Deisanocta walked to the visa-radio, clicked it on. This time she
switched in the view screen also. Her white hands spun dials, and she
began to speak in Martian, calmly, insistently.
The view screen took on depth and color. She adjusted condensing levers
and it divided into a dozen smaller squares. Slowly each square filled,
until the faces of a dozen Martian men looked out at her--silent,
waiting faces, behind each of which the white mist formed a backdrop.
Deisanocta's red lips twitched, and her lovely eyes leaped into sudden
flame. For a moment, she was silent. Barry could feel tension building
up in the room, and see it in the faces of those who looked out of the
screen.
Then the Princess spoke a single short sentence in her own tongue.
Barry Williams did not need an interpretation. The meaning of the
command was clear in its ringing syllables; "Strike for Mars!"
Twenty-four eyes blazed from the screen--the eyes of twelve field
commanders flashing hatred of their oppressors and fierce exultation
that the hour of revenge was here! From each throat rose the same word,
spoken in awe, reverence, resolution. "Deisanocta!"
Thus they saluted their leader, the Mother of Mist, Queen-to-be of
Mars! Then the screen was blank.
"In short minutes Mars will belong again to its people, Barry
Williams," said the girl softly. "We wait here for the report of my
commanders."
She sank to a sitting position on the red sand, arranging the silver
mesh of her dress about her slim body. Barry did likewise, as did the
Martian.
Minutes dragged by. The radio screen glowed softly, but remained blank.
Barry felt the muscles gather in his arms and shoulders. This idle
waiting was hard to bear. If he could only be in there fighting--
Deisanocta was finding it difficult to wait, too. The eager glow of
anticipation had died away in her beautiful eyes. They were reflective,
reminiscent.
"All my life I've been trained for this moment," she said, at last.
"Deep in the Crypt, burial ground of our race, the Elders hid and
taught me."
"In the Crypt!" exclaimed Barry. "Then the dying Martian knew of you
when he threatened 'Justice from the Crypt'!"
"Hardly," she smiled. "That was twenty years before I was born--ten
years after the first Earthmen came to Mars.
"He couldn't even have known that my parents were hidden there. They
were still young, the last of Martian royalty, hidden away by a few
faithful servants."
"What did he mean then?"
She shook her head, the black tresses gleaming faintly under the mist.
"We never knew."
"Tell me about this Crypt," Barry asked. "And tell me more about your
people."
"The Crypt is our ancient burial place. It is underground, dry, and our
dead are safe there from animals that would find bodies the shifting
sand would not protect.
"Always, we laid our dead to rest there, until Craig Grey placed guards
at the doors and forbade the practice."
"He was afraid some weapon was hidden there," reasoned Barry Williams.
"It's the only thing the dying Martian's threat could mean."
"What weapon could be there?" Deisanocta asked mournfully. "Our people
were always peaceful. They lived beside the wells, growing the food
they ate. It took Earthmen to teach them to hate and kill--to know that
ore dust was worth blood!"
"Does your written history give no clue of a time when the Crypt was
anything but a burial place?"
"Our people knew nothing of writing. That, too, we learned from
Earthmen, my Elders learned it in secret and taught me."
"And they developed the white mist there in the Crypt, and brought
the old Earthman who taught you hypnotism?" Barry asked. He pictured
her frightened childhood among the dead, in the darkness so close to
Craig's guards who would have killed her on sight.
* * * * *
The girl read his expression. "It was not so terrible," she said
wistfully. "There was peace, we were not tortured for ore dust, or made
to slave in mines. It is light there, even deep down; for the walls are
radioactive.
"But my parents died of hearts broken by the suffering of their people.
It was later that the white mist was developed, and I learned that my
mission was to use it!"
A faint noise broke into their conversation--a clicking that was
suddenly almost thunderous in their ears as every other sound died!
It was the radio receptor signal.
In the screen, the twelve squares were filling again. The time for
reports had come--and there had been no special report of victory.
Silence held, while the twelve faces grew into sharp focus. Barry
noted that at least three of the men had not been among the twelve who
last faced their Princess. The faces of the rest were dirty, tired,
depressed. A couple were bandaged. Before a word was spoken, Barry
Williams knew that the news would be bad, and premonition turned his
stomach into a leaden ball.
