_The Kidnapping of Joan_
The Earthmen moved quickly and quietly into Joan's room. Thin, crinkly
draperies of heavy silk impregnated with lead in colloidal solution,
covered all the walls, the door itself. But Hilary shot no more than a
cursory glance around; he had left the slide slightly ajar; he was
listening intently. The gun was in his hand. There were only two
bullets in the chambers--all that were left of the thousands of rounds
the expedition had started out with. He must not waste them.
The thick rough voice of a Mercutian floated up from below.
"Three Earth slaves came in here. Where did they go?"
"They did," Joan admitted readily. "They frightened me out of my wits.
I screamed and they ran through the house and out the back way."
The Mercutian was suspicious.
"Hmm. Funny there's no sign of a struggle here. Nothing is upset."
"They ran out the back way," the girl repeated tonelessly.
"We'll see; but if you are lying...." He said no more, but the pause
was significant in its implications.
"I would not lie to the Magnificents."
"Not if you are wise." He seemed to be the leader. He evidently turned
to his companion, for there issued a flood of throaty consonants to
which the other grunted once. Then the listeners heard his heavy
stamping as he walked through the house to the rear. A door whirred;
he had gone out.
* * * * *
The remaining Mercutian said suddenly: "He won't find them."
"Why not?" Joan asked, a bit tremulously.
The Mercutian laughed harshly. "Because you lied. You've hid them in
the house."
Hilary heard Joan's sudden sharp intake of breath.
"No, no, Magnificent," she cried.
The Mercutian laughed again--a hard cruel laugh. There was no mirth in
it.
"All Earthwomen are liars. I know where you hid them. In your bed
chamber. The trick is too old already. We may not be able to see
through the lead curtains, but we can break down the door. I warned
Artok not to permit the use of the lead curtains, but he has a soft
streak. He listened to the women's pleadings for privacy. Privacy,
pah! A cloak for conspiracies, that's all it comes to. When Gurda
returns, we search upstairs and drag out your rats from their hole."
He laughed smugly, pleased with his own cleverness.
"It is not so." Strange how calm Joan sounded. "They are not in the
house. Only my dying mother is here. She is bedded upstairs. The
doctor ordered absolute quiet. The slightest noise would be fatal."
The Mercutian sneered. "We'll take a look at that dying mother of
yours right now."
"You mustn't," the girl panted. "She will die, I tell you."
"And what does it matter to me?"
There was the sound of a struggle, a sharp cry, followed by a dull
thud.
* * * * *
Hilary was out through the door like a flash, down the corridor to the
head of the stairs with automatic extended. The monster Mercutian was
coming heavily up the treads. They saw each other simultaneously.
The Mercutian's pink eyes turned a vicious red; the tube dangling in
his hand jerked sharply up. Hilary squeezed the trigger. The gun
barked. The Mercutian spun half around with the force of the tearing
bullet. The deadly beam from his weapon slithered over the wall,
searing a great molten gash in the crystal. He was badly hurt, but he
did not fall. Howling with pain and rage, he slewed himself around
again, pointed his sun weapon unsteadily upward.
Hilary let him have the other slug. The big body jerked, and fell
backward with a crash to the bottom of the stairs, there to lie oddly
contorted and still.
There was a thundering rush from the rear of the lower floor, a
hoarse throaty cry. Hilary tore down the steps three at a time, Grim
and Wat slithering behind him.
The other Mercutian was bending over Joan's semiconscious form,
sweeping her into the crook of a huge arm. He shot a startled glance
at the down-pouring Earthmen, swerved the girl around, and aimed his
tube.
Hilary pulled the trigger as he swerved. There was a sharp click, but
no explosion. Hilary cursed and threw himself down. He had forgotten
that there were no more bullets. The speeding flash scorched overhead.
Grim and Wat crouched low. Wat's tube, the one he had wrested from the
dead guard on the conveyor, was being slowly raised. The Mercutian saw
it, shifted the inanimate girl in front of himself, and backed
stealthily toward the splintered door.
"Don't shoot," Hilary cried sharply. "You'll kill Joan."
Wat lowered the tube disgustedly. Hilary groaned aloud. If only he had
had one more bullet. There was enough of the gigantic body exposed to
offer an excellent target to a steel slug without harming Joan, but
the sun weapon sent out its beam in a flat spray.
The Mercutian sensed their dilemma as they crouched on the stairs. He
laughed unpleasantly as he backed through the doorway, Joan's limp
body held straight in front of him.
"Good-by, Earth slaves," he taunted. "I take your pretty Earth maiden
with me. In five minutes I return, with others. You cannot escape.
Good-by."
He jumped clumsily through the door. The crouching Earthmen heard a
click. It had closed behind him.
* * * * *
Hilary and his companions cleared the stairs in almost a single bound.
He had snatched the sun-tube out of Wat's hand. Through the splintered
slide he saw the Mercutian climbing into his flier, but a great
crystal column of the portico intervened. Nevertheless, while Wat
fumbled for the button that released the slide, he took a chance.
Every split second was precious now. He aimed the weapon, pressed the
spring. A white dazzling ray darted fanwise from the orifice. It
touched the column, fused it into molten, running glass. But the
Mercutian was already in his seat, Joan limp beside him. He was
fumbling at the controls.
