"Only three Intermediates escaped alive from the caverns under the fifth level?" Bejamel inquired incredulously in that magnificent voice that was a melody in itself.
"Silence!" There was nothing lovely in the harsh command of His Benevolence. "Bunglers! Should condemn you and your strategists to the Blessed Sleep, but the quota of jewels is filled.... What do you plan doing now? Or are you going to let those Irreconcilables become a cancer on the side of the empire?" His voice became indistinct as he stuffed golden nectarines into his mouth.
"Magnificence! If your Benevolence permits...." Bejamel's attempt at a smile was a ludicrous failure. But the sulphuric stare he received for his pains, left him wordless and pale.
"Proceed!" His Benevolence nodded at the Intermediate. The pale yellow eyes were blazing.
"Our plans are to destroy the cavern immediately, and utilize our Intermediate Scientists to ferret out the dissenters for disposal at your Effulgence's orders." The Chief of the Intermediates replied calmly, evenly, as if his life were not hanging by the thinnest thread. He bowed profoundly, and then stood erect, in all the glory of his golden tunic and platino-plastic helmet.
"Also, a flight of pursuit atomo-planes awaits disorders in every tier of every city, Your Benevolence!"
"Like over-fed blackbirds," His Benevolence observed scornfully. "They didn't prevent Guerlan and that unidentified companion of his from escaping! And that reminds me, Bejamel," his voice changed to a silken purr. "I thought you had checked the safety coordination of the plastic centers. Surely, with all the safeguards you reported installed, the machines supplied you by scientists, and the robot-proctor guard, not to speak of the selector-controlled tests of the workmen, I still fail to understand how Guerlan escaped retribution." His lips parted in a smile of sadistic pleasure, as Bejamel went green.
"And," His Benevolence held up a hand that flashed with a vortex of prismatic fire from the many jewels, "what has become of your daughter, Perlac? I seldom see her any more."
"Since Your Benevolence said that her hips were too narrow and her face too sharp, I banished her from your presence, Effulgence!"
"Well, bring her back!" He snapped in fury. "Sometimes I think you usurp my authority, Bejamel." His eyes narrowed speculatively, and the enmity he felt for the Minister of Justice because of the latter's silent opposition to allowing his daughter to become a Virgin of the Sacred Flame, smouldered within him.
Bejamel bowed profoundly, but a glint of savage rage shone in his eyes.
"Send the Virgins ... let them sing!" His Benevolence commanded, "and convey my forgiveness to Estrella; she may enter the presence!"
"Your Benevolence's favorite will rejoice at the magnanimous decision!" Bejamel replied in a soft murmur that was sheer music. But the expression on his averted face belied his words.
He hurried away through the foliage of the Venusian Jasmine trees and the tangles of fragrant Maravillas, until he came to the pavillion of whiteJadite, so exquisitely planned that in its white simplicity it might have been an idealized Greek temple.
"Estrella," he called the moment that he entered. "Hurry, child!" And seeing her curled on a couch worth a respectable fortune, "Hewill see you ... mind you, he's in a vile temper—as capricious as I've ever seen him. But evidently he has need of you. Soothe him from this evil mood, or we'll all suffer!" He paused out of breath.
Estrella uncoiled languorously from the Sapphirine couch and stood lightly swathed in filmiest draperies of spider silk, that revealed the distracting beauty of her limbs and full, firm breast. The large, brilliant dark eyes, shadowed by curling lashes were rebellious and scornful, and the flower-like red mouth mutinous. A cascade of pale gold hair tumbled curling about the marble shoulders, and sent gleaming tendrils to the satiny throat, encircled by a necklace of star-sapphires, rarest of all jewels because of the tremendous difficulties in creating the star in the depths of the jewel.
"Lethimwait ... I have had to wait too long!" she blazed.
"Sheesh! ... even the walls have ears, Star of the Evening! And remember his saying: 'A favorite in disfavor is a jewel that has crystallized'. He means that literally; I couldn't bear to see you as a ruby in his finger ring."
Estrella paled, shrugged her shoulders and dashed out of the pavillion. Out in the garden, she was like a butterfly in the sunlight, a gorgeous creature that came to rest at His Benevolence's feet. A choir of Virgins sang softly and undulated with the rhythm of the music, while His Benevolence fondled Estrella with one hand and with the other ate.
Meanwhile, in the sumptuous Audience Chamber, a multitude of Protectors of the Inner Circle, Scientists of the First Order, the Directors of various cities, and even Intermediate Scientists moved restlessly, pacing up and down the imposing length of the chamber. Their faces were pale and anxious; some seemed distraught, rehearsing silently, over and over in their minds what they had to say.
But among themselves they barely spoke. A careless word, flung in a moment of anxiety, might be the beginning of a fatal intrigue. They were taking no chances.
The dour, ascetic visaged Marvalli, Scientist of the Inner Circle and Chief of Columbia, seemed on the verge of nervous prostration. He wondered in anguish what would His Benevolence say when he learned that the warehouses filled with exquisite tropical and semi-tropical delicacies for his table and that of the Inner Circle, had been destroyed by a raging holocaust that had left nothing but blackened cinders, and that the priceless machinery for the Vibroponic farms, which speeded up the growth and maturity of exotic plants and fruits, and a multitude of legumes and vegetables, was a twisted, molten mass—he quaked inwardly and a cold sweat oozed out of his pores.
