Meanwhile, trouble had reared its head challengingly in the capital city itself. Here, as elsewhere, a frightened populace began by asking, "Why?" and rapidly changed its query to the more daring, "Why not?"
Rumor, despite Garroway's every attempt to still it, ran like quicksilver through the city. If the press was silent on a new disaster, a common man or woman walking the streets might hear at his elbow a mysterious Voice asking, "Did you know that last night the fortress at Toulon fell? The city is freed of the Emperor's rule; already the people have declared their independence, set up a provisional government. You can do the same. The hour is near!"
Or a child, playing with his little companions on the streets, would suddenly stop and look about him strangely, listen as to an unseen speaker ... then run home to his parents with the inexplicable words of a Voice: "Yesterday the Territory of Mexico threw off the Overlord's bonds. In a short while you may do the same. Prepare!"
Or an unwimpled nun, praying in the sanctuary of a forbidden cloister—Black Garroway had long since outlawed the Church—might hear the vengeful, whispered tones of an unecclesiastic visitant: "On Timor the Cross is worshipped openly since the Overlord's force has been broken. Here it will soon be the same. Spread the word!"
Thus the message was passed from person to person, and through a citizenry for decades apathetic to its own plight a new sense of hope and courage pulsed. Garroway's warriors sought in vain the refuge of the Group, upon the heads of whose members the Emperor had long since placed a tremendous price. But any common man who felt the urge to add his contribution to the rising tide of revolt could find that refuge with ease ... for at his work, or by his side, or in the heart of a crowd would be a Voice to tell him its location.
So grew revolt like a tropic vine, reaching out new tentacles with every rising dawn, developing new strength with every failure of Garroway's heretofore supposedly invulnerable war machine, gathering new converts with every fresh disaster. And the mute whisperings of fearful people began to thrum with a new and heady tone ... the spirit of daring, the renascense of the flame of liberty. The voice of the people ... which is the will of God.
Graed Garroway heard the bruitings of this voice, and was afraid.
Graed Garroway, whose boast had ever been he feared no man, heard the slow, insistent voice of revolt closing in about him ... and was afraid.
For the first time in his brutal career he had met an enemy he could not crush with ruthless blows, destroy by force, obliterate with a flick of the hand. His armies had fallen twice ... thrice ... a dozen times before a phantom, a will-o'-the-wisp that struck and fled, leaving terror, awe, and desolation in its wake.
He was baffled and confused, was Black Garroway. A terror was upon him that he could neither escape nor admit, for his confession of this fear to his commanders might be the last thing needed to send them, too, fleeing from his banner.
There was but one living soul to whom he dared admit this fear. That was his own flesh and blood, the Princess Lenore. Yet even to her he would not make an open avowal. His admission came in the form of blustering attack.
"Cowards!" he stormed, pacing the floor of his daughter's boudoir. "Snivelling cowards ... the lot of them! All this nonsense about a Voice ... a ghost that destroys strong forts ... a phantom that passes unscathed through flame ...pah!It's lies, lies ... nothing but lies!"
Princess Lenore studied her father lazily. She was not of the type easily stirred to fear. Under other circumstances, born the daughter of a lesser man than Black Garroway, Lenore Garroway might have made a name for herself in the world. As an adventuress ... a fighting-woman ... a daring woman.
She drawled, half amusedly, "Lies? Are you so sure of that, my father?"
"Sure?" snorted Graed Garroway. "Of course, I'm sure! There is no such thing as invisibility! My scientists have proven that time and time again in laboratories. The fabled 'magic cloak' of invisibility is both hypothetically and actually impossible. Where matter exists, there must be either reflection, refraction, or occultation—"
The Princess yawned.
"I do not understand these high-sounding words," she said, "nor need I. Because, you see, I have met the Galactic Ghost myself."
"Nonsense!" fumed her parent. "It was an hallucination you suffered. Sympathetic reaction set up by nervousness. The medical examiner testified—"
"Sometimes," interrupted the girl coldly, "you allow your ultrascientific viewpoint to warp your better judgment, my father. You talk nonsense! Could a nervous reaction account for the theft of my jewels, or the shattering of my mirror?"
