_Mutterings of Revolt_
The next morning, as dawn burst over the mountain tops, he started on
his perilous mission. But no one who knew Hilary Grendon would have
recognized him in the meek, shambling, slightly bent Earth slave who
climbed the last rung of the rope ladder out of the hidden gorge.
He had changed his clothes for an old, space-worn suit that one of his
former comrades could never have any further use for. The skilful
application of wood ash and powdered charcoal to the hollows around
the eyes, the pits beneath the cheekbones, gave him a gaunt, careworn
appearance, suitable to an Earthman too brow-beaten to dream of
defying his overlords.
Wat, who had artistically applied the make-up, viewed his handiwork
with admiration. "You'll do," he grinned. "The way you look, even a
little fellow like me would be perfectly safe in spitting upon you."
Before he went, he explained the mechanism of the _Vagabond_
thoroughly to his friends. Finally they nodded; they would know how to
work the controls.
There was the question of weapons. The captured sun-tube was out of
the question; it could not be secreted beneath the dark-blue blouse.
Hilary fondled his automatic wistfully.
"If only I had some bullets," he sighed.
"Hell, man, I know where you can get plenty," said Wat. There was a
hidden cache, not far from where they were, stored against the day.
There were still some brave spirits left on Earth who hoped and
plotted. Wat had been one of them. Hilary's spirits rose immeasurably.
With his gun loaded he could face the whole Mercutian planet.
* * * * *
Hilary made the return journey to Great New York in an hour. He wormed
his way carefully to the nearest conveyor, and made his way openly to
the express platform, secure in his disguise.
There was an air of unrest, of tension in the air. The Earth
passengers no longer sat dully, apathetically, as they were whizzed
along. Little groups buzzed together, excited, gesticulating.
Hilary unostentatiously joined one. There was a sudden silence as he
sank quietly into his seat, glances of uneasy suspicion. But he looked
thoroughly innocuous, and the chief whisperer felt emboldened to
resume the thread of his interrupted discourse.
"There _are_ men left on Earth," he mouthed secretively to the little
circle of heads. "The Mercutians went down like animals--fifteen of
them killed, I hear. The whole company of guards retreated in a
hurry"--he paused for greater effect, and continued slowly and
impressively--"from--three--Earthmen."
Hilary raised his head sharply. They were discussing his exploit,
evidently. With exaggerations of course. That was inevitable.
"Yes, sir," the speaker proceeded, "that shows you. These damned
Mercutians are not invulnerable. They can be overcome, chased off the
Earth. But we've got to be men, not slaves."
High excitement shone in the surrounding faces.
"But we ain't got no weapons," a small, weak-chinned man protested.
The other spat carefully: "No weapons, huh? Man, I could show you--"
A dark, silent man standing uninterestedly next to him jabbed him in
the ribs. The orator gulped and stammered: "I--I mean--"
"Psst," someone hissed hurriedly, "the Mercutians."
* * * * *
Three giant Mercutian guards, their sun-tubes at the ready, stumbled
heavily down the aisles of the express, sagging with the pull of
Earth's gravitation. Their gray, warted faces were black as
thunderclouds.
They stopped before the hastily scattered group.
"You heard the orders," the hugest one barked: "no congregating of
Earth slaves on the conveyors or elsewhere. Next time you disobey,
I'll ray you. You understand?"
"Yes, Magnificent," the weak-chinned man muttered hurriedly.
But the little knot reformed immediately after the guards had passed
on.
"Magnificents!" The first speaker spat viciously. "I'd like to wring
their necks."
Hilary shifted unobtrusively to another excited cluster. There the
same procedure was followed. A quiet-voiced man was talking, lauding
the exploit of the three embattled Earthmen, skillfully and subtly
enkindling enthusiasm, raising wholesome doubts as to the
invulnerability of the hated Mercutians.
Numerous patrols of guards stalked up and down the conveyors,
arrogant, manifestly itching for a pretext to ray the conquered. But
the Earthmen gave them no opportunity. The groups melted at their
approach into meek, vacuous individuals; reformed instantly as they
moved on. And there were no informers. The Earthmen had resumed their
almost forgotten Earth solidarity in fronting the invaders.
* * * * *
Hilary watched the restless shifting groups with a glow of pride. This
was his work, the spark he had kindled was being fanned into a steady
blaze. These whisperers, these exhorters, who were they? Members of an
underground organization? Possibly. Wat and Grim had both belonged to
loose circles, vague and shifting in membership. Possibly they were
coalescing now, joining up into a world-wide organization. He hoped
so. It would make his task easier, it also helped restore his pride in
being an Earthman. He had almost thought that this supine listless
race of his was not worth rescuing.