Vidal, Chief of Plastica had a harrowing report too. Vat after vat of processing acid had split in halves and flooded moats and safety levels until the acrid fumes made the Plastic Centers of his city untenable. Conveyors had been disrupted and even robot-proctors dissolved as if they'd been made ofpapier-mache. All his efforts at locating the source of these depredations were in vain. Meanwhile, the plastic industry in Plastica was paralyzed. That as bad as it was, however, could be remedied temporarily by the installation of more vats, but an amazing thing was that even the replacement vats had been found damaged beyond repair.
But of them all, Weiman, "The Butcher", as he was called, was the most distraught of all. Never in all the history of Perdura, his beloved Perdura, where the NeptunianBagazoplant was processed into the drug for the amnesiac treatment, had such depredations been committed. A veritable nightmare of explosions had shattered the intricate machinery of the processors; the receiving vats of staunchest plastic had been found in shards and slivers, while the stores of the sacred drug had disappeared. An emergency order sent to the nurseries where the plants were grown obtained no response and investigation disclosed that the nurseries had been destroyed.
It was then he had ordered a search party to go into the semi-tropical forests far up the valley in search of wild plants and they were met by a savage mob of Irreconcilables! But not the gravity-burdened, frightened Irreconcilables he had been used to hunt with lances and swords, but a grim, determined company of fighters armed with atomo-pistols and atomo-rifles who exterminated the searching party except one member, whom they sent back with the insolent warning: "Stay out of our land!"
The atmosphere of the Audience Chamber was electric. A wave of rebellion seemed to be sweeping the Empire.
When Bejamel, Minister of Justice, entered the Chamber, there was a concerted rush to meet him.
"Excellency, I request an audience!" And from another Chief of a City. "Nay, Excellency.... Mine cannot wait, it's a catastrophe!" "I crave a hearing...! Your Excellency!" Pandemonium had broken loose in the chaste precincts of the Audience Hall.
"Peace!" Bejamel shouted above the tumult, and strove to present a calm exterior. But an icy fear constricted his throat, and his usually commanding tones of unearthly beauty failed him. Nevertheless he stemmed somewhat the rising confusion.
"You, Vidal!" Bejamel singled out the Inner Circle Scientist in charge of Plastica. "Your report."
"I demand Martial Rule, and sufficient troops to insure order," Vidal gasped. "Plastica's paralyzed. Most of the plastic-acid vats have been destroyed; conveyors in shambles and robot-proctors disintegrated. I know of only one weapon capable of shattering Columbium-Plastic and Bery-Plastic—and do it without a sound. These weapons are electro-flash, and assigned to the Inner Circle. When an Inner Circle Scientist loses the one assigned to him, he is under penalty to report it immediately. I can't conceive how these weapons could have fallen into the hands of whoever these depredators are, and in sufficient numbers to wreak such havoc in such a short time!"
"I didn't ask for a diagnosis, and least of all for a cure!" Bejamel said frigidly. "I asked for symptoms. Your report, Vidal!"
And Vidal gave it, freed from the fear His Benevolence's presence always inspired, he gave it bitterly, in complete detail.
"And you Marvalli?" Bejamel's voice shook a little despite his efforts to control it. From Marvalli's expression he feared the worst.
"Columbia has been unable to provide its quota of special foods for forty-eight hours, and all its reserves have been destroyed." In a voice filled with foreboding, he told his story, wringing his hands from time to time, unconscious of doing it.
Weiman was next. He gave a minute account of depredations in Perdura. "And so," he finished in an anguished voice, "we not only have no Bagazo for the amnesiac treatment ... we are unable to procure any, and even if we had it, the machinery is a shambles, Excellency!" His voice ended in a wail.
On and on the audience continued, each account adding to the seriousness of the situation. At last Bejamel rose. His face was inscrutable. "What a gargantuan indigestion His Benevolence is going to have today," he thought grimly.
"Remain!" He exclaimed peremptorily, and strode in the direction of the enchanted garden.
He didn't even pause to watch the gyrations and posturings of Virgins of the Sacred Flame. Brushing aside the tall Intermediates that stood guard over the recumbent form of His Benevolence, he bowed slightly, and in a cold, tight voice explained his mission.
"Your Benevolence," his voice never had been lovelier, "the empire is in open revolt. We are not facing isolated cases of vandalism. Nor the underground opposition of the Irreconcilables. This is a fiendishly planned and perfectly executed strategy of destruction. Unless we meet it with overwhelming force, we lose control of the empire!"
"Don't exaggerate, Bejamel!" His Benevolence snorted disdainfully. "A few vats have been shattered—others can be made. Bagazo has been destroyed ... we'll get all we need from the forests, and later have our chemists synthesize the drug. Just issue the necessary orders, I can't be bothered now."
Bejamel's smile was feline, and feral lights gleamed in the eyes that gave him such a gargoylish expression amidst his twisted features.
"No, Effulgence. This calls for a meeting of the Inner Circle. You may not know it, but hundreds of thousands of amnesiacs, now deprived of the drug,remember! Death to them is a boon, and before they die they will be sure to take as many of us as possible. Andthey are being armed!"
"Let a few thousand die!" He exclaimed heartlessly. "They'll pave my new Hall of Rubies!" But he knew now that Bejamel was not exaggerating. The great intellect of the evil ruler, had grasped the disastrous consequences of such a revolt, and instantly he acted.
"Very well, Bejamel. Call the Council. Hold all witnesses for the session. Meanwhile, mobilize all the Intermediates of the warrior order, and the Scientists of the first and second orders. Every Inner Circle Scientist who is still worthy of his rank, and all Inner Circle Neophytes to be in readiness. Make a survey of robot-proctors, and coordinate all available defenses. We can at least be ready at a moment's notice. And, find out how long our present stores of food will last ... we should have enough for months! Think you can remember all this?" He purred mockingly.