"I am not denying," protested Black Garroway stiffly, "that the ... the Ghost visited you. Possibly he hypnotized you into believing him invisible. As for your broken mirror, that might have happened in a dozen ways—"
"The mirror was broken," said Lenore, "by the Ghost! Because I saw him reflected in it!"
"Furthermore, it is ridiculous to assume—" The Emperor stopped abruptly, his brow congealing—"Eh? What did you say? You saw—"
"I tried to tell you," purred the girl, "at the time. But you were too concerned with the loss of my gems to listen to me. I told you I saw the Galactic Ghost. He was a tall, dark-haired young man—"
"Ridiculous!" puffed Garroway. "More hypnosis!"
"—with crisp, curling hair," continued the Princess reminiscently, "and a small, triangular scar over his right eyebrow. A very interesting young man—"
Garroway had stiffened at her words, but this time it was with a tensing of interest. He leaned forward.
"A moment, my dear. Did you say ... a small scar above his right eyebrow?"
"Why, yes."
"A triangular scar? You are certain of that?"
"Positive. Why?"
"Because if you are right—" The Overlord left the sentence dangling; strode to the wall audio and crisped sharp orders into its metallic throat. Elsewhere in the palace a corps of underlings went into action, collecting swiftly the information demanded by their master. Within minutes there came a messenger, bearing a portfolio. This Garroway pawed through, selecting a photograph which he handed to the girl.
"Is this," he asked hoarsely, "the image you saw?"
The Princess Lenore took the photo, studied it, and nodded. "It is. I remember him well. Who is he?"
Graed Garroway laughed. But now there was a touch of hysteria in his laughter, and his deeprooted fear struck new depths as he answered.
"His name is Dirk Morris ... an underling."
"Dirk Morris," repeated the girl. "It is a pleasant name to the ears. Well ... now that you know the identity of the Ghost, what are you going to do?"
Garroway said slowly, "I am going to do ... nothing. Dirk Morris was put to death almost three weeks ago. The ... the Galactic Ghost is a ghost indeed!"
The girl smiled. "Perhaps," she said thoughtfully. "But a ghost with very tangible body ... and impulses. And, if I am not greatly mistaken, an Achilles' heel. Listen, my father.... I will drive a bargain with you. For a certain price, I will deliver into your hands this threat to your power."
"Price?" The Overlord stared at her bleakly. "What price do you ask?"
"The life," said the girl, "of the Ghost."
Garroway's brow darkened.
"Have you gone mad?" he demanded harshly. "His life is forfeit the moment my men seize him!"
"But," pointed out the Princess Lenore sagely, "they cannot lay hands on him ... without my help. Come, father ... I, too, can be ruthless in getting that which I desire. Will you give me the man, Dirk Morris, and put an end to these depredations? Or must your fortresses continue to fall because of all on earth, I alone know how this phantom may be caught?"
Garroway's cheeks were mottled with rage; for a moment it seemed he might strike his own daughter.
"You ... you ingrate!" he husked. "You dare bargain with the System's Emperor?"
"I dare bargain," taunted the Princess, "with my own father. And with a badly frightened man."
Garroway fumed at the taunt ... but capitulated, as the Princess had known he must do. He lowered his hands weakly.
"Very well," he said. "I give you your price. Now, what must be done?"
"This—" said the Princess. And for a long time two remarkably similar heads, both in physiognomy and mentality, bent close together in conference....
VI
"Tonight?" asked Dirk Morris. "You're sure, Neil?"
"This very night," swore Neil Hardesty. "At the Palace Royal. I got it on the highest authority. From one of the Imperial Guard, recently converted to our Cause. A grand meeting of the Emperor's strategy Council, summoned to discuss ways and means—" He grinned—"of apprehending the Galactic Ghost."
Dirk Morris smiled, too, though his features were invisible to his friend.
"The Ghost," he promised, "will attend the Council meeting. Neil, send out a hurried summons to all the Group. Tonight may be the night for which we have waited and planned. The situation has finally turned to our advantage. This is the setting we needed to strike our final, and heaviest, blow. A gathering of all Graed Garroway's most trusted lieutenants! What better time to bring an abrupt end to his tyranny?"
"Destruction?" asked Brian Shaughnessey. "You plan to kill them all, Dirk?"
