_Outlaws of Earth_
Three days later three footsore, weary, hungry men skulked in the edge
of the woods near a little clearing in the Ramapos. For three days
they had ducked and dodged and literally burrowed into the ground by
day, traveling only at night. Above and around them the noise of
pursuit rolled. The Mercutians were persistent.
Speedy one-man fliers patrolled the airways, their search beams
casting invisible rays in wide sweeping arcs over the uneven terrain.
Wherever they touched, the ground sprang into vivid illumination,
crystal clear to depths of ten to fifteen feet. Several times the
crystal swath swept breathlessly close to the place where the
fugitives crouched in covert. The conveyors carried back and forth
armed companies of guards. The Mercutians were making a mighty effort
to capture their prey.
But somehow the Earthmen had won through, and eager eyes searched the
little glade. Hilary exhaled sharply. The _Vagabond_, stanch and
faithful companion of all his travels, rested immovably on the deep
green grass. It had escaped the questing eyes of the Mercutians. The
travel lanes did not touch this secluded spot.
"So that's your space ship, eh?" said Grim, surveying the tarnished,
pitted spheroid with something of awe.
"Yes," said Hilary lovingly as he unlocked the outer port side. A
hasty glance around inside showed that nothing had been touched.
Everything was orderly, methodical, just as he had left it.
Grim and Wat examined with interest the banked controls, the
polarization apparatus that set up repulsion waves and literally
kicked the ship out into space away from the planet against which it
had been set.
"Time enough to inspect," Hilary warned them. "Never can tell when
those damned Mercutians may spy on us."
* * * * *
He set the polarization controls so that the mere pulling of a switch
would send the flier careening off into space. He surveyed the
apple-pie order of the interior with vast satisfaction.
"Now let them come," he said, "the _Vagabond_ can show anything that
flies a clean pair of heels. Let's eat."
He dragged an aluminum box out of its locker, opened it to disclose a
gray funguslike mass. He cut off huge slices and offered it to his
companions.
They looked at it doubtfully.
"Ugh," Wat shuddered violently, "I never saw stuff like that before.
It doesn't look good." The little man, they soon discovered, had
violent discriminations in food.
"Try it." Hilary assured him. "It's a Martian growth, and delicious.
We had to live on the land so to speak, on our journey. Our Earth food
gave out long before the finish."
Wat looked at it with manifest distaste, but Grim was already wolfing
his portion and making little pleased sounds. Wat bit into a portion
gingerly, found it tasted somewhat like truffles, and soon was not far
behind in gulping it down.
* * * * *
When their appetites had been appeased, Hilary called a council of
war.
"First of all," he told them, "we'll have to find a hideout. That
presupposes two things: a place large enough to store the _Vagabond_,
and hidden from view, either from the naked eye or their search
beams."
"That sounds like a large cavern lined with lead," said Grim.
"Exactly."
"And there are none such in this territory," Grim replied quietly.
"I will not move too far from New York," Hilary spoke with
determination; "there is Joan...."
Grim looked blank. There was Joan, of course.
Wat got up suddenly. "I know a place," he said, "within a mile of
here, and it's not a cave. Come on; I'll show you. I was a Ranger in
the Ramapo Game Preserve in the old days."
Hilary asked no more. The polarization switch made contact, and the
_Vagabond_ left the Earth with a swift rush. It maneuvered with the
ease of an Earth flier. Wat directed him, scanning the rugged
tree-clad mountains with eager eye.
"There," he said finally, "set her down right there. Easy."
Hilary saw no break in the uninterrupted line of the mountain, but he
followed directions. He had come to have an abounding faith in the
little red-haired man.
The space flier eased gently down. Just as it seemed as if it would
perforce come to rest upon serrated tree tops, a faint glimmer showed
amid the darker green. There was an opening, just barely room for the
_Vagabond_.
* * * * *
Hilary jockeyed skilfully through, kept on descending into a narrow
cleft in the slope. The walls rose almost perpendicularly on either
side. About fifty feet down there was a sharp turn and the gorge
angled downward for another fifty feet. When the flier came to rest at
the bottom, it was securely hidden in a slanting cleft, some forty
feet wide and several hundred long. A mountain brook brawled at one
side, assuring plentiful water. The outside world was absolutely
invisible. Perpetual twilight reigned; only a pale dim religious light
filtered through.
