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Title: That worlds may live

Author: Nelson S. Bond

Release date: November 20, 2024 [eBook #74767]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT WORLDS MAY LIVE ***





                         THAT WORLDS MAY LIVE

                           By NELSON S. BOND

            Not only the Solar System was involved in this
            war, but the entire universe; because of an old
            legendary secret--the mystery of Gog and Magog!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Amazing Stories April 1943.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


      [Illustration: A wave of howling men swarmed up the wall.]




                               CHAPTER I

                           Return from Luna


A voice roared, "All clear! Lower away!" The great ship rocked and
quivered as its jet rockets flared, forming a solid, cushioning pillar
on which the _Spica_ lowered itself to the land cradle on Long Island
Spaceport.

"Tub!" muttered Flick Muldoon, and made a hasty grab for a case of
equipment slithering across the deck.

Gary Lane snapped, "Careful, Flick!" ... which was not like Lane. It
was not his nature to be brusque. But now his voice, like his manner,
was strained and unnatural. His eyes were tense as he glanced at his
wrist chronometer. He sighed relievedly as the wallowing motion of the
space-cruiser ended in a final, weary, convulsive heave.

Blue uniformed attendants, luggage-laden, brushed by the pair of young
scientists. Commands clacked with metallic authority from the brazen
throats of deck audiophones. Locks wheezed asthmatically, and the warm,
sweet fragrance of Earth air flooded through a nearby port.

Flick drew a deep, contented breath.

"Home again! Oh, boy! Linen suits instead of those damn bulgers ...
sandals instead of lead boots ... breathable air instead of oxygen...."

"... and," reminded Gary grimly, "a job of work to be done. Let's get
going."

His precious portfolio securely gripped in a bronzed fist, he strode to
the gangway, stood there blinking momentarily in the pleasant sunlight
of Earth. Then a warm hand was on his shoulder, and a friendly voice
greeted him. The voice of his superior, Dr. Wade Bryant.

"Welcome home, Gary! Have a good trip? Got lots of good shots, I
hope--?"

"I got," said Gary, "plenty! Dr. Bryant, we must go to the Observatory
at once. If I'm not greatly mistaken, our expedition discovered
something which will tear to bits every previous cosmological theory
known to science. Wait till--" He stopped abruptly, silenced by the
unexpected presence of a white-haired, cherubic little stranger beside
his senior. "I--er--I don't believe I've had the pleasure--?"

"No," chuckled Bryant. "But we'll soon remedy that. Professor Anjers,
permit me to introduce my brilliant and indispensable young aide, Dr.
Gary Lane. Gary, you've heard of Dr. Anjers, of course?"

"Of course," replied Gary respectfully. "How do you do, sir?" But his
mood had changed. His eagerness was gone; he seemed almost to wish to
avoid further discussion. Bryant sensed this. He looked puzzled.

"Well, Gary? Go on. You were saying--?"

"Later," said Gary briefly. He stared absently over the older man's
shoulder. "Your car here?"

Flick Muldoon snorted, "_Car?_ We need a truck! Hey, Doc--look at me!
The human derrick. Gary's so doggone busy guarding that briefcase
he won't give me a hand with"--His eyes rolled in mock horror of the
pyramid of equipment heaped about him.

Dr. Bryant laughed. "You'll survive, Flick, I fear. Yes, the car's
right over here. If you're ready now--" He led the way. They had moved
but a few paces from the cradles when someone stepped beside Gary,
murmured a polite, "Shall I take your portfolio, Dr. Lane?", and
started to relieve young Lane of it.

Gary started violently, jerked his hand loose. "Let go, damn you!" he
blazed ... then his eyes widened, and a flush surged upward to copper
his already tanned cheeks. "Oh, I ... I beg your pardon, miss! I had no
idea.... I mean ... I...."

       *       *       *       *       *

For he was staring squarely into the most hurt, most baffled, yet
withal most beautiful mist-blue eyes he had ever seen. And the
eyes were but one facet of this girl's gemlike perfection. She was
incredible, as all dreams sprung to life are incredible. For surely
such smooth-gleaming copper hair, such lips and teeth and--well,
everything about her!--could exist nowhere other than in a dream.

But if she were a vision she was not his alone. For Dr. Bryant spoke
apologetically. "Gary, this is Miss Powell, a new addition to our
staff. She's to be your personal aide. Nora ... Dr. Lane...."

