Beyond the orbit of Mars a tension gripped the passengers of the
_Jupiter_. The killer of the T.I.S. agent remained at large, and the
passengers were beginning to regard each other suspiciously. They were
now in the zone where the terror operated. The battle ship had edged in
closer. Constant radio contact was maintained between the two vessels.
Norman Saint Clair and Jennifer were on the observation deck in
the forepeak. The quartzite dome arched flatly overhead. The chill
immensity of space crowded all around them, black infinity pricked with
a million blazing suns. It was Norman's first visit to the observation
deck. Jennifer had brought him up.
"There's Jupiter," she exclaimed pointing to a large bright star dead
ahead. Norman gazed at it, fascinated.
The lookout, a lean spaceman, stirred restlessly, then stiffened.
Norman followed his gaze, saw three brief pin pricks of light stab out
of the void.
"Look!" He clutched Jennifer's shoulder, but she had seen the flashes
already.
The lookout grabbed the phone, said, "Observation deck reporting, sir.
Three flashes two points on the port bow. Yes sir. Two points on the
port bow." He hung up the phone.
Norman and Jennifer exchanged glances.
Jennifer said, "The _Comet_ reported three flashes before she
disappeared. It must be a signal?"
Overhead the general alarm rang furiously. A file of Armed Guards
poured onto the observation deck, took up their posts. Norman pointed
to the battle ship. Its guns were run out like bared fangs.
"_Attention!_" blared a voice over the public address system. "_All
passengers return immediately to their staterooms. Attention! All
passengers return immediately to their staterooms._"
"Come on," urged Norman. "We'd better go below."
"Do you mind if I stay with you?" asked Jennifer.
"Of course not. I wouldn't leave you alone, anyway."
They descended the companionway to their deck, entered Norman's
stateroom. Through his port he could still observe the warship pacing
them noiselessly.
He padded back and forth across the fiberon carpet. "I wish I had a
dart gun, anything. I feel so helpless." He went to the door, opened it
a crack, peered out. "Jupiter!" he breathed.
"What is it?" cried Jennifer, starting up from her chair.
"Not so loud," he cautioned. "Come here."
The girl sprang lithely across the deck. On tiptoe, her body pressed
against his, she stared over his shoulder through the inch wide crack.
A strange figure stood back to them at the turn in the corridor, a man
clad in loose green coveralls with helmet, gloves and boots attached so
that no part of his figure was exposed.
"Vermeer!" breathed Jennifer. "He's put on the suit we saw in his
closet."
Vermeer remained motionless, half crouched at the end of the hall as
if waiting for some signal. A poisoned dart gun was buckled around his
waist.
Norman eased the door shut, not allowing it to click, faced Jennifer.
"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.
"I don't know. But I think we should have reported that suit to the
Captain."
Jennifer sank to the edge of the bed. He looked at her, thought again,
how striking was the contrast between blue eyes and black hair. He felt
dizzy, said, "Jennifer, do you notice anything?"
"I feel faint!" she gasped.
A numbing sensation spread through his limbs. The room tilted crazily,
darkened. He cried, "Jennifer!" and fell forward limply on his face. He
wondered vaguely, just before consciousness left him, if he were being
disintegrated. Then the blackness of infinite space engulfed him.
* * * * *
When Norman Saint Clair returned to consciousness, he was still lying
face down on the green fiberon carpet. He groped to his feet, swayed
groggily. He glanced at the bed. Jennifer was gone.
Shaking his head to clear it of the cobwebs, he staggered to the door.
It was locked. He was a prisoner in his own room.
Still something was missing, something intangible. Then he heard the
silence. It screamed at him. The soft overtones of the motors were
dead. The engines had been stopped.
He sprang to his port hole, glanced out. The bulk of the battle ship
floated a little above the wounded _Jupiter_. His eyes opened wide
in consternation. Half of the warship appeared to have been sheared
off as if by a giant cleaver. Even as he watched she was slowly
disintegrating.
Then he made out dozens of figures swarming over the hull like ants.
They were men in space suits, he realized, and they were spraying the
battle spacer with a film which no sooner solidified than it became
invisible, hiding ship and all. A light absorbent matter, he guessed.
