Koal's blade flashed, cut into the Dohlmite's neck.
Koal's blade flashed, cut into the Dohlmite's neck.
Koal's blade flashed, cut into the Dohlmite's neck.
"Good work," said Koal. He was wiping his blade on the plant man's harness.
A thought struck Norman. His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to say, "I want the corpse of the Dohlmite."
"Why?" ejaculated the Martian.
Briefly, he revealed his discovery of the blight-sickened plant. "I want to infect this Dohlmite with the blight. There's a chance that when his fellows carry him into their city, the blight will spread."
"It's a gamble," said Koal thoughtfully. "But it's worth it."
"Leave Del Solar lie where he is then," put in Acpsahme. "We'll take the Dohlmite."
They dragged the corpse of the plant man to the elevator, dropped swiftly to the basement. Acpsahme called the guard.
"We've had to kill a plant man," he said quietly.
A look of terror passed across the guard's features. Involuntarily, he took a backward step.
"We're taking the body," Acpsahme went on in a low voice. "Hops and an agent of the Venusian Export Lines are still above. Dispose of them as you think best."
The guard nodded. They loaded the stringy frame of the plant man into their car, shot out into the rosy sunlight.
Norman felt dazed. Although he had not actually killed any of the three, he considered himself as guilty as if it had been his finger that pulled the trigger. He began to tremble. He felt as if he were going to be violently sick.
"Brace up," said Koal with that queer intuition. "It'll pass."
Acpsahme chuckled. "The first man I killed, I ran to my house and cried like a baby. I couldn't stop. I wanted them to bleach the tattoo off my forehead."
Somehow Norman felt better.
When they reached the basement of F12, they left Acpsahme to guard the body, ascended in the lift to Norman's apartment.
Jennifer and the Duchess met them at the door. Jennifer had been crying, Norman saw with satisfaction.
"Norman, Norman," the girl said and flew to his arms.
He patted her shoulder, disengaged himself gently. "We've still got work to do."
"We had to kill Del Solar and a plant man," Koal explained briefly. "The Dohlmites are going to be furious, but I don't think they will suspect us. Norman has an experiment he wants to try with the body of the Dohlmite."
The Duchess turned to him, astonished.
"The blight," he explained. "I'm going to try to infect the plant man with the blight. When the Dohlmites find his body and carry it into their city, I'm gambling on it spreading."
He retrieved the infected plant from the balcony. Even in that short time the shrub had visibly wilted. The blight had spread over twice its former area.
"It seems to be a virulent disease," observed the Martian.
They carried the infected plant to the basement. Norman dusted the corpse from head to foot with the rust-like scales. Anything touching the body would be bound to come in contact with them.
"All right," said Acpsahme, "let's take him out and get this over with."
A broad yellow line marked the zone beyond which it was death to stray. It was the first time Norman had been close to the force wall. He looked at it curiously.
A ribbon of some unfamiliar silver metal wound like the track of a mono rail around the base of the hill where the Dohlmites had their houses. There were no visible rays arising from the ribbon, no distortion of the atmosphere, nothing. It looked utterly harmless.
"I wonder what would happen if you broke the circuit," speculated Norman.
"It's impossible," replied Koal. "The zone of force protects the ribbon. Look." He threw a pebble toward the silver track of metal. While still a yard from the ribbon, the stone exploded like a hand grenade. It was as if the force radiating from the track had touched off the atoms of the pebble. Norman blinked his eyes involuntarily.
"How do the Dohlmites pass through?"
"There's a gate only a short distance from here where they can shut off a segment of the wall."
The buildings of the human colony, Norman noticed, were set well back from the yellow warning line, leaving a broad road which paralleled the silver track. There was no one in sight. It seemed to be a very unpopular neighborhood.
"Get him out," grunted Acpsahme. They tossed the body of the disease-infected Dohlmite to the road.
"The Trojan horse," thought Norman, remembering a tale from the dawn of history. He glanced back once as they sped away.
XI
Preparations for the invasion of Ganymede went forward during the next six sleeping periods. The Dohlmites had been unsuccessful in their investigation, and had withdrawn behind their force wall, transmitting their orders through the agents of the Venusian Export Lines.
Then the date of sailing was set. Norman received his orders to report aboard theRocketwithin twenty-four hours.
