_Rescued_
The guard looked at his captives sourly, kicked viciously at Hilary to
relieve his feelings. There was fighting to be had outside; Earth
slaves to be tortured and slain, and he was out of it--wet nurse to a
couple of prisoners.
He growled disconsolately. Through an open slide window giving out on
the terrace, a confused roaring, a babel of sounds came filtering
through. There was trouble below--fighting already, very likely. The
Mercutian glanced back at his bound and gagged prisoners. They were
immobile, helpless. He looked guiltily about. The great room was bare,
silent. With almost furtive movements he opened the door leading to
the terrace, stumbled out, and was leaning over the parapet, absorbed
in the spectacle of Great New York below.
Instantly, Hilary lifted his head, exerting to the utmost his muscles.
He could just see the guard's back, strained over the side. Hilary
relaxed rolled painfully over to Joan. She stared at him wide-eyed.
If only he could make her understand. He must get the gag out of his
mouth. Every moment was precious; the guard might return momentarily.
He screwed his face into tremendous contortions, wiggled his feet as
much as he could, worked his jaws, trying desperately to convey his
meaning.
Joan watched him puzzled; trying to follow those strange contortions.
Beads of perspiration started on his brow as her face registered blank
incomprehension. Just as he was giving up in despair, she grasped the
idea. Her face brightened, and her shapely head nodded stiffly.
The trussed-up pair started at once to pivot around on the floor.
Fortunately the composition was polished, affording little friction.
With infinite pains the maneuver was completed. They lay side by side
now. Joan's trim feet close to Hilary's head.
Writhing and contorting, she worked the sharp heel of her foot against
the thick wad of the gag in Hilary's mouth, and pushed. It was solidly
tied, but it gave a little. Encouraged, she redoubled her efforts,
pushing with all the limited force of her bound limbs.
The yielding gag cut cruelly, the sharp heel scraped and gouged into
Hilary's cheeks, but he did not mind. He was in a fever of
apprehension. If only the guard's interest were held by the events
below until he had accomplished what he intended!
* * * * *
At last his mouth was free. The gag had been pushed over his nose.
Joan rolled away. She had accomplished the task Hilary had set her,
but she was still puzzled. What earthly good would it do him to talk?
She found out almost immediately. He was twisting his head, burrowing
with his nose against the blouse over his right shoulder. The open
tunic give a bit, and he burrowed painfully, Joan watching with
growing fascination, until one of the binding wires stopped further
progress. But it seemed far enough, judging from the satisfied
illumination in Hilary's eyes.
He spoke, his mouth pressed close against the shoulder blade, his
tones queerly muffled, thick.
"Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler, Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler," he whispered over
and over again. He could not hear if there was any response; his ears
were muffled now by the spread gag. He could not help that.
"Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler," he muttered monotonously, "Hilary Grendon
calling. Held prisoner with Joan, top of Robbins Building. Guarded.
Urgent you free us. Artok has sent out general death orders. I have
plan to stop him. Come, quickly."
Over and over he murmured the message, hoping desperately they would
hear him in the communication disks strapped to their shoulders.
"Come quickly," he repeated; and then the guard, tiring of the view
below, or the streets having been cleared of rebels, came softly into
the room. Hilary's head jerked quickly back, the shoulder of his tunic
falling back into position.
"Here, what's this?" the guard growled suspiciously, catching sight of
the displaced gag. "How on Mercury did you do that?"
He knelt swiftly, thrust the gag back into position with ungentle paw,
kicked the unresisting form in the side to show his displeasure, and
rose. Hilary's heart pounded; the guard had not seen the inconspicuous
disk under the tunic. He was in an agony of expectation. Had his
comrades caught his message? Could they rescue him even if they had?
Questions that only time could answer.
The guard was alert now; he did not like that queer removal of the
gag. There would be no further chance to unbind themselves. What
seemed hours passed as they lay cramped, immobile.
The air grew thick and warm, or was it only his imagination? No, for
the guard felt it, too. Then something buzzed, intermittently. One
long, two short. It seemed to emanate from a round black button on the
sleeve of his gray tunic. A signal!
* * * * *
The guard exclaimed something in guttural Mercutian, rose hastily, and
closed the open door and window. He pressed another button, and
sheeted lead curtains rolled swiftly over the vita-crystal roof,
darkening the room, cutting off the rays of diffused sunlight. Then he
seated himself not far from the captives, facing them, grinning
savagely. Hilary wondered why.
Again what seemed hours passed. Behind the lead curtain, the room had
become definitely, uncomfortably warm. The Earthlings perspired; the
atmosphere was literally steaming; and in their cramped limbs, the
torture was fast becoming unbearable. Only the Mercutian guard did not
seem to mind. He was accustomed to far higher temperatures on the arid
planet that was his home.
Just as the prisoners were gasping almost their last gasp, the heat
seemed to recede, swiftly. At once the guard rolled back the leaden
shade opened the door and window again. His grin was broadly
triumphant. Something clutched at Hilary's heart; he understood now.
The beastly invaders! He struggled furiously at his bonds, but they
did not give. He ceased his efforts, panting.
The moments passed. Hilary was giving up whatever slender hopes he had
had. Wat and Grim had not heard, or if they did, they could do
nothing. A slow, sullen despair enveloped him.
He was watching the guard. That gray-faced giant turned his head
suddenly, jumped up as fast as his lumbering alien weight could move,
snatched at his sun-tube.
"Don't move an inch, if you want to live," a deep, slow voice vibrated
through the room. A well-remembered voice. Hilary would have laughed
aloud his relief, but he was gagged. His comrades had not failed them.
* * * * *
The guard dropped his half-raised weapon sullenly, staring at the
intruders in dazed incomprehension. Hilary jerked his head around.
