol, with three-gallon ammunition tanks.</p> - -<p>"We got out the pack, sir, when we returned."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes," Baxter interrupted violently. "You took the dogs and -trailed Delvin by scent from his cell. Fine. But did you find him!"</p> - -<p>"We had trouble, sir. It was outside the crater, and the dogs needed -air-booster muzzles, which cut down their sense of smell. And the trail -was spread way out, too, as if Delvin had only touched the ground every -thirty feet or so!"</p> - -<p>I remembered Clatclit's bounding transportation from the cell, and had -to smile. The dogs must have been starting and stopping every five -minutes over that sporadic trail.</p> - -<p>Baxter, at the end of his patience, flattened both hands on the -desktop, and grated, spacing his words for emphasis, "Did you find him?"</p> - -<p>Charlie exchanged a look with Foster, then hung his head. "No, sir, we -didn't."</p> - -<p>"Lost the trail, I suppose," Baxter growled.</p> - -<p>"No, we kept at it, all right," Charlie said. "It took us underground, -into the lava tunnels and grottos. We even found a cot where he'd been -sleeping."</p> - -<p>I stared at Clatclit. They'd done better than I thought possible. -Clatclit tilted his head to one side and shrugged. It meant the same -thing in both our languages.</p> - -<p>"Of course, you idiot!" Baxter said, with disgust. "It's obvious he -had help from the sugarfeet. I'd have guessed that the moment I saw -the intervals of his trail! What else but a man carried by a sugarfoot -could travel in bounds like that?"</p> - -<p>"Gravity here's only half that of Earth," Charlie protested weakly.</p> - -<p>"Even so," Baxter muttered, "only an Olympic champ could make leaps -like that! You've seen Delvin. Did you really think that gawky frame of -his had such galvanic energy?"</p> - -<p>I could resent his slurs later. Right now, I wanted to find out just -how damned far those guys had tracked me.</p> - -<p>"But we finally came to a bridge, over an underground river, sir. At -the end of the tunnel beyond it, the trail came to a dead end, in front -of a whole damned wall of parabolite. And something about that wall -scared hell out of the dogs, too! They were whining, high up the scale, -like they do when there's something wrong, and growling at that wall, -sir."</p> - -<p>Halfway through Charlie's discourse, I had jerked my head around to -stare a baffled question at Clatclit. Where, I was about to ask him, -were you when the posse scuttled by?</p> - -<p>But he'd already anticipated the question, and I watched as he pointed -to himself, then made a serpentine forward-stab with his hand, then an -up-down-and-around motion with his palms over his torso.</p> - -<p>"You scooted up the tunnel for a brisk toweling?" I said.</p> - -<p>A firm nod.</p> - -<p>I couldn't blame him. After all, Snow and I were gone for a spell. No -reason for him to stand there and melt with the water already beading -his candy-coated hide. So that meant that Charlie and Foster were -outside the wall while Snow and I were in council with the Martian. I -found I was glad Clatclit hadn't been there to spot them. Because if he -had been, and they had those water guns, I'd have found nothing but a -sticky puddle where I'd left a friend. If, indeed, I'd been able to get -back that far.</p> - -<p>Baxter's voice interrupted my thoughts. "And so," he said, mockingly -bitter, "you return once again, empty-handed!"</p> - -<p>"Not quite, sir," said Foster, stepping forward and setting a trim -plastic rectangle on end atop the desk. "We found this just outside -that wall."</p> - -<p>It was Snow's handbag. Probably she'd dropped it in her initial fright -when that wall had gaped open before us. I hadn't noticed it then, -because I'd been pretty shaken, too. And when I made my ungracious exit -from the Martian's now-you-see-it-now-you-don't den, the handbag was -already gone, on its way up to Baxter via Foster.</p> - -<p>Apparently Clatclit had known a shorter route to the IS building than -the IS men did.</p> - -<p>Baxter had the bag in his hands, now, staring at it with the first -faint flush of elation coming into his face. "But this must be that -girl's bag! The one who stole that other Amnesty!"</p> - -<p>It hit me like a blow in the stomach. Of course! Baxter had had no idea -that I was with Snow. Not until now. And he knew Snow had that Amnesty, -the one he planned to use to blow the Martians out of our dimension. -And now he knew where she was: deep in the rock of the planet, with a -virtual bomb on a chain about her neck!</p> - -<p>He didn't need his gimmicked blouse any longer, the one he was going to -use to track me until I was in the chamber of the Ancients. That had -been his plan, of course. The Amnesty was a remote-controlled bomb, -which I, as his dupe, was to have worn during my search for the boys. -Baxter, knowing that I'd find them, and the Ancients with them, had -suggested that I wear that blouse so that he could trail me into their -lair. Then the flick of a switch, and Jery Delvin would be blasted -to shreds, while the Martians found themselves stranded forever in -immovable Location.</p> - -<p>And yet I was still puzzled. How could he have known that I'd find -them? I decided not to vaporize him just yet. I had a few points to -clear up, or go out of my mind wondering about for the rest of my days.</p> - -<p>I unholstered the collapser, slid the window open with one hand, and -swung my legs over the sill.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, gentlemen," I said.</p> - -<p>They didn't seem very glad to see me.</p> - -<p>Charlie and Foster stood stiffly before the desk, watching me warily as -I completed my clamber into the room. Their eyes widened a fraction as -Clatclit sprang lightly in after me, but that was all. Baxter, however, -had lifted one eyebrow, and was appraising me carefully, as if trying -to gauge the intensity of my emotions. No one said a word for a minute, -while Clatclit shut the window and came to stand a bit behind me, to my -right, leaving the show to me.</p> - -<p>Baxter found his voice first. When he spoke, it was in the casual -friendly tone he'd used at our first meeting, his inflection giving -no sign that I had him covered by the most deadly weapon in the solar -system.</p> - -<p>"Since I am still alive," he said dryly, "I can only assume that you -want to see me about something before I die, else you would have -blasted me through that window."</p> - -<p>"That's very accurate," I said grimly. "If you'll tell your men to be -seated, and to keep their hands where I can watch them, I'll lower this -barrel a bit. I wouldn't want an accidental finger twitch to terminate -our conversation."</p> - -<p>Charlie and Foster, white-faced, looked at Baxter. He gave a curt nod, -and they sat down. I stayed back from the desk, keeping my back against -the wall beside Clatclit. I didn't want anyone else coming in and -sneaking up behind me. Baxter swung slightly about in his chair to face -me, then laced his fingers on his knees.</p> - -<p>"Now that we're settled," he said, "what can I do for you, Mister -Delvin?"</p> - -<p>"Baxter," I said, "I just came from seeing one of the Ancients. He and -I had a long talk."</p> - -<p>Baxter never flickered an eyelash. He just nodded and waited politely -for me to continue.</p> - -<p>"It seems you are a menace to them. They stand in the way of your -ambition, and must be destroyed. However, the Ancients, even with their -extra dimension, don't seem to have any increase in brain power. Their -evaluation of your intentions is without doubt the correct one, but as -to their interpretation of your motives, they're full of hot air."</p> - -<p>A slight smile of grudging approval appeared on his round face. "Very -good, Mister Delvin. Well thought out. Tell me, just what do they think -I'm after?"</p> - -<p>"According to them, you want to be the visible kingpin of the -tri-planet civilizations, instead of just running things from behind -the scenes. For a while, I thought it made sense, too. But then it -occurred to me that this puppet-control of our worlds is just the sort -of position that would appeal to you, Baxter. You'd enjoy being the -secret master of Venus, Earth and Mars. I could imagine you chuckling -to yourself, delighting in being an apparent public servant, and -saying to yourself, 'The fools; if they only knew—' Am I right?"</p> - -<p>Baxter's smile grew broader. "In substance, yes. I do rather like being -the kingpin incognito, as it were. But go on, you were about to make a -point."</p> - -<p>"Well, if that were the case, then the Ancients wouldn't have to be -destroyed, sent back to their dimension forever. You'd be suited by the -status quo. Alien beings on Mars would just be alien beings on a Mars -which you still controlled. So there's got to be something more that -you want. You have all the power I know of, right now. So there can be -only one thing left for you to want: some power I don't know of."</p> - -<p>"I must congratulate you on your perspicacity," he said. "Yes, there -is something more, Mister Delvin. That much I will tell you. But as to -what it is—" He spread his hands. "I don't see that it's your concern."</p> - -<p>"You—" I said, then paused. His insouciance was not in keeping with -his situation. Therefore, the situation was not the one which I -thought it was. "You're pretty chipper," I said, "for a man held at -collapser-point."</p> - -<p>"Oh? Am I being chipper?" he said, all raised eyebrows and facetious -wonder. "I hadn't noticed."</p> - -<p>"You fool," I said softly.</p> - -<p>Baxter's amiable smile vanished and a hard light came into his eyes. -"What do you mean?" he said, through clenched teeth.</p> - -<p>"I mean," I said gently, but with deadly earnest, "that the Brain back -on Earth selected me because of my mental abilities. I mean, Baxter, -that I can figure things out faster than you can dream them up."</p> - -<p>"The Brain picked you," he said coldly, "because it was rigged by the -Ancients. And for no other reason."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "And the Ancients rigged it to pick the man most likely to -succeed in your destruction."</p> - -<p>Baxter was suddenly silent. He watched me intently.</p> - -<p>I lounged against the wall, waving the muzzle of the collapser up and -down slowly. "Let me clue you in to my reasoning, Baxter old man," -I grinned. "This is a collapser. It is in working order. You do not -fear it. Ergo, you have some protection from it. I would deduce that -you are at present wearing a shield of some sort. A shield which you -have kept secret from everyone but yourself and the inventor, who is -probably long since dead, if I know your approach to things."</p> - -<p>Charlie and Foster turned and looked at him, their eyes bugging out -in surprise. Till that moment, they'd thought their weapon invincible -against anything.</p> - -<p>"You astound me," Baxter said, admiringly. "But there's something you -don't know about the shield. It protects not by <i>de</i>flection, but by -<i>re</i>flection."</p> - -<p>"I could have gotten that part figured out, too, if I just allowed -my mind to wander a bit through the paths yours seems to prefer. -Nice work. Not only are you protected, but your assailant is himself -destroyed."</p> - -<p>"And so, Mister Delvin," Baxter smiled, starting to get up from his -chair to come and disarm me.</p> - -<p>"And so," I said, "nothing!"</p> - -<p>Baxter stopped on hearing the easy confidence of my voice. He -hesitated, looked at me.</p> - -<p>"You shouldn't have kept it a secret," I said, smiling. "Charlie and -Foster, here, are therefore quite vulnerable to the ray." It was -rewarding to see their increased pallor. "So, you guys," I addressed -them, "unless you want to go out in a blaze of blue sparks, how about -tying this silly old man to his chair?"</p> - -<p>They faltered only the fraction of an instant, and then they had a -furious, cursing Baxter neatly hooked at ankles and wrists to his chair -with their security-manacles.</p> - -<p>"All right," Baxter growled deep in his throat, when they had been -gun-gestured back to their places. "You are clever, Delvin! So what -happens now? Do you beat me to death with your fists, or what?"</p> - -<p>"If necessary," I said. A brief flicker of fear went across his face. -"But so far as I'm concerned, destroying you need not mean physical -dissolution. I don't care so much about Baxter the man as I do about -Baxter the kingpin. To keep my end of the bargain, I can simply report -what I know to the World Congress, and have you stashed away where you -can never carry out any of your totalitarian schemes."</p> - -<p>The normal ruddiness of Baxter's face was superseded by a sickly gray. -"You can't—" he said, then stopped. At the moment, it was quite -apparent that I could.</p> - -<p>"And as for your big secret power," I said, calmly and without -boasting, "it took me about two seconds' brainwork to guess what it is."</p> - -<p>Baxter just sat and smoldered, his mouth clamped shut.</p> - -<p>"The Ancients," I said, "live in Location, with a capital <i>L</i>. I've -already experienced a demonstration of their logistic powers. They had -me bobbing around like a balloon down in their weird little cavern. And -they were also able, not so long ago, to manipulate the workings of the -International Cybernetics Brain across a void millions of miles wide. -That, by me, shows one power which any would-be dictator would give a -hell of a lot to get ahold of: teleportation."</p> - -<p>Baxter stared at me in furious amazement.</p> - -<p>"But," I went on, "there seemed to be a couple of details which didn't -jibe, if that were the case. If they could manage control over cosmic -distances so easily, why should they go to the trouble of getting a -man, me, to bump you off? Why not simply teleport you into something -fatal? That would be the easier method. But they didn't do it. -Therefore, for some reason, they couldn't. Well then, Jery, I thought -to myself, what could the reason be? In their dimension, that of -ultimate Place, or Location, distances have no meanings. Everything in -creation is Here. So what held them up? What kept them from snatching -you? Obviously, only one thing could, Baxter: the contact-material, -parabolite."</p> - -<p>He kept his features rigid, but sweat was beading his brow. It gleamed -like diamonds in the lamplight.</p> - -<p>"It seems that the Ancients can only control areas where their -contact-material is present. Until the mineral was found by Earth -scientists, that place was on Mars only. Then some of the material -was taken back to Earth, for museums, for analysis, and even for -paperweights and such. My guess is that one of the technicians who runs -the Brain has a hunk of the stuff on his desk, right?"</p> - -<p>Baxter narrowed his eyes, then relaxed and nodded. "Yes. As soon as -I figured out the Brain had been gimmicked, I went there to check. I -had it removed immediately. Then I refed the data into the Brain, and -found the name of the man who should have been sent here to destroy the -Ancients."</p> - -<p>I nodded. "Your own. Philip Baxter. Which is why you sped up here so -damned fast after I arrived. And also why you had to toss me into a -cell. One thing eludes me, though. What gave you the hint that the -Brain might have been rigged?"</p> - -<p>Baxter smiled wearily. "Your loss of the Amnesty. When these idiots -here called me, my first reaction was to chew them out and to have you -released. It was only after talking to you that it dawned on me that -you seemed ill-equipped for the task I had in mind. I got to wondering -about the Brain, then. That's when I went over to see for myself, and -found the parabolite."</p> - -<p>I nodded again. "Yes. In their cavernful of the stuff, they could float -me all over the place. When some of the stuff was near the Brain, they -could control that. But nothing else. Nothing that was not in the -presence of the mineral. That is, excepting one part of the mineral: -the chunk that comprises the false Amnesty. Something had to happen -to that hunk of it. Something that simultaneously rendered that piece -out of their control, and told them that you were a menace to their -existence in this dimension."</p> - -<p>"If you think I'll tell you that—" he said angrily.</p> - -<p>"No need to. I've figured out that one, too. When I first figured out -just what parabolite was, I compared it to a rubber ball on an elastic -cord. Trying to destroy it by force was impossible. It just bounced and -swung into the cushion of its fourth dimension. But, sticking with the -analogue, what happens if the rubber ball is attacked from all sides -simultaneously? It has nowhere to go, then. And, I asked myself, what -could attack parabolite from even its extra dimension? What, except -another piece of parabolite? Oh, not in the frictive way, like diamond -cutting diamond. You still controlled only three of the dimensions -using that method. And it had been tried already by scientists and -found useless. So you had to attack it on the no-dimensional level. -Since the three forms of matter—solid, liquid and gas—all must exist -with height, breadth and depth, you had to use the only thing in our -universe that we have besides matter: energy. Fire? No, heat had been -tried already. Atomic dissolution? A bit better, perhaps; a battery -of collapsers, working on the subatomic level, had managed to destroy -a fraction of a gram of the stuff, simply from the laws of <i>chance</i> -encounters with parabolite molecules in the fourth dimension. A ray as -powerful as the collapser-ray undoubtedly accidentally gets generated -in an extra dimension, but only in the most minor way, not nearly -enough for your purpose."</p> - -<p>"And what," Baxter asked between tautened lips, "is my purpose?"</p> - -<p>"Since your rule-the-worlds dream necessitates the ability to teleport -your agents wherever you please, you must have parabolite wherever you -please. This in turn necessitates pulverizing the mineral down to its -very molecules, and sowing it into the atmosphere of the three planets. -Then you will be free to take complete command. The hitch, of course, -is that the pulverization of parabolite would engender, as the Ancient -put it, a jolt. A jolt which would unlatch Location from our dimension, -sending the Ancients off forever. They didn't like the idea, and so -they set out to destroy you."</p> - -<p>Baxter's jaw, during the last part of my narrative, had gone slack, and -he stared at me idiotically. I had to grin.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know what suffering you're going through at this moment, Baxter -old boy. 'All for nothing,' you're telling yourself. If you had only -known, huh?"</p> - -<p>"You—you mean," he licked his dry lips and stared at me, horribly -upset, "that all I had to do to be rid of the Ancients was to go ahead -with my scheme? Simply pulverizing a hunk of that stuff would have sent -them off?"</p> - -<p>I nodded, ironically. "Yes. No need to rig a bomb, to send me seeking -them, to try and set this bomb off in their midst. You could have set -it off right back on Earth, and been just as rid of them."</p> - -<p>"No need," he repeated dully. Then, suddenly alert; "Set it off? How -did you know?"</p> - -<p>"It was the only form of energy that hadn't been tried," I said, with -a shrug. "Self-energy. Back on Earth, you ran that disc of parabolite -through a hot atomic pile, and it became intensely radioactive, since -the deadly emanations of the pile are even less than subatomic, and -have no dimensions. Then a shielding coating of nullifying gamma -plasm, the same stuff we use to keep our rocket chambers from dosing -the passengers with deadly rays, and neat nickel plate over that. -Emboss it with the seal of the World President, lacquer it in the -colors of IS, and you have a neat, but incredibly potent, little -fission bomb."</p> - -<p>"And how could I set this off?" Baxter sneered. "Aren't you forgetting -that the parabolite's at less than a critical mass?"</p> - -<p>"Same way the old H-bomb worked," I said. "Under the gamma plasm, -beside the radioactive parabolite, you have an atomic bullet, the kind -the foot soldiers used in the Third World War. As for tracking it and -detonating it, you must have a refinement of the tracking stuff you had -in that blouse of mine. As the old H-bomb was triggered by an atomic -bomb, so the parabolite, even at less than critical mass, could be -triggered by the remotely-detonated atomic bullet. You planned to blow -up the Ancients, and me with them, Baxter. Then you could go ahead and -set off similar bombs, one each on Venus, Earth and Mars. The fallout -would stay with the planets forever, even after losing its potency. And -you could teleport your agents anywhere you chose."</p> - -<p>"And the Ancients?" said Baxter.</p> - -<p>"They reasoned out your intentions when you made that chunk of -parabolite radioactive. Why do that unless you intended detonating -it? But the very act of making it fissionable somehow took the -teleportation-whammy out of it. They couldn't use it to snatch you, -even when you were near it. Probably, since it seems the only likely -reason, they couldn't use it because it was too atomically hot for them -to work with." I was finished. I waited.</p> - -<p>"Mister Delvin," said Baxter, after a long moment. "What do you intend -to do, now?"</p> - -<p>"Keep you in cuffs," I said. "Send an emergency call to the World -Congress. See you corked into one of your own granite cells. With the -air supply turned on, however. Though I wouldn't mind you having an -hour or two of what I went through the other night."</p> - -<p>"And," Baxter turned his head and nodded toward the handbag on the -desk, "what about her?"</p> - -<p>"She was being held conditional to my removing you as a menace," I -said. "Consider yourself removed."</p> - -<p>Baxter smiled. "And if the Ancients are not satisfied? What if they -still desire my death, not simply my imprisonment?"</p> - -<p>I thought it over. "In that case, I'd be forced to comply with their -wishes."</p> - -<p>To his credit, this unexpected statement on my part only stopped his -tongue for a moment. He immediately tried a new approach. "And if the -Ancients decide to destroy her anyhow?"</p> - -<p>"Why should they?" I said, less sure of myself.</p> - -<p>He cocked his head to one side, watching me. "No," he shook his -head, "now I think of it, they wouldn't destroy her. They'd hold her -captivity over your head, forcing you to return so that they might -destroy you."</p> - -<p>"Me?" I said, startled.</p> - -<p>"Surely you can see why?" he went on smoothly. "After all, why were -they out to destroy me, Mister Delvin?"</p> - -<p>"Because you knew—" I said, then halted, stunned.</p> - -<p>"—How to destroy them," Baxter finished for me. "The selfsame -information which you now possess. What do you think your chances are -for survival now?"</p> - -<p>My guard wavered in that fleeting moment of realization. I caught the -flicker of movement just a second too late.</p> - -<p>Charlie, out of my thoughts for an instant, had whipped his collapser -out of his holster and brought it to bear on me.</p> - -<p>But even before I could bring my own weapon up in a futile attempt at -a duel which would have resulted in probably two fatalities, iron-hard -claws gripped my shoulder and I was carried hurtling to the floor by -Clatclit's full weight on my back. To the floor just behind Baxter's -chair.</p> - -<p>Charlie, spinning about to keep me in range, touched the trigger. There -was a shriek. A shriek that died the split second in which it was born, -and then my world disappeared in a blinding shower of blue-white sparks.</p> - -<p>When Clatclit and I got up again, Charlie and Foster were missing, -along with most of the corridor wall. Baxter was just standing up from -the lopped-off remnants of his chair, the manacles at his wrists and -ankles having been dissolved by the bolt which could not destroy him.</p> - -<p>The bolt had rebounded from his shielding force to destroy its -perpetrator, Charlie, and Foster, the hapless bystander.</p> - -<p>Before I could toss aside my useless weapon and attack him barehanded, -Baxter had yanked up another weapon from the floor. It was one of the -old-fashioned water guns, its flexible hose running back to tanks -filled with gallons of sugarfoot-destructive fluid.</p> - -<p>"If you place any value on the existence of this creature who has just -saved your life, Delvin, you will hand over that weapon to me at once."</p> - -<p>Clatclit looked at me. I sighed, and tossed the collapser to Baxter. -What the hell, it wouldn't work on him, anyhow.</p> - -<p>"And now," said Baxter, dropping the water weapon and covering us with -the one which was deadly to both our hides, "I am going to need your -help."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>19</h2> - - -<p>"Well, this is a switch!" I remarked. "The kingpin needs a hand!"</p> - -<p>"It is a comedown," Baxter said wryly, "but you see, my late agent's -fatal heroics have had a distressing side effect."</p> - -<p>"Oh?" I said, looking about the shards of room that were still extant -on the corridor side. "I don't see anything."</p> - -<p>"That," Baxter remarked, "is precisely the point, Mister Delvin. A -moment or two ago, not three yards to the left of where those fools -were sitting—no, don't bother looking, there's only empty space -there now—there was a small sending set. I brought it all the way -from Earth with me. In fact, that is the reason I was sitting in this -room tonight. Had my agents reported to my satisfaction that you were -present among the Ancients, I should have used that set to detonate the -atomic bullet in the false Amnesty. However—"</p> - -<p>"Your trigger went bye-bye," I finished. "Need I say I am elated?"</p> - -<p>"I take it the woman, the one wearing the false Amnesty, means -something to you?" Baxter said. "The Ancients seemed to set some store -in her captivity's coercive power over you."</p> - -<p>"She does," I admitted. "Which is why I'm happy you no longer possess -the means to set that damned thing off."</p> - -<p>I had no particular love for the Ancients, but I didn't much like the -thought of Snow being blasted into radioactive rubble.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, if you desire to save her, you and your friend are going -to guide me down to that cavern where they dwell, and—"</p> - -<p>Footsteps pounded down the corridor, and then a squad of armed guards -came into view. They saw Baxter and halted, and their leader stepped -forward.</p> - -<p>"Sir," he said, "Our detectors reported a collapser being—" his gaze, -forgetful of military deportment, took a second to wander bug-eyed -over the more truncated sections of the room, "—being used in this -vicinity."</p> - -<p>"Congratulations," Baxter remarked sarcastically. "Your eyes might give -you the selfsame information, corporal. One has been used. I have the -situation in hand, however. You may take your men and go."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," the young man said, obviously fighting an urge to break -protocol and ask what the hell happened.</p> - -<p>"Oh! And corporal," Baxter said, as the boy began to organize his squad.</p> - -<p>"Sir?"</p> - -<p>"You might scratch Myers and Gibson off the payroll list. Send their -families the usual telegrams of condolence."</p> - -<p>The corporal's eyes bugged even more so, and he swallowed noisily -before mumbling "Yes, sir" again and departing.</p> - -<p>"That was pretty callous, even from you," I said, as the sounds of -their footsteps dwindled and disappeared.</p> - -<p>"Not callous at all. Efficient."</p> - -<p>"Callous."</p> - -<p>Baxter shrugged. "In any case, come along you two. The sooner I rid -myself of these Ancients, the better."</p> - -<p>There was nothing else we could do. Dejectedly, Clatclit began moving -off in his lumbering lope toward the staircase. I followed, no cheerier -than he. Baxter brought up the rear. So far as I could see, in -selecting me as the tool of Baxter's destruction, the Ancients had made -the error of their four-dimensional lives!</p> - -<p>Then, almost all the way down to the main floor, I heard the murmur of -voices. We were nearing the terminal lobby, the point where passengers -were checked on and off the planet. As we turned at the landing, I -saw that the lobby was filled with a throng of people, some of them -patiently answering questions of the flight-listing robots, others -having baggage weighed, and still others engaging off-duty pilots and -technicians in casual conversation. It was a normal enough scene, one -to be found in any rocket terminal on Earth or off it.</p> - -<p>But there was something wrong about it. I slowed my descent of the -stairs and tried to place the uncertainty, the queasy foreboding I felt -centering about my heart.</p> - -<p>Then I had it. There were no women present. Not one woman could I see -in that apparently casual group of passengers. And there was a quiver -of tingling tension in the air, a very palpable sensation of mental -concentration trembling on the brink of action.</p> - -<p>Baxter sensed it too. I could feel his own progress slowing behind me -on the stairs. "What—?" he said.</p> - -<p>Then it happened. At the far end of the immense room, one of the -security guards let out a cry. I shot my gaze toward the sound, and -saw that a man beside him had yanked his collapser from his holster. -Other guards came alert all over the place, and they started toward the -man on a run. And they were all of them neatly tripped, shoved, and -clubbed, while a brilliant crackle of free electrons sealed the fate of -the first guard.</p> - -<p>The Neo-Martian revolution was starting. Some of the guards managed to -get shots off before they were overcome by weight of numbers. People -vanished in blinding flares of energy, amid shouts of fierce rage from -their companions.</p> - -<p>"There's one!" someone shouted, and a clump of these desperate -insurgents turned toward the stairs, where Clatclit and I stood. They -were looking past us, at Baxter.</p> - -<p>Then the Security Chief fired the collapser in his hand, the humming -bolt of dissolving-power buzzing right past my ear. But he hadn't fired -at the men below. He'd fired directly at the fluorescent fixture that -glowed in the center of the ceiling. Suddenly, the flash that marked -its passage was the only lighting in that room. Then the cascade of -sparks died, and we were standing in blackness.</p> - -<p>I grabbed Clatclit's arm, hoping we could make a break for freedom in -the dark, but Baxter had out-thought me there, too.</p> - -<p>Another throbbing beam of energy from behind us, and the floor was gone -before our feet, leaving a dizzy drop into emptiness, then even the -view of the abyss faded as the sparks of energy died. I stifled a cry -of alarm in my throat as Baxter's free hand flattened itself on my back -and shoved.</p> - -<p>I staggered forward, and my foot came down on air. Then, my grip on -Clatclit's arm throwing him off balance, we plunged into the empty -space.</p> - -<p>Somehow, writhing in midfall, Clatclit got his hard-scaled arms about -me, and he took the brunt of the landing on powerful legs and tail. My -left arm was numb from shoulder to elbow. I must have struck it on the -floor of the room below the lobby when we landed.</p> - -<p>Another thump told me that Baxter had arrived, too. He did better than -we did. After all, he was expecting a fall when he took off from that -sliced-off brink. In another moment, he'd prodded us out into the -corridor of that first floor under ground level, where the lights were -still working. Then, taking a step back, he blasted away the flooring -of that room, too, to discourage anyone from following the way we'd -come. Incongruously, as he came back out, he shut the door.</p> - -<p>"Afraid they'll grab at the knob on the way down?" I said, rubbing my -injured arm.</p> - -<p>"Neatness," said Baxter, not to be outdone, "is a virtue."</p> - -<p>"Come on, come on," Baxter said impatiently, waving the muzzle of the -collapser at us. "Can we get to the labyrinth from here?"</p> - -<p>"Why bother, now?" I said, jerking a thumb toward the lobby above us. -"Way things look, you won't have any empire to come back to, even if -you do knock off the Ancients."</p> - -<p>"A minor skirmish like this cannot but fail in its purpose," said -Baxter. "On my return, I fully expect to see the sky filled with -Security ships from Earth, leisurely razing the entire city."</p> - -<p>"Won't that be rather difficult to write off as 'Unserviceable,' even -the way you keep inventory?" I needled.</p> - -<p>"Move!" said Baxter, beyond patience.</p> - -<p>Clatclit and I moved. We went back down the long ramp that led toward -the dungeons. At gunpoint or not, I called back over my shoulder, "By -the way, just what do you intend doing when we arrive at the ogre's -castle? I should think that it was the last place you'd want to be -found. Kind of like telling off a lion while your head's in his mouth."</p> - -<p>Far off behind us, there was a growing shout of voices. Apparently, the -rebels had managed to negotiate what was left of the stairway and were -hot on our trail.</p> - -<p>"Faster!" said Baxter, quite unnecessarily. I was in no mood to test -whether or not the rebels checked one's ideology before blasting away. -A disintegrated bystander is beyond apology. So we went faster.</p> - -<p>We reached the dungeon level, and Clatclit proceeded to shove open that -movable section of wall. Baxter raised his eyebrows in surprise, but -then simply gun-motioned us through the gap. We went, and he followed a -moment later. I watched with amusement as he tried vainly to shove that -granite mass back into place. I don't know exactly what sugarfeet use -for muscles, but it beats what we've got.</p> - -<p>Angrily, Baxter stepped back against the curved wall of the tunnel, and -said, "You! Move that back. We don't want them following us in here."</p> - -<p>Clatclit moved over to obey, while I remarked, "Why not? Maybe they'll -get lost. It'll save your city-razing ships a little collapser-power."</p> - -<p>Baxter ignored my statement, and simply waited until Clatclit had moved -back beside me, his taillight going on pyrotechnically as the moving -granite cut us off from the light in the dungeon corridor.</p> - -<p>Then we were once again moving down that frozen-lava slope toward the -deeply hidden lair of the Ancients.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As we moved along, side by side, with Baxter coming relentlessly after -us, Clatclit's hands started working furiously. He flicked an index -finger toward me, then toward himself. Then he put the heels of his -hands together and, after a brief waggling of the fingertips, clamped -his hands into fists, and made that serpentine forward jab with one -hand. He was asking, in his pantomimic way, if he and I, under cover of -sudden blinkout of his taillight, might scoot off into the labyrinth -and escape Baxter.</p> - -<p>I held up a forefinger and waggled it left and right in a signal of -"Better not, chum."</p> - -<p>He put his palms up, fingers flipping open in a mute "Why not?"</p> - -<p>I curled the fingers of my right hand into the palm, then pointed the -index finger forward, and lifted my thumb up; an antique Earth gesture -dating back to the times when hand guns had fanning hammers on them. I -spun the muzzle of this simulated weapon up, down, and every which way, -to indicate to Clatclit that Baxter might manage, through sheer blind -blasting, to polish us off before we got very far.</p> - -<p>Clatclit slammed his right fist into his left palm in a furious symbol -of an exasperated "Damn!"</p> - -<p>"What are you two plotting up there?" Baxter demanded suddenly.</p> - -<p>"We were discussing the futility of a lights-out scurry for cover, -since that weapon of yours would slice right through these tunnels," -I said, deciding the truth was the best way to avoid suspicious -repercussions. "If your bolt didn't get us, the falling ceiling might."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you're using your intelligence, Delvin," Baxter answered. -Then: "Why are we stopping?"</p> - -<p>"Because," I said, halting where Clatclit had suddenly paused in his -forward motion, "that thunder you hear is the reason the Ancients never -find themselves neck-deep in the sugarfeet. An impassable river is up -ahead."</p> - -<p>"Impassable?" Baxter scowled.</p> - -<p>"Not for us, but for Clatclit, here," I said. "He can't even go around -this corner without risking deadly corrosion. And, in case you didn't -notice back in your office, he's had a pretty nasty exposure already."</p> - -<p>"Nevertheless," said Baxter, "I must insist that he either accompany -us, or be destroyed right here."</p> - -<p>"What!" I said, appalled. "You can't ask him to do that! He wouldn't -last any longer than you would in boiling oil!"</p> - -<p>"I certainly do not intend to leave him here," Baxter snapped. "He -might alert others of his kind, and—"</p> - -<p>"And what?" I growled. "You could fend off a million of them with that -weapon of yours."</p> - -<p>"And risk the ceiling falling in on my head?" Baxter said. "No, Delvin, -I'm not about to take that chance."</p> - -<p>"And just how," I said savagely, "did that peanut brain of yours plan -on your getting out of here without him?"</p> - -<p>Baxter paused, his gun hand wavering.</p> - -<p>"Because if he melts in the river, or is vaporized right here and now, -you will be stuck without a light. Stuck in a rock-hard maze that you -couldn't negotiate alone if you had a light."</p> - -<p>Baxter just stared, thinking furiously.</p> - -<p>"Of course," I went on, "you could simply aim that thing upward, and -disintegrate your way out. But that, too, might make the ceiling fall -in. And if it didn't, you'd have the small difficulty of climbing the -glass-sided well you'd created. Climbing, by the way, into the Martian -desert, where there is no air, no water, and very little heat. You'd be -dessicated, suffocated, and a popsicle to boot!"</p> - -<p>"I—I could very easily slant the bolt into Marsport," Baxter -blustered. "I could climb the slope easily enough, and there'd be fresh -air waiting for me, too."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I mocked, folding my arms. "Fresh air and a city full of -insurgent Baxter-haters. Assuming, of course, that you didn't strike an -underground stream in the process, and get washed away into the depths -of the planet when your hold-off stance with the collapser tired you -out, when you'd completely dissipated the charge."</p> - -<p>"I—" Baxter said, desperately nervous.</p> - -<p>"And also assuming," I continued, "that you know in which direction -Marsport is, chum! Of course, you could swing that thing in a full -circle of slant-blasts toward the surface, but then that would make the -ceiling fall in, wouldn't it, once you'd cut away all supports."</p> - -<p>Baxter trembled with impotent rage, but his gun's muzzle was finally -slumped all the way toward the floor of the tunnel. He was beaten, and -he knew it.</p> - -<p>And that's when I jumped him.</p> - -<p>My still-working right arm shot down and gripped his right wrist, a -very awkward stance to take, but my left arm was still weak and useless -from my fall. But Clatclit moved in, then, his rocky talons sinking -like so many fangs into Baxter's right arm, all three of us a writhing -tangle on the tunnel floor, each of us frantically aware that the gun -had better not emit any bolts while an arm, leg or tail flailed in -front of it.</p> - -<p>Baxter shrieked with fear and rage as those steely fingers took hold. I -think he was too upset otherwise to feel the pain.</p> - -<p>And then a bolt buzzed blindingly into the tunnel, and as we all three -flattened ourselves and waited for the ceiling to come crashing down, -it spattered into nothingness against the wall.</p> - -<p>We sat up, staring at the spot where the so-called invincible bolt -had simply been dissipated, all of us looking pretty silly, flat on -our bottoms, leaning back on our hands on that curved stone surface, -momentarily losing sight of our belligerent behavior of a moment before.</p> - -<p>"The wall!" I said, first to realize the significance. But I couldn't -go on. Baxter finished for me.</p> - -<p>"It's parabolite!" he cried.</p> - -<p>Then my eyes were dazzled by the blaze of light that suddenly -materialized all around us, and my stomach turned over sickeningly as I -realized that the converse was probably true: We had just materialized -inside the dazzling light!</p> - -<p>We were, all three of us, within the metallic-shimmering chamber of the -ancient Martians.</p> - -<p>"Well done, Jery Delvin," said a familiar voice, and then the light -before us trembled and warped, and I was looking into the disconcerting -triple face of the Ancient again.</p> - -<p>I was not, however, in the mood for compliments.