"I'm sure," said the girl icily, "it will be a _great_ pleasure to work
with Dr. Lane." She turned to Muldoon. "If I can help _you_ with your
instruments--?"

Flick stared at her, goggle-eyed. "H-h-help, sugar! You just stand
there and look at me; that's help enough! For you I could lift
mountains!"

He proceeded to prove it, stumbling forward under a pack-mule load.

       *       *       *       *       *

In Dr. Bryant's office at the Observatory, the gray-haired chief
technician turned once more to his young assistant.

"And now, Gary, I think you have kept us in suspense long enough. I
am bursting with curiosity, and I am sure Dr. Anjers must be, too. He
stratoed all the way from Eurasia to hear your report on our first Luna
Transit Expedition. Tell us the great surprise you hinted at."

Gary hesitated, eyeing the foreigner uncertainly.

"I--I'm not quite sure, sir--"

"Perhaps," suggested Dr. Anjers, "there is something the young man
would prefer to tell you in private?"

Dr. Bryant shook his head impatiently.

"Of course not, Dr. Anjers. Come, Gary ... we aren't diplomats, that we
should keep secrets from one another. We are all brother scientists.
The Foundation has asked Doctor Anjers to help tabulate the results of
your findings. He is an outstanding authority on cosmic radiation--"

"I know," said Gary. "Sorry, Doctor. Afraid I'm a bit jittery. No
offense meant."

The cherubic Eurasian nodded. He spoke with a hint of an accent. "And
none taken, my boy. And now--?"

Gary glanced around the room swiftly. To be frank, he himself could
not explain his secretive impulse. He knew he bore a vital message,
one so important that it must never lightly be revealed, but in this
snug group all were friends and allies. And he could not face the dread
facts alone.

He drew a deep breath, groped in his portfolio, and drew forth a packet
of photographic prints.

"As you all know," he said, "our expedition went to Luna to take
pictures of the recent Venusian transit.[1] It is unnecessary to point
out to you the desirability of the moon as an observational site. Its
lack of atmosphere, cloudless skies, absence of dust particles, offer
ideal conditions for astronomical photography.

[Footnote 1: Periodically the planet Venus passes so exactly between
our Earth and the sun that the planet is outlined against the sun's
disc and may be seen crossing it slowly as a small, black dot. These
events, known as _transits_, are quite infrequent, occurring in duos of
eight years, separated by longer intervals alternating between 105 and
122 years.

Transits of Venus occurred in 1874 and 1882, in 2004 and 2012 A.D. That
observed by Dr. Gary Lane and Flick Muldoon was apparently the transit
of June 11, 2247 A.D.--_Ed._]

"We had hoped, on this expedition, to finally solve the mystery of the
Sun's corona. Sir Arnold Gregg came near a solution when, in 2016, he
determined identity between the solar corona and Earth's Heaviside
layer. But his deduction needed verification--"

"And--" Dr. Anjers leaned forward intently--"were you successful? You
learned he was right?"

Gary's voice deepened, assuming a tonal quality akin to awe. "I don't
know. I have never studied the photographs to see. For my first glimpse
of the developed films revealed something else. Something so great, so
completely illogical yet so tremendously important that--"

He paused. "But, wait! I'm going too fast. Before I continue I should
tell you that we attached to our telelens a cinematic spectroscope, the
better to ascertain what change of elements was taking place within the
corona.

"By this spectroscope may be determined the elements of sighted
objects, also--"

"--their speed," agreed Dr. Bryant, "in relation to Earth. But I don't
see--"

"You will!" promised the young man tensely. "At the moment of transit,
when our cameras were focussed directly on Sol, chance treated us to a
phenomenon which might not happen again for untold ages. A comet from
the far depths of extra-galactic space moved within the vision of our
lenses. We got a complete photographic and spectroscopic record of it!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Blank stares met his eager pronouncement. Dr. Boris Anjers looked
curious. Bryant stroked his jaw, waiting. Nora Powell laughed, her
laughter a musical shard of scorn.

"How _terribly_ interesting, Dr. Lane! I'm afraid you didn't film a
very amusing stereop, though. A film without a plot or a hero--"

Gary glared at her irately.

"Uninteresting, eh?" he growled. "A plotless story? Very well--see for
yourself! Here!"

