Dr. Brende was dead. We knew it in the moment that followed our sudden assault and capture. Elza knelt there sobbing. Then she stood up, her tears checked; and on her face a look of pathetic determination to repress her grief. Now that we had yielded, the Venus men, searching us for our weapons, cast us loose. We bent over Dr. Brende, Georg and I. Dead. No power in this universe could bring him back to us.
Georg pressed his lips tightly together. His face, red from the exertion of his fight, went pale. But he showed no other emotion. And, as he leaned toward me, he whispered:
"Got us, Jac! Say nothing. Don't put up any show of fight."
Elza now was standing against the wall, a hand before her eyes. I went to her.
"Elza, dear——"
Her hand pressed mine.
Our captors stood curiously watching us. There seemed to be at least ten of them—men as tall as myself, though not so tall as Georg. Swarthy, gray-skinned fellows—one or two of them squat, ape-like with their heavy shoulders and dangling arms. Men of the Venus Cold Country. They were talking together in their queer, soft language. One of them I took to be the leader. Argo was his name, I afterward learned. He was somewhat taller than the rest, and slim. A man perhaps thirty. Paler of skin than most of his companions—gray skin with a bronze cast. Dressed like the others in fur. But his heavy jacket was open, disclosing a ruffled white shirt, with a low black stock about his throat.
A shifty-eyed fellow, this Argo. Smooth-shaven, with a mouth slack-lipped, and small black eyes. But his features were finely chiseled; and with that bronze cast to his skin, I guessed that he was from the Venus Central State. He seemed much perturbed that Dr. Brende was dead. Occasionally he burst into English as he rebuked one of the others for the killing.
No more than a moment had passed. Georg joined Elza and me. We stood waiting. Georg whispered: "They killed Robins and his helpers. In there——" He gestured. "I saw them lying in there. If only I had—"
Argo was standing before us. "This is a very pleasant surprise—" He spoke the careful English of the educated foreigner. His tone was ironical. "Very pleasant—"
Abruptly he turned away again. But in that instant, his eyes had roved Elza in a way that turned me cold.
They led us away, down a padded hallway into the instrument room. It was in full operation; our Inter-Allied news-tape was clicking; the low voice of the announcer droned through the silence. I started toward the tape, but Argo waved me away. He had volunteered us nothing, and again Georg advised silence.
Argo had given his orders. Through a window I saw men carrying apparatus from the house. A small metal frame of sun-mirrors, prisms and vacuum tubes. Georg whispered: "Father's model."
The man with it passed beyond my sight. Others came along, carrying the cylinders of books—Dr. Brende's notes—and a variety of other paraphernalia. Carrying it back from the shore toward the headlands of the Cape, where I realized now they had an aero secreted.
Argo was at a mirror; he had a head-piece on; he was talking into a disc—talking in a private code. I could see the surface of the small mirror. A room, with windows. Through one of the windows, by daylight, palms and huge banana leaves were visible. A room seemingly in the tropics of our own hemisphere.
Argo was triumphant—explaining, doubtless, that he had captured us. Mingled with his voice, the Inter-Allied announcer was saying:
"Greater-New York 10.32 Martian Helio, via Tokyohama: Little People Proclamation——"
A man standing near the tape switched off the droning voice. At the receiving table, every few seconds came the buzz of the laboratory's call. Wrangel Island again calling Robins; but no one paid any heed. Argo finished at the mirror. He glanced over the tape, smiling sardonically. Then, methodically, deliberately, he swept the instruments to the floor, jerked out the connections, turned out the current—wrecked it all with a few strokes. A moment later we were taken away.
Outside, from back by the low reaches of the Cape, we saw an aero rising. They had loaded it with Dr. Brende's effects, and in it half of the men were departing. It rose vertically until we could see it only as a speck in the blue of the morning sky—a speck vanishing to the north over the Pole.
With four or five of the men—all those remaining—Argo took us three to the Brende car. We did not pass Dr. Brende's body, lying there in the outer room. Elza and Georg gazed that way involuntarily; but they said nothing. The greatest grief is that which is hidden, and never once afterward did either of them show it by more than an affectionate word for that father whom they had loved so dearly.
Soon we were back in the Brende car in which we had landed no more than an hour before. It was a standard Byctin model—evidently Argo and his men knew how to operate it perfectly. We were herded into the pit, and in a moment more were in the air.
Argo seemed now rather anxious to make friends with us. He was in a high good humor. His eyes flashed at me sharply when I questioned him once or twice; but he offered us no indignities. To Elza he spoke commandingly, but with that deference to which every woman of birth and breeding is entitled from a man.
We rose straight up and, at 18,000 feet, headed northward by a point or two west. We would pass the Pole on our right—too far to sight it with the naked eye, I realized; but I knew, too, that the Director there would see the distant image of us on his finder, even though we refused connection should he call us. And we had no right to be up here in the 18,000-foot lane. They'd order us down—shut off our power, if necessary.
We could not escape observation on this daylight flight. Heading this way, it would take us past the Pole and on southward, down the Western Hemisphere over the Americas. We could not refuse connection for long. We would be challenged, then brought down. Or, if Argo answered a call, some Director would examine our pit with his finder—would see Elza, Georg and me as prisoners. We could gesture surreptitiously to him....
My thoughts ran on. Argo's soft, ironic voice brought me out of them.
"We will answer the first call that comes," he said smilingly. "You understand? We are the Inter-Allied News on Official Dispatch." He was addressing me, his glance going to the insignia on my cap. "Youare of the Inter-Allied?"
"Yes," I said.
"What's your name?"
I did not like his tone. "None of your—"
"Quiet, Jac," Georg warned.
"Jac Hallen," I amended.
"Yes. Division 8, Manhattan," he read from my cap. "Well, when the first Director calls—from the Pole perhaps—you will tell him we are Inter-Allied Officials. He will see us here—I do not believe, the way we are sitting, that he will think anything is wrong. He will see us of Venus. There are Venus men employed by the Inter-Allied. Is it not so?"
I had to admit that it was. He nodded. "You will fool the Directors, Jac Hallen. You understand? You will get the reports on weather today down the 67th Meridian West. And ask if we can have power to the Equator and below." His eyes flashed. "And if you attempt any trickery—you will die. You understand?"
I did, indeed. And I knew that his plans were well laid—that I would be helpless to give us over without paying for it with my life—with the lives of Elza and Georg as well.