"That is not the best way. Killing would immortalize Garroway and—in the minds of many misguided people—forever brand the Galactic Ghost as an outlaw and murderer. No ... I will not destroy the Overlord. I will make him appear ignominious in the eyes of his subjects ... prove to all men that his vaunted powers are weak and futile. There is no weapon so strong as mirth, no blade so keen as scorn."
Vurrth grunted heavily. "Maybe better you kill, Dirk. No trust Overlord."
"My plans have been successful thus far," pointed out the Voice of Conscience. "Play along with me a little farther. I think the end is in sight. Neil ... be ready to send your forces into the Palace the moment I give the signal."
"Right!"
"And you, Brian ... see that the audiocast stations are controlled by us in time to speed word to the populace that the Emperor has been taken."
"Right, Dirk."
"And you, Vurrth—"
"Me be on hand," growled Vurrth, "to watch Overlord. No like this."
Dirk laughed. "As you will. Well ... until tonight, comrades!"
Again, as oft before during these past weeks, the assembled brothers of the Group sensed the passage of a tingling vibrancy, and knew their leader had gone back to that strange, mysterious other universe which was now his home. Neil issued orders. The Group disbanded.
Back on Nadron, Dirk Morris sighed and unlimbered himself of the heavy harness which necessity forced his wearing when he made his peregrinations between the two worlds. To the Ptan Slador he said, "Well ... that's all I can do now. I shall try to rest until the hour comes."
"And then?" asked Slador.
"And then," repeated Dirk slowly, "success ... at last. If everything goes well, tonight will mark the beginning of the end. Earth's greatest citadel will fall, carrying with it into destruction not only the Emperor, but all those upon whom the burden of his military power rests.
"With the fall of Earth, half the battle is won. No other planet is so tightly under Garroway's control as ours. With the Overlord imprisoned, the other worlds will burst free of their bondage ... the System will know again the joys of liberty."
Rima said, "Dirk ... you have laid careful plans for tonight? You have plotted every move you will make?"
"Under the circumstances, that is well-nigh impossible. I know only that the Emperor gathers with his staff. I shall have to make my entrance, then decide on the spur of the moment how best to accomplish my aims."
"You are sure—" hesitated the girl—"this is not a trap of some sort?"
"Trap?" Dirk laughed lightly. "How could it be?"
"I don't know. But the Overlord is no fool. He is a ruthless man ... but he is no fool."
"He also," reminded Dirk, "thinks I am dead. The identity of the Galactic Ghost is, to him, a complete mystery. Were he to discover my identity, then perhaps I might have occasion to fear a trap of some sort, for ... as you say ... Garroway is no fool. He would realize, then, that the teleport brought about not death, but some sort of sinister change. But I am sure there is no danger. Ptan Slador ... let us drink to success, and to the final reunion of our freed worlds!"
So they toasted a new life opening to all mankind. And the maiden, Rima, drank the toast with them. But even as she drank, her eyes were grave and thoughtful....
Nevertheless, despite his claims of confidence, it was with some slight degree of trepidation that Dirk Morris prepared for his ultimate exploit later that night. This was, he knew, his boldest stroke to date. He had hurled his forces elsewhere with supreme confidence. But always he had avoided too-close contact with Graed Garroway. For in his heart of hearts he agreed with Rima. He knew the Emperor to be, in truth, no fool ... but a cunning adversary of infinite daring and resource.
Still, the die was cast now. The Group's preparations were made; he could not let them down. He must pave the way for the general uprising which would sweep Garroway from power ... or his own scheming into disaster.
Slador and Rima accompanied him to the spot on Nadron where his translation was to take place. It was a tiny wooded glade, bathed in the cool moonlight of the alien planet. In the thickets small night-things chirruped, and from somewhere a sleepy bird sang a listless lullaby. Dirk, standing there breathing the sweet, fresh air of Nadron found it hard to believe that the mere pressure of a switch on his belt would place him on the musty, lower levels of that architectural monstrosity which was the Palace Royal ... a towering structure of numberless stories ... at the very topmost of which would be held the conference he pledged himself to end.
He held out a hand; first Slador, then Rima, gripped it warmly.