He paced back and forth across the living-room of his apartment. Even if the blight did sweep the Dohlmites, he thought, with the Sinn Feiners away on Ganymede they wouldn't be able to take advantage of their opportunity.
Jennifer entered from the bedroom, glanced at him worriedly, said, "Norman, relax or you'll have a nervous breakdown."
He flung himself on the couch. "If only we knew what's happening behind the force wall. The Dohlmites are taking this so queerly. I haven't seen one on the streets for days."
The buzzer announced someone at the door. He leaped to his feet, answered it anxiously. Koal came inside. There was a flicker of triumph in the Martian's eyes.
"The sailing," he announced, "has been indefinitely postponed!"
Norman sank on the couch, only to spring up again.
"Something's happened on the hill!"
Koal nodded his head. "That's what I think."
"We've got to know what it is," cried Norman. "If it's the blight, and it leaves only one plant man alive, he's still master of every one of us." He paused, bit his lip, said, "Koal, issue the green suits to a select force. Have them ready to storm the hill. I'm going to reconnoitre the force wall."
"Watch your step," the Martian cautioned. "This may be a trap." He turned on his heel, left the apartment.
"Norman," said Jennifer looking utterly miserable, "do be careful."
He kissed her, said, "I will," and started for the door. A heady excitement was pounding in his blood.
From the apartment he drove to the gate in the force wall.
Two parallel lines of yellow intersected the silver track at right angles and indicated the segment which could be shut off. Just within the wall he saw a small cage like a switchman's shack on a railroad. But the plant man who operated the gate was not there.
He frowned, swept the hill above with his eyes. Not a figure stirred on any of the airy balconies. Nothing moved in the streets. The city of the Dohlmites was a ghost town.
A feeling that he was being watched made his heart beat faster.
He caught his breath. For a moment he thought he had detected a faint movement in one of the doorways. Was this a trap after all? Minutes slipped past but the movement was not repeated. The high noon sun beat down on the empty street.
He got out of the car, walked cautiously toward the force wall, halted at the yellow stripe. It was maddening to be stopped by that intangible emanation from the silver track.
He started to turn away, paused, staring rigidly at the hill. A man was running blindly away down the curving road which led between the plant men's houses. Even at that distance, Norman could detect something peculiar about the man's flight. He would run several hundred yards, stumble, fall, drag himself to his feet and go on.
As he drew closer, Norman identified him as a plant man. He seemed to be making for the gate in the force wall. He reached the glassite shack, staggered inside. Norman could see him fumble weakly with the switch. The Dohlmite was shutting down the current at the gate.
Still with that strange intentness, the plant man lurched out again, stumbled, fell. He tried to rise, fell back. No flicker of emotion betrayed the terrible fear which must be driving him onward. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, began to crawl through the gate. He reached the silver ribbon, keeping in the center of the yellow lines. His eyes stared straight ahead. He wobbled across the force wall, kept on. Crawling on hands and knees, he passed within ten feet of Norman and didn't seem to see him.
Twenty yards beyond Norman his wobble became more pronounced, like a toy running down. Then he seemed to hesitate. His arms and legs suddenly gave way. He collapsed. This time he didn't try to rise, but lay still, lay still as death. Norman shuddered and looked away.
From head to heels the plant man was covered with the red, rust-like scales.
With a start Norman realized that the way into the city lay open before him. He drew his breath sharply, walked slowly between the parallel yellow lines. His nerves quivered as he stepped across the silver track. He was inside at last. He set out up the hill.
As Norman reached the first houses, the toll exacted by the scabrous red blight became apparent. It had swept the population on the hill like a plague. Plant men lay in the streets, on the balconies, in the houses, their bodies scaly with rust. It had even begun to spread to the festooned hanging gardens.
Crowning the apex of the hill was a tremendous structure pillared like the incredibly ancient Grecian temples of which a few pictures still survived. A feeling of elation seized him. This surely was the building which housed the death broadcasting machine. This was the end of his journey.
A voice behind him shouted, "Stop, Saint Clair!"
He spun around.
Vermeer was toiling up the hill behind him. The agent of the Venusian Export Lines had his dart gun drawn and levelled. He halted half a dozen steps from Norman. He said, "There's always a reckoning, Saint Clair."
