"What am I offered?" began the auctioneer. "A little scrawny but sound and with a heart of gold."
The free booters cackled.
"A hundred notes," said the representative of the Dohlmites dryly. He was seated on the platform with the auctioneer.
"A hundred notes. I'm offered a hundred notes. Who'll say a hundred and ten—A hundred and five? Going for a hundred notes. Going. Going. Gone!" He cracked his gavel down. Dr. Pequod was led back into the wings.
The next three passengers were purchased by the agent of the Dohlmites for the standard one hundred notes. There was some lively bidding for the ex-chef of theJupiter, who was finally knocked down to a big-bellied pirate. He hauled his prize off with triumph.
Then Norman's heart jumped. The sixth passenger to be led to the block was Jennifer. She was barefooted, the metal band gleaming about her naked ankle. A cape had been thrown about her erect shoulders.
The sixth slave to be led to the auction block was Jennifer.
The sixth slave to be led to the auction block was Jennifer.
The sixth slave to be led to the auction block was Jennifer.
The auctioneer lifted it off. There was nothing but girl underneath.
"Two hundred notes," a voice shouted from Norman's elbow.
Norman swung about, recognized Vermeer, the Venusian Export Lines agent.
"Hello," said Vermeer, "I see you've joined us."
Norman nodded shortly. "So it was you who killed the T.I.S. agent. I suspected it all along."
Vermeer merely smiled. The auctioneer cried, "Two hundred notes. Two hundred and ten," as another man bid. "Twenty. Twenty. Thirty." The bidding was growing lively.
"Three hundred," said Vermeer.
"Three hundred and five," Norman echoed.
"Five hundred," said Vermeer without blinking an eye.
Realizing that the two men were bidding against each other the rest dropped out. The audience seemed to settle back in expectancy. Men had been known to pay the complete prize money of a venture for a girl.
"Five hundred and five," Norman said in a determined voice.
"Really," said Vermeer; "you're wasting your time. I intend to have that girl. From one venture you can't possibly have enough money to outbid me. One thousand notes," he addressed the auctioneer.
"A thousand notes, I'm offered," chanted the auctioneer.
"A thousand notes. Do I hear more?"
Norman bit his lip. It was only too true that Vermeer could outbid him. With a sudden grim determination he balled his fist, walloped Vermeer in the temple. All his indignation was behind that blow, all the bone and gristle of six-foot-two of lecturer on Ancient History. Vermeer went down and out like a pole axed steer.
"One thousand and one," shouted Norman triumphantly.
For a moment a hush gripped the audience, then the men roared with laughter. No one liked the Venusian Export Lines men, the pet of the Dohlmites.
"Going," chanted the auctioneer, "going. Gone! To the impetuous gentleman with the good right fist!"
For the life of him, Norman couldn't help swaggering a little as he went up to claim the girl.
The auctioneer tossed Jennifer her cape. She snatched it closely about herself, leaped down from the platform.
Norman counted out the bills. Jennifer, without glancing at her purchaser, walked swiftly ahead of him through the throng.
A pirate reached out, clapped him on the shoulder. "She's worth it," he chortled. "She's worth it." But Norman was being beset by doubts. He hadn't liked the steely glint in the girl's blue eyes. It foreboded trouble. Koal joined them chuckling, as they left the market place.
Once outside Jennifer stopped, swung on Norman. "All right," she said in a suppressed voice. "You've bought me. But you'll regret it as long as you live, you, you—renegade!"
Her tone brought him up short. "Of all the ungrateful wenches," he flared; "you are the prize. I joined the Dohlmites with the express purpose of rescuing you. I plank down one thousand notes cash to save you from what in the old days was considered a fate worse than death."
The girl's features registered surprise, incredulity, contrition. She started to say, "I didn't know," but Norman was thoroughly wound up.
"Of course, I realize that view is no longer entertained by the best informed people, but if you are so anxious for Vermeer to buy you, I'll go throw a bucket of water in his face and present you to him with my compliments."
Indignation swept away all other emotions from the girl's features. "I think you're horrible," she said and turned her back on him.
Koal suddenly shouted, "Look out, Norman!"
The young man swung around, saw Vermeer boring down on him. The agent had a poisoned needle gun in his hand. His temple was swollen, his eyes furious. Scarcely three steps away he swung the needle gun up.
Norman heard the weaponplopsoftly. At the same instant something swished between him and the murderous dart gun. Jennifer, he realized, had pulled the cloak from her bare shoulders, flung it between them.
He snatched the cloak, flipped it over Vermeer's head and shoulders. His rush bowled the man over backwards. The dart gun dropped to the pavement. Norman snatched it up just as Vermeer flung the cloak off his head, sprang to his feet.
"Kill him!" shouted Koal. "Quick!"
Vermeer's face blanched. He turned, began to run back toward the slave market, bent over, zig-zagging wildly.
Norman brought the dart gun up, then let it fall helplessly at his side.
"I can't do it," he said.