He reached the terminal in Great New York without untoward incident.
No one challenged this meek, shabby-looking Earthman. The Mercutians
gave him barely a glance; the Earthmen disregarded him when they
whispered together. Hilary was content; he was not seeking undue
notice.
The terminal was the scene of unwonted activity. The conveyors were
disgorging crowds of Earthmen, grim, determined-looking individuals.
They scattered purposefully through the various exits of the huge
building. Hilary noted with interest that there were no women, no
children, on the constantly incoming expresses.
The Mercutians were massing, too. The terminal was crowded with
guards. They stalked heavily about, shouldering their Earth slaves
rudely out of the way, sending them sprawling with sudden quick
shoves. It would take only an untoward word, a false movement, to
start a massacre. The Mercutians were deliberately trying to egg them
on.
But the Earthmen took the abuse, the physical violence, quietly. They
picked themselves up, disappeared through the exits, giving way to new
arrivals. Once Hilary caught a gleam of familiar steel in the
unbuttoned recess of a man's blouse pocket. He smiled. There were
untoward events impending.
But first he must take care of his own private matter. Joan was a
captive in the hands of the Mercutian Viceroy. What was his name? Wat
had told him. That was it--Artok.
* * * * *
He was out in the street now, a wide vita-crystal paved thoroughfare,
one of the many that radiated from the terminal like the spokes of a
wheel. On either side was an upflung spray of tall receding towers,
dazzling in the sunshine.
It struck Hilary suddenly. There had been bright unclouded skies
during the days since his arrival. Only at night had it rained, like
clockwork: every night for fifteen minutes immediately after midnight.
A light steady shower that ceased as suddenly as it sprang up. It was
unusual. This was April in the Spring of 2348 and April was always a
month of showery heavens. Had the Mercutians, accustomed to the
blazing light of their own planet, deliberately managed some way to
create perpetual sunshine on Earth? Very likely, considering the
clockwork night showers, no doubt for the purpose of preventing
droughts. There was the matter of weapons and power, too. They all
depended on the sun.
Hilary took the inside moving platform. It would take him to the
Robbins Building. The street was black with people, surging back and
forth, restless, ominous.
Mercutians stalked purposefully along, in companies of ten. Their
guttural voices were harsh with command. The Earthmen scattered out of
their way. Those who were not nimble enough were knocked down,
trampled underfoot.
One Earthman, braver than the rest, or more foolish, gave vent to a
scream of rage, when a young girl, with whom he was arm in arm, was
wrested brutally away. His fist shot out, caught the leering guard
flush on his chin.
The Mercutian staggered, then bellowed with rage. His tube flashed
upward. The Earthman's eyes opened wide as with wonder, then he
collapsed, cut cleanly in half.
There was a full-throated growl from the jammed thoroughfare, a sudden
surging forward. But the guards, reinforced by others, had their tubes
lifted, ominous, death-dealing. The crowd ebbed back hastily.
* * * * *
Hilary had joined the first rush. His blood pounded in his veins at
the unprovoked brutality. For a hasty moment he visioned the
commencement of the revolt. But as the mob retreated before the
weapons, his brain cooled. The time was not ripe yet. It would be
pure slaughter. Besides, there was Joan.
Once more he was the meek, downtrodden slave. He got off the platform,
shambled over to the Robbins Building, an imposing pile of
vita-crystal. It rose high into the air, overtopping even the great
Memorial Tower. Martin Robbins had been wealthy, very much so. He had
been a physicist of world repute, and this building was a monument to
his inventive genius. The top floors were devoted to marvelously
equipped laboratories. On the roof were the living quarters--dwelling
of many rooms surrounded by an alpine garden. All Great New York
stretched beneath. In the distance the green waters of the Atlantic
dazzled in the sunshine.
Hilary knew the layout well. It had been his second home before.... He
put the bitter thoughts determinedly behind him. There was work ahead.
The stooped, hollow-cheeked creature shambled aimlessly up to the
entrance. It was filled with Mercutian guards.
He edged his way along, hoping to pass through unnoticed.
"Here, you," a burly Mercutian barred his way, "get out of here before
I ray you."
* * * * *
Hilary seemed to shrivel together in mortal terror. He turned to slink
out again. The guard had him by the shoulder, was propelling him with
ungentle paws toward the exit. Hilary let himself be shoved.
