"Just my word," said Bemmelman with a chuckle. "Just my word."
Two rouge-like spots sprang out on Cosmo's cheek bones. He came halfway erect in his chair.
"No violence, please." The planter held up his hand. "Look behind you."
Cosmo turned his head. The two Jovian primitives were crouched to spring. He sank back in his chair, managed a tight grin. His lips felt dry, his stomach hollow.
"I don't think you appreciate your position, Cosmo," said the planter silkily. "No sir, I don't." He heaved himself from his chair with a grunt. "I've something to show you. Come with me."
The two Jovian Dawn Men fell in beside Cosmo again as he trailed the planter down three steps, along a short corridor to a sunken court. Bemmelman paused, pointed to a huge wooden cross in the center of the court.
"You weren't depending on him, were you," he smirked.
Cosmo felt his blood run cold. His fists clenched until the nails bit into the flesh.
The body of Penang-ihtok hung from the cross. The outcast Fozoql had been crucified upside down.
"You see," said Bemmelman, his voice heavy with assurance; "how futile it is to oppose me."
Cosmo turned away from the cross with its grisly burden. He looked coldly, speculatively at Bemmelman's beefy smiling face. At the look, fright glimmered in the planter's eyes. He made a quick gesture to the Jovians who seized Cosmo by either arm.
"Take him away," he ordered. "We'll talk it over tomorrow."
Cosmo was conducted into a plainly, but comfortably furnished room. One of the blue giants immediately stretched himself on the sofa and went to sleep. The other, though, took a stance by the door, folded his arms, regarded Cosmo with the unwinking stare of an idol. Obviously, the Jovian primitives intended to spell each other.
With a grunt of annoyance, Cosmo retreated into the bathroom. He had grossly underestimated Bemmelman, he realized with chagrin. A malignant genius, the slave breeder had no more scruples than his Dawn Men.
Cosmo heard a soft step behind him, whirled around. His Jovian guard was standing placidly just within the door.
"Damn," he snapped, nerves jangling. "I'm not going to crawl out the drain."
The blue giant never changed expression by so much as a flicker.
Cosmo got a grip on himself, shot the giant his flashing grin. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
He stripped off coat and trousers, hung them carefully over the Jovian's shoulder, stepped under the shower.
Considerably refreshed, he returned to his sleeping chamber, crawled raw into the huge bed. But sleep escaped him. That stark cross, the body illuminated by the radiations of the lichens and mosses, persisted in thrusting itself before his eyes. He clenched his fists, trembled in an agony of impotent fury. Somehow, he'd trip up Bemmelman, smash his disgusting racket.
Cosmo awakened in the huge bed, sweating with terror. The echo of some nameless horror still rang in his ears. He saw the Dawn Man, motionless as a statue, watching him with animal patience. Then he heard it again.
It was a girl's scream. It reached him faintly. It went on and on. He leaped out of bed, tugged on his trousers.
The Dawn Man sprang across the room to intercept him. Cosmo seized a metal chair, swung it with the same movement. It caught the blue giant on his head and shoulders. The blow would have felled an ox. The Jovian folded onto the carpet, lay still. Cosmo thought he must be dead.
The second Jovian primitive jumped from the sofa at the crash. He had awakened like an animal. With a low snarl, he leaped for Cosmo.
Cosmo ducked under his first rush, crashed the chair down on the back of his head. The giant staggered groggily, but didn't go down.
Cosmo measured the distance, walloped him again. The second blue giant went over like a falling tree.
Without stopping for coat or shoes, Cosmo hurtled into the hall. The screaming had been silenced. The building was quiet as a deserted church.
He set out at a lope in the direction of the tower where Mia was confined. That had been Mia screaming, he was sure. He'd recognized the timbre of her voice.
His heart thudding, he reached a stair, took the steps two at a time. It bent sharply to the left, went up another flight. He must be in the tower itself. The silence was oppressive. He wished fervently he had a dart gun, a ray projector, anything that would serve as a weapon. The steps continued to wind upward.
Gasping for breath, he reached the fifth level. From beneath a door seeped a crack of light. He sniffed. A peculiar odor impinged on his nostrils. Then he heard Bemmelman's rough voice like the rasp of iron.
"That's done. Take her to the slave pens."
Cosmo's heart contracted. A blinding rage swept him. He'd been too late.
He rammed the door with his shoulder. It burst open as if exploded. For a second he was poised in the doorway, big, rangy, naked to the waist, his hands hooked like claws, his nostrils distended.
Without a word, he leaped on Bemmelman.
The planter was standing beside an operating table upon which Mia MacIver was strapped. He fell back a step, raised his arm in a gesture of defense.
Cosmo's rush bowled him over backward. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Cosmo was on him like a cat on a mouse. Time after time, he drove his fist into the planter's face. A blinding rage shook him to the marrow.
As if from a distance, he heard Mia scream again.
"Cosmo! Look out behind you!"
He swung off the insensible Bemmelman, twisted to his feet. He saw Llana, the Terran slave girl, directly behind him. Her arm was upraised, her fist clutching a needle like dagger. With a sob, she plunged it downward toward his heaving chest.
Cosmo caught her wrist in a grip of iron, tore the dagger from her fingers. Contemptuously, he tossed the girl into a corner of the room, turned to Mia.
"Mia, are you all right?"
She gave a sob of relief. "Yes, yes! But get me out of this iron lung before I pass out."
He fumbled hastily at the clamps. Her hair was tumbled. One shoulder of her tattered yellow tunic had been torn down to her stomach. He paused suddenly, his eyes dilating.
