Pemberton looked down at the small fiery pool with anxious eyes.
Unless something happened, and that quickly, they would be seared to a
crisp. Already the heat was uncomfortable, even through their suits.
He tried to kick himself aside, but the pull of the liquid was too
powerful for him. Then he resolved on a desperate expedient.
"Say, you fellows down there," he cried in the smooth, slurred
Ganymedan speech. "What are you trying to do, fry us? Hurry up and
prepare our landing."
* * * * *
For a moment they were tense with the tenseness of imminent death.
Were the Ganymedans equipped with communication disks; would they
sense the strangeness of the accent? Nona was gripping his hand with a
pressure that penetrated the fabric. And every second brought them
down closer and closer to the dread lake.
"Ah!" Nona's breath came in a shuddering sigh. For one of the figures
glanced upward and saw them dropping. He shouted something to his
fellows, and darted for a lever set in the stone next to the pool. He
threw it over swiftly. Immediately what seemed to be a smooth slab of
transparent glassite shot into position over the pulsating flame, not
an instant too soon, either, for it had barely covered the flaming
death when the Earthlings' feet were already touching it.
"It would have served you two fools right if I had let you drop in,"
their savior grumbled disgustedly. "What in Jupiter took you so long?
Everyone else arrived hours ago. Didn't know there were any more."
"Sorry, but we couldn't help it," Grant responded carefully. "You see,
we got mixed up in a scrap with some Earthmen who evidently suspected
us, just as we were diving out of the air-lock. We had the devil's own
job of beating them off."
"You too! The Chief came down foaming at the mouth. Some dumb Earthman
almost throttled him before he got away. He swears he'll blast Earth
out of space. He's that mad. But here, I've got no time to be talking
to your fellows. I've got work to do. Better report to the Chief at
once, and heaven help you. He's sure in a black rage at this minute."
With that he moved away, over to the gang of Ganymedans holding the
stone nozzle and looking expectantly up at the large, round hole in
the cloud ceiling.
Nona stood close to Grant. "What are they doing with the queer
affair?" She indicated the nozzle.
"I'm afraid we'll find out only too soon," he answered grimly.
"Look--" he broke off.
Far overhead, through the great round orifice, darted a tremendous
shape, pointed, glittering.
"Why, that's the _Althea_," Nona exclaimed.
"Yes. Now watch. Damn--all we can do is watch," Grant gritted between
his teeth.
* * * * *
Down sped the gleaming liner, pride of the fleet. The men at the
mirror were swerving it on gimbals until a ray from it flashed on the
burnished nose. As though it were a physical impact, the vessel
slackened its tremendous speed and hung suspended midway between the
cloud concavity and the island.
The men with the nozzle spurred into activity. A thin stream of fluid
shot out of the orifice straight up for the captive liner. The tip of
the expanding spray impinged on the hull--and Nona gasped her
astonishment. For the liquid passed clean through the hull as though
it were a porous network instead of four-inch thick beryllium-steel.
"Just as I thought," Grant groaned. "Lethal gas that penetrates
everything. Those poor people on board--for their own sakes I hope
none remained alive to hit this."
"Can't we do anything?" Nona asked desperately.
"Nothing for the _Althea_. But plenty to prevent any more disasters
like it." There was a hard ring to his voice. "Come on." He stepped
off the transparent slab onto the stone floor of the island.
"Where to?" asked Nona, following.
"We're going to locate that orange oval we saw from the _Althea_.
That's the secret of all this. The pool of liquid fire here is
unimportant, secondary."
They were at one edge of the floating island. The other side was
hidden from them by the solid wall that stretched across its full
diameter.
"We'll scout beyond there," Grant pointed out. "I'll miss my guess if
what we're looking for is not on the other side."
As they started for the wall, they saw the Althea brought slowly down
to the rock, another captive to swell the motionless fleet. It did
not take them long to reach the barrier. Some fifty feet high it was,
of smooth polished Ganymedan stone, and no door or opening in its
straight unbroken surface.
"How shall we get through?" Nona asked.
Grant surveyed it thoughtfully.
"There must be a hidden spring somewhere," he said.
He walked carelessly along the wall, tapping it idly here and there.
His quick probing fingers were searching.
With a sharp "Ah!" he stopped short. He bent over a moment; his
fingers moved deftly. Then he straightened with a grunt of
satisfaction. A section of the seemingly solid, immovable stone was
sliding silently open. He looked through.
* * * * *
Nona saw him jerk his head back, heard his involuntary cry of horror.
