On the gently undulating floor of a valley, surrounded by three
mountains and with the sea rolling up on its beach to the north, lay the
Aran city. From an altitude of some three thousand feet, the travelers
gazed down upon a scene of extraordinary color and beauty: low, pure,
white buildings with many balconies and patios; gardens of vivid
flowers; white pergolas trellised with scarlet blossoms; sunken pools of
limpid water, with huge date palms curving over them. A grove of royal
palms grew close to the beach, near a huge, rectangular bathing pool and
a marble-white pavilion. A white palace stood on a rise of ground with a
balconied tower, five hundred feet high, beside it. On the top of the
tower was a beautiful flower garden. And everywhere was the romantic
green foliage of the tropics, the blue-red sky, the soft, red-white
clouds, and the azure waters of the channel.
"Where do we land?" George asked.
"To the west a little, Father," Loto directed. "See the cavern
entrance?"
He pointed for George, explaining: "We will not land directly in the
city. I want the plane permanently guarded now, so we will leave it in
the Cavern of Thunderbolts."
"The what?" George demanded.
"That's what the Bas picturesquely call it. You see the cavern mouth?"
Across the city, a yawning black hole gaped in the mountainside near its
base; an opening of irregularly circular shape, some two hundred feet in
diameter. A gentle slope led up to it from the city.
"We can fly directly in," Loto added. "It's the entrance to the
subterranean chambers where the scientists work--and where they store
their apparatus under guard. It's also a museum, where relics of the
past are gathered."
George relapsed into an awed silence, staring down at the city. In the
streets and on the housetops, people were standing, gazing up at the
plane curiously.
The mouth of the cavern grew steadily larger as the plane swooped down
upon it. The yawning hole seemed to have a level floor extending
horizontally back into the mountain. Far back into the darkness, little
blue lights twinkled.
"You'd better take the controls, Loto," Rogers said anxiously. "I don't
like the idea of flying into that."
Loto slipped quietly into the seat. The Frazia motors stopped abruptly.
Silently, with only the sound of the air rushing past, the plane glided
swiftly downward.
Around the cavern mouth was a small platform with a roof over it, built
on an overhanging ledge of rock. The figures of three men seated there
were visible. Abruptly one of the men rose, and from his upflung hand a
tiny flash of blue-white light shot into the clouds overhead. Even in
the daylight it was a plainly visible flash.
"Lightning!" George exclaimed and, as though to confirm him, a little
miniature crack of thunder sounded an instant later.
"They know I'm coming," Loto said.
It was a queer sensation, darting into that blackness. The cave mouth
seemed to open and swallow them. The plane struck the ground with a
bump, lifted, bumped again and rolled forward. Points of light swept
past on either side; a blue-white glare lay ahead.
The plane slackened its speed and came to a stop.
"We're here," said Loto. "Take only what you will need at once. We can
come back here later today or tomorrow."
Quickly, they descended from the plane.
The hum of dynamos sounded from far away in the mountain's depths. The
roof high overhead was dimly visible, and great shadows, flickering
blue-white lights, were everywhere. Near at hand, where the cave
broadened, was a space more brightly lighted. Further along it narrowed
again, forming a dozen branching passages. An incline fifty feet wide
sloped down into blackness, with a faint pencil-point of blue light
shining from far down within its recesses.
"Why, the whole mountain is honeycombed!" Rogers exclaimed.
"Yes, sir. Just stand here a minute and I'll be with you. Don't move
about!"
Figures were approaching, robed in black rubber garments, gloved and
hooded. Loto turned to greet them, and they drew back their hoods,
disclosing their heads and faces. There was a brief conversation, then
Loto turned back to his companions.
"Fahn is at home in the city," he said swiftly, and his tone was
concerned. "We'll go there."
The black-robed figures gazed at them curiously a moment; then went back
to their work. Led by Loto, the three started off toward the mouth of
the cave.
"Is your plane in here, Loto?" Rogers asked.
"No, sir. I left it at Orleen. There's a cavern there similar to this,
but smaller. It's there--in the other cavern."
"You're sure it's safe?"
"Of course."
"Where are we going?" George demanded after a moment.
"To Fahn's home," Loto answered. "He'll be there with Azeela and
Dianne."
"Dianne?" George's voice took on a new note of interest. "Who is she?"
"Azeela's younger sister," Loto explained briefly. He smiled. "I meant
to tell you about her, George. She's a little daredevil--you'll like
her."
George just smiled, and for some time they walked on in silence. The
ground was wet, like muddy clay. There were no lights ahead, but the
daylight from the cave's mouth lighted their way.
