THE FALL OF ATLANTIS
1. EDDORE
"Members of the Innermost Circle, wherever you are and whatever you may
be doing, tune in!" the All-Highest broadcast. "Analysis of the data
furnished by the survey just completed shows that in general the Great
Plan is progressing satisfactorily. There seem to be only four planets
which our delegates have not been or may not be able to control
properly: Sol III, Rigel IV, Velantia III, and Palain VII. All four, you
will observe, are in the other galaxy. No trouble whatever has developed
in our own.
"Of these four, the first requires drastic and immediate personal
attention. Its people, in the brief interval since our previous general
survey, have developed nuclear energy and have fallen into a cultural
pattern which does not conform in any respect to the basic principles
laid down by us long since. Our deputies there, thinking erroneously
that they could handle matters without reporting fully to or calling for
help upon the next higher operating echelon, must be disciplined
sharply. Failure, from whatever cause, can not be tolerated.
"Gharlane, as Master Number Two, you will assume control of Sol III
immediately. This Circle now authorizes and instructs you to take
whatever steps may prove necessary to restore order upon that planet.
Examine carefully this data concerning the other three worlds which may
very shortly become troublesome. Is it your thought that one or more
others of this Circle should be assigned to work with you, to be sure
that these untoward developments are suppressed?"
"It is not, Your Supremacy," that worthy decided, after a time of study.
"Since the peoples in question are as yet of low intelligence; since one
form of flesh at a time is all that will have to be energized; and since
the techniques will be essentially similar; I can handle all four more
efficiently alone than with the help or cooperation of others. If I read
this data correctly, there will be need of only the most elementary
precaution in the employment of mental force, since of the four races,
only the Velantians have even a rudimentary knowledge of its uses.
Right?"
"We so read the data." Surprisingly enough, the Innermost Circle agreed
unanimously.
"Go, then. When finished, report in full."
"I go, All-Highest. I shall render a complete and conclusive report."
2. ARISIA
"We, the Elder Thinkers in fusion, are spreading in public view, for
study and full discussion, a visualization of the relationships existing
and to exist between Civilization and its irreconcilable and implacable
foe. Several of our younger members, particularly Eukonidor, who has
just attained Watchmanship, have requested instruction in this matter.
Being as yet immature, their visualizations do not show clearly why
Nedanillor, Kriedigan, Drounli, and Brolenteen, either singly or in
fusion, have in the past performed certain acts and have not performed
certain others; or that the future actions of those Moulders of
Civilization will be similarly constrained.
"This visualization, while more complex, more complete, and more
detailed than the one set up by our forefathers at the time of the
Coalescence, agrees with it in every essential. The five basics remain
unchanged. First: the Eddorians can be overcome only by mental force.
Second: the magnitude of the required force is such that its only
possible generator is such an organization as the Galactic Patrol toward
which we have been and are working. Third: since no Arisian or any
fusion of Arisians will ever be able to spear-head that force, it was
and is necessary to develop a race of mentality sufficient to perform
that task. Fourth: this new race, having been instrumental in removing
the menace of Eddore, will as a matter of course displace the Arisians
as Guardians of Civilization. Fifth: the Eddorians must not become
informed of us until such a time as it will be physically,
mathematically impossible for them to construct any effective
counter-devices."
"A cheerless outlook, truly," came a somber thought.
"Not so, daughter. A little reflection will show you that your present
thinking is loose and turbid. When that time comes, every Arisian will
be ready for the change. We know the way. We do not know to what that
way leads; but the Arisian purpose in this phase of existence--this
space-time continuum--will have been fulfilled and we will go eagerly
and joyfully on to the next. Are there any more questions?"
There were none.
"Study this material, then, each of you, with exceeding care. It may be
that some one of you, even a child, will perceive some facet of the
truth which we have missed or have not examined fully; some fact or
implication which may be made to operate to shorten the time of conflict
or to lessen the number of budding Civilizations whose destruction seems
to us at present to be sheerly unavoidable."
Hours passed. Days. No criticisms or suggestions were offered.
"We take it, then, that this visualization is the fullest and most
accurate one possible for the massed intellect of Arisia to construct
from the information available at the moment. The Moulders therefore,
after describing briefly what they have already done, will inform us as
to what they deem it necessary to do in the near future."
"We have observed, and at times have guided, the evolution of
intelligent life upon many planets," the fusion began. "We have, to the
best of our ability, directed the energies of these entities into the
channels of Civilization; we have adhered consistently to the policy of
steering as many different races as possible toward the intellectual
level necessary for the effective use of the Lens, without which the
proposed Galactic Patrol cannot come into being.