</p> - -<p>"Where is my woman?" I said peremptorily.</p> - -<p>"On your departure, she expressed a desire to inquire further into the -health of her sibling," said the Martian. "She is even now with him and -his companions."</p> - -<p>"In that cage?" I cried angrily.</p> - -<p>"I assure you she is—"</p> - -<p>"Kindly forego the lecture on metabolic stasis and raise the damned -thing, will you?" I interrupted.</p> - -<p>The Martian warped and sparkled in a dizzying movement that I could -only interpret as a shrug, and then the huge parabolite cage came -rising up from that not-quite-there flooring.</p> - -<p>"Jery!"</p> - -<p>"Snow, baby!"</p> - -<p>We clung to each other awkwardly, and our lips met between the columnar -bars. I pulled back and called, "Can't you open this thing up, now?"</p> - -<p>"Your mission is not quite accomplished, Jery Delvin," said the -Martian. "The man Philip Baxter is within our realm, but as yet -undestroyed."</p> - -<p>"You mean I've still got to—"</p> - -<p>"As told you repeatedly: Physical contact between our races is -impossible, Jery Delvin."</p> - -<p>"Hey, what about that?" I said. "After I left here, I got to wondering -how, if what you just said is true, you people were able to manipulate -the Brain to select me."</p> - -<p>"The Brain of which you speak works on a principle of force-fields, -generated by induction coils. We simply placed the right counterforces -in the right places. No actual contact was necessary."</p> - -<p>"Well, damn it," I said, after a glance back at Baxter and Clatclit, -who were staring bewilderedly toward the source of the voice, "can't -you just keep him here? He's bound to perish from lack of food, or -water, or—"</p> - -<p>"Jery Delvin, the metabolic stasis which I have already mentioned -to you is not something we used specially for these boys. It is a -necessary contingent of our world. Where there is absolute Location, -there is absolutely no change of the sort you mentioned."</p> - -<p>I gave up. "All right, all right. I won't argue the point. If you could -get at him, I guess you would. Not a chance of dropping him down a -hole, or something, though?"</p> - -<p>"By the very nature of our world, hazardous localizing is an -impossibility. Our universe possesses a self-regulatory locale-control -that obviates the contingency of perilous placement of an individual."</p> - -<p>"Their universe has what?" Snow asked me, her blue-violet eyes wide.</p> - -<p>"A built-in safety feature," I muttered. "It figures, now that I think -of it. If Location is absolute, it is One. That means that it's either -all-safe, or all-dangerous. It can't have a bit of one thing and a bit -another. Which means that I'm still carrying the ball."</p> - -<p>"Correction," said Baxter, behind me, "you have fumbled."</p> - -<p>I looked back at him. He had the collapser in his hand yet, despite our -space-warping materialization in the cavern. And the muzzle was pointed -right at Snow's breast, at the Amnesty.</p> - -<p>"Jery!" she cried, hanging onto my arm.</p> - -<p>"Baxter!" I yelled, stepping in front of her and flattening myself -against the bars. "Give us a chance! If that damned thing triggers the -parabolite, you'll go with us!"</p> - -<p>"How little you know, Delvin," Baxter smiled. "There are any number of -features of this other dimension which even your fantastic intellect -has not guessed. Did it never occur to you to wonder just where I'd -learned the construction of a teleportation machine?"</p> - -<p>"I—I'd assumed you learned it somehow from the Ancients," I said. -"Before they realized you intended their destruction."</p> - -<p>"I take my hat off to you," said Baxter, with a slight nod of grudging -admiration. "I didn't realize you'd thought things out quite that far."</p> - -<p>"Hell, it was the only way you could have learned," I said. "But what's -it got to do with—"</p> - -<p>"With the fission-bomb?" Baxter said, smiling. "Why, only everything. -You see, Delvin, teleported matter, in order to bypass distance, must -travel in the place where there is no distance: the fourth dimension. -And so, the brunt of the blast will be absorbed by the Ancients, not by -me."</p> - -<p>I heard the Martian gasp. Apparently, they weren't aware of this fact. -It was more than just displacement they faced, it was death.</p> - -<p>"Your agents," I temporized, "they'd then be using a system that -transported them via radioactive chaos!"</p> - -<p>Baxter shook his head. "Since the transfer is an instantaneous one, I -rather doubt that they'd absorb any roentgens to speak of."</p> - -<p>That seemed to be that. He was set to fire, and I was all out of -arguments. And my stance between Snow and that ray-pistol was only a -fleeting protection. She'd go about one second after I did.</p> - -<p>Then, behind me in the cage, I heard a movement, and Snow gave a little -cry. I jerked my head about.</p> - -<p>Ted, with more sense than his sister, had simply taken the Amnesty from -about her throat and flung it away. All of us followed its flight with -dazzled eyes.</p> - -<p>Baxter swung up the barrel of the collapser and fired. And in the -same instant, the spinning disc halted, and then dodged out of the -trajectory of the bolt.</p> - -<p>The Martian was protecting himself in the only way he could: Changing -the parabolite-bomb's location.</p> - -<p>I crouched involuntarily, clutching Snow's hand through the bars, -as the life-and-death contest went on. The tiny disc of destruction -flitted here, there and everywhere, in a dizzying erratic course, while -Baxter kept the trigger of the collapser depressed tightly, and slashed -wildly in the eye-dazzling light of that place with the pulsing beam.</p> - -<p>I wasn't in favor of the Ancients, exactly, but I was bound and -determined to halt Baxter's reckless blasting with that gun, one flick -of whose ray would disintegrate me, Snow or Clatclit, not to mention -the frightened huddle of small boys in that cage. And there was one way -to halt him.</p> - -<p>"At him!" I cried to the Martian. "He won't fire if it's anywhere near -himself!"</p> - -<p>He must have heard me. The disc skidded to a wobbly halt, and then it -dove like an eagle toward Baxter in a swift, graceful line. A straight -line.</p> - -<p>"ZIG-ZAG, YOU IMBECILE!" I yelled, an instant too late.</p> - -<p>Even the poorest shot can track an object moving toward or away from -him. Baxter's collapser caught the descending disc a good twenty yards -before it got to him.</p> - -<p>My eyes clamped shut against the monstrous blaze of heat and light. -Then, Snow's hand tightly gripped in mine, I was enveloped in inky -blackness, with nothing but empty air beneath the soles of my boots. -And falling.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>20</h2> - - -<p>"Snow! Darling, are you all right?" I asked, getting groggily to my -feet and pressing her hand between both of mine. The fall hadn't been -as bad as the one I'd taken earlier through that hole in the floor, but -it was enough to shake me up.</p> - -<p>"Y-Yes, I think so, Jery," she said, pressing one slim hand to her -forehead, then brushing a wisp of hair back out of her eyes. I took her -tightly in my arms and held her.</p> - -<p>Only then did I suddenly realize where we were.</p> - -<p>The light came from the trylon tip of Clatclit's tail. It reflected -in a red glow from the cavern floor, but vanished over our heads into -an impenetrable darkness. Beyond Snow, I saw the Space Scouts getting -to their feet. The kids were in much better shape than I was. With -consistent bad luck, I'd taken the fall on my injured left arm, and now -it was throbbing like crazy. Ted came rushing over to us.</p> - -<p>Then I remembered Baxter and looked swiftly about. He was nowhere to be -seen. "Clatclit!" I shouted.</p> - -<p>My crystalline buddy came hurrying over to me, his little taillight -bobbing as he ran. His glittering eyes looked a question at me.</p> - -<p>"What happened to Baxter?" I said.</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed off into the darkness, and made that serpentine -movement with his hand.</p> - -<p>"Into the labyrinth?" I exclaimed. "But why?"</p> - -<p>Clatclit pointed toward the floor. I followed his gesture with my eyes, -and saw on the rocky ground the reason. The collapser lay there, its -firing chamber cracked in half. It was useless as a coercion any more, -unless Baxter had a good throwing arm.</p> - -<p>"But why didn't you follow him?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Disgusted stare. Clatclit pointed to me, Snow, and then the boys, and -followed with an attention-getting tremor of his tail.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yeah. We would have trouble getting out of here unguided, at -that!" I said sheepishly. When Snow was around, I couldn't even see the -obvious.</p> - -<p>"Any chance Baxter can find his way out of here alone?" I said. "If he -gets to the spaceport before we do, he may get back to Earth and get an -army back here after us."</p> - -<p>Clatclit thought it over. Then he placed an arm across my shoulders, -and an arm across Snow's, and looked hopeful.</p> - -<p>"Damn," I said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, "it's mighty nice -of you to offer, but we can't spend the rest of our lives down here -with you, Clatclit!" I shook my head. "We've got to get out of here -and get the word to the World Congress before Baxter sews the Earth up -tight."</p> - -<p>"Say," Ted's small voice interrupted, "what happened to the bars and -stuff, hey?"</p> - -<p>I blinked, startled, and looked about us. Then, on an impulse, I -dropped to my knees and felt the ground. It was plain old lava. I -rocked back on my heels, bewildered, and then I understood, and started -laughing.</p> - -<p>"Jery, what is it?"</p> - -<p>"Snow, baby, it's the laugh of the century, that's all. Unstable -is hardly the word for the Ancients' universe! Not only did they -dislocate, but they took their contact-material with them! MY guess is -that right now there is no longer a splinter of parabolite in the solar -system."</p> - -<p>"But why is that funny?" she asked, as I got to my feet again.</p> - -<p>"Because, honey, it means that all Baxter's deep, dire and devious -schemes have come to naught, and by his own hand, at that! He'll never -build his teleportation machine, now!"</p> - -<p>"His what?" she said.</p> - -<p>"You see, baby, he—Oh, hell, it's a long story. I'll tell you when we -have more time. Right now, we have to head Baxter off, or things won't -be very funny at all."</p> - -<p>Following Clatclit's light, Snow, the boys and I moved swiftly across -the floor of that vast cavern, emptied of its space-stressed metal -lining and occupants after heaven knows how many eons of existence -there. The only hitch we encountered in our upward race was that -spray-happy torrent which Clatclit couldn't cross without dribbling -to death. However, a Space Scout is true, brave, and loyal, and he -always carries a rubber poncho inside his travel-kit. It took three of -them to swaddle our guide, but, with the assistance of two of the more -sure-footed Scouts, I was able to tote him bodily across that perilous -bridge, with nothing showing of him but his taillight, and that high in -the air, away from most of the eroding spray. Once unwrapped, he took -the lead again, tail high. Then, Snow's hand tightly in mine, we all -took off like cross-country racers up those winding tunnels of Mars.</p> - -<p>We emerged on the hillside overlooking the airstrip, from one of -those "Forbidden to Enter" cave mouths, in the bright glow of the -sand-converter, towering at the far end of the field. Despite political -intrigue, insurrection, and the disappearance of the entire Martian -race from the solar system, it stood there on its girder legs, -monotonously separating the molecules of ferrous oxide into molten iron -and atmosphere.</p> - -<p>"Things seem to be quiet at the terminal building," I observed, looking -across the field. "I wonder who won the battle?"</p> - -<p>"What battle?" said Snow.</p> - -<p>"Boy, honey," I kissed her lightly on the forehead, "you are going to -take years to bring up to date."</p> - -<p>To forestall any more questions, I turned and started off across the -landing field, with my alien-plus-female-plus-adolescent group tagging -cautiously after me. I was just busy wishing I still had my collapser, -when, from a cavemouth to our right, a pallid glow appeared, and then a -figure darted out onto the strip, in the glow of the terminal lights.</p> - -<p>Baxter! If he got inside first, and IS men were in charge—</p> - -<p>But he hadn't seen me yet. I couldn't just hope for a rebel win. I took -off like an Olympic sprinter, racing toward that staggering silhouette -before me, my hands outstretched in the hopes of throttling him a bit -before I turned him over to the World Congress. Unless, of course, the -rebels ruled Marsport.</p> - -<p>And then one of the more excitable Space Scouts blurted an involuntary, -"Get him!"</p> - -<p>Baxter whirled, five feet away from my fingertips. His right hand came -swinging up toward my face.</p> - -<p>And then I was coughing, and sneezing, and waving frantic hands at a -blazing something that engulfed my features.</p> - -<p>By the time I realized it was only tunnel-fungus, and at the same -moment realized how Baxter had lighted his way out, he was on his way -into the terminal, his old legs whipping like pistons. Well, he'd be -the first to see who'd survived the battle. Clatclit and the others -had caught up to me, by then, and we moved in a desperate bunch toward -those lighted glass doors, in a last hope of getting our man before our -man's men got us.</p> - -<p>Any second I expected a cordon of armed guards to come galloping out of -there with collapsers ablaze in our direction. Any moment now, we'd all -be separated into hot protons and flying clouds of electronic sparks.</p> - -<p>I came to a stumbling halt, and ceased all conjecture.</p> - -<p>For just inside those glass doors, Chief Philip Baxter was standing -with his hands raised over his head, and there were men approaching -him with drawn weapons. And not the rebels, either. His own security -guards! IS had won.</p> - -<p>"Hey!" said Ted, tugging at my arm. "They must have gotten my message! -Lucky thing the rebels were the losers, hey?"</p> - -<p>I spun about, giving him a dazed look. "What message?" was all I could -choke out.</p> - -<p>"In the <i>Phobos II</i>," he said happily. "I scratched it on the wall over -my takeoff rack."</p> - -<p>"I didn't see any message," I complained.</p> - -<p>"It was in code," he explained, with the head-shaking condescension -toward an idiot of which only small boys are capable. "Snow and me, we -have a secret code."</p> - -<p>"I know that!" I growled. "But how in the world—"</p> - -<p>He gave a lazy what-does-it-matter shrug. "You probably didn't -notice it because you didn't know the code. Otherwise, it looks like -chicken-scratches. But I was pretty sure a good cryptograph man would -figure it out. It's only a substitution code, after all."</p> - -<p>"And what was the message?" I said, repressing a sudden urge to swear -at him.</p> - -<p>Ted yawned idly and scratched his stomach. "I just said: 'Help! We have -been kidnapped by Chief Baxter of Interplanetary Security. Sincerely -yours, Ted White, Space Scout First Class.' It wasn't the truth, of -course, but I figured it'd get an investigation started. And then -Baxter's goose would be cooked."</p> - -<p>Before I could mutter a small curse, there came a sudden blast of -energy from the terminal building, and the glass doors came flying -open. I saw a figure come dashing out of there, and realized that -Baxter was once more on the loose.</p> - -<p>"The shield!" I groaned.</p> - -<p>His hands-over-the-head had been only a reflex action. I only gave one -quick glance toward the terminal lobby, where the remaining men were -just getting their wits about them, then I took off after him again.</p> - -<p>It was going to be a close thing, I realized. He had a good lead on -me. At the end of the strip opposite to where we'd emerged from the -labyrinth stood a ship. It was Baxter's personal ship, marked with -the colors and seal of IS. If he once got aboard, he could get away -forever. But even worse, he could train his ship's artillery-size -collapser on the entire spaceport, and blast us all out of existence.</p> - -<p>I could see I wasn't going to make it. He was a full hundred yards -ahead of me. By the time I reached the ship, he'd be pressing the -starter button, and all I'd get for my efforts would be the searing -fires of the rockets in my face as the great ship lifted.</p> - -<p>Then a bounding, red-glinting form was whizzing past me, covering -thirty feet at a leap. Clatclit was on the trail of the man who had -threatened his destruction back in the labyrinth.</p> - -<p>Shrill, furious clackings came from within those sharp-fanged jaws as -the sugarfoot rapidly closed the gap between himself and the man.</p> - -<p>And still, something kept me racing across that field, some -subconscious foreboding that things weren't finished yet. Then Baxter -came to a halt, still twenty yards from the ship, and turned about, -something in his hand from the ship-readying cart. The hose for the -water tanks!</p> - -<p>"Clatclit!" I yelled frantically.</p> - -<p>As if not realizing his danger, the hurtling form of my alien friend -zoomed down toward Baxter, powerful claws held wide for grasping his -enemy.</p> - -<p>Things happened terribly fast. From behind me, I heard a scream, and -then a curse. I staggered, and turned. Snow was wrestling on the -ground with a Security Agent, one of the still-shaken survivors of the -backlash of Baxter's shield. Evidently, he'd been about to try another -shot at the fleeing Security Chief, and Snow, with unladylike good -sense, had given him the benefit of one of her brother-training flying -tackles, before we all died in a new rebounding ray.</p> - -<p>A wild trilling whistle came from the ship, and I jerked my head about. -Baxter had let loose with the hose, and Clatclit was rolling on the -ground, in a wild effort to shake the caustic droplets from his melting -scales.</p> - -<p>My head was spinning. Which was to turn? Snow was in a furious fight -with a full-grown man behind me, and my best friend was being dissolved -before me. I didn't know what to do. Should I run and stop her from -being vaporized, or him from being turned into taffy?</p> - -<p>Baxter took the decision out of my hands.</p> - -<p>"Delvin!" his voice came.</p> - -<p>I turned back toward him. Clatclit, still shuddering with the shock of -that water-spray, was facing me, Baxter behind him with an arm across -the sugarfoot's throat. And in Baxter's other hand he held the water -hose, its pistol-control barrel aimed right at Clatclit's eyes.</p> - -<p>"Tell the others to stand back," he shouted, "or I'll burn your -friend's eyes out!"</p> - -<p>By now, Snow had explained the situation somewhat to the guard, I -guess, because she and he came abreast of me and stopped, listening to -Baxter's threat.</p> - -<p>The guard's gun came up swiftly.</p> - -<p>"Don't, you fool!" I said, my hand clamping on his wrist. "He's got a -shield!"</p> - -<p>"I know that," said the guard, whom I suddenly recognized as the -corporal who had led his men to investigate the blast in the upper -corridor. "I'm only going to disable the ship!"</p> - -<p>"No," Baxter called. "If the ship goes, then so do this creature's -eyes!"</p> - -<p>The corporal looked at me, wavering. "It's—it's only a sugarfoot," he -said, uncertainly.</p> - -<p>"Only a—!" I shrieked. How could I tell this idiot what I felt for -Clatclit! "You'll shoot over my bloody corpse!"</p> - -<p>"We can't let Baxter get aloft in that thing!" the corporal said -beseechingly. "If he does, we're all dead!"</p> - -<p>I was trembling with fear and frustrated rage. Baxter was backing -toward the ship, taking the weakened Clatclit backward with him. They -were only a few feet from the entry port, now.</p> - -<p>Then my hand went out, and I took the corporal's collapser from him. He -stared at me confusedly, but let me take it.</p> - -<p>"Everybody hit the dirt!" I said, lifting the weapon and taking careful -aim. Guard, girl and Scouts took a dive.</p> - -<p>I was neither aiming at Baxter, nor his ship. The blazing bolt of -energy from the collapser, an instant before I joined Snow, the -corporal and the Space Scouts on the ground, went where I'd intended it -to.</p> - -<p>Into the nearest supporting girder of the massive converter.</p> - -<p>As in a slow-motion nightmare, the structure began to tilt with the -uneven distribution of weight, toward the spot where a supporting -leg should have been, and then the brightly burning rays of the -ore-converting head came arcing down in a deadly sweep that passed over -Baxter, Clatclit, and the ship, narrowly missing the spot where the -rest of us lay. Then the power cables tore away, and the beam went out.</p> - -<p>It was all over. The ship, of aluminum-magnesium alloys, was in -perfectly fine shape. Clatclit, of pure sugar construction, was, if a -bit water-sick, alive and healthy.</p> - -<p>But Baxter—</p> - -<p>The converter had been designed with one function: to turn ferrous -oxide, plain old rusted iron, into its components. In the force of its -ray, the oxide became free oxygen and molten iron. And the blood of a -human being is made up of, amongst other things, tiny cells which have -the presence of oxidized iron to thank for their bright red color.</p> - -<p>When we got to Baxter, he was long past screaming. You can't make much -noise when you're a solid blister, ten feet in diameter.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Hey, Jery," said Ted, on the rocket back to Earth. "How come you and -Snow fell in love so quick, hey?"</p> - -<p>I looked from Snow, seated beside me on the lounge, my arm across her -shoulders, to the viewport, through which I could see the dwindling red -globe that was Mars.</p> - -<p>"Well," I said, trying to think of an answer.</p> - -<p>Across from us, squatting happily on a specially provided stool, was -Clatclit. As ambassador-elect of the Sugarfoot Nation to Earth, and -the first extraterrestrial permitted to land on our home planet, he -was mighty proud of his upcoming honor. Clatclit the sugarfoot clacked -something.</p> - -<p>I looked at him.</p> - -<p>He pointed to his wrist and shook his head.</p> - -<p>I grinned. "There's your answer, Ted. There wasn't time to fall in love -slowly."</p> - -<p>Ted stared at the carpet and sulked. I had already, in a post-trauma -state of nerves, shattered his composure not a little by angrily -telling him that his "world-saving" code was really a cipher.</p> - -<p>He'd been unwontedly morose ever since. I felt kind of bad about it, -but couldn't find an opportunity as yet of getting his ego back on its -feet.</p> - -<p>Then Clatclit, resplendent in his new-grown ruby scales, made another -noise. I looked at him again.</p> - -<p>He made a back-over-the-shoulder gesture, then tapped his wrist.</p> - -<p>"A while ago ..." I interpreted aloud for Snow's benefit. And Ted's, if -he wasn't too sunken in gloom to listen.</p> - -<p>He put one hand to his throat, and pointed an index finger at his eyes.</p> - -<p>"... When Baxter was holding you as hostage?"</p> - -<p>He pointed to me, then made a bang-bang gesture with the finger, -followed by a point back over and above his shoulder, toward where that -converter had been in relation to himself.</p> - -<p>"Why did I blast the converter?"</p> - -<p>Nod.</p> - -<p>I stared. "What else was there to do? It was a little rough on Baxter, -but I had to save you, didn't I?"</p> - -<p>Side-to-side headshake.</p> - -<p>"I didn't have to save you that way?" I remarked.</p> - -<p>Ted was watching Clatclit with interest, I noticed, his eyes dancing -with fascination at this better-than-code means of communication.</p> - -<p>Clatclit shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Okay, I'll bite," I said, puzzled. "What would <i>you</i> have done in my -spot?"</p> - -<p>Bang-bang gesture. Then serpentine motion with his hand.</p> - -<p>"Shot the ... the lava tunnels?"</p> - -<p>Disgusted stare.</p> - -<p>"Threw a snake at him?" I hazarded, bewildered.</p> - -<p>Abruptly, Ted laughed. I looked at him, chagrined. After all, he -couldn't expect me to be at my brightest in the mind-dampening presence -of his sister, though he was a little young to understand such things.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you know what he means!" I said.</p> - -<p>Ted continued to laugh, a high boy-soprano giggle which seemed in -itself to afford him additional amusement.</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay," I said to him. "Give. What did Clatclit say I could -have done that would have spared Baxter and saved him from dissolving -anyhow?"</p> - -<p>Ted managed to squeak out, between gusts of delight, "Clatclit -says that if he had been doing the shooting, he would just have -disintegrated ..." He rolled onto his face on the lounge sofa, and -couldn't go on.</p> - -<p>"Disintegrated what?" I demanded, baffled.</p> - -<p>Ted snorted, lifting his face to look for the reaction on mine. "The -water hose!"</p> - -<p>I stared stupidly, then broke into a grin.</p> - -<p>I decided not to mention to him that a foot-thick metal girder is a -hell of an easier target than a one-inch diameter of flexible tubing. -What the hell. I had Snow; Clatclit had a whole skin; and—Well, -growing boys need their ego.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET MARTIANS *** - -***** This file should be named 50668-h.htm or 50668-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/6/6/50668/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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 print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/50668-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/50668-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index eb12142..0000000 --- a/old/50668-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50668-h/images/illus.jpg b/old/50668-h/images/illus.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e3ff5b3..0000000 --- a/old/50668-h/images/illus.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50668.txt b/old/50668.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 96693c8..0000000 --- a/old/50668.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6482 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Secret Martians - -Author: Jack Sharkey - -Release Date: December 11, 2015 [EBook #50668] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET MARTIANS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE SECRET MARTIANS - - by JACK SHARKEY - - - ACE BOOKS, INC. - 23 West 47th Street, - New York 36, N. Y. - - THE SECRET MARTIANS - - Copyright, 1960, by Ace Books, Inc. - - All Rights Reserved - - Printed in U.S.A. - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence - that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - MASTER SPY OF THE RED PLANET - - -Jery Delvin had a most unusual talent. He could detect the flaws in -any scheme almost on sight--even where they had eluded the best brains -in the ad agency where he worked. So when the Chief of World Security -told him that he had been selected as the answer to the Solar System's -greatest mystery, Jery assumed that it was because of his mental -agility. - -But when he got to Mars to find out why fifteen boys had vanished from -a spaceship in mid-space, he found out that even his quick mind needed -time to pierce the maze of out-of-this-world double-dealing. For Jery -had become a walking bomb, and when he set himself off, it would be the -end of the whole puzzle of THE SECRET MARTIANS--with Jery as the first -to go! - -Jack Sharkey decided to be a writer nineteen years ago, in the Fourth -Grade, when he realized all at once that "someone wrote all those -stories in the textbooks." While everyone else looked forward variously -to becoming firemen, cowboys, and trapeze artists, Jack was devouring -every book he could get his hands on, figuring that "if I put enough -literature into my head, some of it might overflow and come out." - -After sixteen years of education, Jack found himself teaching high -school English in Chicago, a worthwhile career, but "not what one would -call zesty." After a two-year Army hitch, and a year in advertising -"sublimating my urge to write things for cash," Jack moved to New York, -determined to make a career of full-time fiction-writing. - -Oddly enough, it worked out, and he now does nothing else. He says, -"I'd like to say I do this for fulfillment, or for cash, or because -it's my destiny; however, the real reason (same as that expressed by -Jean Kerr) is that this kind of stay-at-home self-employment lets me -sleep late in the morning." - - - - -1 - - -I was sitting at my desk, trying to decide how to tell the women of -America that they were certain to be lovely in a Plasti-Flex brassiere -without absolutely guaranteeing them anything, when the two security -men came to get me. I didn't quite believe it at first, when I looked -up and saw them, six-feet-plus of steel nerves and gimlet eyes, staring -down at me, amidst my litter of sketches, crumpled copy sheets and -deadline memos. - -It was only a fraction of an instant between the time I saw them and -the time they spoke to me, but in that miniscule interval I managed -to retrace quite a bit of my lifetime up till that moment, seeking -vainly for some reason why they'd be standing there, so terribly and -inflexibly efficient looking. Mostly, I ran back over all the ads I'd -created and/or okayed for Solar Sales, Inc. during my five years with -the firm, trying to see just where I'd gone and shaken the security -of the government. I couldn't find anything really incriminating, -unless maybe it was that hair dye that unexpectedly turned bright green -after six weeks in the hair, but that was the lab's fault, not mine. -So I managed a weak smile toward the duo, and tried not to sweat too -profusely. - -"Jery Delvin?" said the one on my left, a note of no-funny-business in -his brusque baritone. - -"... Yes," I said, some terrified portion of my mind waiting -masochistically for them to draw their collapsers and reduce me to a -heap of hot protons. - -"Come with us," said his companion. I stared at him, then glanced -hopelessly at the jumble of things on my desk. "Never mind that stuff," -he added. - -I rose from my place, slipped my jacket from its hook, and started -across the office toward the door, each of them falling into rigid step -beside me. Marge, my secretary, stood wide-eyed as we passed through -her office, heading for the hall exit. - -"Mr. Delvin," she said, her voice a wispy croak. "When will you be -back? The Plasti-Flex man is waiting for your--" - -I opened my mouth, but one of the security men cut in. - -"You will be informed," he said to Marge. - -She was staring after me, open-mouthed, as the door slid neatly shut -behind us. - -"_W-Will_ I be back?" I asked desperately, as we waited for the -elevator. "At all? Am I under arrest? What's up, anyhow?" - -"You will be informed," said the man again. I had to let it go at that. -Security men were not hired for their loquaciousness. They had a car -waiting at the curb downstairs, in the No Parking zone. The cop on the -beat very politely opened the door for them when we got there. Those -red-and-bronze uniforms carry an awful lot of weight. Not to mention -the golden bulk of their holstered collapsers. - -There was nothing for me to do but sweat it out and to try and enjoy -the ride, wherever we were going. - - * * * * * - -"_You_ are Jery Delvin?" - -The man who spoke seemed more than surprised; he seemed stunned. His -voice held an incredulous squeak, a squeak which would have amazed his -subordinates. It certainly amazed me. Because the speaker was Philip -Baxter, Chief of Interplanetary Security, second only to the World -President in power, and not even that in matters of security. I managed -to nod. - -He shook his white-maned head, slowly. "I don't believe it." - -"But I am, sir," I insisted doggedly. - -Baxter pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, -then sighed, grinned wryly, and waggled an index finger at an empty -plastic contour chair. - -"I guess maybe you are at that, son. Sit down, sit down." - -I folded gingerly at knees and hips and slid back into the chair, -pressing my perspiring palms against the sides of my pants to get rid -of their uncomfortably slippery feel. "Thank you, sir." - -There was a silence, during which I breathed uneasily, and a bit too -loudly. Baxter seemed to be trying to say something. - -"I suppose you're wondering why I've called--" he started, then stopped -short and flushed with embarrassment. I felt a sympathetic hot wave -flooding my own features. A copy chief in an advertising company almost -always reacts to an obvious cliche. - -Then, with something like a look of relief on his blunt face, he -snatched up a brochure from his kidney-shaped desktop and his eyes -raced over the lettering on its face. - -"Jery Delvin," he read, musingly and dispassionately. "Five foot eleven -inches tall, brown hair, slate-gray eyes. Citizen. Honest, sober, -civic-minded, slightly antisocial...." - -He looked at me, questioningly. - -"I'd rather not discuss that, sir, if you don't mind." - -"Do you mind if I do mind?" - -"Oh ... Oh, well if you put it like that. It's girls, sir. They block -my mind. Ruin my work." - -"I don't get you." - -"Well, in my job--See, I've got this gift. I'm a spotter." - -"A what?" - -"A spotter. I can't be fooled. By advertising. Or mostly anything else. -Except girls." - -"I'm still not sure that I--" - -"It's like this. I designate ratios, by the minute. They hand me a new -ad, and I read it by a stopwatch. Then, as soon as I spot the clinker, -they stop the watch. If I get it in five seconds, it passes. But if I -spot it in less, they throw it out and start over again. Or is that -clear? No, I guess you're still confused, sir." - -"Just a bit," Baxter said. - -I took a deep breath and tried again. - -"Maybe an example would be better. Uh, you know the one about 'Three -out of five New York lawyers use Hamilton Bond Paper for note-taking'?" - -"I've heard that, yes." - -"Well, the clinker--that's the sneaky part of the ad, sir, or what we -call weasel-wording--the clinker in that one is that while it seems to -imply sixty percent of New York lawyers, it actually means precisely -what it says: Three out of five. For that particular product, we had -to question seventy-nine lawyers before we could come up with three who -liked Hamilton Bond, see? Then we took the names of the three, and the -names of two of the seventy-six men remaining, and kept them on file." - -"On file?" Baxter frowned. "What for?" - -"In case the Federal Trade Council got on our necks. We could prove -that three out of five lawyers used the product. Three out of those -five. See?" - -"Ah," said Baxter, grinning. "I begin to. And your job is to test these -ads, before they reach the public. What fools you for five seconds will -fool the average consumer indefinitely." - -I sat back, feeling much better. "That's right, sir." - -Then Baxter frowned again. "But what's this about girls?" - -"They--they block my thinking, sir, that's all. Why, take that example -I just mentioned. In plain writing, I caught the clinker in one-tenth -of a second. Then they handed me a layout with a picture of a lawyer -dictating notes to his secretary on it. Her legs were crossed. Nice -legs. Gorgeous legs...." - -"How long that time, Delvin?" - -"Indefinite. Till they took the girl away, sir." - -Baxter cleared his throat loudly. "I understand, at last. Hence your -slight antisocial rating. You avoid women in order to keep your job." - -"Yes, sir. Even my secretary, Marge, whom I'd never in a million years -think of looking at twice, except for business reasons, of course, has -to stay out of my office when I'm working, or I can't function." - -"You have my sympathy, son," Baxter said, not unkindly. - -"Thank you, sir. It hasn't been easy." - -"No, I don't imagine it has...." Baxter was staring into some far-off -distance. Then he remembered himself and blinked back to the present. -"Delvin," he said sharply. "I'll come right to the point. This thing -is.... You have been chosen for an extremely important mission." - -I couldn't have been more surprised had he announced my incipient -maternity, but I was able to ask, "Me? For Pete's sake, why, sir?" - -Baxter looked me square in the eye. "Damned if I know!" - - - - -2 - - -I stared at him, nonplussed. He'd spoken with evidence of utmost -candor, and the Chief of Interplanetary Security was not one to be -accused of a friendly josh, but--"You're kidding!" I said. "You must -be. Otherwise, why was I sent for?" - -"Believe me, I wish I knew," he sighed. "You were chosen, from all -the inhabitants of this planet, and all the inhabitants of the Earth -Colonies, by the Brain." - -"You mean that International Cybernetics picked me for a mission? -That's crazy, if you'll pardon me, sir." - -Baxter shrugged, and his genial smile was a bit tightly stretched. -"When the current emergency arose and all our usual methods failed, we -had to submit the problem to the Brain." - -"And," I said, beginning to be fascinated by his bewildered manner, -"what came out?" - -He looked at me for a long moment, then picked up that brochure again, -and said, without referring to it, "Jery Delvin, five foot eleven -inches tall--" - -"Yes, but read me the part where it says why I was picked," I said, a -little exasperated. - -Baxter eyed me balefully, then skimmed the brochure through the air in -my direction. I caught it just short of the carpet. - -"If you can find it, I'll read it!" he said, almost snarling. - -I looked over the sheet, then turned it over and scanned the black -opposite side. "All it gives is my description, governmental status, -and address!" - -"Uh-huh," Baxter grunted laconically. "It amuses you, does it?" The -smile was still on his lips, but there was a grimness in the glitter of -his narrowing eyes. - -"Not really," I said hastily. "It baffles me, to be frank." - -"If you're sitting there in that hopeful stance awaiting some sort of -explanation, you may as well relax," Baxter said shortly. "I have none -to make. IC had none to make. Damn it all to hell!" He brought a meaty -fist down on the desktop. "No one has an explanation! All we know is -that the Brain always picks the right man." - -I let this sink in, then asked, "What made you ask for a man in -the first place, sir? I've always understood that your own staff -represented some of the finest minds--" - -"Hold it, son. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. We asked for no man. -We asked for a solution to an important problem. And your name was what -we got. You, son, are the solution." - -Chief of Security or not, I was getting a little burned up at his -highhanded treatment of my emotions. "How nice!" I said icily. "Now if -I only knew the problem!" - -Baxter blinked, then lost some of his scowl. "Yes, of course;" Baxter -murmured, lighting up a cigar. He blew a plume of blue smoke toward the -ceiling, then continued. "You've heard, of course, of the Space Scouts?" - -I nodded. "Like the old-time Boy Scouts, only with rocket-names for -their various troops in place of the old animal names." - -"And you recall the recent government-sponsored trip they had? To Mars -and back, with the broadly-smiling government picking up the enormous -tab?" - -I detected a tinge of cynicism in his tone, but said nothing. - -"What a gesture!" Baxter went on, hardly speaking directly to me at -all. "Inter-nation harmony! Good will! If these mere boys can get -together and travel the voids of space, then so can everyone else! Why -should there be tensions between the various nations comprising the -World Government, when there's none between these fine lads, one from -every civilized nation on Earth?" - -"You sound disillusioned, sir," I interjected. - -He stared at me as though I'd just fallen in from the ceiling or -somewhere. "Huh? Oh, yes, Delvin, isn't it? Sorry, I got carried away. -Where was I?" - -"You were telling about how this gesture, the WG sending these kids -off for an extraterrestrial romp, will cement relations between those -nations who have remained hostile despite the unification of all -governments on Earth. Personally, I think it was a pretty good idea, -myself. Everybody likes kids. Take this jam we were trying to push. -Pomegranate Nectar, it was called. Well, sir, it just wouldn't sell, -and then we got this red-headed kid with freckles like confetti all -over his slightly bucktoothed face, and we--Sir?" - -I'd paused, because he was staring at me like a man on the brink of -apoplexy. I swallowed, and tried to look relaxed. - -After a moment, he found his voice. "To go on, Delvin. Do you recall -what happened to the Space Scouts last week?" - -I thought a second, then nodded. "They've been having such a good time -that the government extended their trip by--Why are you shaking your -head that way, sir?" - -"Because it's not true, Delvin," he said. His voice was suddenly old -and tired, and very much in keeping with his snowy hair. "You see, the -Space Scouts have vanished." - -I came up in the chair, ramrod-straight. "Their mothers--they've been -getting letters and--" - -"Forgeries, Fakes. Counterfeits." - -"You mean whoever took the Scouts is falsifying--" - -"No. _My_ men are doing the work. Handpicked crews, day and night, -have been sending those letters to the trusting mothers. It's been -ghastly, Delvin. Hard on the men, terribly hard. Undotted _i_'s, -misuse of tenses, deliberate misspellings. They take it out of an -adult, especially an adult with a mind keen enough to get him into -Interplanetary Security. We've limited the shifts to four hours per man -per day. Otherwise, they'd all be gibbering by now!" - -"And your men haven't found out anything?" I marvelled. - -Baxter shook his head. - -"And you finally had to resort to the Brain, and it gave you my name, -but no reason for it?" - -Baxter cupped his slightly jowled cheeks in his hands and propped his -elbows on the desktop, suddenly slipping out of his high position to -talk to me man-to-man. "Look, son, an adding machine--which is a minor -form of an electronic brain, and even works on the same principle--can -tell you that two and two make four. But can it tell you why? - -"Well, no, but--" - -"That, in a nutshell is our problem. We coded and fed to the Brain -every shred of information at our disposal; the ages of the children, -for instance, and all their physical attributes, and where they were -last seen, and what they were wearing. Hell, everything! The machine -took the factors, weighed them, popped them through its billions of -relays and tubes, and out of the end of the answer slot popped a single -sheet. The one you just saw. Your dossier." - -"Then I'm to be sent to Mars?" I said, nervously. - -"That's just it," Baxter sighed. "We don't even know that! We're like a -savage who finds a pistol: used correctly, it's a mean little weapon; -pointed the wrong way, it's a quick suicide. So, you are our weapon. -Now, the question is: Which way do we point you?" - -"You got me!" I shrugged hopelessly. - -"However, since we have nothing else to go on but the locale from which -the children vanished, my suggestion would be to send you there." - -"Mars, you mean," I said. - -"No, to the spaceship _Phobos II_. The one they were returning to Earth -in when they disappeared." - -"They disappeared from a spaceship? While in space?" - -Baxter nodded. - -"But that's impossible," I said, shaking my head against this -disconcerting thought. - -"Yes," said Baxter. "That's what bothers me." - - - - -3 - - -_Phobos II_, for obvious reasons, was berthed in a Top Security -spaceport. Even so, they'd shuttled it into a hangar, safe from the -eyes of even their own men, and as a final touch had hidden the ship's -nameplate beneath magnetic repair-plates. - -I had a metal disk--bronze and red, the Security colors--insigniaed -by Baxter and counterembossed with the President's special device, a -small globe surmounted by clasping hands. It gave me authority to do -anything. With such an identification disc, I could go to Times Square -and start machine gunning the passers-by, and not one of New York's -finest would raise a hand to stop me. - -And, snugly enholstered, I carried a collapser, the restricted weapon -given only to Security Agents, so deadly was its molecule-disrupting -beam. Baxter had spent a tremulous hour showing me how to use the -weapon, and especially how to turn the beam off. I'd finally gotten the -hang of it, though not before half his kidney-shaped desk had flashed -into nothingness, along with a good-sized swath of carpeting and six -inches of concrete floor. - -His parting injunction had been. "Be careful, Delvin, huh?" - -Yes, parting. I was on my own. After all, with a Security disc--the -Amnesty, they called it--such as I possessed, and a collapser, I could -go anywhere, do anything, commandeer anything I might need. All with -no questions asked. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty chipper as I -entered the hangar housing _Phobos II_. At the moment, I was the most -influential human being in the known universe. - -The pilot, as per my videophoned request, was waiting there for me. I -saw him as I stepped into the cool shadows of the building from the hot -yellow sunlight outside. He was tall, much taller than I, but he seemed -nervous as hell. At least he was pacing back and forth amid a litter -of half-smoked cigarette butts beside the gleaming tailfins of the -spaceship, and a fuming butt was puckered into place in his mouth. - -"Anders?" I said, approaching to within five feet of him before -halting, to get the best psychological effect from my appearance. - -He turned, saw me, and hurriedly spat the butt out onto the cement -floor. "Yes, sir!" he said loudly, throwing me a quivering salute. His -eyes were a bit wild as they took me in. - -And well they might be. An Amnesty-bearer can suddenly decide a subject -is not answering questions to his satisfaction and simply blast the -annoying party to atoms. It makes for straight responses. Of course, -I was dressing the part, in a way. I wore the Amnesty suspended by a -thin golden chain from my neck, and for costume I wore a raven-black -blouse and matching uniform trousers and boots. I must have looked -quite sinister. I'm under six feet, but I'm angular and wiry. Thus, -in ominous black, with an Amnesty on my breast and a collapser in -my holster, I was a sight to strike even honest citizens into quick -examinations of conscience. I felt a little silly, but the outfit was -Baxter's idea. - -"I understand you were aboard the _Phobos II_ when the incident -occurred?" I said sternly, which was unusual for my wonted demeanor. - -"Yes, sir!" he replied swiftly, at stiff attention. - -"I don't really have any details," I said, and waited for him to take -his cue. As an afterthought, to help him talk, I added, "At ease, by -the way, Anders." - -"Thank you, sir," he said, not actually loosening much in his rigid -position, but his face looking happier. "See, I was supposed to pilot -the kids back here from Mars when their trip was done, and--" He gave -a helpless shrug. "I dunno, sir. I got 'em all aboard, made sure they -were secure in the takeoff racks, and then I set my coordinates for -Earth and took off. Just a run-of-the-mill takeoff, sir." - -"And when did you notice they were missing?" I asked, looking at the -metallic bulk of the ship and wondering what alien force could snatch -fifteen fair-sized young boys through its impervious hull without -leaving a trace. - -"Chow time, sir. That's when you expect to have the little--to have -the kids in your hair, sir. Everyone wants his rations first--You know -how kids are, sir. So I went to the galley and was about to open up -the ration packs, when I noticed how damned quiet it was aboard. And -especially funny that no one was in the galley waiting for me to start -passing the stuff out." - -"So you searched," I said. - -Anders nodded sorrowfully. "Not a trace of 'em, sir. Just some of their -junk left in their storage lockers." - -I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I'd be interested in seeing this junk, -Anders." - -"Oh, yes, sir. Right this way, sir. Watch out for these rungs, they're -slippery." - -I ascended the retractable metal rungs that jutted from a point -between the tailfins to the open airlock, twenty feet over ground -level, and followed Anders inside the ship. - -I trailed Anders through the ship, from the pilot's compartment--a -bewildering mass of dials, switches, signal lights and wire--through -the galley into the troop section. It was a cramped cubicle housing a -number of nylon-webbed foam rubber bunks. The bunks were empty, but I -looked them over anyhow. I carefully tugged back the canvas covering -that fitted envelope-fashion over a foam rubber pad, and ran my finger -over the surface of the pad. It came away just slightly gritty. - -"Uh-huh!" I said, smiling. Anders just stared at me. - -I turned to the storage lockers. "Let's see this junk they were -suddenly deprived of." - -Anders, after a puzzled frown, obediently threw open the doors of -the riveted tiers of metal boxes along the rear wall; the wall next -to the firing chambers, which I had no particular desire to visit. I -glanced inside at the articles therein, and noted with interest their -similarity. - -"Now, then," I resumed, "the thrust of this rocket to get from Mars to -Earth is calculated with regard to the mass on board, is that correct?" -He nodded. "Good, that clears up an important point. I'd also like to -know if this rocket has a dehumidifying system to keep the cast-off -moisture from the passengers out of the air?" - -"Well, sure, sir!" said Anders. "Otherwise, we'd all be swimming in our -own sweat after a ten-hour trip across space!" - -"Have you checked the storage tanks?" I asked. "Or is the cast-off -perspiration simply jetted into space?" - -"No. It's saved, sir. It gets distilled and stored for washing and -drinking. Otherwise, we'd all dehydrate, with no water to replace the -water we lost." - -"Check the tanks," I said. - -Anders, shaking his head, moved into the pilot's section and looked at -a dial there. "Full, sir. But that's because I didn't drink very much, -and any sweating I did--which was a hell of a lot, in this case--was a -source of new water for the tanks." - -"Uh-huh." I paused and considered. "I suppose the tubing for these -tanks is all over the ship? In all the hollow bulkhead space, to take -up the moisture fast?" - -Anders, hopelessly lost, could only nod wearily. - -"Would it hold--" I did some quick mental arithmetic--"let's say, about -twenty-four extra cubic feet?" - -He stared, then frowned, and thought hard. "Yes, sir," he said, -after a minute. "Even twice that, with no trouble, but--" He caught -himself short. It didn't pay to be too curious about the aims of an -Amnesty-bearer. - -"It's all right, Anders. You've been a tremendous help. Just one thing. -When you left Mars, you took off from the night side, didn't you?" - -"Why, yes, I did, sir. But how did you--?" - -"No matter, Anders. That'll be all." - -"Yes, sir!" He saluted sharply and started off. - -I started back for Interplanetary Security, and my second--and I hoped, -last--interview with Chief Baxter. I had a slight inkling why the Brain -had chosen me; because, in the affair of the missing Space Scouts, my -infallible talent for spotting the True within the Apparent had come -through nicely. I had found a very interesting clinker. - - - - -4 - - -"Strange," I remarked to Chief Baxter when I was seated once again in -his office, opposite his newly replaced desk. "I hardly acted like -myself out at that airfield. I was brusque, highhanded, austere, almost -malevolent with the pilot. And I'm ordinarily on the shy side, as a -matter of fact." - -"It's the Amnesty that does it," he said, gesturing toward the disc. It -lay on his desk, now, along with the collapser. I felt, with the new -information I'd garnered, that my work was done, and that the new data -fed into the Brain would produce some other results, not involving me. - -I looked at the Amnesty, then nodded. "Kind of gets you, after awhile. -To know that you are the most influential person in creation is to -automatically act the part. A shame, in a way." - -"The hell it is!" Baxter snapped. "Good grief, man, why'd you think the -Amnesty was created in the first place?" - -I sat up straight and scratched the back of my head. "Now you mention -it, I really don't know. It seems a pretty dangerous thing to have -about, the way people jump when they see it." - -"It is dangerous, of course, but it's vitally necessary. You're young, -Jery Delvin, and even the finest history course available these days -is slanted in favor of World Government. So you have no idea how tough -things were before the Amnesty came along. Ever hear of red tape?" - -I shook my head. "No, I don't believe so. Unless it had something to do -with the former communist menace? They called themselves the Reds, I -believe...." - -He waved me silent. "No connection at all, son. No, red tape was, well, -involvement. Forms to be signed, certain factors to be considered, -protocol to be dealt with, government agencies to be checked with, -classifications, bureaus, sub-bureaus, congressional committees. It -was impossible, Jery, my boy, to get anything done whatsoever without -consulting someone else. And the time lag and paperwork involved made -accurate and swift action impossible, sometimes. What we needed, of -course, was a person who could simply have all authority, in order to -save the sometimes disastrous delays. So we came up with the Amnesty." - -"But the danger. If you should pick the wrong man--" - -Baxter smiled. "No chance of that, Jery. We didn't leave it up to any -committee or bureau or any other faction to do the picking. Hell, that -would have put us right back where we'd been before. No, we left it up -to the Brain. We'd find ourselves in a tight situation, and the Brain -after being fed the data, would come up with either a solution, or a -name." - -I stared at him. "Then, when I was here before, I was here solely to -receive the Amnesty, is that it?" - -Baxter nodded. "The Brain just picks the men. Then we tell the men the -situation, hand over the Amnesty, and pray." - -I had a sudden thought. "Say, what happens if two men are selected by -the Brain? Who has authority over whom?" - -Baxter grimaced and shivered. "Don't even think such a thing! Even -your mentioning such a contingency gives me a small migraine. It'd be -unprecedented in the history of the Brain or the Amnesty." He grinned, -suddenly. "Besides, it can't happen. There's only one of these--" he -tapped the medallion gently "--in existence, Jery. So we couldn't have -such a situation!" - -I sank back into the contour chair, and glanced at my watch. Much too -late to go back to work. I'd done a lot in one day, I reasoned. Well, -the thing was out of my hands. Baxter had the information I'd come -up with, and it had been coded and fed to the Brain. As soon as the -solution came through, I could be on my way back to the world of hard -and soft sell. - -"You understand," said Baxter suddenly, "that you're to say nothing -whatever about the disappearance of the Space Scouts until this office -makes the news public? You know what would happen if this thing should -leak!" - -The intercom on Baxter's desk suddenly buzzed, and a bright red light -flashed on. "Ah!" he said, thumbing a knob. "Here we go, at last!" - -As he exerted pressure on the knob, a thin slit in the side of the -intercom began feeding out a long sheet of paper; the new answer from -the Brain. It reached a certain length, then was automatically sheared -off within the intercom, and the sheet fell gently to the desktop. -Baxter picked it up and swiftly scanned its surface. A look of dismay -overrode his erstwhile genial features. - -I had a horrible suspicion. "Not again?" I said softly. - -Baxter swore under his breath. Then he reached across the desktop and -tossed me the Amnesty. - - * * * * * - -"I hope you know what you're doing," said Baxter at the gleaming glass -doorway of the spaceport. "Why a man who has absolute authority should -choose to ride public transportation when he could have his pick of the -fleetest government ships on Earth--" - -I didn't tell him it was because of little details like stereovision, -autobars, and, not least of all, comfort, that I had chosen to ride -the _Valkyrie_. She sat waiting even now, far out in the center of the -landing strip, two hundred towering feet of silver, crammed with all -the luxuries engineering ingenuity could put aboard her. I had, thanks -to a government credit card, a private cabin. I intended to enjoy -myself, this trip. - -I'd managed to convince Baxter that it was less likely the public would -suspect there was anything amiss if I went to Mars incognito, with -the Amnesty worn under my clothing, for use only in emergencies. An -Amnesty-bearer arriving on Mars in a government ship might cause talk. -Disastrous talk. - -Baxter was rattling on and on, giving me the names of my contacts on -Mars for the seventeenth time, and I was giving him perfunctory nods as -though I was paying attention, though I was actually watching the other -passengers leaving the check-in desk. After all, I'd be in space with -them for almost two days. You never know what might develop. - -The co-rider I had in mind was a girl, with hair like irridescent -cornsilk, and a figure that made the stereovision starlets look 2-D in -comparison. She had her back to me, but even before she turned around, -I knew she was beautiful. It was just the way she stood there, facing -the passenger-check robot. She--well, she _stood_ like a girl who is -beautiful. - -Then she turned around, and I gave my instincts an A plus. - -Her eyes were the deepest of blues, actually a purple tone, and they -were wide, serious and shining. There was a certain determination -about the set of her jaw that I liked, and her lips were like soft red -velvet. A man could kiss those lips and sink slowly into warm crimson -seas; lose himself in the heated softness of their gentlest pressures. - -"Delvin!" - -Baxter's voice shattered my reverie, and I tore my eyes from the -girl, though the after-effects of dreaming left my mind in confused -fragments. "Huh?" I said, looking at his face and almost failing to -recognize it. - -"I said--" Baxter's voice was impatient and over loud, "--that you had -best, in the interests of open-space safety, not flash that Amnesty -while you're aboard the _Valkyrie_. Passengers have a way of working -themselves into a panic that is almost an uncanny gift! They'll all -start suspecting their neighbors of treason, or worse, and--" - -But I wasn't hearing his diatribe any more. As he'd spoken that first -sentence, the girl with the shimmering cornsilk hair had been passing -within a few feet of us, and I'd felt, rather than actually seen, her -slender shoulders stiffen beneath the blue silken fabric of her blouse. -And she'd hesitated for a moment in midstep, as though she were going -to turn about and see which man in the universe was the one to whom the -Amnesty had been given. - -I watched her move out into the sunlight, crossing the field in brisk -but dainty strides. Any second now, I told myself. She thinks she -hasn't been seen. She's getting far enough away so that--Aha! Now! - -Halfway to the ship, the girl turned, apparently busily concerned about -the clasp of her handbag, as though it had come open without warning. I -kept my head turned, to look as though I were watching Baxter. But my -eyes were still on her. She looked at me. Then she turned and went on -toward the ship. - -"Had to see who I was!" I said to myself. "So now she knows I've got -the Amnesty. And so--And so, _what_?" - - - - -5 - - -Since antigravity, artificial gravity, and low-thrust take-offs were -still in the realm of science-fiction, even the luxury liners like -the _Valkyrie_ had to bed their passengers down in shock-absorbing -couches until the ship was free of gravitation. So it wasn't until we'd -achieved escape velocity from Earth that I saw the girl again. - -I'd decided to wander into the lounge and try to locate her. It would -be an easy task if she were present, what with her startling good -looks. But it turned out to be even simpler than that. - -She came to me. - -I was just easing myself out of my couch, when my cabin door opened and -closed. And locked. - -That last part intrigued me even before I turned about. I was wondering -what sort of menace I had to meet, and bewailing the fact that the -collapser was still in my luggage, when I saw who my visitor was. I -started to smile, but the smile left as I saw the saw-edged steak knife -in her hand. - -"Listen, whoever you are!" she said. Her voice was low, angrily -intense, but still a pleasure to hear, somehow. - -"I'm listening, I assure you!" I said, politely. "A voice like yours -doesn't caress these tired old eardrums every day." - -She accorded my compliment a smile, but it was a bleak one, and there -was a certain wry lift to her left eyebrow. "Very suave, I'm sure," she -said. "But I'm not in the mood, thank you. Now, you just sit down on -your bunk and behave, and--" - -"Mind if I get a cigarette?" I asked, gesturing toward my traveling -case. I tried to be casual about it, but I must have failed. I lose my -head around women, as I've said. - -"I'll get them for you," she said, waving the knife's glittering blade -at me. I moved away and sat on the edge of my bunk. She flicked the -clasp open, and spread the two halves apart. There were two shirts and -some underwear in the case, plus the collapser. Not a cigarette to be -seen. She looked at me, narrow-eyed. - -"I don't smoke," I explained weakly. - -"You Amnesty-bearers!" she grated between even, white teeth. "Ready to -destroy everybody with impunity, aren't you! You wouldn't even wait to -find out what I wanted!" - -"I haven't said a word," I pointed out delicately. - -"You lied about the cigarettes," she accused. - -"How would you treat a stranger who burst into your cabin with an -unsheathed knife?" I said, exasperated. - -She looked down at the knife, and reddened. "Maybe I was a bit abrupt -about this. It's just that--" Her face suddenly crinkled up, and her -deep blue-violet eyes burst into tears. Then the knife fell to the -carpet, and her face was buried in her hands. I leaned forward and -removed the knife from within her reach, then took her by the shoulders. - -She whimpered hopelessly, between shuddering sobs, "Am I under arrest?" - -"Depends," I said. "Depends entirely on why you came in here like this. -And what my possession of the Amnesty has to do with it. And how," I -added, puzzled, "you seemed to know so much about Amnesty-bearers and -their vile dispositions!" - -She took her hands from her face, streaked with tears, and said, with a -shy grin, "I was guessing at that part. I just kind of assumed they'd -all be pretty intolerant. Who wouldn't be, with all that power?" - -"Well, _I_ wouldn't for one," I said defensively. "I only bite when I'm -bitten." - -She found a handkerchief somewhere and began sopping up the wet spots -from her complexion; a complexion, I noted happily, that did not come -off with water. - -"Have a chair," I said, and rang for the steward. "I hope you drink?" - -"Not a lot," she admitted. "But I could use one right now." - -"Good," I said, watching her as she poised gracefully on the chair -before my cabin's private stereo set. "By the way, my name's Jery. Jery -Delvin." - -She flushed scarlet again, and said, "Mine is White." - -"First name?" I asked. She paused. "What is your first name?" - -She looked at the carpet. "Snow," she said softly. - -"For real?" I said. "Like with the dwarfs?" - -She nodded, as one who'd been over the same conversational ground many -wearisome times in the past. "Mother was a Walt Disney fan, back in the -Age of Movies." - -I shook my head, and rang for the steward again. "I think we both could -use a drink." - -Later, the puzzled steward departed for the dining salon to return the -steak knife which Snow had "accidentally" picked up. We sipped our -drinks in mutual silence for a minute or two, regarding one another -over the rims of our tumblers. To me, Snow was looking better by the -minute. I even had a momentary thought of flashing the Amnesty at her -to see if those red velvet lips could fulfill in a tactile way the -promise they made visually. - -But instead, I said, "Tell me, do you always attack Amnesty-bearers -with the nearest weapon you can lay hold of?" - -Snow laughed musically, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to come in -at full threat, Jery," she said softly. "I just wanted some sort of -defense in case--Well, Amnesty-bearers think they can ask _anything_ -of a person, and--" - -She left the explanation unfinished, but I found myself glad I hadn't -tried pulling rank for a fast romance. "I'm very curious to know just -what you did come in here for, Snow. Or did you just want a peep at the -Amnesty? I saw you react when Baxter let it slip back at the spaceport." - -"Is that who that was? Chief Baxter, of International Security?" she -exclaimed. - -I realized I was blurting things, and sighed, "Damn, I'm talking too -much." - -Snow's eyes gave me the once-over, and she tilted her head to one side, -curiously. "You know, Jery, you don't look like a government official. -You seem to be just an average man." - -I thought of my dossier and frowned. "Not quite average, I'm afraid. I -can be hopelessly confused by women." - -Snow digested this, then shrugged. "Like I said, you seem to be just an -average man." - -I laughed. "I guess I'd better explain." - -I told her all about my erstwhile job at Solar Sales, and my mental -bloc regarding females. When I finished, she was fighting a grin. It -was a losing fight. The grin won. - -"If I'd known that, I'd have skipped that steak knife and just entered -in a bikini," she said. - -"You wouldn't have to go even that far," I told her. "One friendly wink -of your big blue eyes and I'd be putty." - -Snow raised her eyebrows appraisingly. "Hmmm. I'll have to remember -that in the future." It was in fun, but I caught a tinge of serious -consideration in it. It gave me an uneasy feeling, a feeling that -brought me sharply back to my main query, from which I'd been -sidetracked a few moments before. - -"But you still haven't told me why you came in here." - -"To find you. I figured that if an Amnesty-bearer was on his way to -Mars, there was big trouble. And I think I know what the trouble is, -but I need some of the answers you can give me." - -"What do you want with government information?" I said, trying to be -stiffly formal. "And what makes you think I'd give it to you?" - -"Two reasons," she said, answering my last question first. "I can -simply wink a big blue eye--unless you've been pulling my leg--and get -all the information I desire." - -"That's only one reason," I said carefully. "What else makes you think -I'd tell you the information?" - -Snow eyed me soberly, and her face hovered between grim determination -and fathomless concern. "My brother Ted is one of the missing Space -Scouts." - - - - -6 - - -"Don't pretend," Snow said. "I know. The last two letters from Ted -convinced me something was wrong. He never wrote those letters." - -I thought of Baxter's agents sweltering to turn out perfect facsimiles -of children's letters, all for nothing. I sighed, and determined to -make one last effort to keep the secret a secret. "You're imagining -things. Sometimes, when a person is in an alien environment--which you -must admit a strange planet is--their outlook changes a bit." - -She was staring at me, her eyes disconcertingly steady, just waiting -for me to complete my lie, hardly listening to me. I gave it up and -stopped. Snow, seeing I was through, unclasped her handbag and handed -me a letter. - -I read it through. When I was finished, I looked at her with what I -hoped was a noncommittal expression. - -"See what I mean?" said Snow. "Three _l_'s in _really_, and terrible -spellings of _ancient_ and _Martian_. But words like ruins and -civilization come through perfectly. It's an obvious attempt on the -part of someone to deceive me. I just know something's wrong. That's -why I drained my savings account and took this flight. I've got to find -out what's happened." - -"You could have gone to the police." I suggested lamely. - -"I did." Snow's voice was cold and flat. "They laughed at me, said I -was imagining things. I don't really blame them; all I have to go on -is a hunch. That, plus the fact that Ted didn't say anything in our -special code." - -I closed my eyes and groaned. She would have a special code with her -brother! "Sure he didn't simply overlook it?" I tried. - -Snow's face was solemnly earnest. "In one letter, by the longest -stretch of the imagination, possibly. But not two in a row." She leaned -forward, her eyes housing desperation. "So when I learned that you, an -Amnesty-bearer, were aboard, I just knew it had to be connected with -whatever happened to Ted. There is something wrong, isn't there!" - -I hesitated, wondering what to do. This thing was a tightly kept -secret, one which I'd sworn to keep. On the other hand, Snow had the -most devastating blue eyes. I shifted in my position and felt cold -metal bump lightly against my chest beneath my blouse. I'd forgotten -about the Amnesty. Hell! I was the most influential, powerful person in -the universe, wasn't I? If I wanted to plaster the secret across the -face of the moon, no one had the authority to say no. Not even Baxter, -however purple he might turn at the idea, could tell me not to do -anything! And hadn't I been picked by the Brain? Didn't that mean that -my instincts in this thing would be the correct ones? - -I took one more look into her deep blue eyes and decided that even if -it was the most disastrous thing to do, I was going to tell her the -truth. - -"It depends on what you mean by _wrong_," I said. - -Snow's brow crinkled. "Then the boys have vanished?" - -I nodded, and she went deathly pale. "But don't worry," I said quickly. -"It may not be as bad as we think." - -"What!" she gasped. "Fifteen little boys missing on an alien planet, -and it may not be bad? Are you out of your mind?" - -"If you'll calm down a bit and let me explain." I suggested. - -Snow leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "Go ahead," she said -resignedly. - -I told her about my being picked up at work by the Security Agents, of -my meeting with Baxter, and of my investigation of _Phobos II_. She -listened that far in silence, then could hold back no longer. - -"But what did you find in those lockers? And what does the takeoff -thrust and the dehumidifying system have to do with the boys' -disappearance?" - -I smiled reassuringly at her. "Listen, Snow. Baxter, myself, and -probably you, too, have one reaction in common about the boys' -vanishment from a ship in space. Our very first word on the subject -is an incredulous 'Impossible.' Of course, we're using it in the -colloquial sense; that of 'I don't believe it!' But if we take it in -its literal sense, we'll be absolutely correct. Such a thing _is_ -impossible." - -Snow opened her mouth, but I shushed her unspoken words with a wave -of my hand. "I know, you're about to spout something about magnetic -grapples and mid-space boardings, or even about long distance -teleporting rays--none of which have as yet, so far as we know, been -invented--or some such rot. But what are the arguments against these -two solitary possibilities? - -"As to the first; Anders, the pilot, would surely have noticed another -ship in his vicinity. The meteorite warnings would have begun jangling -when the ship was still hundreds of miles away. And if it could, -somehow, evade the signalling devices, Anders would still have heard -the ship make contact. You can't drive up in a spaceship big enough to -hold at least fifteen normal-sized boys, besides your own crew, and -just not be noticed! - -"So we come to the second, and only other, possibility: Were the boys -kidnapped by some ultrasuper teleportation beam? The answer, of course, -is a resounding, 'Hell, no!'" - -Snow frowned. "Why?" - -"The thrust, Snow, that's why. If that weight were suddenly removed -from the ship--boys of Space Scout age usually run to an average -weight of one hundred pounds, or, in this case, a total of about -fifteen hundred pounds--if that weight had suddenly become missing, -then Anders' fuel consumption, remaining the same but with less mass -to thrust, would have made him overshoot Earth. This, however, did not -happen. In fact, the gauges in the pilot's compartment plainly show -that the ship's mass was, on landing, within a fraction of an ounce of -its takeoff mass. Therefore, no mass at all was lost in space except -that expended by the consumption of fuel." - -Snow shook her head, bewildered. "But that doesn't make sense!" she -cried. "If they weren't taken off the ship in space, and they weren't -aboard her when she landed, then--" All at once, she got it, and sat -back with a sharp gasp. - -"Exactly," I said. "They never even left Mars." - -"But you said that this man Anders had seen to it that they were all -aboard before takeoff." - -"Which I have no doubt he did. But the civilian mind skips a few -details when it thinks over his report. They see him look at the boys, -nod, then go up front and press the starter button. It doesn't happen -quite that simply. There are a lot of other things to be done. Anders -had to go into the pilot's cabin, strap himself in place, check the -guages which showed his course, mass, fuel supply, thrust control, -oxygen-nitrogen mixture, and a million and one other things. He had to -check the last and most important dial examined before takeoff; the one -which told him that each of the fifteen takeoff racks in the ship were -occupied." - -"But--" Snow cut in, bewildered, leaning forward. - -"Let me finish." She set her mouth and sat back again. "He had to know -that, because takeoff thrust on a human being _not_ snugly in his -padded rack would probably squash him to pieces against a bulkhead. So -there had to be something in those racks in order to fool Anders into -thinking that the scouts were still aboard; something which, by the -time Anders had maneuvered the ship into its flight vector, would be -gone without leaving a trace, or not much of a trace, unless one were -actually looking for it." - -"What?" asked Snow, fascinated. - -"Ice," I said. "Hunks of ice in every one of the fifteen bunks. Ice -which the temperature control unit would commence to melt immediately." - -"But that would mean ice blocks of hundred-pound weights! They couldn't -melt so fast. Wouldn't Anders be likely to come back to the racks and -find them still there?" - -"Not," I said, "with the efficiency of the temperature control system. -Sharp deviations from comfortable levels in a spaceship can be -disastrous. So the thermostat in the ship is set for a rigid fifty-five -degrees, and it's built to keep the interior heat at that level. Put -fifteen-hundred pounds of ice on board, and the heat in the rack cabin -goes up, trying to get the temperature back to its correct level. The -ice, lying there melting, absorbs the heat swiftly. So more heat is -pumped into the room. Well, figure fifteen minutes before all the ice -was liquified. More than enough of a margin of safety." - -"Safety for whom?" Snow asked. - -"For whoever didn't want Anders finding any evidence of how the -disappearance was accomplished. About an hour passed between takeoff -and the time he checked the cabin. You must remember that Anders had to -maneuver the ship free of Mars' gravity, set his course for Earth, and -then make a final check of all his equipment before going back into the -ship proper. That takes plenty of time." - -"But how could you figure this out?" Snow asked, her eyes wide with -interest. "And where did the ice come from?" - -"From the night side of Mars," I said. "Where the temperature drops -below zero as soon as the sun has gone down. Remember, the ship was -in a landing berth, and had just been prepared for a takeoff. The -technicians would have moved away to be clear of the blast. In fact, -they'd all be inside their shacks, having coffee against the chilly -weather they'd been exposed to. All it took was someone bright enough -to get hold of the water tank, and to spray the water into any handy -container where it would freeze solid in a few seconds. Then the chunks -of ice were substituted for the boys in the bunks, and Anders took off -with no one but himself on board." - -"You reasoned this out?" Snow said, incredulously. "How?" - -"My gift for spotting, which I told you about. Once I knew that the -boys could not have been kidnapped from space, and that something had -to be making up for their mass aboard the _Phobos II_, I tried to think -of _where_ this something could be kept. It wasn't in the open, nor in -any of the storage space. Therefore, it had to be within the bulkheads. -But what could go within the bulkheads? Only water which had been taken -from the air to keep the humidity down. And yet this water had to -remain--without a container, mind you--in the fifteen racks at takeoff -time so that Anders' dial would register them as all being securely in -place before he pressed the starter. So in what form could water sit on -a bunk without a container?" - -Snow smiled helplessly, "Ice, of course. You make it sound almost -idiotically simple." Then her face fell. "But it's only a theory, isn't -it! Or is it?" - -I shrugged. "It seems borne out by a few things, Snow. When I entered -the _Phobos_, I checked beneath the canvas covering on one of the -takeoff racks. There was grit there, which is a little unusual on a -military vessel, with their one-track-mindedness about things being -spic and span. And water running through canvas, taking along the dirt -that even a military white-glove inspection can't find, leaves behind a -residue of grit." - -"It still doesn't seem enough," she said wistfully, as if begging me to -prove my theory correct for her peace of mind. I was glad to oblige. - -"There's more. Water weighs in at 62.4 pounds per cubic foot. So, -fifteen hundred pounds of water would occupy approximately twenty four -cubic feet; the exact surplus found aboard the _Phobos II_, in the -bulkhead tubing." - -Snow looked startled, but still unconvinced. "To kidnap fifteen -boys, without Anders noting even the slightest sign of a struggle or -disturbance...." - -I nodded. "Right. It is odd, isn't it! This bothered me, too, until I -checked the contents of those storage lockers." - -"Oh. I'd forgotten about that!" she exclaimed. "What did you find?" - -"Roughly, without going into precise itemization, there were bottles of -space sickness capsules, clean handkerchiefs, toothbrushes, packets of -soap and the like." - -"And the like?" Snow remarked. "What likeness is there between those -things?" - -I smiled happily, and told her, simply, the clinker I'd spotted at once -on seeing those items: "They're all items which small boys hate with -almost apocalyptic fury. But I did not find such things as jackknives, -candy, chewing gum--Shall I go on?" - -"You mean that whoever kidnapped the boys took along the things which -the boys wanted?" she asked, her lovely voice making an unbelieving -squeak on the last word. - -"I mean," I said softly, "that I believe the Space Scouts left the -_Phobos II_ of their own free will." - - - - -7 - - -By evening of the following day we were in descent toward Marsport; a -slow planet-circling downward spiral with a steady braking by the nose -jets, lest we hit the atmosphere too fast and burn up. Even a thin -atmosphere like that of Mars was no fun to enter at interplanetary -speeds. - -Snow, looking through the viewport beside her chair in the lounge, -sighed gently and turned her lovely gaze back to my face. "I wish--" -she began softly. - -I laid my hand upon hers. "We've been over that, Snow. You must return -to Earth. You haven't a chance of finding those boys. Hell, if you -had, the Brain would have picked you. And I, with the Amnesty, can go -anywhere, do anything, get results in a hurry." - -"But if I came with you...." she pleaded in a tense whisper. - -I shook my head, with finality. "I've told you over and over. You wreck -my spotter's instinct, Snow. If you're with me, I'll never be able to -locate those boys. I'll miss even obvious clues." - -"You weren't so fuddleheaded yesterday when you told me how you'd -reasoned out the real facts about the disappearance," she accused. - -"Hell, your presence affects my thinking, not my memory! Come on, now, -see it my way, will you?" - -I stood up. "It looks like good-by for a while, Snow." - -She faced me, solemnly. "Yes, it does. You'll be careful, won't you? -And you'll let me know if--if--" - -"I promise. Before I let Baxter know, even!" - -We stood like that a moment, scarcely a foot apart, and I fought an -impulse to take her into my arms. Then, with no warning, she flung her -arms about my neck, and I had my first taste of those red velvet lips. - -Then she was gone from the lounge. I glanced at the wall chronometer, -and began to move toward my cabin in a hurry. Less than five minutes -till set-down. I entered at a dead run. - -I'd barely lashed myself to the rack when the landing thrust began. -However, I'd taken two antipressure tablets, as per the instructions -posted in the room, and I was comfortably unconscious even before the -pressure began to grow. - - * * * * * - -When I awoke, there were two men in red and bronze