"No, sir. More coming now." He waited until the flying keys had rattled
out two more lines, then ripped the sheet off. This message told more.
"Peak One wrecked by rebels who assassinated King Magnus. Signal
systems at Peaks One, Two and Three destroyed. Greetings to Commander
Ross. Artana."
"Rebels!" exclaimed Ross.
"Horta!" murmured Moore.
The chief signalman caught the name. "That louse!" he exclaimed in
disgust. "Pretended we couldn't teach him anything, the time we set up
his systems for him. He's raising hell on the Moon, Commander?"
Ross frowned. "That's just a guess, Jorgens," he reproved the
signalman. "We only know this much for sure." He tapped the two sheets.
"Huh! Ten to one that blue-nosed devil's in it," grumbled Jorgens,
turning back to the ray-type. "Want to answer, Chief?"
"Yes." Ross thought rapidly. He spoke in a low tone to Moore. "This
might be a trap."
Moore blinked. "You mean, Artana sent this to decoy us in to Four and
smash us?"
"Not Artana," corrected Ross. "Horta."
"Gosh, yes!" Moore fumbled his glasses off. "I hadn't thought of that!
No reason why Horta couldn't send a message in Artana's name!"
"It's a possibility," Ross grinned sourly. He turned to Jorgens. "Send
this: 'Greetings to Artana, Lord of the Peaks, from Ross. Coming in
to Peak Four.' Repeat it, too, in case they aren't getting it any too
clear." He wheeled to the helmsman, noted the speed was cut down now to
six hundred miles, and nodded approval. "Change course for Peak Four."
Moore laid an urgent hand on his chief's arm as the helmsman obeyed.
"Say," Bruce, this is risky!"
"Risky!" Ross laughed shortly. "Of course it's risky."
"Wouldn't it be better to stand off and wait for more news?"
Ross shook his head. His eyes blazed. "Harry, there's a lot of hell
breaking out on the Earth and on the Moon, too. We're in the middle.
We can't be in both places, but we can find out--I hope--what's going
on up here. And if we do, maybe we can put a heavy foot on what's
happening to the Earth. Do you remember what Trowbridge's message said?"
Moore's ordinarily placid features tightened. "The Purple Death," he
whispered. "You're the boss, Bruce. All I want is to get in on whatever
happens!"
* * * * *
The Earth Fleet slid slowly down to the craters. The pale surface of
the Moon gleamed dully, phosphorescent, lambent where the rays of the
sun struck crater tops. Off to the left the High Peak, Peak Number One
to the Earth visitors, loomed dark and sinister.
But Peak Four showed all its lights, bright and steady. Ross ordered
the six following ships to stand off and await orders, or act on their
own judgment if the flagship came to harm. Then he took his place
beside the helmsman. "Take her down slow," he ordered.
The rocket ship glided straight and sure for the brightest light.
Slowly the pin-point of white fire became a circle, then an oval.
Then it broke up into hundreds of lights surrounding a platform. The
helmsman muttered an order, and the rocket ship, answering the urge of
her flippers, dived briefly and straightened out into a glide. From the
control windows the shape of the platform took form, and dim little
figures could be seen scurrying on its edges.
Moore fidgeted uneasily. "We'll be duck soup for them if it's Horta,"
he muttered.
Ross chuckled. "Where's your sporting blood?" he jibed. "Bet you even
money it's Artana."
"That's an easy bet for you," retorted Moore. "You won't live long
enough to pay off if it's Horta."
The crew of the ship seemed to share his fears. Every man hunched tense
at his station. The ship glided lower, to three hundred feet. Two
hundred. She lost way almost entirely, and grounded with scarcely a jar.
"Nice set-down," Ross complimented the helmsman.
Instantly the crew sighed in unison. Tension was broken. They peered
through the windows.
"Back to your stations!" rapped Ross. He glanced through the control
port and immediately saw a group advancing toward the ship. For an
instant he held his breath. Then he whooped. "It's Artana!"
The crew cheered, briefly, knowing nothing of the importance of that
single identification. Two artisans stood by the gangway, waiting.
"Secure your helmets, men!" shouted Ross. He adjusted his own headgear,
made sure that the thin tubes from his breastplate were feeding their
tiny jets of oxygen to his nostrils, and signaled to the artisans. They
threw the door wide, and Ross stepped forth to meet Artana.
The young Lord of the Peaks came forward with a glad cry. "Ross!" he
exclaimed, and grasped the Earth-man's hand warmly.
"Artana!" cried Ross. He eyed the Moon Lord from head to foot, and
grinned. "You've grown, Lord of the Peaks!"
* * * * *
The boy he remembered was indeed now a man. Matching the six-foot Ross
in height, he stood straight and slender, carrying easily the weight of
the ray-rifle slung on his shoulder, and the poison-pistol at his belt.
He smiled briefly at the Earth-man's sally, then sobered at once.
"You come at a critical time," he murmured, pitching his voice so that
his half-dozen followers could not hear. "The Moon People are divided
by revolt, and the fate of the Kingdom is not easy to predict." He
caught sight of Moore. "Ah, my friend Harrell Moore!" His hand went
out in a warm clasp.
"Hi, Artana," returned the navigator awkwardly. "You're looking great.
What's the trouble? I'll guess it's Horta."
"Softly!" Uneasily the Lord of the Peaks glanced about him. "Let us go
to the Peak Chamber, where we may speak at ease." He led the way from
the platform, halting only to allow Ross to relay an order for his six
ships to land. Through a winding subterranean corridor they hastened to
the council room of the Peak, which marked the administrative center
of one of Artana's provinces. Once inside the great room, Artana led
them to low divans of stone, covered and made comfortable with soft
cellulose-like stuff that rustled as they moved. He gave them the news
bluntly, without preamble.
"Horta has seized power in two-thirds of the Kingdom," he cried, his
voice breaking with emotion. "King Magnus was killed, perhaps not by
Horta's orders--but who else would have plotted it? The assassination
seemed to be the signal for an uprising--and Horta issued a
proclamation, as one of the three regents, declaring that he would act
to preserve order in the Caverns and the land beyond where the Crater
folk live. Three of the Peaks were overrun, and the signal systems were
all destroyed. Here at Peak Four, my soldiers were ready, and all the
rebels were slain."
"Queen Boada--and the Princess Illeria?" asked Ross.
"They are safe." Artana twisted on his couch in his distress. "They
were at Peak Five when the attacks were made, and are coming here,
escorted by a strong body of my troops. I expect them soon. But you, my
friends? How can I receive you, when my people are embroiled in civil
war--for that is what it is?"
Ross waved his hand deprecatingly. "Don't worry about us, Artana. Of
course, we can't take sides here. We can help to preserve the Regency,
since the Truce demands it. But there's one thing I'd like to ask."
"Of course, my friend."
"Have you heard of trouble on the Earth?"