"I see no wisdom in risking your life too. For if I perish, my task
falls upon your shoulders, Freml. In that emergency, you were selected
to command the ship ... remember?"
Voicelessly the Panadur assented, and continued to patter softly beside
Bill Nardon.
"I've brought with me the League's ultimate weapons," the red-headed
Terran continued. "Electro-flash, power-rapier ... if those were to
fail, what use would there be in attempting to remain? Thus, I would
make a suggestion--return to the spacer in the Z-auxiliary that brought
us to the city; I'll keep in touch with you through the ethero-radio,"
he lifted his left arm exposing the watch-like instrument on his wrist.
The Panadur lifted his great beryl eyes to the tall Terran and
telepathed softly, "You don't expect me to agree to that!"
"No," Bill smiled, "it was the expression of a hope. But tell me this,
if as I expect, there's strife, what can you hope to add in my favor
that would be as important as your being safe in the ship, were I to
die?"
Freml didn't answer right away. It was not hesitation, Bill knew that,
but the Panadur had blanked his mind. There were things they didn't
impart whenever they touched on secrets of his race. Then--
"A weapon _you_ do not have!" He seemed to consider the next thought
before he telepathed:
"You know my race can store the accumulative power of radiant energy,
and _direct_ it at will.... It's in the legends ... that's how we saved
the first Earthmen who trod Europa."
They were in the very heart of the silent city now, and the lofty domes
and exaggerated spires swam in the glaucous dusk that was Saturn's
eternal day. Overhead great stars blazed like flaming roses, and the
glory of the rings was a spangled ocean of glowing jewels, shimmering
in patternless rhythms of color. Their sense of reality drained away as
the full impact of its dissolving magic gripped their minds.
At last they stood before the portals of the great building whose lofty
tower was the city's dominant note. For here the vibrations had led
them, vibrations of life--dormant, helpless--and something else too.
Their senses preternaturally alert weapons ready, they exchanged one
final look, then Bill Nardon pushed the great portal before him, and it
swung silently inwards. And then the great stars, the wheeling moons,
the glorious rings that poured down enchantment, were forgotten before
the sight that gripped them as they stepped inside. For on an infinite
series of tiers that filled the lofty immensity of the room lay inert
beings.
Row upon endless row of creatures that to all appearances could have
been highly evolved Terrans, except for an exaggerated refinement of
features, an evident fragility of bodies, as if evolved almost to the
very brink of decadence. Their marmoreal flesh had the cold whiteness
of death, and their hair had grown until it spread in great festoons
of yellow and black and silver grey. A fine, glittering film of dust
overlay their tunics and flesh, and over all, the impalpable feeling of
disaster, of a gigantic tragedy, hung like a pall.
"Cataleptic!" Freml flashed the thought, as he examined the nearest
beings. "A living death!"
"Rather," Bill Nardon said slowly, "a deathless sleep!" It occurred
to him that the entire city was thus peopled with sleepers in
oblivion--the ocean of submerged life Freml had sensed.
* * * * *
Upward through the broad ramps of a now motionless conveyor they
ascended floor after floor, filled to over-flowing with inert
Saturnians, until at last the conveyor ceased and only the polished
walls of some unknown substance of what appeared to be an ascensor,
remained. Nardon examined it carefully before pressing the colored
disk on the side of its closed door. Noiselessly the panel slid
aside revealing a shining quadrangle. Unhesitatingly they entered
and the door automatically closed. A series of vari-colored disks
made a triangular pattern on the left, and Bill pressed the black
one at its apex. It shot upwards swiftly without the slightest jar,
its incomparable smoothness gave no hint of the extraordinary speed
save for the slight, hollow feeling in the pit of their stomachs its
occupants felt. After a brief interval it stopped, decelerating as
smoothly as it had begun, and the sliding door swept aside. And before
them opened a great, transparent alcove beyond whose translucent walls
and ceiling, the colossal theatricalism of the heavens was visible.