"For many cycles of time we have been working as individuals with the
four strongest races, from one of which will be developed the people who
will one day replace us as Guardians of Civilization. Blood lines have
been established. We have encouraged matings which concentrate traits
of strength and dissipate those of weakness. While no very great
departure from the norm, either physically or mentally, will take place
until after the penultimates have been allowed to meet and to mate, a
definite general improvement of each race has been unavoidable.
"Thus the Eddorians have already interested themselves in our budding
Civilization upon the planet Tellus, and it is inevitable that they will
very shortly interfere with our work upon the other three. These four
young Civilizations must be allowed to fall. It is to warn every Arisian
against well-meant but inconsidered action that this conference was
called. We ourselves will operate through forms of flesh of no higher
intelligence than, and indistinguishable from, the natives of the
planets affected. No traceable connection will exist between those forms
and us. No other Arisians will operate within extreme range of any one
of those four planets; they will from now on be given the same status as
has been so long accorded Eddore itself. The Eddorians must not learn of
us until after it is too late for them to act effectively upon that
knowledge. Any chance bit of information obtained by any Eddorian must
be obliterated at once. It is to guard against and to negate such
accidental disclosures that our Watchmen have been trained."
"But if all of our Civilizations go down...." Eukonidor began to
protest.
"Study will show you, youth, that the general level of mind, and hence
of strength, is rising," the fused Elders interrupted. "The trend is
ever upward; each peak and valley being higher than its predecessor.
When the indicated level has been reached--the level at which the
efficient use of the Lens will become possible--we will not only allow
ourselves to become known to them; we will engage them at every point."
"One factor remains obscure." A Thinker broke the ensuing silence. "In
this visualization I do not perceive anything to preclude the
possibility that the Eddorians may at any time visualize us. Granted
that the Elders of long ago did not merely visualize the Eddorians, but
perceived them in time-space surveys; that they and subsequent Elders
were able to maintain the status quo; and that the Eddorian way of
thought is essentially mechanistic, rather than philosophic, in nature.
There is still a possibility that the enemy may be able to deduce us by
processes of logic alone. This thought is particularly disturbing to me
at the present time because a rigid statistical analysis of the
occurrences upon those four planets shows that they cannot possibly
have been due to chance. With such an analysis as a starting point, a
mind of even moderate ability could visualize us practically in toto. I
assume, however, that this possibility has been taken into
consideration, and suggest that the membership be informed."
"The point is well taken. The possibility exists. While the probability
is very great that such an analysis will not be made until after we have
declared ourselves, it is not a certainty. Immediately upon deducing our
existence, however, the Eddorians would begin to build against us, upon
the four planets and elsewhere. Since there is only one effective
counter-structure possible, and since we Elders have long been alert to
detect the first indications of that particular activity, we know that
the situation remains unchanged. If it changes, we will call at once
another full meeting of minds. Are there any other matters of moment...?
If not, this conference will dissolve."
3. ATLANTIS
Ariponides, recently elected Faros of Atlantis for his third five-year
term, stood at a window of his office atop the towering Farostery. His
hands were clasped loosely behind his back. He did not really see the
tremendous expanse of quiet ocean, nor the bustling harbor, nor the
metropolis spread out so magnificently and so busily beneath him. He
stood there, motionless, until a subtle vibration warned him that
visitors were approaching his door.
"Come in, gentlemen.... Please be seated." He sat down at one end of a
table molded of transparent plastic. "Psychologist Talmonides, Statesman
Cleto, Minister Philamon, Minister Marxes and Officer Artomenes, I have
asked you to come here personally because I have every reason to believe
that the shielding of this room is proof against eavesdroppers; a thing
which can no longer be said of our supposedly private television
channels. We must discuss, and if possible come to some decision
concerning, the state in which our nation now finds itself.
"Each of us knows within himself exactly what he is. Of our own powers,
we cannot surely know each others' inward selves. The tools and
techniques of psychology, however, are potent and exact; and Talmonides,
after exhaustive and rigorous examination of each one of us, has
certified that no taint of disloyalty exists among us."
"Which certification is not worth a damn," the burly Officer declared.
"What assurance do we have that Talmonides himself is not one of the
ringleaders? Mind you, I have no reason to believe that he is not
completely loyal. In fact, since he has been one of my best friends for
over twenty years, I believe implicitly that he is. Nevertheless the
plain fact is, Ariponides, that all the precautions you have taken, and
any you can take, are and will be useless insofar as definite knowledge
is concerned. The real truth is and will remain unknown."