He picked up the cloak, started to return it to Jennifer. His eye lit on a slender, three-cornered needle stuck halfway through the heavy material. He pulled the poisoned dart out. One scratch from that deadly missile would have killed him. The girl's instinctive action had saved his life. He felt weak.
"I'm sorry for what I said, Jennifer."
"For heaven's sake," she cried; "apologize later, if you must, but give me back my cloak now."
VII
Once back in his apartment, Norman flung himself down in a chair. They had stopped on the way home in an establishment which sold the short tunics proscribed by law for all female slaves and Norman purchased the girl a complete outfit. She had chosen one of the smaller bedrooms and was putting her things away now. Koal was lounging on the couch.
"Koal," began Norman, "I've an idea and I'd like your opinion."
"Go ahead," replied the Martian with a chuckle. "You really want me to agree with you. But if it has to do with escaping, I warn you, I shall be disagreeable."
Norman grinned, said, "Koal, twentieth century Eire was under the British crown, but for a long time an underground army had fought the English Black and Tans. Around Nineteen-twenty they threw off the English yoke. That party of liberation was known as the Sinn Feiners."
Jennifer wandered back in the room in time to hear the last of Norman's words. She sat down, listened.
"So?" said Koal.
"So," said Norman. "I think that if a little group of patriots like the Sinn Feiners could throw off the yoke of the British Empire, we should be able to turn the tables on the Dohlmites."
"I've seen rebellions before," began Koal stonily.
"I know. But Koal, I'm not proposing any premature mutiny. I do believe, though, we should band together secretly. If any opportunity for escape presents itself, we'll be ready for it; not just a disunited group of clans snapping at each other's throats."
The Martian appeared to waver.
"Koal," Norman went on urgently. "Only one thing stands between us and freedom. The death broadcasting machine."
"Yes, just that—and a force wall impossible to penetrate."
"What maintains the force wall?" asked Norman.
The Martian shook his head.
"Suppose we succeed in neutralizing it. We'd have a picked body of men to rush the Dohlmite station, destroy the cylinders."
Koal scratched his head speculatively. He said, "The men would have to be carefully chosen. It would be suicide should any word of the society leak to the Dohlmites." He rose, frowned. "Wait a moment," he said and hurried from the apartment.
"Norman," breathed Jennifer. "Do you think there's any chance?"
"I don't know," he replied, a worried expression on his gaunt features; "but if I can persuade the men to unite there's hope." He ran his fingers through his crisp blond hair. "It's more than that, too. We'll be the only force standing between the Dohlmites and the Empire. Somehow we've got to destroy them before they destroy us."
The door opened, readmitting Koal attended by a tall, lean, yellow Venusian. The blue star of the killer cast was tattooed on his forehead. A Fozoql! Norman was only vaguely familiar with the caste of mercenaries and assassins. They had the reputation of being loyal and ferocious and were in high demand by the constantly warring factions on Venus.
"Norman," said Koal, "this is Acpsahme. He and his brother with their wives were migrating to Ganymede when they were captured. His brother was killed by the broadcast machine while trying to escape. His wife was sold in the slave market to a renegade Earthman. I think I can vouch for his silence. Explain what you just told me."
Norman shook hands, launched into a passionate appeal for union among the men. Acpsahme's green eyes glowed.
"Good," he said from time to time, "good. But there must not be too many, and those must be carefully chosen. The success of the enterprise depends on secrecy."
Koal leaped to his feet, his broad pale brow furrowed. He strode back and forth across the thick carpet. "At nineteen-hundred," he said, "I am going to give a party in my quarters. A small, select party. Only the men I know best will be invited. Gentlemen, we'll bring the Sinn Fein Society back to life."
When they had gone, Jennifer looked across at Norman mistily. "You know," she said in a tender voice, "you really are rather wonderful."
It was an oddly assorted group who attended Koal's party at nineteen-hundred. Of the thirteen men present, there were renegade Earthmen, outcasts of the Empire, mad dogs feared from Pluto to Mercury. Another had been a T.I.S. agent before his capture. Pepperell was the name which Koal gave when he introduced him to Norman. Pepperell was a bland-faced, heavy-set Earthman with a gullible smile and a chunk of ice for a heart. The fifth had been a corporation lawyer. His noble brow and prematurely gray hair give him the benignity of a saint, but a thief, it had been whispered about on Earth during his remarkable career, had better ethics and a hungry tiger couldn't be half so rapacious. There were three Martians, urbane, pleasant-spoken, and a Venusian. The Venusian, an ex-dictator of a small state, had been fleeing from his irate people with the treasury, when he was captured. Norman, Koal, and Acpsahme made up the thirteen. Jennifer was the only woman present.
The men were gathered in animated groups, drinking, laughing.
"Gentlemen," began Koal, "may I have your attention. What you hear tonight must be held in the strictest confidence. If any word of this meeting reaches the Dohlmites, our lives are forfeit."
Pepperell, the T.I.S. agent, raised his eyebrows, said, "What do you propose to do? Release cut worms among the plant men?"
