_Out beyond hyper-space soared the
transmuted Terran--to Trygon II--where all
mad men die willingly for the Empress._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories July 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It could be said that the Resistance began at the moment the great
spaceship from Trygon II first appeared as an unknown body on the
photographic plates at Palomar, for while the astronomers propounded
theories as to its origin and composition, it entered our atmosphere
and came to earth on the runways of Idlewild Airport, just outside of
what was then New York City. Nothing need be said of the panic caused
by its coming.
Three Trygonians went immediately in a ground car to the United
Nations Building in the city. The records of their pronouncement have,
unfortunately, been lost, but from subsequent events it has been
established that they granted Terra fifteen days to submit to Trygonia.
Then they returned to space.
Fifteen days later they returned and crushed the feeble opposition they
encountered.
* * * * *
Ross Savage was tired of seeing nothing but white; the walls and
ceiling of his small, windowless room, the few pieces of utilitarian
furniture and the sheets covering the narrow bed, which sagged under
the weight of his muscularly massive, six-foot five-inch frame. He
was tired too, of the white bandages on his hands and, although he
could not see them, the white bandages that swathed his head and face,
leaving only slits for his eyes and mouth.
Today is the day, he thought. Why don't they come? As if in answer to
his unspoken question the door latch clicked. Savage turned his head
stiffly to watch the door open. As it swung wide the doctor entered,
followed by General Strathmore and two nurses guiding a wheeled tray.
"It's time to take them off," the doctor said. No one answered, but
Savage felt his hands grow sweaty in their wrappings.
As the group reached the bed a nurse handed the doctor a pair of
surgical scissors. He bent over Savage as he said, "We'll take the
hands first."
There was no sound other than the snip-snip of the scissors as the
doctor carefully cat through the gauze. Finally the sound stopped and
Savage looked at his hands. They were white and soft, but there were no
scars to betray the fingerprint change.
The doctor permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction, but the
room was pregnant with tension as he turned his attention to the gauze
covering Savage's head.
The snip-snip came again as the cold steel slid slowly over his skin.
An eternity passed before the sound again ceased and a nurse carefully
removed the freed gauze. For a long moment there was no sound and
Savage looked anxiously from face to face and tried to interpret what
he read there. The nurses stared in disgust and horror while the doctor
looked satisfied. The General beamed.
"Beautiful job," the General said finally, and the doctor nodded in
agreement.
"Let me see," Savage croaked through stiff lips.
A nurse took the hand mirror from the bedside table and held it in
front of him. From the glass the bearded face of a Trygonian stared at
him; there was no mistaking the narrow chin, the high, broad cheekbones
and aquiline nose.
* * * * *
Almost a month later Savage stood at attention in the General's office.
He wore the flamboyantly brilliant uniform of a Trygonian officer.
Medals and orders sparkled on his breast. His new face wore a sardonic
scowl.
"Fleet captain Choon reporting, sir," he said, and the General's stern
face relaxed to a half smile.
"Sit down, Ross," the General invited and indicated the chair beside
his desk. "So you're ready to go, eh? How do you like yourself?"
"Well," Savage smiled, "I have to keep myself from going for my gun
when I see myself in a mirror, but outside of that I'm pretty used to
it by now."
"We've made tremendous strides in the twenty years since we went
underground. I guess it was the pressure. But Phillips told me that by
every test you're a Trygonian. I hope however, that you haven't become
one emotionally. That was the one thing we were afraid of when we
decided to use the Ceregraph. Choon died, of course, but how was it for
you?"
"Nothing to it, sir. I just seemed to go to sleep and when I awoke I
knew everything Choon knew, but Doctor Phillips almost drove me crazy
testing me to find out whether I'd picked up Choon's mental outlook.
Apparently, though, the Ceregraph transfers only knowledge, not
emotions."
"Thank the Lord," exclaimed the General heavily.
"I want to thank you for this opportunity," Savage said. "I've wanted
to do something concrete against them since they killed my parents
twenty years ago."
"Whether or not you can do something concrete is up to you." The
General was stern again. "You were chosen because of your physical and
mental qualifications. You just happened to be Choon's exact physical
double. Fortunately he was rather shorter than the average Trygonian."
"Doctor Phillips told me that, except for size, there is no anatomical
difference between the Trygonians and ourselves," said Savage. "It
is his theory that the highest intelligent life form on any planet
suitable to the evolution of intelligent life will be a humanoid type."
"That may be possible, but exact duplication seems strange," the
General said. "Although I'm interested in Trygon I haven't had a chance
to read your report. I think you have time to fill me in on some of the
details. Why do they call their planet Trygon II?"
"Trygon is the name of their sun," explained Savage. "Their system
consists of three planets, Trygon I, II and III. Until about seven
hundred years ago only the middle planet, Trygon II was inhabited by
their race. Then they discovered a method of utilizing Solar energy
directly and what amounted to a social revolution took place.
"At the time, Trygon II was divided into a number of countries. The
discovery was made in a country called Czur and with it Czur conquered
the rest of the planet. They used pretty brutal methods, but they
welded the entire planet into one country using one language and having
one ruler.
