"Revolt of Martian savages," broke in a voice from the radio. They froze, listening to the words that followed; "Craig Grey, President of Grey Enterprises, Incorporated, is present in person at the scene of trouble, directing the heroic resistance of Terrestrial pioneers. He has been authorised by World Government to capture Barry Williams, investigator of the dastardly campaign, dead or alive.
"Williams disappeared into the desert, and the abortive attack by the savages followed immediately. 'Justice in the Crypt', is said to be the wild battle shout of the Martians. Federal troops have embarked for Mars. It is—"
Barry snapped off the radio. "Grey has pulled off another one!" Deisanocta clung to his hand mutely, her white face revealing the despair the news had brought.
Barry's mouth was a straight, hard line. His eyes flamed, and muscles bunched in his shoulders. After a moment's silence, he turned the radio back on.
"More orders for you, Deisanocta. Get in touch with your men. We want about half a dozen of the best, and tell them to bring along the oldest Martian they can find!"
"But what—why?"
"If it's 'Justice from the Crypt' they want, we'll give it to them. We're going to find out what's there, and use it!
"Have your men meet us near one entrance to the place. Tell them to bring a portable visa-radio, so we can call the rest if we need them. This is the only chance we've got left!"
V
Over the red sands of Mars, the silver mist of vengeance was slowly thinning. The two moons sent their light probing down, breaking through here and there to find and bathe the sand.
Where those rays found the little party that crept cautiously toward the Crypt, it did not betray them under the red camouflage blankets. They moved silently ahead, invisible, determined.
"We are there," Deisanocta whispered at last to Barry Williams, beside her under the cloak. "We must rise and go on foot the rest of the way."
"O.K." he said. He scoured the sky, his sharp blue eyes trying to pierce the mist. "If any ships come over, they won't spot us. The mist is thick here.
"The trick will be to get by the guard at the entrance. We don't want to have to overcome him and risk an alarm."
Deisanocta was speaking to the Martians. They rose with Barry and the Princess, and the little party stayed close together to avoid being separated in the white shroud about them.
A suggestion from Barry, and they formed into single file and moved forward. A sharp-eyed Martian was in the lead.
"We are fortunate," the Princess said. "The guard is away from his post."
"Hurry," ordered Barry. "Inside! If we meet him after we're in, that's too bad for him."
Silently as the whiteness about them, the party filed into the Crypt. It was colder here, for the tunnel sloped sharply downward, and the air was heavier. They had gone only a few steps before the last wisps of the mist disappeared. The heavier air had held it out of the Crypt.
About them, the walls shone with a faint radiance.
"Now!" Barry turned to the girl. The party had been under his command from the beginning. Even the Martians had at last recognized that this Earthman was a leader.
"Hypnotize the old Martian. With a willing subject, you can produce a deep hypnosis. Command him to think of the Crypt, remember every thing he ever heard about it, or saw in it, from the time he was an infant!"
Deisanocta's eyes bored into the rapt, obedient face of the old Martian. She murmured softly, sleepily in their tongue. The other's face slowly smoothed, his eyes going blank.
Her words became sharp, commanding, insistent. Under their leashing, the old one's brow furrowed. He was remembering, digging deep into forgotten recesses of his mind. At last Deisanocta spoke to Barry.
"I see the Crypt seventy years ago. This one was here as an infant in his father's arms.
"It was different. There are fewer bodies. Their clothes are strange. None bear the wounds of battle."
"Remember what we're looking for," snapped Barry.
"I am deep down in the Crypt," came the girl's voice, weaker. "Deeper than even I have ever been. I do not know the part. There is something here, something big—I cannot make it out. It is very faint in this one's mind."
"Tell him to lead us to it," said Barry. "That will save your strength."
Seconds later they were following the old Martian through a labyrinth of tunnels. He moved rapidly, unhesitantly, his face wooden and intent. Deisanocta was beside Barry, her hand in his.
"Can it be?" she questioned. "Is the answer as simple as this?"
"I hope so," he told her. "It is something you wouldn't have thought of, because you did not remember all you were taught about hypnotism. And no one else could have done it against the old one's will."
"Look!" Deisanocta cried suddenly. "He has lost his way."
"Impossible," Barry said.
But the old Martian was leading them toward a blank wall. Still he did not hesitate. With steps rapid, certain, he marched directly into the wall. His head struck, and he fell, rolling to their feet.
Barry bent over him quickly, then rose one hand digging at the wall. "It's soft dirt," he explained. "Didn't hurt him. He's only stunned." He stepped back to Deisanocta.
"That's why Grey did not find whatever is here. It's somewhere behind that wall—cut off by an earth slide!"
"But—what is there?"
"We'll soon find out." Barry's hand dug at the wall, scooping away the soft dirt. "Tell the boys to start digging. But post a couple up the tunnel in both directions, so we won't be surprised."
