IV

Lolan's mouth hung open. Had he heard aright? "You said--a fellow

_Venusian_? Didn't you mean...."

"I mean Venusian. And by the way--congratulations on your escape,

_Prince Lolan_!"

Somewhere in him a pulse began throbbing, as Lolan fumbled to put the

controls on automatic. Then he twisted about on the seat and gripped

his knees with his hands. "Let's get this straight," he suggested

impatiently. "I'm Sub-Commander Lolan--ex-Sub-Commander, I should say.

You're Captain Irak--also 'ex', I'm afraid. We're both Martians and

neither of us has so much as a drop of royal blood of any race coloring

his veins. Starting from that basis, would you mind explaining your

remarks?"

Irak leaned back in his chair. "Not at all. You are Prince Lolan, of

the House of Sarn. Twenty years ago, when you were two years old, all

of your people were killed in the Martian invasion. Among fifty other

Venusian children, you were taken back to Mars. The war chiefs wanted

to experiment, to find out what difference the Martian atmosphere had

on the development of a child of Venus. All of those other children

were killed due to lack of care on the return voyage. You alone

lived ... to become a high-ranking Martian officer!"

The blood had drained from Lolan's face, leaving it a sickly color. His

hands shook a little. It was too much to grasp at once. "Irak, you're

telling the truth?" he gasped. "But you can't be. Look at me: I'm dark,

like a Martian ... so are you, as far as that goes. And why would they

let me hold such a responsible position?"

"Of course you're dark!" Irak laughed. "Who wouldn't be, after eighteen

years of blistering Martian suns? As far as their letting you gain

position is concerned, they had two reasons for doing it. In the

first place, they found that you were developing into a brilliant,

scholarly youth who could go far if allowed to. You had something no

other Venusian before you had: initiative and the ability to fight

like a bulldog on any problem you attempted. Perhaps the ultraviolet

rays so strong on Mars and so feeble here have something to do with

that. At any rate, you are strong and determined where the rest of our

race is vacillating, good-natured, and pliable. Their other reason for

letting you fight your way to the top in their own army was that, to

their cruel minds, it seemed a good joke to let a Venusian have partial

charge of his own down-trodden people. But the joke may backlash...."

"And you?" Lolan murmured. "Where do you come in?"

"I went back on the same ship that took you, but as a stowaway. I hid

in the upper part of the ship where the constant, harsh light of the

sun soon blackened my fair skin as dark as theirs. I killed a soldier

one night and took his uniform. It wasn't hard to take his place. They

were a motley crew from all over Mars, a sort of foreign legion, and

few knew each other. By the time we reached Mars I was able to mingle

safely with the men. And as years went on I completed my Martian

education, vied with others for honors. I gained those honors for one

purpose--to fight again in a Venusian army, to wipe the scourge from

the face of our planet. Now we are ready!"

Lolan sank back. He felt like a man who has had too strong a dose of

some powerful drug. "Now I can explain a lot of things," he murmured.

"I've had the feeling so many times that I've been a certain place

before, yet I never understood why." He got up, began pacing the tiny

cabin with restless tread. When he spoke again, at last, he seemed to

be talking to himself. "Then it must be true. I'm not one of Arzt's

bloodthirsty race, I'm a Venusian--one of Mora's race!" Abruptly, he

whirled on the little intelligence officer. "Well, what now? Where are

we going?"

Irak let a thin smile curve his lips. "To the old palace. There we'll

meet Mora and Atarkus and many others. You will see things you haven't

dreamed existed on this planet. Areeba is ready to strike for freedom!"

Lolan's eyes sparkled. But it was not entirely the revolution he was

thinking of. "They knew about me?" he jerked.

Irak nodded, made an adjustment in the flight. "But none of us ever

dared tell you of our plans until we knew exactly how you stood. If you

had become a true Martian, we wanted you always to remain ignorant."

Silence came into the rocket ship. They were soaring along above a

thick blanket of yellowish clouds. Irak's hand sent them plummeting

down into the clear air beneath. Directly below them a cluster of

crumbling buildings topped a hill in the north section of the city.