uniforms standing -over my rack. They didn't seem very pleased to find me there. One of -them had my bag open, and was holding my collapser in his hand, and the -look he was giving me wasn't the cheeriest I'd ever seen. - -"What are you guys doing here?" I demanded. In speaking, I tried to -gesture. That's when I became aware of the cold steel manacles on my -wrists. "What the hell?" - -The one with the weapon hefted it thoughtfully in his palm. "Don't you -know it's a death-penalty offense to have possession of a collapser, -chum?" he said. - -The other one, not waiting for my answer, began undoing the straps -across my body, and assisting me to my feet. - -"Say, look, what do you guys mean by coming here and--" - -"We were alerted," said the first man. "By an Amnesty-bearer." - -I simply stared at him for an unbelieving instant. Then I said, -"You're crazy! There's only one Amnesty in existence, and--" - -With horrible clarity, I recalled Snow's impassioned farewell in the -lounge, and the way her hands had darted about; my neck. - -I brought my manacled hands up to my blouse and felt frantically for -the red and bronze disc. The Amnesty was gone. - -"Come along, now," said the one who'd helped me up. - -"Where are we going?" I demanded. - -"You're to be held incommunicado," he said, "until the Amnesty-bearer -returns. Come along, now. We haven't got all day!" - -"Day?" I said, and looked toward the viewport. Sure enough the glaring -Martian sunlight was pouring into the cabin. "But we were landing on -the night side," I said, confused. - -"You did," said the one with the collapser. "Only it was arranged that -you'd stay asleep for a while, till we could get here." - -"Arranged how?" I choked furiously. Then I remembered the capsules -I'd taken. I looked toward the instruction posted on the inside of -the cabin door. Now that I was in no great hurry, I could see where -someone had, with ordinary pen and ink, gone over the numeral 1, and -made it into a passable 2. Someone, I thought bitterly, with shimmering -cornsilk hair and red velvet lips! - -"Now, just a minute, you guys, I can explain." I said. - -"Stow it," said the one with the gun. "Come on, get moving." - -"When Chief Baxter hears about this--" I growled. - -He laughed. "You know Baxter has no authority to over-ride an -Amnesty-bearer's orders!" Once again, he motioned with the collapser in -the direction of the door. - -"Well then, boys," I said, in as threatening a tone as I could muster, -"let your fat heads chew on this for a while: the girl who has that -Amnesty stole it from me! You just get hold of Baxter and verify it. -Because if you don't, there are going to be two slightly-used Security -Agent's uniforms for sale!" - -They looked at each other, frowning. Then the one with the gun scowled. -The other guy paled. "Say, Charlie, what if there is something to his -story? What do you think we ought to do?" - -Charlie blinked and thought hard. Then a smile crossed his face. -"Nothing," he said. "We were given orders by an Amnesty-bearer, and all -we have to do is carry them out to be in the clear." - -"Oh, yeah?" I grunted. "Five'll get you ten Baxter thinks differently!" - -The one who wasn't Charlie hesitated, and his grip, hitherto vise-tight -on my upper arm, went suddenly slack. "Disobeying an Amnesty-bearer is -unprecedented," he said carefully. - -"So is the theft of the Amnesty!" I shouted in exasperation. - -The other one looked at Charlie. "Maybe we ought to call Baxter, just -in case." - -"In my book," Charlie muttered, "that's not holding a guy -incommunicado!" - -"The hell it's not," I snorted. "I won't communicate with him. You two -guys do it. Do it any way you can square it with your sense of duty. -Either tell Baxter you have a man in custody by the name of Jery Delvin -or that the Amnesty is in the possession of a blue-eyed blonde girl, -and see what he says!" - - * * * * * - -Two hours later, I was facing the image of a purple-faced Chief Baxter -on an interplanetary videoscreen. "Sorry to be so long, Delvin," he -said apologetically. "But I'd left orders not to be disturbed. Anyway, -I've given the men instructions to return the collapser to you, and an -authorization permit for it, in case you meet any more agents." - -"Which heaven forbid!" I growled. "No red tape with an Amnesty. Ha!" - -"Uh. Yes. So you can continue with your search, Delvin. Have you found -anything interesting?" - -"Full report when I get back, Baxter," I said. "Right now, I have a -date with a beautiful blonde." - -"A date?" he choked out. "But--" - -"Signing off," I said, and cut the circuit. I belted the collapser into -place around my waist, and started off for the city proper. Somewhere -in Marsport there was a lovely blonde girl named Snow White, who could -do anything, anything at all, and get away with it. Anything but one -thing. - -She couldn't get within a foot of me again! Not if I had anything to -say about it. - - - - -8 - - -Marsport, the largest--if you excluded the prospecting encampments -within a hundred-mile radius of the place--city on the Planet, -had grown fast, from the time of its founding in 2014. Originally -simply a mining site for the Tri-Planet Refining Corporation, it -had spread backward from the area of the original mines in a rough -circle, beginning with the monotonous quonset huts of the miners, and -modulating in its move toward the perimeter to smart iron-and-adobe -structures. Some of these, thanks to the less-than-half Earth's normal -gravity, as high as fifteen stories. - -The planet, barely half the diameter of Earth and a tenth of Earth's -mass, was a minerologist's paradise. The rusty red sands of the Martian -desert were almost pure ferrous oxide, a source of both iron for the -profitable refineries and oxygen for the inhabitants of Marsport. - -Going Los Angeles one ridge better, Marsport was completely -circumscribed by high crimson hills, and this natural bowl formation, -plus oxygen's heavier-than-air-density, allowed the city to be filled -with breathable atmosphere, much as tobacco smoke can lie surging -gently within an ashtray if the air in a room is still. This made -planetary wind-storms a hazard. - -Outside the hills, of course, the air was thin, cold and barely -able to support life, being comparable to the biting cold air atop -Mount Everest. Human lungs could not breathe it for long without -freezing. Naturally, there was a high casualty rate amongst the -prospectors, despite their pressurized metal huts and oxygen masks. -But uranium, as it had been since the advent of the atomic age, was -enormously well-paying to the one miner in twenty to find any in -Mars' body breaking hinterlands with its roasting dry heat of day and -blood-freezing cold by night. - -And then there was parabolite. - -This mineral, found in abundance beneath the Martian sands, was, -theoretically, worth ten times its weight in gold to the people who -might mine it. I say theoretically, because no one had as yet found -a way of getting any ore. Paradoxically, the feature which made -parabolite so vitally desired was the same feature which prevented -anyone from mining it: it was totally indestructible. - -The name had been given it by the scientists who studied the three -solitary fragments of it found small enough for shipping back to Earth. -There was just no way of chipping a piece loose for analysis. The name -was due to the oddly shaped molecules which made up this mineral. All -of them seemed to be joined atomically into perfect parabolas, no -matter which way you came at them. Which meant, in effect, that when -anything was brought to bear against the substance, pressure which -struck one end of the parabolically curved molecules was retransmitted -by the other end, back to the thing putting pressure on it. Result: it -"hit back" with a violence equal to that applied to it, and sustained -no damage whatsoever to itself. Chemicals were tried when pickaxes had -failed, but the substance was inert. It gave no sign of reacting either -to hydrofluoric acid, which could eat its way through glass, or to aqua -regia, which could eat through anything else. - -They even tried using the collapsers on it. These deadly weapons, which -worked by the simple process of killing the attraction between the -protons and electrons, could, in the briefest time, reduce anything -to less than dust. The electrons spun away in a blinding blue-white -flash, and the stripped-down protons, being less than atomic in size, -fell silently down into the heart of the planet, leaving a virtual -nothingness where the object had been. - -But on parabolite, even these mighty weapons were useless. Oh, they had -found that training a battery of them on a chunk of parabolite, for -a period of days, with an enormous drain of power keeping the weapons -firing continuously, did get results. The overall mass of the chunk -was reduced by one-millionth of a gram. Which was less than useless, -because not only was that amount completely impractical to obtain, -but it was not even obtained, thanks to the collapsers' destructive -potency. It was merely destroyed. - -And so, vast acres of this fortune-making mineral lay all about the -planet, as common as sandstone was on Earth. And no one had any idea of -how to get any of it, not even the natives. - -Yes, there were natives, of a sort, on Mars. Strange beings, albeit -friendly, made up, except for a fraction of a percent, of sugar. - -They were crystalline, these beings, covered over with prisms of bright -red sugar that gave them, with their scuttling gait and long pointed -tails, the appearance of man-sized lizards. A lot of their metabolism -was a mystery to us, but we did know that they, like plants on Earth, -lived by a sort of modified photosynthesis. - -At first thought, this seems strange, since we are used to green as the -primary necessity in a photosynthetic metabolism. But it made sense -when you remember that foliage looks green because the green rays of -the sun are reflected, and the red rays absorbed. Since a crystal -passes only the rays which correspond to its color-structure, they -did quite well, photosynthetically. Air and water were their chief -foods, of course. The water they inhaled through rubbery-looking hollow -tongues which extended a good two feet from their wide, dragon like -mouths. The distance was a necessity, due to their exteriors, which, as -I've said, were made of red crystalline sugar. They could take water on -the inside, but it was fatal on the outside. - -The first men on Mars had felt pretty silly standing guard over their -encampments with water pistols. But the sugarfeet, as they came to be -called, proved friendly enough in a nonobsequious way. They seemed, on -investigation, to be the Martian equivalent of cats. - -By that I mean that they must have been the self-sufficient pets of the -Ancient Martians. They tended to be standoffish and annoyingly smug, -but not menacing in any way. After all, why should they be menacing? -We had nothing they wanted. Our food was useless to them, as were our -clothes, gold or anything else in the way of possessions. They liked -our water, of course, but long evolution in the Martian deserts had -kept their physical need for this commodity down to a minimum. The -average sugarfoot drank about a pint of water per week, which was no -menace to us, even when we'd first landed and water was in short supply. - -But of the Ancients, they could tell us nothing, any more than an -alien landing on a depopulated Earth could find out about men from an -alley cat. We knew there had been intelligent life, though. There were -remnants of buildings still to be seen half-buried in the rust-red -sands, and bewildering little artifacts for which no conceivable use -had as yet been convincingly postulated. There was one thing, though, -that bothered us about these buildings and artifacts. - -They were made out of parabolite. - -How had the Martians carved, or molded, or otherwise affected the shape -of this indestructible mineral? We had no idea. - -Marsport had a population of about one hundred thousand families, -averaging five people to a family, so it was a good-sized city for Snow -to hide herself in. - -On the other hand, I wasn't absolutely sure just why I was looking for -her. After all, I didn't really need the Amnesty. A collapser carries a -lot of weight on its own. And an Amnesty's power was only in proportion -to the esteem in which an approached individual held the authority of -the World Government. - -The more I thought of it, the more I wondered why I was so determined -to find Miss Snow White. She'd only be a hindrance to me, really, what -with short-circuiting my spotting technique. And a man on a mission of -such grave importance wouldn't simply seek out a girl because she had -cornsilk hair and red velvet lips, would he? Well, would he? - -As I thought all of this, I was striding swiftly along Von Braun -Street, the main thoroughfare, ignoring the stares of passers-by as -they spotted the golden collapser belted about my waist. Passing a -small bar, I happened to glance in through the window. And there was -her photograph on the stereo over the bar. The men along its polished -metal length were staring at her with interest. - -Curious and puzzled, I turned back and went inside the bar to hear what -was being said about her. - -"Shoot to kill! Repeat: Shoot to kill!" said the announcer's voice from -the speaker. "She is not to be obeyed under any circumstances. The -Amnesty is a forgery. Repeat: A forgery." - -I found myself leaning weakly against a wall by the door as the sense -of the message came home to me. Baxter had lost no time making up for -my stupidity in losing the Amnesty. He didn't dare admit it had been -stolen, because Amnesty-bearers, like myself, were considered by the -populace to be intelligent, and very clever. It wouldn't do to weaken -public opinion of IS. - -But to kill! From Baxter's viewpoint, it made sense. If she were simply -shot down, then she couldn't mention the fact that it had been stolen, -either. - -As a patriot, I should have been happy to see my government operating -with such efficient dispatch. For some reason, I was not happy at all. -I thought of those soft warm lips pressing gently upward upon my own, -albeit in the act of deception, and felt suddenly sick inside. - -"Something for you, buddy?" - -I looked up. The bartender, his voice mirroring the polite caution with -which people spoke to collapser toters, was down at my end of the bar, -by the doorway, his face strained into a nervously hearty anxiety to -please. - -Irritably, I leaned forward to rasp a negation into his face at close -range, and then I decided to create no more ruckus than I had to. -"Okay," I grunted. - -"Yes, sir," he said, spinning about and commencing to do dexterous -things with the flashy array of bottles behind the bar and a tall -frosty mixer. - -"Down the hatch," he smiled, setting the glass of shining chartreuse -liquid before me. - -I nodded, and took a sip. It was good, whatever it was. It was a -little nose-tingling, like a stinger, and yet there was something, a -not unpleasant bitterish aftertaste. The glass fell from my suddenly -numb fingers and shattered loudly on the bar. I tried to get up, and -couldn't. - -The floor of the bar was warping, tugging at me. I was unconscious -halfway down. - - - - -9 - - -My first awareness was the whine of the converters, audible everywhere -in Marsport, if not by ear, then by the soles of one's feet. Their -thundering dynamos plunged potent destructive rays against the Martian -sands, leaving in their wake invisible fountains of nascent oxygen and -shimmering puddles of orange-white molten iron. They went on day and -night without ceasing, partly to keep the mining companies on Earth -from losing their franchises with Tri-Planet, but primarily to keep the -Marsport populace from tumbling down in the streets with cyanosed lips -and glazing eyes, as the breathable atmosphere sloughed away over the -hilltops. - -So I knew that I was in Marsport, at least. But not much else. My -hands, when I tried to move them, proved to be bound, and tightly, at -that. My fingers felt swollen and numb when I tried to flex them. There -was something, a hood, a sack, a cloth, over my head, fastened about my -throat, impairing my breathing slightly and my vision altogether. - -I found, though, that I could move my legs, but it was little help when -I wouldn't know where they were carrying me if I chanced using them. -For all I knew, I was lying on my back atop a precipice. Moving about -could be disastrous. - -So I lay still and spent my time wondering why that bartender should -have slipped me a mickey. - -It was senseless, in a way. I mean, even granting that there was some -sort of inimical agency here attempting to forestall investigation -of the missing Space Scouts, how did they know that I was the proper -Amnesty-bearer? Or that there was an Amnesty-bearer around? And, -knowing this, how would they know that I'd turn into that particular -bar? - -The thoughts were too confusing, so I gave them up, and just lay there -in darkness, worrying. And not, strangely enough, about my fate, but -about Snow's. Security Agents were keen-sighted and perfect shots. And -a collapser beam wasn't choosy about what it annihilated. - -I'd come to while lying on my back, but had chanced turning over on my -face to get my body weight off my hands. A little life seemed to be -oozing back into my thickened fingers. I tried the cords on my wrists -again, but they were still taut and firm. Then one of my fingers found -the loose end of the cord, and felt its surface. It was one of those -nylon ropes with a steel wire center. I gave up trying to undo it. - -How long had I been lying wherever I was, anyhow? I had no means of -knowing. It might have been an hour, a day, or merely minutes. How far -behind Snow's trail had I fallen thanks to this damnable delay? And did -she know she was being hunted? - -I shifted over onto my right hip to feel if my collapser holster were -still in place. Something pressed back against me, but it had too much -give to it. The holster was there, all right, but it was empty. - -Obviously, I couldn't do anything else until I could see. I tried -catching at the hooding material with my teeth, but it was stretched -tautly across my features, and evaded them with maddening efficiency. -On reflection, I saw that this was the reason I hadn't smothered. -Looser cloth would have leaped easily to block mouth and nostrils -against my unconscious breathing. I wondered if the tautness was an -over-sight, or purposely done to ensure my staying alive. - -That took me about three seconds to figure out. If I was still alive, -then they wanted me for something further. If they hadn't, then the -cord binding the hood to my neck would have been used as a simple, -efficient garrote. - -If my hands could reach the neck cord, though, I might be able to untie -it, and then try my hand cords with my teeth. - -Slowly, I managed to slide my knees forward until I was resting solely -on kneecaps and chin. Then I twisted, stretched, and tugged with my -arms until the binding cord slipped over my rump and slid to the backs -of my knees. My chin, from all the weight on it, felt as though it had -been kicked by a fullback, but I ignored the pain and flopped awkwardly -over onto my side, then rolled carefully onto my back, with my ankles -somewhere over my face. - -Now came the rough part. I found myself, in the next five minutes of -torture, wishing I'd done more toe-touching exercises in my erstwhile -sedentary life. The cord slipped down as far as the tendons behind my -heels, but would budge no further, no matter how I strained. With my -boots off, I might have made the last inch or so, but they were on, and -had thick durex heels. It was going to be a struggle. - -When it happened, it happened all at once. I was wrenching at my bonds, -gritting my teeth and pulling, despite the binding agony that flared in -my wrists. And then I smacked myself in the face with my own hands as -my feet jackknifed back to the ground. I lay there panting awhile, then -started feeling about my neck for the end of the cord fastening the -hood in place. - -My fingers, thicker than ever after my struggles, were almost without -the power to feel as I fumbled them against the knot in the cord. In -their bloated state, they were just slightly more manageable than -sausages. - -I let them work by touch, and kept my mind away from what they were -doing, lest I begin to scream in frustration at their bumbling efforts. -Then something slipped and gave way. The bottom folds of the hooding -cloth fell open from my throat. I fairly tore the thing from my head -and looked around me. - -There wasn't much light to see by, just a pallid gray glow in the -air, but I could tell I was in a cellar of some sort. The walls had -that dusty look to them, and there was a flight of stone stairs going -up toward a door, under which seeped a dim sheet of light. I started -looking around for some other way out. There was none visible, although -I couldn't see too much outside the area where that dim light struck -and diffused before vanishing into darkness. - -I licked my lips, took in some deep draughts of air, then began dulling -my incisors on the wrist cords. The knot, unfortunately, was on the -ulnar side of the wrists, just behind the little fingers. The only -way I could get at that was to bend my hands tightly up to my neck, as -though I were about to choke myself, and work over the underside of my -wrists. It was awkward as hell, but finally that cord, too, dropped -away, and I was free. - -Well, relatively free. I didn't know how my chances were of getting out -of that cellar or whatever it was. - -While it was probably only setting myself up for a return to my bonds, -I decided to do the obvious thing and head up that flight of stairs. - -But before I did so, I scouted around for some sort of weapon. On a -pile of empty crates I located a pair of shears, the sort used to snip -through the metal tape that binds bulky crates like those. It wasn't -much, and was clumsy to hold, but it was all I had, so I took it along -with me. - -Creeping up the stairs, I found the door locked from the outside, but -it was a handle-or-key operated lock, the kind that can be opened from -the inside by simply turning the knob. Apparently my captors were less -concerned about me getting out than they were about anyone else getting -in. It figured, though. I was supposed to be unconscious, hooded, and -bound. - -Shutting the door behind me, I found myself in a corridor, not itself -lighted, but getting light from somewhere at the far end. As I moved -cautiously down its length, I was thankful for the treeless Martian -topography which had occasioned all edifices being built of metal -and/or stone. There wasn't a chance of my making the floor creak. - -I arrived at the end of the corridor, and paused behind the edge of an -open door, through which the light came streaming. - -And there were voices, too. Voices, and odd clacking noises. - -Gingerly, I lowered myself all the way to the flooring and peeked -around the very bottom of the door frame, below, I hoped, the eye level -of anyone in that room. - -It was, I saw, the bar in which I'd been mickeyed. But long opaque -blinds were latched in place over the windows and glass door, and the -people in the place didn't seem to be customers. Some of them were -seated on the barstools, and some on the bar itself. Others occupied -tables and chairs along the wall opposite the bar. All were facing the -area between the bar and the tables, in which was set another table. -There was a man seated at it. A man, and something else. - -It was this something else which was emitting the clacking noises I'd -heard. I looked with fascinated horror at its long, flare-nostrilled -face, and rheumy-looking wide-set eyes. It had no hair, nor could I -discern anything like ears, until it turned its head and I saw the hole -just behind the back edge of the cruelly-toothed jaw. The overhead -light, as this creature turned its head, glinted red off squarish -conical scales, and I realized with a little shock that I was seeing my -first sugarfoot. - -Seen in the flesh, as it were, it looked considerably more menacing -than the photos I'd seen of it back on Earth. At that cosmic distance, -I could believe that it was docile, albeit standoffish, and was, while -not a friend to man, at least an accepted neutral. But looking at those -eyes and teeth, I decided the Public Information Bureau on Earth was -full of beans. That damned thing looked dangerous! - -As I watched, it made some more clacking noises, and the man beside -it, whom I recognized as the bartender, frowned and clacked something -back. His sounds didn't have the same snapping quality to them, but I -couldn't doubt they were conversing in some language. Which language -just had to be the sugarfoot's. - -And that was another thing the PIB on Earth hadn't mentioned. Contact -between man and sugarfoot was supposed to be impossible, except in the -form of rudimentary gestures. They were supposed to be able to learn to -follow certain Earth words, if you dinned them at them often enough. -But that was all. Now, here was an Earthman talking to one! It'd make -interesting news for Baxter when I got back. - -If I got back. - -The bartender, in the course of his speech, pointed at something on -the table before him and shook his head. I raised up slowly on my -hands from my prone position, and got a glimpse of the object under -discussion. It was my collapser, goldenly glinting in the incandescent -light. - -Just from following the bartender's gestures and facial expressions, -I began to gather some of what was going on. I didn't know why, but -they seemed to be dickering over possession of the weapon. And unless -I misjudged the man's now-and-then pointing in the direction of where -that stone cellar lay, I, too, was on the auction block. - -The way I figured it, this sugarfoot wanted me, and it wanted the -collapser. The bartender seemed willing enough to surrender me, but was -nixing a deal on the weapon. - -The drawn blinds and the men's lowered voices indicated that it must be -nightfall. I'd started out into Marsport at midday. The rotation of the -planet is only fractionally different from Earth's, so that meant that -at least six hours had gone by since my capture. But a bar closing down -at sunset, just when its business would begin picking up, would look -pretty suspicious, so I could figure on probably another six hours, -putting the time at somewhere past midnight. - -I wished I could leave with the collapser, but I had my doubts that I -could cross the floor of that room to snatch it from the table without -being grabbed by someone. I shook my head and withdrew back into the -corridor to think. No point in risking my life to get that weapon back, -when I could simply slip out some other way and alert IS. A team of -agents could reduce the bar to a sparkling crater in seconds, along -with the men, sugarfoot and collapser. - -It wouldn't be quite as glorious as acting the hero by myself, but it'd -be considerably safer. I got back to my feet and started inspecting the -rest of the corridor, seeking a less populated exit than the one onto -Von Braun street. - -Back the way I'd come, there was only the door to that cellar. I -doubled back toward the other door by the bar itself, ducked down low, -and scuttled past it on my hands and knees. No outcry came from the -room, just the vociferous clacking noises, and an occasional mutter -from one of the surrounding men. I figured I'd made it okay. The -corridor bent, just past that doorway, and ended in a window. It was -open. I stuck my head out and looked around. - -Something was glowing just beneath me, something that reflected almost -intolerable heat against my face when I looked down at it. - -A river of liquified iron, ten feet wide, ran along a bed carved into -the rocky soil. It was a good five feet between the bottom of the -window and the sullen smolder of that hellish stream, but my face and -throat felt already parboiled. Before ducking back into the relatively -cooler temperature inside the corridor, I shot a glance toward the -source of this impassable moat, and understood why it was there. - -About two miles along this radiant river, I saw the towering metallic -hulk of the converters, their shimmering molecule-blasting rays -leaping from a multi-noded sender plate to a cup-shaped receiver. And, -silhouetted against the black velvet night sky, above and between these -deadly twins, was a monster escalator, carrying ton after ton of rich -red Martian sand to a point in space directly above the flashing beam, -and spilling it downward through the raw energy below. - -Where the sand--pure ferrous oxide--struck the beam, I could not look -without daring blindness, so violent were those disruptive reactions. -But just above it, a silvery cloud arose and dissipated itself; the -freed oxygen, enriching the atmosphere in this gigantic crater that was -Marsport. And below it, a cataract of burning metal sprayed downward -into an enormous vat, the sides of which were spouting a continual flow -of this dangerous liquid into troughs which spread out in a fanlike -pattern that must have encompassed the entire city. - -It took me a few minutes of thought, but I figured it out, as I -drew back through the window from the heat. It was not enough that -the converters could supply the citizenry with breathable air. The -planetary temperature at night was below the level at which a man could -live, save with the most cumbersome, demanding precautions, such as are -demanded by arctic exploration on Earth. - -And so, instead of merely letting the metal cool into ingots before it -was shipped where it was needed, it was channeled through the city, -passing behind all the buildings where alleys would normally be, and -warming the environment so that going into the night air would not mean -sure death by freezing. I could not see the far end of the trough, but -I knew that beyond the city limits the troughs would converge, and iron -would be cooled, shaped and shipped. - -It was ingenious, and something I'd never run across in my readings -about Mars. But then, I was never much of a space exploration fan. -However, ingenious or not, it was a crumby trick on me, really. I -hadn't a chance of passing through that rushing inferno outside. - -That left me one way out: through the front door. - -Hefting the wirecutter in my hand, and breathing a silent prayer, I -moved back to that open doorway. - -Things, when I peeked out, seemed no more advanced. Man and sugarfoot -were still clacking away at one another, neither side giving ground. -However, the other men round about were showing signs of restlessness. - -"Whyn't ya just blast him, Jim, and forget it?" suggested an oldster -just over to my left. - -Jim, the bartender, faced the other men with a black scowl, furious -at the interruption. "You keep your mouth shut, Barry! You know these -things can understand a little English!" - -The older man, Barry, subsided with a sullen look at Jim, and I turned -my gaze there to see what would happen next. I'd quite overlooked the -fact that Jim's looking toward Barry had sent his eyes in the general -direction of the corridor, and that I was leaning my fool head around -the doorway. Jim was looking right at me, his mouth wide open. - -"Hey!" he cried, leaping to his feet and pointing with such violence -that his chair crashed to the floor. "He's loose!" - -I took a step back, as the entire roomful of men jumped up and turned -to face me. My mind leaped about, like a fish flung alive onto a -skillet, trying to make some sensible decision. Should I chance -flinging myself over that red hot river outside, or rush back to the -deadend of the cellar? Neither course seemed very profitable, somehow. - -But my time was running out. After the first startled pause at seeing -me there, the group came at me in a rapid scuttle, hands outstretched -to take me. - -So none of them ever saw what I saw, facing into the room. The sight -they missed was one which sent me diving to my left, to fall prone on -the corridor floor, hugging the raw stone there and clamping my eyes -shut. - -I heard that terrible throbbing buzz in that bar room, and then my -skin prickled and stung as an eight-foot segment of the wall above me -vanished into a cloud of white sparks. - -When I at last lifted myself carefully for a look, the sugarfoot was -gone. Gone with the collapser I'd seen it snatch up from that table -when Jim's guard was down. - -And the men were gone, too. Gone with most of the wall, half the bar, -and a large quantity of chairs and tables. - -A collapser is nothing to fool with. - -The sugarfoot must have flicked it on and sent the blue-white beam in a -sweeping curve that turned everything it touched into hot protons and -electrical energy. He'd turned it off, however, as soon as the last man -vanished from his ken. - -I realized with a sick feeling of shock that a second's more energy -would have dissolved the back wall, and I would have been buried -beneath a flood of molten iron. - - - - -10 - - -When I got outside, there was no sign of the sugarfoot along the -street. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. Marsport, despite the -caloric values of the heating troughs is still pretty chilly at night. -I gathered no one went out much, or that this was a slack night for the -local merchants, because even the stores were closed, and the public -stereovision auditorium was shut down, too. - -It was eerie, walking down that rocky street, with no sound but that of -my durex heels smacking the ground. To left and right, dark shuttered -windows moved by as I advanced. My nose still felt irritated by the -good whiff of ozone it had inhaled when the sugarfoot cut loose with -the collapser, and I was rubbing the tip of it with the back of my -wrist when I saw a figure down the street, facing toward me. - -It seemed to be a man, but his figure was lost in the deep shadows -thrown by the eye-searing glow of the distant converter. I kept moving -toward him, but slowed my pace. There was something in his attitude -that I didn't like. He was waiting there for me, I realized with a -small shock. And I sensed his intentions weren't the best possible. - -While moving toward him, I started darting my eyes about me, to see if -there were some way of getting off the street. But the buildings were -all side-to-side with one another, and shut tight. I could, of course, -hurl myself through the glass front of one. But assuming I didn't brain -myself on the blinds in the process, what then? All these places were -backed by that infernal molten river. There'd be no escape. And then -my eyes saw something that sent brazen alarm bells clanging through my -nervous system. In the entrance of one store, the glass curved at a -forty-five degree angle to my line of movement, and, reflected in its -depths, I could see the broad avenue behind me. - -It was filled with creeping figures. - -I spun about with an involuntary cry, and looked at them, head on. It -was a group of men, armed with rude weapons, mostly clubs, but a few -glittering knives. And they were obviously after me. - -As soon as they knew I'd spotted them, they left all pretense of -stealth, and came at me in a run, brandishing their weapons. - -I staggered back one frightened step, then turned and ran down the -street like a madman. Not one of them, however, was making a sound. -Only their heavy footfalls told me they were still in earnest pursuit -as I stumbled up the street toward that solitary waiting figure in the -shadows. It was like a nightmare; the relentless pursuers chasing one -down an endless avenue with no turnoff. - -My ribs ached with panicky breathing, and my vision was swimming -giddily as I came to where the solitary figure stood. "Here we go," I -said to myself. "Now he steps out and stops me. And I'm too winded to -put up a fight." - -As I came nearly abreast of the figure, it stepped out into the -blue-white glow that glared from the converter. Brilliant light -coruscated over glassy scales as it moved out into the avenue in a -queer scuttling motion. - -The sugarfoot! I knew it was the same one. My collapser was still -clutched in its three-fingered hand. Blindly, I shot my arms in front -of me to wrest the thing from its grasp, but it simply tossed the gun -into its other hand, and with the free hand caught me by the collar and -held on. - -Then a humming blaze filled the avenue for a split second, and I got my -second whiff of ozone that night. The sugarfoot released me, and I fell -to the street panting. I managed to lift my head, and look back toward -where my pursuers had been. They were gone. - -I raised myself on my hands, and looked up into the scaly face of my -rescuer, wary and alert. But the sugarfoot had lowered the collapser, -and wasn't menacing me with it. - -"Why did you kill those men?" I asked, bewildered. - -It flickered out a horrible-looking tongue that resembled a segment of -hollow rubber tubing, and made some clacking noises. I shook my head. -The thing ceased making noises, and tried sign language instead. It -pointed toward where the men had been, then pointed at me. - -"You mean," I said slowly, "you annihilated those men simply because -they were after me?" - -The thing didn't change expression--I didn't really see how it could, -what with its rigid crystalline structure--but it gave a slow nod. It -seemed to have difficulty doing it, as though it weren't used to that -particular form of expression. - -"But why?" I said, getting to my feet and staring at the creature. "Why -go to these lengths to protect me? Is there something special about me?" - -Again the ponderous nod. Then the sugarfoot pointed at me, and pointed -at its head. I simply shook my head. It did the action again, patiently. - -"Because I'm smart?" I choked, not really thinking this was the case. - -The lumpy red head moved from right to left and back to center again. - -"Then what?" I demanded. - -It looked about, suddenly, then pointed to the ground and shook its -head again. - -"Not here, you mean?" - -The sugarfoot nodded, then raised a hand and beckoned. - -"You want me to come with you; is that it?" I said. - -It nodded, with less patience, and moved off a few paces. When I -didn't go with it, it turned to face me again, and gave its head a -questioning tilt. - -"Because," I answered its unspoken question, "I don't know if I can -trust you, that's why." - -It stared at me with its wide-set eyes for a second, then pointed to -the empty space in the street, then to the collapser, and nodded. - -"I--I should trust you because you didn't use the collapser on me? -Because if your motives were bad, you would already have destroyed me?" - -The sugarfoot nodded violently. - -"Unh-uh!" I said, backing off. "Not a chance. You tell me why, and -maybe I'll come along. But not before." Even as I said it, I felt -regret for my own irrationality. Were its intentions even the best, it -could certainly not prove them to me, or even demonstrate its reasons -with the language barrier between us. - -It stood there, looking at me, apparently thinking hard. We seemed to -be at an impasse. I didn't want to go with it. On the other hand, I -didn't want it to go off and leave me with the most baffling mystery -of my life unsolved. I had to know why it had spared me, and what it -wanted. - -But an alien, on a strange planet, with that dragonish form, and the -shark-mouth full of teeth, not to mention a thick three-foot tail ... I -couldn't bring myself to trust it. - -At that moment, there was a shout down the street, and a flashing -light. Someone was coming. Probably, I realized an instant later, the -Security men from the rocket field. They had a gadget there that could -not only spot, but track down, any use of atomic energy in the region. -And there had been, within ten minutes of each other, two such uses of -that all-annihilating collapser. - -The sugarfoot took a step backward. - -"Hold on," I said. "These guys are okay. Maybe, after I get a -tranquillizer, I'll be more in the mood for coming with you. If you'll -just wait a moment." - -But the sugarfoot was having none of it. It gave me an angry glance, -then, before I could dodge, it grabbed my arm. I went to pull away, -then saw that it was trying to tell me something. The fingers not -holding my arm were indicating my wrist. It took me a second to catch -on. - -"Wrist--wristwatch?" A swift nod. "Time of some sort?" Another. -"You--You'll come for me at a later time?" A very brief nod, then a -surprisingly friendly clasp of those clawlike fingers on my shoulder. - -Then, with a bound that took my breath away, the sugarfoot sprang -upward from the street and landed on the rooftop of one of the nearby -stores. It landed running, and as I watched, it reached the rear of the -store and took a soaring leap out over the molten river