The warship was not disintegrating. She was being coated with a film
which absorbed all the light rays and so rendered it invisible. That
was the answer to the strange disappearance of the _Comet_ and her
escort. He looked closer, realized that the invisible stern of the
warship was blocking out a patch of stars.
Above the battleship he saw a port open in space and from nowhere a two
man tender was launched into the void. It was uncanny. Then he realized
he was looking at the ship of the terror, invisible of course. That was
how they had approached their prey without being detected. It was one
chance in a million that anyone would notice the momentary blotting out
of a star.
"Pirates," he thought. The word was archaic. It had almost disappeared
from the vocabulary. He shuddered. They must have approached unseen,
bathed the two ships in a ray which knocked everyone unconscious. The
vaunted warship, the pride of the Empire, had been taken without firing
a shot.
* * * * *
Vermeer, he thought. Of course, they would need a man aboard to shut
down the engines, bring the _Jupiter_ to a stop so they could board
her. Vermeer's odd suit must have protected him from the effects of the
paralysis ray.
He crossed to his bunk, sat down. He felt strangely indifferent to his
own fate, but Jennifer! He clenched his hands until the nails bit into
his palms. What were the beasts doing with Jennifer?
Abruptly the door opened. Norman sprang to his feet, saw a strange
figure blocking the entrance.
It was a man dressed from head to foot in black. Black trousers were
tucked into black boots. Blouse and helmet, all a somber black. His
eyes though, were blue, his face clean shaven. He had a dart gun in his
hand.
"Come along." He motioned with the dart gun. "You're wanted above." He
stepped back, indicated that Norman should precede him.
They went silently along the corridor, the pirate collecting more
men from the staterooms on either side. By the time they reached the
companionway he was herding ahead of him quite a number of frightened
prisoners.
"What are they going to do with us?" asked a fat man beside Norman.
They had reached the companionway.
"Up!" said their guard.
They mounted the stair, came out into the dining saloon.
A scene of wildest disorder burst upon Norman's shocked gaze. A throng
of black clad pirates moved among the passengers who had been routed
from all parts of the ship. The missing women, he saw, were huddled
in a frightened group at the opposite end of the hall. They had been
brought to the saloon in whatever state of undress the ray had caught
them; in evening dress, scant undergarments, in gowns and shorts, and
one frightened girl, clutching a large bath towel about herself.
[Illustration: _The passengers of the captured ship had been brought to
the saloon in whatever state of undress the ray had caught them._]
Norman was pushed into the group of men. His eyes, though, kept
searching for Jennifer. With a sigh of relief, he discovered her at the
same time she found him. She waved rather forlornly, and Norman almost
dislocated his shoulder waving back.
The fat man said, "Pirates! The effrontery of those rogues. When the
Terrestial Navy locates their lair, they'll blast them to atoms."
Norman recognized Dr. Pequod at his elbow. The doctor was clad nattily
in the hair on his chest and a flaming pair of shorts.
"It's not so simple as that," the doctor answered the fat man. "You
fail to realize the size of the Universe. Nine tenths of it remains
unexplored, unmapped. And how will the Terrestial Navy trail an
invisible enemy?"
The fat man blew himself up, said, "The resources of the Empire are
unlimited."
"Sounds good," agreed the doctor; "but the Empire these days is living
on its reputation."
A crowd of the frightened passengers were gathered about the two men.
"And I've a notion," the doctor went on, "that this is more than
piracy. The Empire is crumbling. Some faction may be nibbling at its
edges, growing strong from its life blood, the trading lines. Has it
occurred to you that with every ship lost, the pirates are that much
stronger and we that much weaker!"
"Nonsense," retorted the fat man, but his tone had lost conviction.
"Break it up," commanded one of their guards. "Silence!"
* * * * *
The main entrance to the saloon had swung open, admitting the strangest
creature that Norman had yet seen. It appeared human, but obviously it
was not from any known planet. Short and squat, with yellow wrinkled
skin, it looked more like a rutabaga than a man. The pirates snapped to
attention.
"Jupiter," breathed Norman. "Is it a man?"
Dr. Pequod scratched the shag on his chest. "Odd specimen. Wonder what
corner of the Universe it hails from?"
The creature regarded the prisoners without any expression whatever on
its parchment-like face. It was clothed in a harness which gave no clue
to its sex. With a scrawny hand it beckoned the renegade Earthman who
had been directing the operations, said something in a voice too low
for anyone to overhear.
