"I demand the right of judgment!" said Steve. "Take us to the lady Loala."
"I demand the right of judgment!" said Steve. "Take us to the lady Loala."
"I demand the right of judgment!" said Steve. "Take us to the lady Loala."
And in the same instant Rodrik of Mish-kin cried, "Convey us to Malgro of the Council!"
But the Daan chieftain silenced them both with a gesture of his crystaline weapon. "Silence. Pangru of Daan heeds not the advice of earthling scum. You shall plead your cases before Okuno, Overlord of all human disputes and Chief Executioner."
Thus a few minutes later the two earthmen, pursued and pursuer, were herded to the judgment chamber over which presided the Overlord Okuno.
It did not lessen Steve Duane's gloom to discover that Okuno was the less tyrannical Overlord who had interceded in his behalf when first he had been taken captive by the Daans. On that occasion he had been accused of no crime greater than that of wandering without a travel certificate. This time the accusation hurled against him would be that of treason. He had been warned of, and knew full well, the punishment he must expect: destruction of the cylinder on which was engraved an electrical transcription of his brain pattern. And with this—sudden death to himself.
Nor was the accusation long in coming. Rodrik of Mish-kin burst into speech the moment they entered the room.
"Hail, O Master!" he cried. "May the Daan empire reign forever!"
"So be it," replied Okuno formally. "You may depart, Captain." With a gesture he dismissed the warrior and his corps, then turned to the pair before him. "What is the meaning of this? I recognize you two as Brothers of the Daans. Why are you brought thus hither before me? Are you not they who were sent to seek the hidden rebel refuge of Fautnox?"
"We are, O great Okuno," clarioned Rodrik.
The Overlord leaned forward. His gravely gentle face might have been a carven mask for all the emotion it displayed. But his eyes brightened with interest and his hands moved tensely. "And—found you this place?" he breathed.
"We did, O Lord of the Master Race."
"Now by Jarg and Ibrim," gasped Okuno, "false gods of the earthling race, heard you any word concerning the fabulous Slumberers?"
And—Stephen Duane took a deep breath, braced his shoulders rigidly. This was it. The showdown.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of whipping his sword from its scabbard and forever stilling Rodrik's traitorous voice. But that, he knew even as the thought flashed through his brain, was a hopeless dream. Before ever he could draw his blade, the watchful Okuno could unleash destructive lightning from his crystaline hand-weapon. The only thing to do was wait. Wait and hope.
Rodrik laughed, and in his laughter was a note of brazen triumph. "Aye, that we did, my Lord! And behold, he who stands before you, the human Steve of Emmeity, who by my guile I lured back to judgment in this citadel, evenheis the one known as Dwain!Heis one of the Slumberers!"
The Overlord stiffened, and his eyes swung, startled, to Steve. "What! A Slumberer—thou? Does this human speak the truth?"
Steve shrugged. He could deny it, yes. But even then it would be only a matter of time before the Daans discovered the truth. And he could not see that denial was of any use now. He was doomed, anyway. Faltering or hesitation on his part would only increase the Daan's contempt for the valor of earthmen. If his last contribution to the cause of human freedom could be to instill in Venusian breasts one iota of admiration for earthling courage, and perhaps a spark of fear because a Slumberer had defied them, then he would not have died in vain.
So with a single contemptuous glance for the traitor beside him, he drew himself proudly erect and faced the Overlord boldly. Boldly he nodded his head.
"It is true, Okuno," he said. "I am one of the Slumberers, wakened after fifteen hundreds of years to lead my race to freedom."
What he expected to attend his pronouncement he did not rightly know. Outrage, certainly. Anger, possibly. Sudden death, perhaps.
But none of these followed his declaration. Instead, he had the satisfaction of seeing the almost colorless lips of the Daan pale utterly. Of seeing a proud Venusian Overlord stunned and shaken. The Executioner Okuno stared at him as one stricken. His breath rasped through his lips.
"Then—then the myths, the old legends, were true! Threedidsleep for centuries, and—"
"And have risen now," gritted Stephen Duane, "to lead their people out of the bonds of slavery. Yes, Overlord of Earth, count the passing moments as precious gems. For each of them brings nearer the time when you and all of your race will be exiled to the stinking marshes of the planet which spawned you."
Rodrik of Mish-kin gasped.
"Blasphemy, O great Okuno! For all the Brothers of Daan I renounce this false god and the cause he espouses. Your permission, Sire, and as token of good faith, I shall destroy him, here and now."
"Nay!" Okuno's crisp command halted the traitor's movement. "You have done Daan a great service, Rodrik of Mish-kin, but now you presume too much. It is not yours to take judgment into your own hands. This man must be dealt with as all traitors to the Brotherhood. We will make an example of him.Guard!" He clapped his hands and warriors appeared as if by magic. "I have certain preparations to make. Bring these two humans a short time hence to the execution chamber." And he left the room.
And so, when scarce an hour had passed, Stephen Duane found himself being led to that great vaulted chamber which was the execution room of the Daan Overlords. Okuno had not exaggerated when he said he would make an example of this occasion. "Spectacle" might have been a better word. For the amphitheatre was jammed. There were gathered into it scores of humans who, by thecamaraderiewith which they mingled with the Daan warriors, Duane rightly judged to be the assembled fellows of the Brotherhood.
He and Rodrik were motioned to a central dais, the execution dock. There they stood, side by side, Rodrik smirking triumphantly, Steve matching his grin with one of derisive bravado, while the Overlord Okuno addressed the throng.
"There stand before us," he proclaimed, "two members of the Brotherhood. One true and noble, worthy to be acknowledged a fellow of this group. The other a scoundrel and a traitor. You are gathered to watch the justice of the Daans.
"Behold, O gathered Earthmen. Watch and tremble. To that human who worked nobly and well for our Brotherhood shall be allotted great honor. To him who proved a traitor in our midst shall be meted destruction. The cylinder of him who would have betrayed us has been placed within the destruction chamber. Behold now the vengeance of the Daans—swift, terrible, and just!"
And he lifted his arm in a sign. The Venusian guard closed a master switch. A high thin whine rose to lose itself in ultrasonic heights. Crackling waves of electricity sputtered in a metal cubicle across the room. Within that chamber a cylinder blazed into sudden, fiery oblivion. And in that moment—Rodrik of Mish-kin screamed aloud, once and horribly, and dropped dead at Stephen Duane's side!