"Good luck!" said the Ptan. And Rima added, "We'll be waiting ... and watching!"
Dirk nodded, not daring to trust his thoughts to words, and depressed the switch. As oft before he felt a churning moment of vertigo ... then he stood in a lower corridor of the Palace Royal. Not ten feet distant stood an armed guard. This man stirred restlessly, his head turning as if he felt the electric disturbance of Dirk's entrance. But when his searching eyes found nothing, he returned to the pacing of his post. Dirk slipped past him swiftly, noiselessly, and to the first of the long series of staircases he must negotiate.
The Palace Royal was equipped with elevators, but these he dared not use. The movement of an "empty" elevator would be token enough to the wit-sharpened Palace guards that the dreaded Galactic Ghost was in their midst. So he pressed forward and upward to the heights of the tower.
It was a long climb and a brutal one. The Emperor's palace dwarfed to shame the puny "skyscraper" attempts of ancestors a thousand years removed. Thus it was a weary Dirk Morris who finally attained the topmost flight, and there rested himself briefly before entering the suite which comprised the Overlord's council chamber.
The vagrant thought struck him that the Palace was poorly guarded, considering the chaos into which the Ghost's activities should have thrown the Emperor. But this, he reasoned, might be but another proof of the weakening of Graed Garroway's grip; so undermined was the structure of his empire now that not even in his own bailiwick could he command the meticulous discipline he had heretofore exacted of his hirelings.
Rested at last, he moved toward the massive portal of the council hall. It hung slightly ajar; with no effort he inched it open and eased his still-invisible, but now substantial body through.
His entrance found the Overlord addressing a group seated in a semi-circle about the dais from which Garroway spoke. All backs save that of the Emperor himself were turned to Dirk. He moved forward silently, cautiously.
"—therefore, my lords and generals," the Overlord was saying, "it is vitally necessary that we apprehend this dastard, this criminal, who has so dared attack our government. Never until the so-called Galactic Ghost is captured and put to death will we be free to—"
"—to continue," said Dirk loudly, boldly, "your murderous onslaught against the rights and liberties of freedom loving people! Is that your meaning, Graed Garroway? Then abandon the thought. For truly, tonight your empire crumbles beneath you!"
"The Ghost!"
The cry lifted in the hall; all heads whirled as one. Eyes opened wide in futile scanning, and jaws fell agape. And of all that vast, terrified assemblage, there was only one who did not freeze with sudden fear. That one was Garroway. Strangely, a smile seized his lips as he cried:
"Yes, the Ghost ... as I had hoped! Guards ...lights!"
Instantly the room, which had been cloaked in semi-darkness, blazed with the fury of a thousand beaming flares. And to his horror, Dirk Morris saw....
... not only those who had spun to face him, tight faces wreathed in scowls, hands gripping lethal weapons ... but his own image, reflected a hundred times from every nook and corner of the vast hall! From a hundred mirrors placed to reflect in their revealing rock-quartz surfaces every move he made!
Too late, comprehension dawned upon him! Rima had guessed aright ... this was a trap, ingeniously set for him by the Overlord, and now sprung at the proper moment. The Princess had revealed that which she had seen; the Overlord was clever enough to take advantage of it.
There was but one thing to do, and that quickly! In a trice, Dirk's hand leaped to the control stud on his belt, seeking to depress the switch that would return him to Nadron. But here, too, the Emperor had anticipated his move. His voice again cleft the stark, foreboding silence.
"Field!"
And instantly there hummed through the room a shrill, whining current. It took but the split of a second for Dirk Morris to discern its purpose. For when his own hand tightened on the switch ... nothing happened! He did not find himself hurling the vibration-span to the safety of Nadron. He remained where he was, writhing in the coils of an electric agony that coursed through his veins like liquid fire.
It was then the Overlord laughed, his voice a grating triumph.
"You see, Dirk Morris, it is useless! My scientists have probed the secret of your ghostly state ... and you are snared in a net of their devising! Toss down your weapons!"
The grim purpose in his voice left Dirk no choice. Reluctantly he dropped to the floor the weapon with which he had hoped to capture Graed Garroway, stood still as grim-faced guards moved forward to grip him, bundle him to the dais wherefrom watched the smirking Overlord.
