Dirk released the stud, pressure upon which had not brought him the
escape he hoped, and gained some consolation in the fact that the pain
faded. One thing he would _not_ do, he pledged himself, was show fear
or hurt before Garroway.
In as level a voice as he could muster he said, "So we meet again,
Overlord of scavengers?"
Garroway laughed harshly.
"The trapped rabbit uses strong language still. You have profited
little by your experience, I see, Dirk Morris."
"On the contrary," retorted Dirk, "I have profited much. And the
measure of my profit lies in the dissolution of your empire ... as you
have learned in this past fortnight."
Garroway said, "True, you have caused me trouble. I acknowledge it.
But that trouble is ended, now, for I have discovered--at last, but
fortunately not too late--the true nature of the machine in which I
had thought to execute you. It was _not_ a disintegrating machine, but
one that distorted the atoms of your body, rendering you invisible."
Dirk's heart leaped; he struggled to maintain the impassive mask which
was his face, revealed to the Overlord in a hundred reflecting surfaces
of quartz. Then not yet had Garroway learned of the existence of
Nadron, of the adjacent universe. That, at least, was something to be
thankful for.
He said, "It was a clever trap you set for me, Garroway. You announced
a council meeting which you knew I must attend; you surround yourself
not with your generals, as was expected, but with guards. You listened
to the advice of your daughter, used rock-quartz to make my body
visible--"
"--and," added Garroway complacently, "prepared an electric
wave-transmitter that disrupted your own instrument, trapped you in our
presence, and makes it impossible for you to escape.
"Well--" His voice changed abruptly--"your puny attempt to overthrow me
has failed, Morris. As a fighter, I cannot restrain a certain degree of
admiration for your effort, but as Emperor of the System, there is one
thing I can, and must, do. _Guards--!_"
His voice was a thin snarl.
But as hulking stalwarts moved forward to perform his bidding, another
slighter figure hastened before them to confront her parent. The
Princess Lenore.
"Wait!" she commanded. "What means this, my parent? Why do you call the
guards?"
"Return to your apartment, Lenore!" ordered Garroway sternly. "You have
served your purpose. It is not seemly you should witness the judgment
on this rebel."
"Have you forgotten your promise?" raged the woman. "You cannot kill
this man. You pledged me his life!"
"Forget this foolish whim!" bade her father. "He is but an underling.
Surely there are other men--"
"I want this one!" insisted Lenore. For a moment her dark, vivid eyes
touched Dirk's with lingering ferocity ... and despite the tenseness of
the moment, the peril of his situation, Dirk Morris could not restrain
the quick thrill of admiration and ... something else which burned
through him. His brain tossed in a turmoil of conflicting emotions. He
understood, now, why an ungovernable impulse had caused him to sweep
this girl into his arms that night in her apartment. It was because
she was ... she was his type of woman! A hard, gallant, ruthless
fighting-woman who knew what she wanted and would adopt any measures to
get it.
There was Rima on Nadron ... true. He respected her. For her he
felt--though he had known her but a short time--a great tenderness and
affection. But it was not true love. It was a brotherly feeling; a
comfortable confidence in her presence and companionship.
_This_ girl, the Princess Lenore, alone could stir his veins to running
fire; she alone quickened a hungry spark within him. It was mad ... it
was impossible ... but true. He loved--and the knowledge of it struck
Dirk Morris with brutally staggering force--he loved an enemy and the
daughter of his bitterest foe!
Stranger yet ... she loved him!
Now she was talking again, hurriedly arguing a case to win his life.
"It is not necessary to kill this man, my parent. It would be folly
to do so. Think! On all this world ... in all this universe ... there
are few men worthy of the name of _man_! Your court is a _melange_
of smirking nincompoops and weaklings. Who amongst them can match in
strength and vigor the spirit of Dirk Morris? Which can compare with
him in audacity and daring?"
"That," responded her father darkly, "is why he must die. I cannot
allow so dangerous a foe to live--"
"No? Have you forgotten the medical science of which your attendants
are capable? Think, my father ... were it not better to make slight
alterations in this man's brain, converting him to a true and faithful
servant, than to destroy forever the bravery in his heart?"
The words struck home. Garroway frowned thoughtfully.
