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 men _must_ endure 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 you _that_ one 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.
[Illustration: A mad voice cried, "Betrayer!"]
"It is he, Dwain! The Slumberer who betrayed us!"
And with one concerted movement, like the liberation of flood-waters
loosed from their dam, the prisoners surged forward, eyes burning,
bare hands aquiver with hatred, to seek revenge upon the rescuer they
thought a traitor to their cause!
* * * * *
In the immediacy of this peril it was only the swift action of the
guard Amarro which saved the two visitors.
Steve Duane was stricken motionless by this catastrophic disruption of
his plans. The Lady Loala was too dazed by the accusation against her
favorite to defend herself. She whirled to Steve, her gray-green eyes
startled.
"What is this, Steve of Emmeity? They call you Slumberer? What means--?"
Steve answered hurriedly, "There--there must be some terrible mistake.
I know not what they mean, my Lady. They confuse me with one of their
false gods."
But Amarro, after one stunned glance at Steve, had sprung into action.
Ray weapons seemed to leap from his harness to his hands, and in a
voice of thunder he cried to the advancing throng, "Back, dogs! Back
to your kennels and stop baying! That human who takes another step
forward--dies!"
And before the swift menace of his gesture the small uprising trembled
and fell apart. Already the privations of this camp had taken their
toll upon the spirit of the earthlings. Like cowed creatures they
quelled before the lone Venusian. Their babble died, and listlessly
they permitted themselves to be forced back into the building which
housed them.
Amarro turned to Steve with a curiously level gaze that embodied half a
question.
"They hate you, Captain Huumo. It is not safe that you remain here.
Perhaps we should return to headquarters."
But Steve said, "No. At the last moment I thought I recognized amongst
them one of the Slumberers. Saw you that dark-haired earthman in the
forefront? The one who silenced the wench who accused me? I would speak
to him. Is there some place we could go for--private questioning?"
Deliberately he fingered his ray-gun while voicing the final phrase.
For this, he knew, was a familiar method of "private questioning" used
by the Daans in this era as it had been used by totalitarian leaders of
his own.
And to both Amarro and Loala the query made sense. Loala smiled thinly,
and Amarro replied, "There is such a place, my Captain. That small hut
over there. But--may I remind your Lordship these slaves are valuable?
We destroy them only on major provocation."
"I understand, guard," said Steve haughtily. "Now bring me the
prisoner. And you, my Lady, there is something in what this guard says.
Perhaps it would be safer if you retired."
And Fortune at last was tossing the breaks his way. For the Lady Loala
nodded.
"Aye, Captain Huumo, that I shall do. I will await you at headquarters."
And she left.
* * * * *
So, short minutes later, Amarro having brought his prisoner to the
shack wherein Duane waited, and having left, securing the door behind
him, Steve stood at last face to face again with his friend and
companion of a lifetime.
In that glad moment it did not matter that his proud trappings were
stainless, while Chuck's reeked from head to foot with the prison's
filth. Gleefully Steve rushed to his chum's side, gripped him in a bear
hug of brotherly affection.
"Chuck!" he cried, his voice breaking. "Chuck, you old son-of-a-gun! I
was afraid we'd never meet again. But I made it, pal! I made it!"
And if some of the captives had lost their spirit under Daan treatment,
Chuck Lafferty, at least, was made of sterner stuff. For his answer was
typical of himself. He answered Steve with a grin sincere if weary.
"Okay," he snorted. "Okay, bud. But I'm warning you--if you kiss me you
gotta marry me! Now, for God's sake, pal, talk and talk fast. What
are you doing here in them duds? And what in the name of creeping pink
lizards have they done to your homely puss? You look like something
that crawled off an autopsy table!"
"Better that," chuckled Steve, "than somebody who's going to. Don't
look now, pal, but I'm a ranking noble of the Daans."
"You're--_what_?" Chuck's grin faded abruptly. "You mean, Steve, the
bunch was right? You _have_ sold us out? Gone over to their side?"
Steve stared at him long and steadily.
"Do you have to ask that, Chuck?"
And Chuck's eyes fell, then raised again slowly.
"No, I don't. I don't even know why the words came out, Steve. But
that's what some of them have been saying. Beth and me and the Mother
Maatha and maybe a few others, we're just about the only ones left who
still believe in you."
Steve said soberly, "Loovil was that bad, Chuck?"
* * * * *
Chuck nodded. "It was worse. We were just getting settled when the Daan
warship came. We were powerless. I don't think there's one stone left
on another in that city. And--you see what's left of our 'tremendous
army' of two thousand.
"But--" He shook his head and with that gesture tried to dismiss
visions of horror forever indelibly imprinted on his mind--"but there's
no use talking about that now. What's next on the program? You're here
to free us, ain't you? Have we got a half-way fighting chance to--?"
Steve said hotly, "I'm here not only to free _you_, but maybe to free
all Earth, Chuck!"
And in swift sentences he told his friend all that had transpired
since their parting. Of Rodrik's death and the false Lord Okuno. Of his
visit to the Supreme Council and the results thereof.
"And so," he concluded, "that gives you some idea of the organization
we've formed. One huge enough to reclaim Earth for mankind--_if_ we
can find some way of immobilizing the Venusian spacefleet here on Daan
until our forces have destroyed the invaders. But--" And he shook his
head sadly--"that's the stumbling block, Chuck. I've got to find an
answer to it somehow ... but it's a tremendous problem. One hundred
war-ships cradled at the spaceport, just waiting the word to go into
action ... and we have no arms to throw against them!
"Lord!" he moaned bitterly, "if the legends of the Clans _had_ only
been true! If only we _did_ have that precious secret the Women
expected the Slumberers to bring from their tomb!"
"Good goddlemitey!" cried Chuck. "I ain't told you?"
"Eh? What's that? Told me what?"
Chuck's eyes were wide. His words tumbled in hectic confusion from his
lips.
"What I've learned since I've been here, Steve. Maybe that legend about
our bringing earthmen a weapon ain't so cockeyed after all. Do you know
the work they set us at here in these swamps? Reclaiming the marshes,
destroying the rank vegetation that grows wild here, acres and acres
of--"
Steve interrupted softly, "Yes, Chuck. I know. It has been horrible.
But we'll try to change all that--"
"Shut up, you fool," howled Chuck. "_Change it?_ You're damn right
we'll change it. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Them acres upon
acres of what the Venusians think is good-for-nothing vegetation ...
the stuff we're clearing away ... do you know what is it?"
"Of course not," said Steve impatiently. "But--"
"Then I'll tell you," roared Chuck, "if you'll shut that big yap of
yours and give me a chance to talk. It's--swamp-musk, Steve! The rarest
epiphyte on Earth grows wild here on Daan like daisies. Swamp-musk--the
basic ingredient of _methioprane_!"