From up here in the 18th lane, the Polar ocean lay a glittering white and purple expanse beneath us. Then, again, a fog rolled out down there like a blanket. We passed the Pole, a hundred miles or more to one side, and headed Southward. No challenge. Under us, occasional local cars swept by; but up here we were clear of traffic.
Elza prepared our lunch, in the little electric galley forward of the observation pit. The Great London-East Indies Mail Flyer crossed us, coming along this same level. It was headed toward the Pole from the British Isles. Its pilot challenged us before it had come up over the horizon. A crusty fellow. His face in the mirror glared at me as I accepted connection. He ordered me down, Inter-Allied or no.
Argo was at my elbow. His pencil-ray dug into my ribs. Had I made a false move it would have drilled me clean with its tiny burning light. I told the pilot we would descend. It placated him; but he saw Argo's face, mumbled something about damned foreigners—general orders probably coming tomorrow to clean out Venia—damned well rid of the traitors. Then he disconnected. Venia, Georg and I were sure, was where Argo was now taking us. But the rest of his comments I did not clearly understand until later.
We descended, and the flyer came up over the horizon and passed us overhead. We were pointing southward now, had picked up the 67th West Meridian and were following it down. The Hays station[8]challenged us; but they were satisfied with my explanation. Argo had us up in speed around four hundred miles per hour. We went down Davis Strait, over Newfoundland, avoiding the congested cross-traffic of mid-afternoon in the lowest lanes, and out over the main Atlantic. Night closed down upon us. It was safer for Argo now. We flew without lights. Outlawed. Had they caught us at it, we would have been brought down, captured by the patrol and imprisoned. Yet Argo doubtless considered the chance of that less dangerous than a reliance upon my ability to trick the succeeding directors.
With darkness we ascended again to the upper mail lanes. Over the main Eastern Atlantic now, and out here this night, there was little local traffic. The mail and passenger liners went by at intervals—the spreading beams of their lurid headlights giving us warning enough so that we could dive down and avoid being caught in their light. I prayed that one of their lights might pick us up, but none did.
North of Bermuda, a division of the North Atlantic patrol circled over us. The ocean was calm. Argo dropped us to the surface. We floated there like a derelict—dark, silent, save for the lapping of the water against our aluminite pontoons. The patrol's searching beams swept within a hundred feet of us—missed us by a miracle. And as the patrol passed on, we rose again to our course.
Argo gave us one of the small cabins to ourselves that night. He was still deferential to Elza, but in his manner and in the glitter of those little black eyes, there was irony, and an open, though unexpressed, admiration for her beauty.
We slept little. Georg and I—one or the other of us—was awake all night. We talked occasionally—not much, for speculation was of no avail. We wondered what could be transpiring abroad through all these hours. Hours of unprecedented turmoil on Earth, and on our neighboring worlds. We wondered how the Central State of Venus might be faring with the revolution. Would they ask aid of the Earth? This Tarrano—merely a name to us as yet, but a name already full of dread. Where was he? Had he been responsible for all this? Dr. Brende's secret was in his hands now, we were sure. What would he do next?
About three o'clock in the morning—a fair, calm night—our power died abruptly. We were in the Caribbean Sea not far above the Northern coast of South America, at 15° North latitude, 67° West longitude. Our power died. Elza was fast asleep, but the sudden quiet brought Georg and me to alertness. We joined Argo in the pit. He was perturbed, and cursing. We dropped, gliding down, for there was no need of picking a landing with the emergency heliocopter batteries—glided down to the calm surface. For a moment we lay there, rocking—a dark blob on the water. I heard a sudden sharp swish. An under-surface freight vessel, plowing from Venezuelan ports to the West Indian Islands, came suddenly to the surface. Its headlight flashed on, but missed us. It sped past. I could see the sleek black outline of its wet back, and the lines of foam as it sheered the water. We lay rocking in its wake as it disappeared northward.
Then, without warning, our power came on again. An inadvertent break perhaps; or maybe some local or general orders. We did not know. Argo was picking from the air occasional news, but he said nothing of it to us; and he was sending out nothing, of course.
Dawn found us over the mountains. The Director at Caracas challenged us. Argo kept me by his side constantly now. Dutifully we answered every call. The local morning traffic was beginning to pick up; but we mingled with it, at 8,000 feet and more, to clear the mountains comfortably.
Elza again cooked and, with Argo joining us, we had breakfast. Argo's good nature continued, as we successfully approached the end of our flight. But still he volunteered nothing to us. We asked him no questions. Elza was grave-faced, solemn. But she did not bother Georg and me with woman's fears. Bravely she kept her own counsel, anxious only to be of help to us.
We passed over the Venezuelan Province, over the mountains and into Amazonia, headwaters of the great river—still on the 67th Meridian West. The jungles here were sparsely settled; there were, I knew, no more than a dozen standard cities of a million population, or over, in the whole region of Western Brazilana. As we advanced, I noticed an unusual number of the armed government flyers above us. Many were hovering, almost motionless, as though waiting for orders. But none of them molested us.
Near the 10th parallel South latitude, we passed under a fleet of the white official vessels, with a division of the Brazilana patrol joined with them. A hundred vessels hovering up there in an east and west line—a line a hundred miles long it must have been.
Hovering there, for what? We did not know; but Argo, leering up at them insolently, may have guessed. They challenged us, but let us through.
"You are the last one in," this sub-director of the patrol told us. I could see him in our mirror as his gaze examined our pit—a dapper, jaunty fellow with the up-tilted mustache affected in Latina. "Last one in—you Inter-Allied are a nuisance."
He was more particular than those directors we had passed before. My badge and my verbal explanation were not enough. He made me show him the Inter-Allied seal which I always carried, and I gave him the pass-code of the current week.
"Last one in," he reiterated. "And you wouldn't get in now without those refugees with you. Venia's closed after noon of today. Didn't you know it?"
"No," I said.
"Well, it is. They shut off the power early this morning for all low vibrations—yours and under. Brought 'em all down for a general traffic inspection. Then changed their minds and threw it on again. But if you're coming out north again, you've got to get out by noon. And you go in at your own peril."
He assumed that Argo and his men were Venus refugees going with me into Venia! I only vaguely understood what might be afoot, but I did not dare question him. Argo's side glance at me was menacing. I agreed with this director obediently and broke connection.