The Earthman nodded, turned to the captives. "Every able bodied man
between the ages of nineteen and forty, step out," he shouted. As no
one moved, he frowned, said, "In any case your books will be examined
and your correct age determined. Get a move on!"
Norman accompanied by perhaps thirty percent of the male passengers
advanced into the center of the room.
"That's far enough," advised the creature in a high reedy voice.
They halted uncertainly.
"Gentlemen," said the leader, for such the creature seemed to be;
"I am here to offer you a choice of two courses. We are coming into
possession of more vessels than we have recruits to man. Consequently,
it is our custom to offer all able bodied humans between the ages of
nineteen and forty the opportunity to join us. As a further inducement,
the new recruits will share equally in the proceeds of this venture
with the regular crew." He paused. Not a flicker of expression had
marred the creature's face.
Norman Saint Clair's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A forlorn hope
presented itself, if only he had the courage to grasp it.
"Now, gentlemen," the turnip shaped leader continued; "it would only be
fair to give you the opposite side of the coin. You are bound to us for
life; not by anything so puerile as an oath. In fact you are at liberty
to escape any time," he paused, "if you can.
"You will be given good quarters and food. Money for any pleasure or
vices you wish to indulge will come as your share of the prizes taken.
The alternative, gentlemen, which I mentioned at first, is slavery.
We also need men and women to work our factories, maintain our living
quarters. The fighting men do not work."
With a faint bow the creature turned on his heel, disappeared as
suddenly as he had come.
A low buzz sprang up in the hall as everyone turned to his neighbors,
questions tumbling from their lips. The pirates dropped their stiff
pose, returned to their duties. The men grouped in the center of the
floor shifted uneasily.
Norman bit his lip, frowned. He might be able to protect Jennifer as
one of the pirates and eventually escape. He wished he could talk it
over with her.
"All right," said the burly renegade. "How many of you are
volunteering? Step forward."
Norman Saint Clair stepped out of the group. He did it like a man
plunges off a high dive, quickly before his nerve departed. Nine of his
fellow passengers straggled beside him.
"Is that all, gentlemen?" inquired the pirate. "This is your last
chance. Either piracy or slavery. And let me warn you, slaves don't
live an easy life."
Twenty-three more men straggled uncertainly around Norman.
"All right," said the pirate. "The rest of you can return to your
fellows. Baldy! Hey, Baldy!"
A second Earth man strolled across the deck. He was short, older than
most of the freebooters.
"Take these men aboard the _Rocket_," the first renegade directed. "You
know what to do with them."
Baldy grinned, saluted. "Come along, you buccaneers," he commanded.
Norman caught Jennifer's eyes. She was staring at him in astonishment.
He waved, trying to convey reassurance across the space that separated
them. Slowly a flush burned up from the girl's throat. With a look of
scorn, Jennifer deliberately turned her back.
* * * * *
Norman gaped after her in consternation. He had expected her to realize
that he was joining the pirates in order to help her. He certainly had
no ambition to go gallivanting through space capturing space ships.
"Hey you," said Baldy, "move along there."
Norman jumped, trailed after the new recruits. He would help the
girl in spite of herself. He visualized himself standing off a dozen
black clad figures while Jennifer boarded a small space craft. Then
he tumbled in beside her, wrenched the controls wide open: "You're
wounded," Jennifer cried. "Norman, I didn't understand. Can you forgive
me?"
"Hey," growled the man in front. "For God's sake, quit tramping on my
heels."
They had arrived at the air lock, he saw with a start. Baldy opened the
port, revealing a small space tender. They wedged themselves inside.
With the pirate at the controls the craft launched into space, speeding
toward a shadow which blocked off half the heavens.
A port snapped open in space dead ahead. Norman blinked his eyes.
Although he knew this was the pirate's ship coated with the light
absorbent film the sight of an air lock appearing suddenly where
nothing had been before was disconcerting. The tender eased into the
lock, settled to the deck.
"Here we are, you volunteers," observed Baldy.
They passed from the lock through a corridor into a large square room.
Half of the room was railed off. Behind the railing a man in a black
uniform sat working at a desk. It reminded Norman of an employment
bureau. The rest of the space was filled with benches set in evenly
spaced rows.