"To hear your Benevolence is to obey!" Bejamel replied imperturbably. And left to carry out the orders. A little smile was at the corners of his mouth, and the feral light was still lambent in his strange green eyes.
He could hear His Benevolence's harsh tones as the latter told His Virgins: "Get out!" Only Estrella remained by the side of the obscene bulk. Bejamel pitied her.
Once back in the Audience Chamber, pandemonium broke loose, but with a peremptory wave of his hand and the words: "You will remain as witnesses for a full meeting of the Council tonight," Bejamel quelled them. He watched them file out with a speculative gaze. "When the sea's disturbed," he murmured softly, "creatures from the bottom rise to the top." Then he walked slowly to his own chambers, singing softly to himself, and it was as if the voice of an angel were issuing from the throat of a Gargoyle.
Only one thought worried him, and that was the protracted absence of Perlac. She had been gone for days. Perhaps he had missed her in his preoccupation with duties of State, he thought. Bejamel shrugged his thin shoulders and sat down at a jewel-encrusted desk worthy of an Inner Circle Scientist ransom. Silently he began to write with an electro-stylus on a sheet of transparent plastic. Nothing showed.
It was to Gualdamar, whom to give the full plenitude of his titles was Chief Guardian of the City of the Flaming Sphere, The Leader of the Intermediate Warriors, Chief Strategist, and Scientist of the Inner Circle.
As Bejamel wrote, he thought with part of his mind of the many minor revolts that had occurred when the amnesiac treatment failed because of the defense against the drug that human metabolism built periodically, but nothing like this had ever happened in the annals of the Empire. Plastic Inc., as the Inner Circle taught the people to believe, was part of them, and they rose and fell together. It occurred to Bejamel that he was very old, it was indecent to thrust such a crisis on his fading intellect. The thought made his smile acidly. There was nothing decadent about that Machiavellian mind that enabled him to remain in power through decades of intrigues, pitfalls and traps, and lately, the growing enmity of his Benevolence because he would not allow Perlac to become a chattel of his Obese Effulgence in the Temple of the Sacred Flame.
He wondered if he would be able to weather this crisis. Still he wrote swiftly, invisibly on the transparent plastic, and as he did so, the thought of Venus, great in its first bloom of advanced civilization, of Europa, transmuted into an Eden by the courage of its Terrans and the strange unearthly science of the Panadurs. If all else failed, he could seek sanctuary on either one of these two planets. Mars repelled him, none of that grim land for his weary bones. But if he had to flee, he meant to flee along with Perlac, and he had a score to settle before he went.
When he had finished, he pressed a button, and a robot-proctor entered noiselessly, received instruction and as quietly disappeared. Bejamel knew that his robot would deliver the message in person, nothing could take that plastic message from him short of destruction.
V
"Tonight we attack!" Guerlan persisted uncompromisingly, but his eyes sought Perlac's and found confirmation in her swift smile. "I offer the counsel of daring—all or nothing!" A roar of approval greeted his words, the echoes dwindling down the series of subterranean caverns that formed a continental link in the bowels of Neptune and was used to shelter the army of scientists, technicians, analysts, coordinators, mechanics and workmen. They were now under Columbia's Fifth Level, and rising to the crysto-plast dome, each tier was now under the domination of the Irreconcilables.
But Paulan, the Commander in Chief, arose in all the dignity of his great age. He frowned in disapproval, sighing before he spoke.
"I fear too great an army has been assembled against us, Plastica, Telluria, Perdura, the eleven remaining cities will have to be conquered, and remember, since we captured Columbia with comparative ease while the Inner Circle's Army was engaged in destroying the caverns beneath Plastica, all the other cities swarm with Intermediates and the Scientists of the First and Second Circle, not to speak of those fiends of the Inner Circle themselves. We have converted millions through the use of the Ethero-Magnum, thanks to our loyal Perlac, who taught us to use it as the Inner Circle used it to condition the amnesiacs; we have paralyzed the Plastic Industry; destroyed the machinery for processingBagazointo the amnesiac drug, and we control all the stores ofBagazo. We have achieved the arming of thousands of our followers. Surely, that is a great victory. I feel that should be enough for the present; besides, the Inner Circle will want to come to terms with us."
And it was true. Hunger and privation stalked the tiers of the great cities; chaos reigned. Even the great Plastic centers now had become a shambles of exploding acid vats; conveyors bore a welter of half-asphyxiated humanity, gaunt with hunger and the spasms lack of the amnesiac brought on; transportation was paralyzed, and everywhere the amnesiacs flared into madness as the effects of the drug wore off; and in a frenzy of remembrance and need of the drug, they attacked all in the ranks of scientists, destroying everything they could lay hands on. Thousands died under the trained precision of the Intermediates, and Scientists of the First Order, but the casualties they inflicted in the serried ranks of the Chief Protector were appalling.
"A compromise is not enough!" Guerlan was pitiless. "We have but one Ether Magnum here in Columbia with which to carry our message to the Second Level of each city and the workmen of the Third Level. True we have close to a quarter of a million warriors, but in a war of attrition, they have the greater resources. Besides," his voice was acid with scorn, "who wants a compromise? Not I!" His great green eyes under the long dark lashes flashed fire and the generous, square-cut mouth was bitter. He pointed an accusing finger at the legion of men and women that filled to overflowing the immense central cavern.
"You have asked for enough food to insure health in your children and have been told that synthetic-parturition will take care of your offspring, as indeed it does, and you never see them again! You who have asked but a measure of happiness and have been giving all you possess in energy, loyalty and obedience, and are given in return a brutalizing drug that robs you of the will to live! You who through the intrigues and machinations of the Inner Circle have been brutally thrust into the Second, the Third and even the Fourth Levels without a trial, without a hearing merely to satisfy the sadistic minds that rule us from the City of the Sphere.... YOU, would you want a compromise?"