"Just the thing," Wat exulted. "We'll never be found here, no matter
how much they search, unless someone actually stumbles into the
opening. There's almost eighty feet of solid rock above us, and their
search beams only penetrate about ten to fifteen."
"Splendid." Hilary said. "Now we've got to get to work."
For two days they toiled incessantly. A rope ladder was fabricated to
insure ease of entrance and exit without recourse to the ship. Wat, as
the least conspicuous, was delegated to scour the countryside and
bring in stores of provisions. The bottom of the gorge was leveled off
with infinite labor. Rough wood shelters were erected. Spares and
electrical equipment to replace worn parts in the _Vagabond_ were also
purchased by Wat, in cautious small purchases. It necessitated long
trekking through mountain trails, but there was no murmur from him.
The search, he reported, seemed to be slackening. Only the routine
guards whizzed by on the conveyors, and the usual Mercutian fliers
that kept to the regular air lanes.
At last even Hilary was satisfied. He was ready now for the plan that
had been slowly forming in his mind during the days of their flight
and of work. He was going to attempt a rescue of Joan. She had never
left his thoughts once; he was burning with inward anxiety, though his
face was a mask to cover his true feelings.
* * * * *
The last evening he sat with the others within one of the wooden
shelters. A huge fire of fragrant pine knots blazed up a crude boulder
chimney.
"I am going out now to find Joan," he told them quietly.
"When do we start?" asked Wat.
"I am going alone." There was a movement of protest. He checked it at
once. "You can understand the reasons. One man can worm his way where
three men cannot. It isn't a question of force, of brute strength.
Besides, if anything should go wrong, there are still the two of you
to carry on--to be the focus of a new revolt. If all of us were
caught, there would be no further hope for the Earth."
"It's a hell of a note," Wat grumbled, unconvinced. "There's fighting
to be done, and me cooped up here like a sick hen."
"Hilary's right," Grim interposed thoughtfully. "It's a one-man job.
We'll have our chance later." He turned on Hilary. "But if anything
does happen to you, you understand we won't stay quietly. We'll
come--if you are still alive. Promise you will let us know--if you
can."
"I'll promise that," Hilary agreed. "There is a way."
He got up and went out of the hut. In a few minutes he was back,
holding three small flat disks enmeshed in a spray of fine wires for
them to see.
"I've just removed the communication disks from our space suits.
Strap them in position on your right shoulder blade, hook the
wires--so--and you can talk to me or to each other over distances of
one hundred miles. Underneath your clothing they cannot be seen.
Should I require your assistance, I'll call, and further, I'll show
you both how to run the _Vagabond_, in case...." His voice trailed.
"Yes, yes, of course," Grim interposed hastily, "but you'll be here to
run it when the time comes."
"Perhaps," Hilary smiled faintly. Then he leaned forward. "I've gotten
a pretty good idea of what's happened on Earth since I went away, but
now I need more details. Otherwise I'll run into things that will
surprise me, and that might not be so--pleasant."
They told him, interrupting each other, arguing over details, Hilary
interposing questions every now and then.
* * * * *
About a year and a half after Hilary's departure into trackless space,
a huge flat diskoid came hovering to the ground near Great New York.
It carried a party of Mercutians on a friendly exploration, so they
said, once communication could be established between Earth linguists
and themselves. They were welcomed, made much of. They seemed friendly
enough. At their own request they were whirled over the Earth in Earth
planes on a tour of inspection.
When they departed, with much protestation of friendship, they assured
President Peabody they would return some day, they and others of their
race. Just what hidden threat there was in that promise, no one on
Earth realized. It was taken at face value.
Just a year later, almost to the day, the by this time familiar
diskoid was seen hovering once more over Great New York. The
Mercutians were returning. The people of New York suspected nothing.
No troops were rushed to the scene to repel invasion; no guns were
trained on the space ship. It was just another friendly visit, and
hurried preparations were commenced for a rousing welcome on their
landing.
What New York did not know was that simultaneously with the appearance
of the Mercutian flier over their city, a hundred others were even
then hovering over the strategic capitals of the world. The first
Mercutian ambassadors had put to good advantage that hurried tour of
inspection.
No one was alarmed. Each capital city thought itself signally honored
by the reappearance of the lone Mercutian over it. The plan was
clever, the timing perfect.
At a signal flashed through the ether, things started happening.