between it and -the next rooftop. Then it vanished into the blackness beyond the trough -alley. I turned to await the arrival of the Security men. - - - - -11 - - -Charlie and the other Security Agent, whose name turned out to be -Foster, sat stolidly listening as I recounted events since I'd last -seen them. - -"You say," Charlie interrupted with a frown, "this here sugarfoot told -you why he didn't shoot you down?" - -"Not quite," I said. "He didn't seem to have the time. But he said he'd -see me l--" - -"Look, Delvin, that's not what I mean. Everybody from Mars to Venus -knows that the sugarfoots are dumb animals. So I'd like to know what -you're trying to hand us." - -There was something funny in his tone. As though he were saying, not -"It can't be true," but, "It's not supposed to be true, and that's the -way things stay!" - -I paused, considering. I'd had a hard time for a while, when I was -first picked up. But I'd been able to get myself brought, by the men -who found me, to Charlie and Foster, after giving Charlie's name -and describing the two. They'd identified me, and gotten me off the -hook for the damage to that bar. It was damage possible only by a -collapser. And I, of course, had been picked up wearing a collapser -holster. - -But from the time I'd been left with them, there was a bothersome -something about their attitude; an impatience, as though they had -something to say to me, or even do to me, but had to hold off until I -was through. - -"He told me by sign language," I said. "He made a gesture, and I -interpreted it. Nothing baffling in that, is there?" - -Foster gave me a half-lidded stare, as though suppressing anger. Then -he said, "Tell me, Mister Delvin. Just what is the sign for 'I must go -now, but I'll see you at a later time'?" - -I took a deep breath and controlled myself. "Look, I was picked for -this job because I have a gift for interpretation, or deduction, or -whatever you want to call it." - -"If you're such a hotshot figure-outer," Charlie snapped, "how come you -didn't get suspicious when that bartender was forcing free drinks on -you? Any sap would've expected a mickey with the guy acting like that!" - -"The reason," I said, stiffly, hating to admit my mental weakness, "is -that at that particular moment, the picture of Miss Snow White was on -the stereo. That's why! I--I don't function properly when there are -women about." - -Charlie and Foster exchanged a look, and both shrugged: I felt a hot -blush of embarrassment and anger burning upon my face. "And that's the -story!" I finished stubbornly. - -Charlie heaved himself lazily to his feet. "What do you think, Foster?" - -Foster, emulating the same lazy motion, looked thoughtful for a second, -then nodded. "I think that's all we're going to get. Come on, let's -stash him away." - -"Stash me away?" I cried indignantly. "What the hell are you talking -about?" - -"You're going into a nice cell, buddy," said Charlie, an ugly smile -on his face. "And you'll be let out when the time comes. So quit your -bellyaching and come on. It'll be easier if you don't try to get rough." - -"You can't arrest me," I said. "I'm--or, I should be--the -Amnesty-bearer!" - -It was as if they hadn't heard me. - -"Come on, come on," said Foster, crooking a finger at me. - -"You guys can't pull this kind of trick!" I said. "When Chief Baxter -hears about this--" - -Charlie and Foster threw back their heads and laughed. - -"W-what's so funny?" I asked, a dreadful inkling growing inside my mind. - -The door opened and a third security man walked in. It was Chief Philip -Baxter. He gave me a tolerant smile. - -"They're laughing, Delvin," he said smoothly, "because I gave the order -for your arrest." - - * * * * * - -The cell was of cold Martian stone, and had no window. I sat, -miserable, on the thin cot provided for me, and pondered all that had -happened to me in the last few days. None of it made the slightest -sense to me. Not my selection by the Brain, nor my arrest by Baxter's -men. It was crazy! - -Baxter, when I'd demanded to know the reason for his duplicity, had -merely said, "You've served your purpose." And then Charlie and -Foster had taken me away, their collapser muzzles forming unarguable -persuaders against my spine. - -I didn't even give a moment's consideration to thoughts of escape. I -was in a Security prison, and a maximum-security Security prison at -that. The door to my cell was a massive foot-thick stone which swung -into place on ponderous hinges, and sealed by making a half-twist -in the circular entrance. Air was provided through vents, vents -which could be closed off if the prisoner showed signs of aggressive -tendencies. A few hours without air made most men pretty docile. - -I wondered how long I'd sit there before they fed me. Or if they would -feed me at all. Hell, no one knew I was on Mars. My last contact with -my regular associates had been my good-by to Marge at the office. For -all anyone knew, I'd been arrested for anarchy, or something. I knew, -with a cold sinking feeling, that no one would even ask about me. -Security had taken me, Security was good for the country, and Security -never made mistakes. Topic closed. Jery Delvin written off as an -uninteresting memory. - -There seemed to be nothing to do but think, so I did a lot of it. - -I noted with chagrin that they hadn't removed my belt, or socks. I -could, if I so desired, escape my fate by simply knotting them into -a cord, and passing one end through the overhead air grillwork and -the other about my neck. Maybe that was the reason why they hadn't -taken them. I had a distinct feeling, a served-my-purpose feeling, -that whether I died by my own hand or of claustrophobia made little -difference to Baxter and his boys. - -I folded my hands behind my head and sank back onto the hard cot, -puzzling over everything that had happened to me. - -The Brain selects me as the key figure in the finding of the missing -Space Scouts. Fine, so far. Just what my duties are, it doesn't say, -but I'm the man for the job, whatever it is. Okay. - -So Baxter hands over the Amnesty, I get a preliminary lead from Anders, -the pilot of the Scouts. I take off for Mars to find the kids, who -seem to have left of their own volition. Swell. Only, a cute blonde by -the unlikely name of Snow White filches the Amnesty, and nearly has me -tossed in prison. Except that Baxter, still on my side, gets me loose. -I take off looking for Snow, and get mickeyed in a Martian bar. Then-- - -Then things start getting confusing. - -I get loose and come upon a sort of council of Earthmen, dickering with -a sugarfoot, a supposedly dumb animal, for me and my collapser. - -I get spotted, the men try to snatch me, and they all get vaporized by -the sugarfoot, who runs off. I follow, and next thing, another mob is -on my heels. Same bit with the sugarfoot. Zzzzzzurp! No more men! Only -this time it doesn't run off. It dallies a bit, and tries to get me to -go somewhere with it. Why it has suddenly decided to take me along, I -don't know, because it had the opportunity much earlier, when it made -its first massacre. - -However, I decline the invitation, and, like a good boy, report all -events to Security. Upshot: I am stashed in a solid rock cell, possibly -never to emerge alive. - -I lay there pondering these facts. One thing seemed clear: I -didn't know the angles. What was Snow's angle? Or Baxter's? Or the -sugarfoot's? Or the mob's? - -Hell, what was mine? - -I snorted and sat up, rubbing my neck. I had a headache coming on, -and it felt like the start of a migraine, an occupational hazard with -ad men. I tried rotating my head on my neck, a good relaxer for those -tensed neck muscles. And then I noticed that I was perspiring like mad, -and that my throat felt hot inside. - -With a sick apprehension, I sprang up and thrust my nose near the grill -on the wall. Nothing. I tried poking a finger between the latticework. -It was stopped by a metal plate. - -The air-supply grill was sealed off. In that tiny cell, I had maybe two -hours more of breathing time. After that--Well, I wouldn't be feeling -my oxygen-starvation headache any more. - -I sat down on the cot once more and scowled at the floor. I was tired -of puzzles, but even this didn't make sense! Why take the time and -trouble to smother me? - -A collapser could wipe me off the slate in seconds. No annoying corpus -delicti cluttering up the premises. Not even a bit of fingernail left, -nothing to incriminate the murderers. So they smother me. - -But why kill me, for heaven's sake? It couldn't be to keep me from -telling what I knew! I didn't know a damned thing. Except that Baxter, -motive unknown, must have left Earth immediately after I spoke to him -on that interplanetary hook-up. Or was it interplanetary? Come to think -of it, he could've been in the next room when I talked to him. Damn. It -was baffling. - -Why he hadn't simply told me that it was no use, and sent me back -to Earth, I couldn't figure out. He could have made all sorts of -reasonable excuses for my not continuing in my search for the missing -boys, and I'd have swallowed any one of them. Instead, he locks me up, -throws away the key, and turns off the air supply. - -What did I know that I could communicate to people back on Earth? What -knowledge did I have that was a menace of some sort to Security? Or, to -be more near the truth, to Baxter? - -The only interesting fact I'd stumbled on was-- - -But maybe that was it: the fact that the sugarfeet were something other -than what Earth had claimed. That one I'd met was certainly no dumb -animal. He had a language; I'd heard that bartender talking to him. -That put him a few steps ahead of cats and dogs. Maybe a lot further. - -But what difference did it make if the sugarfeet were or weren't -dumb animals? I didn't care one way or the other. And I was pretty -representative of an Earthman, wasn't I? Who'd care, anyhow, if it -turned out the sugarfeet were nearer human than had been supposed? - -Well, I knew the who, if not the why. - -Baxter obviously cared tremendously. Which deduction left me -approximately nowhere. - -The air seemed to be getting staler by the minute. I found I could -breathe better lying flat on my back, not even using enough energy to -remain in a sitting position. - -My skin was clammy with sweat from head to foot, my windpipe felt like -someone had just given it a brisk toweling with a hot doormat. - -I thought desperately of pounding on that impervious stone door, in the -chance that my suffocation was an over-sight on their part. But I knew -in my heart it wasn't. - -I held myself on the cot, fighting that deadly tug of irrational -emotion. If I was going to suffocate, I wanted to do it with as little -pain as possible. - -My lungs, though were telling me a different story. They had that "time -to go up for air" feeling, the hideous pre-strangulation hot wave that -floods through the ribs, begging, and then ordering, the swimmer to -head to the surface before his lungs rip apart. - -I fought the feeling, breathing faster to keep that dull nudging from -becoming a full-scale command. But it was harder and harder not to -fling myself at that bare store and try, in the last few minutes of -life, to dig my way free with my fingertips. - -And then, with my eyes burning in my own perspiration, and tongue -half-protruding between gaping lips, I felt that stinging, prickling -sensation along my limbs. - -Then a blinding blaze of blue-white sparks showered me, and I jumped to -my feet in fright. - -The wall opposite the cell door was raggedly missing, its three-foot -slabs of granite jutting wildly into the area where their companions -had just been. And there was air; cold, chilling air, terribly thin to -breathe. But it was air, and I leaped through that gap like a madman, -flooding my hot lungs with the elusive draughts of black Martian night. - -I staggered, dizzy at the sparseness of the atmosphere, and then -a tight clamp closed upon my arm and kept me from falling. A -three-fingered clamp. - -I looked into the glittering face of the sugarfoot. It had the -collapser in its free hand, and its eyes were locked on mine. It was -waiting for me to say something. - -"Brother," I said, managing a grin, "I would love coming with you, no -matter where!" - -Surprisingly, it shook its dragon head, and made gestures toward my -blouse, then an upward movement of its arms. - -"You want me to take it off?" I said, in bewilderment. "But I'm half -frozen already." - -The sugarfoot was adamant. Again it pointed to the blouse, and did that -slip-it-over-your-head motion. - -I gave up fighting it. The creature was obviously not inimical to me. -Even if it were, I thought, I owed it something for pulling me out of -that stone coffin. - -Hoping pneumonia was less painful than outright suffocation, I -obediently tugged it, loose from within my belt, and slid the thing -over my head and off. - -The sugarfoot took it from me, turned it inside-out, and held it out -close to my face for inspection, in the dim criss-cross lighting of -tiny Phobos and barely larger Deimos, as they scurried across the cold -black sky. - -I stared stupidly at the inside surface of the blouse, the black one -which Baxter had insisted I wear, and then I caught the glint of -reflected moonlight where there should have been plain shirt material. -Tiny metallic filaments had been woven into the garment, too light and -flexible for the wearer to feel them, but strong enough not to break -with constant flexing. - -I nodded, and handed the blouse back to the sugarfoot. "I see them. -Wires," I said. "But what does it mean?" - -The sugarfoot pointed toward the Security prison, which at this point -of the topography was on the outside of the hills which surrounded -Marsport. Security had burrowed into those hills to make themselves an -escape-proof dungeon. Even though I was out of it, I hadn't yet, in the -real sense of the word, escaped. It was easily twenty below zero, and -the air was thin as the inside of a vacuum tube. - -I was dizzy, and sick, and barely able to keep from falling, but I made -myself ask, "What's the blouse got to do with the prison?" - -The sugarfoot pointed to the prison, the blouse, and made a circular -gesture with his finger. - -"The prison...." I said slowly. "It--It tracks the shirt around!" - -A nod. Then the sugarfoot turned its head and, extending that hollow -tongue, produced a shrill piercing whistle through the vibrating tip. I -heard a scrunching sound on the rocky hillside where we stood, and then -the damnedest little beast hove into view. It was about the size of a -burro. But it had six legs, no visible head or neck, and was covered -with spiky hairs that seemed more like lengths of straw than anything -else I could think of. This ambulant bale of hay approached us, and -halted before the sugarfoot. The sugarfoot whistled again, and from -somewhere in the front--I assume it was the front--of this creature, a -claw-tipped tentacle wormed out through the hay, and took the blouse -from the sugarfoot's hand. A third and final whistle, and the thing, -clutching the blouse, went off down the hillside with remarkable speed, -heading toward the open desert that lay sullenly gray beneath the -moonlight. It had that busy-busy-busy ant-motion to it, the front and -rear legs on one side moving forward simultaneously with the middle leg -on the opposite side, then a swift, jerky reverse and the other trio of -legs moved forward, giving it a strangely graceful--awkward wriggling -gait. But it was fast, damned fast. Within a minute, it was out of -sight. - -I swayed woozily, and hung onto the sugarfoot's shoulder for support. -"Blazing a false trail, huh?" - -It didn't answer, but reached out for me, and swung me up into its -powerful arms, as a man carries a child. It clacked something which -I took to be a term of reassurance, and then, holding me tightly so -I wouldn't get jounced to death, it took off in a leaping bound in a -direction at right angles to that taken by the hay-bale creature. It -jolted me a little, but the cold and lack of enough oxygen had taken -its toll of my stamina. I passed out before the third bound. - -And when I awoke, there was warmth and air, and a comfortable bed -beneath me. And I was looking into the face of Snow White. - - - - -12 - - -I forgot I was supposed to be mad at her. Instead of chewing her out -for her sneak-thievery, I grasped her soft little hands, and murmured, -"Are you okay?" - -"Miraculously," she said. "I hadn't got twenty yards into town before -my face and name were being blazoned on every stereo in Marsport. -Things were a bit rough for a while." - -I propped myself up on my elbows, the better to see that lovely face, -framed in a halo of silky pale yellow hair, and said, "What happened? -How'd you escape? What's with these mobs and sugarfeet, and--And where -are we, for pete's sake?" - -"Whoa, boy!" she laughed, pressing me back onto the bed, her hands -lingering on my chest for a delicious moment before she sat back again. -"You've been very sick, whether you know it or not. Here, take a look." - -She picked up her handbag from the floor, took out a small mirror, and -held it in front of my face. I took one look, then shut my eyes. My -face was the cheery color of porcelain, with purplish eyelids and gray -lips. - -"What hit me?" I sighed, opening my eyes again. - -"Oxygen-starvation, exposure, and near pneumonia. I thought you were -dead when Clatclit carried you in here. You've been sleeping for nearly -thirty-six hours." - -"Clatclit?" I said. "Is that the ambient hunk of dextrose who blasted -me out of stir?" - -"Let's not be colorful," said Snow, deprecatingly. "You owe your life -to him, you know." - -"I know," I said. "That was the ad man in me coming through. But look, -my mind's a whirlpool of confusion. Could you please tell me what's -been going on here, anyhow?" - -"Lie back and rest," said Snow, "and I will." - -I burrowed deeper into the warm coverlet, sighed, and kept my eyes on -her lovely face. In the midst of her discourse, I even sneaked a hand -out and laid it gently over her own. It was smartly slapped, without -rancor, and I withdrew it from active duty for a while. - -"Well, first thing, I'd like to apologize for that dirty trick I pulled -back on the _Valkyrie_," Snow said. My heart turned over, and I felt -an idiot grin of forgiveness spreading across my ghastly features. I -found it quite impossible to stay angry with the girl. As I've said, -something happens to my brain when around women. - -"Accepted," I croaked. - -"I knew that you'd have no trouble getting away from those Security men -I sent," she said smilingly. - -"Then why did you send them?" I asked. - -"To keep them from asking me any questions," she said, with a small -shrug. "For all I knew, they were expecting a man with the Amnesty. -However, knowing that just having it carried a lot of weight, I gave -them the order to pick you up as soon as they approached me at the -customs booth." - -"And if they hadn't believed me?" I complained. - -"Well," she said carefully, "I suppose I'd have sent them a note, or -something, telling them to release you." - -"Thanks for the kind thought," I muttered. - -Snow ignored my minor irritation, and went blithely on. - -"My next move was to go to the Port Authority, and find out just where -the _Phobos II_ was berthed before takeoff. I thought that Ted might -have left me a clue of some sort." - -"You sound as if he were expecting you to traipse up here after him," I -said, dubiously. - -"He wouldn't count on my coming, if that's what you mean. But Ted's a -good kid. I've practically had to raise him myself. He knew I'd worry -if I didn't hear from him. He couldn't know, of course, that IS would -send forged letters to the relatives of the missing boys. So I assumed -that, if he had the chance, he'd leave a clue of some kind for me, in -case I did come." - -"An assurance of sorts, you mean?" - -"Something like that. Like 'I'm okay, Snow, so don't worry,' or some -such message. So that's what I looked for at the rocket berth." - -"Just a minute," I interrupted. "I used to be a boy, once, myself, and -while I didn't have any sisters of my own, I knew a lot of buddies -who did. The last thing in the world they'd expect would be for their -sister to follow them into danger! Hell, they'd feel like sissies if -they had to count on a sister for aid." - -"I--" Snow hesitated. "I'm not what you'd call the typical sister, -Jery." - -"Oh?" - -She blushed prettily. "When you have to raise a brother, you have to -learn a lot of things, if you're going to bring him up fairly normally. -I had to teach him to play ball, to box, to ski, to--Well, I was more -like a father to him than anything. So Ted, knowing my more belligerent -side, would just about figure I'd come storming up here to find him." - -"I don't know," I pondered aloud. "If you and Ted have this friendly -relationship, why the hell would he put you to all this trouble? It -seems like a lousy thing on his part to go wandering off without a -word." - -"It would be," Snow agreed, "unless there was a mighty important reason -for his going. And it wasn't without a word." - -"Then you did find a message?" I exclaimed. - -She nodded. "After a few minutes' inspection of the berth, I found it -scratched onto one of the supporting beams." - -"Funny IS didn't spot it," I remarked. - -"It's in our special _code_, silly!" Snow said. "To anyone else, it'd -look like hen scratches." - -"Just what is this code of yours?" I asked, curious. - -Snow looked at me a moment, frowning. - -"I'll carry the secret to my grave." I said generously. - -She laughed, then, and said, "All right, Jery. Just a second." - -From her handbag, she took out a small address book and a pencil, found -a blank sheet at the back, and drew the following diagrams: - - A | D | G - --------- - B | E | H - --------- - C | F | I - - - . | . | . - J | M | P - --------- - .K | N.| Q. - --------- - L | O | R - . . . - - - \ S / - V \ /T - / \ - / U \ - - . - \ W / - . Z\ /X . - / \ - / Y \ - . - -"See?" she said. "It's very simple, really. You just remember the -position of each letter in its portion of the diagram, and draw -the corresponding shape instead of the letter; a square for E, -square-plus-dot for N, an L-shape for G, same with a dot for P, an -inverted V-shape for U--" - -"I get it," I said. "Gad, it looks positively runic when you write that -way." - -Snow put the address book back into her bag. "So that's what I found -scratched onto that supporting beam. The message said, simply: SNOW -I AM ALL RIGHT FIND CLATCLIT THE SUGARFOOT AND HE WILL EXPLAIN." - -I stared at her. "Not a very easy task he set, was it?" - -"Nothing easier, as it turned out," she said airily. "Of course," she -admitted, when I gave her a cold stare, "I didn't know it was easy, at -the time. I was actually pretty much bewildered. I mean, I thought, -like everybody else, that sugarfeet were like cats or dogs." - -"So how'd you accomplish locating him?" I said. - -She grinned. "I went into Marsport, went up to the first one I -saw--they're as common as pigeons around the town--and said, feeling -like a damned fool, 'Clatclit?' Instead of the blank-eyed stare of -uncomprehending nonintelligence which I expected for my efforts, the -thing looked to left and right, I guess to insure that no Earthmen were -watching, then beckoned to me and started waddling off. Still feeling -like an idiot, I followed it. It led me back toward the airstrip. For a -while, I had the stupid impression that it was going to point me out -the spot from which the boys had vanished, and that I'd be right back -where I started." - -"So what happened?" I demanded impatiently. - -"Back of the berth where the _Phobos II_ had been, there was a slope, -the beginning of the hills that surround Marsport. I followed the -sugarfoot partway up the slope to a sort of cave mouth, and it gestured -that I should go inside." - -"Okay, okay," I prodded. "You went inside, and--" - -Snow shook her head. "No, I didn't. If _you_ were on a strange planet, -would you go into a cave after a red-scaled creature that looked like -a pint-sized dragon?" She added, matter-of-factly, "Besides, there -was a sign in front of the cave mouth, telling Earth people that it -was forbidden to enter any of the many Martian caves that lay on -the hillsides. It seems they're old volcanic tunnels, and wind like -labyrinths into the planet. Some of the earlier colonists vanished -there, you know." - -"Ye gods!" I growled. "What did you do, then? Leave the sugarfoot -standing at the cave mouth like an untipped bellboy?" - -"More or less," she admitted. "It seemed to want to take me with it, -but I begged off as politely as possible, and went back into town. -Only, when I got there, the first thing I saw was my own picture on the -stereo screen outside the public auditorium." - -"With shoot-to-kill commands ringing into the street," I nodded. "I -suppose you swooned away on the pavement?" - -Snow gave me a black look. "Mister Delvin, I do not swoon!" - -I shrugged. "Just as well. Marsport has no pavement, anyhow." - -"Ho ho," she said. "Do you want to hear the rest of this, or not?" - -"Sorry," I said. "Go on." - -"Well, there didn't seem to be anything else to do then, but to get out -of town, fast. I hadn't been spotted, yet. I guess my picture had only -just gotten onto the screen. So I hurried back to where that cave mouth -was, and the sugarfoot was still there, waiting for me." - -"He does sound like an untipped bellboy at that," I remarked. - -Snow ignored this, and continued. "Well, I went into the cave with -him. After all, getting eaten by a dragon has no worse end result than -getting hit with a collapser-bolt." - -"The process is a bit more painful, though," I said. - -"I took that chance," Snow said. "I had to. So I followed it for what -seemed miles of slippery tubular tunnels--knowing, and it scared me -stiff, that I'd never find my way out without a map--and it led me -here, where I met Clatclit." - -"And where, by the way," I said, "are we?" - -"Darned if I know," said Snow. "We're at present in a room off one of -those tunnels I mentioned. The sugarfeet have been wonderful, helping -you. Especially in bringing water for you; they're deathly scared of -the stuff." - -"I would be, too, in their case," I said. "It'd be like toting around a -carboy of sulphuric acid." - -"Well, anyhow, you're alive," she said, "and that's something. But as -for Ted--" her voice faltered. - -I looked up, startled. "He's not dead?" - -"D--? Oh, no. At least I hope not!" she said. "I only meant that, -while I've located Clatclit, I can't figure out either his gestures or -his--pardon the expression--words." - -"He understands English, even if his vocal apparatus can't form it," I -said. "Why don't you just ask him yes-and-no questions? He nods easily -enough." - -"I did that," she sighed. "I asked if Ted were alive, and he nodded. -Then I asked to be brought to him, and he spread his hands. I said, -'Does that mean you don't know where Ted is?' He seemed stymied; he -nodded, then shook his head immediately. You figure that one out!" - -I tried hard. Nothing happened inside my head. It was filled with the -picture of Snow, her lips slightly parted, her violet eyes anxious, her -hair like a misty golden corolla. - -"I can't. Not with you around. Remember?" I said, helplessly. - -She stood up from my bedside. "Then close your eyes, or something, -Jery! I'll stand here, quiet as a mouse." - -"Well," I said, doubtfully, "I'll try." - -I shut my eyes and tried to convince myself that Snow wasn't anywhere -about. I couldn't do it. - -"No use," I sighed, opening my eyes again. "I can feel you here." - -"I guess the only thing to do is send Clatclit in to see you, and stay -outside myself," she said. - -"Good idea," I said. "Send him around with a lunch, though, will you? -I've gone all hollow inside." - -Snow smiled, and left through a rocky archway. - -I lay there looking about me. With Snow in the room, I hadn't paid -attention to my less stimulating environment. Now I found myself gazing -over dark crimson walls, smooth and glossy looking. The room was just -a bubble in the rock, about ten feet in diameter, with an artificially -leveled floor. - -Light came from a narrow ridge that ran around the walls near the top, -a sort of ledge covered with fuzzy stuff that glowed pallidly white. - -I threw back the coverlet and eased myself to my feet, and was grateful -to find my trousers folded neatly upon a small hump of rock that -probably served a sugarfoot as a stool. I slipped them on hurriedly, -then investigated the stuff on that ledge. - -It seemed to be a kind of crumbly dry fungus, not unlike the stuff -found in dead logs on Earth, the phosphorescent foxfire. But it was a -lot brighter, and also gave off a detectable amount of heat, too, which -explained why I wasn't still turning blue. - -I left off looking at the heaps of fungi, and went to the archway for -a look. Beyond the room, the cave dissolved into a riot of diverging -tunnels. I decided to stay put, rather than risk getting myself -entombed in some pahoehoeal cavity, and succumbing to the fate Baxter -had planned for me. - -And besides, those tunnels were black as oil, further off from the -chamber I was in. My feet might find me a quick shortcut to the center -of the planet, in that treacherous gloom. - -Sugarfeet, I decided, could either see in the dark, or else they -carried a handful of that white-glowing fungus with them when they went -for a stroll. - -I went back to the cot, and sat down to wait for Clatclit's appearance, -passing the time by struggling back into my durex boots. I felt a bit -more competent, once trousered and shod, than I had felt while lying -beneath that coverlet in my shorts. A man without his pants is only -half a man, somehow. - -From the corridor, there came a series of sharp, regular clicks, -and then Clatclit waddled in. When not going full speed, in that -gravity-defying bound of theirs, the sugarfeet moved rather clumsily, -like an old sailor rocking down the street on legs trained to fight a -rolling deck. I think it was the tail's weight that accounted for that -lumbering gait. It was fully as long as the legs, and nearly as thick, -except where it dwindled at the end to a solitary prismatic red spike. -I rather judged that that four-inch crystalline dagger came in handy -during a fight. - -Clatclit made a gesture with both hands, and clacked something at me. -His attitude and inflection were unmistakeable. - -I gave him the Earth equivalent of the gesture, raising my right hand -in a sort of lazy wave. "Hello, yourself," I said. "Snow seems to be -having trouble communicating with you." - -Clatclit nodded, and seated himself on that stool. - -"What's this about her brother Ted?" I went on. "She asked if you knew -where he was, and got a yes-no answer." - -The nod again. - -"Do you know where he's at?" I persisted. - -Clatclit made the same yes-no motion with his nubbly head that Snow had -described. I thought it over. - -"You know, _in a way_, where he is, but not _specifically_?" - -Violent nods, three of them. - -"Ah, so that's it!" I said. "Let's see. Can you take us to him?" - -The yes-no business again. - -"You can take us to a point, but no further, maybe?" - -The violent triple nod. - -"Is there danger?" - -Three nods. - -"To you?" - -Headshake. - -"To me and Snow, then?" - -Headshake. - -"Ah! To _Ted_." - -Nods. - -"How about his companions? Are they in danger too?" - -Yes. - -"From whom?" I said, forgetting our limitations. - -Disgusted stare. - -"Oh, yeah, that's right. Uh ... from Baxter?" - -A rocking of the head from side to side. This was a new one. I wrinkled -up my forehead, puzzling it out. - -"Baxter's a danger in general, you mean, but that's not the danger you -meant, right?" - -Nods again. - -"Okay, then, let's see who's left.... Danger from Earthmen, like those -mobs who came after me?" - -Negative. - -"Surely not danger from me or Snow?" - -Negative. - -"From--from you Martians?" I choked, bewildered. - -The head rocked from side to side. - -"Danger.... Danger from sugarfeet?" - -A very violent negative. - -"But from _Martians_?" I queried, blinking. - -A slow, positive nod. - -"But there are no Martians but you sugarfeet. Unless--" An icy cold -hand grabbed my adrenal glands and squeezed, hard. "The Ancients!" I -gasped, in horror. - -A triple yes. - -"Then they're not extinct!" - -A disgusted stare. - -I realized he couldn't answer till I rephrased that one, or I'd be -stuck with wondering if he meant yes, they are, or yes, they aren't. -"Are they extinct?" I said. - -Headshake. - -"And they've got the boys!" - -Nod. - -"And they're inimical to man, in some way!" - -Violent negative. - -I stared, confused, into Clatclit's lizardy eyes. - -"They--they aren't dangerous to man?" - -The sideways rocking motion. - -"They're a danger to some men--Baxter's men!" - -A nod, but with a kind of hesitation about it. - -"But also to the boys?" I marvelled. - -The yes-no motion. - -"Under certain conditions, they're a danger to the boys!" - -Yes. - -"These conditions; do they have anything to do with Baxter?" - -Yes. - -"Hmmm...." I leaned back on my hands on the cot, and studied Clatclit's -face, thinking hard. "Could it be that these Ancients want something -with regard to Baxter, but that the boys' safety is the price of it?" - -A jump up from the stool, a laughably Earthlike clap of the hands, and -a triple series of very positive nods. Clatclit sat down again, a much -happier sugarfoot than when he'd entered. - -"But," I protested, "Baxter, from my last contact with him, isn't the -sort who'd care about the boys, right?" - -Nods. - -"Well, then, for pete's sake," I protested loudly, "over whose heads -are the Ancients holding the safety of the boys?" - -Clatclit extended a ruddy talon directly at me, and then aimed it -toward the corridor outside. - -"Me and Snow?" I cried, standing up. "They're trying to force me and -Snow to do something for them, and making the boys' safety the price of -it. Why, that's--that's criminal!" - -In my rage, I'd taken a step toward Clatclit, not even thinking of the -fact that his crystalline constitution would be an easy match for my -fists. Genially, though, Clatclit leaned back on the stool, widened his -already wide eyes, and, pointing two index fingers at his chest, shook -his head from side to side. - -"What?" I said, not getting it. Then, "Oh, I see. It's not your fault -what the Ancients have done. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Clatclit." - -He shrugged off the apology, and waited for more of my investigative -monologue. - -I dropped back to sit on the edge of the cot, and let him wait a -while, while I tried to figure the whole mess out. Then I remembered -something, and looked up at him. - -"Clatclit, back in Marsport, when I first met you, I asked why I had -been chosen, and you indicated that you'd tell me later. Why was I -chosen?" - -Clatclit just stared, uncertainly. - -"You know what I mean. Why was I the one you didn't blast with that -collapser? And why'd you go off without me the first time, but want to -take me along the second?" - -A very disgusted stare. - -I slowed down and fed him questions one at a time. - -"Back at that bar, you blasted the other men, then left without me. -Why?" - -Clatclit pointed to himself, then to his cranium, then to me, then made -a palms-down hand-spreading gesture. - -"You ... thought ... I ... negation--You thought I'd been blasted, too! -Except that I'd flattened out behind that wall, and you couldn't see me -behind the remaining bottom section. You originally meant to get me out -of there alive?" - -Nods, vigorous. - -"And you thought you'd goofed with the collapser, and gotten me, too!" - -Nods. - -"So what happened in the street? How'd you happen to stick around?" - -The talon went to his earhole, then he spread his hands wide, in a -gesture of "many-ness," and waited hopefully. - -"You heard a lot of--what? Oh! You heard those men coming up the -street, and stuck around to see what was up. But I didn't hear them, -and I was closer. In fact, they were sneaking after me." - -Clatclit pointed to his ears and nodded, then indicated mine and shook -his head. - -I got it then. Supersensitivity. It made sense. Just as man's ears, -accustomed to use in air, are even more receptive to sounds in a -denser medium, as, for instance, underwater, where sound waves are -more powerful; so the sugarfeet's ears, built for use in the rarefied -Martian atmosphere, could hear all the better in the heavier air of -Marsport. - -"Okay, so you heard them, saw me, and came to the rescue. Fine. Now, -the big question: Why? What is so special about me, Clatclit?" - -He stood up and made the same strange gesture he'd made the night on -Von Braun Street. Alternate pointing to his head, then to me. - -The "me" part was easy enough, but the other.... I tried a series of -likely meanings. - -"That motion to your head, Clatclit. You mean I'm the head of -something, the investigation, for instance?" - -Negative. - -"I'm intelligent?" - -A pause, then the yes-no motion. - -"You mean I am, but that's the wrong answer. Hmmm. Very tactful of you, -Clatclit. You could have given me a no on that one." - -Clatclit showed a friendly array of deadly-looking teeth. I interpreted -this as an evidence of camaraderie, so I just grinned back. - -"Okay, Clatclit. Let's see. It has nothing to do with my brain power?" - -A wild light came into his eyes, and he seemed ready to crack out of -his glittering pelt, so agitated did he become. Apparently, I'd hit on -something, but he didn't know what sort of signal to make. - -"I'm getting warm?" I said. - -Clatclit stared, and I realized that, even knowing and understanding -colloquial English, he might still have missed a few of the slangier -expressions. - -"That is," I said, "I'm close to the answer?" - -Nod. - -"Something to do with brain power?" - -Vigorous nod. - -"Mine?" - -Negative. - -"Baxter's?" - -Negative. - -"Anyone's?" - -I got the yes-no and a climactic shrug. Clatclit was apparently stuck -for a response. - -I tried to figure it out. Brain power, but not mine, not really -anyone's, and yet, in a way, someone's. Then I jumped up and faced him, -elated. - -"The Brain! The composite brain of International Cybernetics!" - -Clatclit emitted something that sounded very much like a sigh of -relief, and nodded. - -I thought back to his head-then-me gesture. "Then you mean I was -rescued because I was the man chosen by the Brain?" - -Three brisk nods. - -Now I was really confused. I shook my head at Clatclit, and said, "I -give up, friend. I'm out of questions you can answer." - -He gave me a curious look, an expectant look. - -"The only question I can think of is 'Why should Mars be interested in -me just because I was selected by the Brain back on Earth?' And that's -a tough one to do in pantomime." - -Clatclit rose up proudly on tiptoe, as if stubbornly denying the slur -I'd cast on his miming abilities. He looked hurt, and I felt like a -crumb. - -"Okay, friend. Try. But I don't guarantee I'll get it." - -Clatclit stood a moment in thought, then pointed upward. - -"Up? Out? Above?" I said. All received negatives. "It's no use, -Clatclit, I can't--Oh, all right, once more. Uh ... away up?" - -Nod. - -"Earth?" I said, excitedly. - -Nod. - -"Well, what about it?" I said. - -Clatclit pointed up to Earth, then to me, and shook his head. Then he -pointed down, to Mars, I guessed by association, and to me again. This -time he nodded. - -"Earth-me-no. Mars-me-yes," I said mechanically. "Earth-no-_what_?" - -Talon to head. - -"Earth-me-no brain?" I choked out. "The Brain did not select me?" - -Side-to-side motion. - -"Not exactly? Well, then--No, that's crazy!" - -Clatclit looked a question. - -I laughed wearily and sank back onto the cot. "All I get, chum, is the -ridiculous impression that Mars was behind the Brain's selecting me -back on Earth--" - -I sat bolt upright, slightly stunned. - -Clatclit was nodding. - - - - -13 - - -An hour later, when Clatclit had gone off to do whatever it is that -sugarfeet do when they're not playing charades with Earthmen, I joined -Snow in a so-so luncheon she'd been able to put together with the help -of a few of our dragonish friends. It seemed to be mostly a species of -watery tumble-weed, plus a smattering of rubbery white cubes that tried -hard to taste like mushrooms, but failed. I was trying to be light and -casual. - -"We may be poisoned, you know," I remarked, chewing valiantly on a -mouthful of the stuff. - -"It's quicker than starving," she observed, continuing to eat. "If we -don't eat, we're sure to die, but--" - -"Yeah, yeah, I know. If we do, we've got a fifty-fifty chance of -survival. Too bad you don't carry sandwiches in that all-purpose -handbag of yours." - -"I do," she said, calmly. "But they're all enjoyably gone, thank you. I -couldn't wait forever for you to come out of your coma." - -"Thanks loads," I muttered, chomping