In the screen, the twelve tired faces were silent, waiting. They were
wooden, unmoving, until Deisanocta spoke, calmly, questioningly.
One after another, came the reports. Each was brief, and although Barry
could not understand the Martian words, he knew that he had been right.
The news was bad.
Deisanocta's face paled as she listened. Deep in her eyes raged a
conflict of emotions, dismay, sorrow, anger. When the last report was
heard, she spoke again.
There was no hesitation in the throaty accents. Words followed each
other in a torrent that slowly swept away the numbness from the twelve
faces before her! When she had finished, her commanders were again
eager, their eyes flashing, exulting.
"Deisanocta! Deisanocta!" came their chant, a promise of victory. Again
they faded from the screen to carry out her orders.
When the girl turned from the screen, some of the confidence had
slipped from her. Her dark head was bowed, and her slim figure had lost
some of its proud erectness.
"Grey's men were waiting for the attack," she told Barry. "They wore
space suits!
"We waited too long--until he discovered how to protect his men from
the mist. Many of my followers have died in battle. We have not won a
single objective!"
"I am sincerely sorry," he said slowly. "Sorry that some of your people
have died; sorry that you have failed."
Her head snapped up, color flooding the pale cheeks. "We have not lost!
The mist that covers Mars will remain. My men have surrounded the
enemy. They will harass his every move.
"Let Grey wait for another attack--wait until his oxygen tanks are
empty, and his space suits useless! Then the mist will triumph!"
* * * * *
Barry Williams shook his head sadly. "Can the mist reach up to the end
of atmosphere," he asked, "where their ships can go to compress clear
air? And, if so, can the mist reach across space to Earth, from where
Grey's freighters can bring compressed air?"
"I wonder if I read your mind rightly," Deisanocta said scornfully. "I
wonder if you are the friend of Mars I thought you."
He crossed to her in two quick steps. His hands gripped her elbows,
drawing her up to face the intensity of his eyes. "Yes, I am a friend
of Mars! That's why I'm here--that's why Grey and his men hunt me as
they do you!"
She shook herself free. The flush of anger in her cheeks had deepened
into a flaming crimson. Her eyes avoided him. "Then do not try to
discourage me, Barry Williams. The mist will remain."
He was silent, the plan he'd been about to suggest unspoken. If he was
distrusted, this was no time to propose it.
Overhead, they heard the thrumming of rockets. Barry smiled
mirthlessly. "Grey has his scouts out."
"They will see nothing in the mist," Deisanocta said confidently. But
she turned to the radio and contacted her field captains. "It is the
same everywhere," she told him. "The enemy's ships circle helplessly
overhead."
"I don't like it," Barry said. "If I know Craig Grey, he's up to
something. Those ships aren't up there without a reason."
Deisanocta ignored this, her eyes speaking plainly her disappointment
in the Earthman she'd believed a friend. Instead of answering him, she
turned to the Martian who had waited so patiently and silently for her
orders.
"We will eat," she said haughtily to Barry, after a few swift words to
the other. "Perhaps Earth food will revive your courage."
"Thank you." Barry ignored the slur, and sat down beside her where the
Martian was spreading a cloth on the ground.
The thrumming of rockets died away as they began, and the Princess
glanced significantly at Barry Williams. He turned to the food in
silence, a frown of concentration on his forehead.
They had dried horse meat from Earth, the staple dish of the natives,
a poor grade of canned corn that was like a thin mush, and hard,
wafer-thin pieces of bread.
"My courageous followers won these provisions in battle," Deisanocta
said softly.
Barry was finding even the unappetizing menu inviting. He ate rapidly,
being careful not to work too deeply into what he knew was a slender
store of food. The girl watched him as she nibbled at her food. The
scorn in her face slowly faded into sad reproach.
It wasn't until the Princess poured a glass of liquid and set it
before Barry, that the far-away look was swept from his eyes by
sudden understanding. The liquid was Martian Wrin, a delicious,
invigorating drink from native roots, much coveted and seldom obtained
by Terrestrials. Even through the white mist that shrouded them, it
sparkled from ruby depths. The color galvanized Barry Williams.
* * * * *
"Red!" he exclaimed. "_Infra-red!_ Grey's ships were sweeping the
desert with infra-red rays, and taking photographs with film sensitive
only to those rays. When those prints are developed, he'll have the
location of every mist-producing unit that's on Mars, and of your
followers!"