A cold curt voice spoke a sharp command:
"What have you there?"
Where had Hilary heard that voice before?
The pushing guard spun him around hastily.
"He was trying to get into the building, Cor Urga," he said
respectfully. "These damned Earth slaves are everywhere under foot.
It's time we rayed a few to teach them a lesson."
Hilary found himself gazing at the gray saturnine countenance that had
burnt itself into his memory. Urga--the Mercutian who had kidnaped
Joan! His muscles tensed suddenly for a quick spring, then relaxed. He
must play the game.
Urga looked him over carefully, puzzled.
"Strange," he grunted, "I've seen this fellow before, but I cannot
remember where."
Hilary was taut. Would he be recognized?
But the Mercutian Cor--in Earth terms, Captain of a Hundred--shook his
head finally, and turned away. The disguise had held up.
"All these Earth slaves look alike. This one is a particularly poor
specimen. Turn him loose. If he tries to come in again, kill him.
"Get," the guard growled viciously, and sent Hilary sprawling out into
the street to the muttering accompaniment of the seething Earth
crowds. The temper of the people was rapidly reaching the explosion
point.
* * * * *
But Hilary picked himself up, meekly brushed himself off, and melted
unostentatiously into the moving crowd. He desired no undue attention.
Strangely enough, there were no Mercutians in sight. Only the surging,
growling Earthmen. Hilary felt their mysterious disappearance to be
ominous--as though they had been warned by some secret signal.
Something terrible was about to happen. He must get to that certain
passageway he knew, and quickly. If only it were not guarded.
A cry went up about him, a yell of many voices.
"The Mercutians are coming."
Hilary whirled. Down the street, issuing from the terminal, deployed
a full regiment of guards, bowed under the strong pull of the Earth,
but formidable enough. Sun-tubes glinted dangerously. A stentorian
voice reached him. "Clear the streets, you Earth dogs," it roared.
"You're been warned enough. One minute to obey and I'll burn you all
down."
A babel of excited voices went up. The crowds farther down, near the
advancing Mercutians, melted into a wild scramble. Men trampled each
other underfoot in a mad attempt to reach safety before the minute's
expiration.
Where Hilary had paused, there was a milling indecisiveness. Men were
already quietly edging their way toward adjoining buildings, into side
thoroughfares; others were more belligerent.
"Kill the bloody beasts!" a man suddenly screamed near Hilary, drawing
a pistol from beneath his blouse. He waved it frantically in the air.
There was an ugly surge, a low-throated growl. It needed very little
for the mob to get out of hand and hurl itself upon the steadily
approaching Mercutian regiment.
Hilary acted swiftly. He caught the man's pistol arm, thrust it down
sharply out of sight. A quick wrench, and the gun was in his own hand.
The man, wild-eyed, opened his mouth to shout.
"Shut up," Hilary hissed fiercely. "Are you mad? You wouldn't have a
chance. They'd ray us all clean out of existence." He thrust the
pistol back into the man's blouse. "Wait; our chance will come."
"Oh, my God! Look!" someone screamed.
A command shattered the air; the tubes of the Mercutians uplifted; a
blinding sheet of flame blazed solidly down the street. The minute's
grace was up.
* * * * *
Even at this distance, the heat scorched and seared. There were many
unfortunates caught farther down, men who had had no chance to seek
safety in time. They melted in the furnace blast as though they were
bits of metal in an electric arc.
"Run for your lives!" the shout went up. All thought of resistance was
gone. It was every one for himself. The man with the gun was the first
to run. Hilary found himself caught in the mad rush. The Mercutians
were pounding along methodically raying in front of them.
Hilary was thrust into a little eddy of men to one side. It swirled
and shoved. The entrance of the Pullman Building loomed ahead. The
sight of it gave Hilary new vigor. That was his destination. If only
he could make it.
He straightened out of his stoop, squared his shoulders. The next
instant a human battering ram crashed through the twirling, yelling
mob. Head down, right shoulder and elbow working in unison, a path
magically opened where no path had been before. Every second was
precious now. The heat of the tubes was engulfing him in waves,
raising little blisters on the unprotected skin.
Hilary plunged into the open entrance of the Pullman Building. It was
packed with humanity, struggling for the lift platforms, to take them
to the upper stories, out of reach of the awful rays. Hilary was
thankful for that. His destination was beneath, in the sub-levels. A
moving escalator led downward. It was deserted.