"Space was the next step and they explored the other planets. The
innermost one was hot and lush and eventually they tamed it and now
they grow all their food there. The third planet, as might be expected
was cold and bare, but it was fantastically rich in minerals. They
transferred their mining and manufacturing to the third planet, leaving
Trygon II the center of trade, the rich and the military.
"There are a number of commercial space-ports but only one military.
It's near the capital city, named Czur in honor of the country that
started it all.
"Two hundred years ago they ventured into deep space. Earth is the
fifth humanoid planet they have conquered."
"That's quite a history," said the General. "What form of government do
they have?"
"Autocratic. The Emperor is the supreme authority, but the High
Commissioner works out the details and sees that the orders are carried
out. All military matters are in the hands of the Emperor and in that
respect the High Commissioner is just a figure head. As you can imagine
there is a good deal of intrigue."
"Yes, I can see that there would be," agreed the General. He glanced at
the wall clock. "But it's almost H-hour."
"Are there any last orders?" Savage asked.
The General smiled wryly. "It might be said that there were no first
orders. You're on your own, Ross. We don't know what you can do, but if
you can get into one of their intrigue groups you should be able to do
something. The rank of Fleet captain carries a lot of weight. All I can
say is be careful and do your best.
"The skeleton crew is moving out and the station is going on automatic
as soon as you leave."
Savage stood up, saluted and then the General took his hand and shook
it warmly. Savage turned and walked out of the office without looking
back.
Outside two guards waited and they walked together down a long hall to
a bare, cement-walled room. There was only one way to make sure that he
would look like an escaped prisoner and they had to make sure. So they
fought and when they were through, his uniform was a sad caricature of
its former splendor and he had the beginnings of a black eye.
He shook hands with the two men and then went up three flights of
stairs where the Trygonian patrol ship waited. There was no one in
sight as he climbed into the ship and roared away, but anti-aircraft
guns opened up almost immediately. Savage smiled grimly as he saw the
shells burst a safe distance from him.
* * * * *
Then, as he was almost out of range, the ship lurched from the blast
of a near miss. A hole appeared in the hull beside him and he saw his
sleeve rip and redden as a fragment cut across his arm. He switched on
the automatics and cursed the unknown gunner as he crudely bandaged the
flesh wound with part of his already torn shirt. At least, he thought
finally, it would add verisimilitude to his story.
An hour later he crash-landed on the outskirts of what had once been
Denver, Colorado, and what was now the Trygonian Capital for North
America. Then he settled down to wait for the Trygonians.
Something less than ten minutes passed before a ground car skidded to
a stop near the wrecked ship. Two Trygonian soldiers jumped out with
hand-blasters at the ready. More sedately, as befitted his rank, a
Senior Lieutenant followed and Savage walked briskly to meet him. The
Lieutenant eyed Savage dubiously for a brief moment and then snapped to
the salute.
"At ease," Savage ordered. "Take me to Headquarters immediately."
"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant replied and followed Savage into the car. It
was evident that he was wondering why such an exalted personage as a
full Fleet captain should appear in a single place patrol ship and in
this condition, but Savage let him wonder. The soldiers reentered the
car and they sped away with a full-throated roar.
Savage remained grimly silent as they roared through the Trygonian
capital. Trygonians were everywhere, but still Earthmen predominated,
and Savage wondered what had induced them to remain. There were
probably many reasons, he decided, for man in spite of everything must
live somewhere and he must eat. After twenty years they were probably
used to it.
He had lived briefly in Denver as a child, but nothing remained now of
the city he had known. The old buildings had been blasted during the
invasion and starkly functional ferro-concrete had replaced the rubble.
At the very site of the old State Capitol the Trygonians had raised a
towering structure to house the offices of the High Command.
They filed into the building and, as the Lieutenant had done, the honor
guard eyed him dubiously before snapping to attention. Savage strode
haughtily between them and finally, after a succession of guards and
lesser officers, he was ushered into the presence of Vice Admiral Harna
lor-Harna.
"Fleet captain Choon," he announced.
The Admiral was tremendous. He towered a full foot over Savage and his
heavily decorated uniform was stretched tightly over a majestic paunch.
His great jowls moved loosely as he boomed:
"Choon, by the great Galactic Gods. I knew your father on the old
Arrano. He was the best Executive Officer I ever had.
"But sit down--you may leave, Lieutenant--and tell me what you are
doing here. What happened to your uniform?"
"I was taken by the Terrans." The Admiral's eyes became icy chips. "I
have just escaped from a Terran stronghold...."
"Have you, by the Eternal Stars," the Admiral interrupted. "Too many
of our men have vanished in spite of reprisals, but this is the first
definite proof of an organized movement. Where is it?"
"About five hundred ling North in the mountains," Savage said and the
Admiral went into action. With his left hand he flipped a switch and a
colored relief map of the area sprang into view on the wall, while with
his right hand he pushed up a row of communicator buttons.
"Ready three attack units for immediate takeoff," he roared. "I will
take personal command. Have my car at gate three."