Jennifer grinned. No one else laughed.
"Thanks," said Pepperell to the girl. "I see we both have the same low sense of humor."
"This is serious," said Koal. "Norman, will you explain your plan to these gentlemen."
For the third time Norman delivered his impassioned appeal for union. "I know," he concluded, "that we haven't any definite means of attack, but how much greater is our chance of discovering one if we work together."
"But the danger of betrayal," protested Pepperell. "The more recruits to this underground army we gain, the more chances we run of admitting a traitor. No silly oath will hold some man from running to the Dohlmites in hopes of currying favor."
"True," agreed Acpsahme grimly. "But a committee of execution should be formed. A committee whose sole duty will be to track down and kill any informer. Gentlemen, this is no seminar fraternity. If I thought any of you were proposing to betray us, I'd shoot you down without a qualm." The blue star tattooed on his forehead lent authority to his quiet words.
"What powers the Dohlmite's force wall?" inquired Norman suddenly.
The men turned back to him, their eyes serious, intent.
"I've speculated about that," admitted Pepperell. "But no human is allowed within to learn."
"If it ever failed, and we were organized, we could rush the Dohlmites, capture the broadcast machine and destroy the cylinders."
"You forget the paralysis ray," observed one of the Martians quietly.
"There's a shield against the ray," Norman countered. "I saw one. Vermeer had one on when our ship was captured."
"A green suit," smiled the Martian. "But they are issued only to agents of the Venusian Export Lines."
"We can steal them."
A hungry look had come into the men's eyes as they recalled the past when they had been free in the Universe. Pepperell smashed his fist down hard on the buffet.
"I'm with you."
"And I." It was unanimous.
Jennifer squeezed Norman's hand ecstatically.
"A toast," proposed Koal, "to freedom."
The men lifted their glasses, drank. Then, with one accord, they shattered them on the floor in a very ancient custom, a custom which hadn't been observed in centuries. Norman's heart swelled at the significance of the gesture.
VIII
Immediately after the next sleeping period, Norman Saint Clair had Koal drive him into the shopping district where he purchased one of the surface cars. It had been agreed at the previous meeting of the new-born Sinn Fein Society that members should be introduced at small, apparently harmless parties. A list of possible recruits had been drawn up and Koal, after directing him to the library, left to set the machinery running.
The library was a large, well lit building with an imposing entrance hall. Norman searched the foyer, but could see no one. Apparently the library was deserted. He crossed the floor, peered over the counter.
There was a couch behind the counter and stretched at full length on the couch was a girl sound asleep. For a moment Norman continued to gaze at her in astonishment. Her blond hair spread out on the pillow like yellow gauze. She had on a rumpled green tunic, and her naked ankle bore the metal slave band. He coughed discreetly.
The girl sat up, stifled a yawn. "Hello," she said, regarding Norman with surprised interest. Her eyes were large and gray with black lashes.
"Excuse me, miss," he said doubtfully, "but are you the librarian?"
"My God," exclaimed the girl, "don't tell me you want a book!"
"Why, yes," he replied, uncertainty in his voice. "Isn't this the library?"
"It's the library, yes. But I've been in this vault for a month now, and you're the first person who's asked for a book. I'd rather be back at the factory."
"You used to work in a factory?"
The girl nodded. "Where they make the paralysis ray insulators."
"The green suits?" he ejaculated.
"Yes. They're green. Why?"
"No reason," he replied cautiously. "Do you have any volumes on botany, horticulture, plant growth, anything at all related to that subject?"
Her gray eyes opened wide. "How long have you been here?"
"Not very long."
"I thought not. Don't you know those subjects are on the index? They're forbidden. The Dohlmites destroy any such book no sooner than they get their hands on it. They even destroy anyone who has made a study of it."
He shook his head.
"I'm sorry," she replied, "but there isn't a paragraph on plant life in the library." Her gray eyes brightened. "What about me? You could take me out. I'm a hell of a sight more fun than those musty books."
He said with a grin, "Do you know anything about plant life?"
"No. But I could show you a thing or two about animal life."
He was tempted. She had worked in the factory where the green insulation suits were made. She might be able to give the Sinn Feiners valuable information.
"What time do you get off?"
"Now! Where are you going to take me?"
"But the library," he expostulated.
"Bother the library," she laughed. "No one's used it yet." She jumped to a sitting position on the counter, swung her legs across, slid off on his side.
"There. The library's closed for the day."
"What did you do before your capture?"
"I was on the triangle."
He frowned in perplexity. "On the triangle? It sounds uncomfortable."
"Sure. The triangle. Mars, Venus, Earth. Ninety gorgeous gals." She clasped her hands behind her head, rolled her hips.
"Oh," he said, comprehending at last. "You were on the stage."
"The stage?" she laughed. "It does sound more dignified that way. I was in the chorus. Man, what I wouldn't give for a glimpse of the Gay White Way or the Street of Sighs."