Four Martians and Barry Williams dug at the wall with cupped hands. It was hot, dirty work in the heavy air of the Crypt. Sweat beaded their faces. Arms ached after the first few minutes.
Barry did not slacken his pace, and the others stayed with him. At last, the Earthman gave a cry of triumph.
"It isn't thick! See, the dirt is crumbling away from us now—falling on the other side." The vigor of their attack redoubled.
Hearing the cries, the Martians posted down the tunnel came running to help. Deisanocta stepped closer, her face radiant. Barry threw her a glance, and his heart noted the way her black hair threw back highlights of the walls' radiance.
His hand shot out again at the wall, viciously, and the last grains of dirt fell inward. Light showed through. Beside him, the others worked frantically. In seconds, the opening was large enough for one of them to pass through.
"Deisanocta," Barry Williams gasped. "Go in. I'll be right behind you."
The rest crowded behind, and all but the unconscious old Martian were soon on the other side. They stared open-mouthed, incredulously at the sight that met them.
It was a great room into which they'd made their way, the walls luminous, and stretching off almost out of view. There were no dead here. Except for one object, the vast chamber was empty.
That object itself was big, black, rearing upward above them halfway to the distant roof.
"A spaceship!" cried Deisanocta.
"The great-grandfather of all space ships," added Barry.
"Look at the size of it, the diameter of those rocket tubes! Used a poor fuel, inefficiently. But they made it. Crashed through the roof of this place. Look at the dark patch overhead, where sand filled in a gap."
"'Justice from the Crypt'," murmured the girl. "I think I—"
"So do I," rapped Barry. "Come on, you and I are going inside. Tell the others to guard this opening!"
Hand-in-hand, the two of them passed through a yawning port. Beneath their feet, the ramp was solid. Metal did not corrode, in this dry atmosphere. The old ship had not deteriorated in its years here.
Barry Williams and the girl passed down a long passage, unlit except for the faint radioactive radiance that made its way in through smaller portholes. They came to a door, which would not yield to Barry's efforts.
"Locked," he said. "We can't stop for that." His heat ray came out. The beam played against the lock until the metal glowed and ran. Barry kicked at the bottom of the door where the metal was cooler. It swung inward.
"It's the control room," Barry said as their eyes slowly adjusted themselves to the even dimmer light of the room.
Barry's hand groped against the wall beside the door. There was a click, and a yellow radiance sprang from the ceiling. "Even the batteries are still good," he muttered.
"What is this?" Deisanocta cried with a shudder.
The room was a maze of instruments, levers, panels about the sides. But it wasn't this that had shocked the Princess, it was the bodies.
Two sprawled on the floor, one on its back still held a weapon in one hand. That weapon pointed to the third body.
Slumped in a chair before an instrument panel, the third body had grown rigid, a look of amazement on the undecomposed face. In the right hand, the weapon that had undoubtedly killed the other two, was still poised.
"You can almost see the smoke curling from the muzzle of that ancient automatic," said Barry grimly. "They fought it out—must have been after the one in the chair landed the ship—and everybody lost!"
"It's—it's horrible," the girl murmured. "Why—"
A sudden commotion, reaching their ears faintly from outside, cut off her question. There were shouts—cries of pain and rage. Running feet pounded up the ship's ramp, came down the passage toward them.
Barry brought up the heat ray in his hand—lowered it as a Martian staggered into the room. He was burned across the face and body.
His pale lips moved. Faint words came forth. Others were choked off as he slumped to the floor. His body sprawled beside the other two already there.
"He says a god comes," Deisanocta explained wildly. "One they cannot harm. The rest of my followers in the room outside have fallen."
Other footsteps sounded at the door. Barry's heat ray came up again. This time its beam sprang across the room, bathed the figure that came through the door with blazing heat.
"No good, Williams," came a sneering voice, metallic through a space suit communicator. "Don't you know impervium when you see it?"
"Yes, I know it," said Barry. His eyes had noted the thin, fragile-looking garment over the space suit that Craig Grey wore. Impervium, fabulous, incredibly expensive, proof against any heat ray. "There's about a dozen suits in the System, and you have to have one!"
Craig Grey's little black eyes snapped with triumph. "A man who fights savages needs one, Williams," he mocked. His glance flickered to Deisanocta, lingered a a long minute. "I see now why you went over to the Martians."
Barry took a step toward him, fingers itching. "You—"
Grey brought up his heat ray. "Careful, Williams. You have little enough time to live as it is."
Barry stopped, bafflement stamped on his face. A rash move would leave Deisanocta at the mercy of this man. Craig Grey laughed.
"I figured you could solve the mystery about this place, that's why I told my guards to let you past. I knew you'd come here instead of trying to run to Earth—after I told them of your activities on Mars."
"Grey, you can't get away with this," gritted Barry. He took another step—not toward Grey, but in the direction of Deisanocta.
"Stand still!" snapped the ore-king. The weapon in his hand was very steady. "I want to look around."
