REVOLT OF THE OUTWORLDS
By Milton Lesser
Alan Tremaine knew Mars received its water
via the space-warp from Venus. If this life-line
were cut it meant war--and mankind's destruction!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
December 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Amplifiers swelled the clarion call of the trumpet above the keening
Martian wind which swept into the great central plaza of Syrtis Major
City. Two hundred thousand outworld citizens, the entire population of
Syrtis, huddled together in the cold and watched the blue and gold
banner of the Outworld Federation run up the pole to flutter proudly
beside the globe-and-stars flag of Earth.
There was a tremendous roar from the crowd as Alan Tremaine climbed
the long flight of steps leading to the platform in the center of
the plaza. _It's really my father they're applauding_, Alan Tremaine
thought. The elder Tremaine, dead these two weeks, had made the dream
of independence a reality for the Outworlds. Then, on the eve of
success, he had been struck down by a still unknown assassin. Alan had
been rushed from New Washington University on Earth by the Outworld
Federation, to bring the magic name of Tremaine to the ceremony on Mars.
Above him now, Alan could see the military governor of Mars, Lieutenant
General Roderick Olmstead, waiting alongside the banks of huge
television screens which showed similar scenes on Venus, on Saturn's
great moon Titan, on the four large Jovian satellites. But the eyes
of all the Outworlds were here on Mars as Alan Tremaine mounted the
platform to accept the Declaration of Sovereignty from the governor.
A hush descended on the crowd as General Olmstead unrolled the
scroll and held it before the television cameras. "On behalf of the
government of Earth," he said, his voice booming across the Syrtis
plaza on the amplifiers, "I present this Declaration of Sovereignty to
the people of all the Outworlds. The five hundred million citizens of
Mars, Venus, Titan and the Jovian Moons will hereafter march alongside
the peoples of Earth in Equal Union."
Two hundred thousand voices rose in a thunderous peal of acclaim.
"It is to your everlasting credit," General Olmstead went on, "that
your great struggle for freedom bears fruit today bloodlessly. History
shall long remember this moment, for the grim alternative of war was
always present but shunned by your very great leader, Richard Tremaine."
There was not a sound now in all the vast crowd. Alan Tremaine thought
it must be the same elsewhere, with half a billion Outworld citizens
watching on their television screens across the solar system.
"The one tragedy of your greatest moment," General Olmstead concluded,
"is that Richard Tremaine did not live to see it become a reality. I
now place this scroll in the hands of his only son, Alan Tremaine."
His eyes suddenly misty, Alan accepted the Declaration of Sovereignty
from General Olmstead. The long political struggle, climaxed today on
the windswept plaza of Syrtis Major City, was not his. Attending New
Washington University on Earth, he had missed the dramatic sequence of
events which led to this day. Almost, he felt like an outsider. But he
believed in their fight even if he had had no active part in it. And
the name Tremaine was now lifted into the pale sky above Syrtis Plaza
on two hundred thousand voices.
"Tremaine! Tremaine! Speech! Speech!"
Alan took a deep breath and cleared his throat. Faces as numerous as
the desert sands of Mars gazed up at him. Untold millions more watched
their television screens on the other Outworlds. Seated beside her
father, Laura Olmstead smiled at him.
"I humbly accept this Declaration of Sovereignty on behalf of all
the Outworlds and on behalf of my father," Alan said. "I'm sure that
on this day my father would offer thanks to God that our freedom was
achieved without violence."
* * * * *
Just then the television screens depicting smaller ceremonies on the
other Outworlds erupted into violent activity. There was muted thunder
from the Venus screen. People could be seen running about wildly,
the drone of jets was heard. Brilliant light flared, blanking the
screen momentarily. When it could be seen again, a mushroom-topped
atomic cloud was rising from the crater which had been the Governor's
Headquarters on Venus. The scene was the same on Titan and the four
Jovian Moons.
A voice blared: "Attention! Attention Mars. This is Government Station,
Ganymede. Seconds ago, the Outworld Federation met freedom with
treachery. Even as tactical atomic weapons were used on the Government
Headquarters, their speakers were proclaiming peaceful union. But now
the masses have risen behind the spectre of military violence. 'Equal
Union is not enough,' their leaders cry. 'We're ready to fight for
total independence!' The traitorous Federation militia is marching
on the underground Government Station here. Protect yourself, Mars!"