We seemed now to have passed within the patrol line. There were no more official vessels to be seen. We clung low, and at 12° South, 60° 2O' West, at 10:16 that morning we descended in Venia, capital of the Central Latina Province, largest immigrant colony of the Western Hemisphere.[9]
We landed on a stage of one of the upper crescent terraces. A crowd of Venus people surrounded us. Even in the turmoil of our debarkation, I wondered where the official landing director might be. None of the governing officials were in sight. The place was in confusion. Crowds were on the spider bridges; the terraces and the sloping steps were jammed. Milling, excited people. The foreign police, pompous Venus men in gaudy uniforms, were herding the people about.
But none of our Earth officials! Where were they, who should have been in charge of all this confusion?
My heart sank. Something drastic, sinister, had occurred. We had no time to guess what it might be. Argo drove us forward, with scant courtesy now, down in a vertical car, through a tunnel on foot to what they called here in Venia the Lower Plaza. We crossed it, and entered one of their queerly flat buildings at the ground level; entered through an archway, passed through several rooms and came at last into a room whirring with instruments.
Argo said triumphantly, yet humbly: "Tarrano, Master—we are here."
A man at a table of helio-sending instruments turned and faced us. We were in the presence of the dread Tarrano!
Tarrano! He rose slowly to his feet, his gaze on us for an instant, then turning to Argo.
"So! You took them? Well done, Argo!"
His gesture dismissed his subordinate; Argo backed from the room. From a disc, an announcer was detailing dispatches. Tarrano frowned slightly. He advanced to us as we three stood together. I had heard Elza give a low, surprised cry as we entered. She stood with a hand upon my arm. I could feel her trembling, but her face now was impassive.
Georg whispered to me: "This Tarrano——"
But our captor's voice checked him. "Come this way, please." He signalled, and three men came forward. To them he issued short commands; they took their places at the instrument tables. Then he led us from the room through an arch, over a small trestle, into a tiny inner courtyard. A tropical garden, surrounded by blank circular walls of the building. A patch of blue sky showed above it. A garden secluded from prying eyes, with only a single spider bridge crossing overhead. Vivid flowers and foliage made it a bower. Brown bark paths laced it; a tiny fountain splashed in the center.
Tarrano sat on the rim of the fountain; he gestured to a white stone bench where we three sat in a row, Elza between us. It made me feel like a child.
"Your father is dead." He was addressing Elza; and then Georg. "That is unfortunate. He was a good man. I'm sorry."
His voice was soft and musical. He sat there on the fountain rim, an elbow on his crossed knees, chin resting in his hand, his eyes studying us. A small, slight figure of a man, no more than thirty-five. Simply dressed; white trousers of the tropics, with a strip of narrow black down the leg-fronts; a girdle of gold; ruffled white shirt, with sleeves that flared a trifle, and a neck-piece of black. From his belt dangled a few instruments and several personal weapons—beautifully wrought, small—almost miniatures—yet deadly-looking for all that.
He was bareheaded; black hair closely clipped. A face smooth-shaven. Thin, with a nose hawk-like, and black eyes and heavy brows. His mouth was thin-lipped, though smiling now, disclosing even, white teeth. Yet a cruel mouth, with the firm jaw of determination and power under it. The familiar gray Venus skin, but with that bronze cast of the people of the Central State.
At first glance, not an unusual or particularly commanding figure. Yet the man's power of personality, the sheer dominant force of him, radiated like a tower code-beam. No one could be in his presence an instant without feeling it. A power that enwrapped you; made you feel like a child. Helpless. Anxious to placate a possible wrath that would be devastating; anxious—absurdly—for a smile. It was a radiation of genius, humbling every mediocre mortal it touched.
I felt it—felt all this from the moment I came into his presence. Felt like a child, sitting there on that bench. Vaguely frightened; sullen, with childish resentment at my superior. And over it all, my man's mentality made me angry at myself for such emotions; angry at the consciousness of my own inferiority, forced upon me now more strongly than ever anything or any one had made me feel it before.
Tarrano was smiling gently. "... killed your father. I would not have had it so. Yet—perhaps it was necessary. The Lady Elza——"
I could feel Elza trembling again. Georg burst out: "What do you want of us? Who are you?"
Tarrano's slim gray-brown hand came up.
"The Lady Elza remembers me——" He seemed waiting with his gentle smile for her to speak.
"They called you Taro then," she said. Her voice was the small, scared, diffident voice of a child.
"Yes. Taro. A mere sub-officer of the Central State. But destined for bigger things than that, as you see. They did not like what they called my ambitious ways—and so they sent me to the Cold Country. That was soon after I had met you and your father, Lady Elza. You hardly remarked me then—I was so insignificant a personage. But you—I remembered you——"
Still there was in his voice and on his face nothing but kindness and a queer whimsical look of reminiscence. He broke off at the buzz of a disc that hung from his belt by a golden chain. He jerked it loose from its snap, and to his ear clasped a small receiver. Like a mask his gentleness dropped from him. His voice rasped:
"Yes?..." The receiver murmured into his ear. He said: "Connect him—I'll listen to what he has to say."
A moment; then on the tiny mirror fastened to his wrist with a strap, I saw a face appear—a face known throughout our Earth—the face of the War-Director of Great London. Tarrano listened impassively. When the voice ceased, he said without an instant's hesitation: "No!"
A decision irrevocable; the power almost of a deity seemed behind its finality. "No! I—will—not—do—it!" Careful, slow enunciation as though to make sure an inferior mentality could not mistake his words. And with a click, Tarrano broke connection. The mirror went dark; he hung his little disc and ear-piece back on his belt. Again he was smiling at us gently, the incident forgotten already—dismissed from his mind until the need to consider it should again arise.
"I remember you, Lady Elza, very well." A vague wistfulness came into his voice. "I wish to speak with you alone—now—for a moment." He touched two of the metal buttons of his shirt-front together. A man appeared in the narrow tunnel-entrance to the garden. A small man, no more than four and a half feet tall; a trim, but powerfully made little figure, in the black and white linen uniform worn also by Tarrano. Yet more pretentiously dressed than his superior. A broad belt of dangling weapons; under it, a sash of red, encircling his waist and flowing down one side. Over his white ruffled shirt, a short sleeveless vest of black silk. A circular hat, with a vivid plume. A smooth-shaven face; black hair long to the base of the neck; a deep, red-brown complexion. A native of the Little People of Mars, here in the service of Tarrano. He stood stiff and respectful in the tunnel entrance.