Wildly, Norman speculated on his chance should he hurl himself at Vermeer in the face of the poisoned needles. He knew there was none.
"You've had a remarkable run of luck," Vermeer smiled. "But by the laws of chance, it was bound to turn."
Norman didn't reply. The explosion of a rocket shell suddenly rent the air, followed by the crackle of dum-dum fire. It ascended faintly unreal from the human colony below them.
"My men," Vermeer explained, "are attacking yours. But it doesn't matter who wins. The real contest is being decided up here between us two. It's rather like ancient times, with which you're so familiar, Saint Clair, when battles were decided between two champions. You see, I took the precaution to close the gate before I followed you."
Norman could feel the drag of his own dart gun at his waist, considered throwing himself to one side, snatching for his gun. Vermeer, he realized bitterly, had only to pull his trigger.
"I wonder," Vermeer went on, "if you realize the stakes we're playing for? The man who remains alive within the force wall can control the solar system." He laughed exultantly, drew a careful bead on Norman's chest.
He's going to fire, thought Norman. Even at that distance, he could see the knuckles of the agent's hand whiten as they contracted about the pommel of the dart gun.
A fantastic hope crystallized in his mind. Conception and action was simultaneous.
"Now!" Norman breathed, and fell as if dead.
He fell just a fraction of a second before Vermeer pulled the trigger. He heard the poisoned dart whistle over his shoulder, then he hit the street with a jarring thud and lay still. He daren't breathe, daren't flicker an eyelash.
It would never occur to Vermeer that he could have missed at twenty short paces. The very deadliness of the darts precluded any necessity of administering acoup de grace. Norman could hear the shuffle of Vermeer's approaching steps. Had the trick worked?
Vermeer's foot nudged him in the ribs.
Like the recoil of a spring, Norman grabbed the agent's ankles, threw his weight against Vermeer's knees. The man toppled backward. Norman swarmed on top of him.
Vermeer had been suspicious. He still retained the dart gun in his hand. Norman seized his wrist. They struggled fiercely, silently in the empty streets, their only audience the plant men covered with blight, full of the indifference of death.
With a surge of exultation Norman felt Vermeer's wrist weaken. He threw his weight on the weapon, bent it downward. His finger covered the trigger. He squeezed.
Vermeer shuttered and lay still.
Norman crouched backward off the dead agent to his feet. The sound of firing in the human colony was silent. Whatever the outcome of the battle had been, he realized, it was over.
What was it Vermeer had said? "The man who remains alive within the force wall can control the Solar System." He, Norman Saint Clair, who had set out from Earth to lecture on Ancient History in distant Ganymede, was as much master of the System at this moment as if the battle had already been fought.
He had no difficulty locating the death broadcasting machine. It was housed in a tremendous hall in the Dohlmite temple of science. It was a delicate affair of tubes and wires. The cylinders, he saw, were fed into it automatically so that it could broadcast its messages of death with machine gun rapidity.
He seized a chair, savagely smashed the machine into fragments. It was a weapon of enslavement. No good could come of it. At length, he paused. The cylinders and the force wall remained, but they could wait.
With a growing sense of triumph, he left the temple of science, retraced his steps down the hill between the silent houses.
While still half way to the gate, he made out hundreds of men crowded just beyond the force wall. As he drew closer he recognized Koal and Acpsahme in the front ranks. He went into the glassite shack, threw the switch that shut off the segment of the wall. He forced himself to walk across the silver track, say in a calm voice:
"The Dohlmites are dead, Koal. The machine is destroyed. We're free."
A savage cheer rang up from the men. Runners left to inform the rest of the city. Koal seized his hand, nearly wrung it off.
Acpsahme said, "The men of the Venusian Export Lines attacked us. They bit off more than they could chew."
"Pepperell? Where's Pepperell?" asked Norman.
"Here," replied the T.I.S. agent.
"Pepperell," said Norman. "Get in touch with the Terrestial Intelligence Service over the radio at once. You know their code. Tell them to send an accredited ambassador of the Earth Congress in the Empire's fastest space ship toward Neptune, but don't reveal our location. We'll contact the ship beyond the orbit of Jupiter. I want," he said with a sudden laugh, "to arrange a surprise for the ambassador."
XII
During the following days a bacchanalian orgy swept Behrl as former slaves and pirates went wild with freedom. It was the maddest spree in the history of the System. Only in the apartment of Norman Saint Clair did sanity hold forth.
