The Offer of Loala
What Duane recalled of the ensuing hours was a maelstrom of confusion,
a phantasmagoria composed of incoherent snatches, peopled with
creatures who moved before his vision fleetingly, lingered for a
moment, then faded.
Later he dimly recalled once opening his eyes to find himself lying in
the thwarts of a motor-skiff scudding through the tortuous channels of
a marshland stream. He was conscious of dank mists choking his nostrils
and the humid spray of fen waters drenching him as the tiny craft sped
toward an unguessed destination.
When next he wakened all this had disappeared. His body, which had
been wet, was parched and dry; his mouth was cottony with thirst, and
his head hammered brassily. He lay in the cabin of an aereo flashing
swiftly through the atmosphere of Venus. A covey of armed guards
surrounded him. When he muttered a feeble plaint for water, one dashed
a dipperful in his face and laughed harshly as Steve, bound hand and
foot, attempted to gulp a few precious drops.
Then again merciful unconsciousness welcomed him, and he knew no more
until he wakened for a third time to find himself lying on a crude
pallet within a metal-walled room which was obviously a prison cell in
the palace of the Daan capital.
Of this he assured himself when, staggering weakly to his feet, he
lurched to a grilled opening in one wall and looked down across a great
courtyard bristling with armed men over the rooftops of the Daan's
mightiest city to the distant spacedrome which, even from this distance
Steve could see, was swarming with a black host of humans and Daans
performing indistinguishable tasks in, around, and about the spaceships
of Daan's great Armada.
His head still throbbed terribly, but with each passing moment an iota
of additional strength seeped back into his superbly conditioned body.
And save for a weakness born solely of hunger and thirst, Stephen Duane
was very nearly recuperated from the effects of his recent assault by
the time his gaolers discovered he had come to.
Then one of the warders came with welcome refreshment and unwelcome
tidings. As he pushed the first through a movable grill in the corridor
door, he donated the second freely.
"Still alive, eh, dog of Earth?" he taunted grimly. "Well, eat and
drink heartily; this may be your last meal. You must have a skull of
bronze, human. I did not expect to find you on your feet when I came
here."
Steve said, "I'm in the palace tower?"
"That's right," grunted his gaoler. "But not for long. The Supreme
Council has ordered you be brought before them as soon as you waken.
They have a few questions to ask before--"
He left the matter of Steve's fate dangling, but the smirk of malice on
his lips was suggestion enough.
Steve asked, "And the excitement at the spacedrome? What means that?"
* * * * *
The guard grinned evilly.
"It means an end to all coddling of you Earth scum. We Daans have been
too lenient with you, human. But now your rebelliousness has taught
us the error of our ways. We like not the news reaching us from your
miserable planet. The Armada is being fueled and equipped to give you
earthmen such a lesson in Daan justice as was never before taught. Now,
no more questions. Prepare yourself to visit those who will judge you."
Thus a few minutes later Stephen Duane found himself for the second
time in the great council hall of the palace of the Daans, face to face
with the effete three who ruled the Venusian empire.
If he had thought before the Masters of Daan were a decadent set, he
saw now convincing proof of this belief. For strong men deal strongly
with those who oppose them. Though they slay their enemies, they do
so honorably and openly; oftimes even with a reluctant recognition of
their foe-men's prowess.
But weaklings respect not even the dignity of death. And the Venusian
masters were weak. There was a feral spitefulness in their attitude
toward him who stood before them. Though they blustered and threatened
as they questioned Steve, he could sense beneath their vindictiveness
an uncertainty, a superstitious dread, which under any other
circumstances might have been almost laughable.
For one said to him petulantly, "So you are one of those whom humans
call 'Slumberers?' Well, where are the god-like powers you boast? Can
you free yourself from these halls? Can you call down the lightnings of
heaven to strike us on our thrones? Can you stay the slow death on the
rack which is your sure payment for the trouble you have caused us?"
Duane said slowly, savoring the moment, "Nay, Lords of Daan. These
things I would not do if I could. But there is this I can promise you.
Your puny vengeance on me will prove vain. For each drop of blood you
force from my veins, a Daan shall make payment with his life. As my
bones crumble beneath your instruments of torture, even so shall the
empire of Daan crumble, crushing you beneath its fall."
Another of the Masters bleated fretfully, "You mouth great boasts,
earthman, for one whose carcass shall soon rot on the ramparts of this
citadel. But as you die so will all rebel earthlings like yourself.
One by one shall we find those who defy us and mete out to them the
punishment they deserve."
Duane laughed in the Master's face.
"So, my Lord? Some you will find perhaps. But--_all_? I wonder. Only a
short time hence you received me with great honors in this very hall as
the proud Daan nobleman, 'Captain Huumo.' Does not the memory of this
strike fear to your bosom?
"Look about you, my Lord. These 'friends and noblemen' gathered in
this chamber--can you tell which are true Daans and which masquerading
earthmen like myself who, at any moment, may bury an avenging dagger in
your breast?
"Look sharply, my Lord. For truly I tell you your highest councils are
laced with humans like myself who will carry on the work for which
you have condemned me. Look closely at each face. Can you tell which
face is truly Daan and which is the artificially bleached complexion
of an earthman? Aye, even look at each other, you three who sit in the
highest seats of judgment. Are you certain that not even one of your
own august body is an interloper, a spy waiting his moment to turn
against you?"