"You are right," the Psychologist conceded. "And, such being the case,
perhaps I should withdraw from the meeting."
"That wouldn't help, either." Artomenes shook his head. "Any competent
plotter would be prepared for this, as for any other contingency. One of
us others would be the real operator."
"And the fact that our Officer is the one who is splitting hairs so
finely could be taken to indicate which one of us the real operator
could be," Marxes pointed out, cuttingly.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" Ariponides protested. "While absolute certainty
is of course impossible to any finite mind, you all know how Talmonides
was tested; you know that in his case there is no reasonable doubt. Such
chance as exists, however, must be taken, for if we do not trust each
other fully in this undertaking, failure is inevitable. With this word
of warning I will get on with my report.
"This worldwide frenzy of unrest followed closely upon the controlled
liberation of atomic energy and may be--probably is--traceable to it. It
is in no part due to imperialistic aims or acts on the part of Atlantis.
This fact cannot be stressed too strongly. We never have been and are
not now interested in Empire. It is true that the other nations began as
Atlantean colonies, but no attempt was ever made to hold any one of them
in colonial status against the wish of its electorate. All nations were
and are sister states. We gain or lose together. Atlantis, the parent,
was and is a clearing-house, a co-ordinator of effort, but has never
claimed or sought authority to rule; all decisions being based upon free
debate and free and secret ballot.
"But now! Parties and factions everywhere, even in old Atlantis. Every
nation is torn by internal dissensions and strife. Nor is this all.
Uighar as a nation is insensately jealous of the Islands of the South,
who in turn are jealous of Maya. Maya of Bantu, Bantu of Ekopt, Ekopt of
Norheim, and Norheim of Uighar. A vicious circle, worsened by other
jealousies and hatreds intercrossing everywhere. Each fears that some
other is about to try to seize control of the entire world; and there
seems to be spreading rapidly the utterly baseless belief that Atlantis
itself is about to reduce all other nations of Earth to vassalage.
"This is a bald statement of the present condition of the world as I see
it. Since I can see no other course possible within the constituted
framework of our democratic government, I recommend that we continue our
present activities, such as the international treaties and agreements
upon which we are now at work, intensifying our effort wherever
possible. We will now hear from Statesman Cleto."
"You have outlined the situation clearly enough, Faros. My thought,
however, is that the principal cause of the trouble is the coming into
being of this multiplicity of political parties, particularly those
composed principally of crackpots and extremists. The connection with
atomic energy is clear: since the atomic bomb gives a small group of
people the power to destroy the world, they reason that it thereby
confers upon them the authority to dictate to the world. My
recommendation is merely a special case of yours; that every effort be
made to influence the electorates of Norheim and of Uighar into
supporting an effective international control of atomic energy."
"You have your data tabulated in symbolics?" asked Talmonides, from his
seat at the keyboard of a calculating machine.
"Yes. Here they are."
"Thanks."
"Minister Philamon," the Faros announced.
"As I see it--as any intelligent man should be able to see it--the
principal contribution of atomic energy to this worldwide chaos was the
complete demoralization of labor," the gray-haired Minister of Trade
stated, flatly. "Output per man-hour should have gone up at least twenty
percent, in which case prices would automatically have come down.
Instead, short-sighted guilds imposed drastic curbs on production, and
now seem to be surprised that as production falls and hourly wages rise,
prices also rise and real income drops. Only one course is possible,
gentlemen; labor _must_ be made to listen to reason. This
feather-bedding, this protected loafing, this...."
"I protest!" Marxes, Minister of Work, leaped to his feet. "The blame
lies squarely with the capitalists. Their greed, their rapacity, their
exploitation of...."
"One moment, please!" Ariponides rapped the table sharply. "It is highly
significant of the deplorable condition of the times that two Ministers
of State should speak as you two have just spoken. I take it that
neither of you has anything new to contribute to this symposium?"
Both claimed the floor, but both were refused it by vote.
"Hand your tabulated data to Talmonides," the Faros directed. "Officer
Artomenes?"
"You, our Faros, have more than intimated that our defense program, for
which I am primarily responsible, has been largely to blame for what has
happened," the grizzled warrior began. "In part, perhaps it was--one
must be blind indeed not to see the connection, and biased indeed not to
admit it. But what should I have done, knowing that there is no
practical defense against the atomic bomb? Every nation has them, and is
manufacturing more and more. Every nation is infested with the agents of
every other. Should I have tried to keep Atlantis toothless in a world
bristling with fangs? And could I--or anyone else--have succeeded in
doing so?"