The door slid open at last. Hilary shot through like a bullet from a
rifle. The flier had already taken off on a long slanting rise. A
three-fingered hand waved mockingly down at him. Hilary raised his
weapon, then lowered it with a groan. The flier was well within range
yet, but if he aimed the terrible beam at it, there would be a crash
of fused twisted material, and--Joan was in it. What a dilemma! If he
didn't shoot, she would be borne away--he dared not think to what
horrible fate.
Grim's hand rested lightly on his shoulder as he watched the flier
become a faint black speck in the direction of Great New York.
"She was your sweetheart." His gruff voice was oddly gentle.
Hilary brushed a weary hand over his forehead. The Earth, the universe
itself, were suddenly dead, meaningless gobs of matter.
"Yes," he said tonelessly. "Five years ago she promised to wait for my
return. She kept her word. I found her again--only to lose her."
Grim said quietly: "I too once loved a girl. I joined the last
rebellion under Amos Peabody. The Mercutians threatened to seize the
wives, sisters, sweethearts of the revolters if they persisted. Many
of the men surrendered. I was one of those who refused. When the
revolt was over, smothered in flame from their giant sun-tubes, I
found that they had made good their threats. My girl was gone,
vanished. Two Mercutians had taken her away. She was never found
again."
He paused in brooding silence. "They are up to their old tricks
again." His eyes were steely blue now. Hilary pressed his hand in
silence. They were welded together by a common loss.
Wat Tyler broke in upon them. "If you fellows want to hang around
here, I'll be on my way. That Mercutian hyena will be back here with a
dozen others just like him in less than no time."
* * * * *
Hilary snapped out of his sorrow. He could not help Joan by having
himself captured or killed, nor was it fair to Grim and Wat. They had
placed themselves unquestioningly under his leadership. Something else
too was growing into burning life in his mind. This was his Earth, his
and Grim's and Wat's, and of millions of other normal human beings.
The Mercutians were interlopers, brutal conquerors. He would devote
his now otherwise meaningless life to driving them off the planet,
wiping them out of the solar system. A tall order, yes, but not for
nothing had he fought almost single-handed against those other
monstrosities on other worlds: Martians, Ganymedans, Saturnians. The
Mercutians were no stronger than they. Besides, there was Joan.
"Men," he said crisply, once more the clear-headed commander of his
space expedition, "I intend to fight these Mercutian invaders until
Earth is free once more, or--I am dead. I have no illusions about the
magnitude of the job, of its practical hopelessness. But that does not
mean that you two have to throw away your lives also. I am a marked
man, without any identification tag. You on the other hand, can get
away from here, mingle indistinguishably with the hordes of people in
Great New York. You would be safe. Our ways part here, if you desire
it so." He added hastily, "I would be the last to blame you."
Grim Morgan and Wat Tyler looked at each other, a great giant of a man
and an undersized bantam. Yet some electric spark of sympathy seemed
to dart between them, these so dissimilar beings.
Wat elected to be the spokesman. His voice rose shrilly, as it always
did when he was laboring under stress of excitement or emotion.
"_You_ won't blame us," he almost squeaked. "Who asked you? Damn it,
haven't we consciences of our own? Are we quitters, yellow-bellied
Mercutians to quit a pal? Are we, Grim Morgan? Speak, you big ox."
He wheeled abruptly and shook a small fist high in the air. It barely
reached under Grim's nose. The big man looked down at the little
gamecock unsmilingly.
"No, Wat Tyler, we are not," he said gravely.
Wat turned to Hilary triumphantly.
"There, you see," he crowed, "we stick together. We'll lick those
Mercutian monsters; we'll sweep them into the ocean, into space. And
what's more, we'll rescue your girl too." He stopped to catch his
breath. Grim was nodding slowly. He had not the little man's
exuberance. _His_ girl could not be rescued any more, but he could
remember.
Hilary's frozen heart warmed into life again. With loyal comrades such
as these, even the impossible might be accomplished. Very quietly,
without heroics, the three men shook hands. Nothing more, yet they
knew that they were bound indissolubly together, as long as there was
a gasp of breath in any of them.
* * * * *
Hilary's brain functioned with racing smoothness. In minutes the
Mercutians would be back.
"We must find a secure hiding place at once," he said. "Know of any?"
Grim shook his head negatively. "There is none," he spoke slowly.
"Their search beams penetrate everything."
"Except lead," Hilary interposed.
"Except lead," he conceded.
"Very well then. We shall have to find a place we can line with lead.
In the meantime. I have my space flier up in the Ramapos. If it hasn't
been discovered yet, it will be essential to our task. We'll have to
get there quickly."
"How?" Wat asked,
"By the conveyors, of course."
"No good," the little man declared. "Mercutian guards will be
patrolling them. You have no identification tag. You would be caught."
Hilary considered that. "Suppose you two go on along," he suggested.
"Find it and wait for me. I'll manage somehow."
"No," they answered unanimously; "we go together or not at all."
Hilary did not try to argue. He would have replied himself in exactly
the same terms. He looked longingly at the abandoned flier of the
gray-faced Mercutian, lying cold and still within the house.
"If only we could operate the ship," he said.
Then, characteristically, he dismissed the vain longing and bent to
the business in hand. "That means we'll have to make it on foot, and
keep under cover all the way. Come on."
As the three men moved rapidly over the great lawn toward the nearest
covert, a little wood a quarter of a mile away, the horizon that was
Great New York showed silhouetted against the westering sun numerous
little black dots. The Mercutians were coming.