* * * * *
His shrewd technique, his psychological employment of fifth column
tactics borrowed from the masters of boring-from-within of his own
era, found root in the suspicious hearts of the Masters. A bruit
whispered about the council hall as Daan fingers sought weapons in
Daan harnesses, and each listening nobleman edged cautiously from his
nearest neighbor. Even the three Masters cast furtive glances at each
other as though wondering if possibly--just possibly--there could be
something in this man's taunts.
Then Steve's first accuser spoke again, his voice shrill.
"Enough of this! You were summoned hither to hear our judgment, not
impugn the dignity and honor of the master race.
"Your efforts are fruitless, earthman. Even now the Armada is being
readied. From every city and town, hill and fen, have been conveyed
hither hordes of slaves to load our spacecraft. Before Daan turns
again upon its axis our mighty fleet will be soaring Earthward to lash
your miserable planet with such horrors as never you dreamed could be
unleashed.
"When this has been accomplished will be time enough to weed out such
few false Daans as, like yourself, may have managed to insinuate
themselves into our midst. So when you writhe upon the rack, person
of Earth, think not of those trifling successes your rebel mobs have
made on your native planet, but of the devastating vengeance which will
surely reclaim our tottering colony."
The unwitting revelation stiffened Steve Duane with joy. His eyes
lighted, and his lips parted in a grim smile.
"Successes, my Lord? Then our fighters _have_ overthrown your
strongholds as was planned?"
The Master's pale cheeks glowed with unaccustomed color as he realized
his error. He said with sudden savagery, "It matters not. You came
hither for trial, not triumph! Take him back to his dungeon, guard,
until we have decided a fitting punishment for him."
And Duane was led away.
* * * * *
But judgment was not so swift in forthcoming as had been threatened.
All that day Stephen Duane languished in his cell. Nor could he learn
from his truculent guard anything more of that which was transpiring on
far-away Earth. All Duane knew was that--apparently--Okuno's rebellion
had been crowned with initial success. The Master's slip of the tongue
had revealed this; further proof lay in the ever-heightening excitement
at the spacedrome.
Its vast plain was like a mighty ant-hill upon which lay a hundred
glistening metal eggs. To and from each of these objects filed streams
of scurrying figures. One such column poured into a forward port of
each ship, never afterward to emerge. These, Duane rightly guessed,
would be the Daan warriors taking up transport quarters. The stern port
was serviced by two files. One which approached slowly, heavy-laden
with supplies, fuel, ammunition; the other of which streamed back to
ordnance depots more swiftly to pick up new burdens. These would be the
slaves, laboring to charge the fleet for its mission.
And watching these preparations, Steve felt his joy overshadowed with
a sense of deepening sadness. The Master had spoken truly in claiming
this Armada would overwhelm Earth's uprising. Soon these hundred
rockets would blast from their cradles on flaming pillars to flash
Earthward.
And that, groaned Steve, was his fault. His capture had made it
possible for the Daans to quell this rebellion. He had promised Okuno
the spacefleet would be immobilized, then had permitted himself to
fall pitiful prey to a woman's ruse. Had he but waited within the
underground refuge until Amarro returned to tell him all was well and
in readiness....
The sound of footsteps approaching his cell brought an abrupt end to
Duane's mournful reverie. He moved from the window opening and squared
his shoulders to meet as bravely as possible those finally coming to
convey him to his doom.
There sounded the murmur of voices, then the grate of metal upon
metal. Slowly the door swung open, and a lone figure stepped into his
cell. At the sight of this figure Duane's frozen mask slackened into
lines of astonishment. For it was no warrior band which confronted
him. It was, instead, she whose silver loveliness was surpassed on two
planets only by the dust-gold beauty of one other.
It was the Lady Loala.
* * * * *
Then Duane's surprise coalesced into a tiny grimace of understanding.
He said slowly, "So, my Lady, you could not resist this last
opportunity to taunt my helplessness."
And--it was completely wrong, completely illogical. The Lady Loala
should have flashed into instant indignation, lashed back at him with
all the dignity and fury of her superior station. But strangely she did
not. She said instead, in a mild and strangely troubled voice,
"You speak but half a truth, Stephen Duane. I could not resist this
last opportunity to see you again--and to plead with you for sanity."
Duane stared at her starkly.
"Plead with me? You, Lady Loala? But this is madness. The Supreme
Council has decided my fate--"
"Not yet," said the argent princess swiftly. "I have addressed myself
to them, human Steve. I stand high in their council and in their favor.
Even though you be the most dangerous rebel ever to set himself against
the majesty of Daan, they have listened to my pleas. There is one last
way in which I can save you."
"And that is--?" demanded Steve.
"We of Daan," said Loala simply, "have a great science. None surpass us
in knowledge of mental and physiological change. You have seen how we
inscribe electrical brain-images on metal cylinders. Similarly we can,
if we wish, alter the entire brain structures of both Daans and humans.
"There is an operation that can be performed upon you, Steve of
Emmeity. A simple and painless one. You need but place yourself in a
certain chamber, and of your own free will permit that our apparatus
activate the electrical network which is your brain pattern. Our
delicate instruments can utterly erase every thought and recollection
which is now yours by changing the contours of your brain. Then by
superimposing _new_ forms upon this plastic gray matter, you can be
given an entire new series of thought-habits and memories.
"In other words, human Steve, the Supreme Council has permitted this
for my sake: that the human brain of Steve of Emmeity be expunged. And
in its place you be given a new brain pattern; that of a true and loyal
Daan. Well--?" She paused and looked at him breathlessly--"What say
you, Steve of Emmeity?"