"And Thus Be It Ever...."
Flaming radiation from the crystal seared a livid path across the
room. Duane gasped and tumbled to the floor, hands clawing futilely
at his own harness, now stripped of all defensive weapons, rolled and
pulled to his knees, trying to close the gap between himself and his
attacker before the maddened German could spear him on that lethal ray.
But if Steve was weaponless, another was not. A cry of burning rage
burst from the lips of the Lady Loala, and a whirring something
whispered a threnody of death across the room as she whipped a small,
jeweled dagger from her side, hurled it at von Rath.
Too hastily she threw. The poniard missed its mark. But in ducking
away, the one-time Nazi spy caught the whirling impact of the dagger's
pommel on his right wrist. His crystalline weapon flew from nerveless
fingers, skittered across the floor, rays of death still spuming from
its orifice.
Duane needed but that one moment. With a leap and a bound he was upon
the man to whom he had promised death should ever again they meet.
Von Rath, scrambling after his fallen weapon on all fours, swiveled
in time to see unleashed vengeance crashing toward him. He forgot the
crystal then, and with a shrill cry of panic turned to flee.
But he never reached the door. Steve caught him first. And there was
inexorable certainty in the settling of his hands about the German's
throat.
"This I promised you, von Rath," he roared. "It comes late, but at last
it comes!"
And his fingers tightened.
What von Rath screamed in those last moments, Duane did not know nor
ever was to learn. Perhaps his last breath cursed the fellow Slumberer
whose hands with dreadful certainty crushed the breath of life from his
lungs. Perhaps in that last moment the son of pagan Germany voiced
futile pleas to a forgotten God. Whatever his words, they found no
hearkening ear. Steve's great hands tightened till a darkness thickened
the traitor's veins, and his tongue thrust from gasping lips. Tightened
until hoarse rawls choked into silence and the body before him became a
dead weight beneath his grasp.
Then, and only then, Stephen Duane's tense fingers unclenched. The
flesh which had housed Eric von Rath slumped to the floor like a bag
of sodden meal. It was then, too, Stephen Duane turned to the woman of
Daan.
"Now, indeed," he said, "can I suffer _any_ change a happier man. It
was worth waiting--_Loala_!"
* * * * *
The cry burst from his lips. Shocked, he leaped across the chamber to
where the two technicians bent anxiously over their fallen princess.
Brushing them aside, Steve lifted the girl's head, cradled it in the
crook of his elbow.
"Loala!" he cried. "My princess! What--?"
Then understanding struck him.
"Von Rath!" he whispered. "His weapon! As it flew from his hand, its
rays struck you!"
And the silver woman's eyelids lifted slowly.
"Yes, Steve of Emmeity," whispered Loala. "It was meant for you. But I
am almost glad it happened thus."
Steve whirled to the chief surgeon.
"Well, _do_ something!" he cried. "You're a medical man, aren't you?
Don't just stand there; do something!"
The Daan savant shook his head slowly.
"There is little we can do. Her flesh is charred to a crisp. Had we
time--" He frowned--"we could graft new flesh to her burns, perhaps
save her life. But the operation would take hours. She cannot live so
long. She would die under the knife."
Duane cried, "But you've got to try _something_!"
And again Loala's eyes opened for a moment. He had to bend to hear her
words.
"It does not matter, Steve of Emmeity. It would never have worked
anyway, my plan. Though science altered your brain, no instrument could
erase the scorings on your heart.
"In a month, a year--who knows?--one day at sight of that Earth woman
an ancient memory would have wakened within you, and I would have lost
you again. It is better this way. But--" She smiled feebly--"you did,
just now, call me ... your princess. Did you not, Steve of Emmeity?"
A warmth misted Duane's eyes, and he whispered hoarsely, "I did, O
Mistress of Every Delight."
"And this time," smiled Loala wanly, "you meant it, human Steve. It is
enough. But--" A slight shudder stirred through her--"what is that I
hear? A voice speaks madness. Someone cries your name!"
And Steve, stunned, looked up. In this moment of true sorrow he had not
realized his name was roaring through the audio unit. Now he heard it
again, clarion-clear, in the voice of Chuck Lafferty.
"Steve!" Chuck was crying. "Steve, can you hear me? It's all right,
pal. We've got 'em!"
* * * * *
Steve rose, the weight of Loala a mere nothingness in his arms, hurried
to the wall and pressed the button which opened the audio to a two-way
transmission.
