A Friend in Need
For a moment while his blood seemed to halt in his veins, Stephen Duane
stared at his friend. Then his heart resumed its interrupted tempo with
violent resurgence, and he gripped Chuck's arm fiercely.
"Swamp-musk!" he choked. "Chuck--are you sure?"
"Listen," said Lafferty, "I ain't no surer of my own name. These swamps
are simply _lousy_ with that stuff. There's so much of it that if it
was poison ivy I'd be one big itch on legs!"
"And the Venusians don't know what it is?"
Chuck snorted. "They know what it is. They call it _klaar_, which is
Venusian for 'nuisance weed.' But they don't know what it can _do_, or
why would they have us destroying it as fast as we can clear it out of
the bogs?
"Hell, no, Steve! They ain't nobody alive on these two worlds in this
century that knows what _klaar_ can do except you and me."
That, knew Stephen Duane, was true. The anesthetic gas, methioprane,
had been an invention of his own, one upon which, of all mankind, only
he and Chuck had worked. Its secret had slumbered with them in the
oblivion of subterranean Fautnox for fifteen centuries.
Now a great hope overwhelmed Duane. For the first time, a blazing
shaft of light illuminated the murky fog of doubt through which he had
stumbled, groping vainly for some means wherewith to overthrow Earth's
rulers. The actual preparation of methioprane from swamp-musk was not
a difficult feat of chemistry. It was one so simple, indeed, that a
handful of men with but a few primitive pieces of equipment could
create vast volumes of the potent gas. All needful now was to find the
time, the place, the workers to perform this labor.
To Chuck he blazed, "That settles it! I've got to get you out of this
camp! We've got to escape and find a hidden refuge where we can start
manufacturing methioprane--and plenty of it. But, where? Where?" He
beat his temple angrily with the heel of one fist, as if by so doing he
could stimulate the duality of his Earth-Venusian brain to knowledge of
some sanctuary.
But it was Lafferty who supplied the answer.
"Escape," he snorted, "your hat! What do we want to escape for? We got
a ready-made laboratory all set up for us!"
"What?"
"Sure," explained Chuck. "The prison barracks. It's the perfect
hideout, Steve. Right under the Daans' noses, where they won't suspect
a thing. If we lammed, they'd be out on our trails chasing us with
whatever they use for bloodhounds on this stinking planet.
"But the Daans never come into or near our barracks; not even to feed
us. We're nothing but swine to them. Our sty ain't fine enough for
their lordly feet. They just dump our food at the entrance to the
prison area and let us find it or starve. When it's work time, they
call us. When it's rest time, they kick us back into our pens and
forget about us.
"All we need, Steve, is equipment. That's what _you've_ got to do for
us. Keep on playing the part of a Daan nobleman, and somehow find a
way to smuggle lab equipment in here. And--" pledged Chuck Lafferty
grimly--"I'll supervise the manufacture of enough methioprane to put
this whole damn planet to sleep till the crack of doom!"
Duane nodded happily. "That's the answer, Chuck. Yes, it's the perfect
answer. But--yourselves? Beth, and the Mother Maatha, the others--can
you endure this--?"
"Don't worry about us," grated Lafferty. "We've been enduring it with
nothing to hope for. Now that there's a chance to fight back and do
something, we'll be in there pitching." He grinned mirthlessly and
paraphrased the staunch declaration of another fighting man in an
earlier day. "Just give us the equipment, Steve, and we'll finish the
job!"
* * * * *
So Duane left his friend. And when they had emerged from the tiny shack
in which they had held the conversation which might decide the fate of
the two worlds, Lafferty returned to the barracks and Steve called the
waiting guard, Amarro, to lead him back to the higher, cleaner terrain
whereupon were built the Daan administrative buildings.
Apparently Amarro had not presumed to eavesdrop on the conversation of
a Venusian nobleman, but Steve felt he could detect an atmosphere of
uncertainty or suspicion emanating from the prison guard. Several times
as they wended their way through the treacherous barricades, Amarro
seemed on the verge of offering some query. More than once his eyes
scrutinized Duane with curious speculation. But Steve silenced all
attempts at speech with curt, monosyllabic grunts, and they reached
their destination without an accusation having been made or denied.