"It is true," he mused. "A slight operation ... a period in the Mental
Clinic to erase from his brain-passage all thoughts of rebellion ...
would make him a new man. But it is too great a chance. Were anything
to go wrong--"
The Princess Lenore gazed at him scornfully.
"I see. Very well, then--" With slow, deliberate movements she reached
up, stripped from her raven hair the glittering imperial emblem which
designated her a member of the Family Royal--"if such must be your
decision, so be it? But I ... I shall no longer confess myself a
Garroway. If the word of the Emperor is so lightly to be given...."
And this time she was triumphant. Her scorn hit the Overlord in his
one most vulnerable spot ... his colossal vanity. His dark eyes
flamed with petulance. He snarled, "Oh, let be! No man shall say the
Overlord retracted a pledge. If you must have this man--" He turned to
Morris--"Well, what say _you_, rebel? Are you too proud to buy your
life at the expense of rebellion? Or will you accept life at the price
of a new existence of loyalty ... to me?"
* * * * *
Dirk wavered, sorely tempted. Until this moment his life had been
consecrated to a single Cause ... the overthrow of Garroway's cruel
empire. But now, suddenly, strangely, singingly, had entered into it
another influence ... love for a woman of matchless courage and beauty.
His attempts to destroy Garroway had failed. He was hopelessly
ensnared, his cohorts could not save him. Years might pass before
another Dirk Morris arose to lead malcontents in rebellion. Neil
Hardesty was a good man, a strong and faithful friend ... but he lacked
the spark of genius that leads lost causes to success.
Perhaps it would be better, in the long run, to accept defeat ... and
in accepting it, accept also such share of happiness as this world
had to offer. As the mate of Lenore he would live a new life, all
rebellious thoughts exiled from his brain by the surgery of Garroway's
physicians....
So he hesitated, and for those tense moments the fate of a world hung
in the balance. But then ... honor won! With infinite sadness, but with
courage too, Dirk Morris made his answer. It was symbolic that he made
it to the Princess.
"I am sorry, my Princess," he said quietly. "I know a great wonder,
and a great pride, that you have made this plea for me. But ... I
cannot accept life on such terms. For me there is but one clear and
unavoidable path ... to go on. This path I must choose to glory or ...
the grave."
"Don't be a fool!" cried the girl. "Don't you see you can gain nothing
by this gesture. You have no choice!"
Her words were sharp ... but her voice was fearful. Dirk, recognized
this as he said, still softly, "Yes, that, too, I see. And, believe me,
Princess, I am deeply sorry. But I have made my choice."
For an instant that seemed eternities the Princess Lenore, she who had
until a fortnight since known passion for nothing save costly baubles,
stared into Dirk's eyes. Then a little sob broke from her lips, and she
turned away.
And the Emperor nodded.
"Guards!" he said. "Take this man--"
It was a command that was never obeyed ... an order never completed!
For at that moment came interruption in the form of a violent blast
that shook the entire council hall as a thatched shack trembles in
a cyclone's wake. A column of living fire blossomed in the room;
eyes burned and eardrums throbbed to see and hear the tingling of an
unleashed and unguessable _force_ turned loose in their midst.
And in the heart of this column, loose-girt in shining white,
radiant as a goddess, but calm with the ominous quiet of powers
unfathomable ... stood the girl, _Rima of Nadron_!
* * * * *
It was Morris who first recovered sufficiently from the unexpected
appearance to make a movement. A cry broke from his lips, "_Rima!_" He
moved toward the girl. But her voice lifted in crisp warning.
"Back, Dirk! To touch this flame means death!"
Her words stopped not only Morris, but a group of the Imperial Guards
who, as one, had now spun toward the visitant. They faltered, stopped
dead in their tracks and turned to the Overlord for guidance.
Graed Garroway's black eyebrows were knit with rage and bafflement. He
demanded hoarsely, "Who is this woman? And whence comes she, that she
dares enter the stronghold of the Emperor?"
It was incredible how forceful could be the tones of Rima. Her voice
was dulcet sweet, but carried conviction.
"I am of a race that ruled this world before your ilk was spawned,
Black Garroway ... a race whose least remembered knowledge so surpasses
your own that you are as pawns with which we play at will.