Then she heard another cry: an excited warning shout. She whirled
around in time to see a Ganymedan running toward them from behind. A
deadly pencil-ray pointed straight at her companion. Without a
moment's hesitation she sprang at Grant, pushed him violently so that
he staggered and fell through the opening to the other side. In so
doing, she tripped over his body, and fell prone. That saved her life,
for a blue flame sheared clean through the stone, inches above her
head.
Grant squirmed around underneath. The electro-gun was somehow out of
the side flap and now it spat its explosive hail. The tiny bullets
flared into little puff balls of flame against the space-suit of the
Ganymedan. A long howl of anguish came to them as he threw up his
hands and fell into a shapeless heap. But a moment later there were
other cries, angry shouts. Pemberton was on his feet again with the
quickness of a cat. He pulled Nona up after him, thrust her to one
side, behind the protection of the wall. His eyes were blazing now,
aflame with the ardor of battle. Very carefully he leaned out and
pressed the trigger. The surging mob was caught in full flight. The
electro-bullets spread fanwise, exploded into flaming deaths. The
Ganymedans went down as though a huge scythe had swept through their
ranks. The survivors scattered hastily, throwing themselves headlong
to the surface of the rock to escape further execution.
"That'll hold them for a while," Grant laughed grimly.
"Drop your gun, and turn around--both of you." A cold, smooth voice
spoke in deadly menace directly behind them--a voice that came from
the mysterious inner side of the wall.
Grant spun around, his gun ready to fire. A ray snapped out at him, a
ray with a greenish tinge. The fingers of his gun hand grew suddenly
nerveless; the weapon dropped unresistingly from his paralyzed hand.
A tall Ganymedan towered before him, unhidden by a space-suit.
Evidently there was a layer of air in here. The red lidless eyes were
filled with a cold fury. Spatulate fingers tensed on the button of a
pencil ray.
"Miro," Grant breathed to himself unbelievingly. A great light burst
upon him.
* * * * *
The Inspector of the Service for Ganymede did not recognize him,
swathed as Grant was in the depths of his space-suit, nor did he
notice the little movement of surprise. He was too furiously angry.
His words came tumbling out in a tremble of rage.
"You damned scoundrels; have you gone mad? What do you mean by coming
in here through the secret way? Don't you know it is death for anyone
to pass the barrier? And what do you mean by shooting down your
fellows with an Earth weapon? Answer, damn you, before I thrust you
into the Gorm."
Both were silent; Nona because she did not know what to say, and Grant
because he knew his voice would be recognized by Miro's keen ears. He
kept his eyes fixed on the Ganymedan, waiting hawk-like for one false
move, for the tiniest wavering of attention. But the pencil-ray was
pointed squarely at his breast.
"You won't talk?" Miro's voice was choked with passion. "Well, there
are ways to make you." With one foot he kicked at the open slab, while
his weapon commanded them unwaveringly. There was a smooth soundless
rush. Grant knew that the wall was an unbroken surface again. They
were cut off on the secret side of the island, alone with Miro.
Yet that was the horror of it. They were not alone. For Grant's first
darting look inside when he had first opened the panel had shown him
the others. Hundreds of them there were, men of all races and planets,
a motley crew. And each man walked stiffly, unnaturally, looking
neither to the right nor to the left. Their eyes were fixed and
glassy; the skin of their faces, no matter what their origin, was
uniformly parched and gray. A cold sweat broke out on Grant's
forehead. They looked like automatons: beings from whom life had been
drained. He heard a little choked cry from Nona; she had seen them,
too.
Miro plucked out with his free hand a little pear-shaped mechanism
punctured with innumerable holes. He blew into it, once--twice. It
gave forth a high whining note. Instantly two of the strange lifeless
men wheeled angularly, and with queer mechanical movements headed
straight for them. A bloodless hand stretched out, grasped Nona. Grant
heard her scream and saw her struggling in a loathsome grip.
* * * * *
Forgetting everything, forgetting the deadly ray in Miro's hands, he
sprang to her rescue. The next instant he was in the grip of a similar
hand, a frail, dead-white naked arm, yet endowed with the strength of
steel. Struggle as he might, dash his fist as hard as he could against
the unresisting blank face, he could not loose that grip. Miro watched
his futile strugglings mockingly.
"Take these traitors over to the Gorm and let me look at their faces,"
he ordered.