Loala and the Chief Warden were awaiting his arrival. Apparently
they had found subjects of mutual interest, for their heads were
close together when Steve entered the administration building. They
separated swiftly, and Grudo said in that greasy tone of semi-humility
Steve loathed, "Greetings, O most noble Huumo! You have finished your
questioning?"
"I have," grunted Steve disgustedly ... and shrugged. "I was wrong.
The creature is an ignorant earthman, vulgar and loutish as all his
race. He is no Slumberer. Methinks there have never been such thing as
Slumberers."
Loala studied him from beneath long, veiling lashes.
"You lingered long enough with this 'vulgar lout', my Captain."
Steve snarled, "The man had complaints to make, and I tarried to
hear them. To be truthful, some of his grievances seem justified. He
complained that the water prisoners are forced to drink is vile and
disease-ridden, pointed out that his companions sicken and die like
lice."
Grudo laughed coarsely. "What matter? When these slaves die there are
thousands more on our colony."
"Nevertheless," said Steve, "the human's point was well taken. Sick
slaves are valueless. I told the man I would do something to assure
them a supply of cleaner water. But--" he added hastily--"I also told
him we would turn no hand to provide for their comfort. What they want
done they must do for themselves.
"Still it will do no harm for us to provide them with the needed
equipment. You can requisition a distillation unit, Grudo? Some vats,
coils, storage containers ... that sort of thing?"
"Why," acknowledged Grudo frowning, "I suppose so. But--"
And he glanced at the Lady Loala questioningly. Her gray-green eyes
had never left Steve's face. Now those eyes hardened to the color of
frosted agate. She said slowly,
"Yes, Captain Huumo, that seems harmless enough, and can be done.
Perhaps you yourself would like to help the earthlings install this
unit?"
Duane said eagerly, "Why--why, yes. I should be glad to help in any
way--" Then he stopped abruptly, warned by the note of sarcasm in the
girl's voice. "_I_, my Lady? I soil my hands in labor for such as
these? I do not understand."
"On the contrary," said Loala, her voice more harshly grating than
Duane had ever heard it, "I think you understand too well, _Captain_
Huumo! So you learned nothing from the earthman, eh? You suspect
there are no such creatures as Slumberers? But while you tarried,
plotting with your friend--_we_ have learned otherwise! Grudo, call the
informer!"
Her voice cracked like the bite of a lashing whip. Steve stared.
"What? I don't--"
Then the words of denial faltered and died on his lips. For Grudo had
opened the door, and into the room now stepped one whose entrance
was like that of a spectre of doom. An earthman with bandaged head
who stared at Stephen Duane with eyes reflecting not only malice and
triumph but--restored sanity.
To this one the Lady Loala spoke.
"Well," she cried, "is this he of whom you told us?"
And:
"Aye, it is he!" declared Eric von Rath. "Even beneath that disguise I
know him well. He who stands before you is the Daans' worst enemy--that
Slumberer known as Stephen Duane!"
* * * * *
In that moment of betrayal tottered and fell the dreamworld of freedom
Stephen Duane had been building within his heart. This was the one
blow he had feared, and it had fallen. Von Rath's mind had cleared at
last of its amnesia, and his first act had been to align himself with
humanity's foes.
This, knew Duane with dull, sickening certainty, was the end of the
trail; the last act of a drama foredoomed to tragedy. Gone now was the
last hope he might live to see Earth liberated.
But if he died, as he would surely die, there was one who would not
live to gloat upon his passing. With a cry of rage Steve ripped his
ray crystal from its pouch on his harness, turned it upon the suddenly
blanching von Rath and fingered its press.
But even as its lethal flame spewed from the opening, his enemies
moved. Grudo hurled himself forward, dragging Steve to the floor by
sheer brute force, slashing the weapon from his grasp. The rays spent
themselves aimlessly on adamant walls and ceilings. And Grudo cried, "A
hand here, Amarro! Secure me this skulking spy."
Against two strong and determined foes Steve Duane was helpless. A few
minutes later, bleeding and disheveled, hands lashed to his sides with
coils upon coils of biting plastic cord, he stood staring defiantly at
his captors.