Tarrano said crisply: "Wolfgar, take these two men to the fourth tower. Make them comfortable."
I met Georg's eyes. Leave Elza here alone with this man? Georg burst out: "My sister goes with me!"
"So?" Tarrano's heavy brows went up inquiringly. A quizzical smile plucked at his lips. "You need have no fear. The Lady Elza——" He swung to her. "Not—afraid, are you?"
"I—no," she stammered.
"She'll come with us," I declared; but the stoutness of my words could not hide my fear. Tarrano was still smiling; but as I took a protecting step toward Elza, his smile died.
"You—will go—with Wolfgar—both of you." That same slow finality. His face was impassive; but under his frowning bushy brows, his eyes transfixed me. It was as though with his paralyzing ray he had rooted me to the spot. And Georg beside me. Yet he had not moved from his careless attitude of ease on the fountain-rim; the little conical golden weapon dangled untouched at his belt.
Elza was frightened. "Jac! You must do what he says. I'm—not afraid."
Again Tarrano was smiling. "No—of course not." His gaze went to Georg. "You are her brother—your fear is very natural. So I give you my word—the honorable word of Tarrano—that she shall come to no harm."
Elza murmured: "Go, Georg." Afraid for us, and doubtless she had good reason to be. It struck me then as queer that Tarrano should waste these words with us; but I realized, as did Elza and Georg, that we were treading very dangerous ground. Georg said, with a sudden dignity at which I marveled:
"Your word is quite enough." He gestured to me. With a last glance at Elza, standing there frightened, but for our sakes striving not to show it, we let this Wolfgar lead us away.
Elza later told us what occurred. With her father, she had been twice to the Venus Central State—the visit of two years ago Dr. Brende had mentioned to me, and a former one. It was upon this first trip Elza had met Tarrano. He was an under-officer then, in the Army of the Central State—his name then was Taro. She—herself no more than a slip of a girl at that time—remembered him as a queerly silent young man—insignificant in physique and manner. He had escorted her once to a Venus festival; in a strange, brooding, humble, yet dignified fashion, he had spoken of love. She had laughed, and soon forgot the incident. But Tarrano had not forgotten. The daughter of the great Dr. Brende had fired his youthful imagination. Who knows what dreams even then—born of the genius as yet merely latent—were within him? He had never crossed Elza's mind from that time, until today she saw and recognized him.
When they were alone, still without moving from his seat, he signed her to come to him, to sit on the carpet of grass at his feet. She was frightened, but she would not show it. He made no move to touch her; he gazed down to meet her upturned, fascinated stare, still with his gentle, whimsical smile.
"Queer that I should meet you again, Lady Elza. Yet, I must admit, it comes not by chance, for I contrived it. My prisoner! Dr. Brende's daughter, held captive by little Taro!"
It seemed to amuse him, this whimsical reminiscence of those days when he was struggling unknown. "I want to confess something to you, Lady Elza. You were so far above me then—daughter of the famous Dr. Brende. Yet, as you remember, I aspired to you. And now—I have not changed. I never change. I still—aspire to you."
He said it very softly, slowly. She flushed; but for that moment fear of him dropped from her.
"Oh," she said. "I—I thank you for such a compliment——"
"A compliment? Yes, I suppose it is that now. You wondered, didn't you, why I was so lenient with your brother and that Jac Hallen when they would have refused me obedience? That is not my way—to be lenient." He said it with a sudden snap of crispness, but his eyes were twinkling. "It was because of you, Lady Elza."
"Me?" she murmured.
"You—of course. Because I—want you to like me." His fingers involuntarily touched a stray lock of her hair as she sat there at his feet, but when she moved her head away he withdrew his hand. His slow voice went on:
"Back in those other days, Lady Elza, the little Taro had strange dreams. A power within him—he could feel it—here——" His gaze was far away; his fist struck his breast. "He could feel it—the urge to fulfill his destiny—feel it within him, and no one else knew it was there.
"Then—you came. A shy, rather pretty little girl, he realizes now, is all you were. But then—you seemed a goddess. A new dream arose—a dream of you ... I frighten you, child?" His tone was contrite. "I do not mean to do that. I am too hasty. Queer, isn't it, that I can make men, nations, worlds, obey me—but I have to bide my time with a fragile little woman?"
His mood changed; he stirred. "I could bend you to my will—break you—like that!" His lean fingers snapped. Then his hand dropped, and again he relaxed. "But of what use?... Your respect? I have it now. Respect and fear come to me from everyone. It is something more than that I want from you."
She would have spoken, but his gesture stopped her. "Queer that I should want it? Yes, I think perhaps it is. The little Taro was very queer, perhaps very impressionable. He knew he had nations and worlds to conquer—a destiny to fulfill. Not alone because of you, little Elza. I would not make you think that. But for you to share. The great Tarrano, master of the universe, and his Lady Elza! Worlds for you to toy with, like gems on a thread adorning your white throat——"
He must have swayed her, the sheer power of him. Impulsively she touched his knee. "I am not worth——"
His face clouded with a frown. "I would not try to buy your love——"
"Oh," she said. "No, I did not mean——"
"I would not try to buy you. I want to share with you—these worlds—as your due. To make myself master of everything, so that you will look to me and say, 'He is the greatest of all men—I love him'.... Soon I will be the greatest of all men throughout the ages. And very gentle always, with you, Lady Elza——"
A buzz came from the disc at his belt. He answered the call—listened to a voice.
"So? Bring him here." He disconnected. "...very gentle with you, my Elza——"
His voice drifted away. He seemed waiting; and Elza, her head whirling with the confusion of it all, sat silent. A moment; then Argo appeared, driving a half-nude man before him. A native official of Venia, stripped of his uniform. Argo flung him down in the garden path, where he cowered, his face ashen, his eyes wild, lips mumbling with terror.
Tarrano barely moved. "So? You tell me he was asleep at the mirrors, Argo?"
"Master, I could not help it! Since first you made your move in Greater New York at Park Sixty, I have sat there. Two nights and a day——"
"And you fell asleep without asking for a relief?"
"Master, I——"
"Did you?"
"Yes. I did not realize I was sleeping——"
A gesture to Argo, and the man was flung closer to Tarrano's feet. Elza shrank away.
"Left a mirror unattended. So?... The wire, Argo." He took the length of wire, gleaming white-hot, as the leering, gloating Argo turned the current into it—Tarrano took it, lashed it upon the poor wretch's naked back and legs. Welts arose, and the stench of burning flesh. A measured score of the passionless strokes made him writhe and scream in agony.
