"He lies!" interrupted the advisor, Malgro.
"He lies!" interrupted the advisor, Malgro.
"He lies!" interrupted the advisor, Malgro.
"Gently! Gently!" again soothed his fellow advisor. And the Lady Loala turned to him almost impatiently. "I must ask you to remember, Malgro, that I am Overlord of this city. If you cannot restrain yourself, I shall conduct this inquiry in private!" Then, to Steve: "Perhaps, Earthman, you chanced to hear on your journey somewhat concerning certain mythical creatures known as—the Slumberers?"
This time the warning bell within Steve brazened into strident tocsin. Though his face was an impassive mask, his brain was churning furiously. How to answer? To confess himself one of the Slumberers might, and probably would, mean instant death. But to deny all knowledge of that which must be a legend common to all earthlings....
Instinct guided him aright. He made a swift, pious gesture, said in an awed tone, "But of course all men know of the Slumberers, O Lady of Loveliness! They sleep the endless sleep in some unknown chamber...."
"That's not what we have heard!" snarled the restive Malgro. "We know very well the Slumberers—"
"Malgro!" The Lady Loala, who had looked even more approvingly upon Steve during his last speech, now flared into sudden anger. Duane realized, noting the swift sharpness of her voice, the fire brightening in her eyes, that this was no woman to underestimate. She might seem soft and languid, but actually she was as brittle, as coldly ruthless, as any of her followers. She demonstrated, now, her power. "I have warned you twice against these interruptions! Now I act!
"This interview is terminated! Members of the Daan Council, you are dismissed. Guards—take the prisoners back to their quarters. Clear the chamber—quickly! No! Do not take that one—" As two guards stepped forward to prod Steve toward the door—"He remains. I will continue this investigation in private!"
And apparently Steve had not misjudged the character of Loala. Her fury spurred others to action—but quick! In the space of minutes the Daan advisors had departed ... Beth and Chuck, von Rath and Jain, the Tucki warriors, had been herded from the hall ... and he stood alone before the still-smouldering Overlord.
It was then, and then only, Loala stopped smouldering. Her anger died, her features softened, and her voice was again enticingly mellow.
"There! That is better. Now we can talk in peace."
And there was dignity in her voice—but Steve noted something more significant in her actions. For as she spoke, one soft hand lifted—and adjusted the silver strands of her hair! He had seen others do that. It was not alone the gesture of a Daan ... it was the gesture of a woman, self-conscious before a man. His eyes lighted with something that was half amusement. He said softly:
"Yes, O Mistress of a Thousand Charms. We are alone. It ismuchbetter this way."
The Lady Loala glanced at him strangely, assumed an air of indignation.
"What? Seek not to beguile me with soft words, man of Earth! Remember your humble place!"
Steve moved a step nearer, bowing submissively. "No words are enough to describe your loveliness, O Lady of Grace. Any man, be he Daan or Earthman, must be humble before you."
"You mean that?" mused the Daan ruler. "You find me attractive, Steve of Emmeity?"
"Do my eyes," breathed Duane, "not answer for me?"
And his eyes, lifting, met hers for a long, tingling moment. A moment in which Steve realized that his play-acting had overreached its purpose ... that hedidalmost believe it! For the Lady Loala, human or inhuman,wasincredibly beautiful. There was warmth, aliveness, allurement in her arms ... in her eyes ... her lips ... in the rhythmic rise and fall of her breast. Were it not for the memory of another woman, dust-gold, and the recollection of lips but a short time ago warm upon his own, Steve could have mistaken the emotion now throbbing through his veins.
But in the comparison lay the answer to his problem. Beth stirred him, too—but not as this woman stirred him. A hunger wakened within him at the nearness of Loala, but for Beth he felt something stronger, greater, finer ... something which was not only of the body but of the heart and spirit as well. What he felt toward Beth was love. What he felt toward Loala was simple, unvarnished, primitive....
Her answer, interrupting the chaos of his thoughts, came as a staggering surprise. She, too, seemed to have been pondering. Now she reached a decision. She nodded her head abruptly; her hands made a gesture of finality.
"So be it!" she said. "You please me, too, Steve of Emmeity. It is permitted that those who so desire may take earthling consorts. I now so desire. You shall move into my chambers!"
Steve's gulp was almost audible. He felt, suddenly, like a man who has been teasing a caged lion—and discovers too late that the door of the cage is wide open! He had not guessed that a Daan—especially a Daan Overlord—would take an Earthman consort. Now he recognized that this, too, was not without precedent in human history. It was customary for conquerors to take into their tents, their castles, theirhareems, such members of a subdued race as attracted them. Alexander ... Darius ... Catherine of Russia....
He could see himself installed as human favorite in the equipage of the Lady Loala. An amusing plaything, a man maintained in pampered luxury for the sole and simple purpose of amorous dalliance.