The negative roar that rose in response, shook the lofty ceiling of the cavern and was like a whirlwind. When it had died down, Paulan stood up again.
"I resign," he said simply. "Younger hands than mine will have to lead you. Perhaps you're right, Guerlan, if so, take my place as Commander in Chief, my son."
For a moment there was silence, and then another multi-throated roar of approval.
Guerlan was silent before the majestic dignity of the old man, and something akin to pity welled out of his heart for the great patriarch; but Perlac was on her feet, her sculptured arms flung above her head demanding attention from the great multitude.
"I second the nomination!" Her limpid tones carried far.
"And I ... and I ... and I!" Thousands of voices strove to be heard, down into the farthest reaches of the linked caverns, as those who could not see, heard through the inter-connecting teleradio.
"Then," Guerlan spoke firmly, almost coldly, "the Council of War is called to session, we will meet in the Venusian spacer. All troops stand by for orders."
"Lead, Commander!" exclaimed a rich baritone voice.
It was Carladin, winged, diminutive, proud that the first session of the Council of War should be held in his magnificent atomo-plane, the one that had been repaired in the cavern beneath Plastica. He was proud, too, of Venus' inventive genius in converting the secret electronic formula of the electro-flash into a magnification of that weapon, to the size of a cannon, and raised to the sixth power, enough to practically blast an atomo-plane out of space. As for his special gift to the cause, that was an ironic touch that only a Venusian mind was capable of conceiving, for although unbelievably kind, they never forgave. "Poetic Justice," Carladin had called it, and insisted on the use of his special gift, even bringing a battalion of Venusians to handle it.
"Telluria reporting ... Telluria ... Fourth Level cleared. Entrance to Third Level forced.... Fighting intense ... Telluria...." The voice of the announcer faded and the magnified face in the telecast dissolved before their gaze.
Guerlan, Perlac and Carladin listened intently in the control cabin of the Venusian spacer which hovered like a great bird in the darkness above Columbia.
The enormous ethero-magnum that occupied a large section of the control room, came to life again as an ascending whine warned them, it was Perdura calling:
"Perdura calling ... Perdura ... Commander Guerlan!"
"Come in, Perdura!" Guerlan exclaimed impatiently, his nerves taut from inaction, but plans had to be observed. "Come in!"
The shifting swirls of light on the telecast became steady and a young, pale-featured youth could be seen speaking with great intensity.
"We're on the second level, Commander. The defense has been terrific, they're bringing robots into the battle. One electro-flash cannon destroyed thus far, but we're pushing forward. No further news."
It was disappointing. In a concerted attack in eleven cities, thousands of Irreconcilables had emerged from the bowels of Neptune, striking upwards from the fifth levels of the cities, aided by crazed amnesiacs who fought with tooth and nail when no weapons were available. But it was Plastica that worried him most, for here was the strategic city they must capture at all costs. Unable to control his impatience any longer, he asked Perlac to contact Plastica. The girl's slender fingers played over the banked keys, adjusting tiny levers and driving home the activating selectors. Swirls of magnificent colors flooded the Telecast screen, while the ascending whine of the complex instrument went beyond the auditory limits of the human ear; and presently scene after scene of ghastly destruction showed on the telecast, the fifth level came and went a shattered welter; the fourth where destruction was appalling showed great rents in the crysto-plast dome that separated it from the third. There was fighting still in the second level, as isolated parties strove to decimate the remaining, fleeing Intermediates; the fallen forms of robot-proctors littered the conveyors and inter-connecting avenues, the carnage was incredible.
But it was in the first level itself where the battle without quarter was now taking place. Divisions of ordine-plastic robots charged great masses of Irreconcilables, only to be shattered in great waves as the electro-flash cannon, gift of Venus, disintegrated their electronic balance. Thousands of lurid flashes from atomo-rifles and atomo-cannons, laboriously hauled to the first level by the attackers, belched destruction at buildings laden with Intermediates and Second Level Scientists; aero-tanks with treads instead of landing gear, were attempting to settle on the vast first level, their atomo-cannon slashing at the attackers with great scimitars of lurid blue light. It was a titanic holocaust that would long live in the annals of the Universe, for Venus, Mars, Mercury and Europa had their Tele-Magnums trained on the fantastic struggle.
And then the face of the Commander of the Irreconcilables attacking Plastica, showed on the Telecast, a great gash over an eye still oozing a gout of blood that trickled down the left side of his face. Grim, with an awful determination in his young eyes, the Commander spoke hoarsely. "Commander Guerlan, we need aircraft to engage the aero-tanks. Plastica is surrounded without the crysto-plast dome, and thousands of Inner Circle Scientists await the precise moment to enter in their Treaders and annihilate us. In reaching the first level, our losses have been too great, Commander!" He saluted and the face withdrew, as if having delivered his message there were nothing more to be said.
"Carladin," Guerlan's voice was vibrant with pent-up emotion, "you've brought with you eight-hundred atomo-spacers better than anything the Inner Circle has, if the speed and strength of Perlac's atomo-spacer is a sample. There isyourtask!"
"Not mine, Commander!" There was an edge of keen delight in the superb baritone voice of the tiny, winged figure. "I also brought with me a great warrior of space to lead my fleet. I have another task I shall relish even more! In one of my spacers, the flag-ship, are the hounds of Mother Venus, with which we hunt in the great virgin forests. One to each member of a battalion of my people ... on a fragile leash! I shall communicate with my fleet immediately, may I take one of the emergency planes?" And as Guerlan nodded assent, Carladin was gone.