Ruin had laid its bony hand over all, tumbling towers and cornices back

into the dust from which they had sprung. Squarely in the midst of it

the ship settled to a landing. Memory troubled Lolan at sight of the

old palace.

Irak sprang out. "Follow me!" he shot at Lolan. They hurried into a

roofless room of magnificent size, passing through it into a small room

still partially covered. The captain found a ring in the floor, beneath

a litter of rubbish. It yielded to insistent tugging, to reveal a

flight of stairs sliding away into dim obscurity. Irak flashed a light

into the depths and descended. Wondering strangely, Lolan followed.

A half hour passed, while steps blended into winding corridors and

corridors changed back into stairs. Lolan's head was spinning by

the time they reached a heavy bronze door. Irak flashed a smile.

"Now--watch!" he breathed. His thumb flattened on a button.

Seconds dragged out. Nothing happened. But ... was the door moving? A

crack of light split down the middle of the portal. It widened, and

suddenly the two parts drew wide and light and sound flooded through

them. Lolan started. Dumbly he moved ahead. What he saw made his legs

wobbly with astonishment.

* * * * *

Below them, in a spacious, high-vaulted hall, thousands of men were at

work with various machines. At one end of the room a continual stream

of Venusians filed through one door, past a long table where workers

were doling out some kind of apparatus, and back through another door.

The clank of stamp machines, the scream of drill-presses, the whine of

lathes, blended into a confused wail. And over all was the roar of the

underground river, that flowed between black banks squarely through the

middle of the cavern.

Questions sprang to Lolan's lips, but Irak stifled them. "Come along,"

he ordered. "Others can explain better than I."

A winding path led down the wall of the place. At the bottom they

turned left and found their way to where a large crowd of men were in

noisy conference with two persons in their midst. Irak raised his voice

in a triumphant shout. Instantly the babble broke. Irak bowed low as

Atarkus emerged from the crowd.

"It is done, Emperor! I bring you--Prince Lolan!"

Unnameable feelings swept over Lolan as a great cry went up. Before he

could move, he was surrounded by a laughing, shouting crowd that grew

steadily larger. Their words were only a confused sound in his ears,

but he knew what they meant: That he was whole-heartedly welcomed back

into the race from which he had been stolen so long ago!

Mora came to his side, then, flushed and happy. "We sent for you," she

said, "as soon as we learned you had been imprisoned. We have wanted so

long to tell you of our plans. We--we need you."

"But we were afraid," Atarkus frowned. "It is with joy that we receive

you, Prince, but ... sadness has awaited your coming."

The exuberance that had buoyed Lolan up fled from beneath him and left

him on the rock-bottom of unpleasant reality. "For what part I've had

in your misery, I humbly beg forgiveness," he apologized. "But--this

cavern ... the machines: what do they mean?"

Atarkus' thin form drew up stiffly. His eyes swept the length of the

vast room. "They mean the revolution is here! Tomorrow--at high noon!"

Through the crowd ran a tremor of excitement. Faces that wore graven

looks of hopelessness flamed eagerly. Tired eyes sparkled.

"Revolution!" Lolan's word was a harsh, incredulous gasp. "But you have

no weapons! No--no chance, against Arzt's legions of trained murderers!"

"We have weapons," Atarkus grunted. "But I wanted more time. Now, word

has come that since your escape that butcher is running wild. Men and

women are being shot down in their homes while soldiers search for you.

The slightest word of reproach is sufficient to condemn a man to the

Holes, or to instant death. We can wait no longer. In a few days my

people will be so cowed even I cannot lead them to the battle."

"But your weapons?" Lolan inquired eagerly.

Atarkus led the way to where the line of hurrying Venusians were being

given small, copper-colored articles like tiny drum-majors' batons. He

picked one up and handed it to Lolan. "Try it!" he offered.

The prince regarded it curiously. He found a small trigger on one side.

Training it on the wall twenty feet away, he fired. After a moment a

round spot of phosphorescence appeared, that gradually turned red, then

crumbled away. Slowly he handed the gun back to Atarkus.