Grant and Nona were picked up in those emaciated, powerful arms as
easily as though they were children, and the unhuman creatures
proceeded at a slow, awkward pace away from the hall, toward the outer
edge of the island. From his uncomfortable vantage point, Pemberton
noticed that they were passing clumps of intricate stone machinery.
Dead-faced automatons, similar to their captors, were tending the
whirring machinery with ordered, stiff-legged movements.
Then, straight ahead, Grant saw the edge of the island, against which
beat and billowed in furious, gigantic heaves, the reddish overarching
clouds of the Great Spot. Strangely enough, though they whirled and
eddied, they could not seem to break through the invisible barrier.
And then the lake of fire sprang into view--the mysterious place of
flame they had seen from afar, that had pulled the hapless _Althea_
out of its course down to destruction on Jupiter. This then was the
Gorm!
A wide circular pool it was, of an unearthly yellow-orange brilliance.
The midday sun was no more dazzling to the eye. Out it stretched from
the island into the vapors of the Great Red Spot, only touching the
stone rim of the island at one thin point. Its liquid fires were
waveless now, oily, yet there was something horrible, too, about its
smooth quiescence.
Miro whistled. The rigid guards dropped their burdens roughly and
stood at attention. One was an Earthman, the other a fish-faced
Venusian. Yet the queer dead look of their eyes was exactly the same.
"Will you remove your helmets, or shall I ask the Doora to assist
you?" Miro's voice was silky.
* * * * *
Because there was nothing else to do, Grant unscrewed his helmet and
let it fall back on its hinge. Then he looked very calmly and steadily
at the Inspector of the Service for Ganymede.
A dull flame leaped into Miro's eyes at the sight of his captive.
"You!" Then he smiled, a peculiarly horrible smile. "You are cleverer
than I thought, my Earth friend. You should have been strangled to
death on the _Althea_, or made into one of--"
He stopped short, and the smile widened cruelly. "But it is not too
late. No, it is not too late."
Grant disregarded his cryptic phrases. He smiled, too, a contemptuous
smile that cut like a lash.
"You, Miro, an Inspector of the Service, are only a lying,
treacherous, butchering Ganymedan. Filthy scum of the Universe."
Miro started forward with a roar, a dark flush of rage suffusing his
green-tinged countenance. His blunt-edged finger trembled on the
button of the pencil-ray. Grant knew he was perilously on the verge
of sudden death, yet his scornful glance did not waver.
It was Nona, hitherto unnoticed, her helmet removed, who darted upon
the giant Ganymedan with small beating fists. Miro saw her coming and
swung her sprawling away with one sweep of his free hand, while he
covered Grant with the other.
He had recovered his composure. Some secret merriment seemed to
convulse him.
"Ho! ho!" he shouted. "Who is this little spitfire? By Jupiter, she is
a tempting morsel." And his red eyes took in the flushed beauty of the
panting girl speculatively.
Grant tensed for a quick spring.
"Stand where you are," Miro barked. "One move and it will be your
last." Gone was the smooth unctuous speech of former times. His tone
now was cutting, deadly.
* * * * *
"You damned Earthmen have been crowing long enough," he said. "When Miro
and Ganymede get through with you, the very memory of your filthy planet
will have been erased from the solar system." His voice rose higher.
"You thought you had us beaten down with your space-battleships and your
embargoes on metals. And we were meekly repentant. Oh yes, we were! We
took you in nicely. Why, they even made me, Miro, Inspector of your
rotten Service.
"But we have been preparing against the day for years. Here on this
island that we built we worked, hidden from interference. We are ready
now. Our fleets will sail out, in your own ships, to smash the
combined space navies of the solar system."
In spite of himself Grant could not hide a sudden grin of relief. The
man was mad, to think of pitting a few liners against armored battle
craft. Miro saw that grin.
"You think I'm mad, don't you?" he gloated. "Just listen to this,
then. We have found a substance that no ray, no electro-bullet can
penetrate. Every ship will be coated with it. And the Gorm here"--he
pointed to the oily lake--"will draw your proud cruisers down to
destruction, or thrust them far out into the uncharted spaces,
helpless, just as it pleases us. You wonder how it works? Look! Now it
attracts, and powerfully. But when I reverse the current passing
through it like this"--he leaned over and pulled a switch set in the
rock right by the edge--"it repels everything. We'll just stand off in
space and pick off your proud warships one by one, without a scratch
to ourselves. See?" He fairly hissed the last word.
Grant saw, and the cold sweat burst out on his forehead. His brain
raced desperately in a vain effort to find some way out, some method
of foiling this beast.