He said, "But—but, my Lady—"
The chameleon-swift eyes of the Overlord darkened.
"Then you were but flattering, Earthman? You sought to deceive me? Now, by the gods of Daan—"
"Nay, Princess of Delight!" swore Steve feverishly. "I only say that—that it is too great an honor. There lives no man, Daan or human, who would not gladly die to win such a prize. But I am a simple barbarian, lately-sprung from the wilderness. Your Council would take offense...."
His wild guessing struck a vulnerable point. Again the Lady Loala nodded, this time speculatively.
"There is truth in what you say, Steve of Emmeity. You have not been tested nor tried; you have not been given the Treatment. But if you were, none could object. Were you given a mission to fulfill, and fulfilled it capably—" Her eyes lighted suddenly. "Yes! That is how it must be. So you would win my favors, Steve?"
"Who would not, O Mistress of Glory?"
"Then it can be arranged—on one condition. On the condition that you renounce your own race and become a human follower of the Daans. Say, Steve of Emmeity—will you join the Brotherhood?"
CHAPTER IX
Rebel—and Die!
"The Brotherhood, O Loala?" repeated Steve wonderingly. The silver princess of Venus smiled a faint half-smile.
"You have not heard of it, Steve?"
"But, no, my Lady—"
"Few common Earthlings have," said Loala. "Yet the Brotherhood numbers scores ... hundreds ... each member selected from the cream of the human clans. Only those are invited to join who, by their physical characteristics, are akin to the Daans—as you, Steve, approximate the coloration and bodily structure of our master race.
"The Brotherhood is an organization of Earthlings who have joined us in the creation of a Daan civilization here on Earth. Because they have allied themselves to us, they have been granted great rights and privileges; because they are human, they may come and go amongst their fellows and bring us reports of what transpires amongst the barbarians. Thus we keep informed as to human schemes and plottings, and can act swiftly to quell incipient rebellion wherever it may rear."
"A—a Fifth Column," gasped Steve, "of humans!"
"Fifth Column?"
"It is a phrase," explained Steve hurriedly, "of the clan whence I sprang. It means—er—those who work for the common good of all."
But her words had cleared up one tiny mystery which had baffled him. He understood, now, the sudden comradeship exhibited by Rodrik of Mish-kin. "Forgive me, brother!" the fellow had whispered. "You and I shall discuss ... the Plans." Rodrik was, like himself, a tall, fair-skinned blond, a human of the physiological type approved by the pallid Daans. Then Rodrik was a member of the Brotherhood; no true prisoner at all, but a spy masquerading as a captive to anticipate such attempts at escape as might be formulated by the Nedlunplaza malcontents!
"I see," said the Lady Loala, and studied him closely. "Well, Steve of Emmeity—what say you?"
Steve struggled to repress the grin of satisfaction which crept unbidden to his lips. There was only one possible answer. Where else could he work better for the liberation of his fellow humans than from the trusted ranks of those who conspired to hold them in subjection?
He said humbly, "I am overwhelmed, O Loala. Gladly will I join my cause to yours, to serve in what humble fashion I may."
Approval, mingled with relief, lifted the shadows of doubt from the Daan woman's eyes.
"That is good, Steve. After learning the secret, had you decided otherwise it would have been necessary to—seal your lips forever. Now is the way open to our future enjoyment of each other."
And she smiled at him languidly, caressingly. Steve felt the tips of his ears burning; he cleared his throat uneasily.
"Yes, Princess. But you spoke of a—a test, a task to be fulfilled?"
Loala nodded.
"And a most important one, Steve. With the morning, you shall return to the woodlands of Tucki whence you came, seeking a hidden refuge known to humans as 'Fautnox.' There you shall investigate for us the truth of a rumor which has reached our ears: that certain legendary figures known as the 'Slumberers' have awakened."
"But, how—" Steve caught himself just in time. A moment more and he would have asked how the Daans had already learned of something which had occurred but three days since, and in so doing would have revealed his own knowledge of the fact. Even so, he was stricken with a new and deeper respect for the espionage system of the Venusian conquerors. It must be a strong and far-reaching organization, this Brotherhood of traitors. "The—the Slumberers, O Princess? The Slumberers have awakened?"
Loala was eyeing him shrewdly, appraisingly.
"This means much to you, Steve of Emmeity?" she asked sharply. "The Slumberers are gods of your clan, too?"
"Not gods," denied Duane. "Just—legends. Stories in which none of us greatly believe. But there is danger in this rumor, Princess. If the hordes believe it, trouble may arise—"
"That," nodded Loala, her suspicions again allayed, "we know. Of course the fable is fantastic. We of a higher culture realize that gods, as such, do not exist, and that no mortals can sleep for hundreds of years, as it is credited the Slumberers have done.