And he tossed on the desk before his _confrères_ a set of prints.
Bryant, Anjers and the girl moved forward to look at them. Gary and
Flick glanced at one another, wondering if their associates would read
into the pictures that which they had seen and, seeing, scarcely dared
believe.

For a long moment there was silence. Then the small visiting scientist
raised his head. He said, "This is a very interesting series of
exposures, my young friend. But what a shame your camera moved!"

Gary laughed triumphantly.

"That's just it, Doctor! The camera did not move an inch! The 'motion'
in that comet is the very thing I've been talking about!"

He bent over the pictures, jabbing an excited finger at a faint white
speck in the upper corner.

"Here is the story caught by Muldoon's camera. When this first picture
was taken, the comet was far out in extra-galactic space. It had not
yet hurled itself into the galaxy of which our solar system is a part.
Its position on the two subsequent photographs enable us to determine,
accurately and perfectly, the comet's spatial trajectory.

"But look at the _fourth_ photograph! What do you see there?"

Dr. Bryant said bewilderedly, "Why, that's odd! The comet seems to have
departed from its original trajectory; it is bent at almost a 45° angle
from its former line of flight. That must be where the camera moved."

"I tell you again," swore Gary, "that camera did not move! The action
you see depicted on those prints is but one of two things: either
the motion of the comet, itself, or--" He breathed deeply, then
plunged--"or the effect worked upon the comet's light-rays by its
presence in our galaxy!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Anjers glanced at him with swift concern. "What is that? Our
galaxy! I am afraid you have been overworking, my young friend--"

"Just a moment, Doctor! I have further proof." The younger man's hands
dug into his portfolio. "Dr. Bryant, let me ask you a question. If you
were asked to declare the most baffling of all astronomical puzzles,
what would you select?"

"Why--why, I suppose the 'red shift', Gary."

"Exactly! From the early Nineteenth Century to this day, one riddle
which has amazed and confounded scientists is the apparent movement of
our universe. According to all evidence, our universe is composed of a
multitude of galaxies--each of which is running away from all others at
unbelievable speed.

"This we know because of the 'red shift'--which one might call the
'Doppler effect' applied to light, rather than to sound. When one star,
comet or galaxy approaches another, pressing its light waves upon
its neighbor, the cosmic body's light waves are shortened. They shift
toward the violet side of the spectrum.

"Similarly, a _receding_ luminary pulls its waves--and the pitch of its
light is indicated by a 'red shift.'

"Observation has taught us the tragic falsehood that everything in the
universe is running away from all else. We have learned to believe in
an 'expanding universe'.

"But--" Once again Gary placed his finger upon the photographs--"study
these margins! These fine lines are the spectrographs of the comet you
have just seen. Do _they_ agree with our established theories?"

Dr. Bryant stared.

"But this is incredible, Gary! If the comet in your pictures were
nearing our galaxy--as it undoubtedly was--it should at all times
exhibit a violet shift. But, instead, it shows here a _red_ shift up to
the moment of its departure from its normal course--and thereafter a
violet shift!"

And he looked at Lane, wide-eyed and wondering. Dr. Anjers also studied
the younger scientist with respect.

Asked the Eurasian, "And the conclusion you draw, my young friend?"

"There is," said Gary seriously, "but one conclusion possible. Science
has erred for almost three centuries. Our universe is _not_ expanding.
All other galaxies are _not_ racing headlong from our own. The Greater
Universe is steadfast and secure. It is only our little solar galaxy
which moves. And we--_are contracting_!"




                              CHAPTER II

                         The Deadly Radiation


Nora Powell was frankly out of her depth. It showed in her eyes, and
in the petulant protrusion of her lower lip. She asked, cool gaze
studying her new superior, "Would you be kind enough to explain that
more fully, Dr. Lane?"

Gary needed no urging. It was this theory which was responsible for his
unusual curtness, for his irate explosion at the rocketdrome, for the
preoccupation that had marked his return flight from Luna to Earth.

He wanted most desperately to convince his superior, Dr. Bryant, and
all his other associates, that this startling discovery was not lightly
to be dismissed.

Furthermore--and it surprised Gary Lane to find the desire within
him--he wanted to prove to Nora Powell that he was not, in truth,
the ogre she now believed him. That there had been an excuse for his
rudeness.