Abruptly, the staccato blast of an automatic hand weapon could be
heard. The voice from Ganymede was stilled.
General Olmstead rushed to the microphone, pushing Alan roughly aside.
"All Martian units!" he cried. "Prepare for war. Directive A-2, this
headquarters, put into immediate effect. Martial law is proclaimed.
All civilian authority is hereby terminated. Protect the spacefield
and the government station. All commissioned leaders of the Outworld
Federation on Mars will surrender themselves, weaponless, to the
military authorities. Those who resist face immediate arrest." All at
once, the microphone squawked into silence. Someone had cut off the
generators below the platform.
"Tremaine," General Olmstead raged, "your father is better off dead.
Seeing this happen would have killed him. Your name will go down in
history, all right--as the worst traitor since Benedict Arnold."
Alan shook his head. It all had happened so fast, his senses were still
numb with shock. The Federation had told him nothing about this. The
Federation had been content with Equal Union, his father's dream. True,
a militant minority group within the Federation had longed for total
independence, through violence if necessary, but Richard Tremaine had
always opposed this. Now, it had happened.
Military control of Venus, Titan and the Jovian moons was inadequate.
In hours, the governments would fall. The same was true for the smaller
centers of Martian population, but Earth maintained its strongest
military garrison in Syrtis Major City. Here the Earth forces, under
General Olmstead, could probably hold their own.
But it was open revolt now, something which the dead Richard Tremaine
had opposed as steadfastly as he had opposed Earth domination of the
Outworlds.
"I didn't know," Alan began. "Nobody told me...."
His voice was drowned in a swirling sea of sound as Federation
militiamen threw their wind cloaks and revealed the uniforms beneath
them as they charged up the steps toward the platform. Government
soldiers, storming up the other side, waited for them. As yet, not a
weapon had been fired in Syrtis.
"Stop!" Alan cried, rushing to the edge of the platform. "Are you
insane? We wanted Equal Union. We've been granted Equal Union. Put down
your weapons and go home."
* * * * *
The front rank of the militiamen, three abreast on the stairs, paused.
This was a Tremaine talking. There was a difference between father and
son, of course, but a Tremaine had made this day possible.
The leader of the militiamen, a bearded fellow in the uniform of a
major, shook his head. "You don't know, Mr. Tremaine. You weren't here
when your father spoke his last words. We're carrying out the orders
of Richard Tremaine!"
Two government soldiers who had mounted the other side of the platform
came up behind Alan and pinned his arms to his sides. "Go ahead and
fire," one of them said. "Kill Tremaine's son, why don't you?"
The front rank of militiamen was being pressed up the stairs from
behind, but had returned their weapons to their sides. Alan struggled
with the soldiers who held him. Below the platform, the vast crowd was
seething restlessly, watching the drama unfold above them. The thin
sprinkling of government soldiers in their midst could be swept under
in seconds unless government station reinforcements were sent at once.
Alan thrust his elbow back, felt it jar against the ribs of one of the
soldiers. The man gasped as the air was forced from his lungs. Still
gasping, he was spun around by Alan and hurled down on the militiamen
mounting the stairs at the head of the platform. Alan whirled, but the
second soldier was on him, circling his neck with a powerful arm. They
went down together, thrashing and rolling across the platform.
Something roared overhead. Alan was aware of General Olmstead, his
daughter Laura huddled behind him, pointing up at the sky. Then a
shadow passed swiftly over the platform, came back--and hovered. The
roar was replaced by a loud clattering. Still wrestling with the
soldier, Alan could see a jet-copter, switching from jets to rotors,
hanging half a dozen feet above the platform like an enormous black
grasshopper.
More militiamen leaped from the copter to join those swarming up
the stairs, their hand weapons spitting death at the first rank of
government soldiers which had come up the other side of the platform.
The revolution in Syrtis Major City was an actual fact now.
"Get down!" General Olmstead told his daughter. "Flatten yourself."
But the brief firing atop the platform had cleared it of government
soldiers. Rope ladders were dropped from the jet-copter.
"Tremaine," someone called from above. "Climb up quickly."
To remain here in Syrtis Major City was madness. Alan could accomplish
nothing in the chaos of revolt. Besides, the militiaman had said this
was his father's final wish. Armed rebellion for total independence.
He had to find out. He caught the swaying rope ladder in his hands and
mounted it. At the same moment, General Olmstead and his daughter were
forced up another rope ladder at atomic pistol point.