The tide was terribly turned. The biter was bitten!
VII
Dirk released the stud, pressure upon which had not brought him the escape he hoped, and gained some consolation in the fact that the pain faded. One thing he wouldnotdo, he pledged himself, was show fear or hurt before Garroway.
In as level a voice as he could muster he said, "So we meet again, Overlord of scavengers?"
Garroway laughed harshly.
"The trapped rabbit uses strong language still. You have profited little by your experience, I see, Dirk Morris."
"On the contrary," retorted Dirk, "I have profited much. And the measure of my profit lies in the dissolution of your empire ... as you have learned in this past fortnight."
Garroway said, "True, you have caused me trouble. I acknowledge it. But that trouble is ended, now, for I have discovered—at last, but fortunately not too late—the true nature of the machine in which I had thought to execute you. It wasnota disintegrating machine, but one that distorted the atoms of your body, rendering you invisible."
Dirk's heart leaped; he struggled to maintain the impassive mask which was his face, revealed to the Overlord in a hundred reflecting surfaces of quartz. Then not yet had Garroway learned of the existence of Nadron, of the adjacent universe. That, at least, was something to be thankful for.
He said, "It was a clever trap you set for me, Garroway. You announced a council meeting which you knew I must attend; you surround yourself not with your generals, as was expected, but with guards. You listened to the advice of your daughter, used rock-quartz to make my body visible—"
"—and," added Garroway complacently, "prepared an electric wave-transmitter that disrupted your own instrument, trapped you in our presence, and makes it impossible for you to escape.
"Well—" His voice changed abruptly—"your puny attempt to overthrow me has failed, Morris. As a fighter, I cannot restrain a certain degree of admiration for your effort, but as Emperor of the System, there is one thing I can, and must, do.Guards—!"
His voice was a thin snarl.
But as hulking stalwarts moved forward to perform his bidding, another slighter figure hastened before them to confront her parent. The Princess Lenore.
"Wait!" she commanded. "What means this, my parent? Why do you call the guards?"
"Return to your apartment, Lenore!" ordered Garroway sternly. "You have served your purpose. It is not seemly you should witness the judgment on this rebel."
"Have you forgotten your promise?" raged the woman. "You cannot kill this man. You pledged me his life!"
"Forget this foolish whim!" bade her father. "He is but an underling. Surely there are other men—"
"I want this one!" insisted Lenore. For a moment her dark, vivid eyes touched Dirk's with lingering ferocity ... and despite the tenseness of the moment, the peril of his situation, Dirk Morris could not restrain the quick thrill of admiration and ... something else which burned through him. His brain tossed in a turmoil of conflicting emotions. He understood, now, why an ungovernable impulse had caused him to sweep this girl into his arms that night in her apartment. It was because she was ... she was his type of woman! A hard, gallant, ruthless fighting-woman who knew what she wanted and would adopt any measures to get it.
There was Rima on Nadron ... true. He respected her. For her he felt—though he had known her but a short time—a great tenderness and affection. But it was not true love. It was a brotherly feeling; a comfortable confidence in her presence and companionship.
Thisgirl, the Princess Lenore, alone could stir his veins to running fire; she alone quickened a hungry spark within him. It was mad ... it was impossible ... but true. He loved—and the knowledge of it struck Dirk Morris with brutally staggering force—he loved an enemy and the daughter of his bitterest foe!
Stranger yet ... she loved him!
Now she was talking again, hurriedly arguing a case to win his life.
"It is not necessary to kill this man, my parent. It would be folly to do so. Think! On all this world ... in all this universe ... there are few men worthy of the name ofman! Your court is amelangeof smirking nincompoops and weaklings. Who amongst them can match in strength and vigor the spirit of Dirk Morris? Which can compare with him in audacity and daring?"
"That," responded her father darkly, "is why he must die. I cannot allow so dangerous a foe to live—"
"No? Have you forgotten the medical science of which your attendants are capable? Think, my father ... were it not better to make slight alterations in this man's brain, converting him to a true and faithful servant, than to destroy forever the bravery in his heart?"
The words struck home. Garroway frowned thoughtfully.
