Blazing hot sun out of a Martian noon sky fell upon Roal Hartford when
consciousness returned. He was lying face down upon the hot sand and
it was in his mouth and eyes and stung his nostrils. It seemed as if
he had been groveling in the sand, trying to burrow into it in his
unconsciousness.
He struggled up, and the memory of those beating, silvery demons
haunted him in the sunlight. But they were not to be seen now. Neither
was anything else of the phantom tavern, Starhouse. Not that nor even
Heliopolis itself.
He was alone in the barren desert and arid sand dunes stretched as far
as he could see. Yet on the horizon was the faint suggestion of the
towers that might be Heliopolis beyond the sands. But he knew it was no
use trying to find his way there by walking. The mirages of Mars are
treacherous beyond reason.
Roal got to his feet and felt at his waist for the tiny SBI transmitter
that could place him in communication with the SBI office in
Heliopolis. The communication unit seemed not to have been disturbed by
those who had dumped him in the desert, probably to die.
On the tiny instrument he dialed the call of Commander Calvin, head of
the department on Mars. In a moment, answer came.
"Commander Calvin? This is Hartford. I've been taken for a ride."
There was a moment of violent sputtering on the other end of
the circuit, then a trace of clarity came into the speech. "You
dunderheaded idiot! How did you let yourself get into that kind of a
jam?"
"I'll report if you will send out a pickup ship."
"I don't know if there's one in port or not. All we do is pick up you
infants who get lost and can't find your way home. Where are you?"
"Out in the desert somewhere. I'll keep a carrier on for a direction
finder if you can make it in an hour or so."
"Well, just between the two of us I hope your battery runs down and we
can't find you."
Calvin cut off amid Roal's grin. The Commander would be burning up
the channels right now ordering a plane to pick him up as quickly as
possible, Roal knew.
There was nothing to do but wait, leaving the transmitter on to guide
the ship. It didn't matter whether its power lasted or not. Once they
got a bearing on him, they could find him as long as he stayed right
there.
The sun was almost unendurable with his lack of water. He scooped out
a deep spot in the sand until he came to a layer still cool from the
night's radiation. He sat in the trench and covered himself up to his
neck, then covered his head with his cloak. In relative comfort he
could wait a considerable time, even if one of the treacherous sand
storms should come up.
He let his mind drift back to the events of the previous night. The
antidote of the SBI chemists had been only partially successful, he
knew now. There had been no such fanciful, absorbing visions of peace
and loveliness as he had heard described by others, but the effects he
had seen were enough for him. The demon attacks had been the natural
conflict between the drug and the antidote.
The strange mystery of the phantom tavern and its mysterious Queen of
the Silver Stars was no nearer solution than before, however. He knew
only that they did exist and that was something.
But who was the fabled Alayna? Why was she playing the role of
temptress in that ghastly place against her will? For Roal was certain
that if she was not there against her will she was at least held by
some force that overpowered her own real desires.
The Starhouse was a den of evil and vice, lust and violent death. But
Alayna? Roal shook his head and wondered if he had been merely overcome
by the same illusions that seized all who went to the Starhouse.
Was Alayna herself only a part of the dream of peace and happiness
that Starhouse doled out with the deadly drug _harmeena_? Or was her
loveliness and hidden tenderness something real?
Roal remembered the slight, almost hidden gesture of loathing she had
made when she rose before the hungry eyes of the patrons of Starhouse,
the instinctive shrinking beneath his cloak when he had placed it about
her. He remembered the throaty song of hers in which she painted dreams
of green Earth and lovers under blue skies.
That dream was not part of her act. That dream was Alayna. It was the
only real thing in the whole ugly fabric of Starhouse. He was going to
gamble on that.
A sudden rustling in the sand brought his eyes darting about. It was
too early for the patrol ship. Then he saw the source of the sound. Two
brownish, desiccated Martians stood not ten feet away, staring down at
him. They had seen him, so there was no reason for obeying the instinct
to keep silent.
"Have you water?" he called in their native tongue.
"We have water, Earthman. We will help you. Come to the burrow of
Toomar."
"I must wait here for my ship. Can you bring me water?"
"Our burrow is close. It is cool and we have much water."
In his mind Roal had been trying to cautiously avoid the subject of
water. Now that he had allowed it in the forefront of his consciousness
a parching thirst burned within him. He had to have drink, and soon.
He scrambled out of the hole and looked in the direction of the
pointing finger of Toomar, the friendly Martian.
"Only a quarter of a mile," he estimated. "They can't miss me if I move
that far. Let's go."
* * * * *
Taciturn, after the manner of their kind, the Martians made no
conversation on the way. Their burrow was invisible on the surface to
the untrained eye, but Roal's experienced vision detected its presence
as they approached. A sand colored slab moved aside to offer them
entrance.
Descending into the cool depths beneath the sand, Roal found himself
in the near darkness which the Martians loved. This seemed to be an
unusually large family and the chamber into which he came was crowded
with the withered, shrunken creatures who made no comment as Toomar
introduced him.
The cool of the burrow felt wonderful after the hours in the blistering
sun, but after his drink Roal arose. "I've got to get to the surface.
My plane might miss me if I remain. Good years to you for your
services."
"Please remain," the guide said. "We have food."