But Bill Nardon and the Panadur had no eyes for the sidereal spectacle
above, two figures in the foreground held their eyes. A girl and what
was evidently a man. Two figures, no more. And just now there was not
the faintest hint of a belligerent move. Somehow the sight of that girl
seated immobile with her exquisite hands folded on her lap, and the
startling peacefulness of the man at the towering instrument he was
playing, had a curious anticlimactic effect on Bill. He had not known
what to expect--but surely, not this!
"Beware!" came the Panadur's warning with unusual force, as they
advanced at the ready into the center of the alcove.
The man at the instrument ceased playing, and calmly, casually almost,
leaned over to the silent girl and kissed her softly upon the lips,
brushing the flower-like mouth with a fleeting caress. And before their
uncomprehending eyes, a spectral-blue flash lit the alcove with its
ghastly glare, as their lips met! Instantly, the girl's marvelously
tinted flesh, like Venusian nacre superimposed on gold, with the
highlights gleaming through, _paled_ to the translucent whiteness of
Jadite.
For she was golden--her eyes, her hair, the extraordinary lashes that
gleamed with the age-old patina of ancient gold. Only her cold, remote
serenity was as if she were enveloped in an invisible icy sheath. There
was no hint of feeling, of emotional force even ... until Bill gazed
into her eyes and saw the infinite depths of tragedy. As they stood
transfixed, she stirred a little and said in a low, magnificent voice:
"I am Margalida, the _Aurean_, transmitting for my Lord. If you
prefer, I shall telepath." Her deep contralto was glorious in itself,
but she spoke as impersonally, as _neutral_, even, as if she were a
mechanical instrument, nothing more. And had they known, it could
not be otherwise, for her task was to serve only as an instrument of
transmission for the telepathic vibrations of the creature at the
instrument. Hers was a conquered race, a race sunk in cataleptic
oblivion, and she no longer had a will. Her double usefulness made
her life secure, for the time being. For the Cinnabarian whom she
termed her "Lord" in keeping with the custom of his race, chose, to
communicate only through the medium of an enslaved mind. Never, never
directly, so that the telepathic vibrations of alien races had to pass
through the spectrum of the captive brain and be rendered harmless. The
Cinnabarians emitted directly, but received only through the subject
being.
"The incredible effrontery of it!" Bill Nardon flashed to the Panadur.
"Has _his_ mind protected against our thoughts, and will only
communicate through this tragic being!" Bill's lips curled in a grimace
of contempt, revealing a row of dazzling, even teeth. "With such a mind
of power, this ... Vampire of Life Force ... elects to communicate with
us indirectly only! Maybe he fears he might be contaminated ... the
colossal effrontery!"
"_He's absorbing everything we're thinking_," Freml thought coldly.
For some minutes now, he had been engaged in "_Brooding_," the nearest
term Earth had for the Panadur process of concentrating their energy
potential, raising it to its ultimate power. His exquisite, silvery fur
was an angry silver-violet now, and the beryl eyes were brilliant like
faceted jewels.
"I am Kleg," the telepathic vibration came winging from the man, and
even before the girl transmitted, both Bill and Freml had received
the message. "The divine overlords of _Danae_ have permitted your
invasion.... If you and your companions would live, you must place
yourselves and your vessel at our disposal." He was playing again, the
music weaving an unearthly spell in muted minors; it rose and sank
in a shower of notes that sped like living, winged things under his
caressing touch. Only it was an instrument on which no human being
could ever hope to play, for Kleg had four flexible arms, and slender,
tendril-like fingers on his four narrow hands that flashed with
vertiginous rapidity, as he probed deliberately with the unholy scalpel
of his satanic music the emotional depths of the Terran and the Panadur.
"Rot! Permitted indeed! You dragged us here with some magnetic device.
Tell your vampiric overlords, we acknowledge only One Divinity--the
Absolute." Bill's eyes were barely open, mere electric-blue lines
above his high cheek bones, while in his right hand he held the deadly
Power-rapier, and an electronic-flash in the other.
Kleg turned slightly from the piano-like instrument, with its three
separate keyboards, with a curiously fastidious motion, and on the
strange thin face with its knife-like nose and chill, transparent eyes
the barest semblance of a smile parted slightly the cruel curve of
the faintly outlined lips. He let his four flexible arms with their
slim hands and long, sensitive thumbs fall from the keyboards of the
instrument, and rose to his towering height of over seven feet in one
sinuous motion of faultless elegance. His exaggerated slenderness made
Bill's superb physique seem primitive--barbaric.