Impulsively, Norman decided to trust her. He said, "We're going to steal a green suit."
"A green suit?" She raised her eyebrows. "What do you want with a green suit? You look much nicer in the outfit you have on."
"A paralysis ray insulating suit," he explained.
"What!" She clapped her hands to her mouth.
"You said you'd worked in the factory. Do you know where they're stored?"
She bit her lip. "Yes, in the warehouse behind the plant. But why do you want one? Don't you know escape's impossible?"
"Improbable," he corrected.
"I knew it. I knew it when you wanted to see the books on botany. Take me along. I won't ask any questions. Take me along, please."
"We're not ready yet," he replied.
"But you'll take me?" Her gray eyes were pleading.
He nodded, said, "The green suit first, though."
She drew in her breath, "All right, handsome, I'm your woman."
At the door to his car Norman paused, said, "I don't even know your name."
"Call me the Duchess," she laughed.
"I'm Saint Clair, Norman Saint Clair."
Norman got behind the wheel. The Duchess stimulated him. She was a little earthy perhaps, but clever. He wondered uncomfortably just how he would explain her to Jennifer, decided not to cross that bridge until he got there.
At the Duchess's direction, he parked the car in an alley behind the warehouse where the protective green suits were stored.
"This is it," said the girl.
Norman got out, surveyed the massive stone structure. The windows were barred like a jail. On the roof he could make out the edges of shrubbery.
"It looks like there's a roof garden up there," he commented.
"There is," replied the Duchess. "The quarters of the men who work for the Venusian Export Lines are on the top floors of the warehouse."
Norman frowned. "There doesn't seem to be any way in here. What about the front?"
"It's guarded night and day."
"What's that building?" He pointed to the structure adjacent to the warehouse. The two roofs were almost on a level.
"It's a slave barracks. That's where the women who work in the surrounding factories live."
"Do you think that we could slip to the roof without attracting too much attention?"
All about them they could hear the hum of machinery, the pulsing life of the factory district.
The Duchess shrugged her shoulders. "They work in shifts. The factories never close down. This is as good a time as any."
He crossed to the slave barracks, tried the rear door. It was unlocked. Cautiously, he pulled it open. A long hall like a hotel corridor with a stair well at the far end stretched before him. The slave barracks were not equipped with lifts. The hall was empty.
"Come on," he said, and slipped inside.
They reached the stairs, crept up to the second floor. Again the corridor was empty and they continued their ascent. At the fourth stage, however, Norman halted, his eyes on a level with the floor. Two women were gossiping not a dozen feet away.
"Go on," hissed the Duchess desperately. "There's someone coming up the steps behind us!"
Norman heard the clatter of footsteps below them. He hadn't time to hesitate, but leaped up the steps three at a time.
"Eeeek!" a startled shriek escaped one of the women. "Wasn't that a man, Cheryl?"
"Yes! Yes, it was," replied the one addressed as Cheryl, "with a girl chasing him like mad, the hussy!"
"What would a man be doing in here?"
"Now what do you think a man would be doing in the female slave barracks?"
The excited chatter of feminine tongues all wagging at once overtook the pair as they raced upward. Norman's heart sank like a stone. The way was closed behind them. Unexpectedly, he popped out on the roof, paused to catch his breath.
"Go on!" panted the Duchess. "Go on, for heaven's sake! The party on the stairs below us. I caught a glimpse of them. They were plant men!"
"Plant men!"
"Yes! Yes! They must have been inspecting the barracks. Hurry!"
Norman cast a glance at the exquisitely landscaped roof gardens atop the warehouse next door. The gap appeared wider than it had from the street. Furthermore, the top of the warehouse was much lower, a wall surrounding the garden having given it the appearance of being the same height as the slave barracks.
An ominous mutter like the sound of a disturbed hornet's nest ascended the stair well. Norman cast caution to the wind, sprinted across the flat roof, launched himself into space.
He cleared the top of the wall by inches, glanced downward. A man lay sunning himself directly beneath. The man had on trunks. He lay on his back and his dark sun glasses gave him a goggle-eyed appearance. He started to yell and sit up.
Norman landed with both feet in the pit of the man's stomach. There was an explosiveooofas Norman sprawled forward on the roof. Then the Duchess sailed over the wall, lit full on the sun-bather, tumbled head over heels, arms and legs flying.
Norman got to his hands and knees, surveyed their victim in consternation. The man was unconscious.
"I hope he's not dead."
"You better hope he is," said the Duchess, sitting up.
He felt the man's pulse. It throbbed feebly.
"What'll we do with him?"
"Toss him over the edge," suggested the girl.
"We can't do that!" protested Norman in horror. "We'll bring him along. Maybe we can find some place to lock him up." He took hold of the man, heaved, grunted, got him over his shoulder. "There's the elevator house, beyond that rock garden," he panted, staggering toward it.
They reached the elevator. It was an automatic lift, he saw. The indicator showed that the cage was on the floor below them. He was about to press the button when the Duchess's eyes widened. The needle on the indicator was slowly revolving around the dial.