"Probably not. No criticism was intended; we must deal with the
situation as it actually exists. Your recommendations, please?"
"I have thought this thing over day and night, and can see no solution
which can be made acceptable to our--or to any real--democracy.
Nevertheless, I have one recommendation to make. We all know that
Norheim and Uighar are the sore spots--particularly Norheim. We have
more bombs as of now than both of them together. We know that Uighar's
super-sonic jobs are ready. We don't know exactly what Norheim has,
since they cut my Intelligence line a while back, but I'm sending over
another operative--my best man, too--tonight. If he finds out that we
have enough advantage in speed, and I'm pretty sure that we have, I say
hit both Norheim and Uighar right then, while we can, before they hit
us. And hit them hard--pulverize them. Then set up a world government
strong enough to knock out any nation--including Atlantis--that will not
cooperate with it. This course of action is flagrantly against all
international law and all the principles of democracy, I know; and even
it might not work. It is, however, as far as I can see, the only course
which _can_ work."
"You--we all--perceive its weaknesses." The Faros thought for minutes.
"You cannot be sure that your Intelligence has located all of the danger
points, and many of them must be so far underground as to be safe from
even our heaviest missiles. We all, including you, believe that the
Psychologist is right in holding that the reaction of the other nations
to such action would be both unfavorable and violent. Your report,
please, Talmonides."
"I have already put my data into the integrator." The Psychologist
punched a button and the mechanism began to whir and to click. "I have
only one new fact of any importance; the name of one of the higher-ups
and its corollary implication that there may be some degree of
cooperation between Norheim and Uighar...."
He broke off as the machine stopped clicking and ejected its report.
"Look at that graph--up ten points in seven days!" Talmonides pointed a
finger. "The situation is deteriorating faster and faster. The
conclusion is unavoidable--you can see yourselves that this summation
line is fast approaching unity--that the outbreaks will become
uncontrollable in approximately eight days. With one slight
exception--here--you will notice that the lines of organization and
purpose are as random as ever. In spite of this conclusive integration I
would be tempted to believe that this seeming lack of coherence was due
to insufficient data--that back of this whole movement there is a
carefully-set-up and completely-integrated plan--except for the fact
that the factions and the nations are so evenly matched. But the data
are sufficient. It is shown conclusively that no one of the other
nations can possibly win, even by totally destroying Atlantis. They
would merely destroy each other and our entire Civilization. According
to this forecast, in arriving at which the data furnished by our Officer
were prime determinants, that will surely be the outcome unless remedial
measures be taken at once. You are of course sure of your facts,
Artomenes?"
"I am sure. But you said you had a name, and that it indicated a
Norheim-Uighar hookup. What is that name?"
"An old friend of yours...."
"Lo Sung!" The words as spoken were a curse of fury.
"None other. And, unfortunately, there is as yet no course of action
indicated which is at all promising of success."
"Use mine, then!" Artomenes jumped up and banged the table with his
fist. "Let me send two flights of rockets over right now that will blow
Uigharstoy and Norgrad into radioactive dust and make a thousand square
miles around each of them uninhabitable for ten thousand years! If
that's the only way they can learn anything, let them learn!"
"Sit down, Officer," Ariponides directed, quietly. "That course, as you
have already pointed out, is indefensible. It violates every Prime Basic
of our Civilization. Moreover, it would be entirely futile, since this
resultant makes it clear that every nation on Earth would be destroyed
within the day."
"What, then?" Artomenes demanded, bitterly. "Sit still here and let them
annihilate us?"
"Not necessarily. It is to formulate plans that we are here. Talmonides
will by now have decided, upon the basis of our pooled knowledge, what
must be done."
"The outlook is not good: not good at all," the Psychologist announced,
gloomily. "The only course of action which carries any promise whatever
of success--and its probability is only point one eight--is the one
recommended by the Faros, modified slightly to include Artomenes'
suggestion of sending his best operative on the indicated mission. For
highest morale, by the way, the Faros should also interview this agent
before he sets out. Ordinarily I would not advocate a course of action
having so little likelihood of success; but since it is simply a
continuation and intensification of what we are already doing, I do not
see how we can adopt any other."
"Are we agreed?" Ariponides asked, after a short silence.
They were agreed. Four of the conferees filed out and a brisk young man
strode in. Although he did not look at the Faros his eyes asked
questions.
"Reporting for orders, sir." He saluted the Officer punctiliously.
"At ease, sir." Artomenes returned the salute. "You were called here for
a word from the Faros. Sir, I present Captain Phryges."