So he spoke, setting forth the arguments thought out during the flight
from Earth's satellite.

"You are all familiar," he said, "with the theory of the 'expanding' or
'bubble' universe.

"We approach an understanding of this by thinking of our existence--our
universe of three spatial dimensions with one temporal extension--as a
sphere which is _all_ surface.

"Not merely a hollow sphere, you understand. _Everything_--including
empty space, solid matter and energy, is on the surface of this
hypersphere. Thus our galaxy constitutes one point imbedded in the
surface of the sphere ... the nearest star is another ... the farthest
still another ... and so on with each of a billion galaxies.

"It has been suggested that an undefined 'something' is 'blowing
up' this bubble, and that as expansion increases, the degree of
separation between galaxies widens so that they appear to be running
away from each other. The big objection to this theory has been the
insurmountable question--_if_ this hypersphere is expanding, into what,
since it contains all of Space and Time in itself, does it expand?"

Dr. Anjers interrupted somewhat caustically.

"You reject this theory, I gather?"

"Completely," declared Gary boldly, "and definitely! It has not, nor
will it ever, solve the paradoxes we observe. My belief is that though
the Greater Universe may be a closed and finite hypersphere, it is
not expanding, but static. And it lends itself to real and constant
measurement."

Nora Powell said, "But, Dr. Lane--the principles of relativity! The
value of _h_, and the Lorenz contraction--"

"Are all taken care of," insisted Gary, "if you will accept my new
major premise." He pondered, briefly, how best to state his idea.
Then: "Let us suppose," he said, "you are standing in the center of
a floor in a large room. The walls of this room, activated by some
machine, are moving away from you. If you could measure this motion
spectroscopically, you would observe the phenomenon of the 'red
shift'--right?"

Dr. Bryant nodded. "Yes, Gary. That is, in effect, the relationship of
our galaxy to the Greater Universe as now conceived."

"Quite. But--" said Gary--"suppose that you stood motionless in that
same room, and some strange force acted on you to _shrink_ you! _Then_
what would you see?"

The girl's eyes widened. She cried, "A--a universe running away from
you!"

"And your spectroscopic analysis--?"

"Would show the red shift!" Nora whirled to the two older men. "Dr.
Bryant ... Dr. Anjers ... he's right! Now I see what the pictures
meant! The comet, entering our contracting galaxy, changed its course
sharply--"

       *       *       *       *       *

The foreign scientist's eyes clouded with impatience behind their heavy
lids. He smiled commiseratingly. "A very interesting conjecture, my
young friend. But it is fool-hardy to reason on such flimsy evidence.
Your camera, despite your belief, may have shaken ... your spectroscope
may have been out of adjustment ... any one of a thousand things." A
chubby hand dipped swiftly into Gary's briefcase, drew forth a flat,
circular tin of film. "Is this the roll on which--?"

"_Don't do that!_" Gary literally screamed the words, leaping forward
barely in time to prevent the older scientist from opening the
container. Rudely he swept the tin from Dr. Anjers' grasp, swiftly
inspected the thin line of metal seal. Only after he had satisfied
himself that it was intact did he think to apologize. Then: "You must
forgive me, sir, please. But these are supplementary exposures; they
have not yet been developed."

The small man nodded understandingly. "The fault is mine, Dr. Lane.
Forgive me."

Dr. Bryant, too engrossed in his own thoughts to see the byplay, now
raised his head thoughtfully.

"Nevertheless, Gary, Miss Powell raised an important point. What about
our known and proven celestial mechanics?"

"My theory," said Gary firmly, "makes them even more valid. Their
_truth_ is not reversed--only their _meaning_. In other words, the
principles of the Lorenz equation still hold true, but we must learn to
interpret it from a new angle. It is not the yardstick which moves; it
is the observers! We of this dwindling galaxy which, alone in all the
vastness of the Greater Universe, is becoming ever smaller!"

"But--but why, Gary? Why?"

"That," confessed Lane, "I do not know. But it is a problem we must
solve. And quickly. Or--"

"Or--?" prompted Nora Powell as he hesitated.

"Or--" concluded Gary grimly--"oblivion! Unless I erred seriously in my
first computations, there is a limit to the amount of shrinkage matter
can withstand. And that limit is rapidly drawing near. Matter cannot
contract forever. If we cannot find a way to free ourselves from the
strange force being brought to bear upon us from _out there_--" Gary's
hand swept the gathering dusk of Earth's twilight--"our Earth and sun,
our sister planets, our galaxy--all these are doomed!"