"Sit down," said Baldy.
The recruits seated themselves nervously.
"You," said Baldy, indicating Norman. "Go up to the desk."
Norman rose, approached the middle aged pirate who sported a spade
beard and dark brown eyes.
"Your book," he said.
Norman handed it over.
"Sit down," said the man. "Make yourself comfortable.
"You know, since the T.I.S. has inaugurated these books our jobs
have been greatly simplified." He was making rapid notations on a
form. "Lecturer on Ancient History," he read aloud. "Degrees in
twentieth century literature." He looked up at Norman, smiled. "I'm an
anthropologist myself. Was with an expedition to study the aborigines
of Jupiter when the pirates captured our ship." He closed Norman's
book, dropped it in a drawer.
"Now this is serious," he began in a different, somehow ominous tone.
"What I am about to tell you is of the gravest importance. Every
recruit is warned once and once only, so take heed.
"When you leave here you will be subjected to a machine which registers
your personal wave length, particularly the subtle peculiarly
individualistic vibrations emanating from your brain. Those vibrations
will be impressed on an indestructible duraloid cylinder and sent to
the control station in Behrl. The Dohlmites have devised a machine
which can broadcast your death at any time, no matter where you may be.
It operates through the wave length of your individual vibration."
"Dohlmites?" echoed Norman.
"Yes, Dohlmites. You saw one aboard your ship. The man who recruited
you. They are a race so alien to mankind that we have nothing in
common. The Dohlmites are the real masters here. All of us, fighting
men and slaves, have had our vibrations recorded and are subject to
instant death at the first sign of treachery.
"The Dohlmites can snuff your life out by simply turning a dial. Don't
think I exaggerate. I have seen healthy men drop dead on the streets of
Behrl. I have seen the lives of an entire rebellious crew extinguished
like candles."
"But who are these Dohlmites. What are they?" Norman's brain was
whirling.
"I think," replied the ex-anthropologist, "that they are plants."
"Plants!" ejaculated Norman Saint Clair.
"Yes, plants. Flora, not fauna. Their young are green in color. As they
mature, ripen, I suppose is the correct word, they turn yellow. When
they cut themselves, they bleed green. Sap, don't you know."
"This Behrl, where is it?" asked Norman.
"In Neptune. The planet is hollow. Just a shell. The city of Behrl is
on the inside of Neptune." The ex-anthropologist sat back. "Whatever
you do, don't try to escape. Even if you get away, when the Dohlmites
missed you they would simply extinguish you wherever you were."
Norman's breath went out of him like air from a burst sack. The full
implication of what the ex-anthropologist had revealed broke in his
mind like an exploding shell. Gone were his hopes of escaping, and
taking Jennifer with him. He was trapped. The net of the Dohlmites was
perfect and he and the girl were caught in its meshes. Certainly, he
thought bitterly, no human intelligence could have conceived such a
devilish plan.
* * * * *
From the desk of the ex-anthropologist Norman was led into a small
closet where the rays of the fatal machine bathed him from head to
foot. Beyond the partition something click-clicked at irregular
intervals like a beetle and an ominous scratching recorded his
vibratory rate indelibly on the duraloid cylinder.
The machine stopped. The door of the closet opened.
Norman discovered a thick shouldered Martian grinning at him from the
entrance.
"That's enough," said the Martian in the sibilant accent of the red
planet. "You've been detailed to my squad."
As Norman slipped from the closet another recruit took his place. He
noticed a low humming.
"The engines?" he asked.
"Yes," agreed the Martian. "We're off. Your ships have been coated with
the light blanket."
"Where are they?"
"They're following us. We've put prize crews aboard. It was a rich
haul. Radium." He rubbed his hands together, laughed as if in
anticipation of the orgy he would be able to indulge in with his share.
Norman winced. The Martians as a rule were a cosmopolitan and cultured
people.
"Don't judge too harshly," said the Martian as if reading the young
man's thoughts. "You'll look forward to the brief time between voyages,
too. But I'm forgetting. My name's Koal. I was a space pilot before I
was captured."
Norman introduced himself.
The Martian grinned, shook hands. "Come along, Earth man, and get your
issue. Then I'll show you your quarters."
At length they came to a chamber deep within the bowels of the ship.
