"You're keeping her under guard?" asked Fetter.
"No; under the circumstances, we couldn't. We had no authority, you
see. A crowd of natives bore her away in triumph."
"Then your work's cut out for you," groaned Fetter. "She's a devil
incarnate. Beautiful, irresistible, and evil as corruption itself. If
she's back, I'm afraid there's nothing to be done. We've been sitting
on a volcano ever since she left. Pressure growing greater every
instant, it seemed. She's just what's needed to set it off."
"We'll have to take our chances," I commented. "And now; just what is
the set-up?"
"The Worshipers of the Flame, they call themselves. The membership
takes in about every male being on Lakos. They meet in the great
caverns which honeycomb the continent. Ghastly places; I've seen some
of the smaller ones. Continent was thrust up from the sea in a molten
state, some scientific chap told me once; these caverns were made by
great belches of escaping steam or gas. You'll see them.
"She--Liane--and her priests rule solely by terror. The Lakonians are
naturally just horses" (a draft animal of ancient Earth, now extinct),
"content to work without thinking. Liane and her crew have made them
think--just enough to be dangerous. Just what she tells them to think,
and no more. Disobedient ones are punished by death. Rather a terrible
death, I gather.
"Well, her chief aim is to stop the production of temite. She wishes
to bargain with the Council--at her own terms."
"What's her price?" I asked. "What does she want, wealth?"
"No. _Power!_" Fetter leaned forward across the desk, hammering it
with both fists to emphasize the word, his eyes gleaming from their
deep sockets. "Power, Hanson, that's what she craves. She's insane on
the subject. Utterly mad. She lusts after it. You asked her price;
it's this: a seat in the Council!"
* * * * *
I gasped audibly. A seat in the Council! The Council, composed of the
wisest heads of the universe, and ruling the universe with absolute
authority!
"She _is_ mad," I said.
"Crazy," grunted Correy. "Plain crazy. A woman--in the Council!"
Fetter nodded solemnly.
"Mad--crazy--use your own terms," he said. "But that's her price. The
Chief didn't tell you that, did he? Well, perhaps he didn't know. I
learned it in a very roundabout way. She'll make the formal demand
when the time is ripe, never fear. And what's more, unless these
Worshipers of the Flame are stamped out--_she'll get what she
demands!_"
"Impossible!"
"Not at all. You know what this place is. Only a Lakonian can stand
this atmosphere long. No vitality to the light that does come through
this damned green stuff they breathe for air; and after a few days,
the acid, metallic tang of it drives you frantic. Never can get used
to it.
"So the Lakonians have to mine the temite. And the universe must have
temite, in quantities that can't be supplied from any other source. If
the Lakonians won't mine it--and they won't, when Liane tells them to
quit--what will the Council and your Service do about it?"
"Plenty," growled Correy.
"Nothing," contradicted Fetter. "You can kill a man, disintegrate him,
imprison him, punish him, as you will, but you can't make him work."
And there that phase of the matter rested.
I asked him a number of questions which I felt would help us to start
our work properly, and he answered every one of them promptly and
fully. Evidently, Fetter had given his problem a great deal of
thought, and had done more than a little intelligent investigating of
his own.
"If there's anything else I can do to help you," he said as he
accompanied us to the door, "don't fail to call upon me. And remember
what I said: trust no one except yourselves. Study each move before
you make it. These Lakonians are dull-witted, but they'll do whatever
Liane tells them. And she thinks fast and cunningly!"
* * * * *
We thanked him for his warning, and hurried back to the ship through
the sickly-green Lakonian dusk. The acrid odor of the atmosphere was
already beginning to be disagreeable.
"Decent sort of a chap, Fetter," commented Correy. "All wrought up,
isn't he? Worried stiff."
"I imagine he has cause to be. And--he might have been right in saying
we should have held Liane: perhaps we could have treated with her in
some way."
"No chance! Not that lady. When we treat with her, we'll have to have
the whip hand, utterly and completely."
The heavy outer door of the _Ertak's_ exit was open, but the
transparent inner door, provided for just such an emergency, was in
place, forming, in conjunction with a second door, an efficient
air-lock. The guard saw us coming and, as we came up, had the inner
door smartly opened, standing at salute as we entered. We returned his
salute and went up to the navigating room, where I proposed to hold a
brief council of war, informing Kincaide and Hendricks of what we had
learned from Fetter, and deciding upon a course of action for the
following day. Kincaide, whom I had left on watch, was there waiting.
"Well, sir, how do things stack up?" he asked anxiously.
"Not so good. Please ask Mr. Hendricks to report here at once, and
I'll give you the whole story."
Kincaide pressed the attention signal to Hendricks' room, and waited
impatiently for a response. There was none.
"Try my room," suggested Correy. "Maybe he hasn't moved back to his
own quarters yet."
"That's what he said he would be doing," replied Kincaide. But that
signal too failed to bring any response.
* * * * *
Correy glanced at me, a queer, hurt expression in his eyes.
"Shall I go forward and see if he--if he's ill?" he asked quickly.
"Please do," I said, and as soon as he was gone I turned to the
microphone and called the sentry on duty at the exit.
"Commander Hanson speaking. Has Mr. Hendricks left the ship?"'
"Yes, sir. Some time ago. The lady came back, saying she had word from
you; she and Mr. Hendricks left a few minutes later. That was all
right, sir?"
"Yes," I said, barely able to force the word from between my lips.
Hendricks ... and Liane? Hendricks ... a traitor? I cut the microphone
and glanced at Kincaide. He must have read the facts in my eyes.
"He's ... gone, sir?"
"With Liane," I nodded.
The door burst open, and Correy came racing into the room.
"He's not there, sir!" he snapped. "But in his room I found this!"
He held out an envelope, addressed to me. I ripped it open, glanced
through the hasty, nervous scrawl, and then read it aloud:
"Sir: