Rebel--and Die!
"The Brotherhood, O Loala?" repeated Steve wonderingly. The silver
princess of Venus smiled a faint half-smile.
"You have not heard of it, Steve?"
"But, no, my Lady--"
"Few common Earthlings have," said Loala. "Yet the Brotherhood numbers
scores ... hundreds ... each member selected from the cream of the
human clans. Only those are invited to join who, by their physical
characteristics, are akin to the Daans--as you, Steve, approximate the
coloration and bodily structure of our master race.
"The Brotherhood is an organization of Earthlings who have joined us
in the creation of a Daan civilization here on Earth. Because they
have allied themselves to us, they have been granted great rights and
privileges; because they are human, they may come and go amongst their
fellows and bring us reports of what transpires amongst the barbarians.
Thus we keep informed as to human schemes and plottings, and can act
swiftly to quell incipient rebellion wherever it may rear."
"A--a Fifth Column," gasped Steve, "of humans!"
"Fifth Column?"
"It is a phrase," explained Steve hurriedly, "of the clan whence I
sprang. It means--er--those who work for the common good of all."
But her words had cleared up one tiny mystery which had baffled him.
He understood, now, the sudden comradeship exhibited by Rodrik of
Mish-kin. "_Forgive me, brother!_" the fellow had whispered. "_You and
I shall discuss ... the Plans._" Rodrik was, like himself, a tall,
fair-skinned blond, a human of the physiological type approved by the
pallid Daans. Then Rodrik was a member of the Brotherhood; no true
prisoner at all, but a spy masquerading as a captive to anticipate
such attempts at escape as might be formulated by the Nedlunplaza
malcontents!
"I see," said the Lady Loala, and studied him closely. "Well, Steve of
Emmeity--what say you?"
Steve struggled to repress the grin of satisfaction which crept
unbidden to his lips. There was only one possible answer. Where else
could he work better for the liberation of his fellow humans than from
the trusted ranks of those who conspired to hold them in subjection?
He said humbly, "I am overwhelmed, O Loala. Gladly will I join my cause
to yours, to serve in what humble fashion I may."
Approval, mingled with relief, lifted the shadows of doubt from the
Daan woman's eyes.
"That is good, Steve. After learning the secret, had you decided
otherwise it would have been necessary to--seal your lips forever. Now
is the way open to our future enjoyment of each other."
And she smiled at him languidly, caressingly. Steve felt the tips of
his ears burning; he cleared his throat uneasily.
"Yes, Princess. But you spoke of a--a test, a task to be fulfilled?"
Loala nodded.
"And a most important one, Steve. With the morning, you shall return to
the woodlands of Tucki whence you came, seeking a hidden refuge known
to humans as 'Fautnox.' There you shall investigate for us the truth
of a rumor which has reached our ears: that certain legendary figures
known as the 'Slumberers' have awakened."
* * * * *
"But, how--" Steve caught himself just in time. A moment more and he
would have asked how the Daans had already learned of something which
had occurred but three days since, and in so doing would have revealed
his own knowledge of the fact. Even so, he was stricken with a new and
deeper respect for the espionage system of the Venusian conquerors.
It must be a strong and far-reaching organization, this Brotherhood
of traitors. "The--the Slumberers, O Princess? The Slumberers have
awakened?"
Loala was eyeing him shrewdly, appraisingly.
"This means much to you, Steve of Emmeity?" she asked sharply. "The
Slumberers are gods of your clan, too?"
"Not gods," denied Duane. "Just--legends. Stories in which none of us
greatly believe. But there is danger in this rumor, Princess. If the
hordes believe it, trouble may arise--"
"That," nodded Loala, her suspicions again allayed, "we know. Of course
the fable is fantastic. We of a higher culture realize that gods, as
such, do not exist, and that no mortals can sleep for hundreds of
years, as it is credited the Slumberers have done.
"Nevertheless, the rumor must be tracked down, those who started it
must be apprehended and punished, and--above all else--this hidden
village of 'Fautnox' must be found and laid waste. Too long has it been
a thorn in our side. Well, Steve, can you fulfill this task?"
"I can try, O my Princess," said Steve.
"Good. You shall receive the Treatment now, and in the morning you
shall start."
"Alone, O Loala?"
"How else?"