       *       *       *       *       *

For the second time within minutes, silence followed one of Gary Lane's
pronouncements. But this was no moment of dubiety. Something of his
deadly earnestness had communicated itself to his listeners; their
voices were muted as if with awe at the magnitude of his warning.
Muldoon already knew, of course, and already believed. Credence shone
in the eyes of Nora Powell. Dr. Anjers' broad, fair brow was drawn;
the cherubic mask of his features was marred with white lines of
concentration. Dr. Bryant coughed, twisting long, capable fingers into
steeples of thought.

It was the foreign scientist who broke the silence. Quietly. Carefully.
In a voice which might have been gently chiding, had its accent not
been thickened by a note of near-alarm.

"Aren't you," he ventured softly, "aren't you being just a little bit
melodramatic, Dr. Lane? After all, this is only a hypothesis. A very
new and--if you will forgive me--most implausible conjecture--"

"New," agreed Gary almost harshly, "but _not_ implausible, Doctor.
We _know_, don't we, Flick?" The camera expert nodded. "We know, and
we have further proof. Those rolls of film offer half of it; simple
mathematics supplies the rest. Flick, suppose you get to work on those
exposures right away. We'll show them--"

"O.Q., Gary," said Muldoon. "I'll get at it immediately. 'Scuse me,
folks!"

Dr. Anjers said, "Please, no! Don't do this just to convince _me_,
gentlemen. I did not mean to imply doubt. I am skeptical, yes; what man
of science would not be? But there is no hurry--"

Gary grinned at him mirthlessly.

"That's where you're wrong, Doctor. There _is_ a need for haste. Every
day is precious; perhaps every hour, every minute. We're not doing this
merely to dispel your doubts. We're doing it because it has to be done,
and as swiftly as humanly possible. The sooner mankind realizes its
peril, the sooner we can take measures to do something. How long will
it take you, Flick?"

"At least three hours. Maybe four."

"All right. Get going. Meanwhile, if you'll permit me, Dr. Bryant,
I'd like to duck into my office. There must be a lot of accumulated
correspondence to run through. Miss Powell, if you'll be kind enough to
come with me--?"

"Yes, Dr. Lane."

Anjers said, "Office, yes. I have not been near my own desk all
morning. Perhaps I, too, should spend a little time with my papers. So,
gentlemen--"

But Dr. Bryant caught his arm. "Oh, no you don't, my friend! Lane and
Muldoon need a few hours privacy, but I am much too excited to let
_everyone_ get away from me. Let's go to my rooms. I must discuss this
matter with someone."

"That's it, then," nodded Gary. "We'll meet in the projection room
at--let's see--five p.m. That's O.Q. with everyone? So long, then.
Flick, careful with those shots!"

Muldoon glared at him aggrievedly.

"You're telling me?" he retorted. "Listen, pal--to me they're fresh
laid eggs, and I'm the mama hen."

Thus the meeting disbanded.

       *       *       *       *       *

At four-thirty, Gary Lane spoke a last, "yours truly" into his
stenoreel, snapped the switch which sent the machine into operation as
a transcriber, rose and yawned vigorously.

"That," he said, "is that! Thank goodness. I don't know how I would
have ever finished up without your help, Miss Powell."

Nora Powell said, "I'm glad I was of some assistance, Dr. Lane."

"_Some assistance?_" grinned Gary. "You were the whole works. I
wouldn't have known how to answer half those letters if you hadn't
been here to advise me. Say, by the way--" He glanced at her
quizzically--"Am I forgiven yet? I mean about that business down at the
rocketdrome?"

Nora Powell met his gaze briefly, flushed and turned away. "I--I had
forgotten all about it, Doctor," she said.

"Now, that," approved Gary, "is something to really be thankful for.
Well, it's almost time for our appointment. Let's go down and see how
Flick's making out."

Thus it was that Gary Lane and the girl were a full half hour earlier
in reaching the projection room than had been agreed. On such small
hinges is the gateway of Fortune hung. For had they been ten minutes,
perhaps a single moment later, the great adventure which was to befall
them might have ended ere it began. Laughing Flick Muldoon might never
have laughed again, and the precious evidence which he and Gary had
brought back from Luna might never have been viewed by understanding
eyes.