"It is true," he mused. "A slight operation ... a period in the Mental Clinic to erase from his brain-passage all thoughts of rebellion ... would make him a new man. But it is too great a chance. Were anything to go wrong—"
The Princess Lenore gazed at him scornfully.
"I see. Very well, then—" With slow, deliberate movements she reached up, stripped from her raven hair the glittering imperial emblem which designated her a member of the Family Royal—"if such must be your decision, so be it? But I ... I shall no longer confess myself a Garroway. If the word of the Emperor is so lightly to be given...."
And this time she was triumphant. Her scorn hit the Overlord in his one most vulnerable spot ... his colossal vanity. His dark eyes flamed with petulance. He snarled, "Oh, let be! No man shall say the Overlord retracted a pledge. If you must have this man—" He turned to Morris—"Well, what sayyou, rebel? Are you too proud to buy your life at the expense of rebellion? Or will you accept life at the price of a new existence of loyalty ... to me?"
Dirk wavered, sorely tempted. Until this moment his life had been consecrated to a single Cause ... the overthrow of Garroway's cruel empire. But now, suddenly, strangely, singingly, had entered into it another influence ... love for a woman of matchless courage and beauty.
His attempts to destroy Garroway had failed. He was hopelessly ensnared, his cohorts could not save him. Years might pass before another Dirk Morris arose to lead malcontents in rebellion. Neil Hardesty was a good man, a strong and faithful friend ... but he lacked the spark of genius that leads lost causes to success.
Perhaps it would be better, in the long run, to accept defeat ... and in accepting it, accept also such share of happiness as this world had to offer. As the mate of Lenore he would live a new life, all rebellious thoughts exiled from his brain by the surgery of Garroway's physicians....
So he hesitated, and for those tense moments the fate of a world hung in the balance. But then ... honor won! With infinite sadness, but with courage too, Dirk Morris made his answer. It was symbolic that he made it to the Princess.
"I am sorry, my Princess," he said quietly. "I know a great wonder, and a great pride, that you have made this plea for me. But ... I cannot accept life on such terms. For me there is but one clear and unavoidable path ... to go on. This path I must choose to glory or ... the grave."
"Don't be a fool!" cried the girl. "Don't you see you can gain nothing by this gesture. You have no choice!"
Her words were sharp ... but her voice was fearful. Dirk, recognized this as he said, still softly, "Yes, that, too, I see. And, believe me, Princess, I am deeply sorry. But I have made my choice."
For an instant that seemed eternities the Princess Lenore, she who had until a fortnight since known passion for nothing save costly baubles, stared into Dirk's eyes. Then a little sob broke from her lips, and she turned away.
And the Emperor nodded.
"Guards!" he said. "Take this man—"
It was a command that was never obeyed ... an order never completed! For at that moment came interruption in the form of a violent blast that shook the entire council hall as a thatched shack trembles in a cyclone's wake. A column of living fire blossomed in the room; eyes burned and eardrums throbbed to see and hear the tingling of an unleashed and unguessableforceturned loose in their midst.
And in the heart of this column, loose-girt in shining white, radiant as a goddess, but calm with the ominous quiet of powers unfathomable ... stood the girl,Rima of Nadron!
It was Morris who first recovered sufficiently from the unexpected appearance to make a movement. A cry broke from his lips, "Rima!" He moved toward the girl. But her voice lifted in crisp warning.
"Back, Dirk! To touch this flame means death!"
Her words stopped not only Morris, but a group of the Imperial Guards who, as one, had now spun toward the visitant. They faltered, stopped dead in their tracks and turned to the Overlord for guidance.
Graed Garroway's black eyebrows were knit with rage and bafflement. He demanded hoarsely, "Who is this woman? And whence comes she, that she dares enter the stronghold of the Emperor?"
It was incredible how forceful could be the tones of Rima. Her voice was dulcet sweet, but carried conviction.
"I am of a race that ruled this world before your ilk was spawned, Black Garroway ... a race whose least remembered knowledge so surpasses your own that you are as pawns with which we play at will.
"I came because the evil in your heart has inspired you to do a great wrong ... a wrong upon mankind that we, who once loved Earth, can neither condone nor allow. I came to free Dirk Morris, and to free Earth of a tyrant.