There the nine remaining men of the original thirteen who had launched the Sinn Feiners, worked ceaselessly to bring order out of chaos. Hops, the traitor, was dead. Pepperell, in charge of a picked crew, had been despatched in theRocketto fetch the ambassador of the Earth Congress. Two of the Martians had been killed in the battle with the men of the Venusian Export Lines.
Many of the pirates and slaves would desire to remain, Norman thought. Here was a new world, a rich world with unguessed resources waiting for exploitation. But for those who wished to return, transportation to Earth had to be arranged.
At the present, the nine original members of the Sinn Feiners had assumed control of Behrl, but a permanent form of government also must be drawn up. The vast housing facilities and factories thrown open to the colonists demanded cooperative ownership, a communal government. With a sigh, Norman turned over his radium mines to the new state.
The nine men were seated about a long table which had been installed in his living-room. He said with a wry grin, "Gentlemen, I'm absolutely the only man in history to turn down mastery of the Solar System and then toss away a fortune on top of it."
The buzzer softly announced a visitor. Koal rose, admitted Pepperell, the ex-T.I.S. agent. The men crowded about him, firing questions. "Did he have the ambassador with him? Was there any trouble?"
Pepperell laughed, held up his hands.
"Give me a chance, gentlemen. Give me a chance. Yes, I've got the ambassador."
"Did everything go as planned?" asked Norman anxiously.
Pepperell nodded. "Yes. We contacted the Empire's ship. They had no suspicion that we were anywhere about until we caught them in the paralysis ray. We boarded them successfully, took the ambassador off. He was a very surprised ambassador when he woke up aboard theRocket—and a very thoughtful one."
"How much does he know?"
"He hasn't been told anything," said Pepperell.
The buzzer rang a second time.
"That must be him now." Pepperell went to the door.
The ambassador was in the corridor. He had been escorted to the apartment by a squad of men from theRocket.
"Gentlemen," Pepperell introduced him, "may I present Mustapha Tiflis, Ambassador of the Empire."
"Jupiter!" Norman breathed. The Earth Congress had sent their ablest member, the man who was slated to be the next Autocrat.
Norman seated him at the table. Mustapha Tiflis was an Earth man of Oriental origin. His hair and eyes were black, his nose strongly hooked. He appeared to be in his early fifties. His features bore an expression of guarded surprise. The surprise spread as Norman related briefly the origin of the terror and how they had finally destroyed the plant men. He said:
"Ambassador, we kidnapped you in the fashion we did for two reasons. First, until we have been granted citizenship, we prefer to keep our hiding place a secret. Second, we wanted to impress you with the effectiveness of the invisible ship and the paralysis ray."
"You succeeded," said Mustapha Tiflis.
"Now in regard to our citizenship, we wish to be taken into the Empire, not as a colony, but as a sovereign state with a seat in the Earth Congress."
Mustapha Tiflis frowned. "It's quite without precedent," he said. "As you know, all colonies are administered by a governor."
"But we are in a position to bargain," said Norman handing the ambassador the document which the nine had drawn up. "We have the secret of the invisible ships to offer the Empire, the paralysis ray and a world."
Mustapha Tiflis was an ambitious man and quick to recognize opportunity. In later years, he was to rise to a position of almost absolute dictatorship, and with the aid of the invisible ships and paralysis ray, bring Mars and Venus under the wings of the Empire. He read the document carefully, scrawled his signature at the bottom. "And now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind, just exactly where the hell am I?"
As the last of the Executive Committee trooped outside, Norman turned back into the apartment, saw Jennifer watching him from the doorway.
"It's finished," he said. He looked faintly embarrassed. "We've come a long way together, haven't we?"
The girl nodded, slipped into the room.
His embarrassment mounted. "I was hoping ..." he began. "This is a good world now that the plant men are dead. We...."
"Yes?" said Jennifer.
He drew his breath. "Would you...."
"Yes," said Jennifer and the next moment she was in his arms. "A good slave always obeys her master."
Suddenly the door to the apartment was flung violently open. The Duchess charged into the room.
"Where's that bag of mine?" she demanded excitedly. "There's a ship sailing for Earth at seventeen-hundred." She dashed for her room. "Broadway, here I come!"