"Well?" the Emperor inquired eagerly. "Do you think we're unarmed now,

with four out of five Venusians owning one of these?"

Lolan drew his own weapon and directed it on the wall. He fired, the

charge instantly crashing against the wall and tearing a ragged hole

in it. He was white-lipped when he turned back. "There is your answer.

Against these--these toys of yours, the Martian guns will be like

long-range cannons. No, my friends. If this is the best you have to

offer, the revolution is doomed before it starts!"

V

The shocked hush seemed to reach to all parts of the room. Lolan's

thoughts were bitter ones. They concerned the thing that had cursed

his people for centuries. Their childish inability to think a

problem through, their pathetic attempts to fight back against their

aggressors. Now those qualities had doomed them again to misery.

Atarkus was muttering to himself. "We--we thought they would work if we

could get within ten or fifteen feet of them."

"But how are you going to approach that close when _their_ guns are

effective at two hundred feet?" Lolan countered. Idly he glanced at

the piles and piles of ray pistols still being doled out. "How do they

operate? Draw on the Martian power station, I suppose?"

Mora pointed at a massive apparatus at the upper end of the hall.

"Electronic power," she told him. "We generate our own power. As long

as the turbines are running, the guns will operate."

Lolan's eyes went a little wide at that. He scratched his head,

scowled, then walked off a little. He whirled about and came back to

them. "That gives me a clue! The Martian guns also draw from a central

station. Only it's a radioactive type of power. Underneath the barracks

there's a huge mass of _radite_. If that stuff were carried off, they'd

have guns no more effective than water pistols!"

Irak snorted. "Who's going to carry it off? It weighs tons. I've seen

it. It's like a great lump of radium. If you get too close, even,

you'll be poisoned."

"We couldn't carry it off--in its present form! But there is a

large, unused sewer hole in a room near it. If we could break it up,

using workmen's lead suits, it might be possible to drop it into the

underground river. Contact with the water would result in an explosion

that would destroy its radioactivity."

Atarkus licked his lips. "Would this be possible? Could anyone get that

close to it without being caught?"

"We could try!" Lolan gave back. "If the plan succeeded--well, we

number twenty thousand in Areeba to the Martians' two. Once their

weapons were destroyed, the city would be ours!"

"Then it must be attempted!" Atarkus raised his fist high. "Irak--call

the leaders. We must lay our plans tonight, for the struggle tomorrow!"

They met in a little alcove off the main room, ten men whose grim

countenances stamped them as men ready to die for the cause. Lolan

sensed immediately, as they took places around a long table, that he

was being looked to as their leader. And old Atarkus willingly fell

away to make room for younger, more dynamic blood.

When all were quiet, Prince Lolan stood up. It came to him strongly,

the feeling that everything, the fate of every soul on Venus, hinged

on what happened in this little room tonight. His voice came gravely,

freighted with importance.

"I won't try to deceive you for one instant that our battle is going

to be easy," he told them sternly. "It isn't. The odds are a hundred

to one against us. But I will tell you this: The game is worth it! If

we win Areeba, all Venus is ours. With improved weapons, the Martians'

own, we'll be able to descend on the smaller settlements and conquer

them before they know what has happened here. Then there will be the

task of building up a space fleet. We can do it. If Mars sends a new

army out to re-capture us, they'll find us ready, trained in their own

modes of warfare and as brutal as they themselves. I have a theory that

once we have won our independence, progress on Venus will be different.

My experience has proved that all the Venusian lacks for a complete,

balanced fighting personality is an abundance of ultraviolet light.

We can provide that artificially, in street-lights, in the nursery,

everywhere. It will be the beginning of the greater Venus. Yes, the

game is worth the risk. We have all to win ... nothing to lose!"

Vesh-Tu, a squat, hairy little man, leaned forward. "But how are we to

do it, Prince? The _radite_ is guarded, is it not?"

"I have a plan--" Lolan murmured thoughtfully. "We can enter, I

believe, by the sewers, following the river upstream to the holes and

climbing them by their ladders. They will probably know immediately

what we are doing, when their machines and guns begin to lose power.