"Lafferty!" he cried into the orifice. "This is Duane! Where are you,
boy? What do you mean? Have you--?"
And Chuck's voice returned, riotously triumphant. "Wherever you are,
Steve, take a look out the nearest window."
Steve turned. Within the past few minutes, unheard in the confusion
which had reigned here, a hundred thunderous blasts must have scorched
the heavens over Daan. For now, roaring high above the city, circled
the mighty armada of the Overlords.
Steve cried, "The fleet! It has taken off! But Chuck, where are you
calling from?"
And incredibly--Chuck Lafferty laughed again.
"Don't look now, Steve," he bellowed, "but them ships you're looking at
is _us_! We've captured every last vessel in the Daan spacefleet! Me
and the rest of the slaves! We did what you said ... carried containers
of methioprane into the ships while we were supposed to be loading them
for the flight ... then dumped the stuff loose in the air distribution
outlets you charted for us. The Venusians is gone beddy-bye. But
our bunch was wearing masks and we've grabbed the Armada without a
casualty!"
"And--and the ground defenses?"
"One peep out of them," chortled Chuck, "and we'll blast 'em from here
to breakfast! Our guns is manned, and I've notified the Supreme Council
that if they don't surrender unconditionally and Johnny-on-the-spot
we'll put all Daans to sleep for the next couple of thousand years!"
Loala stirred in Steve's arms. And curiously, in those eyes which
should have shown grief at the defeat of her empire, there was
something akin to pride. She whispered,
"Then you succeeded after all, my Steve. Somehow ... I am ... almost
glad...."
"Loala!" choked Steve. Then an idea struck him. He turned to the
silent surgeon. "_Time!_" he rasped. "You said _time_ is what you need?"
"Yes, earthman. She cannot live much longer--"
"She can," roared Steve, "and she _will_! Chuck! Send someone here to
the Mental Laboratory of the palace with _methioprane_. And--hurry,
man! For God's sake, hurry! The life of a brave woman depends on the
speed of your actions!"
Then, to the medical experts, "Get your tables ready, and what
instruments you need. My men are bringing you an anesthetic which will
give you all the time you need. Under it, the Lady Loala will not die
because she _cannot_. And by the time she comes to--God knows how long
hence--her scars will be completely healed.
"Loala, you understand what I am doing? It will be a long sleep. When
you waken, I will be gone. But it is the only way--"
He stopped speaking. For the gray-green eyes had closed, and the Lady
Loala lay unconscious in his arms. Stephen Duane bent tenderly. For the
first, last, and only time in his life he touched his lips to the brow
of the silver princess. And:
"Sleep well, my Lady Loala!" whispered Steve. "Sleep well and safely, O
Mistress of a Thousand Charms...."
* * * * *
Thus went the Lady Loala, most beautiful and noblest of all Daan
Overlords, to an age-long sleep. Nor was she the only Daan to seek the
frozen slumber of _methioprane_. When centuries hence she wakened, it
would be in a strangely new and--Stephen Duane hoped--a better world.
But amidst its strangeness she would find herself surrounded by at
least a handful of warriors, courtiers, and friends from this present
era.
For not with complete complaisance did all the Daans accept defeat at
the hands of their erstwhile slaves. Some there were, staunch fighting
men, who--though they fought in the cause of decadent empire--utterly
refused to surrender. Their stubborn resistance found humane ending
beneath the breath of the new anesthetic weapon.
And even when all active opposition had been quelled, and a cringing
Supreme Council had accepted every one of Stephen Duane's demands,
there were a few proud nobles who preferred oblivion to the "ignominy
and disgrace" of living under a new interplanetary order under
which--as Duane's charter plainly set forth--henceforth Earth was to
govern itself and pay no fealty to Daan, earthmen and Daans were to
meet in future commerce and council not as Overlords and slaves, but as
equals.
To those who could not swallow their pride for the betterment of both
races, Duane granted the boon they asked, hoping that by the time they
wakened from their slumbers, two brave new worlds would have proven the
justice of Earth's liberation.
Other matters of state were arranged before the earthlings finally
sought the ship which was to carry them back to their native planet.
All human slaves were freed; their owners pledged to compensate them
for years spent in penniless toil. Promise of the Daan Scientific
Council was exacted that this society would lend its aid to the
renascent Earth empire, assisting the backward planet in rehabilitating
its lost knowledge and culture.
