Standing in the doorway, the girl of the unsmiling blue eyes surveyed
the new men silently. Her trim, aloof figure instantly commanded their
attention, and their respect as well.
"I cannot waste words on you," she said abruptly, "for my time is
limited. I know all of your names, so you shall know mine as well,
although it will mean nothing to you. I am Cynthia Marnik, but you will
address me always as Commander. You will obey me implicitly in all
things here. Second to me, you will obey Luhor.
"All of you volunteered to come. Now that you're here, you are part of
our scheme of things and you will work as hard as you did in the swamp.
It is dangerous work, but you will have ample remuneration. Idlers
and grumblers will be done away with, I promise you. Your lives were
forfeit in the swamp, and that is not altered by your being on Vulcan."
She paused as if waiting for objections, but every man was silent.
"Very well; Luhor will explain later what you're here for. Meanwhile
you are free to go anywhere you like within the city, but be ready to
work about eight earth-hours from now." As abruptly as she had come,
Commander Cynthia Marnik turned and was gone.
The men smoked and talked among themselves, speculating what their
tasks might be. The memory of the Prison Swamp was too recent for them
to care much.
Mark rose quietly and stepped out of the dining-room. He'd noticed that
Aladdo was absent from the meal, and he wondered if his Venusian friend
was still an 'honored guest.' Deciding to inspect the city, Mark tried
to retrace his steps to those buildings where he had heard the blast
furnaces; but at the first cross-corridor Ernest Carston stepped out
and walked beside him. He smiled at Mark Denning, but held a warning
finger to his lips.
They walked in silence, while the corridors became rockier and more
dimly lighted. At last, far away from the city, Carston stopped under
an immense jutting rock and quietly gripped Mark's hand. There was a
world of feeling in his voice as he said barely whispering:
"I'd lost hope of ever seeing any of you again!"
"How did you get here?" Mark asked the question that had been burning
in his mind. "Did they pick you up at the swamp, too?"
"Yes. We're both on the same trail--and here the trail ends."
"But I had no idea you'd preceded me," Mark told him. "It must have
been considered a far more important assignment than I was told, to
send _you_ to the Swamp!"
"We didn't know, we weren't certain," Carston said thoughtfully. "But
we received a bit of information which, if true, was of the greatest
importance. It seemed impossible, fantastic, but the hazard was so
great, that even what amounted to a vague rumor warranted my going. You
were to follow in a few months, without knowing I had gone ahead. Well,
you already know most of the rest; but Earth's government doesn't even
suspect the deadly peril it will soon have to face!"
"I'm afraid," Mark stated frankly, "that there are a lot of gaps in
what I do know. I can tell, of course, that something mighty big is
going on here. But what was that bit of information you received?"
"It goes back nearly a quarter of a century," Carston replied slowly,
"and concerns a man named George Marnik. He, and his young wife, were
among the first pioneers to venture out to Callisto. Those were the
ruthless years, when the great Earth Monopolies stopped at nothing,
were very often lawless, and usually got what they wanted." Carston
paused to light a cigarette.
* * * * *
"George Marnik," he went on, "discovered one of the richest palladium
veins on Callisto, and was developing it slowly. But--one of the
Monopolies decided that it wanted Marnik's rich vein. In an ensuing
struggle with some of the Monopoly's hired hoodlums, Marnik's wife was
burned down brutally with an electro-gun. She left a daughter, about
five years old, whom they had named Cynthia ... do you follow me?"
"Go on," Mark said in a cold, dry voice.
"Well, after the tragedy, George Marnik disappeared. He was never heard
of again--except by the Earth Monopolies. They heard of him plenty. He
terrorized the spacelanes for years, and more than one Monopoly went
under, bankrupt by the incessant attacks on their ships by an enemy who
had achieved a ruthlessness greater even than theirs. It was rumored
that Marnik had vowed never to set foot on Earth again, and that his
life was dedicated to the destruction of the Monopolies. He almost
achieved his task, except that the Earth's government finally stepped
in and dissolved the Monopolies." Carston paused and drew in a long
breath.
"And then?" Mark urged, as if fascinated by this saga of another day.
"Why, then as you know, Emperor Bedrim of Venus achieved his famous
alliance with Dar Vaajo of Mars, and together they sought to end
Earth's domination and exploitation of their planets. You know about
the bitter ten years' war--that's history. But when the Tri-Planetary
Patrol was formed, during the truce that followed at the death of
Bedrim, half the Solar System was searched for George Marnik's base and
the rich plunder he was reputed to have there. It was all in vain. You
can now see why! The Patrol has never been able to land on Vulcan."
