He was not the savior-type. He certainly did not
crave martyrdom. Yet there was treasure beyond
price in these darkened plague-cities of Ganymede,
if a man could but measure up to it.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
By seven o'clock, Earth-time, I could distinctly see the first plague
city of Profaldo. In the grey light it lay there before me, a vague
opalescent aura radiating from its spires and minarets. The three roads
that crossed the flat converged on the city to meet at a single narrow
runway.
I drove the tracto-car down into a little gully, climbed out and took
a second look through my magnoscope. The flat was deserted, as it well
should be at this hour, and the only sign of life was a high-flying
<i>tok</i>, circling slowly.
It took me only five minutes to make preparations for my entrance into
Profaldo. The carefully wound coil of volocized wire slipped down
neatly under my tunic. Suspended from my left shoulder was a haversack,
innocent appearing, but containing one of the seven transmitting sets,
also a complete set of tools. I removed three of the white pellets
from the little glass vial in my pocket and swallowed them. And, for
emergency, I slid a heat pistol into another pocket.
Then I set out across the flat. Distance was deceptive, but I had
calculated fairly closely, and an hour later saw me pacing up the
runway to the entrance of Profaldo.
The guard in the cubicle stared when I stood before him. "You're not a
citizen here," he said. "Do you know what place this is?"
"I know very well," I said. "Here are my papers, signed by the High
Ganymedian Council. Let me pass, please."
The gate slid back, and an instant later I was inside the city.
<tb>
Profaldo! Plague-ridden, feared, legendary! Like its six sister cities,
the place was known throughout the System as a pest-hole, tenanted
by doomed citizenry whose very futility of life made a mockery of
everything decent and law-abiding.
Twenty yards down the street, and I saw indeed that the city was one
vast slum. Gambling holes-in-the-wall stood cheek by jowl with sinister
drink shops, all of them roaring full blast. A drooling fog that dimmed
the intermittent blue street lights gave a grotesque unreality to the
thoroughfare.
Here and there were groups of the inhabitants. Only a few showed
visible signs of the horrible plague,--the greenish, leprous hue to the
face and eyes, the disjointed, shambling walk--but I knew that all of
them had the disease in one or more of its stages.
Following the directions I had memorized so carefully, I went straight
down the street, turned left, then right. Yes, there it was. A
slate-gray building, well out of plumb, with a dingy sign before the
doorway: POWER DIVISION.
I went in. There were no ushers, no reception clerks, only a faint
drone of machinery somewhere below me. A long corridor angled in either
direction with marked doors every few feet. The sixth door bore the
marking: COMMISSIONER.
Even as I looked upon the room's occupant, I knew that this, my initial
step, would be a success. The man was a toad of flesh with little pig
eyes and albino hair. He put down the glass from which he had been
swilling liquor and glared at me. "Complaint department down the hall,"
he said. "This is a private office."
I crossed to the chair beside his desk and sat down. "I'm George
Dulfay," I said quietly, "the new inspector sent by the Council. Will
you sign my papers, please?"
He scowled again and peered at me shrewdly through blood-shot eyes,
but, after a careless glance at the document I had handed him, he
seized a stylus and affixed his signature. Then he raised his eyes to
mine.
"New man, eh?" he grinned. "And what do you think of our fair city?"
"It stinks."
My words prompted no reproach from him. He leaned back and made
steeples of his hands. "Everything's the same," he said. "Four
hundred deaths, four hundred births. One attempted escape resulting
in execution. Flood-water"--he glanced across at the far wall where a
panel bore a series of dials--"water 65.0, oxygen zero-zero, paldine 5."
"And the research bureau?" I questioned. So far, I knew I was playing
my part to satisfaction.
He snorted. "Failures as usual. You and the Council know as well as I
do that there's no cure for the plague."
It was time for the first step, but I didn't hurry it. I got a cheroot
out of my pocket, lit it and blew a shaft of smoke toward the mildewed
ceiling.
"I'll okay the report as usual," I said. "But there's one thing
more. I'll want to buy some of your power. About sixteen thousand
<i>graphlos</i>...."
A wire couldn't have jerked him erect any quicker. "Power!" he
repeated. "Sixteen thousand...." A gleam entered his blood-shot eyes.
"By the Lord Harry! And for what, may I ask?"
I could feel my pulse racing and a hot flush sweep over me, but
outwardly I knew I appeared cool.
"If your Research Bureau here believes there is no cure for the
plague, the Council has different ideas," I said. "We're going to try
an experiment. Sixteen thousand <i>graphlos</i> of polarated power at each
of the seven cities discharged along a common beam with a step-up
transformer between each city. Gargan--he's the new light-ray man in
the Council--believes the radiation from such a charge will completely
nullify the potency of the plague bacillus."
The Commissioner moved to the edge of his chair. He poured himself a
glass of the lavender-colored liquor, drank it and wiped his mouth. "By
the Lord Harry," he said, "you're no inspector. Who the hell are you?"
"You have my papers."
He picked them up again and re-read them carefully. I watched him. I
could feel something cold move up and down my spine. And then with a
wave of relief I saw the first signs of credulity.
"I believe you mean it," he said. "Tell me, do you really think there's
a chance, an escape from this double-damned plague?"
"There's a possibility, but of course it's remote and only in the
embryonic stage. Of course you understand all this is confidential.
Now--where is your power switchboard?"
He touched a bell, said something into a microphone. Then he got up and
extended his hand. "Follow the corridor, Mr. Dulfay. And may Providence
go with you."
Outside the office, reaction seized me, and for a moment I swayed
there, aware of the terrific strain I had been under. The first barrier
was passed. From now on, although there still would be plenty of
danger, my actions for the most part would be routine. I threw away my
cheroot and headed down the corridor.
That corridor ended in a flight of stairs which I climbed to the second
level. Through an archway I passed into the power room proper. Tilted
back in a chair in front of the enormous switchboard, a weazened little
man nodded to me, signifying that he had had his instructions. I went
to work without hesitation, threw over the auxiliary switch, removed
the coil of wire from under my tunic and spliced it directly into the
main conduit.
Finished, I trailed the coil of wire across the room and tossed it out
the open window into the darkness of an alley. I went outside to gather
up the loose ends. A low shed there, housing emergency transformers,
served my purpose admirably. I got the compact little transmitting set
out of my haversack, bracketed it to the wall in a far corner and set
the clockwork to functioning.
Exactly one hour later I was back in my tracto-car, driving across the
flat.
<tb>
If a month ago anyone had told me I would visit not only Profaldo but
each of the seven plague-cities of the High Ganymedian Plateau, I would
have told them they were crazy. That was before I met Hol-Dai.
Hol-Dai was not his real name, of course; that was what they called him
at the mental hospital where I was serving my internship. A patriarch
of a man, one of the early Earth colonists, he had broken down from
excessive research in extraterrestrial medicine, and he was forever
browsing through heavy medical tomes. One day he began talking to me as
usual, and for want of something better to do, I listened.
"My son," he said, "you've heard of the seven plague-cities: Profaldo,
Senar, Caldray, Voltar, Xynan, Malakan, and Klovada?"