For when young Dr. Lane pushed open the projection room door, it was
to peer into a chamber not brilliantly alight, as he had expected, but
one Stygian-draped in darkness. Even so, he was not at first alarmed.
Flick's prints must surely be ready by now, but it was quite possible
the cameraman was testing his equipment. Gary called cheerfully, "Hey,
Flick! Why the blackout? O.Q. to come in--Say! What's wrong?"

Because his only answer was a deep, choking groan. And even as the
girl behind him mouthed an incoherent cry of warning, Gary got the
illumination he had asked for--but in an unwanted way. The darkness was
suddenly, fiercely stabbed with a livid flare, an undulating streamer
of light from the opposite end of the room. A crackling, hissing ochre
finger of light which seemed to burn with an inward malevolence of its
own.

And where this dirty glare struck matter, walls and drapes, woodwork
and plastic, metal instruments and decorative vines, all--with
a dreadful sort of impotent homogeneity--burst into sudden and
spontaneous flame! By the light of the burning furniture, Gary glimpsed
a dim, uncertain figure huddled in the doorway opposite--and from
the hands of this unknown arsonist leaped the living flame!

       *       *       *       *       *

Gary Lane could claim no heroism for what he did; his actions were too
impulsive, too instinctive, to be considered real bravery. It never
occurred to him that his enemy was armed where he was not, nor that
the light-streamer devouring all else in the room could just as easily
strip his flesh from his bones like tinfoil over a candleflame. All he
knew was that somewhere in this room, Flick Muldoon lay hurt--perhaps
dead!--and that documents on which depended the future of all mankind
were being imperiled by a mysterious assailant.

Soundlessly, but with the speed of a striking panther, he hurled
himself across the room. In the unreal tawny-black his body could have
been, at best, but a dimly glimpsed bulk. The lethal flame did not turn
in his direction, scorching him instantly out of existence. And then--

And then his shoulders met sturdy flesh with a solid impact; the
stranger grunted meatily and staggered backward. Gary's hands groped,
clawing, for the flame weapon ... felt his fingers burn on superheated
metal....

For the barest fraction of a second! Then the enemy regained his feet.
Gary sensed, rather than saw, the arm uplifting as many voices raised
in sudden clamor, and the sound of running footsteps echoed from the
corridor he had quitted. He was aware of Nora Powell's cry, "_Dr.
Lane--look out! Oh, Gary--!_"

Then the spinning world descended with brutal force upon his temple,
the gloom split asunder into myriad whirling galaxies of fire, and he
sank senseless to the floor!

       *       *       *       *       *

"--Better now," said a voice from far, far away. "I think he can hear
me. Gary, my boy! Are you all right?"

Gary lifted his head and groaned; opened his eyes to find himself
looking up into the kindly face of Dr. Bryant. Beside the old
astronomer, her mist-blue eyes wide with fear and something else Gary
Lane was too dazed to decipher, stood Nora Powell, while beside her,
cherubic cheeks gray with inarticulate outrage, was the small foreign
physicist.

Recollection flooded back on Gary; swiveling his head he discovered
that the flames which threatened the room had been extinguished. But
how about--?

"Flick?" he muttered, struggling to rise. "Flick! Is he--?"

"O.Q., chum," growled Flick Muldoon, coming from behind him. "The
firebug busted me, laid me out colder than a Laplander's kiss, but you
got a worse smack than I did. I'm O.Q."

"And the--the films?" asked Gary fearfully.

"Safe," chuckled Muldoon, "as a pork pie at a Mohammedans' picnic. I
went down, yeah--but I went down with 'em clutched to my manly buzzum!
Our murderous friend, whoever he was, would have needed a can opener to
get 'em out of my hands. Me, I've got instincts, I have!"

Gary was on his feet, now, and staring about him. A little unsteadily,
true, but gathering strength with every moment. He said, "Then you
didn't get a look at him?"

"Who, me? I haven't got eyes in the back of my head, pal!"

"How about you, No--Miss Powell?" Gary caught himself just in time,
reddening as he did so. Though his mind was intent on the problem now
confronting them, some hidden portion found time to be astonished that
his tongue should so trick him.