"But if I remember correctly," Mark Denning said reminiscently, "George
Marnik was certified as dead, as the years went by and piracy ceased.
The records gave no information as to his daughter Cynthia, she was
merely marked 'Missing.'"
"Precisely!" Carston assented.
"Then that vital bit of information you received must have concerned
this base on Vulcan!"
"No. Worse! It concerned that George Marnik _was alive and planning to
end the Inter-Planetary Truce, to loose bitter war upon three worlds
again_!"
"Good Lord!" Mark was stunned. "But how? Venus and Mars were disarmed
under Earth's dictated peace!"
"Yes, true. Mars is a small and dying race and not to be greatly
feared. But Venus has never become reconciled. You know their unholy
pride and their utter conviction that theirs are the greatest minds
in our universe. Underneath the apparently peaceful surface, revolt's
smoldering."
"Revolt fanned by Marnik?"
"Yes," Carston went on. "If George Marnik did have some fantastic plan
in mind, Venus would be the likeliest place for him to find backing
and followers. On the face of it, it seemed absurd, of course. But
when the supply of Venusian Pearls dwindled to a mere trickle, and a
criminal from the swamp was found dead millions of miles away, in the
vicinity of Callisto, we knew then that there was a definite tie-up.
It was time to investigate. George Marnik, the last space pirate, _is
alive_--an ancient, embittered wreck living on hate!" Carston fell
silent.
* * * * *
"And Commander Cynthia, his daughter," Mark whispered musingly, "is the
one in charge now!"
"Yes. You wouldn't have believed it possible, eh? But remember, during
those reckless years when her father was the most hunted man in the
universe, Cynthia grew up with him, constantly at his side, learning
all the tricks of a master at piracy. She must share her father's
hatred for a world that only brought them tragedy and sorrow. Marnik's
psychopathic, of course, his mind's warped; she must share his views,
although at times I wonder ... sometimes when I look at her...." His
voice dwindled.
"So it all boils down to one thing," Mark's analytical mind had already
absorbed all the facts. "That Spacer that brought us here is a menace
to civilization. Its speed alone is beyond anything we have at present;
a fleet of them could wreak havoc on Earth's forces. Earth must be
warned at all costs, Carston!"
Ernest Carston looked at Mark pityingly, lines of weariness and anxiety
creasing his face. "Do you think," he said slowly, "if there were any
way out, I would be here? Vulcan and the Venus Swamp both have a thing
in common: there's no escape, except through Marnik. Commander Cynthia
only carries out his orders."
"But she's a woman, Carston. If she could be made to realize
what another Inter-Planetary war means--the awful carnage, the
destruction--perhaps she could somehow be reached!"
"I wish that were possible!" Carston exclaimed fervently. "But she's
like a being that's hypnotized. George Marnik must dominate her
completely, old and decrepit as he must be. Remember, it's the only
life she's ever known. He must be the only being she's ever loved."
"Have you any concrete knowledge of their plans?"
"No. Only deductions. Dar Vaajo, ruler of Mars, was here three weeks
ago. Cynthia brought him. For hours he was with Marnik in the latter's
palace. That can only mean one thing, of course. And then there's the
new metal. That is the real problem and the real menace!"
"Metal? A new alloy?" Mark Denning was all interest.
"Nothing so simple as that," Carston explained with tragic calm. "A
metal unique in the universe! A new, _allotropic_ form of beryllium
which _beyond a certain temperature reacts by hardening in direct
ratio to pressure and heat_! Once cast, it is literally heat and blast
proof, and so light that it triples efficiency in relation to fuel
consumption. And George Marnik's building, has been building, a fleet
of these Super-Spacers!"
"I suppose they're mining that metal here?" Mark's face was white.
"Yes, on the _sunward_ side of Vulcan! That's what swamp convicts are
brought here for."
"And I suppose either the ore, or the smelted metal's being shipped to
secret bases on Mars and Venus?" Mark's voice was strained and opaque.
"Not yet, Earthman!" The alien voice was at once like a whiplash and
like a fragment of music. Both men whirled about.
* * * * *
Out of the shadows, as if emerging from the bizarre scene of tortured
rocks and twisted cavern-walls, stepped a slender figure with pendant
wings.
"Aladdo!" Mark felt a curious tingling at sight of his Venusian friend,
as he went forward with hands outstretched.
It was nothing compared to the shock mirrored on Carston's face.
"Aladdian!" he too exclaimed, a mixture of despair and impotent rage in
his voice.
"Peace, lower order!" Aladdo laughed, but hiding his hands behind his
back as he addressed Mark. "I shall not trust my hands to you again.