"Nevertheless, the rumor must be tracked down, those who started it must be apprehended and punished, and—above all else—this hidden village of 'Fautnox' must be found and laid waste. Too long has it been a thorn in our side. Well, Steve, can you fulfill this task?"
"I can try, O my Princess," said Steve.
"Good. You shall receive the Treatment now, and in the morning you shall start."
"Alone, O Loala?"
"How else?"
"If I am to appear as a human of my Clan," declared Steve, "it is needful that I be accompanied by those who came to Sinnaty with me. Amongst my people it is customary that a journeying male should always have a corps of female warriors to protect him and a neophyte to prepare for his needs. Were I to approach this 'Fautnox' otherwise, my motives might be suspect—"
Loala shrugged negligently.
"Very well. It shall be as you say. And now—the Treatment that makes you truly one of us, a full-fledged member of the Brotherhood!"
She clapped her hands, and from a room adjacent the council hall came armed guards. Into their care Loala placed Steve, issuing crisp commands in a strange, rhythmic, labial tongue Steve had not heard before, the tongue of her native Venus. When she finished, the guards motioned Steve to come with them—this time by nods, rather than rough elbowing—and he was led from the room.
What sort of ceremony comprised the "Treatment," he had no idea. A swearing-in of some sort ... perhaps even some highly involved and dramatic ritual was more or less what he expected. But Steve had failed to take into consideration the technology of the Daans. He was reminded, sharply, that they were, after all, a mechanically cultured race when he was led into a chamber which—save for the fact that most of the instruments and machines were constructed of that ubiquitous plastic material beloved by Daan engineers—was remarkably similar to a scientific laboratory of his own era.
Most prominent, as well as most curious, device in the entire room was a large, transparent cabinet placed centrally on a raised platform. Verniers and controls studded a panel on the outside of this cabinet, sheathed wires fed current to tubes ranged about its perimeter—and within it stood a large, metallic chair equipped with a headpiece.
For an instant, a tremor of indecision shook Stephen Duane. His experience dictated that this could be one thing only: an execution chamber! The thing inside looked exactly like the dreaded "electric chair" of his vanished era. In a moment of brief panic he glanced about him wildly but—
But his guards were smiling pleasantly—as pleasantly as their taut, colorless features would allow—and their nods motioning him into the cabinet were almost benign. With a shrug that cast his fate into the hands of whatever gods of earth might accept responsibility, Steve stepped into the cabinet, sat upon the chair, allowed the headpiece to be fastened down about his skull, watched curiously as a technician set stops and dials, pressed a switch.
Slowly the bulbs rimming the cabinet glowed into red life. The hum of current droned in Steve's ears, lifted to a scream, a howl, a raging torrent of sound that smashed upon his brain with the impact of a million surging seas!
Every fibre of his body tensed with the strain of an electric agony coursing through his veins. But he was not aware that his flesh had drawn taut with a myriad, tingling horripilations; he knew only that wave upon wave of torment was beating at his brain ... suns whirled, flared, burst into searing fragments before his bloodshot eyes ... sound lashed at his brain-cells like unleashed demons of devastation.
He tried to gain his feet—and was powerless! His lips opened—and no sound came forth. A pinpoint of darkness whirled from the maelstrom of flame before his eyes, began to close in upon him like an ominous, menacing shroud. Nearer it came and nearer; with it came a coldness and a horror. Again he tried to tear the headpiece from him ... to rise and flee ... to scream aloud....
He did none of these things. He slumped downward in the chair, limp in the thundering darkness which had engulfed him.
When he awakened, it was to find himself once again in the council hall, sprawled on the thick furs which lay beside and before the throne of the Overlord Loala. The first face he saw was that of the Venusian princess herself; she was staring down at him with pride and approbation.
He said, "What ... what...?" and tried to lift himself, but the slightest movement roused sharp needles of pain within his brain; the floor beneath him spun giddily.
Loala leaned forward, pressed something to his lips.
"Here! Drink this! It will rid you of the after-pains. You are a strong man, Steve of Emmeity. Few waken so swiftly after undergoing the Treatment."
As she had said, the amber liquid dulled the fire in his skull, Vigor returned to Steve slowly but surely; he was able to lift himself without reeling. He whispered, "Then it is over?"
"It is over, Steve. Now you are one of Us. Guards! You may retire now. The human will return to the prison by himself in due time."
Obediently the Daan warriors withdrew. Steve stared after them wonderingly.
"Then they speak the human tongue as well as yours? When first you addressed them, you spoke in the Daan language."
Loala smiled.
"And this time also, Steve."
"This time—?"
"I spoke to them," laughed Loala, "in the tongue of our mother planet, Daan, Yes."
"But—but I understood you!"
"Of course. It was for that you took the Treatment. Search your mind, Steve of Emmeity, and tell me—what month is it upon our native world?"