"I don't understand," stammered the bewildered Deisanocta. "I know
nothing of these things."
"Just believe me," he pleaded. "Order your men and the mist units to
move at once!"
Deisanocta moved to the radio and obeyed. Barry Williams' heart leaped.
She believed in him, her recent doubt forgotten before the vigor of his
arguments.
"And us?" she asked.
"We're all right, being underground. The infra-red rays won't betray us
in the photographs. Listen!"
They heard the sound of rocket jets overhead, and it was magnified,
built into thunder in their ears. The radio was still tuned to the
field command radios, and they brought the sound of Grey's rocket ships
from every corner of the planet.
Before their eyes, the white mist swirled, and on the view screen were
twelve small squares of silver. Suddenly, almost simultaneously, lurid
streaks cut across those squares--flaming heat rays, softened into
orange by the seething vapor!
Deisanocta gasped. "You were right, Barry Williams! Had my forces not
moved, they would have been destroyed.
"But it is Grey who has failed this time!"
Barry faced her slowly. His blue eyes rested on her lovely face, and
the words he spoke caught in his throat.
"Grey will wait a short while for the mist to dissipate," he said.
"When it does not, he'll go back to the pictures. About every spot
where a unit or force was shown, he'll draw a circle. The radius of
that circle will be the distance a man can travel on foot from the time
the photograph was taken, until the time the ships return a second time.
"Then, one by one, he'll ray the entire area of those
circles--concentrating as many ships as necessary for the job."
Deisanocta came very close to him. The pleading in the depths of her
eyes shook Barry Williams. Without realizing it, he put out his hands
and again grasped her elbows.
This time she did not draw away. She moved closer, until her lips
almost brushed his as she spoke. He could feel her slim figure tremble,
not with fear, but with struggling to repress the tears that were
welling into her grey orbs, the sobs that were fighting her breath!
"Then this is defeat?" she whispered. "My loyal followers wiped
out--the mist, our weapon, swept from the planet?"
"The only alternative," he said with sudden fierce tenderness, "is to
order the units turned off and buried in the sand. Tell your men to
split into small bands and hide in the desert. Their camouflage will
protect them from Grey's scouts.
"That way, Grey will think he's won, and your forces will be intact for
the future."
Deisanocta's small hand found his and held it as she issued the
necessary orders.
* * * * *
When the screen was again blank, Barry Williams spun the dials.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Tuning in Earth on the regular broadcast channels."
"Earth! At this time, Barry Williams, you would listen to Earth
broadcasts!"
He turned to her reproachfully. "Don't you trust me yet? I must know
how my government is reacting to the situation here; for, if you follow
my advice, you and I will be putting the case of the Martians before
that government. I still think we have a chance of convincing them. But
we'll need to find a spaceship, and take it."
"You are right, Barry Williams," Deisanocta admitted sadly. "You were
right in the beginning, and my efforts have only brought failure.
"My heart trusted you--believed in you; and because it was my heart, I
mistrusted. I followed my reason instead--and no woman should do that."
"I'm following my heart--have from the beginning," Barry murmured. "And
it tells me we haven't lost yet." His hands left her elbows, went about
her waist. Behind them, the Martian turned away.
"_Revolt of Martian savages_," broke in a voice from the radio. They
froze, listening to the words that followed; "_Craig Grey, President
of Grey Enterprises, Incorporated, is present in person at the scene
of trouble, directing the heroic resistance of Terrestrial pioneers.
He has been authorised by World Government to capture Barry Williams,
investigator of the dastardly campaign, dead or alive._
"_Williams disappeared into the desert, and the abortive attack by the
savages followed immediately. 'Justice in the Crypt', is said to be the
wild battle shout of the Martians. Federal troops have embarked for
Mars. It is--_"
Barry snapped off the radio. "Grey has pulled off another one!"
Deisanocta clung to his hand mutely, her white face revealing the
despair the news had brought.
Barry's mouth was a straight, hard line. His eyes flamed, and muscles
bunched in his shoulders. After a moment's silence, he turned the radio
back on.
"More orders for you, Deisanocta. Get in touch with your men. We want
about half a dozen of the best, and tell them to bring along the
oldest Martian they can find!"