"Not orders, son ... no." Ariponides' right hand rested in greeting upon
the captain's left shoulder, wise old eyes probed deeply into
gold-flecked, tawny eyes of youth; the Faros saw, without really
noticing, a flaming thatch of red-bronze-auburn hair. "I asked you here
to wish you well; not only for myself, but for all our nation and
perhaps for our entire race. While everything in my being rebels against
an unprovoked and unannounced assault, we may be compelled to choose
between our Officer's plan of campaign and the destruction of
Civilization. Since you already know the vital importance of your
mission, I need not enlarge upon it. But I want you to know fully,
Captain Phryges, that all Atlantis flies with you this night."
"Th ... thank you, sir." Phryges gulped twice to steady his voice. "I'll
do my best, sir."
And later, in a wingless craft flying toward the airfield, young Phryges
broke a long silence. "So _that_ is the Faros ... I like him, Officer
... I have never seen him close up before ... there's something about
him.... He isn't like my father, much, but it seems as though I have
known him for a thousand years!"
"Hm ... m ... m. Peculiar. You two are a lot alike, at that, even though
you don't look anything like each other. ... Can't put a finger on
exactly what it is, but it's there." Although Artomenes nor any other of
his time could place it, the resemblance was indeed there. It was in and
back of the eyes; it was the "look of eagles" which was long later to
become associated with the wearers of Arisia's Lens. "But here we are,
and your ship's ready. Luck, son."
"Thanks, sir. But one more thing. If it should--if I don't get
back--will you see that my wife and the baby are...?"
"I will, son. They will leave for North Maya tomorrow morning. They will
live, whether you and I do or not. Anything else?"
"No, sir. Thanks. Goodbye."
The ship was a tremendous flying wing. A standard commercial job.
Empty--passengers, even crewmen, were never subjected to the brutal
accelerations regularly used by unmanned carriers. Phryges scanned the
panel. Tiny motors were pulling tapes through the controllers. Every
light showed green. Everything was set. Donning a water-proof coverall,
he slid through a flexible valve into his acceleration-tank and waited.
A siren yelled briefly. Black night turned blinding white as the
harnessed energies of the atom were released. For five and six-tenths
seconds the sharp, hard, beryllium-bronze leading edge of the
back-sweeping V sliced its way through ever-thinning air.
The vessel seemed to pause momentarily; paused and bucked viciously. She
shuddered and shivered, tried to tear herself into shreds and chunks;
but Phryges in his tank was unconcerned. Earlier, weaker ships went to
pieces against the solid-seeming wall of atmospheric incompressibility
at the velocity of sound; but this one was built solidly enough, and
powered to hit that wall hard enough, to go through unharmed.
The hellish vibration ceased; the fantastic violence of the drive
subsided to a mere shove; Phryges knew that the vessel had leveled off
at its cruising speed of two thousand miles per hour. He emerged,
spilling the least possible amount of water upon the polished steel
floor. He took off his coverall and stuffed it back through the valve
into the tank. He mopped and polished the floor with towels, which
likewise went into the tank.
He drew on a pair of soft gloves and, by manual control, jettisoned the
acceleration tank and all the apparatus which had made that unloading
possible. This junk would fall into the ocean; would sink; would never
be found. He examined the compartment and the hatch minutely. No
scratches, no scars, no mars; no tell-tale marks or prints of any kind.
Let the Norskies search. So far, so good.
Back toward the trailing edge then, to a small escape-hatch beside which
was fastened a dull black ball. The anchoring devices went out first. He
gasped as the air rushed out into near-vacuum, but he had been trained
to take sudden and violent fluctuations in pressure. He rolled the ball
out upon the hatch, where he opened it; two hinged hemispheres, each
heavily padded with molded composition resembling sponge rubber. It
seemed incredible that a man as big as Phryges, especially when wearing
a parachute, could be crammed into a space so small; but that lining had
been molded to fit.
This ball _had_ to be small. The ship, even though it was on a
regularly-scheduled commercial flight, would be scanned intensively and
continuously from the moment of entering Norheiman radar range. Since
the ball would be invisible on any radar screen, no suspicion would be
aroused; particularly since--as far as Atlantean Intelligence had been
able to discover--the Norheimans had not yet succeeded in perfecting any
device by the use of which a living man could bail out of a super-sonic
plane.
Phryges waited--and waited--until the second hand of his watch marked
the arrival of zero time. He curled up into one half of the ball; the
other half closed over him and locked. The hatch opened. Ball and
closely-prisoned man plummeted downward; slowing abruptly, with a
horrible deceleration, to terminal velocity. Had the air been any trifle
thicker the Atlantean captain would have died then and there; but that,
too, had been computed accurately and Phryges lived.