"Why—why, Kraama, of course—" replied Steve instantly—and stopped with his mouth an O of astonishment. "I—Iknew!"
"That," smiled Loala, "and many other things. Where are the nearest Daan fortresses, Steve, in the event that you should ever need help quickly?"
"Kleevlun," responded Steve promptly, "Slooie, Yanaplis, Davun—Yes, Princess! That, too, I know! And a—host of other things! The number of our forces ... the legends of our people ... the history of our great race ...yourrace...."
He stopped, corrected himself in confusion. It was a hopeless jumble in his mind. His thoughts, his knowledge, his instincts, were still those of Stephen Duane, Earthman—but superimposed upon these were the thoughts, the knowledge, the instincts of another, a second Stephen Duane—a Brother in the fellowship of Daan!
The old Steve Duane had looked upon the woman Loala and found her seductive, alluring. The new Duane, seeing her, was blinded by the radiance of her overwhelming beauty! Gone were any last, small, lingering doubts as to the attractiveness of her pallid skin, her bleached-silver hair, her grey-shadowed eyes. To him, these physical traits were now tokens of perfection. Her white flesh roused a crying hunger within him ... he felt an impulse to bury his hands in her silver hair and feel its fineness strain through his fingers like a web of molten glory ... the quickening beat of his pulse was like a metronome pacing the tempo of his heart's breath.
The Lady Loala, reading this in his eyes, smiled and stirred with languorous assurance. She whispered softly:
"You found me attractive before, Steve. And now—?"
But deep within Stephen Duane stirred a memory ... the haunting recollection ofanotherwoman, one whose hair was a cascade of flowing gold, whose body was pearl and ivory. A girl whose lips had warmed beneath his own. And—Treatment be damned—thisDuane was still the dominant of Steve's new schizophrenic character.
And this, realized Duane suddenly, was to his advantage! Never, now, would the Daans dream that he was other than that which he pretended to be: a convert to their ideology. He was in possession of their lore, their secrets—and still free agent to do as he willed!
How this might be, he could not say. Perhaps because the machine which gave the Treatment was set to establish dominion over barbarians of lesser mind ... perhaps because his Twentieth Century brain was somehow differently formed than the evolved brains of men fifteen hundred years removed. But the Treatment, somehow, had failed its complete purpose.
With this realization came the second realization that never must he allow the Daans to suspect his freedom of mind. They considered him now one of Them; he must foster this belief. So—
He stirred forward as though impelled by a restless urgency almost beyond endurance. And, "Need I tell you, O Loala!" he murmured vibrantly. "Need my lips speak—?"
And Loala was, indeed, a true daughter of her sex. Pursuer herself but a short while ago, now she took delight in becoming the pursued, and her withdrawal was purely feminine.
"Not now, Steve," she warded him off, "but later—when you have completed your task. Yes, I am convinced. But be swift, my human, and return to me. And perform your task faithfully and well, remembering the fate which befalls those Brothers who fail."
"Fate?" repeated Steve.
"Yes. This must be told you that you will ever act for the greater glory of the Daans. While you were in the Treatment cabinet, your brain passages were impressed with the knowledge of our people—up to certain limits. Someday I may attempt to explain how the cabinet works; at present your human brain would not comprehend.
"But at the same time, another thing was done. Upon a metal cylinder was impressed a 'nerve image' of your brain, a pattern of waves and impulses which—like your fingerprints—is peculiar to you alone of all humans on Earth.
"This nerve image has been placed in our laboratory vaults. It is our protection against treason or disloyalty, against greed, cunning or too-great ambition. Beware lest you should be found guilty of any of these crimes, for the metal cylinder is electrically sympathetic to your own brain. If it becomes necessary, the brain pattern can be destroyed—and when it is destroyed,you die instantly!"
CHAPTER X
Brother Rodrik
"So?" queried Chuck Lafferty.
"So then—" continued Steve—"she told me that the first time I speak out of turn, my recording gets burned up. And there I go—boom! Out like a light! A swell messImade of things! Try to outsmart the Daans and get caught in their booby-trap!"
He kicked savagely at a hapless clod. He had reason to worry, had Stephen Duane. Three days had passed since his departure from the Daan fortress. Now every step, each passing second, brought him and his companions nearer Fautnox, and he had not yet puzzled a way out of his difficulties.
Chuck said, "It's distinctly ungood, pal. You're in a lock. If the Daans ever catch on that you're really one of the Slumberers—bing! And I'm all alone in this wacky world with that skunk, von Rath. But—but how about this here now Rodrik person? Where doeshefit into the picture?"
"He," growled Steve bitterly, "is one of my brand-new 'Brothers.' At the last moment, just as we were leaving Sinnaty, I was advised that he was to accompany us on our journey. I'm not certain, but I suspect that was the doing of Malgro. Remember him? The Daan councillor who wanted to lop off our heads without giving us a chance to explain ourselves?"