There was an angry red scar above Mia's left breast. He realized what the smell on the landing outside the tower room had been. It was the odor of burning flesh.
Mia MacIver had been branded!
VI
Cosmo said, "Mia, Mia," and gathered her to him. "What have they done to you?"
Llana scurried past like a frightened rabbit.
"She's getting away!" Mia cried. "She'll rouse the house!"
"Never mind." Cosmo could hear her clatter down the stair. "We've got a hostage." He gave Mia a wry grin, added, "that is, if I haven't killed Bemmelman."
Mia shivered, leaned against him. He glanced down, saw she was regarding him strangely. With a dry sob she buried her head on his shoulder.
"Cosmo, Cosmo, don't ever leave me again." Her voice was almost lost. "Take me with you—into the mountains."
He frowned, said: "You crazy kid. You don't know what you're saying. I'm an outlaw. There's no way to prove Bemmelman murdered my father and mother. And even if there was, that wouldn't clear me. Every crime the Security Patrol hasn't been able to solve has been laid at my doorstep."
"We could run away. We could go to Ganymede."
He shook his head. "It wouldn't make any difference. As long as the Renegade is alive they'll hunt. They'd trail me, extradite me."
"I don't care. I don't care. At least—"
The brazen clamor of the alarm bells shrilled suddenly in their ears.
Cosmo tore himself away, knelt beside the unconscious planter. He drew a dart gun from Bemmelman's pocket, said: "He's alive."
"What are we going to do, Cosmo?"
With a grunt, he hoisted the slack body over his shoulder. The alarm bells were pealing louder.
"I saw a telo-antenna on the roof of the tower when we were in the court. I've a hunch the telo-projector is somewhere above us."
Mia MacIver, clutching the tunic about her shoulder, asked: "But can't we run for it?"
"Not while the force screen is operating."
Bent under his heavy burden, Cosmo strode from the room, up the steps to the next level. Saying, "What's this?" he pressed the button of a sliding panel. The door slid back in its oiled grooves. "Whew!" he said. "My lady's chamber."
Mia MacIver peered around him wide-eyed.
It was a large room, octagon shaped and carpeted wall to wall with the shaggy gray fur of the Polar Aard. But the most startling feature was the mirrors. The walls were paneled solid in mirrors. It gave the impression that the room stretched on forever.
"Well!" said Mia; "if this is the telecast operator's room, he's a voluptuous creature!"
Cosmo snorted, stepped across the threshold. At once replicas of themselves flashed in all the mirrored chambers.
"I feel wicked just being in a room like this," said Mia.
Cosmo heard a click behind him, whirled around. The door through which they'd just passed was shut. In every direction, they were faced by an endless vista of mirrored chambers.
Mia gasped. "I'm scared," she said.
"Who isn't?" said Cosmo shortly and dropped Bemmelman to the floor with a thud. "What are you staring at?" He whipped around again.
A second door in the mirrors stood ajar. Framed in the entrance was a magnificently beautiful girl in skimpy shorts and bra. She was the twin of the photograph below stairs.
"Well, if it isn't my old friend, Sofi," said Cosmo without enthusiasm.
There was no recognition in the Blue Venus' violet eyes. Her flawless pale-blue features revealed neither shock nor surprise.
"That's Bemmelman." She indicated the planter. "Is he dead?"
"No. Only unconscious."
"Oh. That's too bad," she said in a calm manner, and swept up to the prostrate slave breeder, planted a kick in the seat of his pants. "There! I've never had the nerve to do that when he was conscious."
Mia gasped.
Cosmo said sharply: "Where's the telecast room?"
"The next floor. But you can't escape. Nobody ever escapes from this house."
Bemmelman stirred, opened his eyes, sat up groggily. His face was puffy, swollen. Blood had dried on his chin. He didn't say anything.
The clatter of many feet resounded on the stair outside the boudoir. Mia clutched Cosmo's arm, said: "They're coming!"
Cosmo took the dart gun from his pocket, narrowed his green eyes. "You go first, Bemmelman, if they rush us. Understand?"
The slave breeder glared at Cosmo, moistened his battered lips. "What do you want me to do?" He spoke with difficulty.
"Clear the tower. Order everyone into the rest of the house."
Bemmelman nodded sullenly.
Cosmo saw one of the mirrors shiver violently. Then the panel slid back. The stair was jammed with naked blue Jovians and Venusian serfs. The slave girl, Llana, was in the forefront. She pointed at Cosmo, screamed: "There they are!"
The Jovians started to surge through the narrow door.
Cosmo drew a bead on Bemmelman's thick neck, smiled grimly.
Blood drained out of the planter's face. "Get out!" he cried in panic.
The rescuers halted, stared stupidly. The ones in the rear continued to push forward causing momentary confusion.
"Get out!" Bemmelman raged. "Get out, you fools! D'you want to get me killed? Clear the tower!"
They began to withdraw sullenly.
Cosmo stepped after them, slid shut the panel. He could hear their footsteps retreating down the stair. He let his breath escape through his teeth.
"Keep your eye on the Blue Venus, Mia. She's a shifty wench."
Mia seized a candlestick from a dainty Martian table, said, "This isn't going to hurt me half as bad as it will you," to Sofi.
Cosmo dug the dart gun into Bemmelman's kidneys. "Let's go up to the telecast room." He pushed the planter ahead of him through the door.
The stair well was deserted, silent.
"I smell roses," said Mia.
Cosmo thought he detected a glint of triumph in the slave breeder's eyes. "Up the steps," he said grimly. "At the first sign of treachery, Bemmelman, I'm pulling the trigger."