"You sure talk big, Miro," he said in bored fashion, feigning
indifference; "but it means nothing to me. The point is, what do you
intend doing with us?"
* * * * *
The Ganymedan's lips writhed. "Nothing at all to your pretty friend,"
he leered. "I have plans for her. But as for you--see these creatures
all about?"
"Well?"
"You are going to be one of them. They are passengers and crews who
had the misfortune to be alive when the captured ships were sprayed
with our gas. It does not kill. Oh, no! It just numbs their faculties,
paralyzes them. Then our surgeons get busy. They know how to remove
the memory and reasoning areas of the brain and leave just machines,
automata, to do our bidding. Clever, aren't they? When Earth is
captured, I intend subjecting all your damned breed to the operation.
They make very willing slaves, I've found. Two blasts on this toy"--he
raised the whistle to his lips--"and an Earth-Doora comes for you."
Nona sprang forward. "No, no, Miro. Please do not touch Mr. Pemberton.
I'll--I'll--"
"What will you?" The Ganymedan's pig-eyes devoured her.
"I'll--" Then, to Grant's eternal horror, she sank into Miro's arms.
The surprised look on Miro's face changed slowly to one of passion, as
he held her close to him with his great hairy arm.
"Nona!" Grant gasped and saw red. Heedless of the unwavering weapon at
his breast, he sprang. Miro snarled as he saw him coming. His finger
pressed down. But at that instant the Earth girl struck out with all
the power of her slender arm. It was not much of a blow, but it
managed to jar the weapon aside. The blue flame leaped hissing through
the air.
Miro roared with rage, and flung her yards away, to lie, an unmoving
pathetic bundle. Then he swung his ray back into play.
But he never had a chance to use it. All the strength and fury of
Grant's lithe, steel sinews and bone were behind the solid smash that
landed squarely on the Ganymedan's chin. He went down in a slump,
completely out.
* * * * *
Grant stooped to pick up the fallen pencil-ray, thrust it in the side
flap, then hurried over to the limp figure of Nona.
"Darling," he cried, "if anything's happened to you, I'll--"
The still form stirred, sat up.
"Say that again." She was smiling weakly, but happily.
Grant flushed. "As many times later as you'll want," he said, "but now
that you're not hurt, we can't waste any time in trying to get out of
here."
He walked over to Miro, who was just coming to.
"Listen, you rat," he told the Ganymedan, who was rubbing his chin and
groaning: "you do exactly as I say, if you know what's good for you."
He shook the pencil-ray significantly.
"You can't get away with it," Miro snarled, muttering a string of
curses. There was baffled rage in his red pig-eyes.
Grant surveyed him coldly.
"We'll see about that," he snapped. "Get up." He reinforced his demand
with a well-placed kick. The huge Ganymedan came quickly to his feet.
"Walk to the wall," was the next order, "and open the trick door."
With a glance of savage hate, Miro obeyed. Grant followed him with his
pistol in readiness. The poor mindless creatures paid no heed to what
was going on, but dully continued their appointed tasks.
Pemberton hid himself behind the wall to one side. Nona did likewise,
having picked up the electro-gun meanwhile. Only Miro stood before the
opening.
"Now tell your cutthroat friends out there we want one of the liners
brought directly over the Gorm, you understand. Not the Althea,
though--that's still full of holes. And only one Ganymedan to guide
her over the wall. Be very explicit, and not a false move out of you,
or it'll be your last."
With the knowledge that two deadly weapons were pointing squarely at
him, Miro shouted unwillingly the necessary instructions to his
subordinates outside. Then Grant leaned over and kicked the slide
shut.
* * * * *
There followed tense moments of waiting. Would the workers beyond obey
their leader? Had they become suspicious, and were even now massing
for a surprise attack? Grant had no means of telling.
Then to his ears came the most welcome soft roar of muted rockets. A
huge shape swept over the high wall, soared directly over the Gorm,
and nestled down in little jets of flame until the stern rested on the
solid rock, and the bow swung idly over the brilliant pool.
"Keep your gun trained on this bird," Grant told Nona swiftly. She
nodded. The air-lock door on the ship was already sliding open. A
Ganymedan, space-suited, was coming through. He saw them, tried to
spring back into the shelter of the ship. But a blue ray stabbed out
and caught him in mid-flight. There was a spatter of dust, and the
hapless creature disintegrated into thin air.
"Sorry I had to do it, but I couldn't afford to let him give the
alarm. Now for the dirty work, Nona. You hustle this big bully into
the ship, and keep him covered. I'll be right along."