* * * * *
Suddenly the Cinnabarian's transparent eyes went black and without
warning a coruscating lance of living energy shot from his lips.
But in the infinitesimal fraction of time, Freml, the Panadur, had
acted. The awful energy potential he'd been generating in the involved
processes of his being flashed like a thunderbolt of power and met the
Cinnabarian's in mid air. A hellish flare of incandescence blinded
them as the universe seemed to explode before their eyes. Reeling
apart with dazzled eyes, they sensed the emergence of a new foe, and
Bill's power rapier wove a vortex of electronic disintegration as he
twirled it before himself and the Panadur; after a while, although
their sight was ringed with a myriad rainbows and prismatic rings, they
could see several ape-like _homunculi_ at bay, darting before them,
seeking an opening whence they might reach the Terran and the Panadur.
The Cinnabarian stood back, leaning against the immense instrument,
limp and deathly white, as if drained of energy, which indeed he was.
He eyed the _Aurean_ girl hungrily, but Bill was between him and the
helpless slave.
[Illustration: _Nardon's sword sang in his hand._]
In a frenzy of fury, one of the _homunculi_ made a wild leap,
and impaled itself on the flashing blade. The sickening odor of
disintegrating flesh and bone was a stench in their nostrils as the
creature fell cloven to the floor.
Bill Nardon was mercilessly using the electro-flash on the taloned
creatures now, as they redoubled their efforts to reach them. As
several died, others rushed in, debouching from the ascensor,
slithering from under the instrument, until the carnage was appalling.
At last, Bill's electro-flash went dead. He had no time to recharge,
but drew the less efficient and thunderous atomo-pistol from his belt,
and aiming it at the foremost _homunculi_ pulled the trigger. A starkly
curious thing instantly happened even before the last roaring echoes of
the discharge had dwindled.
The tall Cinnabarian with an involuntary shriek of mortal pain doubled
over, much like warriors on Terra had doubled up and died when a
dreadful Radite bomb fell too near and the devastating concussion
snuffed out their lives. The vibrations of the atomo-pistol had
killed him, although the tall being from outer-space was untouched.
And over the embattled _homunculi's_ faces a curious change came, as
their eyes seemed to go blank, and they stood uncertain, bewildered,
making no effort to attack. With one swift motion of his powerful arm,
Bill gathered the unconscious form of the _Aurean_ girl and retreated
to the ascensor followed by the Panadur. Unheeded, the ethero-radio
on his wrist flashed red and blue, as the others back in the spacer
tried to communicate with them. They had heard what had happened in an
incoherent fashion, but had no way of knowing the story in full.
"We've got them now!" Bill exulted, as he raced down the ramps once
they'd left the ascensor. "We've got them, Freml!"
"Beware!" the Panadur flashed again. "They never suspected we of Europa
possessed _their_ power. I sensed from the moment I saw that kiss, that
Kleg would strike in that fashion--only, he drained himself in his
eagerness to blast us. The next time _they_ will be more careful!"
"The next time I'll do my communicating with electro-cannon!" Bill
exclaimed. "Although just where are the rest of those hellions? What
Kleg was doing alone in the tower's a mystery to me."
They got into the swift Z-Auxiliary and started the return journey
to the spacer, under the lambent fires of the titanic rings. And now
the _Aurean_ girl trembled and became convulsed on the seat of the
auxiliary where Bill had placed her. "They're trying to reach her, no
doubt--from wherever they are ... damn them!" Bill flamed. He took off
his own transparent Energon helmet and fastened it on the unconscious
girl. He was gratified as the convulsions ceased.
* * * * *
A measure of color had returned to her wan features and her heart
was beating with greater strength. Bill thought of administering the
restorative _Sulfalixir_, but he dared not risk removing the Energon
screen headpiece. Freml, the Panadur, caught his urgent thoughts,
drained of life energy to the point of exhaustion, Margalida might not
survive. And she must live, _she must_! Was Bill's intense thought.