"Very well," he groaned. "I _am_ Stephen Duane, one of the Slumberers.
The masquerade is over and this scene of our little playlet is done.
But the curtain has not yet fallen on the last act. Though I die, what
I have fought for lives on. Others like myself will rise after me. And
I tell you now, proud Overlords of Earth, the day will surely come when
humanity shall overthrow your tyrannies as mankind ever in the past has
destroyed those who set themselves up in omnipotence.
"And as for you, von Rath--" He turned blazing eyes to the German,
smirking out of combat range--"if ever again these bonds are stricken
from my hands, those hands will surely throttle the breath from your
black throat."
Von Rath laughed uneasily.
"That is a vow you will never keep, _mein Leutnant_. The Daans, like
myself, are realists. They are too clever to allow an avowed enemy
to exist. We understand each other, I and they. Meanwhile, for your
insolence--"
And he took a step forward, arm lifted to strike the bound prisoner
before him. But the Lady Loala stayed his gesture with a command.
"Stop, earthman! Presume not over-much on your newly-won favor. The
Daans need no human aid in handling their captives. Begone about your
business until you are sent for."
* * * * *
The German wilted before her gaze. With a muttered apology he slunk
away. Then turned the Lady Loala to her one-time favorite, and though
she spoke imperiously still, her tone was edged with the faintest note
of regret.
"Now this is a mad thing you have done, Steve of Emmeity," she said.
"Have you no wisdom? Were you not content to leave things as they were?"
Steve said, "No, my Lady. I do not expect you to understand--quite. But
perhaps you can if I tell you that in the day whence I came, earthmen
were not the cringing, servile creatures you have known them to be.
They were a strong race, proud and noble as your own. I did what I
could to regain that lost freedom. No human worthy of the name would
have been content to do otherwise."
"I am not speaking now of governments or empires, human Steve," said
the silver lady softly. "Years change all things. No reasoning soul
but realizes that some day Daan's dominion over Earth was bound to
pass. But all this might have come in the fullness of time. It was
not necessary you should hold yourself alone responsible for its
accomplishment.
"So I speak not of empires, but of individuals. Did you not know when
you espoused this foredoomed cause that your failure would spell an end
to the dreams of intimacy you and I have shared?"
Even in the depths of his own darkest hour, Duane felt a shred of
compassion for the Lady Loala. A Daan and an Overlord she was, but she
was a woman, too, and one at this moment sadly forlorn.
He said quietly, "Aye, my Lady. Even this I knew."
"Then how could you, Steve of Emmeity? Why did you--?"
She stopped abruptly, her gray-green eyes narrowing shrewdly. "I begin
to understand. Then these, too, your professions of admiration for me,
they were all part of the plan. They, too, were insincere."
Steve said with perfect candor, "No, my Lady Loala, they were not
altogether insincere."
"Not _altogether_!" The Overlord seized the words, hurled them back
at him through clenched teeth. "But in part, at least! There is
another woman, then, whose charms you find more alluring than those
of the Lady Loala? Yes, there is! I read it in your eyes. Speak, I
command you! Which is she who has so captured your fancy? Speak, that
I may teach her the folly of pitting her fleshly wiles against the
magnificence of a Daan princess.
"Is she perhaps that muck-begrimed slut who cried aloud your name in
the prison camp? Or some other flabby creature, cowering in her hut on
distant Earth? Speak, I say!"
But Duane said nothing, and after a tense moment the flame died from
the Lady Loala's eyes. Her features tightened to a silver mask, and she
turned to the guard Amarro.
"Remove this creature from my sight," she commanded. "He should
die now, but the Supreme Council must be shown that there _were_
Slumberers, and that one was in our very midst. Turn him into the pens
with his fellow swine."
And she turned her back. Amarro prodded Steve toward the door. "Move
along, earthman," he commanded gruffly.
They left the administration building, started toward the prison camp.
But when the door had closed behind them, and they two were alone, a
strange thing happened. Amarro turned and stared at Steve, long and
appraisingly, then spoke a sentence which sent a blaze of fire coursing
through Steve's veins.
"You are a strange person," he said. "You arouse my curiosity,
earthman. Tell me--_have you kinsmen on distant Terra_?"