_It is enough to have crippled wings!_" The Venusian stared full into
Carston's eyes as he uttered the last words significantly, and the
latter's face turned deep red.
"Are you still a guest? Where are they keeping you? I've missed
you...." Mark turned to Carston, his face alight. "Aladdo saved my life
in the swamp!"
"I'm staying with the Commander and her father. It is a small universe
after all," he added, turning to Carston, "eh, Colonel?"
"You know each other?" Mark asked, surprised.
Carston's face reddened and then paled. "I'm a servant of my
Government," he answered the Venusian stiffly. "My duty is to obey, not
to question orders, Princess!"
"What is all this? What do you mean, 'Princess'? Will someone explain?"
Mark was exasperated.
"Aladdian's the daughter of the late Emperor Bedrim of Venus," Carston
said, then fell silent.
A look at the Venusian's smiling face told Mark it was true. His own
face was ludicrous, his mouth partly open, for the moment speechless.
Then a dark flush of anger swept up like a tide to the roots of his
hair.
"A girl ... a defenseless girl that's never committed a crime in her
life, condemned to that Venus Swamp! To the most ghastly, the most
cruel living-death in the universe...." Words failed him as he shook
with rage. "What was Earth's Government thinking of? The Council must
have been mad!" Mark Denning choked.
"Careful!" Ernest Carston warned. "Remember you're an Earthman,
Denning. To question the Council is treason!"
"Treason be damned, and the Council too!" Mark raged. "There are
limits! There's no reason for that Prison Swamp except greed. Better
atom-blast habitual criminals than to condemn them there; _that_ is
worse than any crime!" He towered above Carston, a formidable engine of
destruction, his face a mask of fury.
Then a tiny, fragile hand was on his arm and the Venusian's calm voice
rose in the brief silence, "It is too late to remould the past. But we
can refashion the immediate future, Mark Denning."
"Can we? How? It seems that Marnik and Commander Cynthia hold all the
cards!"
"Not all," Aladdian shook her exquisite head. "They have perfected
their plans for the immediate future--but we can be _the element of the
unpredictable_!"
"You mean ... you're not in sympathy with their plans? That you won't
serve as a rallying point to sway the masses of Venus?" Carston looked
bewildered. "I thought when I saw you, that was the reason they'd
brought you here! We know that your people would revolt at a word from
you, Princess! That's what our Government feared."
"I know. And I will not lead my people to an hecatomb in space. But
neither will the Earth continue to exploit my planet and debauch my
people. This time, there will be a peace and it will be equitable."
Aladdian had drawn herself to a full four feet eleven inches, and there
was an imperious note in her voice. Carston stood silent and grim.
* * * * *
Mark, looking at his Venusian friend anew, thought irrelevantly that,
with the spike-heeled sandals of Earth, Aladdian would be only slightly
under the average height of an Earth girl. He shook his head irritably.
This was no time to ponder inconsequential things.
"Aladdian," he said, "do you know much of their plans and what is being
done with this new metal?"
"Partly. We have discussed ways and means since my arrival here.
George Marnik is very impatient; I think he fears he may die before
he can see his plans carried through. First he will equip a fleet
equal or superior to Earth's forces. Then he will take over Callisto,
the new Gibraltar, between the inner and outer planets, after which
he will complete an alliance with Venus and Mars. He does not plan
to conquer Earth, he knows it would take years; but his scheme would
bottle your planet, relegate it to the status of a minor power, without
inter-planetary colonies, without outer revenues. Venus and Mars alone
would expand in the Solar System."
"For a while," Mark said laconically. "Mars would never be content with
anything short of complete rule, as long as Dar Vaajo lives! And the
metal?..."
"It is smelted here under a secret process, and parts for the space
cruisers and special rockets manufactured. Then they are stored in one
of the asteroids where they will be assembled later into a fleet. That
is all the data I have now."
"But this Luhor," Mark asked, "what is his real status? Commander
Cynthia seems to trust him implicitly."
"She does," Aladdian replied. "He's an old friend of George Marnik,
one of his trusted lieutenants from the pirate days. But he's a cold
devil--combines the worst from both Venusian and Martian. Don't
under-estimate him ... he can be deadly!"
"I've had occasion to see that," Mark said dryly.
"They're all deadly in this deadly little planet!" Carston said
vehemently. He looked far older than his scant thirty years, his face
was bleak and haggard.
"But this is heaven in comparison with the Prison Swamp," Aladdian
told him coldly. She seemed to have a determined animosity toward the
high-ranking Earth official.
"It wasn't I who sent you there!"