CHAPTER XII
Alter Ego
Steve's first thought as he stood stock-still and staring with horror fascinated eyes at the crumpled figure beside him was that there had been some terrible mistake.
What he might have said or done is hard to guess. Probably nothing, for one of Duane's virtues was that of knowing when and where to keep his mouth shut. Moreover, any tendency toward speech he might have felt was thwarted when he lifted startled eyes to the Overlord Okuno to find the executioner's intense gaze unmistakably warning him to silence!
So silent he remained while his fellows of the Brotherhood filed from the amphitheatre, and Venusian guards removed the remains of Rodrik of Mish-kin.
It was then that Okuno turned to him and, obviously speaking for the benefit of those Daans who still lingered in the chamber, said, "And now, Brother Steve of Emmeity, we shall go to my privy chamber, where I shall justly reward your valor in apprehending this traitor. Come!"
But in Okuno's private room, with the door closed and locked behind them, Steve turned to the Overlord questioningly.
"And now, Okuno, what—?"
But the strangest sight of all climaxed the whole mad episode. For the purple-gowned Okuno, haughty Overlord of Daan, Chief Executor of the invading master race, had slipped to his knees—and was bowing before Steve in humble supplication.
"Thy forgiveness, O my Lord!" he prayed, "if for a moment I caused thee trepidation or alarm. It was the only means whereby I could beguile the cunning Rodrik into silence until his lips could be sealed forever."
Steve gasped, "Thenthosewere the preparations you made! You substituted his brain-pattern cylinder for mine?"
"Even so, O mighty Slumberer."
"And—" It was all beginning to make sense now—"though a Daan, you are on our side?"
Okuno's head lifted proudly. "At thy side, aye, Master! And a humble follower of the Slumberers. But no Daan am I. I am an earthman, even as thyself."
"You are—what!" Steve stared at the man in stunned bewilderment. Then, impatiently, "Get up, man! We are humans together. No earthman needs bow before another. Get up and tell me what this is all about!"
So Okuno spoke, and what he told Steve was the most heartening news Duane had heard since his wakening in this strange world of slave humans.
"I am an earthman," repeated Okuno proudly. "My real name is Wiam. Wiam of Kleevlun. The true Okuno lives no more. He made the error which, praise Jarg, many sons of the marsh planet have made: that of riding alone through human settlements too arrogantly and too often. His last such outing cost him his life. The worms have long since stripped his carcass. But this the Daans know not. For an Okuno set forth upon a journey, and an Okuno returned. Nor does any Venusian suspect I am not the true Okuno."
"But," stammered Stephen Duane, "your hair ... your eyes ... the webbings between your fingers...."
"Are all," smiled Okuno, "artificial. I know, O Slumberer, that thou who wakened in a matriarch's camp have cause to believe all humans are crude and uncultured. But, believe me, this is not so. We number amongst us a handful who remember somewhat of the skill and artifice of the Ancient Ones. The art of masquerade we know and practice mightily.
"Rejoice to learn, O Slumberer, that I am not the only earthman who treads the soil of Terra in the guise of a Venusian. Throughout broad Tizathy there are scores, hundreds, like myself. Altered earthmen with bleached hair and chemically treated pupils, artificial webbing secured to their phalanges, who have wormed their way into the confidence of the so-called 'master race,' and but wait for that moment to come when earthmen may strike for their lost liberty.
"Changelings like myself are Daan guards, captains of Daan troops, space navigators, and even as I, Councillors of Daan citadels. It is a vast and secret movement we have prepared for generations, awaiting only—a leader. And now—" The masquerader's pale eyes gleamed with fanatic zeal—"the leaders have come! The legend has been fulfilled, and the Slumberers have awakened!"
Stephen Duane felt a vast resurgence well within him. There had been moments when, despite his own courage and determination, his spirit had shrunk appalled before the magnitude of the task confronting him, so helpless had been those upon whom he had been forced to depend for aid, so engulfed in barbarism and superstition. But here were men of richer stuff conceived. Men not only of purpose, but of wit and wisdom. Men who had wormed their way into the very heart of the invaders' organization.
"Great guns, Okuno!" he cried excitedly. "This is the best news yet! A counteroffensive set up within the Daan organization! More than I dared dream of!"
"We stand ready," said Okuno simply, "to do your bidding. What are your orders, O Duane?"
Stephen Duane said feverishly, "I don't exactly know—yet. We'll have to call a council of war. We have already struck the first blow against the enemy, you know. Three days ago our forces occupied Loovil—"
Okuno lifted a trembling hand. His voice shook.
"Pardon, O Duane. But do you mean to say you have not heard of the retaking of Loovil?"
"Loovil retaken!" choked Steve. "You mean—?"
Okuno nodded slowly. "Yes, O Slumberer. Before that garrison fell, its commander got off a message to this headquarters. Even as you pursued Rodrik of Mish-kin hither, a punitive expedition flew from Sinnaty to Loovil. Your companions, though they defended the Tucki fortress bravely, were unable to match the superior might of the well-armed Daan fighting craft. Loovil is again a Daan outpost."
Steve Duane licked suddenly parched lips. "And—" he faltered—"and those who defended the garrison? They were—destroyed?"
Okuno nodded somberly. "Many were slain in the battle. Those who died so, swiftly and nobly, were fortunate. To the others has been meted a punishment more dreadful than clean and sudden death. By rockets they have been transferred to the planet of Daan, there to waste away the wretched remaining hours of their lives slaving in the Venusian swamps."
It was revelatory, though at the time it did not occur to Duane, that his first tense query should have coupled with the name of a friend held dear for years than of a maid he had known scarce a fortnight.
Eyes clouded with anxiety, he gripped Okuno's arm in fingers of steel.
"The priestess Beth?" he cried. "And my fellow Slumberer, the one known as Chuck? Where are they? Were they among those—?"
He dared not say the word, dared not think of Lafferty's laughing vigor stilled by the Daan's ray-weapons, nor the dust-gold vibrancy of Beth charred and blackened by that weapon's spiteful flame.