Behind that alabastrine brow lay the knowledge of a thousand mysteries
that must be cleared up.
"I will aid her," Freml telepathed with a tired sigh. He went close
to the girl, and his fragile hand stroked her throat, then quietly he
placed his face close to the faltering heart and transmitted some of
the precious energy that still remained to him. Slowly, imperceptibly
at first, the exquisite bosom beneath the tunic of a material sheer
as dim blue fog, began to rise and fall with regularity. Into the
exquisite face, the delicate nacre hue with gold highlights crept
slowly. Not until then did Freml rise. "Danger's past," he telepathed
laconically. "Hurry, Bill! I shall need to borrow energy from my
people ... soon!"
And indeed there was a need for haste, for at last the hidden
enemy had decided to strike in person. All else had failed despite
machiavellian plans. This time they meant to stamp out of existence
these presumptuous creatures that had blasted one of their kind--an
overlord. Besides in the unconscious mind of the _Aurean_ girl, their
hellish secrets lay.
Out of the foamless waves of the strangely shining sea, immense
iridescent globes floated upwards swiftly, gaining altitude and then
deploying into a triangular formation like an inverted pyramid.
It was an awesome sight. In a frenzy for foreboding, Bill gave the
Z-Auxiliary its maximum acceleration. He knew it was a race with
time, and time was on the wing. Ahead of them the super-spacer loomed
glistening in the fantastic light, and short as the distance was, it
seemed as if they would never make it in the face of that swooping
formation of menacing globes. Out of the foremost sphere, a lengthening
finger of livid fire pointed directly at their tiny, hurtling craft.
Bill Nardon maneuvered in a wide zig-zag then aimed for the yawning
auxiliary lock of the Spacer, and hurtled within to a jarring, crashing
stop in the mesh of synchronized magnetic fields that achieved
degravitation, arresting mass and speed synchronously. The huge lock
clanged shut instantly, and with what breath remained in his battered
body, Bill Nardon managed to shout into the communication system:
"Inner and outer Energon screens ..." he gasped. "Man all emergency
and battle stations.... Prepare to launch, we're going up!" Blood was
seeping a scarlet thread out of his ears and nose. Freml, the Panadur,
was a limp heap on the auxiliary's floor, as energy drained, the sudden
acceleration had blanked out even his stupendous mind.
Bill pressed the exit lever of the Auxiliary and got up stiff and
weary, his body a living ache. And even before he got to the exit,
Nydron was there, inscrutable as usual, product of several races from
the wild days of the last inter-planetary war, until it was doubtful
if he himself knew his antecedents, or his age, for that matter. But
Terra counted only on achievement--not racial purity. They had at
last learned that much, and Nydron's military genius was ... well,
Nydron's. He was bowing slightly now, and behind him Bill discerned
the _Juvenals_, who under the direction of a Juvenal Surgeon, repaired
bodies through a rejuvenating therapy that involved an extremely
delicate sub-glandular technique.
Bill waved to them to take charge of Freml and the _Aurean_ girl, and
wished he himself could afford the luxury of sinking into the ineffably
peaceful, dreamless sleep which was the first step in the process;
but no time for that now. He glanced at the light-copper features of
Nydron, that might be a modified-Martian, with a dash of Mercury thrown
in.
"I see our military expert is ready for all contingencies!" He strove
to be light, casual almost. "Have your forces been instructed, Nydron?
I mean ... to meet this unexpected attack?"
"All screens are on, Commander. As per your orders we're blasting off
in seconds. I shall modify strategy and technique according to what
information you may give me." The long, lambent green eyes of the man
widened briefly illumining the smooth, narrow face which though unlined
gave the feeling of incredible age. "As you doubtlessly know, _any_
enemy has a weak link in the chain--an ... an ..."
"Achilles heel?" Bill's eyes flicked with humor.
Nydron assented with the barest flicker. Everything about him seemed
outwardly static, thanks to his amazing economy of movement.
"Any luck with the Astro-radio during my absence?" Bill asked as they
hurried from the Auxiliary into the control room of the Spacer. If
they could only contact even one of the inhabited outer planets!
"We've been sending steadily. No response!" Nydron replied laconically.