"No. It was only your relentless pursuit that eventually resulted in
my capture," the Venusian answered, "and it was only you who cut the
tendons of my wings. Oh, I know--you were only acting under orders."
Aladdian was smiling again as she turned back to Mark. "We had better
all go back to our quarters now, but it would be best if we did not
return together." She moved away, then added: "Watch Luhor, Mark; I am
not sure, but I think he too is part of the 'unpredictable.'"
Mark watched her slim figure, with the azure wings and tight-curling,
blue-black hair, melt away into the shadows.
"I will see you tomorrow," her voice floated back like a golden molten
stream.
V
"Only twenty-two men, Luhor?" Commander Cynthia Marnik stood very
straight and very slim in the center of the air-lock, surveying the new
men plus a sprinkling of others, preparatory to the trip outside. "Even
less than the last trip!" Annoyance creased a frown between her blue
eyes.
"All we can spare, Commander. Every available man's at the furnaces;
your father has ordered it so." Turning to the waiting men, Luhor began
to instruct them in the operation of their metal surface suits.
"As you can see, they're two suits in one," he explained tersely,
"operating on the vacuum principle. Here's the cooling device between
each metal sheathing. You'll have to bear more heat than you've ever
endured, but don't get panicky. Here's where you regulate the oxygen
flow into the helmet." He indicated a little dial.
Each man was assigned to a wide, flat-bottomed sled which he was to
pull behind him. They were also equipped with curious, spur-like picks.
Mark failed to understand the reason for such primitive methods, but
remained discreetly silent.
"You men who have made the trip before, help the new arrivals,"
Luhor ordered curtly. Mark noted that Luhor himself was not going to
accompany them, but Cynthia Marnik was already encased in her suit.
Ernest Carston went over to help her adjust the helmet.
"I can manage quite all right, thank you," she said. But it did not
escape Mark that her voice was soft and that she smiled at Carston.
Carston came over to give Mark a hand. He smiled reassuringly through
his helmet's visiplate, then flicking on Mark's radio-phone, said
briefly:
"Stay close to me! I'm one of the veterans."
"Bring Vulc, we're about ready," the Commander's voice sounded
startlingly inside Mark's headpiece.
"Who's Vulc?" Mark asked Carston in a whisper.
Before the latter could answer, there was a sudden unearthly rumbling
behind them. Mark turned, stared, then froze in his tracks. A huge,
awesome apparition was lumbering in a straight line for the Commander.
It was vaguely human in that it possessed a head, torso, four limbs
of elephantine proportions, and it waddled upright. But the human
resemblance went no further.
The creature's skin, if skin it was, gleamed silvery metallic and gave
the impression of being fluid! It reminded Mark of nothing so much as
an immense blob of mercury that might at any moment collapse into a
puddle and spread over the floor.
But Vulc didn't collapse. He approached the Commander and stood
docilely waiting. She patted the creature's arm and then handed him
a package of something. Vulc rumbled his appreciation and poured
the contents into a gash that appeared in his face. Then he waddled
contentedly to a large sled and took up the reins.
"Wow! Where did you ever dig up _that_?" Mark turned white-faced to
Carston.
"Vulc? He's a native of this planet, but more than that, he's our
ambassador of peace!"
The Commander's crisp voice made further conversation impossible.
"Single file, you men. Stay as close to each other as the sleds will
permit. Carston, you stay in the middle, as usual, and watch out for
the Blitzees. If you men work hard, we should be back within ten hours."
Silently the outer door of the lock slid open and the men began to file
out, with the gigantic Vulc at the head. The brightness was intense,
although they were on the planet's "dark side." Shimmering waves of
heat danced before them over the flat terrain.
At the very end of the line Commander Cynthia kept pace with them.
* * * * *
"What did you mean by 'ambassador of peace,' Carston?" Mark had
purposefully fallen into line next to him.
"Adjust your radio-phone to its shortest distance communication,"
Carston directed him, "so it will be inaudible to anyone else." As Mark
did so, Carston continued, "We couldn't get out the metal we're after,
without Vulc. His home is on the Neutral strip where we're going--that
part of the planet where the outward and sunward side meet. All of
Vulc's kin are there, and they resent us. They have attacked us before.
We bring Vulc as an evidence of friendly intentions; they have a speech
of sorts, and Vulc's supposed to pacify them."
"What was it the Commander gave him before we left?"
"Powdered metal, filings, and tiny scraps from the factories. That's
what's in those big sacks up there on Vulc's sled--a peace offering for
his people."
"They subsist on metal!" Mark Denning was aghast.