"If I am to appear as a human of my Clan," declared Steve, "it is
needful that I be accompanied by those who came to Sinnaty with me.
Amongst my people it is customary that a journeying male should always
have a corps of female warriors to protect him and a neophyte to
prepare for his needs. Were I to approach this 'Fautnox' otherwise, my
motives might be suspect--"
Loala shrugged negligently.
"Very well. It shall be as you say. And now--the Treatment that makes
you truly one of us, a full-fledged member of the Brotherhood!"
She clapped her hands, and from a room adjacent the council hall
came armed guards. Into their care Loala placed Steve, issuing crisp
commands in a strange, rhythmic, labial tongue Steve had not heard
before, the tongue of her native Venus. When she finished, the guards
motioned Steve to come with them--this time by nods, rather than rough
elbowing--and he was led from the room.
What sort of ceremony comprised the "Treatment," he had no idea. A
swearing-in of some sort ... perhaps even some highly involved and
dramatic ritual was more or less what he expected. But Steve had
failed to take into consideration the technology of the Daans. He was
reminded, sharply, that they were, after all, a mechanically cultured
race when he was led into a chamber which--save for the fact that most
of the instruments and machines were constructed of that ubiquitous
plastic material beloved by Daan engineers--was remarkably similar to a
scientific laboratory of his own era.
Most prominent, as well as most curious, device in the entire room was
a large, transparent cabinet placed centrally on a raised platform.
Verniers and controls studded a panel on the outside of this cabinet,
sheathed wires fed current to tubes ranged about its perimeter--and
within it stood a large, metallic chair equipped with a headpiece.
* * * * *
For an instant, a tremor of indecision shook Stephen Duane. His
experience dictated that this could be one thing only: an execution
chamber! The thing inside looked exactly like the dreaded "electric
chair" of his vanished era. In a moment of brief panic he glanced about
him wildly but--
But his guards were smiling pleasantly--as pleasantly as their taut,
colorless features would allow--and their nods motioning him into the
cabinet were almost benign. With a shrug that cast his fate into the
hands of whatever gods of earth might accept responsibility, Steve
stepped into the cabinet, sat upon the chair, allowed the headpiece to
be fastened down about his skull, watched curiously as a technician set
stops and dials, pressed a switch.
Slowly the bulbs rimming the cabinet glowed into red life. The hum of
current droned in Steve's ears, lifted to a scream, a howl, a raging
torrent of sound that smashed upon his brain with the impact of a
million surging seas!
Every fibre of his body tensed with the strain of an electric agony
coursing through his veins. But he was not aware that his flesh had
drawn taut with a myriad, tingling horripilations; he knew only that
wave upon wave of torment was beating at his brain ... suns whirled,
flared, burst into searing fragments before his bloodshot eyes ...
sound lashed at his brain-cells like unleashed demons of devastation.
He tried to gain his feet--and was powerless! His lips opened--and no
sound came forth. A pinpoint of darkness whirled from the maelstrom
of flame before his eyes, began to close in upon him like an ominous,
menacing shroud. Nearer it came and nearer; with it came a coldness and
a horror. Again he tried to tear the headpiece from him ... to rise and
flee ... to scream aloud....
He did none of these things. He slumped downward in the chair, limp in
the thundering darkness which had engulfed him.
* * * * *
When he awakened, it was to find himself once again in the council
hall, sprawled on the thick furs which lay beside and before the
throne of the Overlord Loala. The first face he saw was that of the
Venusian princess herself; she was staring down at him with pride and
approbation.
He said, "What ... what...?" and tried to lift himself, but the
slightest movement roused sharp needles of pain within his brain; the
floor beneath him spun giddily.
Loala leaned forward, pressed something to his lips.
"Here! Drink this! It will rid you of the after-pains. You are a strong
man, Steve of Emmeity. Few waken so swiftly after undergoing the
Treatment."
As she had said, the amber liquid dulled the fire in his skull, Vigor
returned to Steve slowly but surely; he was able to lift himself
without reeling. He whispered, "Then it is over?"
"It is over, Steve. Now you are one of Us. Guards! You may retire now.
The human will return to the prison by himself in due time."
Obediently the Daan warriors withdrew. Steve stared after them
wonderingly.
"Then they speak the human tongue as well as yours? When first you
addressed them, you spoke in the Daan language."
