The Control Tower
Standing there in the slave mart of Imperial Khundru, Gary Lane
realized--as millions of his human brethren had discovered in past
ages--that it is one thing to experience an emotional uprising when
_reading_ about a situation, but quite another to be involved in that
situation yourself.
In his university history classes Gary had read of the day when
unenlightened Earthmen enslaved their human brothers, offering their
flesh and services to hire on the auction block. From a purely rational
standpoint he had disapproved of this barbaric custom, in this age
happily abandoned. But now, here on a planet inconceivably far from
the little world called Earth, he himself was not only _witnessing_
such a deal in human wares but was, indeed, one of the chattels to be
auctioned!
As his mind busied himself with abortive plot and speculation, his eyes
roved covertly about his surroundings. He saw the raised central dais
upon which a lean and hawknosed auctioneer singsonged the merit of a
thick-thewed and filthy serf. He saw the encircling throng of bidders,
Magogeans ranging through all walks of life from the lowest freedmen
land-owners, through the merchantmen exporters, to the elaborately
caparisoned lords and nobles who lolled in their scented boxes, raising
listless fingers in token of bid when an offering took their fancy.
What turn this _contretemps_ would take he could not guess. But he was
not left long in wonderment. For the warrior into whose hands they had
been placed was impatient to rejoin his troop; with a stern command
that his charges await his return, he shouldered his way through the
mob to the auction block.
As soon as he had gone, Lark turned to Gary, a question in his eyes.
"Make a break for it?"
Dr. Kang spoke before Gary could answer. "It would be useless, Lark.
They would only catch us again. As serfs we cannot expect freedom. We
might as well wait and let them sell us to whomsoever they will. If we
cause no trouble we can more easily learn that which we need to know."
Gary said, "The cart's gone. That's a bad break. With it were our
cached arms. We're helpless now, trapped in the middle of Khundru--"
"Hush!" warned Nora. "Here comes our guard again, with the auctioneer."
* * * * *
It was so. Apparently the soldier had argued to the tradesman the
necessity of selling this quintet immediately. For though the
auctioneer grumbled and complained, he led the five to the dais. His
shrill singsong resumed its wheedling chant.
"And now, O nobles and freedmen," he whined, "a special consignment
from the chattels of the _kraedar_ Pridu, Captain of the Royal Guards.
A family of Taborians, newly come to our city from years of talented
service in the Twilight Zone under the deceased _kraedar_ Alisur. Said
family consisting of one elderly male in good physical condition, two
young and sturdy males, and their mates, two fine, fertile females. How
is your wish? Have I a bid on this family as a lot?"
"Fine and fert--" began Lark O'Day, outraged.
Kang silenced him with a gesture.
There came no bid from the assemblage, but a voice cried, "We want no
job lot goods in muffled packages. Bring them out one at a time, and
let us see them. The females first."
"As you wish, my lord," agreed the auctioneer. "So be it." And he
reached down from his dais, seized the wrist of the lovely Martian,
Pen-N'hi, and hauled her to his side. "Behold, O wise purchasers,"
he cried. "Here is one of the females. A fine, staunch creature in
the bloom of her young womanhood. Lovely and graceful as the fleeting
_catooni_[11] but yet--" And he winked lecherously at the mob--"not
_too_ young to be acquainted with the Lore of a Thousand Delights, in
which she was well trained by her late master."
[Footnote 11: _Catooni_: a Magogean woodland beast similar to the
Virginia red-tailed deer, but with six legs and two sets of vestigial
wings.--_Ed._]
"Rat!" grated Lark between his teeth. "Another crack like that--"
"Silence!" whispered Kang. "His words mean nothing. It is written,
'Speech will neither spot the lily's face, nor hide the leper's sores.'"
A voice raised from the audience. "Two hundred _dwari_, Tisru!"
Tisru's sharp face looked grieved. "Two _hundred_, sire? For a
beautiful mistress such as this? Two _thousand_, you mean. Behold this
graceful throat, this slender waist ... these tiny hands which can
thrill with a thousand caresses--"
"Three hundred," cried another voice.
"Four hundred."
"Five hundred."
"Six."
The auctioneer's oily insinuations did not lack the power to titillate
his listeners. A flurry of interest sharpened the bidding.
"Eight hundred" ... "Nine!" ... "One thousand _dwari_!"
"Behold those eyes, those feet, those golden arms...."
"Twelve hundred, Tisru!"
"She can sing and dance and play sweet music...."