doggedly on a stubborn white cube, -and wishing I didn't have to tell her what I knew. - -"So tell me more about what Clatclit said," she urged, washing down her -alien meal with a cupped rock filled with clear but alkaline water. - -I shrugged, and let the rest of the vegetation sit where it was. Until -I grew a lot hungrier, it was safe from my alimentary system for a -spell. - -"As I see it, Baxter is a menace to the Ancients. They, as a -self-protective gesture, decided to get an Earthman up here who could -find the fact of their existence, and make it known to Earth. Then a -meeting between Earth and Mars can be arranged, and we can come to some -sort of peaceful co-existence. Right now, Baxter's in the dastardly -position of being able to destroy the Ancients with no one back home -even knowing there was anyone to destroy, see?" - -"All but how they got hold of you." - -"They exerted some kind of influence--heaven only knows what kind of -technology they possess--and it triggered the Brain, back on Earth, -into selecting me. Then the sugarfeet, who are, by the way, not -servants of the ancients, but another distinct race, were used as -go-betweens. First one to spot me got the hand-painted ashtray, or -something. Who knows? But anyhow, they selected me, and--" - -"Jery," said Snow, crinkling up her brow, "how did they know that you -even existed?" - -"I guess I could have put that more clearly; they didn't know there was -a _me_, a Jery Delvin. But they knew what qualifications such a man -must have, and so they influenced the Brain to choose such a man when -Security tried to find a solution to the mystery of the missing Scouts." - -"Who are missing only in order to create a mystery so that the IS -people would use the Brain to select the man whom the Martians had -gimmicked the Brain to fake." Snow shook her head, and shut her eyes. -"It's got my head going in circles, Jery!" - -I grinned at her. "Okay. We'll take it from the top. Baxter, for -reasons yet unknown, is a menace to the ancients. In a manner yet -unknown, also. Their plight must come to the attention of the peoples -of Earth. With me so far?" - -She nodded impatiently. - -"Okay, then. So what would make the people back home sit up and take -notice of little old Mars? Well, how about swiping the Space Scouts? -It's a great plan, really. Not only are Earthmen suckers for a child -in trouble, but these particular children are representatives of every -civilized nation on our planet. So they are swiped." - -"Jery...." Snow tried to interrupt. - -"I know. The kids left of their own free will. I'll get to that in a -minute." - -She bit her lip and kept still, and I went on. - -"Baxter, sensing the hand of the Ancients in this, makes a good -countermove. He keeps the Earth people under the impression that all is -well with the kids. This, of course, cannot go on for too damned long; -he's got to find those kids and fast. So, unwittingly following the -plan set up by the ancients, he feeds the known data into the Brain. -However, they've geared the Brain to react to that particular data by -selecting a man who will not conform to Baxter's standards--that is, -a man who would have assisted Baxter's race-destruction plan--but one -who will be able to size up the situation and act on it in a manner -beneficial to the Martians." - -"How can you be so sure of this?" Snow demanded. - -"I'm not, for pete's sake!" I snapped. "Remember, I had to dredge all -this information out of Clatclit by tortuous questioning. A lot of it I -had to conjecture, to fill the gaps. But hell, it fits, doesn't it?" - -"I'm sorry," Snow said, contritely. - -"Okay, okay," I said, relenting. "Pardon me for biting your head off. -Where was I?" - -"Acting beneficial to the ancient Martians." - -"Ummm. Yeah, okay. So I'm picked. Baxter is a little surprised when I -show up, since I just don't look the race-annihilating type, I guess, -but he has to follow what the Brain selected, since he has no other way -of getting to those missing kids. Still with me? Okay. However, unknown -to even Baxter, there is a third contingent at work: Neo-Martians." - -"Those men who tried to kill you," said Snow. - -"Right. These are the characters who want to team with the Martians -against Earth, and make this planet the ruling one in the solar system." - -"I don't understand their motivation at all." - -"It's--Well, it's a little like the feelings of the early colonists -in New England toward King George. They're off here on a new planet, -but they're still paying taxes to Earth, and--At any rate, they want -to be a separate country. Not all the Neo-Martians feel this way, just -a disgruntled few. But it's always those few groaners who seem to run -things, because the other people, in their neutral way, don't take any -action against them.... Hell, I don't want this turning into a lecture -on political science. Let me go on. - -"When the news hits the stereos that a girl with a forged Amnesty is -on the loose in Marsport, these people show a lot of sense. Since the -customs office wouldn't let you off Earth with such a thing, and the -customs people here wouldn't have let you bring one onto Mars, they -know it must be the real McCoy. But if real, why this to-do about -shooting to kill? Obviously, you've taken the Amnesty from the real -person who should have it. Now, they don't know me from Adam, but they -put the word out all over town to keep watch for anyone who might be -the actual Amnesty-bearer. I qualify." - -"How?" Snow asked, narrowing her eyes with interest. - -"First, I'm a stranger. Secondly, though not in a Security uniform, -I'm toting a collapser, which means--unless I have the approval of -IS--the death penalty. I've carried it openly, so they know I haven't -stolen it anyplace. Okay, I'm a stranger who has an in with Security, a -collapser on my belt, and the word is out that an Amnesty-bearer minus -the Amnesty is in town. What would you do if you were a Neo-Martian and -I walked into your bar?" - -"I'd slip you a mickey," Snow said sweetly. - -"Uh.... Yeah, okay." I muttered, declining an urge to snarl something -back at her. Besides, she had a cruel blow coming. - -"But why did they want you?" Snow demanded. - -"Honey--" I said, before I could catch myself. But she hadn't flinched, -so I decided to let the appelation stand."--they don't know the -Scouts are missing! As far as Marsport is concerned, those kids took -off in the _Phobos II_, see? So what do you suppose they decide the -Amnesty-bearer is after?" - -Snow's eyes widened into violet pools, and she exclaimed, finally -getting the point, "Them!" - -"At last a light dawns in that lovely skull," I sighed. "They figured -I was here to round up the rebels among the Neo-Martians and stash -them in that lousy prison I was blasted free of. So they lock me in -that cellar, and have a meeting to decide what's to be done. Only, -Clatclit, knowing I'm the guy the ancients have been waiting for, can't -let these men keep me. So he goes to the meeting, too." - -"But wouldn't the rebels be surprised at a sugarfoot--" - -"Dearest girl, the rebels are well aware of the fact that sugarfeet are -more than just dumb animals. Clatclit tells me that they're counting on -the sugarfeet for support, if it even comes to open battle. Why do you -suppose that bartender went to the trouble of learning that gosh-awful -clacketty language of theirs?" - -"But why would the sugarfeet join with them?" Snow asked. "Aren't they -friendly, on the neutral side?" - -"Unh-uh," I said. "Not in the way you mean. The sugarfeet, from -planetary sympathies, are on the side of the Ancients. The Neo-Martians -were anti-Earth, hence, anti-Baxter. So Plan A of the Ancients was a -joining of forces between sugarfeet and rebel Neo-Martians. It was -a slim chance, but they needed allies. Clatclit tells me that this -thing's been growing for nearly a year, now. But a few weeks ago, what -happens? Up to Mars come these kids, who are not only good emotional -contacts with Earth, but with all the powerful nations. The ancients -immediately scrap the first scheme, and switch to Plan B, the one we're -currently enmeshed in." - -"So that's why Clatclit was dickering for the collapser at that meeting -you eavesdropped on!" Snow exclaimed. - -"Sure," I said. "The rebels wanted that collapser for purposes of -duplication. Its mechanism is one of Security's best-kept secrets. Only -now, the Ancients don't want to help the rebel cause, so Clatclit was -instructed to get that thing from them at all costs. He did. You know -the cost." - -Snow shuddered. "All those men--poof! Just like that!" - -"Honey, this is war," I sighed sadly. "And you and I are the key -figures in it, whether we like it or not." - -"I think I'm all clear except on the one point: Why did the boys leave -the _Phobos II_ willingly?" - -"Male children, especially that brother of yours, love intrigue and -adventure and secret codes. Clatclit and his ruby-red friends, knowing -they'd pique the kids' curiosity, let them know that they were more -than dumb animals. This, being in direct conflict with all they'd been -taught back on Earth, put them in the enviable position of being 'in -the know.' And kids are quick to pick up new tongues, too. I have no -doubts that within three hours those kids knew more of the sugarfoot -language than I'll learn in a lifetime. Here, they were told, was their -chance to be heroes. Plan B was told to them, and the part they must -play in it. What kid wouldn't go along with a chance to take part in -a real-life adventure? And so, after leaving the evidence that they'd -apparently vanished in space--Clatclit tells me this was one of the -boys' idea; nice kids we grow on Earth!--leaving this baffling trail, -they tramped off after the sugarfeet into the cave, like the happy -youngsters following the Pied Piper." - -I slowed down. This was the part I didn't want to say. - -"And?" Snow said, sensing my distress, and going tense. - -"And they wound up neatly jailed by the Ancients," I said. "The -Ancients had made sure to select a man--me--that could be coerced by -threats to those poor kids." - -"You mean if you don't do what they want...?" Snow said, but couldn't -complete the sentence. - -"The kids pay," I finished for her. "So, tell me, lady, what's my move?" - -"I don't know," she said, kind of startled, as if just beginning to -realize the desperation of our situation. "I'm not sure who's right or -wrong in this, Jery." - -"Neither am I!" I said bitterly. "Baxter's a stinker, but he does -represent Earth, of which I'm currently in favor. The rebels may be -violent, but they have a few points in their favor, too. And the -Ancients--" - -Snow looked at me, expectantly. "The Ancients?" - -"Them I hate," I said suddenly. "I don't like their slip-and-slide -loyalties, Snow. They were the friends of the rebels, sure--until they -thought of a better plan. Then the rebels were calmly forgotten. Or -vaporized, when necessary. Right now, they're on my side, what with -ordering my escape, and protecting me from Baxter. But it's only for so -long as I serve their ends. Then it's good-by, Jery Delvin!" - -"Then--" Snow arose, a slim hand going to her throat "--we don't know -for sure if the boys are alive!" - -I shook my head, solemnly. "We don't know it at all." - - - - -14 - - -Clatclit came lumbering into the chamber, and paused to survey the -remnants of our meal. He pointed to me, then to Snow, then made the -palms-down outward gesture and looked questioningly. - -"Yeah," I said. "We're finished, Clatclit. Thanks." - -He nodded, then beckoned to me, and pointed toward the tunneled gloom -beyond the archway. - -"Come with you?" I said. "Come where?" - -He pointed down. - -"Downstairs?" I asked. - -Furious glare. - -It was nearly impossible to think, with Snow sitting right there across -from me, but luckily my memory came through with what that gesture had -meant the last time he'd used it. - -"Mars?" I said softly. - -Side-to-side motion of the head. - -"Something like Mars. The Ancients!" - -Brisk nods. - -Snow got to her feet, apprehensive. - -"It's all right," I said. "Remember. So far, they want me alive. I -don't have to worry unless they think up a scheme that doesn't need me." - -"No, Jery, I'm coming with you!" she said, clutching my arm. Those -smooth little fingers bit in like dull teeth. She must have been better -at sports than her pupil, Ted. - -"Snow, the way I see it, this is going to be dangerous." - -Her fists went to her hips. "And by what omniscience are you certain -that I'll be safe back here?" she queried. - -She had me there. The sugarfeet were being buddies at the moment. -However, a quick change of plan, and Snow might end up vaporized, -gnawed, or just left to starve in this devious labyrinth. - -"Okay, come along," I sighed. "But hold my hand." - -"I won't get lost," she protested. - -"That wasn't the reason, honey," I grinned at her. - -Her eyes flashed a moment, and her nostrils made a perfunctory flare. -Then she smiled, surprisingly shy, and slipped her hand into mine. "For -moral support," she said. - -"Nice rationalizing," I said, but she didn't pull away. Together, we -followed Clatclit out of the chamber. - -And that's when I learned the primary function of that red spike at -the tip of the tail. No sooner were we away from the fungus-lighted -chamber, than that tiny trylon began to glow, first pale pink, then a -brighter scarlet, and finally a brilliant yellow-orange. We followed -that bobbing tailtip like the _ignis fatuus_ through the bowels of -Hell. Snow's grip on my hand grew a little tighter as we progressed -along the slippery red rock of the nearly circular passage. - -"A regular candy-coated firefly," I joked, to lighten her mood. -"What'll they think of next!" - -She didn't answer. - -"Bad joke?" I asked. - -"No ... it's--Did you notice, Jery? We're going _down_." - -We did seem to be descending, at that. I could imagine Snow's mind -conjuring up tons of planet pressing down on us without warning. - -"Not down," I said to her. "Downer. If it sets your mind at rest, we -just took off from a place way below ground. If the roof didn't fall in -there, it probably won't up ahead." - -"How do you know that?" she asked, her curiosity taking the place of -her trepidation, which was what I'd hoped for. - -"The air," I said. "We were breathing in that chamber, remember? For -the air to be that plentiful, we just had to be far under the ground, -already. The atmosphere grows denser as one descends, you know; like on -the canal bottoms." - -"I've never been on a canal bottom," she said. - -"Come to think of it, neither have I! I must have read that someplace." - -We followed Clatclit and his magic taillight a few more yards, then -Snow said, "You don't have to kid around to buck me up, Jery." - -"Oh, yes I do," I disagreed sincerely. "For some reason or other, my -main worry at the moment is for you. So if I can keep you happy, I'm -happy. See?" - -"Uh-huh," she said softly. Her hand pressed mine more tightly for a -brief moment. "Thanks." - -"If you think you can repay my efforts with a mere word of gratitude," -I said in a villainous whisper, "you have lots to learn about men, poor -child." - -"Jery, don't joke any more. I'm frightened, really frightened," she -said, her voice trembling. - -"Okay," I said, and left off. I didn't tell her, but my own pulsebeat -wouldn't have qualified me for a hero medal, either. Then, up ahead -in the blackness beyond Clatclit's glowing tail spike, I heard a dull -roaring. - -A few hundred yards further on, the roar was louder, and I could feel -it through the soles of my boots. - -"What is it, Jery?" Snow whispered. - -"It sounds like water!" I said. "Like more water than I thought there -was on this whole spaceborne Death Valley!" - -"Jery!" Snow's fingers dug into my palm. "If this is the way to the -Ancients, then this must be what Clatclit meant when he told you he -could only take you so far and no further!" - -"Sure it is!" I exclaimed excitedly. "A child could have figured it -out. What else but water could impede these rock-hard things!" - -Clatclit was slowing his pace and moving more carefully. Then, not ten -feet in front of him, the fiery glow of his tail tip was reflected -from a million foaming, shifting wet surfaces. He took another few -courageous steps, then halted, pressed back against the curve of the -tunnel wall. - -He'd averted his gaze from the raging torrent beyond him, but his -outstretched hand still pointed in that direction. I felt a cold wet -spray on my face, and saw, with a little shock, that some of the -glittering facets of Clatclit's scaly hide were already becoming pocked -and eroded. - -"We'll have to go fast," I said, releasing Snow's hand only to clutch -her arm tightly against my side. "If we take too long, our luciferous -friend here will be a sticky red puddle. And I don't intend crossing -that in the dark!" - -"_That_" was a jagged ridge of rock that continued forward from where -our segment of tunnel ended, scant feet beyond Clatclit's cowering -form. It was glistening with pools of black water and wet froth, flung -up there by the raging river that passed less than a foot beneath its -slightly arched surface. The torrent rushed angrily from somewhere in -the hollow blackness to our right, leaped and sprayed past the natural -bridge of rock, barely two feet wide, that lay before our feet, and -then-- - -My stomach grew sick at the sight just to the left of the bridge. - -The vaulted tunnel which contained this black Martian river dipped and -dropped. The river, just beyond our frail bridge, was a black cataract -falling into the heart of the planet. - -"Jery," Snow said, shivering. "Hold me. Hold me tight, or I'll never -get across that!" - -"It's all right," I said, with a calm tone that surprised the hell out -of me. "Here." I got directly behind her and ran my hands along the -undersides of her forearms, gripping them tightly midway to her wrists. -"Now, just walk as I direct you, Snow. Close your eyes if you want. I -won't guide you wrong." - -"I trust you, Jery," she said softly. - -"Okay then, honey." I kept my voice gentle, soothing. "Left foot -forward. No, a bit more. There! Okay, now the right foot." She swayed -a little in my grasp, on the first slippery section of that dangerous -arch of rock. "Easy! That's it, honey, you're doing fine. Now your -left. Ah! Okay. And then the right. Swell." - -Step by nightmare step, we crossed the arch, Snow moving her feet -blindly forward in exploratory shuffles, and I, forgetting my own -danger in my concern for her, moving steadily with her, eyeing each -spot on that rock ahead of her feet for safety. The light grew dimmer -by the minute as we crept further and further from Clatclit. - -I wondered how long I could have stood in a spray of liquid caustic or -acid, holding a light for some friends. - -Then the last step was made, and without my knowing how it happened, -Snow was tightly in my arms, facing me now, her silky hair against my -cheek, her arms locked about my waist. - -"Easy, baby, easy." I mumbled into her ear. "We've arrived, we're okay. -Just relax." - -She turned her face up to mine, and I forgot to speak. Suddenly my -mouth was down on hers, hard, my arms crushing her against me. We clung -like that for a dizzy moment, then broke apart. - -"Snow," I gripped her wrists and held her there, staring at me. "Snow, -darling, if we ever get out of this alive--" - -"I know," she breathed. "I know, Jery. I love you!" - -I kissed her again, gently, this time. Then we started off down the -tunnel, away from Clatclit's light. I hoped he wasn't melted beyond -repair. I knew, though, after that shattering exchange of affection -with Snow, that I sure was! - -Behind us the light vanished. I looked back, but could discern neither -Clatclit, nor the rock bridge, nor the torrent. - -"I guess we feel our way from here on in," I remarked. - -"No," said Snow, halting close beside me. "There, up ahead, Jery! A -light." - -Together we moved down the tunnel. The light grew in intensity. Then -we'd reached the lighted area. We were face to face with a peculiar -red-bronze stone wall. No other tunnels led off from where we stood. -There was no direction we could go from there except back toward that -perilous underground cataract. - -"Could we have come the wrong way?" Snow asked. "Maybe we missed a -turnoff back there in the tunnel where it was darker." - -"No," I said. "I had my hands feeling the walls all the way from the -bridge onward, until we could see our way. This must be the right -place." - -Then on a sudden instinctive hunch I turned to Snow. "Got a lipstick in -that handbag of yours?" - -She looked at me blankly, but nodded, and produced the slim metal tube -for my inspection. - -I took it from her fingers, slipped off the cap, and twirled up a -half-inch of the glossy red wax. "Now let's see if I'm right about this -wall," I said, and made a streaking motion across the rough surface -with the lipstick. - -The end of the wax cylinder came away a bit disturbed by its apparent -contact with the surface before us, but the wall held no trace, no -mark, not even a smudge. I saw the little curls of sheared-off wax -falling down the face of the wall to the floor of the tunnel. - -I handed the lipstick back to a bewildered Snow. - -"Just as I thought," I said. "That, honey, is the rock known as -parabolite. The toughest, most impervious substance in the solar -system. Nothing marks it, scratches it, or even budges it. We couldn't -get past here with an intercontinental size collapser!" - -"But Jery, look!" Snow cried, pointing at the wall. I looked. The flat -wall of parabolite, the impervious mineral, was going slowly concave in -the center. I took hold of Snow by the shoulders, and pulled her back -from that rapidly deepening hemisphere, expecting--I don't know _what_ -I was expecting. But I was scared speechless. - -The thing bulged back away from us until its diameter was equal to that -of the tunnel itself, and then, before my hypnotized gaze, the deepest -section of the ruddy mineral gaped, like a hole suddenly pricked in the -side of a bubble. The remainder of the parabolite wrenched violently -away from the opening, leaving us a clear gateway into-- - -Into a vast chamber of eye-disturbing metal, that shifted and shimmered -in some mind-chilling fashion that made me want to turn and run with -Snow back down that black tunnel behind us. - -"Come in, Jery Delvin," said the voice of an _ancient Martian_. - - - - -15 - - -Snow and I stepped into the great gleaming chamber. I was very much -disconcerted when the wall behind us contracted suddenly back into -place. Wherever we were, we were there until the Ancients decided to -let us out. - -"Who is the person with you?" said a voice. It had a frowning note to -it, but I could not discern the source of the words anywhere in that -silver-white blur of metal universe that spread away from us in all -directions. - -"She--" I said as boldly as possible, feeling like an escapee from -Fenimore Cooper "--she is my woman!" - -Silence. Then, "She will be allowed." - -"Allowed to what?" I demanded. - -"Allowed to be," said the voice, without emotion. - -Snow's fingers nearly went through my hand. - -"Well, thanks," I said, figuring politeness wouldn't hurt. I held tight -to Snow, supplementing our hand grip with an arm-in-arm lock. We took -another step forward. "Where are you?" I asked. - -"You must come forward," said the voice. - -I took another step, then another, then came to a startled halt. - -As if materializing out of the air, the Martian was before me. I stared -at him, stupified. - -"What's the matter, Jery? What is it?" Snow said. Then she looked where -I was looking, giving a little scream. - -"It's all right, honey," I said, with hollow courage. "He's a little -impressionistic, but--" - -"He?" she cried, clinging to me. "That--that thing?" - -I looked at her, mystified, then back at the sort-of man I was standing -before. He made my head spin a bit, what with apparently seeing him -from front view and both profiles simultaneously, but he was mannish -looking. - -"This guy, the Martian, honey," I said. "Maybe you didn't take enough -steps forward." - -"She cannot see me as you see me, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. "Her -eyes only convey to her a fantastic whirl of hideous light and dark -shapes. She, along with most others of your race, cannot apprehend my -form as you can. This is why you were chosen, Jery Delvin." - -"That's crazy," I protested. "You're there, aren't you? You reflect -light into the eyes, right? Why can't she see you?" - -"The human eye is not the animal eye," said the Martian. "An animal eye -sees only meaningless shapes; animals use all their senses to identify -objects. But the human eye sees concepts, Jery Delvin. Where an animal -merely discerns eyes, feeding apparatus and breathing vents, the human -eye sees a face. Actually, there is no such thing as a face." - -It was true enough, in a way, that the human eye tended to group -otherwise unrelated objects into concepts of non-actual reality. - -"So how come I can see you, and she can't?" I reiterated. - -"You are gifted to see true," said the Martian. "Your mind apprehends -concepts where it has previously expected to find none. You relate -what you see, and correctly. As in the case of your deriving so much -information from your conversation with Clatclit. Another man would not -have succeeded in that." - -I shook my head, confused. "But I--I see you!" - -"No, Jery Delvin. Your mind sees me. Your eyes alone could not possibly -view me since I am never entirely here to be viewed. Your eyes see -one part of me, then another, then another and another. But your mind -rejects the idea that I am four separate entities, and sees me as I am, -a unit." - -"You're here, you say, but you're not here, too?" I choked, feeling -positively giddy. - -"I am not a three-dimensional creature," said the Martian. "We whom you -call the Ancients are existing in four dimensions." - -"I thought Einsteinian physics says that _time_ is the fourth -dimension," I said slowly. - -"It is not _time_," said the Martian. "It is _place_ that is the fourth -dimension. What is _here_, Jery Delvin? Or _there_? Remember, there is -no _here_ or _there_ except in relationship to something else. If only -one small globe of rock comprised existing matter, Jery Delvin, where -would it be?" - -"It--That's silly. _One_ thing can't be anywhere!" I said. "It'd just -be floating in a void." Trying to picture such a void made my brain -whirl. I gave it up. - -"I'm glad you understand," said the Martian. "Very well, then. We, your -Ancients, are existing in a perfect _here-ness_, of which you can have -no concept at all. We are living in not _a_ location, but in _location_ -itself." - -"It's no use," I said. "I can't even picture it." - -"You're not supposed to," said the Martian, with a mechanical smile of -contempt. "Even your mind, Jery Delvin, cannot fathom the magnitude of -our being." - -"Hold on a minute!" I said, changing the subject. "Clatclit told me -that you expected to compel my cooperation by keeping the Space Scouts -your prisoners unless I obeyed you." - -"That is correct, Jery Delvin. And so, our desire is that you--" - -"Damn it!" I exploded. "Stop taking so much for granted! Before I even -scratch where it itches to please you guys, I want to see those kids! -And in damned good shape, too!" - -Snow held onto my arm and trembled. This was it. Now we'd know for sure -if the boys were all right. - -The Martian looked exasperated, but then he reached an arm out from -himself--I couldn't tell exactly, without getting a blinding headache, -just which way his arm went, left, right, up or down. But he reached -away from himself in some direction or other, and the next moment, -the shimmering blur of metallic flooring between him and us gave way -to a red-bronze platform of parabolite which rose like a sluggish -elevator on close-intervalled narrow rods of the same mineral. Then, as -the apparatus halted, I realized that these rods were more than just -supports for that slab of rock. They were bars. - -And huddled together in this escape-free cage, I saw the fifteen -missing Space Scouts. - -"Snow!" - -One of the boys, his hair as raven as Snow's was blonde, tore away from -the group and rushed over to the bars, jamming his arms between them to -reach out for her. - -"Ted!" Snow cried, and rushed over to him. It was kind of awkward, -embracing with the bars in the way, but they did it anyhow. - -"Ted, dear Ted! Are you all right?" - -"Yeah," he said, with a note of uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess we are. -Only, I was almost giving up on you." - -"Have you," the Martian's icy voice cut into the reunion, "seen quite -enough?" - -"Hold your horses!" I hollered at him through the cage. "She hasn't -checked him for broken bones, yet!" - -The Martian, whether out of patience or alien incomprehension of my -sarcasm, left the cage where it was, and stood waiting. - -"I knew you'd get my message, Snow!" said Ted eagerly, quite forgetting -his doubts of a few seconds before. "I just knew it. When do we get out -of here, hey? We want to go home!" - -Apparently adventure lost its tang when the cage had first been lowered -into the--the whatever it was that served us as a floor. The other boys -had come up to the bars, now, all of them looking at Snow with longing, -as the next best thing to a human-type mother. - -"Oh, you poor kids," Snow sobbed suddenly. "Have they been feeding you? -When did you last wash your face, Ted?" - -"They don't feed us at all!" Ted said sorrowfully. "It's been weeks now -since we ran out of candy, and--" - -"Jery Delvin!" the Martian's voice interrupted imperiously. "Before -that look on your woman's face erupts into some more of her tiresome -vituperation, will you explain to her what a metabolic stasis is?" - -"Sure," I said, folding my arms. "As soon as you explain it to me!" - -The Martian seemed to be gathering himself for a cry of utter -exasperation. Then he caught hold of himself and said with rigid calm, -"We merely have held the children within a field of radiation that -obviates the necessity of their taking alimental nourishment." - -Snow looked over her shoulder at me, wonderingly. - -"He means, honey, that they fixed it somehow so the kids didn't need to -eat. I guess it was simpler than running a catering service." - -"Didn't need to eat!" she exploded. "Doesn't that blob of black -sparklers know that growing boys need food to grow!" - -"There's no need to be redundant!" said the Martian. - -"To what?" she cried, standing back from the cage to glare at him the -better, with arms akimbo. The Martian took this golden opportunity to -let the cage drop suddenly back out of our ken. The shimmering blur of -metallic luster was once more at our feet. - -"Oh!" she cried, stepping forward and staring down. "Ted! Teddy!" - -"Jery, Jery, Jery," Snow murmured tearfully, turning about and -burrowing her nose into my chest, while I held her helplessly. "He -looked s-so hungry!" - -I decided to let her sob. Neither I nor the Martian, no matter what our -brain power, could drive this fixed notion out of her pretty little -head. - -"Now that you have seen them," said the Martian, "perhaps we can get to -the business at hand?" - -I seemed to be out of dilatory alibis. - -"Okay," I said. "What do you want from me?" - -"We want you to destroy Philip Baxter," said the Martian. - - - - -16 - - -"Destroy Baxter?" I echoed stupidly. "I was dragged all the way from -Earth to do that?" - -"Since we are here, and you were there," said the Martian, -condescendingly, "what other choice did we have?" - -"You could have sent a letter," I muttered. - -"Hardly," the Martian said, unperturbed. "Since physical contact -between our two dimensions is impossible." - -"It is?" I said, surprised. - -"Of course!" the Martian snapped. "If it were not, we'd have destroyed -Baxter ourselves." - -"Why didn't you use the sugarfeet?" I asked, bewildered. "Clatclit -seems to have shown no ineptness in disintegrating other Earthmen." - -"For the simple reason," said the Martian, with cold anger, "that on -your wretchedly humid planet, a sugarfoot would be corroded to death -before it could locate him. If, of course, it had already overcome the -other obvious difficulties such as getting there, since Earth does not -permit immigration of alien species." - -Like a hot spark flaring where only ice had been before, a tiny -light of hope began to burn in my heart. The Martians, for all their -four-dimensional superiority, didn't know that Baxter was on Mars! -Hell, why should they? I knew Baxter personally, and I didn't know he -was on Mars until he was good and ready to let me know it. - -"Jery--" said Snow, about to spill the beans. - -"Ixnay, lover!" I growled. "Unless you want these guys tossing in the -hand, and switching to Plan C! Remember?" - -I hoped she'd recall what had happened to those would-be rebels once -the Ancients no longer had a use for them. I could tell, a second -later, by her involuntary gasp, that she did. - -"What was the import of that exchange?" the Martian asked, fairly -smoldering with suspicion. "Your idioms were elusive." - -"My woman was about to beg me not to do your will," I lied carefully. -"I merely pointed out to her that if I refused, you would simply -obliterate us and utilize some other scheme." - -"Intelligent thinking, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. For a horrible -moment, I thought he meant he'd caught onto my misinterpretation of my -words. Then I knew all was well, relatively, as he went on. "As to the -method of destruction, we leave it to you to choose. However, haste is -of paramount importance to us." - -"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but would you answer me one probably -idiotic question?" - -"If it is within my range of information," said the Martian. - -"Well, just why are you so set on getting rid of Baxter? Mind you, I -have no overwhelming affection for him myself. But I can't figure your -angle." - -"The motivation is the usual, basic one. Even you humans follow it: -Survival." - -"Survival?" I repeated, blinking. - -"Philip Baxter possesses the knowledge of the method of our -destruction," said the Martian. "That in itself is a bad thing, but -he has two more things besides this knowledge that make his removal -imperative. He also possesses the means and the intention of using this -means." - -"What?" said Snow, losing the pedantic thread. - -"He means, honey, that Baxter's not only got the knowhow to bump off -this bunch, but the wherewithal and the urge." - -"You Earthmen have a rather colorful succinctness of speech," the -Martian observed. - -Snow looked at me for help. "We what?" - -I grinned at her despite our situation. "We talk purty," I interpreted. -Then turning back to the Martian: "But if there cannot be physical -contact between the races, why worry about Baxter? It seems to me that -the worst he could do is snub you!" - -"I'd better give you a bit more detail." - -"Wait a minute." I held up a hand in protest. "If you tell me what -Baxter knows then won't I be--" - -"A threat to us? No. I do not intend to tell you the specific manner in -which we can be destroyed, simply the nature of the destruction." - -"All right. What?" - -"You're aware, of course, of the geocentric theory of the universe?" - -"Mmmm, I've heard of it. Isn't that the theory, once held by people -on earth, that the Earth was the center of all creation, and the sun -revolved around it, not vice-versa?" - -"That is the one. Now, though your race believed it to be a false -theory--" - -"It is false!" I protested. - -"For Earth, yes. But not, you see, for Mars. This place where you now -stand, this brief liaison-point between our dimension and yours, is the -center of your physical universe." - -"You're crazy," I said. "Why, the sun alone is too massive to swing -about this planet, let alone everything else! It'd be like a small boy -trying to twirl a ten-ton boulder on the end of a rope; even if he -managed, somehow, to get it started in motion, within ten seconds it'd -be swinging him!" - -"And if this small boy had another ten-ton boulder on the other side of -him?" - -"Well--uh ..." - -"And another one above, and below, and in all directions from him? What -then?" - -I thought it over. "He'd be a mighty tired boy." - -"That is not funny." - -"It needs work," I admitted. - -"Jery Delvin," said the Martian with open irritation, "time is -fleeting, and I cannot afford to dally while you play semantic -pingpong with my words! Kindly allow me to complete my statement of -this situation, or I shall decide by your flippancy that you no longer -desire the companionship of your woman!" - -That one, I detected by the sudden stiffening of Snow's hand in mine, I -didn't need to translate. I shut up. - -"This, then," the Martian went on more calmly, "is despite what your -scientists say, the center of your universe. If they will but compute -the masses, orbits and velocities of all other matter in the universe, -they will see that. Or are they yet aware of the universe in its -entirety?" - -"Not--not quite," I said carefully, not wanting to chance losing Snow. -"Our astronomical instruments have a limited sensitivity to light. We -see pretty damned far, but there's always something more beyond." - -"Very well, then, you'll have to take my word for it. However, if you -have properly understood the fact that our dimension exists at the -place of Location itself, you will see at once that our only possible -point of contact with your universe is at the central, non-moving -point." - -"I think I see," I said. "If you tried making contact anywhere else, -it'd go speeding off from you, so to speak." - -"Good. You understand perfectly. What Baxter proposes to do is to break -our liaison, thus confining us to our own dimension forever. - -"He proposes to do this by detonating a segment of our physical -universe, one which coexists with yours. This will produce only the -slightest of jolts in our world, but the balance between the two -universes is so delicate that even this minor tremor will move us--by -moving our contact-material--out of alignment. And we, since we exist -in Location, cannot then move ourselves back." - -"Would ... uh, would that be so terrible?" I asked nervously. "What do -you gain by the contact anyhow?" - -"The contact," said the Martian. "It is something we have always had. -We don't need it, but we like less the idea of having it arbitrarily -taken from us." - -"Oh," I said. "I don't suppose you happen to know Baxter's angle in all -this? I mean the reason for his urge to destroy you." - -"Power," the Martian said simply. "You have heard of the Amnesty, of -course?" - -"Have I!" I muttered. - -"Well, then. You know that the wearer cannot be countermanded by any -but the combined veto of the World President and Philip Baxter himself." - -"Yes," I said, puzzled. - -"Then who, if Philip Baxter were to wear the Amnesty, could countermand -him?" - -I realized with a shock that no one on the three planets of Earth's -domain could, the way the rules were set up. - -"But people wouldn't stand for a dictator," I argued. "They'd vote out -the power of the Amnesty." - -"And if there was no more vote? Jery Delvin, Interplanetary Security -is currently the most powerful organization in your world. Its agents -possess the most invincible of weapons, the collapser ray-gun. Philip -Baxter wields the power, even now. But he desires that it should become -known." - -"Known?" said Snow uncertainly. - -"He means, Snow, that it's no fun being the boss if nobody knows it. -The more I think of it, the more I think Baxter can actually get away -with it." I returned my attention to the Martian. "If he's held off -taking over until you people were unhitched from our universe, then you -must be a threat to him!" - -"Only in his mind, Jery Delvin. He learned that we exist. He also -learned that we had non-Earthly abilities. He decided that we therefore -were superior in knowledge of weapons of destruction. One cannot be a -successful dictator when another being has more power, or if one thinks -such is the case." - -"Then you haven't such weapons?" - -"We have. But, as I told you, physical contact between our races is -impossible." It gave a shrug. "Any attempt on our part to use our -weapons would result in that very jolt we are trying so desperately to -avoid." - -"I get it. You can shoot the charging rhino, but the recoil knocks you -off the cliff." - -"Overly metaphoric but substantially correct. So you must destroy -Baxter for us." - -"I'd like nothing better. I can get back to Earth, and alert the -president, and maybe get the wheels rolling for an investigation of IS." - -"Impossible!" the Martian snapped. "We dare not wait any longer. As -yet, Baxter has confided his _modus operandi_ to no one. Once he tells -another man, then that man tells a third, and soon we become hopelessly -vulnerable. No, the man himself must be destroyed, not just his power. -When he dies, the power will die with him if you then tell your story." - -"But I can't just walk up to him and kill him," I said. - -"Since we are completely aware that you can, I must take it that you -mean you will not." - -"No, not that, exactly. But look, he's been a stinker, I know, but it's -not in my power to destroy a fellow human being in cold blood." - -"Then we shall heat your blood, Jery Delvin," the Martian replied. "We -will warm it with the racking anger you shall feel against us, knowing -that these human children shall perish if you fail!" A cunning light -came into the Martian's eyes. "And not only these children," it said. -"But your woman as well!" - -"No!" I cried, grabbing hold of Snow in both my arms. "I'll do it, but -just leave her alone!" - -"She stays here with us until you return successful." - -"She does not!" I yelled, shaking. "I can't leave the woman I love with -a creep that looks to her like a blob of black sparklers! I--" - -With cold horror, I realized that my arms were embracing nothingness. -Snow was standing, wide-eyed, ten feet away. - -"Jery!" she cried, trying to come toward me. Instead, her steps slid -over that shimmering metallic blur, and she remained in place. - -"We who live in the heart of Location," said the Martian affably, "have -a certain mastery over locale." - -"You can't do this," I said unreasonably. Because it was quite obvious -it was being done. Inexorably. - -"Snow--" I said, and couldn't go on. The vision of Snow was moving -back from me, or I was moving backward, or both. But the gap between -us widened by the second. Then I was back in the rocky red tunnel, the -parabolite sphincter narrowing swiftly before my face. - -"Be--be careful, Snow!" I called, like an imbecile. - -The wall was solid again. - - - - -17 - - -Simultaneous with that parabolite wall shutting in my face, three -disturbing thoughts occurred to me: One, Baxter didn't have the -Amnesty; Snow did! Probably in that catch-all handbag of hers. Two, if -the Ancients could float me and Snow and the Space Scouts about like so -much helium, why the hell didn't they just de-localize Baxter into a -snake pit or something? And three, if physical contact was impossible -between the races, how in heaven's name did they gimmick the Brain back -on Earth? Which was also, come to think of it, moving awfully fast -in relation to their liaison-point with the geocentric point of the -universe! - -A very baffled man, I began feeling my way down the tunnel toward that -mighty roar of underground waters. The light paled and grew gray as I -moved away from the parabolite wall. Then I was in darkness, feeling -the bare stone with my fingers as I stepped carefully toward the -increasing volume of ragged sound. - -Then the wall curved away from my outstretched fingertips, and I knew I -stood at the brink of that precarious arch of rock. There was nothing -but blackness there, now. - -"Clatclit!" I hollered over the boom of the river waters. "Clatclit, -it's me, Jery!" - -The rush of the boiling rapids was too great, however. It thundered -by and swept the faint vibration of my voice along with it into that -enormous well to my right. - -Then I remembered Clatclit's manner of instruction to that hay-bale -beast, what seemed like ages ago, out on the craggy Martian hillside. I -put hooked thumb and forefinger into my mouth, and let off a piercing -whistle. - -Ahead of me in the darkness there was a glimmering of visibility, and -then a feeble pink taillight waggled slowly up and down, far back -beyond the other end of the bridge. Clatclit wasn't chancing moving as -close to the death-dealing spray as before. - -However, though a more powerful beam had been necessary to see by when -I'd been moving into darkness, the pale glow was sufficient for the -return trip. All I needed was a beacon, something to sight upon, so I -wouldn't go astray in my slow crawl across that slippery curve of rock. -Yes, crawl. This trip, I negotiated the arch on hands and knees. - -And then I was across and hurrying down the corridor to the bend around -which Clatclit shivered and waited. He stood up from his slouch against -the wall, from which weary stance he'd been waving me onward with his -taillight. - -"Wow!" I said, catching dim sight of him in the weak glow of his -water-pitted trylon. The sharp ruby glint was missing from his -erstwhile pyramidic facets; now they looked dull crimson, and ropy, -like taffy that has congealed after boiling over and dribbling down -the side of the saucepan. "Does it hurt?" I asked, feeling partially -responsible. - -Side-to-side motion. - -"It bothers you in some way, though, is that it?" - -Nod. - -"How?" I asked, unable to think of a yes-no question. - -Clatclit pointed to my wrist, shook his head, pointed to my wrist -again, and gestured upward, then nodded. - -"Time. No ... other time. Uh ... Earth?" - -Headshake. He rose on tiptoe and pointed up again. - -"Beyond Earth. The sun!" - -Nod. - -"You mean that at this time, it doesn't bother you. But it will later, -when you need the scales for absorbing sunlight?" - -A very weary nod. - -"Damn, that's rough. Will they grow back again?" - -Pause. Nod. Tiptoe point. Three taps on wrist. Shrug. - -"Yes. When the sun makes three times--In three days' time?" - -Nod. Wrist-tap. Hands clasped to belly. Disgusted shrug. - -"But in the meantime, you go hungry, sort of?" - -Nod. Then, the social amenities taken care of, Clatclit pointed to me, -to the ground, and looked questioningly. - -"The Ancients have decided I'm to bump off Baxter," I said. "Then -they'll release Snow and the boys. Not before." - -Clatclit stared at me a moment, placed a hand on my shoulder, and -shook his head, like a sympathetic friend. Then he took his claws and -made a tugging, struggling motion with them, as though trying to tear -something which wouldn't give. He followed it up with an incongruously -comic coin-flipping motion to the back of his hand. It was his devious -way of expressing the slang phrase, "Tough luck." - -"You said it," I muttered. "Come on, though. The less time I leave Snow -with the blob of black sparklers, the better. I've got to get to the -spaceport." - -Clatclit nodded and began his lumbering waddle off into the labyrinth. -The Ancients probably expected me to book passage on the next Earth -flight, to assassinate Baxter. They didn't know he was sitting right in -their laps, in the Security sector of the field. It was just as well. -I didn't relish the possibility of my elimination if they knew he was -right where a sugarfoot could blast him as well as anybody. - -As I trailed Clatclit up the wearisome slope that was taking us to the -surface, I did some heavy thinking. The Ancients, before Earthmen first -landed on Mars, probably had wandered about the planet freely, on the -surface, living in their dwellings of parabolite, using their artifacts -of the same impervious mineral. Then Earth, that paradoxically -peace-loving and war-making planet, lands colonists. The Ancients, just -from plain discretion, hide themselves and observe these unwelcome -newcomers. Once it becomes clear to them that there is a potential -menace from Baxter--who is no young chicken, having been in power -before the first landing--they stay hidden, and start scheming to get -rid of this guy who can jolt them out of their liaison. - -I pondered over that bit. The Ancient had said that Baxter intended -doing it by detonating a portion of their contact-material. Hell, they -must mean parabolite! What other substance in the solar system was so -alien to-- - -And with that thought, I suddenly knew the secret of that apparently -impervious mineral's strength. No wonder it could not be destroyed! It -was only in existence in our skimpy three dimensions in a fractional -way. One-fourth of it was always present in the Ancients' world, since -it couldn't _fit_ into our universe in its entirety. And that meant not -only one-fourth of its apparent mass, but one-fourth of even its atomic -structure! - -Even the collapsers, working on subatomic particles, were at a -disadvantage. You can't nudge an electron out of orbit if it isn't -actually fixed in that orbit. Three-quarters of those four-dimensional -electrons were always cushioned by that elusive final segment that lay -outside our universe. So trying to destroy parabolite by force was in -the same class as trying to shatter a rubber ball with a hammer; a -rubber ball which was hanging from an elastic cord, in fact! It just -gave into the other dimension and rebounded frisky as ever. - -"Boy," I thought, "this is going to put the skids under that scientific -theory about parabolite's imperviousness. Parabolic molecules, ha! -Well, it was a good theory while it lasted; it fit the known facts, at -least. Hell, the stuff even has the wrong name! It ought to be called -Elasto-plast, or some such euphonic label." - -Clatclit paused in his climb up the tunnel slope, and turned a querying -stare on me. - -"Was I talking aloud?" I asked. - -Curious nod. - -"Sorry, it's nothing," I said, indicating that he should proceed with -our journey. "Just the salesman in me coming to life. You can't have -public interest without catchy trade-names. Once an ad man, always an -ad man." - -Clatclit looked positively bewildered. - -"Sorry. Business talk," I explained. - -He shrugged and continued his upward climb, with me tagging after the -bobbing pink taillight. - - * * * * * - -As secure as the maximum-security Security prison was supposed to be, -we got in with no trouble. The planet must be a regular yarn-ball -of those rocky tubes. If you know the layout, you can apparently get -anywhere from anywhere. - -Our only excursion from the steady upward climb had been a brief -stop-off in one of those fungus-lighted rooms. Clatclit picked up my -collapser and returned it to me. - -I felt infinitely more confidant of success with its thick golden -handle jutting out of my holster once more. Perhaps I could just find -Baxter, sneak a bolt into his face, and scurry off into the labyrinth -on Clatclit's heels. - -I knew, even as I thought it, that I wouldn't be able to just blast -him like that. I'd probably have to face up to him, pull an "All -right, pardner--draw!" sort of sentence on him, and then pray that -I was faster. It was unthinkable for me to act in any other manner. -The give-a-guy-a-chance instinct was part of our national heritage, -something called the code of the West, handed down to us by pioneer -forefathers. - -The method of ingress to the building was simplicity itself. The tunnel -we'd been negotiating came to an abrupt end at a wall of granite slabs -such as had buttressed my prison cell. I reached for the collapser, but -Clatclit laid a restraining claw on my hand. - -I watched, curious, as he put his left ear-orifice to the wall and -listened intently. Then, seeming satisfied, he put his hands on the -biggest slab of granite and pushed. - -Nothing happened for a moment. Then the slab began to pivot about some -central axis, and a one-foot gap was exposed on either side of its -bulk. Beyond the open spaces, bright fluorescent tubing lighted a grim -prison corridor. - -"Isn't there an easier way to the spaceport?" I said. - -A prison meant guards, and guards meant collapsers, and collapsers -meant, possibly, good-by Jery Delvin. - -But Clatclit shrugged, pointed into the tunnel, and made zig-zag -motions with both hands, all the while shaking his head in weary -disgust. - -"There is, but it'd take forever to get there, huh?" I interpreted. He -nodded. Oh well. - -Clatclit leading the way, we sidled through the right-hand gap, then he -pressed the mammoth stone back into place. - -"You're coming with me all the way?" I asked, surprised. Somehow, I'd -thought his guideship ended at the same place the tunnel did. - -Clatclit nodded vigorously. - -"Is it that the Ancients don't trust me?" - -Headshake. - -"You have nothing better to do?" - -Negative. - -"Okay, I'll bite. Why?" - -Clatclit stepped toward me, placed a hand on my shoulder, then placed -his free hand over my heart, moved it over his own, held up two fingers -and crossed them. - -"Because we're friends," I said softly. - -Clatclit nodded. - -It took us an hour to locate Baxter. Clatclit showed no signs of -surprise when I did not go to the ticket office and book a passage for -Earth. Apparently, not being in on the finer points of the Ancients' -scheme, he found no wild incongruity in my being brought all the -way from Earth to obliterate a man who could just as easily have -been dispatched by a sugarfoot. Or else, through some extrasensory -awareness, something born of our friendship, he knew that imparting the -location of Baxter to the Ancients might well mean my death. - -Whatever his reasons, Clatclit simply followed me in my progress -through the prison dungeon which, thanks to its completely escape-proof -stone-corked cells, was left without guards. We went up into the more -well-appointed section of the building, the warmly plastic-decorated -halls that were open to the public who passed through the Security -inspection when entering or leaving the planet. It was good business to -hide the grimmer realities from colonists or casual tourists. - -And those who learned about the dungeons were never in a position to -pass the word around. Your first view of a Security dungeon was usually -your last view of anything. - -The public part of the building had too many people in it to suit -me. Even if I could get by the flight officials and robo-scanners -unchallenged, Clatclit couldn't. The building was rigidly off-limits to -extraterrestrials. - -So we went up the outside. - -Built against, and a good ways into, the high hills that surrounded -the town, the building was easy prey for anyone who cared to clamber -up the rocky slopes from which it jutted and climb through a window. -These slopes were lighted, but not patrolled. After all, under ordinary -circumstances, no one in his right mind would try sneaking into an IS -stronghold! - -Baxter, as it turned out, was seated at a desk not unlike his own back -on Earth, in the very office where I'd been last interrogated by the -team of Charlie and Foster. He was staring into space, and smoking a -cigar, the solitary incandescent lamp on his desk making his ice-white -mane of hair a sort of angelic aurora about that pleasantly rubicund -face. It was like seeing Satan sporting a good-conduct medal. - -Clatclit and I were crouched outside the window, on a narrow ledge we'd -reached from the slope. To my intense interest, lying before Baxter, in -the glaring circle of lamplight, was the black shirt I'd been wearing -when I was rescued by Clatclit, the shirt which had been towed off by -that hay-bale to obviate Baxter's being able to track the route of my -flight. - -I was about to whisper a question about the shirt to Clatclit, when -Baxter turned partway about in his chair, and started to stub out the -cigar in a black onyx ashtray. The question stuck in my throat, as I -caught sight of Baxter's breast. - -On a silver chain about his throat, he wore the Amnesty! - - - - -18 - - -Something was very definitely wrong. - -Until that moment when Baxter turned, I'd been certain that the Amnesty -was in Snow's possession. And now here it was, gleaming in bright red -and bronze against the front of his crisp black linen blouse. - -The sight of it twanged a chord in my mind, and I crouched there on -that narrow ledge, trying to grasp the fleeting thread of thought. The -Amnesty was exactly the same color as that parabolite wall down in the -tunnels, the barrier to the lair of the Ancients. Was it a coincidence -that this token of power was designed to match in shade and intensity -of color that unearthly mineral of another dimension? - -A queer notion began to take root in my mind. Baxter had given me the -Amnesty before I set off to find the missing boys. Or had he? Was that -the Amnesty I'd carried, or a copy, a perfect duplicate constructed not -of metal, but the impervious mineral. - -My brain was spinning as little unimportant facts suddenly burgeoned -and grew, and took on terrible significance. According to our science, -parabolite was invulnerable to all tools, and could not be worked or -shaped. Yet the Martian had said to me that Baxter possessed the means -to disengage the fragile bond that linked the two dimensions by--The -truth came home to me with an icy shock. - -By detonating a portion of their contact-material! And the Amnesty, my -Amnesty, was that material. I looked past Baxter to the black blouse, -its lining sparkling beneath the incandescent lamplight with thousands -of tiny metal filaments, and then I knew at last Baxter's monstrous -plan. - -Cold fury welled up inside me. I could easily, at that moment, have -leveled my collapser at him and flashed him out of existence with no -more feeling than that engendered by crushing a gnat between finger and -thumb. My hand was sliding back toward that cold metal handle jutting -from my holster, when there came an interruption. - -The door before Baxter's desk opened, and Charlie and Foster came in. -Clatclit and I ducked back from the pane, and listened, holding our -breaths. - -"About time!" Baxter growled. "Since you two are alone, I assume this -was another wild goose chase!" - -His fist slammed down atop the crumpled shirt, and I caught his -meaning. Apparently, when they'd discovered my cell empty, they'd -tracked my trail by whatever electronic device followed up the location -of that rigged garment, and had been led miles astray in the Martian -desert, finding only the empty blouse at the end of their quest. - -"Yes and no, sir," Charlie said. "It's--it's the weirdest thing." - -"Well? What?" Baxter snapped angrily. - -Charlie, while replying, was unhitching a sort of tanklike apparatus -from his back, from which a flexible tube ran into the end of -the pistol at his belt. With the surprise of sudden memory, I -recognized one of the weapons of the earlier settlers at Marsport: a -sugarfoot-repelling water pistol, with three-gallon ammunition tanks. - -"We got out the pack, sir, when we returned." - -"Yes, yes," Baxter interrupted violently. "You took the dogs and -trailed Delvin by scent from his cell. Fine. But did you find him!" - -"We had trouble, sir. It was outside the crater, and the dogs needed -air-booster muzzles, which cut down their sense of smell. And the trail -was spread way out, too, as if Delvin had only touched the ground every -thirty feet or so!" - -I remembered Clatclit's bounding transportation from the cell, and had -to smile. The dogs must have been starting and stopping every five -minutes over that sporadic trail. - -Baxter, at the end of his patience, flattened both hands on the -desktop, and grated, spacing his words for emphasis, "Did you find him?" - -Charlie exchanged a look with Foster, then hung his head. "No, sir, we -didn't." - -"Lost the trail, I suppose," Baxter growled. - -"No, we kept at it, all right," Charlie said. "It took us underground, -into the lava tunnels and grottos. We even found a cot where he'd been -sleeping." - -I stared at Clatclit. They'd done better than I thought possible. -Clatclit tilted his head to one side and shrugged. It meant the same -thing in both our languages. - -"Of course, you idiot!" Baxter said, with disgust. "It's obvious he -had help from the sugarfeet. I'd have guessed that the moment I saw -the intervals of his trail! What else but a man carried by a sugarfoot -could travel in bounds like that?" - -"Gravity here's only half that of Earth," Charlie protested weakly. - -"Even so," Baxter muttered, "only an Olympic champ could make leaps -like that! You've seen Delvin. Did you really think that gawky frame of -his had such galvanic energy?" - -I could resent his slurs later. Right now, I wanted to find out just -how damned far those guys had tracked me. - -"But we finally came to a bridge, over an underground river, sir. At -the end of the tunnel beyond it, the trail came to a dead end, in front -of a whole damned wall of parabolite. And something about that wall -scared hell out of the dogs, too! They were whining, high up the scale, -like they do when there's something wrong, and growling at that wall, -sir." - -Halfway through Charlie's discourse, I had jerked my head around to -stare a baffled question at Clatclit. Where, I was about to ask him, -were you when the posse scuttled by? - -But he'd already anticipated the question, and I watched as he pointed -to himself, then made a serpentine forward-stab with his hand, then an -up-down-and-around motion with his palms over his torso. - -"You scooted up the tunnel for a brisk toweling?" I said. - -A firm nod. - -I couldn't blame him. After all, Snow and I were gone for a spell. No -reason for him to stand there and melt with the water already beading -his candy-coated hide. So that meant that Charlie and Foster were -outside the wall while Snow and I were in council with the Martian. I -found I was glad Clatclit hadn't been there to spot them. Because if he -had been, and they had those water guns, I'd have found nothing but a -sticky puddle where I'd left a friend. If, indeed, I'd been able to get -back that far. - -Baxter's voice interrupted my thoughts. "And so," he said, mockingly -bitter, "you return once again, empty-handed!" - -"Not quite, sir," said Foster, stepping forward and setting a trim -plastic rectangle on end atop the desk. "We found this just outside -that wall." - -It was Snow's handbag. Probably she'd dropped it in her initial fright -when that wall had gaped open before us. I hadn't noticed it then, -because I'd been pretty shaken, too. And when I made my ungracious exit -from the Martian's now-you-see-it-now-you-don't den, the handbag was -already gone, on its way up to Baxter via Foster. - -Apparently Clatclit had known a shorter route to the IS building than -the IS men did. - -Baxter had the bag in his hands, now, staring at it with the first -faint flush of elation coming into his face. "But this must be that -girl's bag! The one who stole that other Amnesty!" - -It hit me like a blow in the stomach. Of course! Baxter had had no idea -that I was with Snow. Not until now. And he knew Snow had that Amnesty, -the one he planned to use to blow the Martians out of our dimension. -And now he knew where she was: deep in the rock of the planet, with a -virtual bomb on a chain about her neck! - -He didn't need his gimmicked blouse any longer, the one he was going to -use to track me until I was in the chamber of the Ancients. That had -been his plan, of course. The Amnesty was a remote-controlled bomb, -which I, as his dupe, was to have worn during my search for the boys. -Baxter, knowing that I'd find them, and the Ancients with them, had -suggested that I wear that blouse so that he could trail me into their -lair. Then the flick of a switch, and Jery Delvin would be blasted -to shreds, while the Martians found themselves stranded forever in -immovable Location. - -And yet I was still puzzled. How could he have known that I'd find -them? I decided not to vaporize him just yet. I had a few points to -clear up, or go out of my mind wondering about for the rest of my days. - -I unholstered the collapser, slid the window open with one hand, and -swung my legs over the sill. - -"Good evening, gentlemen," I said. - -They didn't seem very glad to see me. - -Charlie and Foster stood stiffly before the desk, watching me warily as -I completed my clamber into the room. Their eyes widened a fraction as -Clatclit sprang lightly in after me, but that was all. Baxter, however, -had lifted one eyebrow, and was appraising me carefully, as if trying -to gauge the intensity of my emotions. No one said a word for a minute, -while Clatclit shut the window and came to stand a bit behind me, to my -right, leaving the show to me. - -Baxter found his voice first. When he spoke, it was in the casual -friendly tone he'd used at our first meeting, his inflection giving -no sign that I had him covered by the most deadly weapon in the solar -system. - -"Since I am still alive," he said dryly, "I can only assume that you -want to see me about something before I die, else you would have -blasted me through that window." - -"That's very accurate," I said grimly. "If you'll tell your men to be -seated, and to keep their hands where I can watch them, I'll lower this -barrel a bit. I wouldn't want an accidental finger twitch to terminate -our conversation." - -Charlie and Foster, white-faced, looked at Baxter. He gave a curt nod, -and they sat down. I stayed back from the desk, keeping my back against -the wall beside Clatclit. I didn't want anyone else coming in and -sneaking up behind me. Baxter swung slightly about in his chair to face -me, then laced his fingers on his knees. - -"Now that we're settled," he said, "what can I do for you, Mister -Delvin?" - -"Baxter," I said, "I just came from seeing one of the Ancients. He and -I had a long talk." - -Baxter never flickered an eyelash. He just nodded and waited politely -for me to continue. - -"It seems you are a menace to them. They stand in the way of your -ambition, and must be destroyed. However, the Ancients, even with their -extra dimension, don't seem to have any increase in brain power. Their -evaluation of your intentions is without doubt the correct one, but as -to their interpretation of your motives, they're full of hot air." - -A slight smile of grudging approval appeared on his round face. "Very -good, Mister Delvin. Well thought out. Tell me, just what do they think -I'm after?" - -"According to them, you want to be the visible kingpin of the -tri-planet civilizations, instead of just running things from behind -the scenes. For a while, I thought it made sense, too. But then it -occurred to me that this puppet-control of our worlds is just the sort -of position that would appeal to you, Baxter. You'd enjoy being the -secret master of Venus, Earth and Mars. I could imagine you chuckling -to yourself, delighting in being an apparent public servant, and -saying to yourself, 'The fools; if they only knew--' Am I right?" - -Baxter's smile grew broader. "In substance, yes. I do rather like being -the kingpin incognito, as it were. But go on, you were about to make a -point." - -"Well, if that were the case, then the Ancients wouldn't have to be -destroyed, sent back to their dimension forever. You'd be suited by the -status quo. Alien beings on Mars would just be alien beings on a Mars -which you still controlled. So there's got to be something more that -you want. You have all the power I know of, right now. So there can be -only one thing left for you to want: some power I don't know of." - -"I must congratulate you on your perspicacity," he said. "Yes, there -is something more, Mister Delvin. That much I will tell you. But as to -what it is--" He spread his hands. "I don't see that it's your concern." - -"You--" I said, then paused. His insouciance was not in keeping with -his situation. Therefore, the situation was not the one which I -thought it was. "You're pretty chipper," I said, "for a man held at -collapser-point." - -"Oh? Am I being chipper?" he said, all raised eyebrows and facetious -wonder. "I hadn't noticed." - -"You fool," I said softly. - -Baxter's amiable smile vanished and a hard light came into his eyes. -"What do you mean?" he said, through clenched teeth. - -"I mean," I said gently, but with deadly earnest, "that the Brain back -on Earth selected me because of my mental abilities. I mean, Baxter, -that I can figure things out faster than you can dream them up." - -"The Brain picked you," he said coldly, "because it was rigged by the -Ancients. And for no other reason." - -I nodded. "And the Ancients rigged it to pick the man most likely to -succeed in your destruction." - -Baxter was suddenly silent. He watched me intently. - -I lounged against the wall, waving the muzzle of the collapser up and -down slowly. "Let me clue you in to my reasoning, Baxter old man," -I grinned. "This is a collapser. It is in working order. You do not -fear it. Ergo, you have some protection from it. I would deduce that -you are at present wearing a shield of some sort. A shield which you -have kept secret from everyone but yourself and the inventor, who is -probably long since dead, if I know your approach to things." - -Charlie and Foster turned and looked at him, their eyes bugging out -in surprise. Till that moment, they'd thought their weapon invincible -against anything. - -"You astound me," Baxter said, admiringly. "But there's something you -don't know about the shield. It protects not by _de_flection, but by -_re_flection." - -"I could have gotten that part figured out, too, if I just allowed -my mind to wander a bit through the paths yours seems to prefer. -Nice work. Not only are you protected, but your assailant is himself -destroyed." - -"And so, Mister Delvin," Baxter smiled, starting to get up from his -chair to come and disarm me. - -"And so," I said, "nothing!" - -Baxter stopped on hearing the easy confidence of my voice. He -hesitated, looked at me. - -"You shouldn't have kept it a secret," I said, smiling. "Charlie and -Foster, here, are therefore quite vulnerable to the ray." It was -rewarding to see their increased pallor. "So, you guys," I addressed -them, "unless you want to go out in a blaze of blue sparks, how about -tying this silly old man to his chair?" - -They faltered only the fraction of an instant, and then they had a -furious, cursing Baxter neatly hooked at ankles and wrists to his chair -with their security-manacles. - -"All right," Baxter growled deep in his throat, when they had been -gun-gestured back to their places. "You are clever, Delvin! So what -happens now? Do you beat me to death with your fists, or what?" - -"If necessary," I said. A brief flicker of fear went across his face. -"But so far as I'm concerned, destroying you need not mean physical -dissolution. I don't care so much about Baxter the man as I do about -Baxter the kingpin. To keep my end of the bargain, I can simply report -what I know to the World Congress, and have you stashed away where you -can never carry out any of your totalitarian schemes." - -The normal ruddiness of Baxter's face was superseded by a sickly gray. -"You can't--" he said, then stopped. At the moment, it was quite -apparent that I could. - -"And as for your big secret power," I said, calmly and without -boasting, "it took me about two seconds' brainwork to guess what it is." - -Baxter just sat and smoldered, his mouth clamped shut. - -"The Ancients," I said, "live in Location, with a capital _L_. I've -already experienced a demonstration of their logistic powers. They had -me bobbing around like a balloon down in their weird little cavern. And -they were also able, not so long ago, to manipulate the workings of the -International Cybernetics Brain across a void millions of miles wide. -That, by me, shows one power which any would-be dictator would give a -hell of a lot to get ahold of: teleportation." - -Baxter stared at me in furious amazement. - -"But," I went on, "there seemed to be a couple of details which didn't -jibe, if that were the case. If they could manage control over cosmic -distances so easily, why should they go to the trouble of getting a -man, me, to bump you off? Why not simply teleport you into something -fatal? That would be the easier method. But they didn't do it. -Therefore, for some reason, they couldn't. Well then, Jery, I thought -to myself, what could the reason be? In their dimension, that of -ultimate Place, or Location, distances have no meanings. Everything in -creation is Here. So what held them up? What kept them from snatching -you? Obviously, only one thing could, Baxter: the contact-material, -parabolite." - -He kept his features rigid, but sweat was beading his brow. It gleamed -like diamonds in the lamplight. - -"It seems that the Ancients can only control areas where their -contact-material is present. Until the mineral was found by Earth -scientists, that place was on Mars only. Then some of the material -was taken back to Earth, for museums, for analysis, and even for -paperweights and such. My guess is that one of the technicians who runs -the Brain has a hunk of the stuff on his desk, right?" - -Baxter narrowed his eyes, then relaxed and nodded. "Yes. As soon as -I figured out the Brain had been gimmicked, I went there to check. I -had it removed immediately. Then I refed the data into the Brain, and -found the name of the man who should have been sent here to destroy the -Ancients." - -I nodded. "Your own. Philip Baxter. Which is why you sped up here so -damned fast after I arrived. And also why you had to toss me into a -cell. One thing eludes me, though. What gave you the hint that the -Brain might have been rigged?" - -Baxter smiled wearily. "Your loss of the Amnesty. When these idiots -here called me, my first reaction was to chew them out and to have you -released. It was only after talking to you that it dawned on me that -you seemed ill-equipped for the task I had in mind. I got to wondering -about the Brain, then. That's when I went over to see for myself, and -found the parabolite." - -I nodded again. "Yes. In their cavernful of the stuff, they could float -me all over the place. When some of the stuff was near the Brain, they -could control that. But nothing else. Nothing that was not in the -presence of the mineral. That is, excepting one part of the mineral: -the chunk that comprises the false Amnesty. Something had to happen -to that hunk of it. Something that simultaneously rendered that piece -out of their control, and told them that you were a menace to their -existence in this dimension." - -"If you think I'll tell you that--" he said angrily. - -"No need to. I've figured out that one, too. When I first figured out -just what parabolite was, I compared it to a rubber ball on an elastic -cord. Trying to destroy it by force was impossible. It just bounced and -swung into the cushion of its fourth dimension. But, sticking with the -analogue, what happens if the rubber ball is attacked from all sides -simultaneously? It has nowhere to go, then. And, I asked myself, what -could attack parabolite from even its extra dimension? What, except -another piece of parabolite? Oh, not in the frictive way, like diamond -cutting diamond. You still controlled only three of the dimensions -using that method. And it had been tried already by scientists and -found useless. So you had to attack it on the no-dimensional level. -Since the three forms of matter--solid, liquid and gas--all must exist -with height, breadth and depth, you had to use the only thing in our -universe that we have besides matter: energy. Fire? No, heat had been -tried already. Atomic dissolution? A bit better, perhaps; a battery -of collapsers, working on the subatomic level, had managed to destroy -a fraction of a gram of the stuff, simply from the laws of _chance_ -encounters with parabolite molecules in the fourth dimension. A ray as -powerful as the collapser-ray undoubtedly accidentally gets generated -in an extra dimension, but only in the most minor way, not nearly -enough for your purpose." - -"And what," Baxter asked between tautened lips, "is my purpose?" - -"Since your rule-the-worlds dream necessitates the ability to teleport -your agents wherever you please, you must have parabolite wherever you -please. This in turn necessitates pulverizing the mineral down to its -very molecules, and sowing it into the atmosphere of the three planets. -Then you will be free to take complete command. The hitch, of course, -is that the pulverization of parabolite would engender, as the Ancient -put it, a jolt. A jolt which would unlatch Location from our dimension, -sending the Ancients off forever. They didn't like the idea, and so -they set out to destroy you." - -Baxter's jaw, during the last part of my narrative, had gone slack, and -he stared at me idiotically. I had to grin. - -"Yes, I know what suffering you're going through at this moment, Baxter -old boy. 