"Dirk ... bid the Emperor step from his dais. He no longer rules this city or this System."
"No longer rules—" choked Garroway.
"The city has fallen," said Rima. "While in this tower you plotted for the life of a rebel leader, you have lost an empire. Listen ... or better yet, turn on your visi-screens. Therein you will see I speak the truth."
In sudden, fumbling haste Graed Garroway turned to a vision-unit set in the auditorium wall. Instantly a section of the capital city sprawled before the gaze of those assembled. It was as Rima had foretold. No matter where the dial was swung, there reflected the same scene: people leaping, laughing, rejoicing in the streets ... marching in vast, inchoate crowds, singing and cheering. Here and there were grisly evidences of the reason for their rejoicing ... a knot of tumbled bodies garbed in the uniform of Garroway's forces ... a burning pyre which had been an Imperial blockhouse ... a torn, stained militiaman's cap lying in a gutter.
And now, to further the evidence, came the sound of voices, running footsteps, through the tower itself. And into the council hall flooded a host of jubilant freedmen, led by a trio at sight of whom Dirk's heart filled with gladness. The gigantic Vurrth, grinning from ear to ear and wearing a jacket snatched from a fallen foe ... a jacket that had ripped up the back under the strain of the Venusian's mighty muscles. Brian Shaughnessey, bellowing loud greetings. Neil Hardesty, grave and quiet as ever, even in this hour of triumph, as he spoke to his leader.
"It is over, Dirk. You have succeeded here, too?"
Dirk said ruefully, "I have succeeded, yes. But it was not of my doing. Rima—"
"He has succeeded," interrupted the Nadronian girl. "The Emperor is deposed."
Neil said gratefully, "We awaited your signal, Dirk. When it did not come we grew anxious. Then Rima—" For an instant his eyes sought those of the alien girl, and there was a curious humility in them, an almost worshipful admiration—"then Rima came to us; told us the hour had struck. We issued our rallying cry. It ... it was easier than we had dared hope. The city was like a ripe plum, ready for our taking. At every street-corner new hordes joined us. Even Garroway's hirelings abandoned their old leaders to follow the standard of the fabulous Galactic Ghost."
"Thus, you see," said Rima so softly that only Dirk could hear her, "youdidsucceed, Dirk Morris. It was the Ghost whose spirit forged this rebellion. I but stepped in when the moment needed me."
Garroway, who had been standing at the vision plate, staring as a man transfixed at the image of his own downfall, now turned to his destroyers. His dark eyes were haggard, his sagging jowls suddenly no longer the harsh features of a ruler, but those of a defeated old man. He whispered:
"This, then, is the end? Very well—" A burst of his former defiance flamed in him. He forced a laugh. "You have won, Dirk Morris. And the death I promised you lies in store for me? Well ... so be it. It has been a long game, but one worth the playing. Of one thing you cannot rob me ... the memory that once I ruled the mightiest empire known to man."
But again it was Rima who spoke. Her voice was like a crystal bell.
"Not death, Graed Garroway. It is the right of none to judge that ultimate penalty on another.Exileshall be your fate. Those who know your system better than I shall decide which planet ... or planetoid far removed from Earth ... shall be your final refuge.
"Neil Hardesty—" She turned to the listening captain—"send him away. Your new government shall sit in judgment on him later."
Hardesty nodded, motioned to Shaughnessey, and the erstwhile Overlord was led away. With him were herded from the room, none too gently, those who had been his companions in the attempt to trap Dirk. Within a matter of minutes the hall was cleared save for a handful: Dirk and Rima, in her glowing pillar of flame; Hardesty, the Princess Lenore.
In the Princess' eyes glittered a great defiance and a great sorrow. She asked, "And I? I join my father in exile?"
Rima looked at Dirk.
"Well, Dirk Morris?" she asked.
Dirk's throat was dry, his mind confusion. He said, "Must ... must I, then, be the one to judge, Rima? She saved my life ... or tried to. Were it not for her—"
Rima said gently, "You love her. Isn't that what you mean, Dirk?"
Dirk's head turned slowly; his eyes met those of the Princess Lenore. And what he found there forced the answer from his lips.
"Yes, Rima. May the gods help me ... I love her."