The great diskoids, hovering high in the stratosphere, suddenly blazed
into blinding light. To the dazzled onlookers below, a new sun seemed
to have been born. A truncated cone of flame leaped downward. The
diskoid was the apex, the spreading base all of Great New York. The
sheeted brilliance enveloped the doomed city. It was a holocaust. New
York became a roaring furnace. Stone and steel heated to
incandescence.
The affrighted people had no chance for their lives. Like moths in a
flame they died on the streets, in the ovens of their homes, in the
steaming rivers into which they had thrown themselves to escape the
awful heat. There were few survivors, only those who happened to be
inside the giant skyscrapers, protected by many thicknesses of crystal
and steel.
* * * * *
As Great New York went, so went a hundred other cities. The Earth was
caught unawares, but the governments, the people, responded nobly.
Troops were mobilized hurriedly, preparations rushed for warfare.
But the Earthmen did not have a chance. The great sinister diskoids
moved methodically over the Earth, high in the stratosphere, where the
futile Earth planes could not reach them, and sent the terrible blaze
of destruction down unerringly upon armies, cities, towns.
It was over soon. One after another, the Earth governments
capitulated. America was the last--old Amos Peabody vowed he would
rather go down to utter destruction than yield--but he was out-voted
in Council. It was pure slaughter otherwise, without a chance to fight
back.
At once the Mercutians set up their government. The Earth was turned
into a colony. The leader of the invaders, the son of the Mercutian
emperor, became Viceroy, with absolute powers. Sooner or later, it was
their intention to transport the entire Mercutian race to the Earth,
and make it their permanent home. Mercury was not an ideal place to
live on; in the restricted area around the poles where life was
possible, terrific storms alternated with furnace droughts, to which
the hottest part of the Sahara was an Arctic paradise. No wonder the
first Mercutian expedition had broached the subject of Earth as an
easy conquest when they returned.
The Mercutians treated the Earth people as slaves. Their rule was
brutal and arrogant in the extreme. The Earth people revolted, under
the leadership of Amos Peabody. Weaponless, except for small hidden
stores of rifles and revolvers--the Mercutians had cannily disarmed
their slaves--they fought desperately with axes, knives, clubs,
anything, against the overlords.
The result could have been expected. The rebellion was smothered in
blood and fire. The bravest of the Earthmen died in battle, or were
executed afterwards. The slaves, the weaklings, were left. Old Amos
Peabody was treated as Hilary had seen. He was exhibited in city after
city as a public warning.
* * * * *
Hilary's blood was boiling as the terrible narration went on and on.
But his face was calm, immovable.
"How do the diskoids operate?" he asked.
"Something like the sun rays on the one-man fliers," Grim told him,
"only vastly more powerful. They are not limited in range, for one
thing. It took only one, fifty miles up in the stratosphere, to
destroy all New York. I saw the one that first spied on the Earth. It
was about five hundred feet in diameter, made of the same vitreous
material, and shaped like a huge lens. No doubt, besides being a space
ship, it is just that. The sun's light flashes through it, is
rearranged into terrible burning rays, and sears all in its path."
"Hm'm!" Hilary meditated. "So everything the Mercutians have in the
way of weapons and armament depends directly on the sun's rays."
"Yes," Grim agreed. "After all, you must remember that with Mercury
exposed as it is to the fierce heat of the sun, it would be only
natural for them to develop weapons that utilized its rays."
"Then the tubes and the fliers cannot operate at night?"
"Yes, because then they receive the reflected waves from the diskoids
that are stationed out in space, in eternal sunlight."
Hilary considered this a moment.
"Where do you think it possible Joan was taken?" he changed the
subject abruptly.
"It is hard to say," Grim answered slowly. "But your best chance would
be with the Viceroy himself. There have been rumors--when pretty girls
disappear."
Hilary's jaw set hard.
"I think I'll interview His Mercutian Magnificence," he said. "Where
are his quarters?"
"The Robbins Building."
"Good Lord, that's Joan's...." So that was why Joan was up in the
Bronxville suburb. "What happened to her father, Martin Robbins?"
"Executed after the revolt," Wat interposed. "Your girl must have
escaped, otherwise she'd have been treated then like the other girls
whose relatives had fought."
Hilary smiled unaccountably, the first smile since Joan had been
taken. He knew the Robbins Building well; he had been a frequent
visitor there in the old days. There were surprises in store for His
Nibs the Mercutian....