It turned Elza sick and faint. Shuddering, she crouched there, hiding her face until the punishment was over and the half-unconscious culprit was carried away.
"Very gentle with you, my Elza...."
She looked up to find Tarrano smiling at her; looked up and stared, and wondered what might be her fate with such a man as this.
From the garden where Tarrano was talking with Elza, the Mars man Wolfgar led us to the tower in which we were to be imprisoned. Quite evidently it had been placed in readiness for us. A tower of several rooms, comfortably equipped. As we crossed the lower bridge and reached the main doorway, Wolfgar unsealed a black fuse-box which stood there, and pulled the relief-switch. The current, barring passage through every door and window of the tower, was thrown off. We entered. My mind was alert. This man of the Little People could not again turn on that current without going outside. Once it was on, like an invisible wall it would prevent our escape. But now—could not Georg and I with our superior strength overpower this smaller man?
I caught Georg's glance as our captor led us into the lower room—an apartment cut into the half-segment of a circle. Georg, at my elbow, whispered: "No use! Where could we go? Could not get out of the city——"
The hearing of the Little People is sharp. Wolfgar turned his head and smiled. "You will be quite secure here—do not think of escape." His bronzed fingers toyed with a cone at his belt. "Do not think of it."
Soon he left us, with the parting words: "You may use the upper circle of balcony. The current rises only from its rail." He smiled and left us. A pleasant smile; I felt myself liking this jailer of ours.
We took a turn of the tower. There were three bedrooms; a cookery, with food and equipment wherein evidently it was intended that Elza could prepare our meals; and two bath-apartments, one of them fairly luxurious, with a pool almost large enough for a little swimming; tubes of scent for the water and the usual temperature rods.
"Well," I remarked. "Obviously we are to be comfortable." I was trying to be cheerful, but my heart was heavy with foreboding nevertheless. "How long do you suppose they'll keep us here, Georg? And what——"
His impatient gesture stopped me. His mind was on Elza—alone down there in the garden with Tarrano—as was mine, though I had not wanted to speak of her.
There was an instrument room, up the circular incline in the peak of the tower! We heard the hum of it; and when we went up there, the first thing we saw was a mirror tuned in readiness for us to view the garden we had just left. This strange Tarrano, giving Georg the visible proof that he would keep his word and not harm Elza. We could see in this mirror the image of the scene down there—Elza and Tarrano talking. But could not hear the words—those were denied us. We saw the culprit brought in; the punishment with the white-hot wire-lash, and a few moments later Elza was with us.
During the hours which followed, we made no attempt to escape. Such an effort would have been absurd. The current controls were outside, beyond our reach. Visibly, we were free, with open, unbarred arches and casements. But to pass through one of them, the barring current struck you like a wall, with darting sparks when it was touched. As Wolfgar had said, we had access to the upper balcony; the waist-high rail there, with its needle-points of electrodes, sent up a visible stream of the Nth Electrons—a dull glow by daylight; at night a riot of colors and snapping sparks.
Through this barrage an inner vista of the city was visible; towers, arcades, landing-stages and spider bridges a hundred feet or so above us; the lower levels beneath, and through a canyon of walls we could just make out a corner of the ground-plaza, with its trees and beds of flowers.
A queerly flat little city—tropical with banana trees and vivid foliage in every corner plot of the viaducts. At night it was beautiful with its romantic spreading lights of soft rose and violet tubes, and there was a fair patch of open sky above us—a deep purple at night, star-strewn.
Under other circumstances our imprisonment would not have been irksome. But these hours, most critical of any in the history of the nations of Earth, Venus and Mars, unfolded their momentous events while we were forced there to helpless idleness. All sending apparatus of our instrument room was permanently disconnected. But the news came in to us from a hundred sources—rolled out for us in the announcer's droning words; printed for permanent record upon the tapes and visible images of it all constantly were flashing upon the mirrors.
We spent hours in that instrument room—one or the other of us was almost always there. Save that we were ourselves isolated from communication, we were in touch with everything. A whim of this Tarrano; perhaps a strain of vanity that Elza should see and hear of these events.
So much had occurred already during those hours of our trip over the Polar ocean and back that we scarce could fathom it. But gradually we pieced it together. Underlying it all, Tarrano's dream of universal conquest was plain. In the Venus Cold Country he had started his wide-flung plans. Years of planning, with plans maturing slowly, secretly, and bursting now like a spreading ray-bomb upon the three worlds at once.
In Venus, the Cold Country had conquered its governing Central State. Tarrano's army there was in full control. The helio station in the Great City was now reinstated. The Tarrano officials had already set up their new government. With notification to the Earth and Mars that they demanded recognition, they were sending the usual routine helio dispatches and reports, quite as though nothing had occurred. The mails would proceed as before, they announced; the one due to leave this afternoon for the Earth was off on time.
It was all very clever propaganda for our Earth public consumption. Tarrano—who was visiting our Earth at present, they said—had been chosen Master of Venus. His government desired Earth's official recognition, and asked for our proclamation of friendliness in answer to their own. The present Ambassadors of the Venus Central State to the Earth—there were three of them, one each in Great London, Tokyohama and Mombozo—this new government requested that we send them back to the Great City as prisoners of the Tarrano forces. Other Ambassadors, representing the new government, would be sent to the Earth.
All this occurred during the first few hours of our imprisonment in the tower. And during the day previous, at 7 P.M. this night—70° West Meridian Time—the governments of our Earth met in Triple Conference in Great London. Three rulers pro tem—White, Yellow and Black—to replace the three who had been assassinated. The responsibility for the assassinations was placed by the Council upon Tarrano. But this—from his headquarters here in Venia—he blandly refused to accept, denying all knowledge of the murders. Venia was the principal Venus immigrant colony of Earth's Western Hemisphere. It had already been closed by our Earth Council; its inhabitants interned as possible alien enemies, pending diplomatic developments. This was the meaning of that line of official vessels lying there to the north on guard. No one could leave Venia, and for a day Venus refugees had been ordered into it from everywhere.
At 8:40 this evening came from Great London our ultimatum to Tarrano. A duplicate of it went to the Great City of Venus via the Hawaiian Station. The Earth would not recognize the Tarrano government of Venus. We would hold to our treaty of friendship with the Central State. We would remain neutral for a time. But Tarrano himself we declared an outlaw. His presence was required in Washington to stand trial for the assassinations, and the delivery in Washington of Dr. Brende's notes and model was demanded.