And as the ball bulleted downward on a screaming slant, it _shrank_!
This, too, the Atlanteans hoped, was new--a synthetic which air-friction
would erode away, molecule by molecule, so rapidly that no perceptible
fragment of it would reach ground.
The casing disappeared, and the yielding porous lining. And Phryges,
still at an altitude of over thirty thousand feet, kicked away the
remaining fragments of his cocoon and, by judicious planning, turned
himself so that he could see the ground, now dimly visible in the first
dull gray of dawn. There was the highway, paralleling his line of
flight; he wouldn't miss it more than a hundred yards.
He fought down an almost overwhelming urge to pull his rip-cord too
soon. He had to wait--wait until the last possible second--because
parachutes were big and Norheiman radar practically swept the ground.
Low enough at last, he pulled the ring. Z-r-r-e-e-k--WHAP! The chute
banged open; his harness tightened with a savage jerk, mere seconds
before his hard-sprung knees took the shock of landing.
That was close--too close! He was white and shaking, but unhurt, as he
gathered in the billowing, fighting sheet and rolled it, together with
his harness, into a wad. He broke open a tiny ampoule, and as the drops
of liquid touched it the stout fabric began to disappear. It did not
burn; it simply disintegrated and vanished. In less than a minute there
remained only a few steel snaps and rings, which the Atlantean buried
under a meticulously-replaced circle of sod.
He was still on schedule. In less than three minutes the signals would
be on the air and he would know where he was--unless the Norsks had
succeeded in finding and eliminating the whole Atlantean under-cover
group. He pressed a stud on a small instrument; held it down. A line
burned green across the dial--flared red--vanished.
"Damn!" he breathed, explosively. The strength of the signal told him
that he was within a mile or so of the hide-out--first-class
computation--but the red flash warned him to keep away. Kinnexa--_it had
better be Kinnexa!_--would come to him.
How? By air? Along the road? Through the woods on foot? He had no way of
knowing--talking, even on a tight beam, was out of the question. He made
his way to the highway and crouched behind a tree. Here she could come
at him by any route of the three. Again he waited, pressing infrequently
a stud of his sender.
A long, low-slung ground-car swung around the curve and Phryges'
binoculars were at his eyes. It was Kinnexa--or a duplicate. At the
thought he dropped his glasses and pulled his guns--blaster in right
hand, air-pistol in left. But no, that wouldn't do. She'd be suspicious,
too--she'd have to be--and that car probably mounted heavy stuff. If he
stepped out ready for business she'd fry him, and quick. Maybe not--she
might have protection--but he couldn't take the chance.
The car slowed; stopped. The girl got out, examined a front tire,
straightened up, and looked down the road, straight at Phryges' hiding
place. This time the binoculars brought her up to little more than arm's
length. Tall, blonde, beautifully built; the slightly crooked left
eyebrow. The thread-line of gold betraying a one-tooth bridge and the
tiny scar on her upper lip, for both of which he had been
responsible--she always did insist on playing cops-and-robbers with boys
older and bigger than herself--it _was_ Kinnexa! Not even Norheim's
science could imitate so perfectly every personalizing characteristic of
a girl he had known ever since she was knee-high to a duck!
The girl slid back into her seat and the heavy car began to move.
Open-handed, Phryges stepped out into its way. The car stopped.
"Turn around. Back up to me, hands behind you," she directed, crisply.
The man, although surprised, obeyed. Not until he felt a finger
exploring the short hair at the back of his neck did he realize what she
was seeking--the almost imperceptible scar marking the place where she
bit him when she was seven years old!
"Oh, Fry! It _is_ you! _Really_ you! Thank the gods! I've been ashamed
of that all my life, but now...."
He whirled and caught her as she slumped, but she did not quite faint.
"Quick! Get in ... drive on ... not too fast!" she cautioned, sharply,
as the tires began to scream. "The speed limit along here is seventy,
and we can't be picked up."
"Easy it is, Kinny. But _give_! What's the score? Where's Kolanides? Or
rather, what happened to him?"
"Dead. So are the others, I think. They put him on a psycho-bench and
turned him inside out."
"But the blocks?"
"Didn't hold--over here they add such trimmings as skinning and salt to
the regular psycho routine. But none of them knew anything about me, nor
about how their reports were picked up, or I'd have been dead, too. But
it doesn't make any difference, Fry--we're just one week too late."
