"What did you say?"
"An Egypt--a great civilization that flourished on this planet before
Egypt--before the Terran Egypt was even dreamed of."
Mike smiled fleetingly. "That's what you and your father have
believed, isn't it? So why be surprised?"
"It's just that--well, being so close to it--realizing it might
_really_ exist--"
Mike laughed. "I understand. But we're still a long way from it." He
turned to the Martian. "Come on, Nicko, let's get busy with this
stuff."
The portage was laborious and dangerous. It took the balance of that
day. Even when the sun set they had still not reached the termination
of white water.
They found an open area beside the racing river that would have been
covered during high water and Mike decided it would be a good place to
camp. While Mike broke out the supplies, and Doree prepared the meal,
Nicko stood on the alert with a rifle over his arm scanning the line
of undergrowth at the edge of the forest.
After all three had eaten, Mike directed Nicko to bed down in order to
be ready for the second watch. He urged Doree to sleep also, but she
insisted on sitting with him during his watch. And though her head
drooped several times, she remained with him and refused to sleep.
When Nicko took over the watch, Mike stretched out under his blanket
near Doree. He dozed off and was then awakened by a pressure against
his back. Doree, snuggling close. "It's cold," she murmured, and
drifted to sleep with a contented sigh. It was a calm, restful
slumber.
* * * * *
The sharp bark of Nicko's rifle awakened Mike after what seemed to him
only a few moments of sleep. He sprang up to find dawn breaking and
Nicko sending another shot into the undergrowth.
Mike grabbed his own rifle and ran to the Martian's side. "What's
wrong?"
Nicko lowered his weapon. "I saw four platoons of infantry charging
out of the brush--I think."
"In other words you think maybe you saw something. You don't know what
it was. It could have been nothing at all."
"All right. Have it your way," Nicko said serenely.
"Come on. Let's get going. We'll eat something on the raft."
* * * * *
But they never reached the raft. Mike's words had hardly been spoken
when the forest erupted with a mass of savagery. Several hundred tall,
screaming black men clad sketchily in brilliantly colored feathers and
paint.
Both rifles barked. Nicko's shot was high, but Mike brought the
foremost of the black warriors skidding forward on his face.
Maybe that will stop them, Mike thought desperately. Maybe they've
never seen firearms before. He held up his second shot for the
briefest moment hoping the savages would be awed into retreat.
But this was not the case. They charged forward in renewed fury and
Mike again went to work. He dropped three more of the charging maniacs
while Nicko, probably the poorest shot who ever lifted a rifle,
accounted for one unfortunate warrior with a twenty-shot spray of
atomic pellets.
The black men, who had had only a scant fifty yards to cover, were now
upon the three. Two of them seized Doree, an act which turned Mike
into a terrible fighting machine.
Not able to fire the gun effectively at such close range, he reversed
it and created bloody havoc, using the butt as a club. Two skulls
cracked sharply under its impact and as he fought, Mike saw Nicko go
down. He couldn't reach him.
Several warriors raised the iron-toothed clubs they carried and
crashed them down upon Nicko's unprotected body.
The result would have been comic under less grim circumstances. The
clubs of the warriors caused Nicko's almost indestructible hide to
ring like a great bell. The handle of one warrior's lethal bludgeon
snapped and the attacker stared at it in amazement. The rest beat down
again upon the prone Nicko, their clubs bouncing off and resounding in
a sort of anvil chorus.
The attention of the warriors bent upon annihilating Mike was diverted
by the intriguing spectacle of this strange four-armed creature
refusing to be clubbed to death. So Mike was able to get in some
telling blows that felled three more of the terrible warriors.
He knew however, that the end was already written in the bloody sands
around him. He could only fight to the last moment, bringing down as
many of the enemy as possible.
His heart was sick at what would surely be Doree's fate. He saw her
just beyond the perimeter of battle still held by her two captors who
were viewing the fight with rapt interest. If he could only reach her.
One swing of his gun butt and she would serve no vile purpose in the
hands of these raiders.
[Illustration: The beastman's intent was all too clear.]
Mike mowed a bloody path in her direction. He covered more than half
the distance before he knew he would never make it.
However, the end of this affair was not written in the sands, but in
the skies overhead. Mike realized this when the attackers stopped
fighting, all eyes turned heavenward in sudden terror. Mike's eyes
followed theirs and he saw the ship.
* * * * *
It was a craft such as he could never have imagined in dream or
reverie. A great rectangular platform, its polished sides inlaid with
gold and fist-sized gems. There was a high railing around its edge
over which myriad faces peered down. Above it, elevated upon shining
cables, were two glowing balls not more than two feet in diameter, and
even in his preoccupation with more serious matters, Mike realized the
whole craft was suspended from these two balls, that they were its
means of buoyancy.