The ultimatum carried a day of grace; the alternate was a declaration of war by the Earth, and our immediate attack upon Venia. It was the same proposition which our War Director had previously made unofficially to Tarrano while he was there in the garden with Elza and which Tarrano so summarily had rejected.
The ultimatum came to us in the tower as we sat listening to the announcer's measured tones. Elza exclaimed:
"But why do they wait? Father's model must be here. Tarrano, the leader of all this—is here. Within the hour those vessels of war could sweep in here—capture Tarrano—recover father's model——"
Georg interrupted quietly: "No one knows if the model is here. That other car from the laboratory—we don't know where it went. The plundered laboratory has been found, of course. No station up there is near enough to have eavesdropped upon our capture, but the whole thing must have come out by now. But that aero with the model may have met an inter-planetary vessel—the model may be on the way to Venus by now."
"Georg," I exclaimed, "doyouknow the workings of that model? Could you build another without the notes?"
He nodded solemnly. "Yes. And they know that, in Washington. I could build another. But they know by now, that I, too, am in Tarrano's hands——"
"And he will kill you, of course, to destroy that knowledge and keep the secret for himself——" I did not say it aloud, for Elza's sake; but I thought it, and I realized that Georg was thinking it also.
Dr. Brende's secret of longevity was the crux of all this turmoil—the lever by which Tarrano was raising himself. Scores of facts amid the tumultuous news of these hours showed us that. For months, throughout Venus, Tarrano had spread the insidious propaganda that he alone had the secret of immortality—that when he was made ruler, he would use it for the benefit of his followers.
Converts to Tarrano's cause were everywhere. In the Central State many welcomed the coming of his army. And now from the Great City his propaganda was being sent to the Earth. Murmurs from our own Earth public were beginning to be heard. The ignorant lower classes seemed ready to swallow anything. A new beneficent ruler who guaranteed everlasting life! Throughout the ages people have flocked to that same standard!
In Mars, much the same was transpiring. At almost her closest point to the Earth these days, Red Mars sent us constant helios from the midnight sky. The Little People had appointed a new ruler to take the place of him who had been assassinated. The Council there put the assassination to unknown causes. Tarrano was held blameless. The Little People declared themselves neutral. But they gave prompt official recognition to the Tarrano government of Venus. And everywhere throughout Mars the public was stirred by the thought of everlasting life.
"Fools!" muttered Georg. "That Little People government—they'll have a revolution of their own to fight at this rate. Can't you see what Tarrano is doing? Working everywhere with propaganda—working on the public—the gullible public ready always to swallow anything——"
On Earth, lay the crisis. Our own governments only had taken a firm stand. What could Tarrano do with this ultimatum? Either he must yield himself and the Brende secret, or a war in which he would be immediately overwhelmed here in Venia would follow.
It was nearly ten o'clock that first night. Elza had gone to the balcony. We heard her call us softly, but with obvious tenseness. Out there we found her pointing excitedly. A few hundred feet away and somewhat below us was a tower similar to our own. In one of its oblong casements a glow of rose-light showed. And within the glow was the full-length figure of a girl. We could see her plainly, though a small image at that distance with the naked eye, and our personal vision instruments had been taken from us. A slender, imperial figure—a young girl seemingly about Elza's age. Dressed in a shimmering blue kirtle, short after the Venus fashion, with long grey stockings beneath. A girl with flowing waves of pure white hair to her waist—a girl of the Venus Central State. She seemed, like ourselves, a prisoner. An aura or barrage was around her tower. She stood there, back in the tower room, full in the rose-light as though surreptitiously trying to attract our attention.
As we gathered on our balcony, behind the glow of our own barrage, she gestured to us vehemently. And then, with one white arm, she began to semaphore. One arm, and then with both. Georg and I recognized it—the Secondary Code of the Anglo-Saxon Army. We murmured the letters aloud as she gave them:
"I am——" Abruptly she stopped. A violent gesture, and she disappeared; her rose-glow went out; her tower casement was dark. On a lower spider bridge Tarrano had appeared. He was crossing it on foot toward our tower, his small erect form advancing hastelessly, with the figure of Argo behind him.
He reached our lower entrance, cut off the barrage there, and entered. Argo replaced the barrage, lingered an instant, gazing upward at us with his habitual leer. Then he retraced his steps across the bridge and disappeared.
A moment more, and in our lounging apartment Tarrano faced us.
"Sit down." Tarrano motioned us to feather hassocks and stretched himself indolently upon our pillowed divan. With an elbow and hand supporting his head he regarded us with his sombre black eyes, his face impassive, an inscrutable smile playing about his thin lips.
"I wish to speak with you three. The Lady Elza——" His glance went to her briefly, then to Georg. "She has told you, perhaps, what I had to say to her?"
"Yes," said Georg shortly.
Elza had indeed told us. And with sinking heart I had listened, for it did not seem to me that any maiden could resist so dominant a man as this. But I had made no comment, nor had Georg. Elza had seemed unwilling to discuss it, had flushed when her brother's eyes had keenly searched her face.
And she flushed now, but Tarrano dismissed the subject with a gesture. "That—is between her and me.... You have been following the general news, I assume? I provided you with it." He rolled a little cylinder of the arrant-leaf, and lighted it.
"Yes," said Georg.
Georg was waiting for our captor to lay his cards before us. Tarrano knew it; his smile broadened. "I shall not mince words, Georg Brende. Between men, that is not necessary. And we are isolated here—no one beyond Venia can listen. As you know, I am already Master of Venus. In Mars—that will shortly come. They will hand themselves over to me—or I shall conquer them." He shrugged. "It is quite immaterial." He added contemptuously: "People are fools—almost everyone—it is no great feat to dominate them."
"You'll find our Earth leaders are not fools," Georg said quietly.
Tarrano's heavy brows went up. "So?" He chuckled. "That remains to be seen. Well, you heard the ultimatum they sent me? What do you think of it?"
"I think you'd best obey it," I burst out impulsively.
"I was not speaking to you." He did not change the level intonation of his voice, nor even look my way. "You are to die tomorrow, Jac Hallen——"
Elza gave a low cry; instantly his gaze swung to her. "So? That strikes atyou, Lady Elza?"
