All his life, Rikard had defied the warlords of Coper
City, but even the stoutest outlaw could be outnumbered.
Now Rayth offered him freedom for the death
of the Chief Engineer. It seemed simple enough--until
Rikard began to learn the History of Earth!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Rocket Stories, July 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Here they come!"
Leda's voice vibrated in the ears of the four men with her. They stood
with their helmets touching so they could talk, eyes looking down the
rugged sweep of Copernicus to the force which came running upward
against them. At their backs, the brutal heights of rock climbed for
the stars, but they stood in a recess between looming crags, as good a
defensive position as they could hope for.
"Eight, nine--" Rikard strained his eyes through the queer tricky light
and shadow--the brilliant rushing blue of Earth nearly in full phase,
the utter dark of knife-edged umbras, a sprawling savage confusion of
spires and cliffs tumbling down toward the far ghostly shimmer of the
plain. "Ten at least, I make it, probably more. It'll be a rough fight."
The tiny metal-glinting specks bounded closer, twenty-foot leaps from
height to height, and now they could see the sheen of Earthglow on
spears and axes. Rikard said slowly: "It will most likely be death if
we make a stand. Let anyone who wishes go down to them now, and I
will not think the less of him."
"Down to execution or enslavement? You should know us better than
that," said Huw. He hefted his own ax, and shadows crept over the folds
of his flexicord suit. "Heh, they'll have to come at us only a few at a
time. We'll mince 'em as they do."
A mutter of assent rumbled from Jonak and Chungti. Leda remained
silent, but one gauntletted hand closed on Rikard's arm.
The outlaw chief's gaunt dark face flashed in a brief grin. "Thank
you," he said. "We'll at least show the damned Copers that Nyrac can
still fight."
He moved away from the group and strung his bow. It was a big one,
suitable for the giant who wielded it, and had been in his family for
a long time. Plastic bow, wire string, steel arrows that leaped out
with a hundred pounds of force behind them--such a weapon could pierce
a spacesuit and come out the other side in a rush of air. Wood and
cord were of little use on the surface; they dried and cracked in the
sucking vacuum, sizzled by day and froze by night. But with this weapon
he had sent more men than he remembered to Earth.
Standing in the abysmal shadow of a crag, he nocked an arrow and took
aim. The bow thrummed in his hand and a bright shaft sprang forth. One
of the attacking band suddenly leaped up, fell, and rolled down the
long slope with the moisture-laden air gushing out like his fleeing
soul.
"There's one less!" cried Leda savagely, and raised her pike. None
heard her speak in the looming silence, but they saw her lips laughing
behind the plastic helmet. Rikard turned for a glimpse of her, the
strong fair face, the heavy yellow hair--turned blue and green now by
the pouring Earthlight, but not the less good to look on.
He had stolen her three years before, in a raid on Moonburg, and
she had fought him bitterly for awhile. But later there had been
understanding between them, and when the Copers overran Nyrac and he
and a few men fled into rebellious exile, she was the only one of his
wives who had come with him. They smiled briefly at each other and then
he faced back toward the enemy.
His bow throbbed again, and he cursed as the shaft whipped past a
nearing figure. The man hurled a spear; it bounced off the crag and Huw
stepped forth to seize and throw it back. Rikard fired once more, and
another warrior tumbled to the stony ground, to freeze in death.
Now they were close, terribly close, a good dozen of them rushing in
on him. He sent a final snapped shot against them, dropped the bow,
and grabbed up his ax. Swiftly the outlaws fell into a defending line:
Rikard, Huw, and Jonak, the heaviest, standing shoulder to shoulder
between the two great pillars; Leda and Chungti just behind them with
pikes at the ready.
The first of the Copers hit Rikard with the furious velocity of a
broad jump, ax swinging down against the chief's helmet. Rikard caught
the blow on his own weapon's handle, twisted it down, and kicked the
attacker in the belly. He bounced away, wide open for assault, but it
wouldn't do to leave the line. The next was almost instantly on the
outlaw, blade cleaving vacuum. Rikard's ax blurred down and crashed
into the space helmet. The shock of the blow rammed home in his own
muscles, but it had burst open the tough plastic. Air whirled out,
white with frost, red with the blood that suddenly foamed from mouth
and nose.
The enemy's own ax had dropped from his fingers as Rikard's blade
smashed home, and clanged off the chief's helmet. Rikard smote at the
warrior beyond, hit a metal shoulder plate, and dodged a counterblow.
Leda thrust between him and Jonak, driving the pike home with a
terrible force that split the Coper's suit at the belly. He lurched
back, clutching futile hands against the streaming air, his face
distorted with unheard screams.
Two of them were on Rikard now, ax and spear, blows clattering off
his helmet and shoulder plates as he dodged and parried and hewed. He
whirled his weapon over his head, brought it crashing down to break
another helmet and the skull beneath, and his own yelling rang in his
ears.
From the corner of one eye he saw Jonak fall. Snarling, he swung on
the killer, his blow parried by the other axhead. "Go to Mars, you
bastard!" he growled, and hailed blow after blow against the enemy's
guard, a leaping dancing fury of steel that drove the fellow back until
he was against a cliff. Rikard sprang in and slew him.