But Okuno said, "Let us see," and moved to a cabinet upon one wall of his private chamber, drew therefrom a list of the exiled earthlings. "These are they," he told Steve, "who survived the battle and have been exiled to Daan. You will find here—"
Steve had already snatched the sheets, was scanning them eagerly. The listing of those slaughtered was like a series of sword thrusts in his heart. Brave Jain had fallen, and Mairlee, Mother of the Lextun Clan; Ralf, chieftain of a tribe of Wild Ones from Clina territory, and Alis, his newfound mate; hosts of others had died defending the all too briefly held salient.
But on another list, naming those who had survived the conflict only to be transported to Earth's evil sister planet, he found those names for which he sought most eagerly. Those of Beth and the Mother Maatha and a male who designated himself as "Shuk of Bruklin."
On still a third sheet, Steve found a name which brought a snarl of anger to his lips. That name was Ay-rik. To it was appended a strange curlique unfamiliar to Steve. Guessing at its meaning, a sudden fear wakened within him. He turned to his friend.
"This Ay-rik—-what means that symbol after his name?"
Okuno glanced and shrugged. "That means he was wounded but will survive. But what troubles you, my Lord?"
"Plenty!" gritted Steve. "It's bad enough we've lost Loovil; that some of my friends are dead and others captive. But this—" He tapped the sheet—"Eric von Rath being alive is the worst thing which could have happened to us. He is that Slumberer whom the legends tell is evil from the core. He betrayed me once, and will do it again if he gets the chance. So long as he lives neither you nor I nor any of our comrades is safe, Okuno."
The masquerader stared at him haggardly. "I see what you mean, O Duane. Let him but report that you are one of the Slumberers and then not only willyoube apprehended, but investigation will disclose that I aided you by exchanging the cylinders—"
"—and there," ground Steve curtly, "goes our whole plan before it gets well under way. Okuno, there is only one thing to do. I must somehow get to Venus."
Okuno nodded slowly. "Yes, that is so. Much more can you do there than here. Not only can you liberate our fellows in exile, and silence the tongue of this treacherous Ay-rik, but there you can perchance accomplish that which is vitally essential if ever earthmen are to reestablish control of their own planet."
"And that is—?" demanded Steve.
"Find a way," Okuno told him, "of immobilizing the Daan spacefleet. Time and again have there been opportunities for our organization to strike a blow at the Overlords' mastery ... and this was even before we could count on the assistance of the Women and Wild Ones you have converted to our cause. But never have we dared take that last important step, for we have realized that whatever small successes might crown our uprising at the beginning would be nullified as soon as the Daans' mighty armada of space-vessels could hurtle the distance between their planet and ours.
"They garrison here but a scattered handful of spacecraft. These it is well within our power to capture and subdue, the more so because there is not one of these vessels but numbers amongst its crew masqueraders like myself.
"But on Daan is cradled the full majesty of the Venusian space-navy. Somehow this fleet must be crippled, so it cannot be turned against us until we have time to consolidate our positions. This, O Slumberer, is the major important task you can accomplish for us on Daan. You have powers greater than those allotted humble, commonplace mortals, O Duane. Can your powers encompass this deed?"
Steve said grimly, "I don't know, Okuno. But this much is certain: I must go to Daan, and while there, do what I can. Meanwhile, can it be arranged for me to visit the other planet?"
"Can and will, O Wise One. A ship leaves Sinnaty on the morrow for Daan. Tonight, our craftsmen will perform upon you the artistry which altered my lineaments. Meanwhile, false credentials will be forged. You will go to Daan as the noble Captain Huumo, secure beneath the seal and sanctuary of a Council messenger."
"Huumo?" frowned Steve. "But is there now a Daan captain named Huumo? Won't he—?"
Okuno smiled grimly. "When you leave in the morning," he promised, "therewill have beenanother Huumo."
"And when I get to Daan—?"
"Then," said Okuno simply, "may the gods of 'Kota guide you. You must act for yourself, and upon your deeds may rest the hopes of a thousand generations. But fear not. Even on Daan you will find allies in the highest and most unexpected places.
"Mark well this interchange, O Slumberer. Should one say to you, 'Have you kinsmen on distant Terra?', answer that questioner, 'Aye, I have many brothers.' And if he then says, 'The brave never lack for brethren', you will know you have found a friend and ally. And now—" Okuno bestirred himself brusquely—"already have we lingered too long together in this room. Let us separate and meet again in the dark hours of night, that the change may be wrought in you."
He spoke no more.
So they parted to meet again when midnight darkened the corridors of Nedlunplaza. And this time Steve, stripped to the buff, placed himself at the disposition of those disguise artists who had altered Okuno and others.
They worked swiftly and effectively. A chemical rinse bleached his tawny hair to Venusian silver. Brief exposure to the radiance of a floodlamp dulled the healthy color of his flesh, paling it to the more sallow hue of the Daans. Then swift technicians went to work on his hands and feet and face. With a gummy, flesh-colored plastic they lengthened the membranes between his digits, simulating the vestigial webbing of the squamous Venusians. With paddings here, and subcutaneous injections of a waxy substance elsewhere, the make-up artists subtly changed Steve's features until, staring at himself in a mirror, he could scarcely recognize his own face beneath the mask which had been superimposed upon it.
Okuno smiled his satisfaction when the job was done.
"You look more like Huumo than did Huumo himself. It will do, O Duane. Only a mother or sweetheart would recognize you beneath that mask. Here are Huumo's trappings and credentials. Henceforth, they are yours, and you are Huumo. Rest, now, a short while. For when the eastern sky lights, it will be time to board theOalumuo."
CHAPTER XIII
Spaceflight
So came at last the dawn, and with its coming Okuno and Steve Duane set forth upon the last stage of the adventure which they shared together: the short journey to the spaceport.
It lay not far from the tower of Nedlunplaza—but a few minutes' trip in the speedy monocyclular motor the Daans used as a ground vehicle—on a promontory north and east of town which, in the day whence Stephen Duane had come, had been known as Observatory Hill.
If there was any time at which Duane had doubts as to the ultimate success of his dreams, it was at that moment when first he looked upon the Daan spaceport and the gigantic metal monster cradled thereupon.
He had overestimated the courage of his own allies in this endeavor. He knew their daring and determination; knew they could be depended upon to fight the foe so long as one drop of blood remained in their veins. But now a new doubt assailed him. Perhaps he had underestimated the enemy!