She flushed even deeper than before, and the flush, with her instinctive look to me that accompanied it, made my heart leap. Tarrano's face had darkened. "You would not have me put him to death, Lady Elza?"
She was struggling to guard from him her emotions; struggling to match her woman's wit against him.
"I—why no," she stammered.
"No? Because he is—your friend?"
"Yes. I—I would not let you do that."
"Not let me?" Incredulous amusement swept over his face.
"No. I would not—let you do that." Her gaze now held level with his. A strength came to her voice. Georg and I watched her—and watched Tarrano—fascinated. She repeated once more: "No. I would not let you."
"How could you stop me?"
"I would—tell you not to do it."
"So?" Admiration leaped into his eyes to mingle with the amusement there. "You would tell me not to do it?"
"Yes." She did not flinch before him.
"And you think then—I would spare him?"
"Yes. I know you would."
"And why?"
"Because—if you did a thing like that—I should—hate you."
"Hate——"
"Yes. Hate you—always."
He turned suddenly away from her, sitting up with a snap of alertness. "Enough of this." Did he realize he was defeated in this passage with a girl? Was he trying to cover from us the knowledge of his defeat? And then again the bigness of him made itself manifest. He acknowledged soberly:
"You have bested me, Lady Elza. And you've made me realize that I—Tarrano—have almost lowered myself to admit this Jac Hallen my rival." He laughed harshly. "Not so! A rival? Pah! He shall live if you wish it—live close by you and me—as an insect might live on a twig by the rim of the eagle's nest.... Enough!... I was asking you, Georg Brende, of this ultimatum. Should I yield to it?" He had suppressed his other emotions; he was amusing himself with us again.
"Yes," said Georg.
"But I have already refused—today in the garden. Would you have me change? I am not one lightly to change a decision already reached."
"You'll have to."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Of one thing I am sure. I cannot let them declare war against me just now. I have no defense, here in Venia. Scarce the armament for my handful of men. Your vessels of war would sweep down here and overpower me in a breath—trap me here helpless——"
"Of course," said Georg.
"And so I must not let them do that. They want me to come to Washington with the Brende model—deliver it over to them. Yet—that does not appeal to me. Tomorrow I shall have to bargain with them further. I could not deliver to them the Brende model." He was chuckling at his own phrasing. "No—no, I could not do that."
"Why?" demanded Georg. "Isn't the model here?"
"It is—where it is," said Tarrano. He became more serious. "You, Georg—you could build one of those models?"
Georg did not answer.
"You could, of course," Tarrano insisted. "My spy, Ahla—you remember her, the Lady Elza's maid for so long? She is here in Venia; she tells me of your knowledge and skill with your father's apparatus. So you see, I realize I have two to guard—the model itself, and you, who know its secret."
He now became more openly alert and earnest than I had ever seen him. The light from the tube along the side wall edged his lean, serious face with its silver glow. "I've a proposition for you, Georg Brende. Between men, such things can be put bruskly. Your sister—her personal decision will take time. I would not force it. But meanwhile—I do not like to hold you and her as captives."
The shadow of a smile crossed Georg's face. "We shall be glad to have you set us free."
Tarrano remained grave. "You are a humorist. And a clever young fellow, Georg Brende. You—as Elza's brother—and as your father's son with your medical knowledge—you can be of great use to me. Suppose I offer you a place by my side always? To share with me—and with the Lady Elza—these conquests.... Wait! It is not the part of wisdom to decide until you have all the facts. I shall confide in you one of my plans. The publics of Venus, Mars and the Earth—they think this everlasting life, as they call it, is to be shared with them."
His chuckle was the rasp of a file on a block of adamant. "Shared with them! That is the bait I dangle before their noses. In reality, I shall share it only with the Lady Elza. And with you—her brother, and the mate you some day will take for yourself. Indeed, I have a maiden already at hand, picked out for you.... But that can come later.... Everlasting life? Nonsense! Your father's discovery cannot confer that. But we shall live two centuries or more. Four of us. To see the generations come and go—frail mortals, while we live on to conquer and to rule the worlds.... Come, what do you say?"
"I say no."
Tarrano showed no emotion, save perhaps a flicker of admiration. "You are decisive. You have many good qualities, Georg Brende. I wonder if you have any good reasons?"
"Because you are an enemy of my world," Georg declared, with more heat than he had yet displayed.
"Ah! Patriotism! A good lure for the ignorant masses, that thing they call patriotism. For rulers, a good mask with which to hide their unscrupulous schemes. That's all it is, Georg Brende. Cannot you give me a better reason? You think perhaps I am not sincere? You think I would not share longevity with you—that I would play you false?"
"No," Georg declared. "But my father's work was for the people. I'm not talking patriotism—only humanitarianism. The strife, suffering in our worlds—you would avoid it yourself—and gloat while others bore it. You——"
"Youth!" Tarrano interrupted. "Altruism! It is very pretty in theory—but quite nonsensical. Man lifts himself—the individual must look out for himself—not for others. Each man to his destiny—and the weak go down and the strong go up. It is the way of all life—animal and human. It always has been—and it always will be. The way of the universe. You are very young, Georg Brende."
"Perhaps," Georg said, and fell silent.
Tarrano abruptly rose to his feet. "Calm thought is better than argument. You have imagination—you can picture what I offer. Think it over. And if youth is your trouble——" His eyes were twinkling. "I shall have to wait until you grow up. We have a long road to travel—empires cannot be built in a day."
He paused before Elza with a grave, dignified bow. "Goodnight, Lady Elza."
"Goodnight," she said.
He left us. We stood listening to his footsteps as he quietly descended the tower incline. At his summons, the barrage was lifted. He went out. From the balcony we saw him cross the spider bridge, with Argo at his heels. As they vanished into the yawning mouth of an arcade beyond the bridge, again came that rose-glow in the other tower. We saw again the girl with flowing white hair standing there. And now she was waving us back.
"She wants us inside, where we can't be seen," Georg murmured. We drew back into the room, standing where we still could see the girl. I wondered then—and we had discussed it several times these last hours—if the interior of our tower were under observation by some distant guard. We felt that probably it was, visibly and audibly; and we had been very careful of what we said aloud.
But now, if we were watched, we could not help it; we would have to take the chance. The figure of the girl showed plainly down there through the other casement. And again, with slow-moving white arms she began to semaphore. A queer application of the Secondary Code, which always is used officially with coral-light beams over considerable distances. But it sufficed in this emergency. Slowly she spelled out the letters, words, phrases.