Then he was in the midst of a disordered flight as the warriors
charged screaming back to the forest. The ship was settling swiftly
toward the surface of the river and now a crystalline ray of some sort
shot out from the forward deck, cutting down the terrorized warriors
in their flight.
* * * * *
Every able-bodied one had fled the scene of battle. Some gained the
forest where the crystalline ray crisped the overgrowth into black
ashes as it nipped at their singed heels. Those not fortunate enough
to escape were but small nubs of blackened ashes on the open shore.
The ray had avoided touching the heart of the battleground and Mike
found himself standing alone among the bodies of the blacks he had
dispatched. Nicko was getting wearily to his feet. Doree stood frozen
nearby, abandoned by her captors, the great ship holding her gaze as a
snake would hold that of a bird.
The ship hung motionless a few inches above the rushing water, its
port side flanking the shore. And as a section of the railing arced
down from its position to become a landing ladder, Mike realized the
futility of delayed flight.
This was a fighting ship; a patrol craft ready and able to spread
devastation in any direction. There were perhaps a hundred men aboard
and as a squad filed down the ladder, Mike was struck by the
perfection of their six-foot bodies and by the pride and arrogance of
their manner.
Their attitude was one of casual contempt mixed with mild interest.
Doree had moved into the shelter of his arm and the grumbling Nicko
had also come close but with interest centered more upon his aching
scales than this new possible enemy.
While the squad stood at attention, their leader surveyed the bloody
section of shore. He checked each of the prone men and found only one
still alive, a seven-foot, ebon-skinned warrior who got to his feet
when the leader kicked him and stood erect but swaying drunkenly from
the blow Mike had laid across his skull during the battle.
Shoving the warrior roughly toward the silent trio, the leader took a
small object from the gold-inlaid shoulder sack that seemed to be a
part of his uniform. The object consisted of a short rod with a
crystal ball on one end. The man grasped the ball in his palm, pointed
the rod at the fallen men and began spraying them with the same
crystalline ray that had emanated from the ship. The resulting fire
was instantaneous and intense. The prone bodies crackled for a moment
and were reduced to charred fragments. The leader went about this work
with the distasteful look of a man cleaning out a garbage pail. When
the task was finished, he turned his attention to the four prisoners.
* * * * *
Nicko was the prime object of his interest. He cut the little Martian
out of the group, shoving him roughly aside, then walked slowly around
him several times as though unable to convince himself that such an
improbable creature could really exist.
A sharp command from the deck of the ship terminated his inspection
and he spoke brusquely to the group in a tongue Mike did not
understand.
"What did he say?" Mike asked of Nicko.
For once, the latter was not interested. "How do I know?" he growled.
"Gad! My aching back!"
The leader motioned to the squad, whereupon the prisoners were pushed
toward the ladder.
The boarding was accomplished swiftly. The prisoners were herded
forward and onto a gold-inlaid bench just above the prow. The ladder
was lifted and the craft moved straight upward like an elevator.
After ascending three or four hundred yards, it leveled off and swept
gently forward, down-river. None of those aboard laid hands upon the
prisoners. Nicko was still the center of attention and also of the
conversation passed among the soldiers. They were handsome specimens,
erect and beautifully built, clad in identical uniforms the cost of
which would have been staggering on Terra or anywhere else in the
System.
"This ship," Mike said. "Is there anything familiar about it?"
He had spoken to Doree and the latter looked at him questioningly and
then glanced about the ship. "I've certainly never seen anything like
it before."
"Of course not, but the styling, the decorations, they could only be
classed as--"
"Egyptian!"
"At least a forerunner of what we consider Egyptian. And this river.
Look out ahead of us. See how it broadens. See the wide level fields
on either side."
"The Nile," Doree whispered.
"Not the Nile, but obviously a sister. The Egyptians who fled this
planet certainly hunted until they found exactly what they
wanted--found it on Terra in a system far from their own."
Mike turned his attention to a conversation that was going on between
Nicko and the black prisoner. The language was a primitive guttural of
some sort but Nicko was obviously using it skilfully. He grinned at
Mike and said, "We were wrong about those people. They are fine
characters. This is M'landa, a leader of the tribe known as the
H'Lorkas--or at least that's as close as I can give it to you in
Terran. He is an extremely fine fellow."
"Is that so?" Mike asked grimly. "Then why did they grab Doree?"