They reached the telecast room without opposition. It was a small square chamber banked with control panels. An opaque screen was built into the left wall. There was only one chair.
Cosmo closed the door, motioned Mia and the Blue Venus to one side. "Now, Bemmelman, call your head overseer; have him shut down the force screens."
The red-faced planter laughed shortly, said: "No sir." He had regained his composure. "No sir, you won't kill me. You'd be throwing away your only chance to stay alive. The force screen stays up."
"That's what I thought you'd say." Cosmo slipped the dart gun in his pocket. His eyes became hard green stones. "What about the Ormoo's feeding ground? Why do you want to know where they eat?"
"That's my secret." A sullen note crept into Bemmelman's manner.
"You don't want me to mess you up, do you, Bemmelman?" Cosmo asked softly.
The planter flinched, but didn't answer.
Cosmo knocked him sprawling against the wall. He heard Mia gasp. He said evenly: "What about the Ormoo?"
Bemmelman tasted the blood in his mouth, said: "You'll never leave here alive, Cosmo. You won't be able to carry tales.... Now wait a moment! There's a plant the birds eat that contains a drug...." He paused.
Cosmo's eyes narrowed. He had the impression that the planter was listening, waiting for something to happen. He said, "Go ahead."
"The drug accelerates maturity. It acts directly through the glands."
"How did you hit on the discovery?" A feeling of revulsion made Cosmo's hands tremble, but his features were inscrutable.
Bemmelman chuckled amiably. "This information won't do you a bit of good," he said. "No sir, not a bit."
"Go ahead."
Bemmelman shrugged. "Well sir, I've been curious about how much longer it takes for an Ormoo in captivity to mature than the wild bird. The wild Ormoo, you know, reaches its full growth in less than a year. That's an amazing phenomenon when you consider its size. Yes sir...." He paused again, mouth open, then hastily went on: "Yes sir. I wondered if it wasn't the wild birds' diet. I sent a man into the Cloud Mountains to locate an Ormoo. He found your bird's nest."
Cosmo's green eyes were opaque. Revulsion for the slave breeder welled in his throat.
Bemmelman's manner was derisive. He rubbed his nose, said: "One day my man found a shrub in the nest. He sent it to me on the chance that it might be what I was looking for. It was. The leaves contain a drug, which, when injected into the bloodstream, accelerates maturity at an unbelievable rate." His lids drew down. "I injected it into one of the slave children in minute doses every twenty days. The child reached adolescence in eighteen months. In two years' time, she was full grown."
"You can breed slaves like guinea pigs now, eh Bemmelman?" Cosmo's voice was low. "And in two years' time have them ready for the market."
Bemmelman said, "Certainly," and paused.
"What are you listening for?" Cosmo asked suddenly.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." His little eyes darted about the room. "Unfortunately," he went on hurriedly, "I used up all the drug on the experiment, and I haven't been able to locate any more of the plants. No sir, we've scoured the Cloud Mountains. They're difficult to explore. Infra red rays help some, but not much."
"Who's the spy you planted among my men?" Cosmo interrupted in a cold voice.
Bemmelman shut his mouth with a snap.
"Who is he? Tell me, Bemmelman, or by heavens, I'll work you over until your own mother couldn't recognize you."
Still the planter didn't reply.
Cosmo hit him in the mouth. The planter's head struck the wall. He slid down to the floor, said groggily: "It doesn't matter. No sir. I won't need him any more. He's a Martian. His name's Natal."
Cosmo wasn't surprised. They'd found the Martian wandering apparently lost in the mountains. A sly fellow, always curious, always prying.
Cosmo turned to the telecast. He felt Mia's horrified eyes on him; the child-like stare of the Blue Venus. He switched on the telecast, signaled his headquarters in the Cloud Mountains. At the third attempt, he got through.
To his surprise, the inscrutable mien of the Mercurian runaway flashed on the visoscreen. His amber eyes twinkled, a smile split his Buddha-like face, and he bowed three times until Cosmo could only see the top of his head.
"I see you got through all right," said Cosmo dryly. A faint hiss seemed to be coming through the audio. He tried to tune it out, but the hiss persisted.
"Yes," said the Mercurian. "Delightful fellows. But blood-thirsty. You should hear the tales they've been telling." He shuddered.
"I've heard them," Cosmo interrupted. "Often. Where's Big Unse?"
"Playing truk with the men. I'm on duty at the telecast."
Cosmo frowned. The hissing noise was louder. He said: "I haven't time for you to call him. I'm at the Bemmelman plantation. I'm holding Bemmelman himself as a hostage. Tell Big Unse to bring the Ormoo. You follow in the surface plane with the men. Don't land. Hang in the clouds above the plantation until I whistle for the Ormoo. Oh yes. Be sure that Natal, the Martian, comes along. Got it?"
"Yes."
Cosmo flipped off the telecast, frowned. The hissing had not stopped. There was the faintest smell of roses in the air. He felt suddenly dizzy. Mia gave a small cry and crumpled to the floor.
"Paralysis gas!" he thought and wheeled toward Bemmelman, almost lost his balance as he did so.
The planter's head had dropped on his chest. He raised it groggily, leered with triumph at Cosmo. "Concealed tubes," he muttered. "Every room."
Cosmo swayed. He fumbled at his pocket. His hand emerged with the dart gun. He strained to elevate the gun, send a poisoned needle into the slave breeder. His muscles refused to obey him. The gun sagged. His knees sagged. Then slowly, he toppled sideways.
VII
Cosmo opened his eyes in the office with the glassite desk. He sat up. Chains rattled. He realized with chagrin that he was manacled hand and foot.