"_Fourteen_ hundred!"
"Behold those lips, gentlemen ... those dainty, shell-like ears--"
A coarse laugh broke from one of his listeners.
"Stop pointing out things we all can see, Tisru. I told you before, we
want no packaged goods. Off with the woman's rags that we may know on
what we bid."
It was evident that Tisru had been cleverly biding his time for some
such request. Now, with the air of a sculptor preparing to unveil a
masterpiece, he pretended humble acquiescence to the demand.
"Very well, my lords and masters," he whined. "Then prepare yourselves
for a vision of blinding radiance--"
* * * * *
His greasy talons reached out to clutch the single supporting halter
of Penny's crude garment. The girl froze at his touch, and a color
suffused her clear, golden skin, but true to the teachings of her race
she said no word, but stood stock-still with lowered head.
But if Penny could endure personal degradation for the good of their
cause, and if Kang could philosophically accept this as a necessary
evil, not so the two young Earthmen. As if both stanchions of a bridge
had broken simultaneously, Lark O'Day and Gary Lane hurled themselves
forward side by side.
O'Day's voice was a blaze of fury. "Take your hands off her, you slimy
weasel!"
With a slashing blow he loosened the man's grip, hauled Penny to the
shelter of his arm.
Tisru gasped. Fierce anger narrowed his eyes, and with a hiss he
groped for a knife sheathed in his belt. But he never touched it. For
at that moment Gary struck. His right fist moved scarce fifteen inches,
but it smashed the auctioneer's bearded chin with a furious accuracy.
The man flew backward off the dais, flailing, awkward, scrambling,
spitting blood from his broken lips.
Then everything was bedlam. The crowd came to its feet, roaring in
outrage at the sight of serfs who dared rebel. Knives whipped from
belts as figures surged forward. Not only knives but deadly ray guns,
too. And Gary panted, "We're in for it now! Stand them off as long as
you can, Lark. I'll see what I--"
But there came an interruption. A sharp incisive voice rose from
somewhere at the back of the throng.
"No! Touch not the slaves! Let none move another step!"
All heads turned as one. A current of astonishment coursed through the
throng, swelling to a murmur as the speaker was recognized. "Moranu,
Seneschal of the Inner Council!" And there pressed through yielding
ranks a Magogean clad even more grandiloquently than any the Solarites
had yet seen. A tall, impressive figure who carried himself with an air
of supreme and confident authority.
Haughtily he strode to the steps of the dais, there confronted the
rebels.
"Now, by the gods," he marveled, "you two must be madmen. Had I not
been passing by, for your rebellion at this moment your bones would be
pickings for the curs of the streets."
"The curs of this city," ground O'Day savagely, "are not all
four-legged--"
"But in me," continued the newcomer, "you find one who admires a
fighting spirit in howsoever an unsuspected source it may be found.
Aye, and an eye which needs no stark unveiling to detect beauty.
Tisru!" He turned to the auctioneer who, glaring malevolently at his
attackers, had cringed back onto the dais. "I will bid me this family
of rebel serfs. What is your price?"
The auctioneer pleaded greasily, "I can set no price, my lord. This is
an open auction with chattels sold to the highest bidder."
"So?" The Seneschal eyed each of the quintet in turn, appreciatively
appraising the two girls, nodding his head slowly at the frames of the
two young men. Dr. Kang he dismissed with a glance, then turned to
Tisru.
"The old one I do not want. For the young ones, as a lot, ten thousand
_dwari_. Is there a higher bid?"
* * * * *
Tisru knew there would not be. Not only was the price staggeringly
high, but none in this audience dared bid against the Seneschal of the
Inner Council.
He shook his head, gasping, "Nay, sire, there is no other bid. For that
price take also the old one, with the compliments of Tisru's Mart."
The Moranu nodded to a servant, who negligently tossed a bag to the
auctioneer. The lord nodded to his new purchases. "Follow me," he
commanded, and led the way from the market place.
An excited hum rose from the crowd to follow their exit.
* * * * *
As they followed their new "owner" it was all the members of the
Solarite quintet could do to mask the triumph which threatened to
reveal itself on their features. For almost instantly it became clear
that they were being led to that very spot they had hoped, but had not
known how to plan, to attain. The hub of Khundru's circle which was
the Palace Royal.
As they journeyed along, their superiors mounted on the curiously
horse-like creatures which the Magogeans called _batanidi_, themselves,
of course, humbly afoot, they could not help but overhear the
conversation between Moranu and his companions.