Its passengers securely inside, the jet-copter rose a hundred feet
above the platform on its flashing, clattering rotors. Then the jets
were cut in and the craft streaked north from Syrtis Major City at
supersonic speed.
CHAPTER II
"Lies," General Olmstead said bitterly. "Don't tell me anything. It's
all lies."
"I swear I knew nothing about this," Alan insisted.
"Do you realize what you've done? Thousands of innocent people must
have died already in the atomic explosions on the Outworlds. Millions
more will perish before this war comes to an end. For it's war you've
brought to the solar system, Alan Tremaine. Is that what your father
would have wanted?"
"I brought nothing," Alan said. "I don't know what my father would have
wanted."
"I believe him, Dad," Laura Olmstead said. Alan had met her for
the first time two weeks ago on the spaceship from Earth. She was
going to join her father on Mars for the Declaration of Sovereignty
ceremony. Alan had struck up a quick friendship with her in his darkest
moments--when the death of his father had seemed so tragic, bringing
Alan's world tumbling down about him. Laura Olmstead's understanding,
her frank sympathy, then her cheerful talk and companionship as the
two week space journey wore on, had done much to help Alan. They had
parted at the Syrtis Major space-port, to meet again three days later
as revolution unexpectedly engulfed Mars and the other Outworlds.
"Alan Tremaine is a traitor to Earth and his own people as well,"
General Olmstead told his daughter now. "I won't hear anything more
about it."
Half a dozen militiamen sat about the cabin of the jet-copter with
them. Up front, a pilot and a co-pilot were at the controls.
"Alan's new on Mars, Dad. He's been at school on Earth, remember that."
The leader of the militiamen turned to Alan and said, "We're
approaching Red Sands now, sir. Do you wish to go right down or look
over the fortifications from the air?"
"Red Sands?" Alan asked. "What's that?"
"Operation Headquarters, sir. Your lieutenants are waiting for you to
take charge of the revolution, sir."
"So he's new on Mars," General Olmstead told his daughter. "So he
doesn't know a thing about this. He's running the whole show, Laura.
He's got us for hostages, too, or didn't you realize it? Earth will
think twice about attacking Federation Headquarters with us prisoner
there."
Alan was going to tell General Olmstead and his daughter they wouldn't
remain hostages long if he could help it, but the militiaman was
waiting for his answer. He said, "Let's go right down. Who's in charge
of the Headquarters, soldier?"
"Why, you are, sir."
"No. I mean right now."
"Bennett Keifer, sir. Your father's right-hand man."
"Let's go down and meet this Bennett Keifer," Alan said. And, to Laura:
"Don't worry about anything, Laura. It's going to be all right."
But when he reached for her hand, she withdrew it and would not meet
his eyes directly.
* * * * *
There was nothing but the ochre wastelands of Mars, the dunes marching,
windswept, from horizon to horizon. Far away to the east, a thin green
line knifed across the rusty sands where vegetation clung precariously
to the banks of a Martian canal, nurtured by the waters it brought down
from the melting polar cap.
The militiamen flanked them on either side as they walked across the
desert, two uniformed figures remaining behind long enough to cover
the jet-copter with an ochre-colored tarpaulin which would effectively
camouflage it from the air. It was like something from the Arabian
Nights, Alan thought as they approached a low, rocky escarpment
thrusting up through the sand. The leader of the militiamen placed his
hand against a polished spot on the surface of the rock, which pulsed
with the contact as a hidden device checked the pattern and whorls of
the militiaman's fingerprints. The effect was the same as the Open
Sesame of the Arabian Nights, for a great slab-like section of the
escarpment rolled ponderously aside, revealing a dark cavity.
"Red Sands," the militiaman said proudly, and led the way inside.
Alan was totally unprepared for what happened next. The door in the
rock rolled shut behind them. Lights blazed inside the cavern, brighter
than the pale Martian day. A throbbing, busy city was spread out before
them below the surface of Mars.
Throngs of men, women and children lined the short road to the city
on both sides. A great cry went up from them as Alan, the militiamen,
General Olmstead and his daughter approached.
"Hail, Tremaine!" The cry echoed from the rock walls of the underground
city. "Hail, Tremaine!" It rolled from the far throbbing reaches of the
bustling city. "Tremaine, Tremaine, Tremaine!"