But by that time I hope to have the army mostly concentrated on the

south side."

"How?" Irak demanded flatly.

"By starting fires, riots, dynamiting buildings--everything we can

think of. Then, when the soldiers have been decoyed into the midst of

our people, we will have destroyed the last of the _radite_ and the

revolution will begin in earnest!"

Atarkus rubbed his hands. "Suppose we set a zero hour--say twelve

o'clock, for the time for fighting to begin. It would make for a

concerted, simultaneous outbreak all over the city."

Lolan nodded grimly. "Twelve o'clock. I will need three men to help me.

Irak, Vesh-Tu, and you, Atarkus. The rest of you had better go back,

now, to pass the word. We strike at high noon--and we strike hard!"

* * * * *

Dawn came, but only by their watches did those four who fought their

way up the treacherous, slippery banks of the subterranean river

realize it. They stumbled along in darkness complete except for the

feeble glow of hand torches. At ten o'clock they reached a spot where

refuse of all kinds had collected on the bank. They sent light spraying

the roof of the cavern. A honeycomb of holes broke its rough expanse.

Lolan read the labels crudely painted beside each. His heart gave a

bound as he found the one he sought. Nimbly he ran up the iron rungs

in the wall, then swung hand over hand to the hole and paused in its

entrance, over the roaring torrent below. The others were following

more slowly. Atarkus came haltingly, handicapped by his years. At

length all were ascending the inky tunnel.

Four times they were forced to stop and rest. It was gruelling work.

Their hands were rubbed raw by the pitted surface of the iron ladder.

Over an hour had elapsed when they reached a flat iron plate that

covered the hole. Eleven o'clock! An hour left. Lolan trembled with

impatience.

Wedging himself securely on the ladder, he forced upward on the plate.

Dim light flowed into the tunnel. With his nerves crying for caution,

he shoved the plate aside and crawled forth. Gun in fist, he shot his

glance about the small room.

The others emerged with bloody hands and dirty clothes, tired to the

bone, but eager for whatever lay ahead. Prince Lolan paced to the door.

"We're in luck!" he hissed. "No guards around. Now to find protective

armor and go to work!"

* * * * *

They found the heavy suits used by workmen in a room near the ramp

leading down to the _radite_ deposit. When they had crawled into them,

they could hardly walk. Constructed of heavy rubber and slabs of lead,

each one weighed over two hundred pounds. Helmets provided poor vision

through thick, murky glass. But the outfits would be all that stood

between them and death in the _radite_ pit.

Now they were staggering down the ramp and through a wide door. All

four recoiled from the sight that struck their eyes. On gigantic

insulators, a huge lump of blazing diamond seemed to repose. Even

through colored glass it pained the eyes to look at it. The walls and

floor all about it glowed with the same supernal brilliance. Tiny

white flame ran ceaselessly over the jagged surface of the stone.

Lolan squinted at his watch. "Eleven-fifteen!" he blurted. "Can we do

it in forty-five minutes?"

"We can if we've got to!" Vesh-Tu grunted. "How do we move the blessed

thing?"

The prince drew his gun. "Stand back," he snapped. "This should break

it down into convenient sizes!" He levelled the gun, squeezed the

trigger twice.

A convulsive roar shook the very walls. For an entire minute, every man

in the room was blinded. When they could see again, it was to regard

the crumbled remains that strewed the floor. No pieces larger than

a good-sized book remained. But when they tried to lift them, they

discovered the chunks weighed as much as corresponding pieces of gold!

Staggering under their burdens, they ascended the ramp with their small

loads and hurried to the sewer opening.

One after the other, four pieces tumbled in. Tensely they waited for

the detonation. It came, a rumbling roar that drove a blast of air into

their faces. Lolan grinned bleakly. "Their guns are just that much less

powerful!" he promised. "Now if we can just clear up all that stuff in

time--"

At a wabbling run they staggered back to the job. It went like that for

a half hour, while the litter of shattered _radite_ grew smaller and

smaller. Lolan's watch showed a quarter to twelve. He thought of the

thousands of Venusians out on the streets, waiting to act ... thought

of Mora, ready to lead her little group. Then there came the sound that

drove all other thoughts from his mind. The tramp of running feet!