Bemmelman was on the sofa. A serf, directed by the slave girl, Llana, was working over him. Mia and the Blue Venus were stretched out on the floor beside him, still unconscious. Both of them were manacled. Two Blue giants watched incuriously.
In a moment, Bemmelman stirred. He sat up, swung his feet to the floor. His eyes lit on Cosmo. With a grunt he crossed the room, kicked the manacled man in the ribs.
Cosmo's face hardened, but he didn't say anything.
The planter swung on his servitors, barked: "Get out!" They left the room, all except Llana. He turned back to Cosmo, said: "I'm through playing around with you. Yes sir. Where's the Ormoo's feeding ground?"
Cosmo said nothing.
Bemmelman's face went purple. He kicked Cosmo viciously in the ribs. "Where's the feeding ground? Where is it? Where is it?"
Mia regained consciousness, sat up. She stared wide-eyed at the berserk planter.
Bemmelman glanced at her, paused. He rubbed his nose, a fiendish light shining in his pig-like eyes. He said in a sudden altered tone: "I'm still willing to bargain, Cosmo."
"What do you mean?"
"Either you reveal the location of the feeding grounds, or I hand Miss MacIver over to the Dawn Men. Yes sir, I'm anxious to repeat that experiment." He pointed to the Blue Venus who was just coming out from under the effects of the gas.
Cosmo's features were inscrutable. He asked: "What happens to Miss MacIver if I give you that information?"
"I'll release her in Venusport with her fare back to Earth. I'm holding personal notes on the MacIver plantation anyway."
"Notes?" echoed Mia blankly. "Father never mentioned any notes. I—I don't believe it!"
A veil dropped before Bemmelman's eyes. "I haven't told you before. I didn't like to so soon after your father's death. But I lent him considerable money. Yes sir, considerable."
Cosmo laughed without humor. "Up to your old tricks, eh Bemmelman?"
"What d'you mean?" The red-faced planter looked faintly rattled. He took a threatening step.
"You kick me again," said Cosmo, "and I'll kill you if I have to bite you to death."
Mia giggled nervously.
"Well?" said Bemmelman. "That's my proposition. Take it or leave it."
"What about me?" asked Cosmo.
"You're worth fifty thousand monad on the hoof, Cosmo. Yes sir. I'm going to turn you and your men over to the Security Patrol."
"Suppose I talk?"
"Talk?" Bemmelman threw back his head and roared. "Talk d'you say? Who'll believe anything the Renegade says?"
"A nice point," Cosmo conceded dryly. "But what about Mia?"
"Miss MacIver? What can she tell? Aren't you forgetting, Cosmo, that I rescued her from you. Yes sir. What's more, I've captured you, and I'm turning you over to the officials." His eyes twinkled. "Who's she going to tell, anyway?"
Cosmo's lean visage was unreadable. So that, he thought, was the line Bemmelman planned to take. Only Mia MacIver would never be released. He wondered if the planter really considered him such a fool. He said: "You don't give me much choice," and twisted to his feet. He hobbled to the desk, dropped awkwardly into the chair. "Give me pen and paper."
Bemmelman produced writing material, spread them before him.
"Here's the Cloud Mountains." Hindered by the manacles, Cosmo sketched a chain of hills, indicated north with a crude compass. He placed a dot halfway into the mountains, then laid off a line from the dot running diagonally into the most rugged sector. He shoved the paper across to Bemmelman. "The first dot's the Ormoo's nest. You know where it is?"
Bemmelman nodded, wrote "Ormoo's nest" on the map.
Cosmo closed his eyes, sighed faintly. "The mountains are impassable except by plane, and then its all blind flying. Rise to an altitude of four thousand meters. You'll clear any peaks that way. Starting at the Ormoo's nest, fly due North, Northwest for a distance of ninety-three kilometers." He paused.
Only the scrape of Bemmelman's pen could be heard as the planter wrote the directions on the bottom of the map.
"Drop straight into the valley," Cosmo went on as the pen scratching ceased. "It's narrow, a canyon. The floor of the valley is at an altitude of one thousand, seven hundred meters, so you'll be in clouds all the time. It's tricky navigating."
Bemmelman stopped writing, waved the paper dry. Then he folded it, put it away in the wall safe, behind the sliding panel. "This had better be right," he said ominously.
Cosmo, opening his eyes, said: "It's right. I've been there a dozen times. The first time the bird carried me there accidentally before he was well trained."
"Good." Bemmelman glanced at his watch. "Now Cosmo, we'll lay a trap for those men of yours. Yes sir. They should be along any minute. How many have you?"
"Nine." Again Cosmo emitted a faint sigh. "What do you want me to do?" He realized that Mia and Llana both were staring at him with distaste. Only the Blue Venus seemed untouched.
"You can't betray your men!" Mia burst out.
Cosmo's face hardened. He said, "Can you suggest a better way?"
"You're a sensible man, Cosmo, a sensible man." The planter rubbed his hands together triumphantly. He snapped on the intercommunicating telecast on the glassite desk, said into it: "Rabaul!"
"Right," came the voice from the audio.
"That was good work with the gas tubes, Rabaul."
"You can thank Llana," came the voice of the overseer from the audio. Cosmo recognized the sibilant accent of a Martian. "She gave the alarm."
Bemmelman grunted. "Take twenty Jovians," he said, "and a dozen serfs. Arm the serfs with Ray Rifles. Hide them about the roof. The Renegade's men will try to land shortly and I'd like to prepare a welcome for 'em."
"Right," came Rabaul's voice.
The planter switched off the telecast. He looked at Cosmo, smiled, said: "Whistle 'em down, Cosmo, that's all. My Jovians will take care of the rest."