Guerlan wondered what the Venusian had meant by the hounds of Venus, but he was too preoccupied with the battle to care, all that mattered was that he was willing to use his fleet in accordance with the plan.
"Gloriana calling.... Gloriana calling Commander Guerlan...." The monotonous iteration and reiteration of the announcer demanded attention. Perlac touched a bank of jet black keys as Guerlan said:
"Come in Gloriana, report, we're listening!"
"Gloriana reports a stalemate. We have gained second level, almost took the first, but the fleet is above the first level, we can't combat it. All levels cleared but the first. Gloriana sounding off."
Other reports came in, but still Guerlan waited for the one thing that was imperative. And at last, through an eternity of waiting, Columbia came on the Ethero-Magnum, then like bursting flowers of fire, the atomic flashes from the emerging atomo-spacers of Venus as they launched themselves straight up into the heavens through the vertical funnel-like channel that rose from the caverns, straight up into the upper reaches of the first level. Spacer after spacer soared aloft and disappeared in the direction of Plastica. All but the last. It rose majestically upward and then, describing a parabola in midair, began to lose altitude, its atomic flashes like falling stars.
And then began the most bizarre attack in the history of six planets, for as the fleet attacked the swarm of atomo-fighters and aero-tanks of the Inner Circle, the last Venusian spacer had landed outside Plastica, and a multitude of Venusians each one leading a giganticCalamar, the dreaded, armored tiger of Venus, launched themselves upon the besieging Scientists of the Inner Circle that awaited the propitious moment to enter Plastica during the battle and destroy the Irreconcilables by an attack from their rear.
The roar of the ravenous beasts was a crescendo that drowned the wild, agonized screams of the scientists as mammoth claws ripped through plastic-breast plates and Venusian silks, and fangs found fat throats and steaming blood. Overhead the clash of the two air armadas was a holocaust of fire, as the two armies beneath fought also for supremacy on the first level.
What the outcome would be, was beyond prediction, for neither side entertained any doubt now but that it was a struggle to the death—there could be no quarter. If Plastica fell, most of the Empire went with it, for within it was the very life-blood of the nation—Plastics, the beginning, the reason and the end of their existence. For plastics were clothing and shelter, and weapons and furniture, and even medicines and synthetic concentrates that went under the name of food. Besides, they had Columbia, where the sustenance of the City of the Sphere and the first levels was grown and manufactured.
Slowly at first, imperceptibly, the battle turned in their favor, objectives that seemed unattainable were reached by the Irreconcilables, and the defenders fell back. The invulnerable fleet, the much touted and dreaded air armada, as being decimated by the unearthly speed of the Venusian spacers; and Intermediates and robots alike fell before the supernal fire of the electro-flash cannon and electro-rifles. Still, the battle wore on and on, with such an intensity that it was incredible that anything that lived could endure it. Without Plastica itself, a horror of carnage, blasted Calamars and torn bodies, marked where the Inner Circle Reserves had been, but Caladin's spacer was nowhere in view.
"The time," Perlac said softly, "has come, my dear."
Guerlan gazed at the exquisite features of Perlac in misery. He was silent. But the girl laid a hand on his shoulder caressingly, and forced him to look into her eyes. "We must face it, Guerlan, unless we do, this war may last for years, and oceans of blood will flow. It is the better way."
"I know, I know Perlac. But let me do it alone. I can't ... I just can't bear to have you risk your life, my dear." Impulsively he crushed her to him in a fierce embrace and kissed the flower-like mouth. Then he released her.
"I will be in less danger than you; after all I am Bejamel's daughter. And don't you think that I, too, could not bear to have you go alone? No, dear, we are in this together, for life or for death."
As if the gods of war relished the appalling daring of their plan, suddenly the way was opened to them, for on the immense Tele-Magnum, the heavenly tones of Bejamel's voice could be heard, as slowly, his gargoyle face came into view. Hurriedly Perlac threw the switch which prevented him at the Palace on the Sphere from seeing them.
"Commander Guerlan! Bejamel, Minister of Justice, speaks." There were rich undertones of irony, and bitterness, too, in the superlative voice of the speaker.
"I have learned that my daughter is your prisoner. We have captured important prisoners, too. Paulan, your ex-leader, and that misguided Martian who has chosen to espouse your cause. But all this is of no moment, I am willing to ransom my daughter on your own terms, barbarian!" Even in his grief, Bejamel was unable to suppress the insulting epithet.
"What do you offer, Bejamel?" Guerlan spoke calmly, although a seething maelstrom swirled within him. "But make your offer worth listening to, I have no time for barter."
"A thousand prisoners of war, and a coffer of jewels, Guerlan!"
Guerlan laughed shortly. "Your fame for sagacity has been overrated, Bejamel, the jewels ... we shall shortly make our own—The Ultimate Presence knows there will be enough dead when this is over. As for the prisoners," his voice became indifferent, "we'll take them, of course, but we have more men than we need, Scientist. Offer me something beyond my means and I'll send your daughter to you, unharmed!"
"Speak, Dissenter, I am a man of reason!" Bejamel's voice was filled with cunning. "Speak!"
"Since you are the only one who can open His Benevolence's doors, outside of the mechanism he can activate from within, destroy the mechanism. Take away his invulnerable robe of force, and then ... then forget to sing! Let him starve slowly in his enchanted garden, after he has devoured all his birds and pets." Guerlan's laughter was mocking. But within he was tense with anxiety. Would his strategy win, he wondered? One could not deal in a normal manner with Bejamel.