Framed in the doorway was Grim--good old Grim--a long-barreled dynol
pistol steady in his hand. From behind him there darted a little
figure, red-haired, freckled, shrill with delight. An old-fashioned
submachine gun, abstracted from some museum, weighed heavily under his
arm.
It clattered unheeded to the floor as the bantam dived for Hilary and
Joan.
"We came as fast as we could when we got your message," he crowed.
"Dropped everything." His nimble fingers were making havoc of the
knotted bonds, while his nimbler tongue wagged on. "Boy, we have them
on the run. We'll sweep them out into space by the time we're
through."
Hilary and Joan were free now. Very painfully they rose to their feet,
stamping and pounding their arms to make the sluggish blood circulate
again. Wat hopped about in his excitement.
"Here, you little runt," Grim's voice boomed at him, "stop jumping
around, and tie up this Mercutian. We have no time to waste."
Wat groaned comically. "See how that big ox orders me around," he
proclaimed, but he picked up the wire and in a trice had the guard
helpless and glaring.
Hilary had recovered his speech.
"Thanks, boys," he told them simply. "I knew you'd come if it was
humanly possible. But how did you manage to get through the
Mercutians? The building is honeycombed with them."
* * * * *
Morgan grinned. "We came in the _Vagabond_," he said.
"What," almost yelled Hilary, "you mean--"
"That your ship is resting comfortably outside on the terrace. When
little Wat here caught your message in the communication disk, we were
busy organizing companies of Earthmen in the hills back of Suffern. As
recruits poured in, we'd tell them off in hundreds, appoint officers,
see that they had arms, or gave them directions where to find the old
caches, and hustled them off. Had to shift our quarters continually,
because Mercutian fliers would pick us up with their search-beams, and
start raying. Had some close shaves. But when we heard you were
caught, we turned over the command to the nearest new officer, hurried
to the gorge, and here we are. The _Vagabond_ handled beautifully."
"I could take her myself to the Moon," Wat boasted.
"Hadn't we better be going?" Joan asked anxiously.
"There is work first to be done," Hilary, answered grimly. "There's a
certain weather machine in the laboratory I want to take a look at."
"Weather machine?" Grim echoed, puzzled.
"Yes. The Viceroy let something slip about it. For some reason it's
very important to them that it continues to function. I'm curious."
A gasp from Joan. Surprised, the men turned to her.
"Of course," she said breathlessly. "Father had been working on it for
the longest time. It was a machine to control weather. Something to
do with broadcasting tremendously high voltages, ionizing the air and
causing rain clouds to form or reversing the process and scattering
clouds back into thin air. This was the Master Machine. All over the
Earth, at spaced distances, were smaller replicas, substations,
controlled from this one. He had great hopes of furnishing equable
weather to all the Earth. It was just completed, when...." She trailed
off.
* * * * *
Grim frowned. "Very interesting, but what is so terribly important
about it now?"
"You fool," Hilary exploded, "it's as important as hell. Don't you
see? What are the Mercutians' weapons? Sun-tubes, sun-rays from their
fliers, tremendous burning disks that are their space-ships.
Sun--sun--everything they have depends upon the sun. Take away the
sun, and what have they? Nothing but their hideous giant bodies--they
are weaponless. Now do you see?" He fairly shouted at him.
Grim's face lit up heavily; Wat was dancing insanely.
"Get hold of the machine, reverse the process. Make it form clouds,
great big woolly ones. Start a rain that'll make the Deluge look sick;
forty days--a year--and we'll drown them all," Wat cried.
"Exactly," Hilary nodded. "Joan darling, you and Wat get into the
_Vagabond_, and wait for us. Grim and I will take care of the
laboratory."
"What?" Tyler ejaculated. "Leave me cooped up when there's a fight on.
I'm coming."
"So am I," Joan was pale but determined.
"Oh, Lord," Hilary groaned. "Listen to me, please," he said patiently.
"Time is precious, and I can't argue. Joan, you would only be a
hindrance. I for one would be thinking more of protecting you than
fighting. As for you, Wat," he turned to the furious bantam, "I'm
sorry, but you'll have to take orders. The _Vagabond_ must be guarded.
If we're cut off, we're through. And there's Joan."
"Well. If you want to put it that way," Wat grumbled.
"I knew you'd be sensible," Hilary said hurriedly, not giving them a
chance to change their minds. "At the slightest alarm, take off. Don't
try to rescue us if we don't return. The Earth cause is more important
than any individual. If you get caught, too, the revolt will be
leaderless; at an end."
The men shook hands gravely. Joan, white-faced, kissed Hilary
passionately. "Be careful, my dear."
* * * * *
Then the two men were gone, moving cautiously down the corridor with
deadened footfalls. Hilary had retrieved his automatic; Grim had his
more modern dynol pistol. The guard had been thrust into a corner,
bound, unnoticed.
The laboratory was on the floor below. They trod carefully down the
inclined ramp connecting all the floors. The corridors, the ramp, were
deserted.
"All out fighting," Hilary whispered. "The revolt must be spreading."
Grim swore. "The idiots. I told them not to start anything until I
returned. They'll be wiped out--they weren't ready."
Hilary nodded slowly. He thought of the strange heat while he had been
captive. There would be very few Earthmen left alive in Great New York
now.
They were at the foot of the ramp now. Just ahead gleamed an open
slide. A pale-blue light streamed out at them; in the oblong of the
interior they could see moving shapes, weirdly cut off, crossing their
field of vision; bright gleaming machines, segments of tremendous
tubes flooded with the pale-blue light. And over all was a constant
hum, a crackling, a whining of spinning parts. The laboratory!