"But what--why?"
"If it's 'Justice from the Crypt' they want, we'll give it to them.
We're going to find out what's there, and use it!
"Have your men meet us near one entrance to the place. Tell them to
bring a portable visa-radio, so we can call the rest if we need them.
This is the only chance we've got left!"
V
Over the red sands of Mars, the silver mist of vengeance was slowly
thinning. The two moons sent their light probing down, breaking through
here and there to find and bathe the sand.
Where those rays found the little party that crept cautiously toward
the Crypt, it did not betray them under the red camouflage blankets.
They moved silently ahead, invisible, determined.
"We are there," Deisanocta whispered at last to Barry Williams, beside
her under the cloak. "We must rise and go on foot the rest of the way."
"O.K." he said. He scoured the sky, his sharp blue eyes trying to
pierce the mist. "If any ships come over, they won't spot us. The mist
is thick here.
"The trick will be to get by the guard at the entrance. We don't want
to have to overcome him and risk an alarm."
Deisanocta was speaking to the Martians. They rose with Barry and the
Princess, and the little party stayed close together to avoid being
separated in the white shroud about them.
A suggestion from Barry, and they formed into single file and moved
forward. A sharp-eyed Martian was in the lead.
"We are fortunate," the Princess said. "The guard is away from his
post."
"Hurry," ordered Barry. "Inside! If we meet him after we're in, that's
too bad for him."
Silently as the whiteness about them, the party filed into the Crypt.
It was colder here, for the tunnel sloped sharply downward, and the air
was heavier. They had gone only a few steps before the last wisps of
the mist disappeared. The heavier air had held it out of the Crypt.
About them, the walls shone with a faint radiance.
"Now!" Barry turned to the girl. The party had been under his command
from the beginning. Even the Martians had at last recognized that this
Earthman was a leader.
"Hypnotize the old Martian. With a willing subject, you can produce a
deep hypnosis. Command him to think of the Crypt, remember every thing
he ever heard about it, or saw in it, from the time he was an infant!"
Deisanocta's eyes bored into the rapt, obedient face of the old
Martian. She murmured softly, sleepily in their tongue. The other's
face slowly smoothed, his eyes going blank.
Her words became sharp, commanding, insistent. Under their leashing,
the old one's brow furrowed. He was remembering, digging deep into
forgotten recesses of his mind. At last Deisanocta spoke to Barry.
"I see the Crypt seventy years ago. This one was here as an infant in
his father's arms.
"It was different. There are fewer bodies. Their clothes are strange.
None bear the wounds of battle."
"Remember what we're looking for," snapped Barry.
"I am deep down in the Crypt," came the girl's voice, weaker. "Deeper
than even I have ever been. I do not know the part. There is something
here, something big--I cannot make it out. It is very faint in this
one's mind."
"Tell him to lead us to it," said Barry. "That will save your strength."
Seconds later they were following the old Martian through a labyrinth
of tunnels. He moved rapidly, unhesitantly, his face wooden and intent.
Deisanocta was beside Barry, her hand in his.
"Can it be?" she questioned. "Is the answer as simple as this?"
"I hope so," he told her. "It is something you wouldn't have thought
of, because you did not remember all you were taught about hypnotism.
And no one else could have done it against the old one's will."
"Look!" Deisanocta cried suddenly. "He has lost his way."
"Impossible," Barry said.
But the old Martian was leading them toward a blank wall. Still he did
not hesitate. With steps rapid, certain, he marched directly into the
wall. His head struck, and he fell, rolling to their feet.
* * * * *
Barry bent over him quickly, then rose one hand digging at the wall.
"It's soft dirt," he explained. "Didn't hurt him. He's only stunned."
He stepped back to Deisanocta.
"That's why Grey did not find whatever is here. It's somewhere behind
that wall--cut off by an earth slide!"
"But--what is there?"
"We'll soon find out." Barry's hand dug at the wall, scooping away the
soft dirt. "Tell the boys to start digging. But post a couple up the
tunnel in both directions, so we won't be surprised."
Four Martians and Barry Williams dug at the wall with cupped hands. It
was hot, dirty work in the heavy air of the Crypt. Sweat beaded their
faces. Arms ached after the first few minutes.