"Someone's coming up," gasped Norman. Feverishly, he heaved the unconscious man behind a bush. The Duchess dived around the corner of the elevator house as Norman plucked a stone the size of his head from the rock garden, crouched behind a dwarf fir beside the doors.
The doors slid back. A man in civilian clothes stepped onto the roof.
"Bauer," he called. "Hey, Bauer."
Norman hit him over the head with the stone. The man crumpled.
The Duchess peered around the edge of the elevator house, stepped out. "You're getting quite a collection."
Norman looked worried. He hauled the sun-bather from behind the bush and stacked both of them inside the elevator. "Come on."
The Duchess shrugged her shoulders, stepped into the elevator.
"Where are the suits?" he asked.
"Basement."
He pressed the button. The car shot downward.
"Did you kill this one?" asked the Duchess hopefully.
He shook his head. "I don't think so."
The car stopped suddenly, the doors slid back. Norman stared out at a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged room which stretched off into shadows on either hand. It was full of bales, boxes and dust.
He dragged the bodies out, stretched them side by side on the floor.
"Where are the suits?"
"Any of those cases."
Feverishly, he broke one open, pulled out the familiar green suit with helmet, gloves, and boots attached.
"Now that you've got it," said the Duchess, "have you figured how you're going to get out with it? We've got as much chance of returning the way we came as of burrowing through the walls. That slave barracks won't quiet down for a week."
He appeared crestfallen, then his eyes lit on his latest victim. He brightened. "Aren't the only men in Behrl who wear civilian clothes agents of the Venusian Export Lines, and didn't you say they had their headquarters upstairs?"
The Duchess nodded.
He began to strip the clothes from their second victim.
"We'll walk out the front door," he said grimly.
"You're a resourceful rogue," the Duchess admitted with admiration.
In a matter of minutes, he had changed clothes. Hastily, he bundled up the green suit, wrapped it in a piece of packing paper. "Let's get out of here."
"What about these?" The Duchess indicated the bodies on the floor.
"Leave them there. They don't know what hit them."
They re-entered the lift, got off on the street floor. Six guards were loafing in the foyer. One of them winked when he saw the slave girl demurely following the young man out of the elevator.
Norman swallowed, walked out into the blessed sunlight. No one tried to stop him.
He didn't draw an easy breath until they were back in his car, the insulation suit tucked under the seat.
"Well," he said triumphantly as they sped from the alley onto a broad thoroughfare, "that's one."
"One!" cried the Duchess. "You're not going to try to get any more?"
"We need hundreds," he assured her.
She stared at him in awe. "Hundreds!" Then she began to laugh. "Well, the Lord helps those who help themselves."
They drove along for a few minutes in silence.
"Listen," said the Duchess suddenly. "You need more insulation suits. I know how they can be obtained."
"How?"
"I know the people who work in the factory. There are a few I can trust. If anyone could slip out the green suits, they could."
Norman was jubilant. "Great," he ejaculated.
"But you'll have to buy me."
"Buy you?" he echoed.
"Yes," said the Duchess. "If I have to stay at that library another day, I'll die. Besides, I need more freedom to contact the workers."
She saw him wavering, put her hand over his on the wheel. "It gets so lonesome in that library."
"All right," he agreed.
The Duchess threw her arms about him. "You're a dear," she squealed.
Jennifer, he thought unhappily, wasn't going to like this at all.
The transaction proved as simple as the Duchess had forecast. For the ridiculous sum of fifty notes plus the girl's original purchase price, the agent transferred her to Norman Saint Clair. He turned the car into the basement of the apartment, his latest venture in livestock on the seat beside him. He had been rather silent since leaving the agent. Not only must he explain the Duchess to Jennifer, he had to explain Jennifer to the Duchess.
He brought the car to a stop, said uneasily, "I forgot to tell you. I have...." He paused, started over again. "There is another girl in my apartment, too. She.... Well.... There are three bedrooms. I don't think we'll be too crowded. Do you?" He mopped his brow with his handkerchief.
The Duchess was regarding him, a steel-like glint in her gray eyes.
"Of all the deceitful, lecherous rogues it's been my misfortune to meet," she said, her tone low, gentle, "in a profession where rogues abound, you are the lowest."
"Now I say ..." he protested, but the Duchess swept his words aside.
"You wolf, bleating like a lamb. Oh, you're clever. I haven't a thing to reproach you with. You fixed it so it was I who asked you to buy me. But mark this, handsome, our association is going to be strictly business. You supply me with food and shelter; I supply the Sinn Feiners with green suits."
"But isn't that why I bought you?" he asked in perplexity.
"What?" said the Duchess, hauling herself up short.
"I mean, you didn't like the library, and you needed more freedom any way to contact the factory workers. It looked to me like a sensible plan."
"Well, I'll be darned," said the Duchess.
"What?" he asked.
"I apologize." She held out her hand. He took it gratefully. "If you like," she said, "you can give me a good swift kick."