"What do you mean, too late? Speed it up!" His tone was rough, but the
hand he placed on her arm was gentleness itself.
"I'm telling you as fast as I can. I picked up his last report day
before yesterday. They have missiles just as big and just as fast as
ours--maybe more so--and they are going to fire one at Atlantis tonight
at exactly seven o'clock."
"Tonight! Holy gods!" The man's mind raced.
"Yes." Kinnexa's voice was low, uninflected. "And there was nothing in
the world that I could do about it. If I approached any one of our
places, or tried to use a beam strong enough to reach anywhere, I would
simply have got picked up, too. I've thought and thought, but could
figure out only one thing that might possibly be of any use, and I
couldn't do that alone. But two of us, perhaps...."
"Go on. Brief me. Nobody ever accused you of not having a brain, and you
know this whole country like the palm of your hand."
"Steal a ship. Be over the ramp at exactly Seven Pay Emma. When the lid
opens, go into a full-power dive, beam Artomenes--if I had a second
before they blanketed my wave--and meet their rocket head-on in their
own launching-tube."
This was stark stuff, but so tense was the moment and so highly keyed up
were the two that neither of them saw anything out of the ordinary in
it.
"Not bad, if we can't figure out anything better. The joker being, of
course, that you didn't see how you could steal a ship?"
"Exactly. I can't carry blasters. No woman in Norheim is wearing a coat
or a cloak now, so I can't either. And just look at this dress! Do you
see any place where I could hide even one?"
He looked, appreciatively, and she had the grace to blush.
"Can't say that I do," he admitted. "But I'd rather have one of our own
ships, if we could make the approach. Could both of us make it, do you
suppose?"
"Not a chance. They'd keep at least one man inside all the time. Even if
we killed everybody outside, the ship would take off before we could get
close enough to open the port with the outside controls."
"Probably. Go on. But first, are you sure that you're in the clear?"
"Positive." She grinned mirthlessly. "The fact that I am still alive is
conclusive evidence that they didn't find out anything about me. But I
don't want you to work on that idea if you can think of a better one.
I've got passports and so on for you to be anything you want to be, from
a tube-man up to an Ekoptian banker. Ditto for me, and for us both, as
Mr. and Mrs."
"Smart girl." He thought for minutes, then shook his head. "No possible
way out that I can see. The sneak-boat isn't due for a week, and from
what you've said it probably won't get here. But you might make it, at
that. I'll drop you somewhere...."
"You will not," she interrupted, quietly but definitely. "Which would
_you_ rather--go out in a blast like that one will be, beside a good
Atlantean, or, after deserting him, be psychoed, skinned, salted,
and--still alive--drawn and quartered?"
"Together, then, all the way," he assented. "Man and wife.
Tourists--newlyweds--from some town not too far away. Pretty well fixed,
to match what we're riding in. Can do?"
"Very simple." She opened a compartment and selected one of a stack of
documents. "I can fix this one up in ten minutes. We'll have to dispose
of the rest of these, and a lot of other stuff, too. And you had better
get out of that leather and into a suit that matches this passport
photo."
"Right. Straight road for miles, and nothing in sight either way. Give
me the suit and I'll change now. Keep on going or stop?"
"Better stop, I think," the girl decided. "Quicker, and we'll have to
find a place to hide or bury this evidence."
While the man changed clothes, Kinnexa collected the contraband,
wrapping it up in the discarded jacket. She looked up just as Phryges
was adjusting his coat. She glanced at his armpits, then stared.
"Where are your blasters?" she demanded. "They ought to show, at least a
little, and even I can't see a sign of them."
He showed her.
"But they're so tiny! I never saw blasters like that!"
"I've got a blaster, but it's in the tail pocket. These aren't. They're
air-guns. Poisoned needles. Not worth a damn beyond a hundred feet, but
deadly close up. One touch anywhere and the guy dies right then. Two
seconds max."
"Nice!" She was no shrinking violet this young Atlantean spy. "You have
spares, of course, and I can hide two of them easily enough in
leg-holsters. Gimme, and show me how they work."
"Standard controls, pretty much like blasters. Like so." He
demonstrated, and as he drove sedately down the highway the girl sewed
industriously.
The day wore on, nor was it uneventful. One incident, in fact--the
detailing of which would serve no useful purpose here--was of such a
nature that at its end:
"Better pin-point me, don't you think, on that ramp?" Phryges asked,
quietly. "Just in case you get scragged in one of these brawls and I
don't?"
"Oh! Of course! Forgive me, Fry--it slipped my mind completely that you
didn't know where it was. Area six; pin-point four seven three dash six
oh five.