His glittering eyes roamed about the control room. "So this is the secret weapon of the Crypt! I knew it'd be something my boys would be better off not seeing—no chance of a leak this way."
"Earth troops will find it," Barry threatened.
"An atomic bomb will take care of that," the ore-king countered smoothly. "You won't be around to tell them about it, and neither will the girl. I'll keep the secret myself."
Keeping his weapon trained on the two, Grey prowled about the room.
"Here's the ship's log," he thumbed through rapidly, not relaxing his vigilance for an instant. "Hmm. Left Earth in 2085—during the last Continental War. Two scientists, a rich backer—" His hand swept to the body in the chair. "That would be him—rich backers are often seeking power.
"Ship-full of refugees from all lands—average people. Going to establish a Utopian world on Mars." He snapped the book shut.
"Ancestors of your savages, Grey," said Barry quietly.
"Yes," replied the ore-king. "Brains killed each other off in a locked control room—probably the keys to the ship's stores are locked in here with them. That left the others on their own—no sciences, no arts! They just farmed.
"What a clincher you almost had, Williams!"
His heat ray came up, levelled. Barry shuffled another half-step. Craig Grey laughed harshly, his little black eyes sweeping over them.
"I'm a crack shot, Williams. You can't rush me. But, just to be sure, you'll go first."
The flaming beam of his heat ray cut across the room—and Barry leaped at the same instant. Pain lanced through his left shoulder. But he was not leaping toward Craig Grey—Barry was plunging toward the floor. There was a body there, and he smashed into it—a body with an ancient weapon still clutched in a right, long-dead hand.
Craig Grey backed away a step, the ray beam sweeping a fiery arch toward the other. A sharp report thundered in the room bouncing in a dozen echoes and re-echoes from the metal walls. Smoke curled from the muzzle of the old automatic in Barry's fingers, and bitter acrid smell was in his nostrils. Long years in the dry atmosphere of the Crypt had brought no corrosion, no deterioration to the weapon!
Again Grey backed away, a curse ripping through his thin lips, suddenly clenched with pain. His right arm dangled uselessly, the ray gun dropping from nerveless fingers.
Barry Williams came to his feet, the searing pain in his right shoulder forgotten momentarily in his triumph. "Impervium was made to stop heat rays, Grey. But an old automatic waited here hundreds of years to bring justice to Mars!"
He turned to Deisanocta. Her face was radiant, but the grey depths of her lovely eyes clouded as they fixed on his seared shoulder. "Barry—"
"Never mind me," he ordered brusquely. "Get to that radio we brought. Tell yourmento let loose the mist again and attack at once!"
Craig Grey's pain-twisted face went paler. "The mist! You can't—I destroyed—"
"That's what you were supposed to think, Grey," Barry snapped. "But you'll see that silver lining shining through the cloud you brought to Mars. Then we'll put the mist drug and Deisanocta's hypnotism to work on your rotten mind. We'll get enough details on your fraud to convince any government!
"Now come on, get outside! Your men'll fall like sheep without leadership. I'll have the Princess speed things up by offering amnesty to those that surrender without resistance."
Craig Grey went slowly through the passage, down the ramp of the old spaceship.
Twelve miles above the surface of the red planet Mars, hovered the fleet of Earth transports. The Federal troops who'd made the trip from Earth were never to land. For Mars was a free planet, and Earth Government had commanded its forces to respect the sovereignty of Deisanocta, Queen of Mars.
From below, a steady stream of smaller ships was flowing up to the transports, and back downward for another load.
"Can't figure it out," said a puzzled soldier. "We came to fight Martians—maybe take some Martian prisoners; and we're going home loaded with Earthmen who are prisoners."
"There aren't any Martians," explained his irate Sergeant, "They're really Earthmen. And these prisoners have been treating them like Martians—or—or—"
"Never mind!" ordered his superior. "Anyway the ether between here and Earth's been burning. Faces—pictures of documents, a confession, and all sorts of stuff have been radiographed to the old home planet. And we've got our orders."
The Sergeant was on firmer ground now. "Here comes the guy I wouldn't want to be—Craig Grey! After the stuff he's admitted, three times his money wouldn't keep him from the gas chambers!"
As the last of the Earth ships blasted homeward, Deisanocta, Queen of Mars, turned to Barry Williams, acting Terrestrial Ambassador. Affairs of Government weighed heavily on her, and Barry's training had been of invaluable help.
She fixed her tired eyes on him, and they glowed softly as she spoke. "And what will you do, Barry Williams, after the Permanent Ambassador has been appointed and sent here?"
His blue eyes met her gaze. "Read my mind, Deisanocta. This time my will is not opposed to it. The answer is there."
She came closer. "I will not use science to find that answer, Barry. It is in your eyes and on your lips, but you must speak.
"There are some things a woman, even a Queen, wants to learn only from the lips of the man she loves."