A counter ran along the back wall. A wizened yellow eyed Mercurian
took Norman's measure, piled four changes of the somber uniform on the
counter. With quick cat-like movements he added a helmet and boots,
slug gun and Dixon Ray rifle. Wide-eyed, Norman watched the pile grow.
It was a very complete outfit by the time the Mercurian paused.
Staggering under the load Norman and Koal ascended to the sleeping
quarters, paused before a stateroom.
"This is your cabin," said Koal unlocking the door. "Slaves keep it
cleaned." They went inside. "If you let me know the number of your
stateroom aboard the _Jupiter_, I'll see that you get your personal
belongings when we arrive in Behrl."
The cabin, Norman observed, was similar to the one he had left. He set
about stowing away his gear.
"You have a great deal to learn," said Koal and sat down on the edge of
the bunk. "The Dohlmites regard us as dangerous animals. But as long as
we obey orders we are left alone."
"What happens to the prisoners?" Norman asked suddenly.
"They're sold from the block in the slave market."
"You mean anyone can buy a slave?"
"Certainly. An agent of the Dohlmites bids a flat hundred notes for
each captive. If any of them strike your fancy you only need bid above
the hundred notes. Of course when a pretty wench is auctioned off the
bidding among the men gets rather wild."
"Jupiter!" breathed Norman pausing in the act of pulling on his blouse.
"Was that right, what the Dohlmite said about the recruits sharing
equally with the crew in the loot."
The Martian nodded. "Half goes to the Dohlmites. The remaining half is
divided among the crew. That includes the cargo, whatever the captives
bring on the open market and salvage value of the ships themselves."
Norman grinned. His first purchase with his share of the prize money
would be Jennifer Scott.
The Martian pointed to a silver insignia, a small rocket ship of
ancient design pinned to the right breast of Norman's blouse. "That,"
he informed the young man, "is the insignia of your clan. It is
important. Never take it off. All the men aboard the _Rocket_ belong to
that clan."
"Why?" asked Norman, puzzled.
The Martian sighed. "There is no law in Behrl, so long as we don't
interfere with the administration of the city. In the Human Colony
anarchy reigns supreme. For our own protection, we've banded together."
The Martian rose from the bunk, went to the door. "I'll leave you to
get settled now. We eat at fourteen-hundred." He opened the door,
paused, turned back. "One thing more. Forget about escaping. Dismiss
it from your mind. Most of us joined with the same intention that you
have. But it's impossible. There was a Martian, a very good friend of
mine, who tried it. He stole a space tender. He got all the way to Mars
before he was missed. In sight of the quarters of the imperial guard
he dropped dead." He paused, said, "I'll see you at fourteen-hundred,"
pulled the door shut after him.
Norman Saint Clair sank down on his bunk. Somewhere, there must be
a weak link in the Dohlmites armor. He wished he had specialized
in botany instead of ancient history. Botany, he thought wildly,
horticulture, perhaps there lay the clue.
V
During the ensuing days Norman Saint Clair became acquainted with the
other members of Koal's squad. There were nine. Two were Martians, one
a Venusian, the rest Earthmen. All of them had been captured by the
Dohlmites and had chosen piracy to slavery.
While yet a day from Neptune, everyone began feverishly to pack their
gear in anticipation of the landing. Word was circulated when they
were passing through the crust. Norman and Koal hurried to the corridor
before the port, found it jammed with men. The huge ship settled with a
slight jar. They had landed.
"Home," said Koal.
With a jolt Norman realized that this was home for him, too. The
massive entrance slid aside. The men poured out. Caught in the stream,
he and Koal were carried to the runway and down to the floor of the
spaceport. He looked around curiously.
The road led between two empty troughs. At least he thought they were
empty, until he realized he couldn't see beyond them. Invisible ships
lay in the troughs. Overhead a large pinkish sun flamed unnaturally.
"Come along," urged Koal. "You've the rest of your life for sight
seeing." He led Norman outside the yards to a massive building.
"What's this?" asked the young man as they passed through the doors.
"Emigration. Here's where you'll be assigned living quarters."
A Mercurian ensconced behind a grill like a bank teller took his name
and ship, handed him a slip of paper. On it was printed F12-D234. He
looked at it blankly.