"That," said the Nadronian girl, "I know. And this also I know ... that she loves you. Does she love you enough to join you in the new world which is the only one whereon you now can live? Enough to join you on Nadron?"
It was Lenore who answered that question. She said simply, "I do not understand your meaning, woman who dwells in a column of flame ... but this much Idoknow. Where Dirk Morris dwells, there would I dwell also."
Rima nodded, satisfied.
"That, too, I had expected. It is well. She will make you a good mate, Dirk Morris. I wish—" There was a strange catch in her voice, a catch clenched teeth upon her lower lip could not quite stifle—"I wish you ... much joy ... in my lost, beloved homeland—"
Dirk stared at her aghast, uncomprehending. "Rima!" he cried. "Lost homeland? I don't understand—"
The maid of Nadron smiled wanly. Her voice, when she spoke, was infinitely gentle.
"Surelyyoushould know, Dirk Morris, that one cannot pass with impunity from one universe of vibration to another?"
Dirk said, "You mean that you, as I did, have become a ... a wraith to your own world? That henceforth you have no true existence on Nadron, as I none on Earth?"
Rima nodded quietly, sadly.
"But then," stammered Dirk, "if not on Nadron, whereisyour new plane of existence?" A hope caught and tugged at his heart. "Earth, perhaps? Our planet will become your new world?"
Rima shook her head. "No, Dirk Morris. The atomic pathway of Space-Time winds ever upward ... not downward to a lower vibrational plane. When this protective shield, which already wanes—" She glanced with a swift, despairing apprehension as the iridescence dulled, and a crepuscular wavering dimmed its outlines—"When this shield wanes, I shall move ... forward to a bourne I cannot guess. A better world, perhaps, or ... a worse—"
"No!" cried Dirk. He started forward, but within the blazing column a white arm rose in stern command.
"No farther, Dirk. To touch this field means death!"
"Rima!" cried Dick huskily. "Rima, you shouldn't have done this. It wasn't required of you!"
"The quest of liberty," said the girl softly, "is the quest of all men, all women, everywhere. I was watching your progress, Dirk. When I saw you had been trapped, I knew someone must come to your aid, someone must carry out the plans you had so carefully laid.
"My father was too old. The journey between our two worlds is ... well, not without pain. So—" The girl smiled—"I came."
"You sacrificed yourself," cried Dirk humbly, "for us. It is too much. Earth can never repay you, Rima."
"I was repaid when you refused life at the expense of your own honor, Dirk. Now it is done I can tell you that on your decision at that moment rested the future fate of Earth. We of Nadron have ever hesitated in dabbling in the affairs of others. Had you proved unworthy of our aid in that moment of trial. I would not have made the journey.
"And now—" There flickered in her eyes a shadow of thin, wondering fear as the veil of flame about her seemed to shudder—"the time has come for ... parting—"
"No!" shouted Dirk, as if by the very strength of his cry he could withhold the inexorable. "No, Rima! Don't—"
His cry ended in a little moan. For at that moment the shimmering column trembled and ... vanished like the flame of a snuffed candle. The last vision of Rima to be burned forevermore upon the retina of Dirk Morris' memory was that of a slim and gallant goddess, whiteclad, lifting a soft arm in salute ... and farewell.
Then ... nothing.
Dirk turned away, shaken. He whispered, "Gone! Rima ... gone ... no one knows where—"
Lenore said soberly, "Sheloved you, too, Dirk."
"No. She never loved me. Not as I love you ... not as you love me—"
"It was a different kind of love," said the princess.
"I will find her!" vowed Dirk brokenly.
Lenore moved to his side quietly; the warmth of her beside him like the courage of a voice in the wilderness.
"You and I," she breathed, "together, Dirk."
And suddenly, though there stretched before him a new and greater quest than that recently acquitted, Dirk was consumed with a vast impatience to know again the lips of the girl whose nearness was a heady wine, challenging him to dare any danger. He turned to Lenore.
"Together," he agreed. "But first I must return to Nadron to lay the plans. You ... you will come soon, my Princess?"
"Soon," she promised. "Soon. But, first—"
She moved toward his voice. If she closed her eyes, she could not tell it was invisible arms that held her close, nor invisible lips that quickened upon her own....