Chuck groaned, "Then Malgro don't exactly trust you, eh?"
"Possibly not. Or maybe it's just routine. Like the Nazis of our day, the Daans don't even trust their own. They set spies to spy on their spies. But—shhh! Here's Rodrik now!"
The Mish-kinite wore a worried look as he approached. He glanced at Lafferty hesitantly, said to Steve:
"If we could speak privately—?"
Chuck snorted, "Don't mind me. I'm just one of the Jones boys—" but Duane silenced him.
"It's all right, Chuck. Run along." Then, as Chuck moved forward to where Beth led the little group, "Well?" he asked, "What's the matter, Rodrik?"
"I do not like this," complained the traitor. "There is something strange going on here, Brother. These Women of your equipage—do you trust them?"
"Completely. Why?"
"Well—we are supposed to be a scouting party," said the other, "seeking the hidden shrine of Fautnox. But we make no effort to conceal ourselves from others. Thrice have we encountered armed groups of warriors, but never once did you ask them the whereabouts of the place we seek. And we press forward through these leafy jungles surely, certainly, almost as if we had some destination in view."
Steve laughed curtly.
"Oh, is that all? We do."
"We ... do?"
"Of course. Our destination is—Fautnox."
Rodrik gestured impatiently.
"Yes. That I know, Brother. But according to such rumors as we have heard, Fautnox lies more to the east of the road we travel—"
It was the "Brother" that did it. For three days now Steve Duane had been pondering which course it would be best to pursue as regarded Rodrik of Mish-kin. Now, hearing again that fraternal salutation on the other's lips, he decided.
For the sake of the dream he had within him, he could endure labor and pain, trouble and hardship. But one thing he could not stand was hearing himself coupled in traitorous Brotherhood with such humans as this standing before him. He grinned, and dropped his pretenses.
"That," he said grimly, "is whatyouthink."
"Yes. Of course. Then should we not change—" In that instant, Rodrik understood. His eyes opened wide. "You mean—youknowwhere Fautnox is?"
"That's it, Brother Rat," said Steve.
"Then—then why did you not tell Malgro?" demanded the other man. "Why did you pretend ignorance ... let them send us from Sinnaty...."
"Because," gritted Duane, "wecamefrom Fautnox, and wanted to get back there! And if I'm not mistaken, it's just beyond that rise—Hold it, Rodrik! You're not going back to Sinnaty! You're staying here with us! Jain! Seize this man; bind him. He is our prisoner!"
In vain the "Brother of the Daans" fought to escape. Seconds later he was securely trussed and, flanked on either side by watchful warriors, being prodded up the last hill. A few more yards, and the little group topped the crest, stood looking down into the secluded valley which was their refuge.
But the forest-hid fortress had changed much in the days which had elapsed since they left it. Before, it had been a desolate-seeming barracks, surrounded by the crumbling shell of a wall; its denizens had dwelt invisibly underground. But now the entire clearing was athrong with humans. The Mother Maatha and Jon, leader of the Wild Ones, had made good their promises; they had summoned to this gathering place all over whom their words held any persuasion. The result was a motley array of humankind.
Here, close beside a buttress of the old wall, were pitched a huddle of dingy, goatskin tents: the shelters of the Wild Ones. Elsewhere about the courtyard where once Men and Women had met in bloody combat had been erected crude, woodenhoamsfor the Women of visiting Clans. Their number was great as could be seen even from this distance by the differences in their tribal trappings.
Strangest sight of all to the eyes of Beth and Jain, the three fighting-women, was that of Wild Ones and Clanswomen seated side by side before scattered campfires ... laboring side by side on still other dwelling-places for the expected reinforcements ... toiling side by side at the forges, in the fields.
Chuck said, "Good golly, look at 'em! Cozyin' up like bugs in a rug, Steve. Boy! They took to the New Order like a duck to water!"
Even Rodrik stopped muttering threats as he stared incredulously at the sight before them. He said, "But this is madness! Women and Wild Ones joined together, working in harmony! Even in my tribe—"
And the priestess Beth raised troubled eyes to Steve. "Is this," she asked, "is this what you had planned for, O my mate?"
Steve answered quietly, "Yes, Beth. This is the way it shall henceforth be. This is how it was in the old days."
And he led the way down the hill to the encampment. Sentries glimpsed them from afar, challenges turned to cries of joyous recognition. "The Slumberers! The Slumberers are returned!" And center of a spontaneous exhibition that woke the very hills to jubilee, the voyagers shouldered their way through roaring hosts to seek thehoamof the Mother.
They found her seated in council with not only Jon but the leaders of a dozen other tribes of Wild Ones as well as the Mothers of as many neighboring Clans. She rose, moved forward to greet them, her wise old eyes soft with tears of happiness.