"Agreed!" The celestial voice had risen to limpid heights.
The fleets of atomo-spacers and aero-tanks stood poised, withdrawn, marking an invisible, aerial lane through which hurtled the slim, silver flash of an atomo-plane. The most powerful Tele-Magnum in the palace of His Benevolence was focused on that ship, without pause, until every detail of its interior was exposed on the great tele-screen at the palace. But its interior revealed only the pale, haggard face of Perlac, inexpressibly lovely in its sadness, and motionless beside her, the gigantic robot-proctor of bery-plastic, embossed with the insignia of the House of Justice and Bejamel's own intricate emblem. It had been sent to act as a guard and bring her unharmed to the palace.
Forming a perfect target, a trio of transports carrying a thousand Irreconcilables, prisoners of war, came from the opposite direction, released from the City of the Sphere, as per agreement. The vessels neared each other, crossed and passed en-route to their opposite destinations. At last, Perlac's plane reached the outer air-locks of the Sphere, where pressure was adjusted, and entering ships were guided to their berths at the base of the immense globe, where the machinery of the anti-gravity repulsor beams was housed also, and where the glittering tiers rose upward to end at the great Hanging Gardens of His Benevolence, where the palace stood.
And then the armistice was broken. Hundreds of swift, deadly interceptor planes, atomo-powered, dived after the retreating transport; tremendous aero-tanks rushed in for the kill spewing a blaze of livid radiations. One of the transports managed to dive into the inter-connecting, ascending and descending chamber of the city, but the others, trapped, rather than be rayed like sheep, courageously turned and fought. But to no avail. Outside the tropical city of Columbia, they crashed in great flaming gouts, like miniature volcanoes.
Ahead of Perlac and her robot-proctor was the City of the Sphere. Majestically it blazed like a cosmic jewel against the impenetrably-black backdrop of space. It grew immense, fantastic, like a minor planet glowing in space, but suddenly, their speed slackened as the robot-control began to decelerate; and presently they slid with a vast hiss into the first airlock, where the synchronized magnetic fields instantly checked their speed. A terrific force jarred them until their bones seem to melt, then doors were opening, voices could be heard shouting orders, and the official pilot entered the ship and with an obsequious salute to the girl, he took seat at the controls and guided the ship into the second lock.
The entire length of both the first and second locks were lined with the titanic coils of the synchronized, magnetic degravitation fields, which stopped the vessels in a graduating net of force. But the transparent sides of the sphere gave a curious sensation of lack of solidity, of fragility even, as if they had entered a vast hall of glass. Only those who really knew the secret composition of the Sphere, were aware of its near-invulnerability, even beyond that of the strongest known metal-alloys.
At last the long, slim atomo-plane was berthed, and the tall, cadaverous figure of Bejamel hove into view. He waited for Perlac closely followed by her robot guard to approach him, in accordance with the etiquette of Plastica. Then, unable to suppress any longer the profound emotions that stirred his complex being, he opened his arms wide and rushed forward to enfold the only being he had ever loved, in the fragile embrace of his skeletal arms. A suspicious brilliance swam in the long green eyes, and the ordinarily limpid voice was husky, uncertain, as he exclaimed: "Perlac, O my dear!" He could say no more. Perlac was touched. She brushed her lips against his cheek, then she gently pushed him back, to gaze into the inscrutable green eyes of the Minister of Justice, who was also her father.
Behind her, looming unnoticed, as a piece of activated mechanism, was the Robot-Proctor, both servant and guard.
"Father," she said impulsively, "Don't take me to the Palace! I couldn't bear to enter the temple as one of the Virgins ... rather would I prefer to be a prisoner of the Irreconcilables."
Father and daughter gazed at each other in silence, surrounded by the deep, far-away hum of the throbbing generators as the incredible stream of atomic power fought the gravity of Neptune. Great opaque doors at the far end of the second lock led into the inner chambers where the robot-tended machinery never faltered for a second. Bejamel smiled slowly, ironically, and shook his head. "We're not going there!"
He waved an emaciated hand at the guard of honor that awaited his pleasure at a respectful distance, and instantly the Intermediate Officer in charge came forward. "Command!" he said laconically. It was the same officer that had reported the defeat of the Intermediate battalion in the caverns beneath Plastica. His superbly beautiful face was impassive, but the brilliant eyes were restless, as if the creature's nerves were overwrought.
"My atomocopter!" Bejamel said as laconically, and then passed a small package to the Intermediate. "For you and the entire Palace Guard," he said softly. "There will be no need of you and your men tonight. We have all but won ... celebrate."
The light of hunger, of delight, of the nearest feeling akin to gratitude he could possibly feel, flashed like a flame into the Intermediate's eyes. "I bow in thanks, O Lord of Justice," he replied formally.
Within seconds, they were speeding upwards in Bejamel's private atomocopter, past tier after tier of the fabulous City of the Sphere.
VI
Every tier was a beehive of activity, as scientists of the Inner Circle, scurried in every direction engaged in a multitude of tasks. Atomo-planes flashed through the inter-connecting levels on their way to the titanic battle below. Thousands of the Neophytes, aided by robots, supplied arms and concentrates to the departing vessels, while other thousands boarded them on their way to swell the ranks of the defenders, and take the place of their countless dead.
At last they reached Bejamel's private dwelling. He never called it a palace. In the tenebrous depths of his involved soul, there were flashes of genius, and one of them was to have and to rule without ever mentioning the fact. His dwelling was exquisite in proportions, the simplicity of its whiteJaditefacade, depending on the artistry of its composition and carved decors, not on opulence of mosaic-jewelling as was the case with the palace of His Benevolence. A repugnance of rococco display was enough to deter him from bad taste.