A fierce, wild screaming arose outside, screams that gurgled and died
horribly. Hilary felt sick inside. The full blast of the rays had
reached the milling crowd. It would be a hideous and merciless
slaughter.
* * * * *
Hilary's gray eyes burned, his lips set in a straight, hard line. The
beasts would pay for this. He shot down the escalator at full speed. A
spray of passageways met him. He did not hesitate. He chose the one
farthest to the left and dashed along its winding length until he came
to a dead end. The vita-crystal gleamed blankly back at him.
But Hilary knew what he was doing. Long ago Martin Robbins had told
him of the secret connection between the two adjoining buildings. A
passageway that led between the outer and inner shells of crystal
walls; lifts that shot smoothly to the laboratories and
pent-apartments on the roofs of the two structures. For Simeon Pullman
had been a close friend of Robbins; a fellow physicist, in fact. They
interchanged theories, results of experiments, and found this swift
connection most convenient.
Both men were dead now--Pullman as the result of a premature
explosion, and Robbins, executed by the Mercutians. But the secret
passageway remained.
Hilary pressed the secret spring he knew of. A gleaming oblong of
crystal slid silently open. He went in without hesitation and the
slide closed with a little whir behind him.
A low tunnel confronted him, just barely high enough for him to move
without stooping. The walls here were of burnished metal, glowing with
impregnated cold-light. It was empty, silent. Evidently it had been
undisturbed for years. The Mercutians had not discovered this secret
way then.
* * * * *
The tunnel slanted downward for several hundred yards, then turned
sharply upward until a vita-crystal wall barred the way. Hilary could
hear vague sounds from the other side. He was in the Robbins
Building. He turned to the left, where a shaft stretched upward,
completely enclosed by crystal walls. A thin oblong edging showed the
platform beneath. He stepped on it, hesitated for a moment. There were
two control buttons; one that stopped the lift in the laboratory, the
other in the sleeping room that once was Martin Robbins'.
Hilary decided in favor of the penthouse; there was less chance of a
present occupant of the room. If there was--he shrugged his shoulders
and loosened the automatic in his blouse. He pressed the button.
The platform shot smoothly upward, up, up, thrusting a thousand feet
up. At length it came to a gliding halt. Hilary knew he was on the
roof now, in the interior of the wall making one side of the
sleep-apartment. The vita-crystal gleamed mockingly opaque at him. If
only he could see through; if only he had a Mercutian search beam now.
Was there someone in the room on the other side of the wall? He
strained his ears to listen, but the crystal was pretty much
sound-proof.
Very quietly Hilary drew his gun, broke it, examined the chamber. The
six bullets lay snug. He snapped it back in position, held the
automatic butt against his side, reached over and pressed the release
button.
* * * * *
The slide whirred open. Hilary waited a second, tense, ready to shoot
at the slightest sound. His eyes bored through the oblong. Nothing was
in sight except the luxurious furnishings he remembered so well;
nothing stirred. But his vision was limited to that part of the room
framed by the slide. With infinite caution he peered out, his
searching gaze flicking swiftly, around the sleep-apartment. It was a
man's room with built in divans, automatic sleep-spray, wall rack to
hold illuminated book sheets, magnified so as to be read comfortably
from a reclining position on the divan--in short, the usual ordered
luxuries of a well-furnished sleep-room.
It was empty--but the divan was touseled, certain small things
disarranged. Someone used this room. Hilary stepped out, leaving the
slide behind him open in case of an enforced retreat. He paused to
think. Where could Joan be held prisoner--if, and it was a big if--she
were really here. He ran over the possibilities.
The laboratories were out of the question. The great master room then.
No doubt Artok, the Viceroy, had installed himself there. It was
regally magnificent. That might repay a visit. A bold scheme flashed
across his mind. Seize Artok himself, abduct him into the secret
passage, and compel him to disclose Joan's whereabouts, give her up.
Hilary smiled grimly. Sheerly suicidal, yes, but he was desperate now,
and there seemed no other way.
Gun shifted back into his blouse, with his right hand thrust in, on
the butt, he glided softly out of the chamber. No one was in sight.
The passageway seemed oddly deserted. Possibly the staff had been
attracted to the outer rim of the terrace by the commotion below.
At the end of the passageway, facing him, was the master room. Another
swift look about, and Hilary was moving down the long corridor, close
to the wall, his footfalls deadened by the soft composition rug.
Slowly, very slowly, he pressed the button to release the slide. It
slid open at a barely perceptible rate. As the slender crack widened,
Hilary, looked in, taking care to keep his body to one side.