"You have returned. Now, thanks be unto great Jarg, who has given you back to us! See, I step down from the rostrum, O Dwain! The council is thine. Tell us what you have learned, and what must next be done."
"First," said Steve, "suppose you tell us the number now gathered at Fautnox, O Mother. It must be great."
"They are as the sands of the sea," said the Mother proudly. "Of Women there are fourteen Clans.... Of Wild Ones a dozen tribes. And more pour in from every direction daily. Already our poor resources are overtaxed; we have sent bands of hunters into the woods to find us meat, and Workers slave in the fields night and day that all mouths may be fed."
"And the number of actual fighting men and women?"
"Hear, O Dwain, and be staggered!" said the matriarch triumphantly. "For surely this is the greatest army ever to be assembled! We number two thousand, eight hundred and four strong warriors—all armed and ready to strike for freedom!"
Von Rath gasped aloud. "Two thousand—!"
Steve interrupted him swiftly before his disappointment could communicate itself to the humans now gazing at him with such radiant pride mirrored in their faces. He knew how the German felt. After their plans, their high hopes, to be given this handful of soldiers ... this pitiful little force with which to undertake the reclamation of a world....
But—was it such a pitiful little force, after all? Of all who heard the number, only he and von Rath and Lafferty were negatively stirred. The priestess Beth's red lips were agape with wonder, the eyes of Jain had lighted with grim joy, and even Rodrik—who knew the ways of the Daans—was hushed with something akin to awe.
And Duane, searching his own brain—the refurbished brain supplied him by the Treatment—realized suddenly that he was guilty, as were his time-exile comrades, of anachronistic thinking. In the era whence they came, such an army would be a mere nothing ... a suicide squad with which to withstand an enemy's advance for a day, an hour ... but inthisday it was a force to be reckoned with. The Daans themselves held Sinnaty with less than five thousand souls, while some of their less important citadels were manned by detachments numbering only in the hundreds....
"You have done well, O Mother!" he said. "We have now the strength to—" He stopped suddenly, turned—"Von Rath!" he said.
"Yes, Duane?"
"Take Rodrik away from here, will you? We don't want him to hear our plans. And—guard him well! I'll tell you what we decide later."
"Sehr gut!" The German took Rodrik's arm, propelled him roughly from the chamber. Chuck glared after them disdainfully.
"There goes a sweet pair," he groused. "I wouldn't trust either of 'em any farther'n I could throw a cow by the tail! Steve, if you want Rodrik guarded, why didn't you ask me to—"
"Because," explained Steve, "I wanted you here, in the first place. And in the second place, because I'm not any too sure of von Rath myself. But, now—" And he turned to his audience—"as to our next step—"
"Tell us, O Dwain," said one of the gathered Mothers. "We are yours to command. Aye, and more are yet to come, for word of your Wakening spreads throughout Tizathy like flames in the forest. Do we wait for still further strength, or—"
"We do not!" declared Steve boldly. "We change our gathering-place to a larger and more central city. One which will amply feed and house our ever-increasing numbers."
"And that place, O Dwain?"
"The nearest," said Steve, "of the strongholds now held by the Daans. Send messengers to spread the word and bid the fighters prepare. Tomorrow, at dawn, we march on Loovil!"
Dawn ... and the first thin silver of gold limning the crests of the eastward hills. Dawn ... and two men crouching in a field of waving grain.
All night long these two had led their troops across broken, weed-strewn ground which had once been verdant farmland, down crackedcreetroads which had been highways, over hills and streams and mounds of tumbled masonry which marked forgotten home-sites. Now they lay within sight of the city, and the time was ripe for action.
Chuck said, "You sure we ain't bitin' off more than we can chew, Steve?"
"I think not. This much is certain: if we can't take Louisville, our whole dream is blasted. There are only four hundred Daans in the entire city."
"Yeah, I know. But that gun they have—"
"Is deadly. Make no mistake about that. It expels some sort of radiation which will either kill or stun, depending on the way its dial is set. But we have the advantage of surprise."
"How about the Daans? Don't they have some sort of communication, like radio or telephone? Any race as smart as theirs—"
"They have. An instrument they call the 'telaudio.' But our objective is to take this city and set up a fortress here before outside help can arrive. Jain—all are ready?"
"Ready and eager, O Dwain!" answered she who was in general command of the allied fighters.
"Then—" Steve drew a deep breath—"let's go!"
Thus simply, without fanfare or threat, declaration or parley, was launched the first reprisal blow of long-time captive humankind against its extraterrestrial oppressors.
Like a wave rose the earthlings from their places of concealment to hurl themselves forward into the city. It did not matter that they had marched thirty-five miles during the night; these were strong women and stronger men, their sinews were hardened in the never-ending struggle against nature.