"They meant her no harm. They didn't want her injured."
"I can imagine why. And if they're such fine fellows why did they
attack us?"
The question seemed to embarrass Nicko. "I guess my aim wasn't so bad
after all. They were keeping a sharp eye on us--wishing us no harm
whatever. But when I fired, I killed one so they naturally got sore."
* * * * *
"What does he know about this outfit?"
"Scoundrels. We would have been better off with the H'Lorkas. This is
a patrol ship of the Ptomenites. They are the tyrants of this planet,
their power contested only by the people of Baserite to the north. But
the Baserites always come out on the bloody end of the stick."
"Has he any idea what will happen to us?"
"He expects to be sacrificed to some slob of a god they worship. Then
his body will be preserved and put in a trophy room they call the
Gallery of the Dead."
Mike turned a quick, meaningful look at Doree, but he had no time to
comment because at that moment the door of a small cabin opened and a
girl came forth. The cabin was aft of the ship and the girl came
swiftly forward, pride and arrogance written in every line of her
beautiful body.
But it was not these qualities that caused Mike to gasp and Doree to
blush deeply. It was the regal figure's almost complete nudity. She
wore only the briefest of attire across her breast and hips.
"My dark friend says that's Katal'halee, Princess of the Ptomenites,"
Nicko whispered. "She rides along with the boys once in a while for
the exhilarating pleasure of it."
"I imagine the boys get a little pleasure out of having her along,
too," Mike said.
Then, with the queenly nude not a dozen feet away, Doree grasped
Mike's arm. He glanced across and saw that her eyes were sweeping past
Katal'halee to the small cabin. Its door had again opened. Two men
emerged and moved forward. They seemed entirely at home and wore smug
smiles.
"Lorn McKee!" Doree gasped. "Dean Talbott!"
The Terran origination of these two was obvious. McKee was bald,
paunchy, middle-aged, his face loose from easy living. Talbott tended
toward the more athletic figure. He was dark, his eyes clear and
sharp, his mouth cruel.
"Surprise," Nicko said with a noticeable lack of warmth in his voice.
"Bet you never expected to see us on your front porch."
* * * * *
Talbott smiled coldly. "Yes, and no. After we left you in space we
thought we were rid of you. But we saw you tagging after us when we
were over the planet and it was too late to do anything about it.
Congratulations. How did you manage it?"
"What have you done with my father?" Doree asked.
Talbott pondered the loathing in her eyes. It did not seem to bother
him. "Your father is well taken care of. He will be--" McKee raised a
delicate hand. "But the details would only horrify you."
Mike was on his feet and had the Terran by the throat. Talbott gagged
and flailed helplessly. He was no weakling, but still not a match for
Mike's strength and rage.
The haughty-eyed native girl had been standing silent, regarding the
tableaux. Now she snapped a command and two soldiers stepped forward
and seized Mike. A third hit Mike a vicious blow across the skull with
the flat of an ugly jeweled sword he carried. Mike staggered and fell
back on the bench, blood running from his scalp.
Talbott rubbed his throat and adjusted his clothing. Viciousness shone
in his eyes. "We had no great animosity toward you before, but now--"
"That's why you left us stranded in space?" Mike asked.
"It was just that we did not want to bloody our hands killing you but
you had to be got out of the way."
* * * * *
"Well, we're in the way now."
"Not at all. We have had time to put ourselves in solid with these
fierce but rather stupid people. We've also had time to arrange for
this hostile reception accorded you. We told them--"
"I can't see that it matters what you told them. We can see the
result."
"I'm more interested in how you got to them," Nicko said. "You don't
know their lingo."
"There are ways if one has the time." McKee had come forward and was
regarding Nicko with interest. He was not alone. Katal'halee and every
soldier within range was also regarding him with interest. "Just what
manner of creature is this, anyhow?" Talbott asked.
"Why you slab-sided slob--!" Nicko yelled.
Talbott flushed and took a backward step. The three soldiers moved
forward, scowling.
"Take it easy," Mike said. "We know how we stand. It's just as well we
don't antagonize these people any further until we can get some kind
of foothold."
"You'll get a foothold," McKee sneered. "In the priests' embalming
rooms." With that, he turned and walked away, obviously satisfied with
the situation. Talbott turned to follow him. He bowed to Katal'halee
as though awaiting her pleasure. The proud native Princess appeared to
have had enough of this spectacle and moved haughtily aft. As he
followed her, Talbott glanced swiftly back at the prisoners as if to
say: _See how solidly we're in? You haven't got a chance._ This was
all too evident.
"What do you suppose they're up to?" Mike asked.