"It's daylight," said the Blue Venus with an air of childish surprise. She was looking out the windows.
Cosmo was aware of the heat, all at once. It curled about him like a steaming towel. He looked at Mia. There were circles under her eyes. Her hair was tangled, her tunic in threads. "Poor kid," he said.
Bemmelman glanced at his watch. "Your men should be up in the clouds now, waiting? Eh, Cosmo?"
Cosmo said: "They'll be up there."
"We'll give them another hour," said Bemmelman, "to be on the safe side." He rang for a servant, ordered breakfast served in the office.
They picked at their food listlessly when it arrived. Bemmelman kept glancing at his watch. At length, he stood up, turned to the slave girl. "Call the Security Patrol, Llana."
Cosmo frowned, but said nothing.
"What should I tell them?" asked Llana snapping on the telecast.
"Get hold of the Commissioner. Tell him we've caught the Renegade." He chuckled amiably. "That should make him sit up. Yes sir. Tell him to get right out here, though, because the Renegade's men are trying to rescue him."
A girl's features, horsefaced, blonde, formed on the screen. "Venusport Security Patrol," she said.
"The Commissioner," said Llana. "This is the Bemmelman plantation calling."
The screen blanked out as the horsefaced girl switched to the Commissioner's office. In a moment, the fat face and shoulders of the Commissioner blotted out half the screen. His eyes were puffy. His jowls sagged. He looked as if he were suffering from a hangover.
"Well?" he asked.
"We've captured the Renegade."
"What?" His eyes snapped open.
"We've got the Renegade here at the plantation. But hurry! His men are trying to rescue him. Please hurry!"
"I'm on my way!"
The Commissioner leaped out of vision forgetting to shut off the telecast. They could hear his bull-like voice roaring orders. Llana snapped off the machine, turned indifferently to the windows.
Bemmelman chuckled, said, "Keep your eyes on Miss MacIver, Llana. Don't let Sofi go galavanting around either." He took the chains off Cosmo's ankles, but left his hands manacled. Next he went to his desk, took out a dart gun. He said, "Come along," to Cosmo and led the way into the corridor.
They didn't go through the trap this time, but up in the tower where a door gave directly onto the flat roof. Cosmo saw that the chamber just inside the door was jammed with naked blue giants and Venusian serfs.
A tall, black eyed Martian, foppishly dressed in spite of the heat came to meet them. He wrinkled his nose at the stale odor of sweat already thick in the room, picked his way through the men.
"I didn't deploy them on the roof," he said in the sibilant accent of the Red Planet, "because there's no cover. They'd be spotted at once. They can rush the Renegade's men through the door." He examined Cosmo curiously.
Bemmelman rubbed his hands together, said: "That's right, Rabaul. Yes sir, I'm glad you thought of that." He glanced through the door at the low swirling cloud mass, then turned back to Cosmo. "Get out on the roof. Whistle 'em down. No tricks, now."
Cosmo stepped through the door into the hot, dim daylight. He glanced aloft, put two fingers in his mouth, whistled loudly. He had trouble managing the cuffs, but he blew again and again.
His eyes swept the heavens, but no sign of bird or plane appeared through the veiling clouds.
"What's wrong?" called Bemmelman in a low nervous voice.
Cosmo shook his head. He put his fingers back in his mouth, whistled until he was red in the face. He might as well have whistled for a wind.
Bemmelman stamped out of the tower. He scoured the low roof of clouds, an ominous glitter in his pig-like eyes.
"Where are they?"
"You know as much about it as I do." Cosmo shrugged. "They're not there or they'd come down."
"If you're tricking me...."
"How the hell would I be tricking you?" Cosmo asked irritably. "You heard me give my orders over the telecast. They're not there, that's all. And I'm damn glad they're not!"
The planter continued to stare at him suspiciously. Cosmo could feel his plan hanging precariously in the balance, then Bemmelman said: "It doesn't matter, I suppose. They can be rounded up later. The Security Patrol will be here any moment." He shoved Cosmo ahead of him into the tower.
Cosmo let his breath escape evenly. He could feel little beads of sweat on his forehead.
The red-faced planter slipped the dart gun out of his pocket. "Rabaul," he ordered grumpily; "Get the men back to their quarters."
The Martian elevated his eyebrows, but Bemmelman vouchsafed no explanation. The planter watched his overseer herd the men down the stair, then turned to Cosmo as the last of the Jovians were disappearing. The dart gun dangled in his fist at his side. His eyes were mean.
"Get a move on," he said sharply.
"All right," said Cosmo. He was right beside the planter.
In that instant Bemmelman sensed danger. His eyes widened. He tried to whip up the dart gun. Then Cosmo's manacles smashed the planter along side the head.
It was a terrible blow. The red-faced slave breeder caved to the floor as if his bones had turned to jelly. For a moment, Cosmo thought he'd killed him. He stooped, found Bemmelman's pulse. It was weak but steady. Grim-lipped, he leaped back to the roof.
Cursing his manacles, Cosmo fumbled a whistle from his pocket. He wet his lips, blew. As the time he'd summoned the Ormoo to carry off Mia, the high shrill note was inaudible to human ears.
Bemmelman, Cosmo thought grimly, had been a bit too clever. The planter had heard him say whistle over the telecast. It hadn't occurred to him that the Ormoo might be trained only to notes in the higher register.
He glanced aloft. The cloud blanket began to boil suddenly. Then the Ormoo plummeted soundlessly to the roof. Big Unse, the blue star of the Fozoql caste tattooed on his yellow forehead, his face split by a grin, leaped silently from its back.