Their hearts were strong, too, and their voices. As they charged the Daans' citadel they roared, and their cries were a paean of deliverance.
"For the Slumberers—strike!Strike for the Slumberers!"
What happened during the next hour was all chaos and confusion. At the head of the advancing Tuckians, Steve had neither the perspective from which to view the battle in its entirety nor the time to analyze its tide. He was swept away in a torrent of action ... of blow-dealing and blow-fending ... of movement and halt ... life and death ... which was beyond the scope of any single mote's comprehension.
Louisville became a hell of battle.
Louisville became a hell of battle.
Louisville became a hell of battle.
All he did realize was that the attack achieved its purpose in taking the Daans completely by surprise. Years of rulership had made them contemptuous of their human enemies; they paid now, dearly, for this contempt. Before an alarm was sounded, the advancing allies had swept into the heart of the city; before sleep-befogged soldiers could man the ramparts of the central fortress, those ramparts were aswarm with clambering human warriors.
The weapon of the Daans was deadly. Its flaming ray withered whole ranks of the attackers, mowing them down with the grim, mathematical precision of a husbandman's scythe—but this slaughter seemed only to increase the fury of those who remained. Where a Wild One dropped, stricken lifeless before ever he hit the ground, there was a warrior Woman to seize the sword from his falling hand ... and fill his place in the ranks. Where Women tumbled in grotesque heaps, there were Workers to hurdle their bodies and plunge on ... ever on!
And when a Daan fell, there was a Daan's ray-weapon for his nearest foe. Thus the battle, which was one of science against sheer brute power in its early stages, shifted to one of science against science. It did not matter that the earthlings could not understand the weapons with which they fought. They could sight, and aim, and press a grip—and after each such deed there was one less foeman to overcome.
By what miracle Steve Duane came through that battle unscathed, he could never afterward say. Comrades fell before and behind him, on either side of him; their places were taken by still others who joyously fought and happily died with the battlecry frozen on their lips. But somehow he won through, and it was he who, at the end, accepted the capitulation of a dwindling handful of Daans hopelessly trapped, violently defeated, in the innermost chambers of their citadel.
This stricken remainder Jain would have ordered put to the sword but for Steve's refusal.
"No!" he commanded. "They have surrendered; we have their weapons. That is enough."
"But these are the Daans, O Slumberer," protested one Clansmother, "who have annually levied tribute on our people, despoiled our villages, seized our crops, chosen the strongest of our men and women and transported them to slave miserably in the stinking swamps of their native planet—"
"Nevertheless," avowed Steve, "there shall be no more slaughter. We will hold these prisoners as hostages—Yes, Chuck? What is it?"
Lafferty had burst through the mob excitedly; now he clutched his friend's arm. "There's one guy around hereisgoin' to be murdered—if I have to take him out somewhere and do it myself. The dirty, connivin' scoundrel—"
"Who?" demanded Steve. "What are you talking about?"
"Von Rath!" screamed Chuck. "That's who! Steve, I warned you not to trust him. The dirty Nazi rat hasmurderedyou, just as sure as if he stuck a knife in your back—"
A quick pang of fear coursed through Stephen Duane's arteries. Even as his suddenly-dry lips framed the question, he thought he knew its answer. He said harshly, "What—what did he do?"
"Do?" howled Lafferty. "Drag him out here, Beth, so we can see him! I'll tell you what he done! He set Rodrik free! And Rodrik's on his way back to Sinnaty, hell-on-fire, to tell them thatyou'reone of the Slumberers—so they can destroy you by remote control!"
CHAPTER XI
"A Daniel Come to Judgment"
Short moments ago Stephen Duane had been drinking deep of the heady wine of victory, basking in the radiant sunlight of renascent hope. Now a cold shadow overwhelmed that sunlight; the savor of triumph soured on his lips. He turned slowly to the man standing defiantly captive between Beth and Jon.
"Is this true, von Rath?"
The Nazi met his gaze with belligerent hauteur.
"It is true, Stephen Duane."
"But why? Why did you do it? We were enemies once, I know. But we formed a pact of friendship ... a promise of mutual assistance—"
"Pacts! Promises!" sneered von Rath. "What are these but empty words? Eric von Rath is no fool,mein Leutnant. He knows when a cause is doomed. And if ever a rebellion was foredestined to failure, this one is. Could any but a foolish, vain-glorious Yankee expectthismotley, undisciplined army—" His eyes swept the rebel host derisively—"to overcome the magnificent science of the Overlords?
"Nein!It is no victory you have won here today, but a single minor skirmish of a hopeless rebellion. Surely, the Daans, even before they surrendered, sent a message to the Sinnaty garrison. Soon will come—perhaps even now it is on the way—an avenging host to wipe out this pitiful handful of upstarts.