"Got it." He repeated the figures.
But neither of the Atlanteans was "scragged", and at six P.M. an
allegedly honeymooning couple parked their big roadster in the garage at
Norgrad Field and went through the gates. Their papers, tickets
included, were in perfect order; they were as inconspicuous and as
undemonstrative as newlyweds are wont to be. No more so, and no less.
Strolling idly, gazing eagerly at each new thing, they made their
circuitous way toward a certain small hangar. As the girl had said, this
field boasted hundreds of super-sonic fighters, so many that servicing
was a round-the-clock routine. In that hangar was a sharp-nosed,
stubby-V'd flyer, one of Norheim's fastest. It was serviced and ready.
It was too much to hope, of course, that the visitors could actually get
into the building unchallenged. Nor did they.
"Back, you!" A guard waved them away. "Get back to the Concourse, where
you belong--no visitors allowed out here!"
F-f-t! F-f-t! Phryges' air-gun broke into soft but deadly coughing.
Kinnexa whirled--hands flashing down, skirt flying up-and ran. Guards
tried to head her off; tried to bring their own weapons to bear.
Tried--failed--died.
Phryges, too, ran; ran backward. His blaster was out now and flaming,
for no living enemy remained within needle range. A rifle bullet
w-h-i-n-g-e-d past his head, making him duck involuntarily and
uselessly. Rifles were bad; but their hazard, too, had been considered
and had been accepted.
Kinnexa reached the fighter's port, opened it, sprang in. He jumped. She
fell against him. He tossed her clear, slammed and dogged the door. He
looked at her then, and swore bitterly. A small, round hole marred the
bridge of her nose: the back of her head was gone.
He leaped to the controls and the fleet little ship screamed skyward. He
cut in transmitter and receiver, keyed and twiddled briefly. No soap. He
had been afraid of that. They were already blanketing every frequency he
could employ; using power through which he could not drive even a tight
beam a hundred miles.
But he could still crash that missile in its tube. Or--could he? He was
not afraid of other Norheiman fighters; he had a long lead and he rode
one of their very fastest. But since they were already so suspicious,
wouldn't they launch the bomb _before_ seven o'clock? He tried vainly to
coax another knot out of his wide-open engines.
With all his speed, he neared the pin-point just in time to see a trail
of super-heated vapor extending up into and disappearing beyond the
stratosphere. He nosed his flyer upward, locked the missile into his
sights, and leveled off. Although his ship did not have the giant
rocket's acceleration, he could catch it before it got to Atlantis,
since he did not need its altitude and since most of its journey would
be made without power. What he could do about it after he caught it he
did not know, but he'd do _something_.
He caught it; and, by a feat of piloting to be appreciated only by those
who have handled planes at super-sonic speeds, he matched its course and
velocity. Then, from a distance of barely a hundred feet, he poured his
heaviest shells into the missile's war-head. He _couldn't_ be missing!
It was worse than shooting sitting ducks--it was like dynamiting fish in
a bucket! Nevertheless, nothing happened. The thing wasn't fuzed for
impact, then, but for time; and the activating mechanism would be
shell-and shock-proof.
But there was still a way. He didn't need to call Artomenes now, even if
he could get through the interference which the fast-approaching
pursuers were still sending out. Atlantean observers would have lined
this stuff up long since; the Officer would know exactly what was going
on.
Driving ahead and downward, at maximum power, Phryges swung his ship
slowly into a right-angle collision course. The fighter's needle nose
struck the war-head within a foot of the Atlantean's point of aim, and
as he died Phryges knew that he had accomplished his mission. Norheim's
missile would not strike Atlantis, but would fall at least ten miles
short, and the water there was very deep. Very, _very_ deep. Atlantis
would not be harmed.
It might have been better, however, if Phryges had died with Kinnexa on
Norgrad Field; in which case the continent would probably have endured.
As it was, while that one missile did not reach the city, its frightful
atomic charge exploded under six hundred fathoms of water, ten scant
miles from Atlantis' harbor, and very close to an ancient geological
fault.
Artomenes, as Phryges had surmised, had had time in which to act, and he
knew much more than Phryges did about what was coming toward Atlantis.
Too late, he knew that not one missile, but seven, had been launched
from Norheim, and at least five from Uighar. The retaliatory rockets
which were to wipe out Norgrad, Uigharstoy, and thousands of square
miles of environs were on their way long before either bomb or
earthquake destroyed all of the Atlantean launching ramps.
But when equilibrium was at last restored, the ocean rolled serenely
where a minor continent had been.