Ambassadorships were arranged, and the groundwork for future trade
treaties laid. Then, that Earth might have some measure of self defense
whilst its citizens engaged in what must surely be decades--perhaps
centuries--of reconstruction, the Daan armada was split into two
parts.
One half of this magnificent fleet, manned by erstwhile slaves under
Daan instructors, was henceforth to be Earth's property. But, fairly,
Duane did not simply seize these ships ... though they would have been
a small payment for the years of subjugation under which earthlings
had labored. A fair valuation was set, and for the space-navy Earth's
new government promised to pay in commercial products needed by the
Venusians.
* * * * *
So finally were concluded all these negotiations immediately necessary.
And because Duane's heart hungered for sight again of his sun-blessed
native planet, its sweet, green hills and foam-lashed seas, at last
came the day when Earth's new spacefleet was to take off for its home
base.
Upon the bridge of the flagship stood those who had captained humanity
to freedom. All preparations had been made; now but a word of command
was needed to thrust these fifty-odd giants into the void on pillars of
flame.
One last look cast Steve Duane at the mighty skyline of Daan's capital.
Then he issued the word.
"_Home!_" he said simply.
And in more than four dozen vessels propelling studs were pressed, and
the heavens shook with the thunder of roaring jets.
Chuck Lafferty made a strange, rinsing movement with his hands.
"So that," he sighed, "is that. Us and Caesar, eh, Steve? Now for good
old Mother Earth, and a long nap."
Steve grinned at him.
"That's what _you_ think, chum. If a nap's what you want, you'd better
take advantage of the ten-day trip through space. Because when we get
back to Earth we're going to be the busiest guys alive.
"There's a big job facing us, Chuck. Us and all mankind. We have a wide
world to reclaim, centuries of lost time to make up. And," he admitted
frankly, "I don't know what _you_ think about it, but I'm looking
forward to it eagerly.
"This is the chance of a thousand lifetimes. A chance to start all
over, with a clean slate. Build the kind of civilization men have
always dreamed of, but never before achieved. A civilization built on
friendship, honor, and truth; mutual understanding and sympathy. If
we make a go of it, even the Daans will fall in line; recognize our
self-seized rights to be considered their equals."
The Mother Maatha said raptly, "Aye, even so, O Dwain. Thus, too, it
was written in the Promise. That a new world should spring from the
wakening of the Slumberers."
Steve turned to the dust-gold girl beside him, smiling.
"And what say you, my priestess Beth? What shall be your part in these
new endeavors?"
* * * * *
The girl lifted eyes wide with question to his.
"But what else should I do," she asked, "than remain with you to
council and advise you, O Dwain? Where else should I be than at the
side of my mate?"
Chuck snorted amusement. "That's one thing you ain't going to change in
the new world, Steve," he chuckled. "The men will still be doing the
work, but the women will still be cracking the whip."
The shadow of an old misgiving clung to Stephen Duane. To Beth he said,
"And _why_ would you stay with me, my Beth? Because I am one of the
gods?"
And this time there was no awe, but something else, something finer
and truer and more to Steve's heart's liking, in Beth's eyes as she
answered him softly.
"Nay, my Steve, but because you are--a man."
Steve took her into his arms. It was a moment worth waiting for, a
dream worth all he had experienced. For her nearness warmed him with a
promise of happiness to come, even through the long and arduous days
which lay before them.
[Illustration: He kissed her. "We've won, sweetheart, the flag shall
fly over Earth again!"]
The gentle voice of the Mother Maatha was like a benediction on their
love.
"We could not fail," she said. "We could not ever fail. For thus it was
promised us ages hence in the sacred song of the Ancient Ones.
"'_And thus be it ever,_' she quoted, '_when freemen shall stand_
'_Between their loved_ hoams _and the war's desolation;_
'_Blessed with victory and peace, may the Heav'n rescued land_
'_Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation._...'"
Stephen Duane picked up the old, familiar words, repeating them softly:
"'_Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,_
'_And this be our motto: "In God is Our Trust!"_
'_And the Star-Spangled Banner._...'"
"It will fly again, Steve," said Chuck, "now."
"'... _forever shall wave_
'_O'er the land of the free._...'"
"'_And Thy_ hoam,'" finished Beth, her eyes worshipful upon her mate,
"'_O Thou Brave!_'"
For a woman always has the last word. So, too, it was in the old
days....