They emerged from the cave and came out onto a road of white sand and
clay that led down the mountain slope. Palms lined it thickly. Further
down, at the bottom of the quarter-mile descent, houses began; the
outskirts of the city. The road soon took on the aspect of a street. It
was broad, with narrow pedestrian paths on both sides. Flower gardens,
often with hedges of thick, bayonet-like plants, lined the walks. The
houses were for the most part almost obscured by palms and trellised
vines that were laden with scarlet blossoms. Private, outdoor bathing
pools occasionally showed through the garden foliage.
It was obviously a residential section. As the party advanced,
passers-by grew more numerous. The Bas men were distinguishable by their
clipped, bullet-like heads, covered with broad, circular-brimmed hats of
straw; their sun-tanned bodies naked above the waist, bare feet, and the
wide trousers. The Bas women, also red-brown of skin, were usually
clothed merely with a loin cloth and a white sash bound over the
breasts, their hair twisted in plaits hanging down the back.
The Bas walked always in the road itself. On the pedestrian paths, a few
Arans passed by; men with long hair to the base of the neck, and dressed
somewhat as Loto had garbed his father and friend. Most of them saluted
Loto--a queer, flowing gesture of the left hand--and all of them stared
with frank curiosity at the strangers. Occasionally an Aran woman came
along--white-swathed, mysterious figures; a twinkle of tiny,
black-slippered feet, a flash from alluring eyes veiled by lashes
heavily darkened.
An Aran man riding a dog went slowly down a side street. A dog pulling a
small, three-wheeled cart piled high with merchandise passed in the
opposite direction.
George edged toward Loto. "Those dogs," he whispered. "They're friendly?
Not vicious?"
"Of course not," Loto laughed. "Just like regular dogs. Except...well,
I'll tell you later."
George sighed with relief. "All right. But they're not like any dogs I
ever saw at home--they're nearly as big as a horse. And there's
something else wrong about them--they're too intelligent. You can see
that just by looking at them walk."
Presently they turned into the gateway of a hedge solid with white and
scarlet blossoms.
"Fahn's home," Loto said. "We'll go right in."
They passed through a garden, colorful with its mass of vivid flowers,
and heavy with the languorous scent of magnolia and orange blossoms. The
house stood well back from the road. It was a low, broad building, white
in color, with, a low-hanging room--not thatched, but seemingly of blue
tiling.
Then they were on the veranda. The walls of the house sloped inward at
the top. There was a window nearby--no glass--with a blue-white, silky
curtain shrouding it. The door stood open; inside was a hall, with
another door open to the sunlight of a patio banked with flowers.
A girl came to the doorway. It was Azeela. George recognized her at
once: a slight little creature of blue eyes, golden hair and milk-white
skin; a pale blue sash wound wide about her hips and thighs,
breastplates of metal, with the broad, circular collar above them, and
her hair parted forward over her shoulders in plaits that ended with
little tassels. George decided she was the most beautiful girl he had
ever seen; Loto's description did not half do her justice.
She stood hesitantly in the doorway then, smiling, advanced to Loto and
gave him both hands in a pretty gesture of welcome.
George's decision that Azeela was the prettiest girl he had ever seen
was short lived, for behind Azeela now came another girl, her younger
sister, Dianne. Azeela might have been eighteen or nineteen; Dianne
obviously was no more than sixteen--a black-haired, dark-eyed girl,
dressed like Azeela, except that her sash was a deep red.
"And this is Dianne," Loto was saying. "We call her Dee."
"So will I," George answered promptly. He met the girl's eyes--snapping,
laughing eyes with the spirit of deviltry in them.
"Loto told me about you," she said demurely. Her intonation was that of
a foreigner, but she spoke the ancient English with perfect ease and
fluency. "Loto said he thought I would like you a lot."
"He didn't tell me about _you_," George responded. "Not till ten minutes
ago. But, anyway, he was right. No, what I mean is--"
The rest of George's speech was lost, for they were inside the house and
Fahn was advancing to meet them. The leader of the Scientists was a man
of nearly seventy; a quiet, grave, dominating figure, tall and spare,
but perfectly erect. His face was smooth-shaven, his iron-gray hair long
to the base of the neck. He was dressed in a paneled robe of black, with
a pleated white collar and cuffs.
"I am glad, indeed, to have you with us," he said cordially to Rogers.
He spoke precisely, slowly and carefully, as one speaks a language newly
mastered. "I feel very close to you, now that my daughter Azeela is to
marry Loto. It makes me--"