_Not for me_, Alan thought. _For my father._ What actually did he know
about all this? Perhaps a revolution directed from the secret base here
at Red Sands _had_ been his father's secret dream. The adulation with
which the people of Red Sands greeted him filled him with a sense of
pride. Not for his own accomplishments, but for his father's. Laura
Olmstead was, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, part of a different
world. Alan shrugged, deciding to suspend judgment until he met and
talked with Bennett Keifer.
Now there were cries of: "He looks like his father!" "See, the same
brow, the same bearing!" "The eyes are the same, I tell you. We have
Richard Tremaine with us all over again!" And always, from all sides:
"Hail, Tremaine!"
Alan caught Laura's gaze and tried to smile at her. She was on
the verge of tears. "The sycophantic hypocrites," she said. "It's
disgusting, carrying on like this while people are dying all over the
solar system."
"It isn't for me," Alan told her desperately. "It's in memory of my
father."
Laura's eyelids squeezed shut. Tears on her cheeks, she walked blindly
ahead, supported by her father's arm. "I hate you, Alan Tremaine," she
said.
* * * * *
"Tremaine," Bennett Keifer said half an hour later, shaking his hand
with vigorous enthusiasm. "You look so much like your dead father I
could have picked you out of any crowd. Sit down, boy."
Alan shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll stand." General Olmstead and his
daughter had been left off elsewhere while Alan had been ushered into
the Administration Center of Red Sands, a great rectangular structure
carved from the subterranean rock of Mars. Finally, he had stood face
to face with Bennett Keifer. A big, handsome man in the uniform of a
Federation colonel, Keifer had flashing eyes and a direct manner which
Alan found disarming.
"I'm sure you have many questions," Keifer said.
"Just one. Did my father sanction this armed revolt?"
"What a strange question. Of course he did."
"Nobody told me before."
"We couldn't reveal it today, Tremaine. Not even to you. We couldn't
chance revealing it until our forces had moved on all the Outworlds."
"In his letters, my father always said the glorious thing about the
Outworld Federation was how it had achieved its ends bloodlessly."
"Tremaine, I'm telling you. I was here. They brought your father
here after he was shot. He died with me at his side. He died saying
that the Earth government was trying to trick us. Equal Union was a
farce, he said. Equal Union--with Earth bleeding the Outworlds dry
of their resources! Don't you see, Tremaine? Earth needs our mineral
wealth--heavy water from Venus, iron from Mars, lithium and cobalt
from the Jovian moons and Titan. They'll bleed us dry and pay next to
nothing for our mineral wealth. Since theirs is the only market, we
have no choice. The only alternative was armed revolt for the full
freedom Earth wouldn't grant us."
"But in Equal Union we had an equal, representative vote for the first
time. This Earth granted us."
"Representative vote, Tremaine. There's the catch. There are ten people
on Earth for every Outworlder. What kind of equality is that?"
"I don't know," Alan admitted. "I think my father would have--"
"I'm telling you what your father said. I was there. Why don't you do
this, Tremaine: get acquainted with our city. I don't want to rush you.
When you're ready to take over and make the decisions, I'll step aside.
How does that sound?"
"I don't want to usurp your authority just because my name's Tremaine,"
Alan said. "I don't understand this, not yet. I'm going to try,
though." He was suddenly weary. It was the same feeling he had when
news of his father's death had reached him on Earth. The world tumbling
down about his shoulders. Atlas trying to hold up the globe but shorn
of all his strength.
He said, "Is there someplace I can go to clean up? My head feels like
it's spinning."
"Someplace to go," Keifer repeated the words, smiling. "Your father's
apartment here in Red Sands is yours. I'll have one of our enlisted men
show you the way. And take your time about things, Tremaine. No one is
rushing you."
Alan thanked him and said, "What about General Olmstead and his
daughter?"
"Don't you worry. Naturally, they're prisoners of war. But they'll be
well-cared-for here. We're civilized people, Tremaine."
* * * * *
They shook hands again, then Alan followed a militiaman outside,
through the corridors of Red Sands to a large apartment quarried in the
rock wall of the underground city. He dismissed the enlisted man and
found a bent, elderly figure waiting for him inside.
The man had gray hair and thin, stooped shoulders--as if he had spent
the better part of his life pouring over books. He spoke in a thin,
reedy voice, choked with emotion. "Is any one waiting for you outside?"
he inquired.
Alan shook his head.