It had been easy to acknowledge the scientific skill of the Daans, looking upon their plastic bridges, their single-wheeled vehicles. Yet these were feats which humans of Duane's own era might have accomplished. But this great rocketship, a towering teardrop braced in its launching tripod, tremendous jet-tubes pointed for the thrust against the bosom of earth, prow lifted proudly toward the heavens over which it was master, was at once a staggering and a humbling sight.
For this was something men had dreamed of, worked for, planned to some day build, but had found beyond their ability. Perhaps von Rath had been right. Perhaps the Venusianswerea master race, rightfully Overlords of Earth. For surely....
Then he thought again of the city of Sinnaty, its squalid streets, its mud-encrusted hovels, and a repulsion shook him. No, culture was not a matter of superior science alone. Other things entered into it. A truly great race displayed sociological wisdom as well; knew that civilizations are built not only on guns and swords, rockets and machines, instruments of destruction and impregnable bastions, but on the right of every slightest soul to live cleanly, warmly, comfortably, and happily at peace with his neighbors.
The science of the Daans was great, true; but it was cold and harsh, brutal. It was science for science's sake, not science harnessed for the greater welfare of living beings. This was the Daan's false ideology. There could be no peace between Venusians and earthmen until for this credo was substituted the ancient democratic principles of liberty, equality, fraternity.
Thus Stephen Duane's thoughts as he approached the hugeOalumuo.
The spaceport was a beehive of activity. Hordes of human slaves were completing an all-night labor of loading the rocketship's cargo bins with Earth wares for the Venusian marts. Over these sweating humans, Daan guards cracked whips and snarled commands. Venusian officials scurried to and fro, concluding last minute preparations for the flight.
Okuno accompanied Steve to the automatic lift which bore passengers to an air-lock some sixty feet above the surface of the ground, there halted and touched the younger man's breast with his open palm in the Daan equivalent of a handshake.
"Now farewell, O Eternal One," he whispered quietly, "May the Holy Four guide and protect thy efforts. You know what must be done."
Steve nodded. "I know. I also know how to get in touch with you. You'll await word from me on the ultra-wave?"
"Day and night," promised Okuno. "The movement you so gloriously started will not die a-borning. I shall see that the Revelation is spread throughout the human territories, that gathering-places are fixed in a hundred strategic spots where Women and Wild Ones may pledge allegiance to the new order. I shall give them every assistance within my power, waiting and praying for your order to strike."
"Good!" said Steve. "And when and if we succeed in immobilizing the spacefleet on Daan, that word will flash to you. Now—" He changed his tone abruptly—"I hear and obey, O Master. The message shall be transmitted promptly."
For a uniformed Daan had approached them and was beckoning Steve to the lift. Okuno nodded. "Very good. Farewell, Captain Huumo. A safe and pleasant journey."
"Captain Huumo" saluted smartly, then ascended the lift to disappear into the ship.
He had thought he was the last passenger to board theOalumuo, but just as he entered the air-lock there was a flurry of excitement on the field below. A cavalcade of monocycles, with sirens wailing stridently, came roaring across the drome. Bells clanged throughout the ship, and over its intercommunicating audio system rasped hasty commands.
"Stand by for a passenger! Locks open! Stand by!"
Space sailors scurried and grunted. There sounded the whine of the rising lift, the asthmatic wheeze of a reopening air-lock. Then the belated passenger stepped into the spaceship, and....
Alternate waves of heat and cold swept over Stephen Duane. For he was staring squarely into the eyes of the Lady Loala—and in her answering gaze was startled recognition!
It was fortunate for Stephen Duane that the take-off of the transport had been delayed, for Loala made no effort to repress her exclamation of astonishment.
"Steve of Emmeity!" she gasped. "What areyou—?"
But her question was drowned in the sudden clamor of signals, a metallic voice calling over the audio system, "All hands to posts! Prepare to lift gravs! Clear ship for lift!"
And an officer came bustling to the duo.
"Pardon, my Lady. Pardon, my Lord. If you will come this way, please—"
And as he swept the pair before him to the hydraulic hammocks wherein passengers must recline during the initial shock of acceleration, Steve seized the opportunity to whisper to the Lady Loala, "Silence, O Mistress of Delight, I beseech thee. I am on a dangerous mission. My true identity must not be revealed."
And though the silver-haired daughter of Venus frowned, her eyes fraught with question, she said nothing more. So the two took the hammocks assigned them, strapped themselves securely therein, and a few minutes later, with an ear-splitting roar and a rushing violence which for an instant seemed to halt the very pounding of blood in their veins, the mighty jet-tubes of theOalumuoexploded, catapulting their vessel outward from Earth into space.
But not for long could the curiosity of the Overlord be denied. Later, released from their hammocks, with the vessel hurtling the dark vaults of the void at a speed increasing toward the acceleration of 200,000 m.p.h. Duane later learned to be the craft's maximum velocity, the voluptuous Lady Loala turned to Steve imperiously.
"Come, Captain Huumo," she said, addressing him by the title a space sailor had used when releasing him from his hammock. "Follow me to my quarters. I would learn more of this 'mission' which carries you to Daan."
And when they had reached the suite of rooms reserved for her use, and had closed the doors behind them: "Well?" she demanded. "What means this, Steve of Emmeity? A secret mission? And on whose behalf, pray? Was it notIwho but recently assigned you to a mission of utmost importance?"
"It was, O my Lady," acknowledged Steve. "But that errand has already been concluded; this new duty springs from its accomplishment. On it I am sent by your companion in Council, the Overlord Okuno."
"The Chief Executioner? But why should he—Aaah!" Loala's gray-green eyes widened slightly. "Then it was you whose information warned us of the rebel uprising at Loovil, and enabled our forces to quell it? Well done, brave Steve of Emmeity! But still I do not understand. Why did you not report this directly tome?"
"Because," explained Steve, "upon my return to Sinnaty I was seized by guards and taken before the Chief Executioner. When I told Okuno of the dreadful secret I had learned at Loovil, he commissioned me to proceed immediately to Daan, that I might point out amongst the group recently exiled—"
"The Slumberers!" Excitement brightened Loala's eyes. "Now I understand! Then what we heard rumored was true? The Slumbererswereamongst those captured at Loovil, and exiled to Daan? And you, O Steve, you can identify them?"
"I can," declared Steve boldly. Then, in a softer voice, "I can and will, O loveliest daughter of Daan."
And again, as before, Loala proved herself mistress of all things save her own truly feminine emotions. At the tone of his voice, her features softened. Her eyes met his approvingly, and she whispered, "You have done well, Steve of Emmeity. I think the time is not far off when you shall have won that which you claim to desire. Do you—" There was a calculated allure in her sidelong glance—"Do you still find the prize worth striving for?"
"More so than ever, O Mistress of every delight," avowed Steve ardently ... and moved a step nearer her. "Must I continue to prove myself? Surely by now I have earned—"
It was a bold gambit he offered, one which might have boomeranged against his plans. But he was gambling on the inherent coquetry of the woman Loala. His psychology was good, for, as he had expected, she withdrew before him, and her lips lifted in a smile of light amusement.
"Not so quickly, O most presuming human," she laughed archly. "There is still your important mission to be accomplished. After that, well—then perhaps we shall see...."
To say that the following ten days, during which the spacecruiserOalumuoblazed its way across thirty-odd million miles of trackless ether, were uneventful would be but to demonstrate the relativity of all things.
To the Venusian space-navigators the trip was, perhaps, one of little moment. It passed smoothly, serenely, and without untoward incident. To the passengers who spent their waking hours dining and gaming, the trip may have been unexciting. To the workmen who performed mysterious functions deep within the bowels of the ship the trip may have seemed but hours of drudgery. But to Stephen Duane the trip was ten days of nerve-tingling adventure. Excitement stirring every sense, emotion and brain-fibre.
First, there was that never-to-be-forgotten moment when, led to the Observatory Deck by a junior officer eager to win a good place in the graces of the mock Daan "nobleman," Steve looked out upon that which every imaginative human has dreamed of some day beholding: the starry firmament of space as viewed from the void itself.
Stephen Duane was stricken speechless by the majesty of this sight. Here was no scattered handful of stars sprinkling the black emptiness like a sparse shaking of mica upon velvet. Here was a glorious backdrop of color, radiant, pulsating, gleaming with hues which shamed the efforts of the most daring rainbow. Clear of the encumbrance of Earth's blanketing atmosphere, the stars became tremendous globes burning hotly, fiercely, in the celestial vault. Flanking them on every side, forming a webwork so closely woven as to stagger the mind with its intricateness, were millions ... billions ... of myriad flaming companions.
Behind theOalumuolay the blue-green orb of Earth, studded with the whirling coronet of its tiny lunar companion. Before, looming larger with each passing hour of flight, was the gleaming-white birthplace of the races of Daans. Elsewhere circling the solar giant which dominated the segment of space could be seen, methodically plodding their ordained courses, the other planets of Sol's family. Red Mars and mighty Jupiter ... ringed Saturn and far, frozen Uranus.
It was a sight to humble the proudest human. Seeing it, tiring never of its ever-changing splendor, Steve Duane renewed to himself his vow that he would do everything within his power to reclaim for an enslaved humanity the right to share in the glories of this celestial empire.
But he saw not only beauty on the trip. He studied other things more practical, as well. Under the guidance of young Thaamo, his space-mariner friend, he spent long days in traversing theOalumuofrom stem to stern, from control-room to jet-chambers.
Much of what he saw upon these visits he did not completely understand. That was only natural. Not in a day nor a decade had the Daans solved the secret of space-travel. It lay within the power of no single brain to instantaneously comprehend mechanisms which had taken a hundred brains to invent, a thousand hands to build.
But Stephen Duane was, or had been, a scientist—and a brilliant one. He had that type of mind which, though it necessarily ignored details at the moment unsolveable, grasped prime essentials swiftly and surely.
On the more important points Steve centered his attention. He learned that the motors propelling the ship were atomic motors, and by deft questioning learned how that long-sought power had been harnessed by the Venusians. He studied the controls so carefully that in an emergency he might have taken his seat at the pilot's studs ... mentally blueprinted the general layout of the craft so that in days to come he might know in rude outline the sort of ship earthmen must build were they to go space-vagabonding.
Steve studied the controls carefully.
Steve studied the controls carefully.
Steve studied the controls carefully.
He learned where the fuel was stored, and where were kept food and water supplies. He was shown—and memorized—the location of the air-conditioning system through whose viaducts re-freshened, re-oxygenated atmosphere was pumped to each nook and cranny of the ship. And though the armaments of the vessel were a military secret that might not be entrusted to even a traveling dignitary, he learned the locations of the principle ray-guns, and knew the points on a Venusian man-o'-war over which one must achieve mastery in order to seize that vessel.
Thus, though others may have been bored by the trip, to Steve Duane the ten days whisked by like dry leaves fleeing before an autumn gale. And finally the journey came to an end.
On the morning of the eleventh day, when he awakened to peer through his porthole, he discovered the now-familiar spangled firmament was blotted out by a mist of writhing gray. Fog banks, impenetrably thick, engulfed the craft like a veil. The clear, sharp brilliance of open ether was left behind, and theOalumuowas settling through miles of turgid white to its destination.
And when the gray evaporated, Steve looked down upon the landscape of Earth's humid, solar sister ... the planet Daan.
CHAPTER XIV
Between Two Camps
It was with swiftly beating heart that Stephen Duane stepped from theOalumuo'slift to the soil of the Overlords' planet. Staring about him with eyes which, despite his every effort, he could not keep from widening, he experienced again that sense of reluctant admiration for the scientific ability of those who had made themselves mankind's masters.
The spaceport outside Sinnaty had been marvel enough to earthly eyes, but it paled into insignificance before the spectacle which now presented itself. Here was no rude plain crudely hacked from a tangle of wilderness. TheOalumuocame to rest in but one of a hundred gigantic spacevessel cradles ranged with mathematical precision upon a tremendous, smoothly paved court studded with workshops, hangars, warehouses, machine-shops, technical offices ... all the appurtenances and paraphernalia of a highly organized, perfectly integrated civilization.
