Barry opened his eyes as the red sun climbed over the rim of the
rolling desert. His head was clear, his mind refreshed and alert. These
symptoms strengthened his convictions that he'd been hypnotized.
The power of a highly trained mind was being used in this campaign
against Earthmen. Perhaps the mist was produced both to hide the
operator and to frighten the victim--making the latter easier prey to
the force that invaded the brain, and had literally torn out the life
essence of the other victims.
Shrugging off further speculation for the moment, Barry climbed
painfully to his feet. His muscles were stiff and cramped from lying
hours on the ground. He flexed his arms and legs, worked his fingers,
getting out the soreness. Then he started for his spaceship.
As the rockets throbbed behind him, Barry tried all the controls. The
little ship whipped through every intricate maneuver he'd ever known.
It slowed his progress, this senseless stunting, but it showed him the
ship was in prime condition, answering his every touch on the controls.
Why was he doing this? It was as if he were going on a trip. Yet he had
no such intention. The mist had spared him, and was gone.
The mist! The thought brought the answer to his strange
preparations--hypnosis again--post-hypnotic suggestion!
Having spared him and ordered him to flee the planet, the being behind
the mist had meant him to remember the advice.
Barry's lips set in a straight line, and hard little muscles stood out
on his cheek, along his strong jaw. He hadn't the slightest intention
of fleeing Mars. He'd been sent here for a purpose by the Terrestrial
Government, and he had come to realize the whole deadly threat of this
Martian scourge against Earthmen was tied up with the reason for his
being here. Barry William was staying on Mars till he'd finished his
job.
Below him, the circular, thick-walled, high-domed Center flashed over
the horizon and loomed larger in the lower view-plate before Barry
on the control board. Soon he was close enough to see the narrow
apertures, where, in the early days of Terrestrial occupation, mighty
ray cannon had blasted against bands of Martians who still had crude
weapons to use against the victors.
Barry put his ship down neatly in a semi-circular row of other craft.
There were, he noticed, more ships parked outside than was usual for
a post not close to the bigger mine. One of them was a large, ornate
cruiser type, on which was painted in neat gold letters: "_Grey
Enterprises, Inc._"
It was the personal, space-going ship of Craig Grey, billionaire
ore-king, himself. The latter was probably inside the Center. That
would account for the unusual number of ships, for Grey never travelled
anywhere without a large following.
As Barry stepped through the door-lock onto the field, a small knot of
men, dressed for travel, stopped outside the building door. They stared
open-mouthed at the Government identification letters on Barry's craft,
then at him.
Obviously, they'd turned and bolted inside--bolted with a speed and
singleness of purpose that seemed like panic!
Puzzled, Barry pushed aside the heavier, outer door. From inside, an
excited murmuring of voices came through the second door.
* * * * *
Silence fell over the big room within, as he entered. Every man there,
most of them free-lance ore-seekers, was in the crowd pressing around
one man who stood against the bar. That man was easily recognizable,
for his picture had been printed from Mercury to Pluto. He was Craig
Grey. A subordinate stood on each side of him, keeping the others at a
respectable distance.
Grey looked at Barry with bleak, cold eyes. The ore-king was a dapper
little man, who apparently fought his advanced years with the aid
of science. His hair was coal black, as was the tapering, precise
mustache--though both should have been gray long ago. He lifted a
well-manicured hand, and sucked on a cigarette through a long holder.
Despite his culture and small stature, Barry Williams sensed that this
man could be a deadly enemy.
The glowing cigarette in its long holder swept out in a graceful arc
toward the men Barry had seen outside. "This is the searching party
that was about to set out for you, Williams," said Grey in a flat, thin
voice. "A spaceship reported seeing you last night on the desert--with
the white mist closing in."
"Very decent of you fellows to worry," Williams said amiably. "I came
in under my own power."
His words fell into a silence that was tenser than before. They had
just been discussing him, Williams was positive. Grey, who had never
seen him, had known his name!
Barry said nothing. He waited calmly for the answer to this odd
reception. Somehow, he sensed hostility in the Earthmen here.
Beneath the poised, still friendly gaze of his blue eyes, the others
grew restless. Feet shuffled. Murmurs came from the rear of the group.
"These Martian savages are behind this mist."
"They're out to kill all us Earthmen," came another voice.