"Then listen to me. I shouldn't be here. If Keifer knew--" the elderly
man shrugged "--I don't know what might happen. Alan, I am Eugene
Talbrick. Does the name mean anything to you?"
"Yes," Alan nodded. "My father wrote about you often. He said you were
always a pillar of strength to him, a...."
"No matter," said Talbrick. "You have heard of me. Alan, the good name
of Tremaine is being used to bathe the solar system in blood!"
"What are you talking about?"
"Keifer. He _says_ your father secretly wanted armed revolt. It's not
true, Alan. And do you realize what Keifer plans to make of you?"
Alan frowned. Eugene Talbrick, his father had always written, was an
inspirational figure behind everything the Outworld Federation stood
for. If Richard Tremaine had been the eloquent spokesman for freedom,
Talbrick was the thinker. If Tremaine could be compared to Washington
historically, then surely Talbrick could be compared to an older Thomas
Jefferson, or Ben Franklin perhaps. "No," Alan said. "I've only just
met Keifer."
"You'll be a figurehead, Alan. Listen."
Talbrick walked to a television screen on the wall and soon had it
working. A grave-faced news commentator was saying, "... riots all
over Syrtis Major City. The magic name of Tremaine is on everyone's
lips, Richard the father, Alan the son. If Richard Tremaine had not
sanctioned this revolution, the people say, their forces never would
have struck all over the solar system. If Alan Tremaine was not here
to lead them, they might have accepted the Declaration of Sovereignty.
But with the memory of one Tremaine and the leadership of another, they
will fight now for total freedom.
"Elsewhere on the revolution front, search jets are sweeping wide over
the Martian desert for some trace of Governor General Olmstead, who was
kidnapped by Federation forces along with his daughter. Up to this
moment, no trace of them has been found....
"Here's a bulletin from Earth. Government warships have been dispatched
to Venus, Titan and the Jovian Moons to put down the provisional
Federation governments which have risen there. Heavy casualties on both
sides are feared."
Talbrick blanked the television screen. "Believe me, Alan," he said.
"Civilization may depend on your decision. Your father never sanctioned
this armed uprising. Keifer lied. Keifer dreams of an independent
Federation which can drive Earth to its knees economically. Or worse.
You're to be in command, but he'll pull the strings behind you."
Alan paced back and forth without speaking. He hardly could believe
Talbrick any more than he could believe Keifer. The one had been behind
his father, offering strength from deep, philosophical wisdom. The
other had been beside Richard Tremaine in all his stormy political
fights.
Alan smiled without humor. "Charge and counter charge," he said. "My
ears will probably be ringing with them. Do you have any proof?"
"Yes," said Eugene Talbrick. "A letter from your father to you. It's
in my own quarters now. I wouldn't mail it for fear it would be
intercepted on its way to Earth."
"A letter?"
"He knew it was the end. He knew he was dying. He wrote the letter and
gave it to me because he had seen through Keifer too late. Will you
come with me now?"
"Of course," Alan said, and followed the old man from his father's
apartment.
* * * * *
"Here we are," Eugene Talbrick told him a few minutes later. He opened
the door to his own quarters and stepped inside. Alan followed him into
darkness, heard the old man groping ahead of him for the switch which
would fill the windowless, rock-hewn apartment with light.
The door clicked shut behind them.
"That's funny," Talbrick's reedy voice was close at hand. "The light
doesn't work."
There was a soft series of repeated thuds, someone moving across the
carpet quickly.
"Who's there?" Eugene Talbrick called.
"Look out!" Alan cried, suddenly wary. He brushed past the old man and
collided with someone there in the darkness. Briefly, they struggled,
then something struck the side of Alan's head. He fell to his knees,
groping blindly ahead. His arms wrapped about a pair of legs, clung
there grimly. Something lashed out at his chest, spilling him over on
his back.
"Alan, where are you?" Eugene Talbrick said. "What's the matter?" Then
Eugene Talbrick screamed once and was still. A weight fell across Alan,
pinning him to the floor. Half-conscious, he rolled the heavy thing off
him and scrambled unsteadily to his hands and knees. The door opened
and closed swiftly, light from the corridor streaming in, then fading.
Alan staggered to the door, opened it.
Outside in the corridor, there was no one.
Inside, the slender form of Eugene Talbrick was stretched out on its
back. A red pool of blood was spreading on the carpet under him. Alan
knew he was dead without feeling for the pulse.
A knife had been plunged into Eugene Talbrick's side, immediately below
the heart.