Paralyzed!
Compared with Gates as he stared up at his captors, Daniel in the
lion's den may have considered himself almost among friends.
For a moment after the departure of the two other humans along with
Zoltevi and Quimboson, no sound was audible except that of the
threshing, sighing cables, and of the deep, throaty breathing of the
monsters.
Then in silence--a silence more terrible than any spoken
threat--Red-Hood advanced toward his victim. Gates, sensing his
sinister intention, spontaneously pressed back. But Red-Hood drew
nearer still, this time with a ten-foot stride. And Gates retreated to
the extreme outer edge of the platform. Another inch, and he would have
fallen!
But before he could plunge to a welcome deliverance, his persecutor's
long tail shot out. With a rapid whirring motion, sounding a little
like the warning buzz of a rattlesnake, it flicked by his left arm. And
this time it did not miss. A glancing stroke touched him painlessly,
leaving an abrasion hardly more noticeable than the prick of a pin.
But instantly something else occurred--something all too noticeable!
Gates felt a numbness shoot along the arm, which took on the lifeless
feeling of a jaw into which a dentist has pumped several charges of
novocain. And from the arm the feeling spread to his left shoulder,
then over to the right shoulder, then down toward his abdomen, and up
his neck, and along the right arm, and through both legs to the toes.
It all happened in a matter of seconds. Almost before he had had
time to grasp the full dread facts, he found himself paralyzed. Yes,
paralyzed practically completely! Except for a slight wriggling
movement in his feet and fingers, he was unable to stir! In his horror,
he attempted to cry out; but his tongue would not obey the impulse; all
that came forth was a whisper-thin gurgling. Meanwhile, no longer able
to maintain an upright position, he had sagged to the floor of the
web, where he lay like a bundle of rags.
Strangely enough, however, the higher nerve centers appeared
unaffected; his mind had not lost any of its clarity. It was, in fact,
as though his mental reactions had suddenly been heightened, now that
his physical frame was as if dead.
After a minute of silent gloating, during which he stood leering down
at the victim, Red-Hood drew wide his green-gray lips, and huskily
inquired,
"How do you feel now, O earthling? That was what we call a tail-prick.
Had the blow struck beneath the surface, you would have perished. But
that would not have served our purpose. You can do more for us alive
than dead."
* * * * *
Savage and determined was the secret compact that Gates made with
himself: he would perish in agony, a hundred times over, sooner than
voluntarily help his captors by so much as the flick of one finger!
But Red-Hood, as if aware of his thoughts, twisted those great bag-like
lips of his into a sardonic grin, and grumbled,
"It will not be up to you, my friend, whether you assist us or not.
You see, there is nothing you can do against Lethemaz--the poison we
apply with the tips of our tails. For a hundred thousand cycles our
scientists have worked, until it has become the most efficient venom
in the universe. A tenth of a drop--which is just what we used--will
keep a mite like you paralyzed for days, unless we apply the proper
antidote."
To Gates' horrified consciousness there had come the memory of certain
wasps which injected a paralyzing fluid into their spider prey, keeping
them alive but helpless for an indefinite period, so that they might
nourish the next wasp generation.
But the fate of the spiders seemed almost enviable beside his own. For
they at least would at last know an end to their captivity!
As this thought shot through his mind, he heard Red-Hood conferring
in undertones with two subordinates. And the latter, after a moment,
approached him and produced long cables, which they began to twist and
loop about his body. For what purpose? He could not even guess. Yet the
wicked twinkles in their three-cornered red eyes told him that they
were up to some new villainy. A minute later, when they began to carry
him down the web, amid the shimmering many-hued strands, how fervently
he wished that he had seized his opportunity before it was too late,
and had fallen off the platform to his doom!
* * * * *
Twelve hours had gone by. The Crystal Planetoid, whirling on its orbit
about the earth, had swung back to the point at which the three humans
had entered it. And a man and a girl, deposited by two invisible
attendants, had found themselves back near the spot where their
adventures had begun.
They had come down in a fog--which was not surprising, since fogs now
hovered continually over the earth; and their exact point of descent
was an isolated spot in a city park, a mile or two from the laboratory.
Dunbar recognized the place with a satisfied grunt, as he identified
a certain rustic bridge over a small stream. "Good! Just ideal for a
little chat!"
It seemed as if a huge shadow drifted over them and away, and vaguely
they were aware that the two Saturnians had departed.
"What is there to chat about, Mr. Dunbar?" she flung back haughtily.
There was a silken purr in the man's voice. But determination marked
his manner as he imposed himself in the girl's path.
"Now listen here, young lady. There are several things you might as
well understand. The first is that you must co-operate."
"Co-operate?" she tossed back, shrilly, and paused long enough for a
contemptuous fling of laughter. "Why, who wouldn't die sooner than
co-operate with those beasts--those dev--"
He had come closer to her, and his voice was coaxing, almost caressing.