The Martian laughed, explained: "F12 is the building. Everyone from the
_Rocket_ lodges in the same building. D is the floor, two-thirty-four
your apartment number."
"Oh."
The Martian laughed again, said "Come along. You'll get the hang of
things soon enough."
They returned to the street, entered a many storied garage. Here Norman
saw hundreds of surface cars parked row upon row. A ramp led up to the
next level.
"This is where our cars are stored while we're on a voyage. We aren't
allowed flying vehicles. Only the Dohlmites can use them."
The Martian went to one of the cars, held open the door. "You'll want
to buy one of these as soon as we're paid. The slaves manufacture them
very cheaply."
Climbing in beside Norman, Koal pressed a button. The diminutive atomic
motor burst into life. They rolled out onto the streets of Behrl.
"When will they auction off the prisoners?" asked Norman as the Martian
guided the surface car through the traffic.
"Not for a day or so. You'll be notified. This is the manufacturing
district."
One factory after another flowed past. Off to their left Norman
observed a hill towering above the rest of the city. Its slopes were
covered with balconied buildings rank with trees and flowers and shrubs
like the fabled hanging gardens of Babylon.
"What's that?" He nudged the Martian.
"That's where the Dohlmites live. Whatever you do, don't go near
that quarter of the city. A force wall surrounds it which is instant
death if you come in contact with it. Their laboratories, the control
station, the death machine, our wave length cylinders are all there."
In a few moments they had passed through the factory area and into a
district of shops, restaurants, amusement centers.
"Who operates these?" he asked.
"Slaves. The profits go to the Dohlmites. Everything returns to their
pockets."
The streets were crowded with people: barefooted women in short gay
colored tunics, men in loose coveralls.
"Slaves," explained Koal.
The vastness of the plant men's enterprise became apparent as they sped
through the streets.
"Koal," said Norman a little frightened. "When is it going to stop?"
The Martian looked at him grimly, "With the fall of the Empire," he
replied bitterly. "With the enslavement of Mars and Venus and Earth.
The Dohlmites are only a handful, but they plan to lop off the Empire
colony by colony, enslaving the inhabitants just as they have us. Their
ultimate goal is to have the individual wave recording of every human
in the Universe. An Empire of slaves."
"Impossible!" he ejaculated.
"Why? The element of time is of no importance with them. Every ship
they capture gives them more power, more slaves. It gathers force like
a snowball rolling down hill. Before long, nothing can stop them."
* * * * *
Norman slumped back in his seat. What the Martian said was true. Unless
the Dohlmites were stopped soon, they would be so strong that nothing
in the Universe could halt their march to Empire.
"Is there a library in Behrl?" he asked the Martian suddenly.
"Yes," replied Koal in surprise. "A very fine one in fact, but no one
uses it."
Norman's next question seemed irrelevant.
"Would the humans revolt if they thought there might be a slim chance
of success?"
"Who would be a slave by choice?" grunted Koal angrily. "They'd rise as
one man at the faintest sort of a chance and at no chance at all." For
a moment, he glared straight down the street, then relaxed, glanced at
Norman seriously.
"Look," he said in a quiet voice that was somehow more impressive. "Do
you realize how hungry I am for the dry chill air of Mars. How hungry
all these exiles are for their home planets? You don't think we've
submitted meekly to the Dohlmites, do you? There have been mutinies and
rebellions a dozen times since I've been here. And everytime the rebels
have dropped dead on the streets, at their guns, in their beds. All of
them. I tell you its impossible."
"Nevertheless," said Norman, "you've told me what I wanted to know."
The shops were behind them, many storied apartment dwellings having
taken their place. With a grunt; the Martian swung the car down an
incline leading to the basement under one of the buildings.
"This is F Twelve," he said, halted the car just inside the gate while
a guard inspected their papers, waved them on.
"For our own protection." Koal nodded toward the guard as he parked the
car. "No one but members of our clan and their households can enter
this apartment building."
They crossed the basement parking area to a lift. Koal pressed a
button. The car descended; the doors opened. He motioned Norman inside.
"Hello, Alicia," Koal greeted the operator, a girl in a short green
tunic gathered in at her slim waist by a belt. He chucked her under the
chin. "Glad to see me back?"
She was from Earth, Norman realized. She was barefooted and around her
ankle was the metal band of the slave.