They went immediately into his private chambers, and here Perlac had a great surprise, for reclining on a dais covered with silvery Venusian furs and the priceless plumage of the Martian Kra, was the one person she would never have expected to see—Estrella, favorite of His Benevolence!
Once over her shock, Perlac turned and favored her ancient father with a sly smile.
"Incredible!" she murmured. "Can it be possible?" Bejamel bridled.
"Why not?" He rose to his full, cadaverous height. "Estrella and I are going to Venus, child, I have yet many more years of life, and loneliness is not good for an active mind like mine. That's why I ransomed you from that barbarian Guerlan, so that you may go with us. I am going to the palace now, I have one final errand to accomplish well, before we leave!" He smiled slowly, satirically, as if the most delicious thought in the universe had taken shape in his mind.
"Did you take care of His Exalted Benevolence's power-screen belt, my dear?" he inquired of Estrella.
"Yes," the girl nodded, her eyes filling with hatred at the mention of the dreaded name. "It will never function again!"
"Then," Bejamel said emphatically, in the tones he used when he had delivered the final word, "meet me at the emergency outer lock. My ship is there waiting, robot-manned, provisioned, containing fortunes in jewels and priceless things. We will go to Venus, and to a new ... a greater life!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining on the reclining form of Estrella. "I shall expect to see you, Perlac, with Estrella aboard my ship within one hour!" And to the silent robot-proctor. "Guard the women," he said directing a tiny beam of force from the microscopic mechanism concealed in his ring of office at the forehead of the robot, which instantly sealed the order within the synthetic brain of the metal-plastic man. "Guard them and bring them to my ship within one hour."
The metalo-plastic robot seemed to stiffen, his great non-abradable crystal eyes gleamed and a powerful arm went up in acknowledgment of the peremptory order. Satisfied, Bejamel turned and left.
It was then that Perlac turned to the towering robot and said softly, "Now!" And to Estrella, who watched uncomprehendingly, "Are you ready? Throw something about you, and veil your face, Estrella, we're going to the space ship!"
"But we've still got a lot of time!" the favorite protested. "It's true that most of my things are on the spacer, but I want to arrange some personal matters before we go; wait a while!"
A tremendous power was in Perlac's voice as she replied:
"We're leaving now!" Yet she said it very softly. "You're dripping with jewels, are you taking those things with you?"
"But of course! Such a question, have you gone mad?"
"You know what they are? Each one represents a life ... they're made from organic-plastic, human beings executed by greed!" Perlac reminded her.
But Estrella shrugged her divine shoulders as she arose. "My not wearing them wouldn't help those slain ones now. Besides, they're nearer to me in death, than they could ever have been in life!" She smiled with incredible vanity. She threw a robe of Kra plumes about her, and allowed herself to be led to the atomocopter.
Within seconds they were speeding to the outer lock and Bejamel's ship. It was there that the robot-proctor left them, and hurried to the lower chamber where the pulsing generators sang their eternal threnody of unlimited power. Unnoticed he gained the great metalo-plastic doors that divided the vast chambers from the anti-gravity repulsor machinery. Unhesitatingly, it directed a thin pencil of force at an orifice slightly above the center of the great doors, just as Perlac had explained over and over, and the massive portals parted slowly, remaining open.
Robots of the lower grades worked among the maze of towering machinery, oiling, testing, doing a multitude of tasks. But the robot-proctor, without paying them any attention, seemed to suddenly open at the side and an electro-flash gun, of large size, magnified by the Venusian scientists and raised to many times its normal power, came into view from the aperture. Without making a sound, without even a beam of light, the fatal weapon was aimed at the very heart of the colossal motors and generators, wheel and pistons seemed to warp, shrink and disappear uncannily; the steady throbbing hum of the degravitator, lost its smooth rhythm and thereafter large sections of machinery disappeared under the relentless action of the supernal fire being directed at them.
Instantly the robots came to life, for a moment they milled wildly, as if this supreme emergency were something they were not able to cope with, and then they saw the new robot in their midst. Their synthetic brains activated only to the repair and maintenance of the machines, and to their safeguard, focused on the attacker, and its removal was instantly their immediate task. They attackeden masse, but the robot-proctor eluded them among the mazes of metalo-plastic, of bery-plastic rods and generators, and the tremendous motors which were being eaten by an invisible leprosy. With a swift slash of the electro-flash gun, the robot-proctor caused havoc among the robots that pursued him, legs, arms, even heads wavered and disappeared as the electronic balance was completely disrupted by the flash.
A tremor seemed to shake the gigantic Sphere. By now, the great degravitator chamber was in shambles, and the remaining motors were unable to cope with the awful pressure of the gravity of the giant planet.
With one final murderous sweep of the electro-flash, that seemed to shear like an invisible scimitar through machinery, robots and everything in its path, retreated as it had come, racing upwards towards the Sphere's emergency locks. There was no apparent pursuit. Only the vivid scarlet lights of imperative emergency, flooding what had been the degravitator chamber were witnesses to the destruction.
In the coordinating offices of the Maintenance Scientists, the telesolidographs gave three-dimensional accounts of the wreckage. But even there, confusion, bred by a growing panic, caused a delay, losing them their chance of effecting repairs. Suddenly, panic brooked no obstacles. The light of intelligence and logic was flung aside as men and women becoming aware of the ghastly fate that awaited them, poured out on the various levels in a frenzy to escape. The news of the destruction of vital machinery in the anti-gravity repulsor beam chamber was being relayed everywhere.