"Do you think it was for their sake, Eleanor? Why do you think I saved
you, except for your own precious self? If you will only co-operate
with me--with _me_--"
"I'd rather co-operate with a viper!"
She had recoiled as though he were indeed the creature she had
mentioned; and he found it necessary to seize her arm in order to
prevent her departure.
"Come, let's forget all this, Eleanor. I know what nervous stress you
are under. When you return to yourself, you will realize all that I
have done for you. If I hadn't said a word in your behalf--"
"In _my_ behalf! Good heavens, man!" she retorted, bitterly.
"Don't you think I could have saved my own life, if I had been willing
to stoop to your kind of treason?"
"Treason or not, we shall see. We shall see. Meanwhile, I warn you,
don't try to interfere when I fulfill my agreement--when I prepare
those vats of compressed air--"
"And what if I report you to the authorities?"
"Report? By Christ! You wouldn't be that stupid? You wouldn't drive me
to action against you, would you?"
His tone had become subtly menacing as he leaned over her, and
whispered, almost furtively,
"Besides, have you not as much at stake as I, my girl? Remember, you
are a pledge for my success. If I fail--"
"If you fail, I will give thanks to heaven!"
With a determined effort, she had thrust herself forward; while he,
following through the fog, pleaded and expostulated, in tones half like
a lover, half like a taskmaster. At length, through the mist, there
came a choked sobbing. And thin and faint, where two enormous creatures
stood invisibly amid the vapors, there sounded an eerie squeak, like
the muffled mockery of demons.
* * * * *
Chief of Police Joe McCullough had settled back to a good fat cigar
and the latest issue of the "Sports Digest." His long legs stretched
lankily across a chair; his heavy red face wore an expression almost
of contentment, except when now and then he mopped the sweat from his
brow with a crimson-bordered handkerchief. "Damn this heat!" he finally
muttered, glaring at the electric fan as if to accuse it of criminal
conspiracy. And just then the door opened, and the sandy head of
Sergeant Johannsen intruded.
"Sorry to butt in, Chief, but a dame out here wants to see you."
McCullough let out a low oath. "Didn't I tell you I don't want to be
pestered? See her yourself, Johannsen. You're no slouch when it comes
to dames." And, with a growl, he turned back to the "Sports Digest."
"But she swears she's gotta see you, Chief. Just can't do a thing with
her. Something damned important, she says."
"Tell her to go to hell!"
Even as he spoke, a woman's face poked itself through the doorway.
It was a face naturally comely, with clear blue eyes, and handsomely
chiselled chin and brow; but just now she looked like the victim of a
cyclone. Her clothes were rumpled; her disordered hair hung far down
her forehead; there were tear-stains beneath her eyes, which blazed
with a wild, impatient light.
"Chief McCullough?" she demanded.
Had she been a man, she would have been ejected without debate. As
it was, the Chief merely gaped at her, abashed, while awkwardly
withdrawing his feet from their comfortable perch. "Yes, Ma'am. What
can I do for you?"
"Something nobody else can do, Mr. McCullough. I know of a plot,
sir--the most fiendish plot ever imagined. You'll hardly believe it,
but I've just come down--well, down from one of the Crystal Planetoids,
where they've hatched a scheme to capture the earth."
* * * * *
McCullough gaped, and let the "Sports Digest" drop from his hands. He
had had experience with crazy women before, but never with one who had
dug out a scheme to capture the earth. The best thing to do with her
kind was to let them rave on. If you tried to interrupt them, they were
apt to get hysterical.
And so it was with a polite but skeptical smile that he listened to
her story of invaders as tall as a two-story house, who had enormous
stinging tails and were invisible in ordinary light. Mid-way in her
recital, he scowled reproof at Sergeant Johannsen, who seemed about to
break out in open laughter; and, when she had finished, he thoughtfully
took up his cigar, which he had put down for the moment, and remarked,
with an attempt at courtesy,
"Well, now that's all too bad, Sister. The thing I'd advise you to do
is to go home and sleep it off. These are queer times, you know. Why,
with all this heat and tension, it's surprising we're not all seeing
rattlesnakes and tigers. So you just have a good sleep, and tomorrow
you'll feel better."
The girl stared at McCullough in dismay.
"But, my God, I'm not dreaming!" she insisted. "This is real--take my
word for it, horribly real! There's a man--I can give you his name--who
is working right now for the invaders, preparing tanks of compressed
air. If you don't help--and immediately--"
She was interrupted by Johannsen, who, no longer able to contain
himself, exploded in one mighty roar.
At the same time, she caught the amused glint in McCullough's eyes;
and all at once she felt sick--sick to the very pit of her being. And,
realizing the uselessness of further pleas, she turned without another
word, and stumbled blindly toward the doorway.