Within arm's reach were a half-dozen riderless mounts of those who had
died in battle. To the back of one of these Larry leaped. His nearest
companion was an olive-skinned son of antique Persia. He glanced
wonderingly at the white-complexioned six-footer beside him, but only
for an instant. In this strange meeting place of the ages, existed no
lingual difficulties. Larry wore the _menaudo_, and that headgear spoke
in the one universal tongue, the language of thought.
Now, succinctly, he broadcast the meaning of this threat to the allies
out of time.
"Only the Dome above protects us all from dreadful death. The greatest
rogue of all has escaped, and has taken refuge in the chamber that
controls that dome. If he pulls the main lever, he can bring it and the
world crashing into ruin about us--"
As he thought, he rode, and as he rode a wide path opened before him.
Others turned their mounts to follow, and the corridors of the domed
city rang with the hoofbeats of a host salvation-bent. There was but
one chance--to reach the turret and destroy Harg before he could pull
that lever.
Larry was aware that behind him, beside him now, was Sandra. Her
thoughts, incoherent, pleading, woman-like, reached him.
"No, Larry! Don't try to storm the turret. We'll take our chances with
the Time machine. Try to go back to our own time through _it_--"
"And leave a dead world behind us?" That was his answer. It was enough.
Harg's vainglorious farewell broadcast still went on.
"--Such a little time to live! Breathe deeply of the air, O invaders
from another time. Taste its sweetness with longing, for all too soon
the Dome will fall, letting in the blasting radiation of the dying
universe. Then you, too, with it, will perish--"
Then suddenly his voice altered subtlely.
"But what is this? You approach? You would storm the turret, save your
petty skins?"
For already the first of the attacking party was drawing into the
final corridor, preparing to break into the great room that housed the
control turret.
"_Stop!_"
The command came, clear and incisive. Larry knew it was too late to win
now. Harg knew of their coming; a touch of his hand would destroy them
all. He raised his arm, halted the pell-mell advance of his diverse
army with a gesture. "Let us hear what he has to say!" he ordered.
Harg's bargain reached him clearly. From where he sat, on the very lip
of the tunnel that disgorged into the turret room, Larry could see the
control chamber, could even glimpse the figure of the tiny scientist
standing with one hand poised on a small red lever.
"Larry Wilson, warrior from a savage age, I speak to you, for it is you
who led this revolt against my world. I offer you peace or death. It is
yours to decide."
Larry's lips were white lines, grim and tight.
"Speak on!"
"First, I demand that the warriors you brought out of the past be
returned to their own times."
"Go on!"
"Next, I demand that the Underlings lay down their arms and once more
acknowledge fealty to the Masters."
Here a roar of rumbling dissent rose from the ranks of those Underlings
who had joined the rescue party. Larry silenced them. "Anything else?"
"And finally," Harg's command bore a snarling vindictiveness, "I
require that the woman, Sandra Day, step forward to this turret as
hostage until all these other things be accomplished!"
Sandra whisked the thought-revealing _menaudo_ from her head, whispered
pleadingly, "Yes, Larry! Say yes! It is the only way to save us all.
We'll find another time--"
Larry trembled in an agony of indecision. There was truth in Sandra's
words. Harg held them all at the edge of a sword now. Later,
perhaps--But could he trust the little man's bargain? Might it not be
another falsehood?
* * * * *
And then, suddenly, the decision was made for him. From the colorful
knot on his right burst three riders, gay in blue and crimson.
Handsome, perfumed, dashing riders with the eyes of hawks, the hands of
falcons, the hearts of gallantry. Men to whom the worship of our lady
in domnei was a life-long creed. And--
"Make no bargains," cried one gloriously, "with a shrinking rat!
_Comrades! Pour la femme!_"
Before Larry could stay them they had broken past the barrier, were
swooping down on the turret chamber. As they rode, their rifles spoke;
bullets screamed against the sturdy metal. One pellet found its mark,
and Larry glimpsed Harg's body staggering backward, sliding, falling.
Harg's last thought came to them all feebly.
"I die, then. But with me ... dies ... the world...."
Larry shouted then. In a voice of thunder he roared, "Back! Back,
everyone! For your very lives!"
For Harg's falling body pressed the fateful lever. Just in time the
gallant _francs-tireurs_ wheeled their horses, streaked back to the
tunnels and safety. Then, with a roar like that of a thousand Niagaras,
the broad, conical beam that splayed from the roof of the turret flared
into jagged lightning. Earth trembled with the repercussion, up above
that blast of pure energy struck the center of the Dome and smashed it
into a million bits!
Then came the deluge; the frightful deluge of tons of broken
_impervite_, crashing down upon the control room in world-shaking
shards, deafening the ears with its tumultuous thunder, burying the
tiny turret beneath sixty feet of broken dome. Thus died Harg, Master
of Masters....
* * * * *
In the outer corridors, Sert sought Larry's side. His face was working
bitterly, but he tried to control it. He said in a somber voice, "This
is farewell, Larry Wilson. It is good to know that there were once men
like you, and it is pitiful to know that so dies a world."
Sandra was crying, her body twisting with great, uncontrollable sobs.
"Larry, isn't there anything we can do? Anything?"
He shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not, Sandy. This is the pay-off. I
don't know how long it takes for the radiation to work out on the human
body, but I guess, it doesn't take long. We've got a little while,
perhaps, and then--"
He stopped. For from the far end of the corridor came a sound strange
in that moment of sorrow. The sound of men cheering, laughing,
hysterical with joy insurmountable. All turned and looked. There
appeared a group of the Underlings, bearing upon their shoulders two
men whom Larry recognized and a half dozen others, bearded, clad in
rough garments, complete strangers.
Sert stepped forward swiftly.