Panting, he whirled around to see that the Copers had broken his line,
that they raged three or four about each of the survivors, thrusting
and smiting, a flicker of light and hard metal against the monstrous
blacknesses of shadow. Even as he watched, Chungti went down with a
spear in him. Huw and Leda stood back to back, beating off the pack
that snarled around them, and Rikard launched himself across the space
between to fall on the Copers. He clove one helmet from behind, pitched
another man aside, parried a thrust and kicked the thruster back, and
joined his comrades.
A cloudiness of freezing moisture fogged his helmet, and Huw toppled
against him. He stood over the body and struck home. Leda swept her
pike in a wide arc, got it between a man's legs and tripped him, and
stabbed him before he could rise. Then a Coper got between her and
Rikard, threw his arms around her from behind and dragged her to the
ground.
They closed in on Rikard, hemming him in a solid wall of armored
bodies, bearing him down and holding him fast with four men on each
arm. When they brought forth wire and began lashing his hands together
he kicked out, rose to his feet and knocked them away as they came on
him, until someone else tackled him and he went down once more.
Captured! By the living Earth, no clean death in battle, but captured!
He lay gasping the hot foul air of his suit, looking up to the crystal
dark of heaven, a million needle-sharp stars and the ghostly glory
of the Milky Way, up to Earth's huge blue disc, and the world, the
Moon-world of witchlight and shadow and cruel fanged stone, reeled
about him with his dismay. Captured!
A tall man, apparently the chief of the band, counted the survivors
and then put his helmet against Rikard's. His face was sharply carved,
dark-eyed, with the pointed beard of a Coper noble and the hollow
cheeks corpse-blue in the light. He said slowly: "Yes, you are the
rebel leader. I'm glad we took you alive."
Rikard looked sullenly back at him.
"Behave yourself," advised the other. "Remember we hold the woman too."
* * * * *
They scaled the heights of Copernicus and descended to the plain which
the crater ringed in. Not far off was an armored dome with sentries
before it, one of the airlocks leading to a tunnel. They entered
this and came to the long tube-lit bareness underground. A few Coper
soldiers were posted here, taking turns at guard duty on the outside.
Like all their city freemen they wore more clothes than the outlying
barbarians, who rarely donned more than a pocketed kilt if that
much--these had tunics as well, and flat steel helmets, and carried
the swords that were useful underground though ineffective against a
spacesuit; nor did they have the war-paint of barbarian fighters. They
did not mock the prisoners--the name of Rikard of Nyrac had been too
frightening for the past year--but they leered at Leda.
Even the outlaws were glad to shed their spacesuits. Sweat and the
needs of nature made it uncomfortable to be outside more than a few
hours at a time. They were stripped, their hands bound behind them, and
marched between an alert guard down the tunnel toward Coper City. It
went rapidly, the long bounding pace of men in home territory who had
no ambush to fear.
Rikard's mind whirled over the catastrophes of the past hours. He and
his men--some fifty in all--had been living mostly on the outside since
the fall of Nyrac a year ago. They had had seal-tents which they moved
from place to place, and had descended into the tunnels and cities
often through old unguarded airlocks to raid for food, water, air, and
the killing of Coper men. While they fought, they had been a symbol of
resistance to the free people within and beyond the expanding Coper
empire, they had checked its advance a little, they had been a rallying
force and many young men had come to join them. There had been hope.
Then--Rikard and his four companions returned from a scouting trip to
find their camp in the hands of the enemy. They had fought clear, had
been pursued, and finally this squad had hunted them down and captured
the two rebel leaders--and that was all there was to it. That was the
end--the end of the fight, the end of hope, the end most likely of life.
His bitter dark eyes turned on the leader of the squad. That one had
donned a tunic of brilliant colors, the dress of a mighty noble, and
the sword at his waist was jeweled. "Who are you?" he asked coldly.
The lean face smiled. "I am Rayth, prince of Coper City," he answered.
"It was--fortunate for both of us--that I should have happened to lead
the group that found you. Others would have had you killed out of hand,
but I can find better uses for you." He nodded at Leda. "Yes indeed."
Her head lifted haughtily, shining raw gold of hair spilling over broad
shoulders to her supple waist. Rikard snarled and wrenched at his
bonds. They dug harshly into his wrists, and a guard pricked him with a
spear.
Rayth held Rikard's bow between his hands, "This is an unusually fine
weapon," he said. "I hadn't thought the barbarians had anything so
good. You may get it back, but you'll have to earn it."
* * * * *
The tunnel opened into a great cavern, a reaching vastness whose
farther walls could not be seen. It was farmland, peasants going
between the long rows of tanks and tending a riotous greenery of food
plants, an occasional hard-faced overseer pausing in his rounds to
salute the prince. They went by a stockyard, cattle, pigs, sheep, and
poultry in their pens, slaves cleaning and feeding. Not far off was a
slaughterhouse, and Rayth's aristocratic nose crinkled.
A winding ramp led up through other levels. They passed the drab,
huddled compartments of the lower classes, gray-clad peasants crowded
with their families into doorless rooms. Above that was a factory
level, where acolyte engineers labored over weapons and tools, over
ore-smelting and refining, and other workmen turned out clothes and
cord and the remaining necessities of life. The party stopped here
to deliver the battle-torn spacesuits for repair. Flexicord would be
mended, plastic melted together again; nobody cared about the stripped
bodies withering on the outside.