Already the colossal Sphere was swaying gently and settling lower, dislocating the delicate balances that held it poised in space. The stresses on the plastic structures and pylons was tremendous.
As the robot arrived at Bejamel's spacer, a dramatic scene unfolded before his huge non-abradable eyes. Holding an electro-flash in her slender hand, her eyes brimming with tears, Perlac seemed to have for the moment at least, control of the superb ship. She was saying:
"We don't leave here until Guerlan returns!" Her lips were white, but the sheer determination written in her lovely face, held even Bejamel who was taken aback.
"Guerlan! Are you mad, Perlac? That barbarian's below on the planet's surface!"
"On the contrary," the robot-proctor spoke in a voice leaden with fatigue, "I'm here, Bejamel." Slowly he emerged from the enclosing plastic shell of what had been a robot, then let the huge, hollow plastic man fall clattering to the spacer's floor. Silently he searched the ex-Minister of Justice, who seemed transfixed by a vast surprise. From under Bejamel's arm-pit, Guerlan took a hidden electro-flash, and a venom-tipped dagger concealed in a fold of his tunic. Having drawn his fangs, he smiled. "We can blast off now ... but not for Venus!"
Majestically, Bejamel turned to Perlac with an inscrutable smile. He gazed at the girl in a mixture of bitterness and admiration:
"You're indeedmydaughter!" he said at last. Then to Guerlan: "What do you propose to do with me?"
"Keep you on Neptune," Guerlan replied bluntly. "Utilize your vast knowledge of jurisprudence, and your personal and intimate knowledge of the thousands of scientists who are certain to surrender sooner or later. Human beings have inalienable rights, rights that we propose to return to them. But unfortunately, it will not be easy to give freedom to those who have never known what freedom is. We will need all the science and power of mind available. So, Bejamel, we must use you—under our supervision, of course. You see, even the venom of a cobra is eminently useful, if handled right!"
They eyed each other, these two. Both powerful, dominating intellects, both capable of profound emotions. It was the older man, who used to the devious ways of the Sphere and His Benevolence's court, yielded gracefully. Bejamel glanced at Estrella, and it occurred to him that whatever years of life remained to him would be sweet if she were at his side. At that instant, a vast tremor shook the gigantic city of the Sphere, and Bejamel's eyes went wide.
Seated at the controls, Guerlan turned slightly to Bejamel. "Give your Intermediates orders to open the lock and activate the catapult—we have minutes, perhaps only seconds, before the Sphere gives under the gravity pull. Make your choice, or I give the ship full power and crash through the airlock, Bejamel!" Guerlan's voice was cold, impassive.
"I shall give the order," Bejamel assented in a brittle voice.
From a vantage point in space, the scene that met their eyes had the memorable quality of those stupendous spectacles of nature that human eyes rarely if ever are privileged to see.
The vast sphere was aflame with color, dazzling in the vivid coruscations of blue and orange and mauve and yellow lights. Spinning slowly, it was a thing of unearthly beauty, a floating, starry globe that might have been a toy of the gods. It was being deserted by every type of craft imaginable; hundreds of planes, 'copters, electros ... every available type of ship that could evacuate the jostling, crying, screaming thousands who had jammed the outer air-locks and emergency exits.
Inexorably, the Sphere sank lower and lower, as the remaining generators fought the awful gravity of Neptune that held the doomed globe in its gigantic grip. Enough power still remained to the incredible sphere to keep it from crashing headlong into the furious waters of the vast ocean below. But at last, as if the ultimate ounce of power were gone, the Globe seemed to lurch in a glory of prismatic lights, then with terrific momentum it began the dizzy plunge through space, whirling like a falling meteor.
Perlac, Bejamel, Estrella—even Guerlan himself, could not take their eyes from the tragic glory that was the sphere. Suddenly they saw it illuminate the ocean for miles as it neared the surface of the waters, then with a vast splash that sent a tidal wave licking the shore's hills hungrily, it sank into the cold, green waters.
"And there it will remain for all eternity!" Guerlan said thoughtfully. "A tomb of evil, that men might live!"
Bejamel was silent. The gargoyle's face was softened by a profound sadness. He sighed like a man who has lived too much, and at last seeks rest. He turned his back to the scene below as if unable to bear it any more. "An epoch has passed," he said softly in the magnificent voice.
But Guerlan was at the Tele-Magnum, broadcasting offer of an armistice to the warring armadas below.
"Scientists of the Inner Circle and the First Level," he said with infinite assurance. "Your City of the Sphere has plunged to its doom, and, with it went His Infamous Benevolence and hundreds of thousands of your henchmen. You no longer have a haven of refuge, no base in which to refuel or obtain supplies. When your present ammunition is gone, when repairs and food are necessary, and when the men who die must be replaced, there is no spot where you can return. Yours is a certain doom—unless you unconditionally surrender. We offer a pardon to all who are willing to join our cause; lay down your arms and aid in the reconstruction—a far more glorious future is before us!"
An immense weariness had etched lines about his mouth and eyes, and his shoulders slumped as if a great reaction had set in. But his eyes could still flame with joy, as he saw the deadly fleet of the Inner Circle abandon the struggle, as he saw the embattled armies cease their carnage. As he turned from the Tele-Magnum to go to the controls and guide the ship to their base in Columbia, he suddenly felt soft arms entwine around his neck and a soft face that pressed close to his. He didn't even need to look, the fragrance of Venusian jasmines was in his nostrils and a warm, flower-like mouth pressed close to his.
It was then that Bejamel turned to Estrella and was eyeing him with critical eyes and said sardonically:
"Shall we make it unanimous?"