The bird stretched out its beak, rubbed it against Cosmo's leg.
"Quick!" said Big Unse. "On to the bird. We'll be spotted in a minute."
Cosmo shook his head, watching a surface plane nose cautiously down from the clouds. "There's a girl below stairs."
Big Unse scowled in disgust. "Why," he asked practically, "do you have to have that particular one?"
The surface plane came to rest lightly beside the Ormoo. The door was flung open and eight men piled out, weapons in their hands. There was no word spoken. Five were swarthy Venusian serfs. There was the yellow eyed Mercurian, bland, smiling unarmed. There was Natal, the traitorous Martian, and the blue Jovian.
"We're going to get a girl," said Big Unse.
Cosmo slapped the Ormoo on the side. It launched itself silently into the air. "The plane won't be noticed," he said; "but that bird would catch the eye of a dead man." He nodded toward the tower. Like wolves they followed him silently inside.
"The manacles." Cosmo's voice was low as he held out his arms. "Bemmelman has the key."
Big Unse dropped beside the unconscious planter. He dug out the key, unlocked Cosmo's wrists.
"Put them on Bemmelman," said Cosmo. As soon as the planter was securely cuffed, he said, "pick him up. Bring him along."
They crept down the stairs, fanned out like hunting dogs. Without appearing to do so, Cosmo kept Natal, the spy, under observation. They reached the corridor, started for the office. A serf came out of a bisecting passage. He saw them, drew back, tried to yell. Two of the Venusians were on him like tigers. They clamped a hand over his mouth, held him so that he couldn't wriggle.
Cosmo said, "Bring him along too."
Big Unse put his face down close to the serf's, said, "Don't cry out, or by the star on my forehead, I'll skin you alive."
The serf's eyes rolled. He nodded vigorously trying to convey his absolute willingness to cooperate.
There was a faint amused gleam in Cosmo's eyes. He paused before the office, then slid the panel back.
Mia and the Blue Venus, still manacled, stumbled to their feet. Llana, the slave woman jerked around from the windows, her jaw dropping. Then she bit her lip, glanced at the button on the glassite desk.
"Stay away from the desk, Llana," Cosmo admonished her. He stood aside, allowed his men to file into the office. They deposited Bemmelman on the sofa. Cosmo saw that Natal was safely inside, shut the door. At his nod, Big Unse unlocked both the girls.
Mia said: "But ... but...." Then a look of fright wiped away the relief on her wide gray eyes. "The Security Patrol! Cosmo, they'll be here any moment! Please Cosmo, don't let them catch you!"
The buzzer on the telecast began to sound.
"It's too late." Cosmo smiled grimly. "I've a hunch that's the Security Patrol now." He turned to the Terran slave girl, said: "Llana, string along with me, and I'll promise that both you and your daughter are provided with passage to Earth."
The telecast continued to buzz impatiently.
"My daughter!" The slave girl clapped her hand to her mouth. "You know."
"I've suspected," he corrected her. "There's a resemblance. So Sofi really is your daughter."
Mia looked from the Blue Venus to Llana in bewilderment. There didn't seem to be over five years difference in their ages. "It's ... it's impossible!" she blurted out.
The Blue Venus smiled enigmatically.
Cosmo said: "I thought, Llana, that Sofi was the hold Bemmelman had over you."
At mention of the planter's name Llana stiffened. "He'll kill Sofi if I betray him!"
Cosmo shook his head.
"You haven't any evidence against him," she insisted. "Even if you had, they wouldn't believe the Renegade."
"Exactly," said Cosmo. "Answer the telecast, Llana."
Her face set. She went to the audio, switched it on.
"The Security Patrol is here," came Rabaul's voice. "What shall I do with them?"
Llana glanced deadfaced at Cosmo, who said in an undertone: "Tell him to send the Commissioner here. Have his men served with refreshments."
She repeated the orders tonelessly into the telecast.
"Right," said Rabaul. The instrument went dead.
Cosmo went behind the glassite desk, sat down. He leveled his dart gun straight at Natal, the Martian.
"Natal," he said in a cold manner. "Bemmelman sold you down the river. He told me you were his spy."
The Martian blanched, but his black eyes were hard as marbles. "I should have guessed the pig would betray me."
"Get his gun, Big Unse," said Cosmo.
The Fozoql catfooted behind the Martian, relieved him of his weapon.
"Follow my lead," said Cosmo to Natal, concealing the dart gun up his sleeve. "Because, so help me, if you don't, you're a dead Martian."
Natal nodded, stiff faced but willing.
Bemmelman groaned, sat up. He regarded the scene in disbelief. Then his little pig eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything and Cosmo ignored him.
There was a knock on the door.
"That's the Commissioner," said Cosmo. "Let him in, Big Unse."
Mia looked wretched, frightened. "No," she said and bit her lip to stifle the rest of the protest.
Big Unse slid back the panel.
The fat commissioner waddled inside. He was even fatter than he appeared over the visoscreen. He bulged in his clothes like a sausage.
"Well, Hal," he began in a hearty voice, "you lucky dog. The fifty thou...." The words stuck in his throat. He stared at the hard faced green eyed man behind the desk, at Bemmelman in irons. He revolved slowly, taking in the silent men about the walls, the three girls. "Wh-what's this?" He sputtered, but there was a sick, frightened look in his eyes. "Where's the Renegade?"
"There he is, Commissioner," replied Cosmo dryly. "All done up in irons." He pointed at Bemmelman lying manacled on the sofa.
VIII
Bemmelman was the first to recover his voice. His neck swelled. He laughed hoarsely. "Nobody's fool enough to believe I'm the Renegade, Cosmo."