"I, Eric von Rath, am a realist. I acknowledge a master race when I see one. I acknowledge the Overlords as masters of Earth. That is why I liberated Rodrik. That is why, when the Daans retake this place,Ishall win a place high in their favor."
Lafferty grated, "Not you, weasel! When the Daans come—ifthey come—you ain't going to be here to see them. Because—" And he took a swift stride forward, an already crimson blade balanced judicially in his hand.
But Duane stopped him. "No, Chuck!" he ordered.
Chuck swiveled, his eyebrows twin parentheses of astonishment. "What!You mean to say that evennow, after what he's done, you ain't going to—"
"Iamgoing to," pledged Steve tautly, "but I myself; no one for me. Von Rath is mine. I shall take care of him personally—when I have time to do so. But now—" He swung to the warrior captain—"Jain, your forage sack, quickly! There is not a moment to waste."
The Mother Maatha asked anxiously, "What are you going to do, O Dwain?"
"I'm going after Rodrik. He has no more than a couple of hours start, and Sinnaty is a long way from here. If I'm lucky, I may be able to head him off before he can reach the Daans and spill the beans."
The Priestess Beth stepped forward, eyes lighting.
"So be it, O my mate! With the speed of the woodland hart we shall pursue him."
"Notwe, Beth," corrected Duane. "You're not going. This is my job; one I must do alone. You are needed here. Stay with Chuck and help him consolidate this position, that we may use Loovil as a rallying place for our ever-growing forces."
"But," cried Beth, "it is not fitting that a Woman should desert her mate in hour of peril. The way is long, and the forest dark and treacherous—"
"One," interrupted Stephen Duane, "can travel faster than two. And now every moment is precious."
He took from Jain the knapsack she had slipped from her own shoulders; the forage bag of the woodland women which contained salt and meal,tatersand dried meat, tinder ... all the small necessities of a hasty trek.
"Guard von Rath well, Chuck. I'll be looking forward to meeting him again when I return. And now—good-bye. No, Beth! I have said you must stay here."
For the girl had followed him to the doorway. But there was no stubborn insistence in her eyes as she lifted them to his. There was, instead, something else. Something incredible. A softness Stephen Duane had thought never to find mirrored in the eyes of a woman such as this, his warrior priestess.
In a small and trembling voice she whispered, "I shall come no farther than this, O Dwain. But—but before you depart, can we not as man and woman once more perform the touching-of-mouths you taught me?"
And the nearness of her warmed him for the perilous journey ahead.
Stephen Duane had hoped to catch Rodrik of Mish-kin before that traitorous Brother of the Daans reached his Sinnaty goal. He had vowed to press forward at forced speed, halting no oftener than was absolutely necessary. But one thing he had failed to take into account was the fact that the urgency spurring Rodrik was as great as that which goaded himself. Rodrik knew vengeful swords would pursue him. He knew his life was forfeit should he be apprehended before he attained the sanctuary of the Daan citadel. So fear lent him a speed commensurate with Steve's determination, and because he was a strong man, woodland-trained, he maintained his precious advantage over his pursuer.
So closely did Duane press him that once, in the coolness of the dawn, he found a pallet of leaves still warm where Rodrik had rested briefly during the night. Again he found upon the roadway both used tattered shreds of a still-hot carcass; a rabbit Rodrik had killed and eaten raw, not daring to take time to cook his meal.
But it was not until Steve passed half through the deserted village of Covton and saw lifting before him the shimmering arch of the Sinnaty bridge that he actually glimpsed his quarry. Then, though his legs had been leaden with exhaustion, he spurred himself to one last desperate effort and almost closed the gap between himself and the fleeing Rodrik.
But the Mish-kinite, whose flight had been that of a frightened Janus,[7]turned and saw him—and he, too, whipped a final reserve of energy from his flagging body.
Thus it was that before Steve could draw within bowshot of his betrayer, Rodrik had screamed piteous appeal and won himself the protection of a Daan patrol. These same Venusians spotted Duane, waited for him, and took him into custody.
Their leader growled curt challenge to both humans.
"What is the meaning of this? Know you not it is forbidden armed humans shall approach our citadel? Death is the penalty for such folly."
But Rodrik bleated, "I flee in peril of my life, O masters. This man pursues me. I am Rodrik of Mish-kin, a Brother of the Daans."
And when piscine eyes narrowed upon Duane he was forced to adopt the same shibboleth. "I, too, claim sanctuary," he panted heavily. "I am Steve of Emmeity. I, too, am a Brother of the Daans."
The Daan captain glared at them malevolently.
"Methinks the Daans," he complained, "have all too many human Brothers. But—" He shrugged—"you have claimed the right of judgment. I shall take you to one in command."
Steve clutched at a straw of hope. There was one Venusian who might be expected to proffer him a certain favoritism. "Take us to the Lady Loala, O Captain!" he demanded.