Curiously enough, the dense cloud-banks through which theOalumuohad plunged to its landing did not enswaddle this scene, nor conceal the colorfully magnificent skyline of the metropolis which surrounded the spaceport like a heaven-spanning rampart. Or perhaps that was not so curious as logical. For surely—Duane's swift reason told him—any race which could create such wonders asthesehad also long since learned how to harness and subdue the meteorological disadvantages of its native world. Plainly this island of freedom from the all-pervading Venusian fog was an artificial one.
So lost was he in wonderment and speculation that it was not until a hand touched his shoulder that he realized he was being addressed for possibly the second or third time by the young space-officer who had been his guide and companion throughout the journey.
He spun, startled. "Oh, I—I beg your pardon, Thaamo. I was lost in dreaming. I did not realize—"
The friendly officer smiled.
"It is good to be home again, is it not, Captain Huumo? Fair Daan is a delight to the eyes after lonely years of service on our colony. Ah, well—it has been a pleasant enough journey. What are your plans now, my Captain? You will report to the Supreme Council, no doubt?"
On this point Okuno's instructions had been clear.
Duane nodded. "Yes."
"Of course. Then you will be traveling by aereo to the palace. You had best make haste, Captain Huumo, ere the last flight leaves without you."
The season was warm, the air dusty-dry, but there was suddenly upon Stephen Duane's forehead a cold, dank perspiration. For, standing there with the gaze of his acquaintance upon him, he realized in that instant that there was too much he still did not know about the customs and the culture of the Daans.
He knew neitherwherethe palace lay, nor what this "aereo" was by which he might reach it, nor even in which direction he should now turn with assured movement to dispel the half-suspicious curiosity of his mariner friend.
But at that moment relief came from an unexpected quarter. There sounded beside him a light tinkle of laughter and his eyes lifted to meet the taunting, gray-green eyes of the Lady Loala.
"Hasten him not,AarkanThaamo. Captain Huumo waits for me. But I am ready now. Come, Captain—" She rested a pale hand lightly upon his arm—"let us go." And gratefully Steve Duane allowed himself to be led away.
But a few moments later, in the seclusion of the Lady Loala's tiny, individual aereo, a small craft which Duane discovered to be somewhat similar to the two-passenger planes of his own century save that it traveled silently and effortlessly on an atomic power-beam transmitted from central control stations, rather than by any independent motor of its own, the argent Overlord mocked Steve for his recent awkward moment.
"You are a poor dissembler, Steve of Emmeity. Happy for you that you masquerade only to deceive your Earth brethren, and not the Daans. Methinks your play-acting would come to a swift end if we were those upon whom you attempted to spy, rather than the stupider humans."
Steve grinned, not half so ruefully as the Lady Loala believed, and conceded, "You are right, my princess. Deceit rests poorly upon my features, even though those featureshavebeen altered to make me resemble one of your own race.
"I am afraid the Lord Okuno's efforts to make me look like a true Daan were not altogether successful. The episode with Thaamo was not the first time I have come near betraying my real identity. And as foryou—you penetrated my disguise the moment you laid eyes upon me."
Loala said softly, "Who should know thee better than I, Steve of Emmeity? True, I recognized you immediately. But perhaps my eyes knew you less swiftly than my heart.
"You see, human, you please me greatly. Yes, frankly, I admit it; even I, Loala, Overlord of Sinnaty, confess I find you—interesting.
"But be of good heart. Here on Daan no other will recognize you, nor none suspect you an earthling, as none aboard theOalumuoquestioned your race. And your secret is safe with me. Though I do not understand why Okuno found it necessary to disguise you as a Daan when he sent you on this mission."
"It was done," explained Steve hastily, "not to deceive the Daans, but the men and women of Earth amongst whom I must move and mingle freely. Were they to realize I were one of their own kind, Okuno said, they would destroy me before ever I found a chance to identify and point out the wakened Slumberers."
"I see," nodded Loala. "Well, Okuno is a wise Councillor. In his judgment I place implicit faith. Still—" Her eyes met Steve's archly—"it strikes me you have taken too seriously this mission of yours. Those were long, lazy hours aboard theOalumuo, my Steve. Hours we might have spent pleasantly together."
And Steve said staunchly, "There is nothing under sun and stars I should have liked better, O Vision of Loveliness. But—"
"But—?" prompted the Lady Loala.
"But the Lord Okuno has promised that if I perform this mission faithfully and well there may await me even a greater prize than that of mere acceptance into the Brotherhood. To a chosen few, he told me, is granted the privilege of full Daan citizenship, complete membership in the master race. This, O Wakener of Dreams, is my hope and my ambition. To win that coveted honor, so I may not only become your Earthly consort, but aspire to the position of your true Daan mate—"
Steve's eyes met those of the Venusian woman boldly. And this time it was her pale cheeks into which crept the faintest suspicion of color as she dropped her eyes, murmuring, "I—I fear you presume too much, Steve of Emmeity."
But the Lady Loala was not displeased. Nor did she, Steve guessed shrewdly, represent in any way an obstacle to his future plans. Loala would not betray him. Any lurking doubts which might have lingered in her bosom had been swept away by the tide of her own desires.
Thus, his true identity a secret known only to one Daan, and she one who would not reveal it, the major hurdle of Stephen Duane's great impersonation was overcome.
The Daan's Supreme Council accepted himself and his credentials for what they purported to be, strove to discern no human lineaments beneath his cleverly wrought mask, and freely granted that privilege for which Duane pleaded: the right of visiting the marshland slave camp wherein labored earthmen and women transported hither from Earth.
Standing before the Council, Steve experienced his first disappointment in the Daans. Under the circumstances, "disappointment" was perhaps a curious word to use, even to himself. Yet it was the only one to describe his feelings. Up to this time he had felt bitterness toward the Venusians for what they had done to Earth, had hated certain members of the master race for the brutal way they had treated their human slaves; but despite these personal animosities he had been forced to concede an intellectual approval of their skill, their culture, and above all, their superb scientific accomplishments.
Yet now he found himself standing not in such a trim, functional chamber as had been the council hall of Nedlunplaza. The palace of the Supreme Council on Daan was a sybaritic pleasure-dome which on Earth had had its counterpart centuries before Stephen Duane first drew breath.