"You're crazy, young man," the Commissioner burst out as he caught his breath. "If this is a joke, it's in remarkably poor taste."
"It's no joke." Cosmo's eyes hardened.
"You lying rogue," Bemmelman shouted. "This has gone far enough. There's your Renegade, Commissioner."
"Keep him quiet, Big Unse," said Cosmo softly, "until I finish. He can talk his head off then."
Big Unse doubled his fist, shook it in Bemmelman's face. The planter subsided, but a cunning gleam winked in his little brown eyes.
The Commissioner drew a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at his forehead. He sank into a chair with a groan. "Talk fast, young man," he said. "And it had better be good." He eyed Cosmo with obvious distrust.
Cosmo took a moisture-proof cigarette case from his pocket, snapped it open. "I realize, Commissioner, this must be quite a shock. Bemmelman's been powerful in politics. He has allies in high places. But when they learn he's the Renegade, they'll be the first to disown him." He took a cigarette out of the case, eyed it critically, put it back. "Even rats," he added, glancing up at the Commissioner, "have sense enough to leave a sinking ship."
"Um," said the Commissioner. He looked discomfited, shot a sly glance at the manacled planter.
Bemmelman started to roar a protest, but Big Unse grinned, shook his hammer-like fist in his face.
"I'd better sketch in his background," said Cosmo judicially. "He was an organic chemist on Earth, but got involved in a forgery case. He next showed up smuggling Jovian primitives to Venus. The T.I.S. got on his trail, but they were never able to pin anything on him."
"How do you know all this?" the Commissioner asked.
"You don't need to take my word. It's all in the records. You can investigate them yourself."
"Um," said the Commissioner again and dabbed at his forehead. He purposefully avoided Bemmelman's eye.
Cosmo glanced at Mia who was regarding him in sheer amazement. He smiled at her, said: "Bemmelman figured it'd be safer to breed slaves here on Venus rather than run the risk of capture by the Empire's Patrol Spacers. But he found that land on Venus can't be bought except in rare cases." He paused, looked at the apoplectic slave breeder.
"Bemmelman murdered my father having first provided himself with forged notes to the plantation. You'll remember, he was mixed up with a forgery case on Earth."
"Wh-why," the Commissioner sputtered indignantly, "that's preposterous."
"Here are the notes." Cosmo pulled two packets of papers from his pocket, tossed them to the Commissioner's lap. "You'll find notes for old MacIver's plantation there, too. Bemmelman had decided to grab it off too."
The fat Commissioner examined them curiously.
"They're good," said Cosmo. "But it won't be too hard to prove they're forgeries."
The Commissioner rustled the papers. "But what's all this to do with the Renegade? I came out here to collar him, not rattle old bones."
Cosmo pointed his right hand lazily at Natal, the Martian spy. It was the arm with the dart gun up its sleeve. Natal blanched.
"Ask him," said Cosmo blandly. "He's one of the Renegade's men."
Everyone stared at the Martian.
"Well?" thundered the Commissioner.
"Natal wanted to quit. Bemmelman had tried to sell him out." Cosmo subtly reminded the Martian of the planter's treachery. "He came to me."
"Why to you?" the Commissioner wanted to know.
"He knew I was trying to prove Bemmelman murdered my father and mother and stole my plantation." Cosmo shrugged, added in a pointed tone. "I told him that if he would—ah—share his information with you, Commissioner, that the two of you could split the fifty thousand monad reward. I'd be satisfied with regaining my plantation."
The fat Commissioner's eyes shone with cupidity. He and the astounded Martian exchanged glances.
Bemmelman, who hadn't missed this by-play, roared and half flung himself from the sofa.
"He's trying to frame me!"
The Commissioner regarded Bemmelman with a frown. Then he turned away, asked in a changed voice: "Will Natal go on the witness stand?"
"Go ahead, Natal," said Cosmo.
Natal ran the tip of his tongue over his thin lips. He gave Bemmelman a venomous glance, said: "He's the Renegade all right. We holed up in the Cloud Mountains. Bemmelman gave us our orders, for the most part, over a special frequency radio phone. He never let anyone here on the plantation guess he was the Renegade. He played a dual role."
"A Jekyll and Hyde role," interposed Cosmo smoothly.
"Lies! Lies!" shouted Bemmelman.
The Commissioner ignored him, kept his eyes on Natal. "You can show us the hideout?"
"Certainly."
"What about the other men."
"They escaped," Cosmo interposed, quickly.
"Um," said the Commissioner. He didn't appear anxious to pursue that line.
"Natal's not the only witness," said Cosmo. He pointed at Mia. "The Renegade kidnapped Miss MacIver. She tried to reach you by telecast."
"She did!" The Commissioner enthusiastically smacked his right fist in his left palm. "By heaven, she did! But when my men got there, he'd gotten away with her."
"I don't think she'll object to taking the witness stand either," said Cosmo in a thoughtful voice. "After all, Bemmelman murdered her father."
"No." Mia's voice was so low that the Commissioner had to bend forward to hear her. "No. I won't mind being a witness. Bemmelman kidnapped me."
"I didn't kidnap her. I rescued her from the Renegade." The sweat was pouring from the planter's forehead.
The girl's head jerked up. She said in a ringing voice, "Then how do you explain this?" and exposed the brand on her shoulder.
The Commissioner's eyes started from their sockets.
"You might call the head overseer and check on Bemmelman's movements," suggested Cosmo.
The Commissioner nodded.
Llana switched on the telecast. "Rabaul," she said, "the Commissioner wants you in the office."
"Right," came the voice of the Martian.