"I came because the evil in your heart has inspired you to do a great
wrong ... a wrong upon mankind that we, who once loved Earth, can
neither condone nor allow. I came to free Dirk Morris, and to free
Earth of a tyrant.
"Dirk ... bid the Emperor step from his dais. He no longer rules this
city or this System."
"No longer rules--" choked Garroway.
"The city has fallen," said Rima. "While in this tower you plotted for
the life of a rebel leader, you have lost an empire. Listen ... or
better yet, turn on your visi-screens. Therein you will see I speak the
truth."
In sudden, fumbling haste Graed Garroway turned to a vision-unit set in
the auditorium wall. Instantly a section of the capital city sprawled
before the gaze of those assembled. It was as Rima had foretold. No
matter where the dial was swung, there reflected the same scene: people
leaping, laughing, rejoicing in the streets ... marching in vast,
inchoate crowds, singing and cheering. Here and there were grisly
evidences of the reason for their rejoicing ... a knot of tumbled
bodies garbed in the uniform of Garroway's forces ... a burning pyre
which had been an Imperial blockhouse ... a torn, stained militiaman's
cap lying in a gutter.
And now, to further the evidence, came the sound of voices, running
footsteps, through the tower itself. And into the council hall flooded
a host of jubilant freedmen, led by a trio at sight of whom Dirk's
heart filled with gladness. The gigantic Vurrth, grinning from ear
to ear and wearing a jacket snatched from a fallen foe ... a jacket
that had ripped up the back under the strain of the Venusian's mighty
muscles. Brian Shaughnessey, bellowing loud greetings. Neil Hardesty,
grave and quiet as ever, even in this hour of triumph, as he spoke to
his leader.
"It is over, Dirk. You have succeeded here, too?"
Dirk said ruefully, "I have succeeded, yes. But it was not of my doing.
Rima--"
"He has succeeded," interrupted the Nadronian girl. "The Emperor is
deposed."
Neil said gratefully, "We awaited your signal, Dirk. When it did not
come we grew anxious. Then Rima--" For an instant his eyes sought
those of the alien girl, and there was a curious humility in them, an
almost worshipful admiration--"then Rima came to us; told us the hour
had struck. We issued our rallying cry. It ... it was easier than we
had dared hope. The city was like a ripe plum, ready for our taking.
At every street-corner new hordes joined us. Even Garroway's hirelings
abandoned their old leaders to follow the standard of the fabulous
Galactic Ghost."
"Thus, you see," said Rima so softly that only Dirk could hear her,
"you _did_ succeed, Dirk Morris. It was the Ghost whose spirit forged
this rebellion. I but stepped in when the moment needed me."
* * * * *
Garroway, who had been standing at the vision plate, staring as a
man transfixed at the image of his own downfall, now turned to his
destroyers. His dark eyes were haggard, his sagging jowls suddenly no
longer the harsh features of a ruler, but those of a defeated old man.
He whispered:
"This, then, is the end? Very well--" A burst of his former defiance
flamed in him. He forced a laugh. "You have won, Dirk Morris. And the
death I promised you lies in store for me? Well ... so be it. It has
been a long game, but one worth the playing. Of one thing you cannot
rob me ... the memory that once I ruled the mightiest empire known to
man."
But again it was Rima who spoke. Her voice was like a crystal bell.
"Not death, Graed Garroway. It is the right of none to judge that
ultimate penalty on another. _Exile_ shall be your fate. Those who know
your system better than I shall decide which planet ... or planetoid
far removed from Earth ... shall be your final refuge.
"Neil Hardesty--" She turned to the listening captain--"send him away.
Your new government shall sit in judgment on him later."
Hardesty nodded, motioned to Shaughnessey, and the erstwhile Overlord
was led away. With him were herded from the room, none too gently,
those who had been his companions in the attempt to trap Dirk. Within
a matter of minutes the hall was cleared save for a handful: Dirk and
Rima, in her glowing pillar of flame; Hardesty, the Princess Lenore.
In the Princess' eyes glittered a great defiance and a great sorrow.
She asked, "And I? I join my father in exile?"
Rima looked at Dirk.
"Well, Dirk Morris?" she asked.
Dirk's throat was dry, his mind confusion. He said, "Must ... must I,
then, be the one to judge, Rima? She saved my life ... or tried to.
Were it not for her--"