'All for nothing,' you're telling yourself. If you had only -known, huh?" - -"You--you mean," he licked his dry lips and stared at me, horribly -upset, "that all I had to do to be rid of the Ancients was to go ahead -with my scheme? Simply pulverizing a hunk of that stuff would have sent -them off?" - -I nodded, ironically. "Yes. No need to rig a bomb, to send me seeking -them, to try and set this bomb off in their midst. You could have set -it off right back on Earth, and been just as rid of them." - -"No need," he repeated dully. Then, suddenly alert; "Set it off? How -did you know?" - -"It was the only form of energy that hadn't been tried," I said, with -a shrug. "Self-energy. Back on Earth, you ran that disc of parabolite -through a hot atomic pile, and it became intensely radioactive, since -the deadly emanations of the pile are even less than subatomic, and -have no dimensions. Then a shielding coating of nullifying gamma -plasm, the same stuff we use to keep our rocket chambers from dosing -the passengers with deadly rays, and neat nickel plate over that. -Emboss it with the seal of the World President, lacquer it in the -colors of IS, and you have a neat, but incredibly potent, little -fission bomb." - -"And how could I set this off?" Baxter sneered. "Aren't you forgetting -that the parabolite's at less than a critical mass?" - -"Same way the old H-bomb worked," I said. "Under the gamma plasm, -beside the radioactive parabolite, you have an atomic bullet, the kind -the foot soldiers used in the Third World War. As for tracking it and -detonating it, you must have a refinement of the tracking stuff you had -in that blouse of mine. As the old H-bomb was triggered by an atomic -bomb, so the parabolite, even at less than critical mass, could be -triggered by the remotely-detonated atomic bullet. You planned to blow -up the Ancients, and me with them, Baxter. Then you could go ahead and -set off similar bombs, one each on Venus, Earth and Mars. The fallout -would stay with the planets forever, even after losing its potency. And -you could teleport your agents anywhere you chose." - -"And the Ancients?" said Baxter. - -"They reasoned out your intentions when you made that chunk of -parabolite radioactive. Why do that unless you intended detonating -it? But the very act of making it fissionable somehow took the -teleportation-whammy out of it. They couldn't use it to snatch you, -even when you were near it. Probably, since it seems the only likely -reason, they couldn't use it because it was too atomically hot for them -to work with." I was finished. I waited. - -"Mister Delvin," said Baxter, after a long moment. "What do you intend -to do, now?" - -"Keep you in cuffs," I said. "Send an emergency call to the World -Congress. See you corked into one of your own granite cells. With the -air supply turned on, however. Though I wouldn't mind you having an -hour or two of what I went through the other night." - -"And," Baxter turned his head and nodded toward the handbag on the -desk, "what about her?" - -"She was being held conditional to my removing you as a menace," I -said. "Consider yourself removed." - -Baxter smiled. "And if the Ancients are not satisfied? What if they -still desire my death, not simply my imprisonment?" - -I thought it over. "In that case, I'd be forced to comply with their -wishes." - -To his credit, this unexpected statement on my part only stopped his -tongue for a moment. He immediately tried a new approach. "And if the -Ancients decide to destroy her anyhow?" - -"Why should they?" I said, less sure of myself. - -He cocked his head to one side, watching me. "No," he shook his -head, "now I think of it, they wouldn't destroy her. They'd hold her -captivity over your head, forcing you to return so that they might -destroy you." - -"Me?" I said, startled. - -"Surely you can see why?" he went on smoothly. "After all, why were -they out to destroy me, Mister Delvin?" - -"Because you knew--" I said, then halted, stunned. - -"--How to destroy them," Baxter finished for me. "The selfsame -information which you now possess. What do you think your chances are -for survival now?" - -My guard wavered in that fleeting moment of realization. I caught the -flicker of movement just a second too late. - -Charlie, out of my thoughts for an instant, had whipped his collapser -out of his holster and brought it to bear on me. - -But even before I could bring my own weapon up in a futile attempt at -a duel which would have resulted in probably two fatalities, iron-hard -claws gripped my shoulder and I was carried hurtling to the floor by -Clatclit's full weight on my back. To the floor just behind Baxter's -chair. - -Charlie, spinning about to keep me in range, touched the trigger. There -was a shriek. A shriek that died the split second in which it was born, -and then my world disappeared in a blinding shower of blue-white sparks. - -When Clatclit and I got up again, Charlie and Foster were missing, -along with most of the corridor wall. Baxter was just standing up from -the lopped-off remnants of his chair, the manacles at his wrists and -ankles having been dissolved by the bolt which could not destroy him. - -The bolt had rebounded from his shielding force to destroy its -perpetrator, Charlie, and Foster, the hapless bystander. - -Before I could toss aside my useless weapon and attack him barehanded, -Baxter had yanked up another weapon from the floor. It was one of the -old-fashioned water guns, its flexible hose running back to tanks -filled with gallons of sugarfoot-destructive fluid. - -"If you place any value on the existence of this creature who has just -saved your life, Delvin, you will hand over that weapon to me at once." - -Clatclit looked at me. I sighed, and tossed the collapser to Baxter. -What the hell, it wouldn't work on him, anyhow. - -"And now," said Baxter, dropping the water weapon and covering us with -the one which was deadly to both our hides, "I am going to need your -help." - - - - -19 - - -"Well, this is a switch!" I remarked. "The kingpin needs a hand!" - -"It is a comedown," Baxter said wryly, "but you see, my late agent's -fatal heroics have had a distressing side effect." - -"Oh?" I said, looking about the shards of room that were still extant -on the corridor side. "I don't see anything." - -"That," Baxter remarked, "is precisely the point, Mister Delvin. A -moment or two ago, not three yards to the left of where those fools -were sitting--no, don't bother looking, there's only empty space -there now--there was a small sending set. I brought it all the way -from Earth with me. In fact, that is the reason I was sitting in this -room tonight. Had my agents reported to my satisfaction that you were -present among the Ancients, I should have used that set to detonate the -atomic bullet in the false Amnesty. However--" - -"Your trigger went bye-bye," I finished. "Need I say I am elated?" - -"I take it the woman, the one wearing the false Amnesty, means -something to you?" Baxter said. "The Ancients seemed to set some store -in her captivity's coercive power over you." - -"She does," I admitted. "Which is why I'm happy you no longer possess -the means to set that damned thing off." - -I had no particular love for the Ancients, but I didn't much like the -thought of Snow being blasted into radioactive rubble. - -"Well, then, if you desire to save her, you and your friend are going -to guide me down to that cavern where they dwell, and--" - -Footsteps pounded down the corridor, and then a squad of armed guards -came into view. They saw Baxter and halted, and their leader stepped -forward. - -"Sir," he said, "Our detectors reported a collapser being--" his gaze, -forgetful of military deportment, took a second to wander bug-eyed -over the more truncated sections of the room, "--being used in this -vicinity." - -"Congratulations," Baxter remarked sarcastically. "Your eyes might give -you the selfsame information, corporal. One has been used. I have the -situation in hand, however. You may take your men and go." - -"Yes, sir," the young man said, obviously fighting an urge to break -protocol and ask what the hell happened. - -"Oh! And corporal," Baxter said, as the boy began to organize his squad. - -"Sir?" - -"You might scratch Myers and Gibson off the payroll list. Send their -families the usual telegrams of condolence." - -The corporal's eyes bugged even more so, and he swallowed noisily -before mumbling "Yes, sir" again and departing. - -"That was pretty callous, even from you," I said, as the sounds of -their footsteps dwindled and disappeared. - -"Not callous at all. Efficient." - -"Callous." - -Baxter shrugged. "In any case, come along you two. The sooner I rid -myself of these Ancients, the better." - -There was nothing else we could do. Dejectedly, Clatclit began moving -off in his lumbering lope toward the staircase. I followed, no cheerier -than he. Baxter brought up the rear. So far as I could see, in -selecting me as the tool of Baxter's destruction, the Ancients had made -the error of their four-dimensional lives! - -Then, almost all the way down to the main floor, I heard the murmur of -voices. We were nearing the terminal lobby, the point where passengers -were checked on and off the planet. As we turned at the landing, I -saw that the lobby was filled with a throng of people, some of them -patiently answering questions of the flight-listing robots, others -having baggage weighed, and still others engaging off-duty pilots and -technicians in casual conversation. It was a normal enough scene, one -to be found in any rocket terminal on Earth or off it. - -But there was something wrong about it. I slowed my descent of the -stairs and tried to place the uncertainty, the queasy foreboding I felt -centering about my heart. - -Then I had it. There were no women present. Not one woman could I see -in that apparently casual group of passengers. And there was a quiver -of tingling tension in the air, a very palpable sensation of mental -concentration trembling on the brink of action. - -Baxter sensed it too. I could feel his own progress slowing behind me -on the stairs. "What--?" he said. - -Then it happened. At the far end of the immense room, one of the -security guards let out a cry. I shot my gaze toward the sound, and -saw that a man beside him had yanked his collapser from his holster. -Other guards came alert all over the place, and they started toward the -man on a run. And they were all of them neatly tripped, shoved, and -clubbed, while a brilliant crackle of free electrons sealed the fate of -the first guard. - -The Neo-Martian revolution was starting. Some of the guards managed to -get shots off before they were overcome by weight of numbers. People -vanished in blinding flares of energy, amid shouts of fierce rage from -their companions. - -"There's one!" someone shouted, and a clump of these desperate -insurgents turned toward the stairs, where Clatclit and I stood. They -were looking past us, at Baxter. - -Then the Security Chief fired the collapser in his hand, the humming -bolt of dissolving-power buzzing right past my ear. But he hadn't fired -at the men below. He'd fired directly at the fluorescent fixture that -glowed in the center of the ceiling. Suddenly, the flash that marked -its passage was the only lighting in that room. Then the cascade of -sparks died, and we were standing in blackness. - -I grabbed Clatclit's arm, hoping we could make a break for freedom in -the dark, but Baxter had out-thought me there, too. - -Another throbbing beam of energy from behind us, and the floor was gone -before our feet, leaving a dizzy drop into emptiness, then even the -view of the abyss faded as the sparks of energy died. I stifled a cry -of alarm in my throat as Baxter's free hand flattened itself on my back -and shoved. - -I staggered forward, and my foot came down on air. Then, my grip on -Clatclit's arm throwing him off balance, we plunged into the empty -space. - -Somehow, writhing in midfall, Clatclit got his hard-scaled arms about -me, and he took the brunt of the landing on powerful legs and tail. My -left arm was numb from shoulder to elbow. I must have struck it on the -floor of the room below the lobby when we landed. - -Another thump told me that Baxter had arrived, too. He did better than -we did. After all, he was expecting a fall when he took off from that -sliced-off brink. In another moment, he'd prodded us out into the -corridor of that first floor under ground level, where the lights were -still working. Then, taking a step back, he blasted away the flooring -of that room, too, to discourage anyone from following the way we'd -come. Incongruously, as he came back out, he shut the door. - -"Afraid they'll grab at the knob on the way down?" I said, rubbing my -injured arm. - -"Neatness," said Baxter, not to be outdone, "is a virtue." - -"Come on, come on," Baxter said impatiently, waving the muzzle of the -collapser at us. "Can we get to the labyrinth from here?" - -"Why bother, now?" I said, jerking a thumb toward the lobby above us. -"Way things look, you won't have any empire to come back to, even if -you do knock off the Ancients." - -"A minor skirmish like this cannot but fail in its purpose," said -Baxter. "On my return, I fully expect to see the sky filled with -Security ships from Earth, leisurely razing the entire city." - -"Won't that be rather difficult to write off as 'Unserviceable,' even -the way you keep inventory?" I needled. - -"Move!" said Baxter, beyond patience. - -Clatclit and I moved. We went back down the long ramp that led toward -the dungeons. At gunpoint or not, I called back over my shoulder, "By -the way, just what do you intend doing when we arrive at the ogre's -castle? I should think that it was the last place you'd want to be -found. Kind of like telling off a lion while your head's in his mouth." - -Far off behind us, there was a growing shout of voices. Apparently, the -rebels had managed to negotiate what was left of the stairway and were -hot on our trail. - -"Faster!" said Baxter, quite unnecessarily. I was in no mood to test -whether or not the rebels checked one's ideology before blasting away. -A disintegrated bystander is beyond apology. So we went faster. - -We reached the dungeon level, and Clatclit proceeded to shove open that -movable section of wall. Baxter raised his eyebrows in surprise, but -then simply gun-motioned us through the gap. We went, and he followed a -moment later. I watched with amusement as he tried vainly to shove that -granite mass back into place. I don't know exactly what sugarfeet use -for muscles, but it beats what we've got. - -Angrily, Baxter stepped back against the curved wall of the tunnel, and -said, "You! Move that back. We don't want them following us in here." - -Clatclit moved over to obey, while I remarked, "Why not? Maybe they'll -get lost. It'll save your city-razing ships a little collapser-power." - -Baxter ignored my statement, and simply waited until Clatclit had moved -back beside me, his taillight going on pyrotechnically as the moving -granite cut us off from the light in the dungeon corridor. - -Then we were once again moving down that frozen-lava slope toward the -deeply hidden lair of the Ancients. - - * * * * * - -As we moved along, side by side, with Baxter coming relentlessly after -us, Clatclit's hands started working furiously. He flicked an index -finger toward me, then toward himself. Then he put the heels of his -hands together and, after a brief waggling of the fingertips, clamped -his hands into fists, and made that serpentine forward jab with one -hand. He was asking, in his pantomimic way, if he and I, under cover of -sudden blinkout of his taillight, might scoot off into the labyrinth -and escape Baxter. - -I held up a forefinger and waggled it left and right in a signal of -"Better not, chum." - -He put his palms up, fingers flipping open in a mute "Why not?" - -I curled the fingers of my right hand into the palm, then pointed the -index finger forward, and lifted my thumb up; an antique Earth gesture -dating back to the times when hand guns had fanning hammers on them. I -spun the muzzle of this simulated weapon up, down, and every which way, -to indicate to Clatclit that Baxter might manage, through sheer blind -blasting, to polish us off before we got very far. - -Clatclit slammed his right fist into his left palm in a furious symbol -of an exasperated "Damn!" - -"What are you two plotting up there?" Baxter demanded suddenly. - -"We were discussing the futility of a lights-out scurry for cover, -since that weapon of yours would slice right through these tunnels," -I said, deciding the truth was the best way to avoid suspicious -repercussions. "If your bolt didn't get us, the falling ceiling might." - -"I'm glad you're using your intelligence, Delvin," Baxter answered. -Then: "Why are we stopping?" - -"Because," I said, halting where Clatclit had suddenly paused in his -forward motion, "that thunder you hear is the reason the Ancients never -find themselves neck-deep in the sugarfeet. An impassable river is up -ahead." - -"Impassable?" Baxter scowled. - -"Not for us, but for Clatclit, here," I said. "He can't even go around -this corner without risking deadly corrosion. And, in case you didn't -notice back in your office, he's had a pretty nasty exposure already." - -"Nevertheless," said Baxter, "I must insist that he either accompany -us, or be destroyed right here." - -"What!" I said, appalled. "You can't ask him to do that! He wouldn't -last any longer than you would in boiling oil!" - -"I certainly do not intend to leave him here," Baxter snapped. "He -might alert others of his kind, and--" - -"And what?" I growled. "You could fend off a million of them with that -weapon of yours." - -"And risk the ceiling falling in on my head?" Baxter said. "No, Delvin, -I'm not about to take that chance." - -"And just how," I said savagely, "did that peanut brain of yours plan -on your getting out of here without him?" - -Baxter paused, his gun hand wavering. - -"Because if he melts in the river, or is vaporized right here and now, -you will be stuck without a light. Stuck in a rock-hard maze that you -couldn't negotiate alone if you had a light." - -Baxter just stared, thinking furiously. - -"Of course," I went on, "you could simply aim that thing upward, and -disintegrate your way out. But that, too, might make the ceiling fall -in. And if it didn't, you'd have the small difficulty of climbing the -glass-sided well you'd created. Climbing, by the way, into the Martian -desert, where there is no air, no water, and very little heat. You'd be -dessicated, suffocated, and a popsicle to boot!" - -"I--I could very easily slant the bolt into Marsport," Baxter -blustered. "I could climb the slope easily enough, and there'd be fresh -air waiting for me, too." - -"Yeah," I mocked, folding my arms. "Fresh air and a city full of -insurgent Baxter-haters. Assuming, of course, that you didn't strike an -underground stream in the process, and get washed away into the depths -of the planet when your hold-off stance with the collapser tired you -out, when you'd completely dissipated the charge." - -"I--" Baxter said, desperately nervous. - -"And also assuming," I continued, "that you know in which direction -Marsport is, chum! Of course, you could swing that thing in a full -circle of slant-blasts toward the surface, but then that would make the -ceiling fall in, wouldn't it, once you'd cut away all supports." - -Baxter trembled with impotent rage, but his gun's muzzle was finally -slumped all the way toward the floor of the tunnel. He was beaten, and -he knew it. - -And that's when I jumped him. - -My still-working right arm shot down and gripped his right wrist, a -very awkward stance to take, but my left arm was still weak and useless -from my fall. But Clatclit moved in, then, his rocky talons sinking -like so many fangs into Baxter's right arm, all three of us a writhing -tangle on the tunnel floor, each of us frantically aware that the gun -had better not emit any bolts while an arm, leg or tail flailed in -front of it. - -Baxter shrieked with fear and rage as those steely fingers took hold. I -think he was too upset otherwise to feel the pain. - -And then a bolt buzzed blindingly into the tunnel, and as we all three -flattened ourselves and waited for the ceiling to come crashing down, -it spattered into nothingness against the wall. - -We sat up, staring at the spot where the so-called invincible bolt -had simply been dissipated, all of us looking pretty silly, flat on -our bottoms, leaning back on our hands on that curved stone surface, -momentarily losing sight of our belligerent behavior of a moment before. - -"The wall!" I said, first to realize the significance. But I couldn't -go on. Baxter finished for me. - -"It's parabolite!" he cried. - -Then my eyes were dazzled by the blaze of light that suddenly -materialized all around us, and my stomach turned over sickeningly as I -realized that the converse was probably true: We had just materialized -inside the dazzling light! - -We were, all three of us, within the metallic-shimmering chamber of the -ancient Martians. - -"Well done, Jery Delvin," said a familiar voice, and then the light -before us trembled and warped, and I was looking into the disconcerting -triple face of the Ancient again. - -I was not, however, in the mood for compliments. - -"Where is my woman?" I said peremptorily. - -"On your departure, she expressed a desire to inquire further into the -health of her sibling," said the Martian. "She is even now with him and -his companions." - -"In that cage?" I cried angrily. - -"I assure you she is--" - -"Kindly forego the lecture on metabolic stasis and raise the damned -thing, will you?" I interrupted. - -The Martian warped and sparkled in a dizzying movement that I could -only interpret as a shrug, and then the huge parabolite cage came -rising up from that not-quite-there flooring. - -"Jery!" - -"Snow, baby!" - -We clung to each other awkwardly, and our lips met between the columnar -bars. I pulled back and called, "Can't you open this thing up, now?" - -"Your mission is not quite accomplished, Jery Delvin," said the -Martian. "The man Philip Baxter is within our realm, but as yet -undestroyed." - -"You mean I've still got to--" - -"As told you repeatedly: Physical contact between our races is -impossible, Jery Delvin." - -"Hey, what about that?" I said. "After I left here, I got to wondering -how, if what you just said is true, you people were able to manipulate -the Brain to select me." - -"The Brain of which you speak works on a principle of force-fields, -generated by induction coils. We simply placed the right counterforces -in the right places. No actual contact was necessary." - -"Well, damn it," I said, after a glance back at Baxter and Clatclit, -who were staring bewilderedly toward the source of the voice, "can't -you just keep him here? He's bound to perish from lack of food, or -water, or--" - -"Jery Delvin, the metabolic stasis which I have already mentioned -to you is not something we used specially for these boys. It is a -necessary contingent of our world. Where there is absolute Location, -there is absolutely no change of the sort you mentioned." - -I gave up. "All right, all right. I won't argue the point. If you could -get at him, I guess you would. Not a chance of dropping him down a -hole, or something, though?" - -"By the very nature of our world, hazardous localizing is an -impossibility. Our universe possesses a self-regulatory locale-control -that obviates the contingency of perilous placement of an individual." - -"Their universe has what?" Snow asked me, her blue-violet eyes wide. - -"A built-in safety feature," I muttered. "It figures, now that I think -of it. If Location is absolute, it is One. That means that it's either -all-safe, or all-dangerous. It can't have a bit of one thing and a bit -another. Which means that I'm still carrying the ball." - -"Correction," said Baxter, behind me, "you have fumbled." - -I looked back at him. He had the collapser in his hand yet, despite our -space-warping materialization in the cavern. And the muzzle was pointed -right at Snow's breast, at the Amnesty. - -"Jery!" she cried, hanging onto my arm. - -"Baxter!" I yelled, stepping in front of her and flattening myself -against the bars. "Give us a chance! If that damned thing triggers the -parabolite, you'll go with us!" - -"How little you know, Delvin," Baxter smiled. "There are any number of -features of this other dimension which even your fantastic intellect -has not guessed. Did it never occur to you to wonder just where I'd -learned the construction of a teleportation machine?" - -"I--I'd assumed you learned it somehow from the Ancients," I said. -"Before they realized you intended their destruction." - -"I take my hat off to you," said Baxter, with a slight nod of grudging -admiration. "I didn't realize you'd thought things out quite that far." - -"Hell, it was the only way you could have learned," I said. "But what's -it got to do with--" - -"With the fission-bomb?" Baxter said, smiling. "Why, only everything. -You see, Delvin, teleported matter, in order to bypass distance, must -travel in the place where there is no distance: the fourth dimension. -And so, the brunt of the blast will be absorbed by the Ancients, not by -me." - -I heard the Martian gasp. Apparently, they weren't aware of this fact. -It was more than just displacement they faced, it was death. - -"Your agents," I temporized, "they'd then be using a system that -transported them via radioactive chaos!" - -Baxter shook his head. "Since the transfer is an instantaneous one, I -rather doubt that they'd absorb any roentgens to speak of." - -That seemed to be that. He was set to fire, and I was all out of -arguments. And my stance between Snow and that ray-pistol was only a -fleeting protection. She'd go about one second after I did. - -Then, behind me in the cage, I heard a movement, and Snow gave a little -cry. I jerked my head about. - -Ted, with more sense than his sister, had simply taken the Amnesty from -about her throat and flung it away. All of us followed its flight with -dazzled eyes. - -Baxter swung up the barrel of the collapser and fired. And in the -same instant, the spinning disc halted, and then dodged out of the -trajectory of the bolt. - -The Martian was protecting himself in the only way he could: Changing -the parabolite-bomb's location. - -I crouched involuntarily, clutching Snow's hand through the bars, -as the life-and-death contest went on. The tiny disc of destruction -flitted here, there and everywhere, in a dizzying erratic course, while -Baxter kept the trigger of the collapser depressed tightly, and slashed -wildly in the eye-dazzling light of that place with the pulsing beam. - -I wasn't in favor of the Ancients, exactly, but I was bound and -determined to halt Baxter's reckless blasting with that gun, one flick -of whose ray would disintegrate me, Snow or Clatclit, not to mention -the frightened huddle of small boys in that cage. And there was one way -to halt him. - -"At him!" I cried to the Martian. "He won't fire if it's anywhere near -himself!" - -He must have heard me. The disc skidded to a wobbly halt, and then it -dove like an eagle toward Baxter in a swift, graceful line. A straight -line. - -"ZIG-ZAG, YOU IMBECILE!" I yelled, an instant too late. - -Even the poorest shot can track an object moving toward or away from -him. Baxter's collapser caught the descending disc a good twenty yards -before it got to him. - -My eyes clamped shut against the monstrous blaze of heat and light. -Then, Snow's hand tightly gripped in mine, I was enveloped in inky -blackness, with nothing but empty air beneath the soles of my boots. -And falling. - - - - -20 - - -"Snow! Darling, are you all right?" I asked, getting groggily to my -feet and pressing her hand between both of mine. The fall hadn't been -as bad as the one I'd taken earlier through that hole in the floor, but -it was enough to shake me up. - -"Y-Yes, I think so, Jery," she said, pressing one slim hand to her -forehead, then brushing a wisp of hair back out of her eyes. I took her -tightly in my arms and held her. - -Only then did I suddenly realize where we were. - -The light came from the trylon tip of Clatclit's tail. It reflected -in a red glow from the cavern floor, but vanished over our heads into -an impenetrable darkness. Beyond Snow, I saw the Space Scouts getting -to their feet. The kids were in much better shape than I was. With -consistent bad luck, I'd taken the fall on my injured left arm, and now -it was throbbing like crazy. Ted came rushing over to us. - -Then I remembered Baxter and looked swiftly about. He was nowhere to be -seen. "Clatclit!" I shouted. - -My crystalline buddy came hurrying over to me, his little taillight -bobbing as he ran. His glittering eyes looked a question at me. - -"What happened to Baxter?" I said. - -Clatclit pointed off into the darkness, and made that serpentine -movement with his hand. - -"Into the labyrinth?" I exclaimed. "But why?" - -Clatclit pointed toward the floor. I followed his gesture with my eyes, -and saw on the rocky ground the reason. The collapser lay there, its -firing chamber cracked in half. It was useless as a coercion any more, -unless Baxter had a good throwing arm. - -"But why didn't you follow him?" I asked. - -Disgusted stare. Clatclit pointed to me, Snow, and then the boys, and -followed with an attention-getting tremor of his tail. - -"Oh, yeah. We would have trouble getting out of here unguided, at -that!" I said sheepishly. When Snow was around, I couldn't even see the -obvious. - -"Any chance Baxter can find his way out of here alone?" I said. "If he -gets to the spaceport before we do, he may get back to Earth and get an -army back here after us." - -Clatclit thought it over. Then he placed an arm across my shoulders, -and an arm across Snow's, and looked hopeful. - -"Damn," I said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, "it's mighty nice -of you to offer, but we can't spend the rest of our lives down here -with you, Clatclit!" I shook my head. "We've got to get out of here -and get the word to the World Congress before Baxter sews the Earth up -tight." - -"Say," Ted's small voice interrupted, "what happened to the bars and -stuff, hey?" - -I blinked, startled, and looked about us. Then, on an impulse, I -dropped to my knees and felt the ground. It was plain old lava. I -rocked back on my heels, bewildered, and then I understood, and started -laughing. - -"Jery, what is it?" - -"Snow, baby, it's the laugh of the century, that's all. Unstable -is hardly the word for the Ancients' universe! Not only did they -dislocate, but they took their contact-material with them! MY guess is -that right now there is no longer a splinter of parabolite in the solar -system." - -"But why is that funny?" she asked, as I got to my feet again. - -"Because, honey, it means that all Baxter's deep, dire and devious -schemes have come to naught, and by his own hand, at that! He'll never -build his teleportation machine, now!" - -"His what?" she said. - -"You see, baby, he--Oh, hell, it's a long story. I'll tell you when we -have more time. Right now, we have to head Baxter off, or things won't -be very funny at all." - -Following Clatclit's light, Snow, the boys and I moved swiftly across -the floor of that vast cavern, emptied of its space-stressed metal -lining and occupants after heaven knows how many eons of existence -there. The only hitch we encountered in our upward race was that -spray-happy torrent which Clatclit couldn't cross without dribbling -to death. However, a Space Scout is true, brave, and loyal, and he -always carries a rubber poncho inside his travel-kit. It took three of -them to swaddle our guide, but, with the assistance of two of the more -sure-footed Scouts, I was able to tote him bodily across that perilous -bridge, with nothing showing of him but his taillight, and that high in -the air, away from most of the eroding spray. Once unwrapped, he took -the lead again, tail high. Then, Snow's hand tightly in mine, we all -took off like cross-country racers up those winding tunnels of Mars. - -We emerged on the hillside overlooking the airstrip, from one of -those "Forbidden to Enter" cave mouths, in the bright glow of the -sand-converter, towering at the far end of the field. Despite political -intrigue, insurrection, and the disappearance of the entire Martian -race from the solar system, it stood there on its girder legs, -monotonously separating the molecules of ferrous oxide into molten iron -and atmosphere. - -"Things seem to be quiet at the terminal building," I observed, looking -across the field. "I wonder who won the battle?" - -"What battle?" said Snow. - -"Boy, honey," I kissed her lightly on the forehead, "you are going to -take years to bring up to date." - -To forestall any more questions, I turned and started off across the -landing field, with my alien-plus-female-plus-adolescent group tagging -cautiously after me. I was just busy wishing I still had my collapser, -when, from a cavemouth to our right, a pallid glow appeared, and then a -figure darted out onto the strip, in the glow of the terminal lights. - -Baxter! If he got inside first, and IS men were in charge-- - -But he hadn't seen me yet. I couldn't just hope for a rebel win. I took -off like an Olympic sprinter, racing toward that staggering silhouette -before me, my hands outstretched in the hopes of throttling him a bit -before I turned him over to the World Congress. Unless, of course, the -rebels ruled Marsport. - -And then one of the more excitable Space Scouts blurted an involuntary, -"Get him!" - -Baxter whirled, five feet away from my fingertips. His right hand came -swinging up toward my face. - -And then I was coughing, and sneezing, and waving frantic hands at a -blazing something that engulfed my features. - -By the time I realized it was only tunnel-fungus, and at the same -moment realized how Baxter had lighted his way out, he was on his way -into the terminal, his old legs whipping like pistons. Well, he'd be -the first to see who'd survived the battle. Clatclit and the others -had caught up to me, by then, and we moved in a desperate bunch toward -those lighted glass doors, in a last hope of getting our man before our -man's men got us. - -Any second I expected a cordon of armed guards to come galloping out of -there with collapsers ablaze in our direction. Any moment now, we'd all -be separated into hot protons and flying clouds of electronic sparks. - -I came to a stumbling halt, and ceased all conjecture. - -For just inside those glass doors, Chief Philip Baxter was standing -with his hands raised over his head, and there were men approaching -him with drawn weapons. And not the rebels, either. His own security -guards! IS had won. - -"Hey!" said Ted, tugging at my arm. "They must have gotten my message! -Lucky thing the rebels were the losers, hey?" - -I spun about, giving him a dazed look. "What message?" was all I could -choke out. - -"In the _Phobos II_," he said happily. "I scratched it on the wall over -my takeoff rack." - -"I didn't see any message," I complained. - -"It was in code," he explained, with the head-shaking condescension -toward an idiot of which only small boys are capable. "Snow and me, we -have a secret code." - -"I know that!" I growled. "But how in the world--" - -He gave a lazy what-does-it-matter shrug. "You probably didn't -notice it because you didn't know the code. Otherwise, it looks like -chicken-scratches. But I was pretty sure a good cryptograph man would -figure it out. It's only a substitution code, after all." - -"And what was the message?" I said, repressing a sudden urge to swear -at him. - -Ted yawned idly and scratched his stomach. "I just said: 'Help! We have -been kidnapped by Chief Baxter of Interplanetary Security. Sincerely -yours, Ted White, Space Scout First Class.' It wasn't the truth, of -course, but I figured it'd get an investigation started. And then -Baxter's goose would be cooked." - -Before I could mutter a small curse, there came a sudden blast of -energy from the terminal building, and the glass doors came flying -open. I saw a figure come dashing out of there, and realized that -Baxter was once more on the loose. - -"The shield!" I groaned. - -His hands-over-the-head had been only a reflex action. I only gave one -quick glance toward the terminal lobby, where the remaining men were -just getting their wits about them, then I took off after him again. - -It was going to be a close thing, I realized. He had a good lead on -me. At the end of the strip opposite to where we'd emerged from the -labyrinth stood a ship. It was Baxter's personal ship, marked with -the colors and seal of IS. If he once got aboard, he could get away -forever. But even worse, he could train his ship's artillery-size -collapser on the entire spaceport, and blast us all out of existence. - -I could see I wasn't going to make it. He was a full hundred yards -ahead of me. By the time I reached the ship, he'd be pressing the -starter button, and all I'd get for my efforts would be the searing -fires of the rockets in my face as the great ship lifted. - -Then a bounding, red-glinting form was whizzing past me, covering -thirty feet at a leap. Clatclit was on the trail of the man who had -threatened his destruction back in the labyrinth. - -Shrill, furious clackings came from within those sharp-fanged jaws as -the sugarfoot rapidly closed the gap between himself and the man. - -And still, something kept me racing across that field, some -subconscious foreboding that things weren't finished yet. Then Baxter -came to a halt, still twenty yards from the ship, and turned about, -something in his hand from the ship-readying cart. The hose for the -water tanks! - -"Clatclit!" I yelled frantically. - -As if not realizing his danger, the hurtling form of my alien friend -zoomed down toward Baxter, powerful claws held wide for grasping his -enemy. - -Things happened terribly fast. From behind me, I heard a scream, and -then a curse. I staggered, and turned. Snow was wrestling on the -ground with a Security Agent, one of the still-shaken survivors of the -backlash of Baxter's shield. Evidently, he'd been about to try another -shot at the fleeing Security Chief, and Snow, with unladylike good -sense, had given him the benefit of one of her brother-training flying -tackles, before we all died in a new rebounding ray. - -A wild trilling whistle came from the ship, and I jerked my head about. -Baxter had let loose with the hose, and Clatclit was rolling on the -ground, in a wild effort to shake the caustic droplets from his melting -scales. - -My head was spinning. Which was to turn? Snow was in a furious fight -with a full-grown man behind me, and my best friend was being dissolved -before me. I didn't know what to do. Should I run and stop her from -being vaporized, or him from being turned into taffy? - -Baxter took the decision out of my hands. - -"Delvin!" his voice came. - -I turned back toward him. Clatclit, still shuddering with the shock of -that water-spray, was facing me, Baxter behind him with an arm across -the sugarfoot's throat. And in Baxter's other hand he held the water -hose, its pistol-control barrel aimed right at Clatclit's eyes. - -"Tell the others to stand back," he shouted, "or I'll burn your -friend's eyes out!" - -By now, Snow had explained the situation somewhat to the guard, I -guess, because she and he came abreast of me and stopped, listening to -Baxter's threat. - -The guard's gun came up swiftly. - -"Don't, you fool!" I said, my hand clamping on his wrist. "He's got a -shield!" - -"I know that," said the guard, whom I suddenly recognized as the -corporal who had led his men to investigate the blast in the upper -corridor. "I'm only going to disable the ship!" - -"No," Baxter called. "If the ship goes, then so do this creature's -eyes!" - -The corporal looked at me, wavering. "It's--it's only a sugarfoot," he -said, uncertainly. - -"Only a--!" I shrieked. How could I tell this idiot what I felt for -Clatclit! "You'll shoot over my bloody corpse!" - -"We can't let Baxter get aloft in that thing!" the corporal said -beseechingly. "If he does, we're all dead!" - -I was trembling with fear and frustrated rage. Baxter was backing -toward the ship, taking the weakened Clatclit backward with him. They -were only a few feet from the entry port, now. - -Then my hand went out, and I took the corporal's collapser from him. He -stared at me confusedly, but let me take it. - -"Everybody hit the dirt!" I said, lifting the weapon and taking careful -aim. Guard, girl and Scouts took a dive. - -I was neither aiming at Baxter, nor his ship. The blazing bolt of -energy from the collapser, an instant before I joined Snow, the -corporal and the Space Scouts on the ground, went where I'd intended it -to. - -Into the nearest supporting girder of the massive converter. - -As in a slow-motion nightmare, the structure began to tilt with the -uneven distribution of weight, toward the spot where a supporting -leg should have been, and then the brightly burning rays of the -ore-converting head came arcing down in a deadly sweep that passed over -Baxter, Clatclit, and the ship, narrowly missing the spot where the -rest of us lay. Then the power cables tore away, and the beam went out. - -It was all over. The ship, of aluminum-magnesium alloys, was in -perfectly fine shape. Clatclit, of pure sugar construction, was, if a -bit water-sick, alive and healthy. - -But Baxter-- - -The converter had been designed with one function: to turn ferrous -oxide, plain old rusted iron, into its components. In the force of its -ray, the oxide became free oxygen and molten iron. And the blood of a -human being is made up of, amongst other things, tiny cells which have -the presence of oxidized iron to thank for their bright red color. - -When we got to Baxter, he was long past screaming. You can't make much -noise when you're a solid blister, ten feet in diameter. - - * * * * * - -"Hey, Jery," said Ted, on the rocket back to Earth. "How come you and -Snow fell in love so quick, hey?" - -I looked from Snow, seated beside me on the lounge, my arm across her -shoulders, to the viewport, through which I could see the dwindling red -globe that was Mars. - -"Well," I said, trying to think of an answer. - -Across from us, squatting happily on a specially provided stool, was -Clatclit. As ambassador-elect of the Sugarfoot Nation to Earth, and -the first extraterrestrial permitted to land on our home planet, he -was mighty proud of his upcoming honor. Clatclit the sugarfoot clacked -something. - -I looked at him. - -He pointed to his wrist and shook his head. - -I grinned. "There's your answer, Ted. There wasn't time to fall in love -slowly." - -Ted stared at the carpet and sulked. I had already, in a post-trauma -state of nerves, shattered his composure not a little by angrily -telling him that his "world-saving" code was really a cipher. - -He'd been unwontedly morose ever since. I felt kind of bad about it, -but couldn't find an opportunity as yet of getting his ego back on its -feet. - -Then Clatclit, resplendent in his new-grown ruby scales, made another -noise. I looked at him again. - -He made a back-over-the-shoulder gesture, then tapped his wrist. - -"A while ago ..." I interpreted aloud for Snow's benefit. And Ted's, if -he wasn't too sunken in gloom to listen. - -He put one hand to his throat, and pointed an index finger at his eyes. - -"... When Baxter was holding you as hostage?" - -He pointed to me, then made a bang-bang gesture with the finger, -followed by a point back over and above his shoulder, toward where that -converter had been in relation to himself. - -"Why did I blast the converter?" - -Nod. - -I stared. "What else was there to do? It was a little rough on Baxter, -but I had to save you, didn't I?" - -Side-to-side headshake. - -"I didn't have to save you that way?" I remarked. - -Ted was watching Clatclit with interest, I noticed, his eyes dancing -with fascination at this better-than-code means of communication. - -Clatclit shook his head. - -"Okay, I'll bite," I said, puzzled. "What would _you_ have done in my -spot?" - -Bang-bang gesture. Then serpentine motion with his hand. - -"Shot the ... the lava tunnels?" - -Disgusted stare. - -"Threw a snake at him?" I hazarded, bewildered. - -Abruptly, Ted laughed. I looked at him, chagrined. After all, he -couldn't expect me to be at my brightest in the mind-dampening presence -of his sister, though he was a little young to understand such things. - -"I suppose you know what he means!" I said. - -Ted continued to laugh, a high boy-soprano giggle which seemed in -itself to afford him additional amusement. - -"Okay, okay," I said to him. "Give. What did Clatclit say I could -have done that would have spared Baxter and saved him from dissolving -anyhow?" - -Ted managed to squeak out, between gusts of delight, "Clatclit -says that if he had been doing the shooting, he would just have -disintegrated ..." He rolled onto his face on the lounge sofa, and -couldn't go on. - -"Disintegrated what?" I demanded, baffled. - -Ted snorted, lifting his face to look for the reaction on mine. "The -water hose!" - -I stared stupidly, then broke into a grin. - -I decided not to mention to him that a foot-thick metal girder is a -hell of an easier target than a one-inch diameter of flexible tubing. -What the hell. I had Snow; Clatclit had a whole skin; and--Well, -growing boys need their ego. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Secret Martians, by Jack Sharkey - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET MARTIANS *** - -***** This file should be named 50668.txt or 50668.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/6/6/50668/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan 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 print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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