"Ten thousand _dwari_! That was a lot to pay, my Lord Seneschal, for
five carcasses," said one.
Moranu chuckled. "It was worth it to see the spittle of greed drool
from that hawknosed old scoundrel's lips. Nor is it a bad buy. Of
course, the old one ... I do not know where we can use him--You, aged
serf!" he cried to Dr. Kang. "What talents have you, if any?"
Kang scraped servilely and said, "I have a smattering of mechanical
lore, O master. Much my former owner taught me about the operation of
instruments and machines."
"So? And much you have forgotten by this time, no doubt," grunted
Moranu. "Still, I think I know a place where you can be of use. The
control tower. You will need no strength there but that sufficient to
push buttons."
The control tower! It was with an effort that Gary Lane restrained the
cry that surged to his lips. But his eyes leaped to those of the aged
doctor, and found there assurance that Kang would well know what to do
when he found himself within the control tower.
"And the young men?" asked another of the riders.
"For the Games, of course," laughed Moranu. "Where else? Tell me,
when have you seen before two slaves with such spirit and courage as
these showed? It will be worth many an afternoon of boredom to watch
these pit themselves against the fanged _goraru_[12] or the two-horned
_sneri_[12] in the arena."
[Footnote 12: _Goraru_ and _sneri_: wild beasts of Magog. The first is
somewhat similar to the extinct "saber-toothed tiger" of Earth, except
that it is equipped with a stony carapace; the second is a gigantic
lizard with poisonous mobile horns.--_Ed._]
"Perhaps," gibed one of the young nobles slyly, "we might even match
them against one of the--what were they called?--'Earthmen', when we
capture the creatures."
And all laughed. Gary wondered what form that laughter would take were
these carefree young noblemen to learn the truth about their captees.
"And the girls, I suppose, go to--" began still another speaker.
Moranu nodded. "Yes, of course."
"Too bad," murmured one of the younger noblemen regretfully. "The pale
one I could use myself."
"The gold fleshed one for me," chuckled another.
"That's right," growled Lark between clenched teeth. "Talk it over. One
day I'll make you eat each other's tongues."
"Who could not?" asked Moranu. "But we can afford to be magnanimous
this once, and surrender them to our brother. After his long privations
he deserves a little relaxation."
* * * * *
Thus they came to the gates of the Palace Royal, a city within a city,
a citadel within an armed camp, the innermost fortress of fortified
Khundru. And it was here their little group was broken up.
As they passed within the gates the nobles dismounted, surrendering
their beasts to grooms, and Moranu designated the direction to which
each slave should be taken.
"The old man to the control tower. Tell Vesalu to set him to work. The
girls to the baths, then to the seraglio of adornment, then to await
our brother's pleasure. The men--Well, for the present quarter them
with the palace help. Away with you now."
Thus callously were the five members of a family separated. Gary and
Lark were placed in the charge of a young lieutenant who led them
through a maze of corridors beneath the citadel towards the servants'
quarters. As they followed him Gary asked meekly, "Your pardon, sire,
but you spoke of 'Erzmun', or creatures of some such name. What are
these? Fierce beasts we must meet in the Arena?"
The subaltern chuckled. "Earthmen ... fierce beasts! That's good! No,
slave. They are puny creatures from afar who recently dared attempt to
storm our planet. They were driven off by our cruisers and crashed, we
believe, on Darkside. But a search is being made for them. If they are
found, I promise you rare enjoyment at the Games. For they are stupid,
weakling creatures. It should be amusing to watch you carve them to
bits during the Games."
"And," asked Gary in simulated eagerness, "our mates--when will we see
them again?"
The garrulous young lieutenant grinned. "Oh, by and by, I suppose. When
our brother to whom they are being loaned for a little while wearies
of them. You see, he has been journeying afar quite a while, and is in
need of relaxation. It was he who returned but a day ago to warn us of
the invasion of these Earthmen--"
It was fortunate that as he spoke the young subaltern did not happen
to look at the faces of his two charges. For at his words, both Lark
and Gary stiffened, their eyes met in wild surmise. Then Gary spoke for
both.
"And--and the name of this noble _kraedar_?" he asked.
The nobleman laughed curtly. "I do not see that it concerns you, serf.
But there is no harm in telling you whose august presence your mate
will be permitted to attend. It is our brother, lately returned from
tiny Gog. The great and noble _kraedar_ Borisu."