Roal gagged at the thought of partaking of the repulsive soup of desert
lizards which was the Martians' mainstay.
"It has not been long since I have eaten," he said. "Many thanks for
the water. I must wait for my ship."
They crowded about him. Their foul smelling bodies pressed close. They
seemed not to have heard what he said. Their fingers touched his arms
and seemed to fumble at his clothing. Worried by the alien behavior, he
glanced around the group. Their dried-prune faces told him nothing.
Then, abruptly, Toomar spoke, "Of course. We would welcome you to our
hospitality. But you must go to your ship. Go with our blessings. You
have graced our burrow."
The crowding Martians melted away and allowed him access to the ladder
leading to the surface. He scurried out of the stinking burrow, glad to
breathe again the clear, light air of the desert. But a sudden sound as
he emerged from the shaft made him whirl his head about.
A low flying patrol plane was vanishing rapidly northward.
Roal switched on the controls of the transmitter which he had cut off
in the burrow. "SBI patrol. Hartford calling. Directly behind you."
"Look, Bud. What's the idea playing hide and seek in that hole?"
Roal grinned into the mike. "Hi, Shorty. Lucky you didn't have to come
dig me out of it. Calvin might have been real mad."
"Maybe you think he isn't anyway. He was sore enough when you called,
but right after that something else stirred his dander and he's really
off on a tear. You'd better have a good story for him."
"Maybe you think I haven't," Roal murmured.
Shorty Mullins, the SBI patrol pilot, landed his ship a moment later,
flinging a sand cloud into the sky with his customary dramatic
handling of the ship.
The ship required only a few minutes to make the trip to Heliopolis.
Roal had been barely out of sight of it.
As yet, no explanation of his presence in the desert had occurred to
him, except that he had been carried out there to die. But if that were
the case, he wondered why he had not been killed in the Starhouse.
Did it mean that the leaders back of the dope ring knew his identity
and were afraid to murder an SBI man? He wasn't sure. And he couldn't
think straight on the problem for the golden voice and the golden hair
of Alayna pervaded his senses. He felt infinitely saddened by her
connection with this ring of vice and murder.
The office of the SBI in Heliopolis was in the highest shimmering spire
that looked down upon the chromium city. Every time Roal looked down
upon the splendor of the city from that high tower it reminded him of a
fruit rotten at the core.
For Heliopolis was rotten. Rank vice and corruption filled its streets.
And the Starhouse was the most vicious of all. But it would not remain
long, now that its location was known. The only thing that puzzled
Roal was that it had not been noticed before in Heliopolis. He thought
every dive on seven planets was listed in the files of the SBI, but the
Starhouse had evaded listing until now.
* * * * *
Landing on the rooftop, he went quickly to Commander Calvin's office.
Shorty Mullins had made no mistake about Calvin's state of rage.
He greeted Roal. "Another of my double-barreled idiots back safely in
the fold. I wonder why some of you can't stay permanently lost. Then
maybe I could get me a good crew."
Roal knew he'd have to let the Commander roll on until his momentum was
worn down.
"Imbeciles! Children losing their play-things. By all the stars and
little planets it would seem that the SBI would attract the services of
at least one pair of brains."
"Beside your own, of course," Roal said.
"Of course," Calvin snapped. "What are you here for? Put it in a
written report. I haven't time to listen to your mouthings. Ignorant,
stupid trash that call themselves operators--can't hang onto anything--"
"Something lost?" Roal inquired mildly.
"Oh, no! Nothing's lost--nothing at all. Just that that idiot Markham
let his antidote capsule be stolen and he swears he doesn't know where
it could have been pinched. Oh, why aren't there brains--??" Commander
Calvin finished weakly.
"Perhaps this theft explains a part of the events in connection with my
own troubles," Roal said.
"Put your troubles in a report and file them!"
"Perhaps you'd be interested to know that they started in the
Starhouse, that I've sat at a table with the Queen of the Silver Stars."
Calvin's mouth dropped open and then clamped tightly. "So they got even
you," he muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"Your rational mind is of course aware, my boy, that the Starhouse
and the Queen are only myths of drugged minds. They do not exist in
reality."
"The Starhouse is right here in Heliopolis, on Transite Street, the 800
Block."
"Where is your antidote?" Calvin roared suddenly.
"I ate it."
"You what?"
"I told you I was in the Starhouse. I found the drug, _harmeena_, and
the manner in which it is used. I tried the antidote against it. It was
only partially successful."
"Partially--a generous term."
"I have something else, too. The first sample of _harmeena_ to fall
into the hands of the SBI."
Calvin's eyes lighted in spite of himself. "If you're telling the
truth--"
Roal fumbled in the secret pocket where he had hidden the sphere. His
fingers roamed up and down. The pellet was not there.
In sudden anxiety he whipped out a knife and methodically ripped the
coat to shreds. The _harmeena_ was gone.
His mind went back over the intervening hours. He had felt the sphere
when he had awakened on the desert. He couldn't have lost it in the
meantime. Nothing could possibly get out of that secret pocket. Except
by--
He sat down weakly as he remembered the Martians. He remembered their
crowding in the dark burrow, their strange behavior and their fumbling
fingers that touched him.
The withered Martians in the desert had stolen the _harmeena_. Somehow
they had known he had it and had been ordered to get it. But how and by
whom?