"Everything on this planet does--that is, everything native to it. And
they're impervious to heat, of course. If Vulc had not been captured by
George Marnik almost immediately after it was born, it would never have
been conditioned to the comparatively cool atmosphere of the Base."
In silence they trudged mile after mile, following the same line of
black hills that housed their Base. Mark marvelled at how comfortable
the vacuum suits were, but he knew the real heat hadn't started yet.
It came presently, as they veered further outward from the hills. The
heat increased steadily and became more intense than anything Mark had
ever experienced. Perspiration dripped stickily within his suit. He
wanted to wipe his face but couldn't; he could only shake his head to
keep the sweat from his eyes.
But there was no keeping the mirages from his eyes. In every direction
the terrain rocked and rolled under huge undulating hazes of heat.
Horizons leaped at him in wave after wave, and fled away again. The men
ahead seemed to do fantastic dances.
They no longer trod on rock. The ground beneath was soft, white and
leprous looking, powdery almost as dust. Mark felt it hot around his
metal-clad ankles. Now he realized the reason for the flat-bottomed
sleds. He knew, too, that a spaceship could never venture over here and
get back safely; compasses and magniplates and everything else would go
haywire. Peering ahead, he discerned Vulc's fantastic bulk which now
had turned a glowing cherry red! He shuddered at the thought of what
would happen to a man suddenly bereft of the protecting vacuum suit.
Out of the silence, a vast rumbling sound rose like magnified thunder.
Mark saw Carston fumble with his radio-phone then peer all about into
the haze.
"Blitzees coming!" he yelled into his instrument.
Everyone stopped. Mark followed Carston's line of sight, but he
couldn't see a thing.
"Swarm coming from the left!" Carston yelled again.
The Commander moved hurriedly along the line. "Lie down everyone, face
to the left! Upend your sleds and if you value your lives, stay behind
them!"
For a second all was confusion as the men flung themselves to the
powdery soil; then a metal barrier sprang up as the sleds came end to
end. Still nothing could be seen.
* * * * *
Suddenly then they came. The air was blue from crackling sparks as
dozens of the Blitzees struck the sleds with the impact of bullets. A
sound like the humming of millions of hornets was in their ears, as the
greater part of the swarm passed overhead. Mark had a confused vision
of electric blue streaks that writhed and zig-zagged, landed and leaped
again, propelling themselves blindly. As suddenly as it had come, the
danger was over.
The men arose somewhat shakily. The ground about them was strewn
with the snake-like Blitzees. Mark picked one up and found it to be
metallic, about five inches in length, transparent blue in color. The
head was triangular, eyeless; along its back Mark felt a thin, wiry
sort of filament!
"They're like living bolts of electricity," Carston told him. "They
seem to short-circuit themselves when they strike the sleds." The
caravan continued.
Hours later they arrived at their destination, a small rise in the
terrain before them, covered with glittering crystals in huge,
boulder-like lumps. The sides of the little hill was composed of the
same ore, apparently in limitless amount.
But as if guarding it against them, rows of redly-glowing Vulcs stood
motionless, elephantine, facing them. Mark couldn't tell whether they
were friendly or hostile. To him there was no expression to be seen
on those fluid heads. But Commander Cynthia's Vulc went over to his
henchmen and jabbered in rumbling noises, pointing to the huge sacks on
his own sled. Presently three of the Vulcs came over and snatched at
the sacks, opened them and grabbed handfuls of the metallic filings.
Seemingly satisfied, the trio lumbered off followed by the rest,
bearing the sacks.
The men began to work then, loading the ore on the sleds and breaking
it with their small hand-picks. Even to have come here was bad
enough, and to breathe was an agony--but to work, in this inferno of
unimaginable heat and blinding glare, was a nightmare. More than once
Mark felt himself sway, and stood quite still until the dizziness
passed. One of the men pitched forward and lay still.
Commander Cynthia examined the fallen man. She gestured to Vulc who
grasped him and stretched him over the ore in his own sled. The
Commander's face was drawn and white through the visiplate, and her
eyes were tragic. Mark was seeing evidences today that she was not
entirely cold and heartless, as he had at first thought.
It seemed an eternity before they were through with their task. At
last the sleds were loaded to capacity, and they rested a while before
starting the return journey.
They could only pull the heavy sleds slowly now, and only the knowledge
that every mile brought them nearer to the Base, away from this
suffocating hell, spurred them on.
After a while the Commander called a halt, and the men sank down
against their sleds like puppets whose strings have been cut. There
was a strange absence of curses and rebellion against the appalling
experience they were undergoing; there was not enough strength left for
that.
Then Mark saw Commander Cynthia suddenly stand up. Through the
visiplate her eyes were wide, and they mirrored horror!