It was in such a court as this the effete emperors of imperial France had dallied with glamorous mistresses while starving subjects fell plague-ridden in the gutters. Surrounded by such pleasures had the last Roman tyrants squandered their heritage in riotous abandon. Here was such opulence as had rotted the heart of Saladan's kingdom, Priam's, Cleopatra's, and the sea-girdling empire of Phillip.
Duane needed no textbook to tell him the history of the Daans. He knew what had happened; the evidence lay before his eyes.
The Venusianshadbeen a mighty race. Only a strong and stout-hearted people could have raised from the morass of this eternally fog-veiled planet such cities and such sciences. Only daring and stalwart people could have accomplished those wonders the Daans accepted as commonplaces. Labor had played its part in this rise to superiority; labor of back and brain. Sweat of muscle and furrow of brow had created an empire. But now those who had striven so mightily were gone, leaving behind a languorous and unappreciative race to despoil the glories their forefathers had so magnificently wrought.
The present Daan empire was a spoiled, stagnant civilization. It dwelt amidst splendors created for it by vanished generations, reveled greedily amongst luxuries earned by the sweat of predecessor's brows. That was why slave labor was imported from Earth; to lift the burden of honest toil from hands become too proud and soft to fend for themselves.
Those Daans who maintained the scattered outposts on Earth were perhaps the last atavistic remnants of a once-great race. They, at least, could and did work for themselves; had the strength and the courage to wage incessant conflict for possession of a territory precious to the mother land.
But these members of the Supreme Council, languid, lolling, grimacing creatures who spoke in accents of exaggerated boredom, nibbled at wines and sweetmeats as they talked, pausing from time to time to fondle diaphanously-veiled females of their harem corps, were no opponents to be feared. They were, rather—Steve's eyes narrowed minutely and his jaw set—wastrels to be outwitted and overthrown.
Now one of the Council was speaking to him, his voice a shrill simper of amusement.
"To the swamps, Captain Huumo? Of course you have our permission—if you really feel you must. But why any Daan noble would choose to go there and in this season—! Why do you wish to go?"
Steve's answer was half truthful. "Because it is said, my Lord, that at the recent battle of Loovil were taken into custody certain humans who call themselves the 'Slumberers.' The Chief Executioner, Okuno, sent me hither to find these three and return them to Earth for judgment."
"Slumberers?" drawled his questioner. "But surely that ancient myth has been exploded by now, Captain? It is written in the Archives that when our ancestors took Earth centuries ago its people worshipped these fabulous creatures. Have they not learned by now—?"
The Lady Loala interrupted, sharply, impatiently. Glancing at her in surprise, Steve could not help but feel that she, too, had found cause for disappointment in the namby-pamby behavior of her superiors.
"Pardon, O Masters," she said, "but the Captain Huumo speaks truth. We who have lately served,fightingandworking—" she stressed the verbs with delicate irony that escaped all save Steve—"on Earth are conscious of a new spirit of rebellion amongst that planet's people. A rebirth of the independence which made them bitter foes centuries ago.
"Our spies inform us that word spreads like wildfire amongst the humans that the Slumberers have awakened, and the hour to strike for human liberation is nigh. If this be true, there may again be bloody warfare on our colony."
"But our fleet, my Lady—" offered one of the Masters—"it is swift and powerful—"
"That I know," said the Lady Loala grimly, "and this I also know—that had Daan not an armada of fighting vessels as an ever-ready threat to hurl against Earth's children, by their vigor and strength, by their renascent determination for freedom they might tomorrow break the bonds of servitude in which we hold them. You may thank the waters whence our ancestors sprang, O my Lords, that wehavethis mighty fleet at our command."
"We are duly grateful, Lady Loala," yawned the first Councillor impatiently. "But since wehavethis bulwark, there is no reason to become apprehensive. Was it thus to warn us and spoil our pleasure that you journeyed hither from Earth?"
The Lady Loala shrugged and abandoned the futile attempt to make her Masters understand. "It was, my Lord. But I see now my mission has been vain. Therefore, with your permission I shall withdraw and arrange to return to my post with the first outgoing transport."
"Very well. But wait! Did you not say it was within your territory the Slumberers are reputed to have awakened?"
"Aye, my Lord."
"Then since the first transport is not scheduled to leave for several days, would it not be well for you to accompany the Captain Huumo on his search for these—fabulous creatures?"
There was a mocking lilt to the Councillor's voice. Even Stephen Duane, who was not familiar with Daan traits and trends, read the meaning behind his words. Reminder of the responsibilities habitually shirked had wakened the Council's spite. None too subtly the Lady Loala was being punished for the temerarious violation of their languor, in thus being sent to the equatorial swamplands.
But if Loala recognized this sentence as punishment she showed it neither by word nor expression. Instead, with almost eager alacrity she said, "Very well, my Lord. Your wish is my command. It shall be as you say."
Thus Stephen Duane found himself burdened with the one companion of all Daandom whom he wanted least to take with him on his journey.
CHAPTER XV
Swamp Gold
As on the following day he and the Lady Loala neared their destination by private aereo, Steve Duane came to the conclusion that not without reason had the Daan Supreme Councillor spoken distastefully of the summer climate in this section of the planet.
Nothing in Duane's experience had prepared him for such devastating heat as that which waxed stronger and more devouring as they approached their goal. Earth of Duane's day had known its uncomfortable spots ... the Mohave, the Sahara, the pouring-room of a steel mill, a New York night club in midsummer ... but nowhere had heat ever been so constant, so unavoidable, so overwhelmingly depressing as here in the equatorial regions of Daan.
For one thing, the planet was some twenty-five millions of miles nearer the sun than was Earth. For another, it was enveloped in a swaddling cloak of moisture-laden atmosphere. The third and culminating blow was the terrain over which they flew: a vast and squamous marshland, jungle-thick, steamy and frothy with the scums and scents of myriad forms of torrid, aqueous life.
This combination of sights and smells and stifling heat not only weakened but sickened Steve Duane. The Lady Loala did not seem to share his discomfort completely. Apparently the pores of her dead-white skin were better adapted to this climate than were those of the Earth man. But even she was far from comfortable.
Traveling over this terrain was like tunneling in a closed sled through rifts of downy cotton, so constantly was their ship engulfed in solid layers of fog. Only at brief intervals and for briefer flashes did the interminable mist clear long enough to reveal below them the sprawling green tracery of jungle, or a black and sluggish river winding its sultry way through a half-drowned plain.