Lolan acted instinctively. "Keep it up!" he shouted through his mask.

"Irak and I have guns. We'll stand them off somehow!"

Fear shot through the pit like an electric charge. Lolan and Irak

struggled for speed as they ran up the incline. The sound of voices and

footfalls was louder. They made it past the room where the _radite_

was being disposed of. That door must be kept available, or Arzt's

victory was certain. On down the hall they plunged, around a turn, into

another.... Their running steps locked in a halt. Arzt and his crew

were racing toward them a hundred feet ahead!

* * * * *

The shooting broke out simultaneously. Rock dust filled the tunnel from

the battering of force-bolts. Arzt's voice struck through the sounds,

bellowing orders. Lolan and Irak were back of the corner, now, waiting--

Two Martians raced up, prodded by their leader's hoarse screams. They

never fired their guns, for the Venusians chopped them down in full

stride. Lolan tore his mask off. "Won't need these any more," he

grunted. "The job's up to them now. If I go out, it's not going to be

in that smelly thing."

In back of them he could hear Atarkus and Vesh-Tu's labored breathing.

From time to time there came the deep, thunderous explosions that meant

the work was going on. Lolan darted a glance at his watch. Five minutes

to twelve!

Now they pressed back against the wall in wait for another pair who

raced up. The Martians plunged into their sights. Triggers were

squeezed, guns steadied. But the shots, when they came, were feeble.

Beside Lolan the wall shuddered slightly and a trickle of rocks slid

down it. He watched the man he had hit stagger back, screaming. It took

another shot to finish him.

A new tenseness came into the tunnel. Every man present, Martian or

Venusian, knew what was happening. The last of the _radite_ was being

disposed of. In another five minutes Arzt's hordes would be no more

than a handful among an army of vengeance-driven natives.

The seconds slogged slowly through Prince Lolan. He was waiting,

hoping--then his hopes were dashed as twenty-five Martians raced

concertedly for the pair of them. Arzt was sacrificing everything to

stop them.

Irak began to swear excitedly. "This gun--the thing won't work fast

enough, Lolan! Can't stop them with these."

"Then we'll use the new guns!" The idea took him so swiftly he fumbled

through two seconds getting his little copper disintegrator into

position. A long blue serpent of flame licked out at the Martians.

Where it touched, men withered and went down without a sound. Arzt

roared his anger. He flung his useless weapon with all his might at his

former subordinate.

"Damn your Venusian heart!" he screamed. "You can't stop us! Can't--"

The words choked off. Irak had cut him down with a single shot. Silence

dwelt in the tunnel, and through it came a hoarse cry:

"Lolan! It's done! The last of it's gone. Were--were we in time?"

Lolan sank back against the wall. He let his eyes fill with the ghastly

remains of his former underlings. "Yes," he muttered to himself. "Yes!

They're--finished!"

* * * * *

There was jubilation throughout all Areeba that day. The scene in the

tunnel had been duplicated everywhere. Martians, one minute brutal and

ruthless, became craven cowards the next. There was not a man of them

alive by night.

At sundown, Lolan stood with Mora, Atarkus, and the others high in

command at the ruins of the palace. The sun had broken through the

perpetual clouds to cast a golden fog over everything. The beauty of it

seemed to hold them all.

"It's symbolic," Lolan told the Emperor. "Symbolic of the grandeur to

come for Venus. I see a future for you as the greatest emperor our

world has ever known."

Atarkus shook his head. "Not for me, my boy. For you! I am old, ready

to leave the struggle to the young. Irak, who could be a more fitting

ruler for Venus than the prince we lost and gained again?"

Irak's ugly face grinned. "No one. But an Emperor must have an Empress!

Could that not be arranged too?"

Atarkus saw the flush on his daughter's face, the corresponding color

in Prince Lolan's cheeks. "Arranged!" he grunted. "That's been done a

long time. It was arranged the day Lolan came back from Mars!"