"I am Princess Maida——"
Georg whispered to us: "Hereditary ruler of the Central State——"
I nodded. "Watch, Georg——"
"Prisoner——"came next:"Like yourselves, and we must escape."
She paused a moment, letting her arms drop to her sides, shaking the glorious waves of her white hair with a toss of her head. Then, at a gesture from Georg that he understood, she began again:
"Escape tonight——"
I half expected that any moment Tarrano or one of his men would burst in to stop this. But the signals continued.
"I am sending you a friend—tonight—soon—he will come to you. With plans for our escape. A good friend——"
Her tower abruptly went dark. Cautiously I gazed down from our balcony. Argo had appeared on the spider bridge; he was pacing back and forth. Did he suspect anything? We could not tell, but it seemed not. It was the midnight hour; a brilliant white flash swept the city to mark it.
In a low corner of the balcony, behind the glow of our barrage, we crouched together, whispering excitedly. But cautiously, for we knew that the microphonic ears of a jailor might be upon us. The Princess Maida—here in Tarrano's hands! She was sending us a friend—tonight—soon; a friend who would help us all to escape.
"By the code!" Georg exclaimed. "If we could get to Washington—if I could be there now in this crisis—with my knowledge of the Brende light——"
Far above our personal safety, our lives, lay the importance of Georg's knowledge. With the Brende secret—through him—in the hands of the Earth Council, Tarrano's greatest lever to power would be broken. Our Earth public would sway back to patriotic loyalty. The Little People of Mars unquestionably would remain friendly with us, with the Brende light to be developed on Earth and shared with them. They would see Tarrano perhaps, for what he was—a dangerous, unscrupulous enemy.... If only Georg could escape....
An hour went by with murmured thoughts like these. A friend coming to help us? How could he reach us? And how help us to escape?
We crouched there, waiting. Argo—obviously on night guard—still paced the bridge. The city was comparatively dark and silent; yet even so, there seemed more activity than we felt was normal. Occasional beams flashed across the narrow segment of our sky. The crescent terraces, visible through a shallow canyon of buildings to the left, were a blaze of colored lights with the dark figures of people thronging them. The mingled hum of instruments was in the night air; sometimes the snap of an aerial; and the steady, clicking whir of the night escalators on the city street levels and inclines.
It seemed hours that we waited. The green flash of the second hour past midnight bathed the city in its split-second lurid glare. Elza had fallen asleep, beside us on the feathered hassock of our balcony corner. But Georg and I were fully alert—waiting for this unknown friend. Georg had smoked innumerable arrant-leaf cylinders. Through the insulated tube, from a public cookery occasional hot dishes were passing our dining room for us to take if we wished. But we had touched none of them. From the food stock on hand, Elza had cooked our two simple meals. But now, with Elza asleep, Georg left me and returned in a moment with steaming cups of taro. We drank it silently, still waiting. Argo still paced the bridge on guard. Presently we saw the figure of Wolfgar join him. The two spoke together a moment; then Argo disappeared; Wolfgar paced back and forth on guard in his place.
At 2:30 the Inter-Allied announcer—for half an hour past quite silent—brought us to our feet, his monotone droning from the disc in our instrument room:
"Greater New York, Inter-Allied Unofficial 2:27 A. M. Tarrano replies to the Earth Council Ultimatum...."
Our start woke up Elza. Together we rushed into the instrument room.
"With many hours yet before the Earth Council Ultimatum expires, it is unofficially reported that Tarrano has sent his note in answer. Its text, we are reliably informed, is now in the hands of our Governments at Great London, Greater New York, Tokyohama and Mombozo. Helios of it also have been sent to Tarrano's own government of Venus and to the Little People of Mars. We have as yet no further details...."
A buzz came as he ended, with only the click of the tape continuing as it printed his words. A period of silence, then again his voice:
"Official 2:32 A. M. Inter-Allied News: Tarrano rejects Ultimatum. His note to Earth Council complete defiance. Official text follows...."
We listened, dumb with amazement and awe. Tarrano's note was indeed, complete defiance. He would not yield up the Brende light. Nor would he deliver himself in Washington for trial. In the suave, courteous language of diplomacy, he deplored the unreasonable attitude of the Earth leaders. Ironically, he suggested that they declare war. He would be overwhelmed in Venia, of course. He had no means of defending himself against their aggression. But at the first flash of hostile rays, the Brende model would be destroyed forever. And Georg Brende—the only living person who had the knowledge to replace the model—would die instantly. The Brende secret would be lost irrevocably. It was unfortunate that humanity on Earth, Venus and Mars, should be denied their chance for immortality. Unfortunate that the Earth leaders were so headstrong. They were enemies, in reality, of their own people—and enemies of the peoples of Venus and Mars. But if the Earth Council wished war with Tarrano—then war let it be.
"A bluff," I exclaimed. "He would lose everything himself. It's suicide—"
"Not suicide," Georg said soberly. "Propaganda. Can't you see it? He knows the Earth Council will make no move until the ultimatum time has expired. Hours yet. And in those hours, he is working upon the publics of the three worlds."
The announcer was silent again. Below us, in our tower, we heard a footstep. The barrage had been lifted to admit someone, then thrown on again. Measured footsteps were coming up our incline. We stood motionless, breathless. A moment; then into the room came Wolfgar. He did not speak. Advancing close to us as we stood transfixed, he jerked an instrument from his belt. It whirred and hummed in his hand. The room around us went black—a barrage of blackness and silence, with ourselves and Wolfgar in a pale glow standing within it as in a cylinder. The isolation-barrage. I had never been within one before, though upon drastic occasion they were in official use.
Wolfgar said swiftly: "We cannot be seen or heard. I have been in charge of the mirror observing you—I have thrown it out of use. The Princess Maida—"
"You are—the friend?" Georg whispered tensely. Elza was trembling and I put my arm about her.
Wolfgar's face lightened with a brief smile; then went intensely serious. "Yes. A spy, trusted by Tarrano for years—but my heart is with the Princess Maida. We must escape—all of us—now, or it will be too late."
He stopped abruptly, and a look of consternation came to him. The black silence enveloping us had without warning begun to crackle. The metal cone in Wolfgar's hand glowed red with interference-heat—but he clung to it, though it burned him. Sparks were snapping in the blackness around us. Our isolation was dissolving. Someone—something—was breaking it down, struggling to get at us!