And, traveling thus, Duane realized that the beam transmission method of Daan aircraft was not only a great accomplishment but, indeed, the only possible means of flight over a planet so humid as Daan. Only about cities and major outposts did atmosphere-clearing units offer flyers somewhat better than 0-0 visibility. Elsewhere, were it not for the narrow transmission of the atomic power setup, aereo drivers would have been forced to fly by dead reckoning at all times.
Now, however, their craft was approaching one of these cleared patches of atmosphere. The cottony blanket about them was thinning into tufted clots. And Loala, glancing at the instrument panel before her, nodded to Steve.
"This is the slave camp, Steve of Emmeity."
And deftly she guided the little ship to rest on a field which appeared beneath them.
They were greeted upon landing by one who identified himself as the Chief Warden of this slave camp. He was a hulking, truculent brute, more goggling of eye, more prognathous of jaw than most of the Daans. He descended upon them with belligerent alacrity, growling curt queries. But upon learning his visitors were an Overlord and a noble of high rank, his attitude underwent a swift, chameleon-like change. At once he was bowing and scraping, obsequiously servile.
"Yes, my Lady! Yes, my Lord!" he answered their queries. "The new prisoners are quartered here. Of a certainty you may interview them. I will have you shown to their pens immediately. Amarro! Hither quickly, lazy one, and guide our guests to the sties of the Earthborn scum!"
The lieutenant who answered his summons was scarcely less prepossessing of appearance; but Stephen Duane paid him the mental compliment of acknowledging that here was one Daan, at least, with a few vestiges of dignity and compassion.
He frowned at his commander, reminded gently, "But Grudo, they are asleep. It is their hour of rest. They have but returned from long hours of back-breaking toil in the swamps—"
"Silence, weakling!" bellowed Grudo irately. "There is no rest for slaves unto the grave. Convey our visitors where they would go instantly!"
And to Loala and Steve as the abashed Amarro shrugged and silently led the way, "This is what comes," he grumbled, "of allowing Daan warriors to visit that accursed colony, Earth. Before Amarro vacationed there, he was the best hand with the lash of all my guards; since his return he coddles our prisoners like house-pets. You will forgive me if I do not accompany you? I must go now and make preparations that you may eat, drink, and be entertained when you have finished your task. May Daan live forever!"
"May Daan live forever!" repeated Steve and Loala ritually, and followed their guide to the pens wherein were herded the Earthborn prisoners.
It were folly to attempt to describe the revolting squalor of the prisoners' barracks. Grudo had not chosen wrongly when he called their quarters "sties." If anything, the word over-glamorized the conditions under which the slaves were kept.
After threading his way through an intricate series of barricades and across an open area through which even Amarro walked gingerly, explaining as he did so that this entire field was groundmined with atomic bombs against the possibility of a single prisoner's escaping, Steve's heart sickened within him to look at last upon the filthy pens into which were huddled a thousand emprisoned Earth cattle, including those who had so recently and gallantly fought beside him at the taking of Loovil.
The miasmic odors emanating from the swamps were but part of the appalling stench which rose to offend his nostrils. Odors of death and decay, sickness and filth, stagnant waters alive with squirming life, rotten food ... these were the conditions under which the effete Daans maintained their "mastery" over once free earthmen.
Yet what menmustendure they somehow can. And even in this scene of degradation, somehow the exhausted prisoners contrived to sleep—until Amarro issued the order which brought the entire camp to its feet as a brazen klaxon clamored its strident signal over the barracks.
Then haggard humans, trained by lash and rack to obey the summons of that signal, came straggling from their quarters to stare in dumb bewilderment at their gaudily-raimented visitors. And it was then Amarro turned to Stephen Duane.
Perhaps it was only imagination on Duane's part, but for an instant he thought he detected in the guard's eyes a sullen glitter of disdain as Amarro muttered, "Here are those you seek, noble Lord. Fear them not. They are too weak and weary to resent your questioning."
And the Lady Loala glanced at Steve.
"Do you see them, Steve of Emmeity? See you the trio you came to identify? Those known as the Slumberers?"
Steve did not hurry his answer. He had already seen and grievously recognized many of those he loved. Beth ... and the Mother Maatha. Chuck Lafferty who, even in befouled exhaustion, managed to maintain a shadow of his erstwhile proud defiance. The Wild Ones' leader, Jon. Lina, warrior captain of a Tensee Clan.
But there was one whose sight evaded him, and that one, for the nonce at least, perhaps the most important of them all. Steve turned to Amarro, frowning.
"I am not altogether sure. I saw the Slumberers but once, and then for a short time. It is not easy to recognize them under these conditions. But there is one face I have not forgotten. I see it not here now. A human tall as myself ... with close-cropped hair of yellow, pale blue eyes, heavy jaw and thick lips...."
Amarro started. "What, my Lord? Say youthatone is a Slumberer? He is not here."
"Not here?" cried Steve in swift alarm. "Then where is he?"
"He is back at our headquarters," explained the guard, "undergoing hospitalization. He was wounded when brought from Earth, and could do no work. His mind was affected so he knew not where he was, nor whom. He begins to show signs of recovery now, though—"
A swift pang of fear coursed through Stephen Duane. So far he and his comrades had been fortunate. Von Rath's amnesia was the only reason Chuck still lived and he, Duane, trod the soil of Daan freely. But if von Rath recovered, it would be but a matter of time before....
His voice lifted sharply, excitedly.
"I must see him at once, Amarro. Take us back to headquarters immediately—"
His very excitement was his undoing. For his voice carried clearly across the ground which separated him from his former comrades. At the sound of that voice one slim and dust-gold figure thrust forward suddenly, and a heart-stoppingly familiar voice cried,
"Steve! O Dwain! O Slumberer—thou hast come at last to free us!"
Then everything happened at once. Chuck Lafferty's eyes widened in belated recognition, and he moved in swifter comprehension of the evil Beth had unwittingly done; leaped to the girl's side and clamped a stifling hand over her lips.
But of the mob, only these two identified Duane with gladness or understanding. Through the rest stirred an ominous murmur which heightened instantly to screams of rage and hatred.
A mad voice cried, "Betrayer!", and a hundred throats took up the cry.