"There's the safe, too," said Cosmo.
The Commissioner heaved himself from his chair, waddled across to Bemmelman.
"What's the combination, Hal?"
The planter's little eyes were bloodshot. Obscenity burst from his mouth.
A laugh rumbled up from the Commissioner's belly, shook all three of his chins. "You're done for, Hal. What's the combination?"
Grudgingly Bemmelman told him. "But you won't find anything there," he added vindictively. "I'm going to sink you."
Cosmo opened the safe, waved the Commissioner forward to investigate.
"Um," said the Commissioner in disappointment, leafing through the papers. "Maybe we can dig something incriminating out of this mess. I don't know. Hey! What's this?" He held up the paper upon which Bemmelman had written the directions for reaching the Ormoo's feeding ground. "Looks like a map!"
"It is a map," replied Cosmo grimly. "I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't the location of the loot from the plantations Bemmelman's men have raided."
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," snapped the excited Commissioner.
The Martian overseer stalked into the office, glanced about him in surprise.
"Tell these fools I'm not the Renegade!" Bemmelman roared.
Rabaul regarded his employer blankly. "You're certainly not the Renegade so far as I know."
"Of course not," interrupted the Commissioner. "We don't expect you to be able to identify him. We only want to ask you a few questions."
The Martian pursed his lips, shrugged. "Anything I know, Commissioner."
"Where was Bemmelman yesterday morning?"
"I don't know." The Martian overseer looked surprised. "He left in his surface plane in the direction of the MacIver plantation."
"Alone?"
Rabaul nodded.
"Um. Has he ever received messages from the Cloud Mountains? Radio calls?"
"Yes," admitted Rabaul grudgingly. "Though I can't tell you what they're about. I've instructions to call him immediately when the call signals come through. He takes them personally."
"Have you ever known him to make trips into the mountains?"
Again the Martian nodded. "Yes. He's made expeditions into them after botanical specimens, I believe."
"We got him!" said the Commissioner and Cosmo could see him counting his half of the reward. "That map is the most damning evidence of all. It's in his handwriting, isn't it?"
"You can have it checked," said Cosmo complacently. "But there's one thing more."
"Eh?"
"Motive."
Cosmo's face hardened. "Slaves aren't cattle. After Bemmelman started his slave farm he couldn't expect profits for eighteen years. He needed money, lots of money to carry on certain experiments. He was an organic chemist. He believed it possible to force humans the same way a gardener forces plants. An aging process isn't a new idea, but it took Bemmelman to find a commercial use for it."
"It fits like a glove," said the Commissioner, "but how do you know about the experiment?"
"I can tell you about the experiments," interposed Llana suddenly.
Everyone stared at her.
She bit her lip. "I'm a Terran. He—he kidnapped me, mated me with a Dawn Man as an experiment. Sofi is my daughter."
"Not a bad experiment," said the Commissioner admiringly. His eyes ran over the Blue Venus.
"That was only the beginning!" said Llana. "I found out he's got a laboratory below stairs where he's constantly experimenting with the slave children. He's obsessed with the scheme of maturing the children quicker so that he can reap faster profits. Bemmelman is a monster."
"Go on," said the Commissioner eagerly.
"He—he succeeded at last."
"What do you mean?"
Llana pointed at the Blue Venus. "Sofi," she said in a low voice. "Sofi is only seven years old!"
Absolute silence gripped the room.
"You'll swear to that?" asked the Commissioner at length.
"Of course. Half the serfs in the house know her age anyway."
"We've got him," cried the Commissioner jubilantly. "We've got him dead to rights."
"It's a frame up," shouted Bemmelman in despair. "A dirty frame up, I tell you."
Cosmo regarded the planter with opaque green eyes. "Save your breath, Bemmelman," he counseled him dryly. "No one's going to believe the Renegade—remember?"
From the flat roof of the manor house, Cosmo and Mia watched the Security Patrol planes take off one by one for Venusport. The head overseer was to take charge of the plantation until the courts confirmed Cosmo's claims. Llana and Sofi planned to visit Earth after Bemmelman's trial.
Cosmo had taken Big Unse aside, sent him off secretly with the men to destroy any evidence in their hideout. They were to return to the plantation. "I want the lot of you under my eyes," Cosmo had explained with a grin, "where you won't be tempted to raid my plantation."
As the last of the Patrol Planes rose from the roof, Cosmo turned to Mia. "That's finis for the Renegade!"
"Bemmelman isn't the Renegade, really?" said Mia, half in doubt. "Is he?"
"Maybe nottheRenegade," grinned Cosmo, "but he's certainly a renegade."
Mia gulped suddenly, said, "The map! Good heavens! What will the Commissioner do when he doesn't find anything but bird food?"
"Bird food, the devil," Cosmo said dryly. "I haven't the remotest idea where the Ormoos feed. That map will lead him straight to the spot where I've hidden every stick of loot I've—ah—accumulated." He pulled the Ormoo's whistle from his pocket.
Mia eyed it in alarm. "What are you going to do?"
"Take you to Venusport." He blew twice on the whistle. "We're going before the registrar today!"
"But Cosmo. Not on that—that monstrosity. I refuse to do it. I won't go." There was a disturbance in the cloud blanket directly overhead. A huge gray shape plunged Venusward. "Besides," she added in haste; "I can't go to Venusport like this—can I?"
"We'll stop by your plantation, spruce up a bit."
The Ormoo lit with a thud. It gave a pleased raucous squawk, eyed them with amiable red-brown eyes.
"Oh well," said Mia between her teeth. "I might as well get used to traveling on the darn thing, I suppose."