A convulsive tremor shook the titanic spacer, and the shrill ascending
whine of the warning signal rose to inaudibility.
Overhead the inverted pyramid of scintillating globes seemed about to
engulf the throbbing ship.
* * * * *
"Peace, gentlemen!" Antaran's voice floated cool and sardonic beneath
the lofty transepts of the Hall of Planets in the Universarium.
"Your charges are ... well, ancient history--almost....
"Of course Terra sent part of its fleet following the departure of the
_Expedition_. But would _you_ have had it otherwise? It was not only a
measure of protection for our most unique mind--Nardon's--but you must
admit, protection also for the other occupants of the spacer." It was
exasperating, maddening, that admirable self-possession with a hint of
laughter.
"How do we know _that_ was the sole purpose of your fleet?" Flushed,
his magnificent tunic dishevelled, the Martian Ambassador asked
furiously.
"You invite reprisals!" A Neptunian was saying. "War Fleets are banned
from space except by unanimous consent--you've broken the law! Or is it
that you're scrapping the Treaty already?" He glared at the Head of the
Terran Council belligerently, and with the complete approval of half a
dozen races.
"No laws have been broken ... _Gentlemen_." He emphasized the term.
"You see, we're all party to the deed. Really now, don't tell me you
were not aware that Mars, Venus, Neptune ... Mercury even, in fact,
every signatory to the Inter-Planetary League made instant preparations
the moment the 'Suicide' Spacer blasted off. Why, there wasn't a planet
but had its fleet in readiness to follow!"
Antaran smiled sweetly into their embarrassed faces.
"Admitted," the Martian said stiffly, "but those were merely pardonable
precautions!"
"Precautions that became immediate action as soon as our fleet segment
was discovered in space!" Antaran's voice went cold. "Like a comet
dragging a lengthening tail, each planet we passed sent out part of its
fleet, until _all of us_ were represented. Haven't your Governments
advised you ... Gentlemen?"
Smiling still, although inwardly disgusted at the eternal suspicion
of the various worlds, he slowly drew an Astrograph from his tunic,
silencing them as their suspicious curiosity was aroused.
"As I already hinted," he said affably, "I'm afraid all of you are
slightly behind the times. Let me read you this message from ... _your_
planet, Vermil!" Antaran nodded to the Neptunian Diplomat. "It's a
message via Ethero-radio sent us copied from the original Astrograph
Neptune received from outer space:
"Combined Fleet reports sighting Spacer enter Saturn's atmosphere.
Mathematics of orbital maneuver computed. Will correlate to attempt
duplication. Astro-radio messages from Spacer indicate planet
inhabited."
Electrified, their faces ludicrous, they stood before the white-haired
leader in silence.
"Everyone of our Governments is now aware of this." Antaran said in
kindly tones. "We've had to maintain the utmost secrecy, for if the
billions that people the various worlds had learned what we were up
against, there would have been panics, upheavals ... it would have
been the signal for inimical minds among the '_have-nots_' to attempt
the age-old cycle. Remember, Gentlemen ... excepting the Panadurs,"
he gazed with veiled admiration at the Ambassador of that mysterious
race, "none of the rest of us have lost their Will to Battle ...
which perhaps," he added as an after-thought, with a sort of brooding
amusement, "is just as well!"
They were still dazed, as the tremendous implications of Antaran's
words filled their minds.
A new planet had been added to their group. A new world had come into
being. '_Inhabited_,' the Astrograph had read! And it was a fabulous
world next in size only to Jupiter and the Sun. It would revolutionize
their economy, possibly add illimitable riches in raw materials and....
But their minds were too filled with the staggering prospects to
visualize just now the stupefying reality of what it meant to open up
Saturn.
All belligerence was forgotten. Each emissary from the various worlds
had withdrawn into his individual shell, lest the thundering ideas that
swirled in their minds become common property.
The eternal game for favored position would begin soon, Antaran knew,
yet Saturn was still an _unknown_ quantity. Opening a new world was
far from being as easy as that. Perhaps all their fleets might never
return, and other expeditions would have to go forth. He sighed a
little. And it occurred to him that perhaps he was getting old.