They went up in the lift. When they entered the apartment, they found Koal talking to Jennifer. He introduced the Duchess.
"I bought her from the Dohlmites," he blurted out. "She's to have the spare room."
Koal regarded the Duchess with admiration, made a clucking sound. Norman reddened.
"What are you doing?" asked Jennifer sweetly. "Starting a harem?"
"Won't it be cozy," interposed the Duchess coolly, "twenty-nine or thirty of us scampering about the apartment."
"What?" said Jennifer.
"Well, you know what the collecting instinct's like."
Norman hastily unwrapped the green suit, related their adventures. The Duchess, he explained, had promised to help procure more of them.
Although Jennifer still seemed skeptical, the Martian's expression changed. He looked at the Duchess thoughtfully. "You can supply us with more of these?"
"Yes. There's a girl who works in the factory. We played the triangle together. Her name's Marcia. We were booked for a run on Ganymede when we were captured. If anyone can slip out the green suits, she can."
The Martian nodded. "We'll have a car waiting behind the factory." He turned suddenly upon Norman. "I've got bad news," he said.
Norman felt his heart sink.
"What is it?"
"The Dohlmites are preparing to attack Ganymede."
"Ganymede!" ejaculated Norman. "When?"
The Martian gestured palm up with his hands, shrugged. "We haven't been told yet. I imagine they're waiting until all the ships are back. It's the beginning of the end of the Empire, unless we can do something quick."
IX
During the next ten sleeping periods an epidemic of small parties broke out in the human colony. The Sinn Fein Society from its tiny spark had spread into a conflagration. Apartment F12 was rapidly being converted into an arsenal as the men hid rocket shells, ray rifles, dum-dums and dart guns in the basement. Furthermore, twelve bales of green insulation suits had been added to the one Norman and the Duchess had stolen.
The Duchess had made good her promise and a steady stream of suits was being slipped into the hands of the Sinn Feiners. She was ensconced in the third bedroom of Norman's apartment. Jennifer had not relented.
"When you add any more wenches to your collection," Jennifer replied, coolly skeptical, "quarter them with the Duchess. I absolutely refuse to share my room with any of your paramours."
Norman had returned from a meeting of the Sinn Feiners where he had learned that most of the ships were back already and were being refitted for the attack on Ganymede. Time pressed. He said:
"Jennifer, I'm going to drive out into the country to try to get a line on the vegetation. I came back to the apartment to ask you to come along."
"No," she said perversely. "Why don't you ask Alicia?"
"Alicia?"
"Yes, Alicia, the elevator operator. She's been asking about you."
Norman's ire mounted. "Jennifer," he said wrathfully, "I've been exceptionally lenient."
"Lenient?" repeated the girl.
"That's right, lenient." He advanced on her threateningly. She backed off in consternation. "It's not uncommon for disobedient slaves to be given a sound thrashing, locked up on bread and water."
"You wouldn't dare." The girl compressed her lips.
"Now then," he went on, "are you coming with me peacefully or must I descend to force?"
She stamped her foot. "No!"
Norman grabbed her, slung her over his shoulder, started for the door.
"Put me down! Put me down!" she cried, kicking vigorously.
"Are you coming along quietly?"
"No!"
He carried her into the hall, made for the elevator, pressed the button.
"Norman," she pleaded in consternation. "Put me down before that elevator gets here."
"Are you coming quietly?"
"Yes. For heaven's sake, yes!"
He placed her on her feet. She brushed her black hair from her eyes, straightened her white tunic with a wriggle.
"Oh!" she said, "of all the indignities!" But the corners of her lips kept trying to break into a grin. "Would you really have hauled me to your car like that in front of everybody?"
"Yes," he replied seriously.
In spite of herself Jennifer burst into laughter. "You know, sometimes you're the most amazing rogue I've ever met. I can't stay angry at you for ten minutes."
The city of Behrl had been built around the enormous blow hole through which escaping gasses in some distant geological age had burst to the surface of Neptune. Beyond its outskirts lay a hilly country matted with undergrowth. The road kept getting worse and worse until finally it ended abruptly on the slope of a hill.
Norman brought the car to a stop. "End of the line," he said and hopped out. Jennifer followed him.
"Well," said Jennifer glancing at the weird vegetation about them. "Where do we start?"
"I don't know," he confessed. His eyes swept the country. A thick growth of small shrubs matted with creepers cloaked the hillside. The air smelled rich, hot, fertile.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "what's that?" He pointed to a bare spot a quarter of a mile away. It was several acres in extent. And even in the rosy sunlight it seemed to pulse with a phosphorescent light.
Jennifer shivered. "What makes the light?"
"Let's take a look at it," he suggested.
Norman in the lead, they began to force their way through the grotesque, waist-high jungle. The sun beat down hotly on their uncovered heads. He wiped the perspiration from his face, swatted vindictively at a small persistent insect.