"What is the meaning of this? Know you not that we are all doomed?
Think you this is the moment for such unseemly laughter?"
But one of the Underlings laughed in his face; a carefree laugh of
heart-filled happiness.
"Doomed, my leader? We have but _begun_ to live! Behold--the two whom
the Masters thrust through the Ground Gate five full hours since!"
Larry nodded. It was they, all right. Borl, who had been terrified, and
his companion who had cheered him. He said, "Then in five hours the
radiation did not destroy them?"
It was Borl who answered.
"In five hours? Nay, not in five years! Behold, my brothers, those have
lived on the Outside for these past ten or more years. Remember you
Treg ... and Daiv ... and our friend Mundro?"
Sert said dazedly, "I do! It is they. There is no doubt about it. But
how--?"
Sandra said, "Don't you see? It is true that the Heaviside layer once
broke down under the strain of excess drainage. But that was centuries,
millenia, ago. And ever since that time, men have been living beneath
the domes. The Heaviside, being nothing but a gigantic field of force,
regained its full potential, became once more an efficient shield
between Earth and the deadly radiation from beyond.
"But within the domes, the Masters dared not venture outside to
discover this thing. They exiled over-bold Underlings to their supposed
death--and when the Underlings never returned, they assumed the
radiation still existed. Actually, the men were glad to be free--"
The one named Mundro laughed heartily. "But naturally! Why should we
return to slavery when we had a wide and beautiful world in which to
live?
"There are thousands like us outside. Free men, breathing the fresh
air, feeling the mother Earth beneath our feet. Long years have we
hoped and prayed that one day we might be strong enough to deliver you,
our imprisoned brethren, from slavery. But until today, when these two
were exiled, we thought there was no chance.
"Then, when we saw the Dome fall, we knew all was well. We shall
rebuild a new world under the clear skies. The clear and beautiful
skies. See, brethren, what I mean?"
He pointed skyward toward the gaping rent in the Dome. It was twilight
now, and high above their heads shone a single star, white, white,
piercing white against the dark sapphire of the heavens. Fighting man
though Larry was, he felt something clutch at his heart, and his throat
was oddly thick. At his side he felt Sandra's hand steal into his, and
heard her whispering, "I know now what he meant--"
"Who, Sandra?"
"Dante," replied the girl softly. "When he returned from the nethermost
pits of hell, he had but one greeting for the world he loved. He said,
'Thence we came forth--and saw the stars again--'"
* * * * *
It was a silent group that met in the laboratory a short time later.
Sert was there, Sandra and Larry, Mundro and the French lieutenant
whose gallant defense of Sandra had so unexpectedly turned stalemate
to victory. Sert spoke for them all when he asked, "Then you must go,
Larry Wilson? Can you not stay here and help us remold a world near to
our heart's desire?"
"We must go, Sert," Larry told him simply. "Behind us we left friends,
loved ones. It is best that we should return to the Twentieth Century.
You others, I suppose, will follow."
He spoke to the _franc-tireur_. But the swaggering horseman shook his
head, smiled, his teeth gleaming beneath his waxed mustache.
"Not I, _mon vieux_! This is a world to my liking. Besides, are
there not legends on earth of troops of fighting men who disappeared
strangely? There are none who returned. I think me this is a natural
thing. This new world needs new blood, fighting blood, strong men.
And anyway"--he twisted his mustache roguishly--"did you notice those
Amazon maidens? Sturdy baggages, but--_aaah, mon cher_, ravissante!"
"Perhaps you're right," acknowledged Larry. And for the last time he
gave his hand to Sert. "This is a one-way passage, my friend. We go
back to our own time, but--"
"Yes, Larry Wilson?"
Sandra answered for both of them.
"What Larry means to say is--if the occasion ever arises when you
should need us, do not hesitate to send for us. Yours is the means of
bringing us to your world. And we'll always be ready and waiting."
She paused a moment, then blushed. "It shouldn't be hard to find us,"
she ventured. "Because I think that we are going to be together--from
now on. Isn't that right, Larry?"
"You forgot," said Larry, "the 'darling' part." He led her into the
Time-warp field. They waved once more to their friends. Then Sert
pressed a button. A shimmering field built up about them, cutting off
their view. It was gray and weird, and the passage twisted and curved.
Again, as long before, Larry experienced that wild, topsy-turvy sense
of bottomlessness ... of falling ... of clutching for some support. His
hand found something soft and warm that gripped his own....
* * * * *
He opened his eyes to find a black face peering into his; great white
eyes staring with fright. A soft hand was under his armpit, raising
him; a liquid Negro voice was demanding, "Yo' awright, boss? Yo' hurt
yo'se'f? Ah di'n't see you fall till--boom! Theah you was! Yo' awright?"
Larry said, "Yes, I'm all right." Then he remembered. He turned
swiftly. "The girl--where is she? Sandy!"
And Sandra was at his side. Both of them were on the steps in the
Broad Street Station in Philadelphia. They were being stared at by
curious eyes; a little crowd had gathered. Larry looked swiftly at his
wrist-watch. The hands stood at 10:59 on the dot.
He said confusedly, "We--we're back where we started from, Sandy?
Everything's the same, only--"
"Only," finished the girl, "everything's different, now." And she stood
on tiptoe to kiss him. Somebody in the crowd sniggered. A veteran
trainman chuckled and nudged a neighbor.
"Newlyweds?" he said. "You can spot 'em every time. Oh, well--nothin'
like bein' young!"
Larry looked at Sandra, and a smile touched his lips. "We're not," he
said, "what he thinks. But--it's a damn good idea."
Once more, to the vast amusement of their audience, their lips met.
Then, arm in arm, they walked down the steps into the heat and
confusion and bustling traffic of the world they knew....