Loala smiled.
"And this time also, Steve."
"This time--?"
"I spoke to them," laughed Loala, "in the tongue of our mother planet,
Daan, Yes."
"But--but I understood you!"
"Of course. It was for that you took the Treatment. Search your mind,
Steve of Emmeity, and tell me--what month is it upon our native world?"
"Why--why, Kraama, of course--" replied Steve instantly--and stopped
with his mouth an O of astonishment. "I--I _knew_!"
"That," smiled Loala, "and many other things. Where are the nearest
Daan fortresses, Steve, in the event that you should ever need help
quickly?"
"Kleevlun," responded Steve promptly, "Slooie, Yanaplis, Davun--Yes,
Princess! That, too, I know! And a--host of other things! The number of
our forces ... the legends of our people ... the history of our great
race ... _your_ race...."
He stopped, corrected himself in confusion. It was a hopeless jumble
in his mind. His thoughts, his knowledge, his instincts, were still
those of Stephen Duane, Earthman--but superimposed upon these were the
thoughts, the knowledge, the instincts of another, a second Stephen
Duane--a Brother in the fellowship of Daan!
The old Steve Duane had looked upon the woman Loala and found her
seductive, alluring. The new Duane, seeing her, was blinded by the
radiance of her overwhelming beauty! Gone were any last, small,
lingering doubts as to the attractiveness of her pallid skin, her
bleached-silver hair, her grey-shadowed eyes. To him, these physical
traits were now tokens of perfection. Her white flesh roused a crying
hunger within him ... he felt an impulse to bury his hands in her
silver hair and feel its fineness strain through his fingers like a
web of molten glory ... the quickening beat of his pulse was like a
metronome pacing the tempo of his heart's breath.
* * * * *
The Lady Loala, reading this in his eyes, smiled and stirred with
languorous assurance. She whispered softly:
"You found me attractive before, Steve. And now--?"
But deep within Stephen Duane stirred a memory ... the haunting
recollection of _another_ woman, one whose hair was a cascade of
flowing gold, whose body was pearl and ivory. A girl whose lips had
warmed beneath his own. And--Treatment be damned--_this_ Duane was
still the dominant of Steve's new schizophrenic character.
And this, realized Duane suddenly, was to his advantage! Never, now,
would the Daans dream that he was other than that which he pretended to
be: a convert to their ideology. He was in possession of their lore,
their secrets--and still free agent to do as he willed!
How this might be, he could not say. Perhaps because the machine which
gave the Treatment was set to establish dominion over barbarians of
lesser mind ... perhaps because his Twentieth Century brain was somehow
differently formed than the evolved brains of men fifteen hundred years
removed. But the Treatment, somehow, had failed its complete purpose.
With this realization came the second realization that never must he
allow the Daans to suspect his freedom of mind. They considered him now
one of Them; he must foster this belief. So--
He stirred forward as though impelled by a restless urgency almost
beyond endurance. And, "Need I tell you, O Loala!" he murmured
vibrantly. "Need my lips speak--?"
And Loala was, indeed, a true daughter of her sex. Pursuer herself but
a short while ago, now she took delight in becoming the pursued, and
her withdrawal was purely feminine.
"Not now, Steve," she warded him off, "but later--when you have
completed your task. Yes, I am convinced. But be swift, my human, and
return to me. And perform your task faithfully and well, remembering
the fate which befalls those Brothers who fail."
"Fate?" repeated Steve.
"Yes. This must be told you that you will ever act for the greater
glory of the Daans. While you were in the Treatment cabinet, your brain
passages were impressed with the knowledge of our people--up to certain
limits. Someday I may attempt to explain how the cabinet works; at
present your human brain would not comprehend.
"But at the same time, another thing was done. Upon a metal cylinder
was impressed a 'nerve image' of your brain, a pattern of waves and
impulses which--like your fingerprints--is peculiar to you alone of all
humans on Earth.
"This nerve image has been placed in our laboratory vaults. It is
our protection against treason or disloyalty, against greed, cunning
or too-great ambition. Beware lest you should be found guilty of any
of these crimes, for the metal cylinder is electrically sympathetic
to your own brain. If it becomes necessary, the brain pattern can be
destroyed--and when it is destroyed, _you die instantly_!"