Jennifer tripped on a thick purple creeper, muttered something under her breath which sounded like cursing. Norman grinned, plowed ahead. It took them almost half an hour to reach the edge of the bare spot.
"A landslide," he ejaculated.
The slide had gouged a deep gash in the loamy soil of the hillside. It was from this gash that the glow emanated. For yards on either side the vegetation was dead. He crossed the belt of dead plants, approached the gash. On the brink, he paused, shaded his eyes, backed off hastily.
"Stay away!" he cautioned the girl. "Don't look in there!"
"Why?" she cried, halting in her tracks.
"Radium! I'm not sure, but I think it's almost pure radium. Jennifer, do you realize? The landslide has uncovered a fortune. We're rich!"
She looked at him sadly. "What difference does it make?"
But his jubilation was not to be dampened. "We won't be here forever. Um-um!" He smacked his lips, almost danced. "Radium! We'd better get back a ways, we're too close to the stuff as it is."
They retreated to the edge of the stricken vegetation. Even here the plants were sickly, wilted. Half a dozen of them were coated with red, rust-like scales.
Jennifer suddenly grabbed his shoulder, shook him. "Come out of your daze, Midas," she laughed a little hysterically. "Look at the plants. They're dead. Don't you see. It's killed them. Wouldn't it kill the plant men, too."
But Norman shook his head. "They know as much if not more about radium than we do. It's dangerous, yes, but it's not a weapon." Suddenly he dropped to his knees beside a dwarf shrub. It was one of those covered with the red scales. "But, by Jupiter, this may be."
"What is it?" said the girl in a stifled voice.
"Blight!"
"What?" she asked in astonishment.
"Blight!" he repeated. "Don't you see? It's blight. Look." He pointed to the scabrous red scale attacking the shrub.
She shook her head in bewilderment.
"If the Dohlmites aren't blight resistant, Jennifer, this may be the weapon." His voice was hoarse with excitement, the radium forgotten. He said, "In the early days in America, blight attacked the chestnut trees. It wiped out every American chestnut from coast to coast."
"What about the other trees?" she asked, puzzled.
"Well," he admitted, "it didn't harm them."
"Maybe the plant men aren't susceptible to this disease, either."
"Maybe not, but it's a chance. It's the only chance that's presented itself, and we haven't much time left before the Dohlmites will order the attack on Ganymede." Tenderly, he dug up the infected plant, wrapped its roots in his handkerchief.
"What in the world are you doing?"
"I'm going to infect a Dohlmite with this blight!" he replied grimly.
Jennifer giggled.
"What's so funny?" he wanted to know.
"Blight! It does seem such an odd method of attack."
Once back in the apartment, Jennifer dived beneath a cold shower. Norman, though, went straight to the kitchen where he transplanted the infected plant into a saucepan and took it out on the balcony.
He heard the front door open and close with a loud bang. He started guiltily, thought who could that be? Should the Dohlmites discover the infected plant that he was nurturing on his balcony, the penalty would be swift and final. He dashed into the hall.
Jennifer's head stuck beyond her door revealing one bare wet shoulder. Her blue eyes were panicky. "Who is it?"
He shook his head, went into the living-room. With a sigh of relief, he recognized the Duchess.
"Norman, you're back!" cried the Duchess wildly. "I didn't know what I'd do if you weren't here."
The young man's reassurance evaporated. The Duchess's blond hair was disheveled. She was panting as if she'd been running.
"What's wrong?"
"We've been betrayed!" said the Duchess in a frightened voice.
X
"Betrayed!" echoed Norman.
The Duchess nodded. Her gray eyes were enormous. "I've been expecting to keel over on the street all the way home!"
"Who? How?"
"One of your precious Earth men. Hops, he's called." She paused, said, "I feel kind of dizzy! My God! You don't suppose the Dohlmites are putting the finger on me, do you?"
"No. No, of course not. It's just shock. Sit down. Jennifer," he called, "make the Duchess some tea, coffee, anything hot."
"Tea, hell," said the Duchess sinking on the couch. "Bring me a shot of whiskey."
Jennifer had hastily slipped on her tunic. She brought a glass of whiskey from the kitchen. The Duchess drank it neat.
"Now, what happened?" pressed Norman.
"Marcia told me," began the Duchess. "She's the girl in the troop I told you about. The one who played the triangle with me and who's been slipping us the green suits."
"Yes, yes," he interrupted impatiently.
She said, "Vermeer and Del Solar were inspecting the factory."
"Vermeer," ejaculated Norman. "I know Vermeer. But who's Del Solar?"
"Del Solar's chief of the Venusian Export Lines. Vermeer's his assistant. They are the only two humans allowed beyond the force wall. They've charge of the factory, you know, and it isn't unusual for them to make an inspection, but Marcia was jittery. She was afraid they'd discover she'd been stealing the green suits.
"She hung around them trying to overhear what they were saying. She was listening when one of the guards approached Del Solar and told him there was a man outside to see him. 'Send him in,' says Del Solar. So the guard brought this Hops inside. When Marcia saw it was a fighting man and not an agent or a slave she sneaked behind a packing case where she could hear every word they said.