Barry did not slacken his pace, and the others stayed with him. At
last, the Earthman gave a cry of triumph.
"It isn't thick! See, the dirt is crumbling away from us now--falling
on the other side." The vigor of their attack redoubled.
Hearing the cries, the Martians posted down the tunnel came running
to help. Deisanocta stepped closer, her face radiant. Barry threw
her a glance, and his heart noted the way her black hair threw back
highlights of the walls' radiance.
His hand shot out again at the wall, viciously, and the last grains of
dirt fell inward. Light showed through. Beside him, the others worked
frantically. In seconds, the opening was large enough for one of them
to pass through.
"Deisanocta," Barry Williams gasped. "Go in. I'll be right behind you."
The rest crowded behind, and all but the unconscious old Martian were
soon on the other side. They stared open-mouthed, incredulously at the
sight that met them.
It was a great room into which they'd made their way, the walls
luminous, and stretching off almost out of view. There were no dead
here. Except for one object, the vast chamber was empty.
That object itself was big, black, rearing upward above them halfway
to the distant roof.
"A spaceship!" cried Deisanocta.
"The great-grandfather of all space ships," added Barry.
"Look at the size of it, the diameter of those rocket tubes! Used a
poor fuel, inefficiently. But they made it. Crashed through the roof
of this place. Look at the dark patch overhead, where sand filled in a
gap."
"'Justice from the Crypt'," murmured the girl. "I think I--"
"So do I," rapped Barry. "Come on, you and I are going inside. Tell the
others to guard this opening!"
Hand-in-hand, the two of them passed through a yawning port. Beneath
their feet, the ramp was solid. Metal did not corrode, in this dry
atmosphere. The old ship had not deteriorated in its years here.
Barry Williams and the girl passed down a long passage, unlit except
for the faint radioactive radiance that made its way in through smaller
portholes. They came to a door, which would not yield to Barry's
efforts.
"Locked," he said. "We can't stop for that." His heat ray came out.
The beam played against the lock until the metal glowed and ran. Barry
kicked at the bottom of the door where the metal was cooler. It swung
inward.
"It's the control room," Barry said as their eyes slowly adjusted
themselves to the even dimmer light of the room.
Barry's hand groped against the wall beside the door. There was a
click, and a yellow radiance sprang from the ceiling. "Even the
batteries are still good," he muttered.
"What is this?" Deisanocta cried with a shudder.
* * * * *
The room was a maze of instruments, levers, panels about the sides. But
it wasn't this that had shocked the Princess, it was the bodies.
Two sprawled on the floor, one on its back still held a weapon in one
hand. That weapon pointed to the third body.
Slumped in a chair before an instrument panel, the third body had grown
rigid, a look of amazement on the undecomposed face. In the right hand,
the weapon that had undoubtedly killed the other two, was still poised.
"You can almost see the smoke curling from the muzzle of that ancient
automatic," said Barry grimly. "They fought it out--must have been
after the one in the chair landed the ship--and everybody lost!"
"It's--it's horrible," the girl murmured. "Why--"
A sudden commotion, reaching their ears faintly from outside, cut off
her question. There were shouts--cries of pain and rage. Running feet
pounded up the ship's ramp, came down the passage toward them.
Barry brought up the heat ray in his hand--lowered it as a Martian
staggered into the room. He was burned across the face and body.
His pale lips moved. Faint words came forth. Others were choked off as
he slumped to the floor. His body sprawled beside the other two already
there.
"He says a god comes," Deisanocta explained wildly. "One they cannot
harm. The rest of my followers in the room outside have fallen."
Other footsteps sounded at the door. Barry's heat ray came up again.
This time its beam sprang across the room, bathed the figure that came
through the door with blazing heat.
"No good, Williams," came a sneering voice, metallic through a space
suit communicator. "Don't you know impervium when you see it?"
"Yes, I know it," said Barry. His eyes had noted the thin,
fragile-looking garment over the space suit that Craig Grey wore.
Impervium, fabulous, incredibly expensive, proof against any heat ray.
"There's about a dozen suits in the System, and you have to have one!"
Craig Grey's little black eyes snapped with triumph. "A man who fights
savages needs one, Williams," he mocked. His glance flickered to
Deisanocta, lingered a a long minute. "I see now why you went over to
the Martians."