"'What do you want?' Del Solar asked. Hops told him he knew about a conspiracy. He wanted to give Del Solar the names of the leaders in exchange for a post in the Venusian Export Lines. He told a lot more too: about us stealing the insulation suits, how the Sinn Feiners have spread all over Behrl. Enough to convince Del Solar that it was a serious matter."
"But he hasn't our names yet?" Norman clutched at a straw.
The Duchess shook her head. "Not yet. Del Solar wanted them. But Hops is no fool. He wouldn't betray the names of the conspirators until he was guaranteed a post with the Export Company. No one is accepted in the company without the plant men's approval. That means Del Solar will have to see the Dohlmites first."
"Jennifer," commanded Norman, "get Koal. Tell him to bring Acpsahme."
The girl left, her blue eyes frightened.
"Go on," urged Norman. He was trying to place Hops, then he remembered. Hops had been one of the renegade Earth men present at the first meeting.
"Well, Del Solar asked him his name and where he lived. That's how Marcia knew who he was. He lives in G-seven, but she couldn't remember his apartment number. Then Del Solar said he'd meet Hops in the Earth man's apartment as soon as he'd seen the Dohlmites."
Jennifer burst into the room leading Koal and Acpsahme.
"What's this about a traitor?" cried the usually calm Martian.
"Tell them," commanded Norman.
The Duchess repeated her story.
"If we can reach Hops in time," Koal exploded, "we're not lost yet!"
"Whether we're in time or not," interposed Acpsahme in a flat voice, "we've business with Hops. Have you got your gun, Norman?"
The young man caught his breath. The meaning behind Acpsahme's words was only too clear.
"Yes," he faltered. He felt hollow inside. He wasn't frightened, just sick.
"Come on," said Acpsahme in that unemotional voice.
"Norman," said Jennifer in a frightened tone.
"Don't interfere," he heard the Duchess say. "This is man's work." Then he was outside in the corridor.
While waiting for the elevator, they met Pepperell, the ex-T.I.S. agent. Koal explained briefly what had occurred.
"Spread the word, Pepperell. If we're in time, this should discourage any ambition to sell us out among the others."
They went down in the lift, entered Koal's car, drove out into the blinding sunlight. We're going to kill a man, Norman thought. Little beads of sweat stood out on his temples. He saw the informer stretched lifeless on the floor, his blank eyes staring at him accusingly.
"Don't think about it," advised Koal, with that disconcerting ability to divine what was passing through Norman's mind.
They turned into the base of G7. Koal brought the car to a stop. A guard advanced to examine their papers. Norman recognized him as a Sinn Feiner. Acpsahme leaned forward, explained their errand.
The guard compressed his lips angrily. "Go ahead," he growled. "He's on H deck, apartment Four-o-eight."
They went up in the lift. On H deck they walked slowly along the hall until they came to room 408.
"Get your gun out," said Koal, and knocked.
There was a bitter taste in Norman's mouth. He felt sick at his stomach as he had when he'd seen the murdered T.I.S. agent aboard theJupiter.
The door opened.
Hops was framed in the entrance. He seemed to know instantly why the three grim-faced, silent men had come. His features went stiff with terror. He backed into the room. His mouth opened.
"All right," said Koal.
"No!" cried Hops.
Acpsahme's dart struck the informer in the neck.
"Search the room," commanded Koal, stepping across the informer's body.
They found a paper upon which Hops had been working. It contained the names of seventy-eight of the Sinn Feiners. Norman's name headed the list.
"A real distinction," observed the Martian dryly.
It was an honor that Norman didn't covet. They found nothing else of importance.
"Leave him lie," said Acpsahme. "I think we have been in time. The Dohlmites know there's a rebellion afoot, but they don't know who's concerned."
"This is one time," observed the Martian, "when what they don't know is going to hurt them."
They started out. At the door, Acpsahme stopped, yanked out his dart gun. Norman peering over his shoulders, saw a Dohlmite accompanied by a man in civilian clothes. They were scarcely a dozen steps down the corridor. The plant man's mask-like face gave no clue to what was passing through his mind. The Earth man, though, was plainly frightened.
"Del Solar," the Martian hissed, his voice sibilant. "He's come to get the names of the Sinn Feiners from Hops."
Del Solar spun around, began to run back down the hall. Again it was Acpsahme's dart which halted the man. Del Solar pitched forward on his face.
Koal fired three times at the plant man. Norman saw the darts strike the Dohlmite's chest, stick out like pins, but he didn't fall. The poisoned needles seemed to have no more effect on the plant man than they would have had on a tree. He, too, began to run.
"Quick," cried Acpsahme. "Don't let him escape."
Norman leaped in pursuit, tackled the fleeing plant man about the hips. They went down in a tangle. He saw a knife flash. It was withdrawn green and sticky. The Dohlmite quit struggling. Norman staggered to his feet.