"I saw him no better than you did. Perhaps not even as well. When you
charged him, I ran into the corridor and screamed for help."

"And a good thing, too," appended Dr. Bryant. "The whole Observatory
might have gone up in flames had help not come immediately. Gary, that
weapon--whatever it was--is the most destructive force ever unleashed
by man! It burns right through anything. Wood, metal, plastic--"

"I can see that," scowled Gary. He bit his lip, an unwelcome suspicion
forcing itself into his mind as he stared at the other member of
their little party. "What puzzles me is--where did he come from? The
arsonist, I mean. How many people are in this Observatory beside
ourselves?"

"Why, scores, Gary. The laboratory men and the observers, upstairs, the
students below--it was they who helped us fight the fire, you know."

"Yes. But--" Gary turned suddenly to Dr. Anjers. "Doctor--where were
_you_ when this fire was started?"

Anjers blinked at Gary mildly. "Me, my friend? Why, with Dr. Bryant in
his study, of course. But, why? Surely you don't think I--?"

"I don't know what to think," groaned Gary. "While I didn't see the
intruder very well, as nearly as I could judge he was just about your
height and build. Dr. Bryant, you're positive Dr. Anjers was with you?"

"Of course, Gary."

"Every minute? Neither of you left the study?"

"Not for a second. We were together every moment until we heard Miss
Powell's cry; then we hurried here together. Really, Gary--"

"Yes, I know," conceded Gary ruefully. "I'm sorry. But the man _did_
look a little like Dr. Anjers, and--"

       *       *       *       *       *

The small scientist nodded sympathetically.

"Say no more about it, Doctor. You have had ample reason to be
apprehensive--and to question. Judging from what I see here, you
narrowly escaped a horrible death. Our foe's weapon is, indeed, a
terrible one. As a physicist, I cannot understand how anything can
create spontaneous combustion in such nonflammable substances as metal
and plaster--"

"No?" grunted Gary. "Well, _I_ can! Look here!"

He stepped to the wall upon which the ray had played most fiercely,
bent and rose, sifting through his fingers a palm-full of tiny granules.

"Here's your answer. And it ties in exactly with what we were talking
about earlier this afternoon. Condensation of matter!

"See those granules? They are all that remain of a space five feet wide
by six feet high! Their matter has been condensed by that hellish ray.
The liberation of their excess bulk in the form of pure energy was what
caused them to burst into flame. There's your answer, and--Good Lord!"

He stopped, stricken by the thought which had leaped into his brain. A
thought at once so terrible and incredible that he could scarce believe
it. But it must be true! It was the only way this phantasmagoria made
any kind of sense.

"Blind! I've been blind! Now I see it all!"

"What, Gary?" demanded Flick. "What do you see?"

"This plaster wall--contracted into a handful of pebbles," said
Gary bleakly. "Our galaxy--contracting to a grim and certain death!
They are both part of one and the same plot. A plot by someone--or
something!--to destroy Mankind! It is not simply a blind, unreasoning
force which is speeding the destruction of our solar system. It is a
deliberate doom to which we are being driven. The weapon used here this
afternoon is a miniature replica of that which--Flick, what did the
arsonist's weapon look like? Did you see it?"

Flick shook his head.

"Sorry, Gary. I drew a blank. I don't remember a thing."

But Nora Powell, who had stirred to an instrument panel near the
crumbled wall, gasped suddenly. "I didn't see the weapon either, Gary,"
she cried. "But here is evidence of what it did. Look at this Geiger
counter. It has gone completely mad. It has registered more than a
thousand direct hits within the past half hour!"

"What?" exclaimed Dr. Bryant. "A thousand direct hits! That's
impossible! Geiger counters register only the impact of cosmic rays.
And the periodicity of these rays is as steadfast and invariable as--"

But Gary Lane silenced him with a great cry.

"Now I know I'm right! The Geiger counter proves it! The weapon used by
our enemies shoots--_cosmic radiation_!"




                              CHAPTER III

                        "That Worlds May Live"


Silence, like the brooding hush of impending doom, fell over the
chamber as the significance of his words drove home. For a breathless
moment all speech seemed to falter in abeyance, then every voice raised
as one.

"Cosmic rays!" gasped Dr. Bryant.

"A weapon which shoots gamma radiation?" echoed the cherubic Eurasian,
Dr. Anjers. "Fantastic!"

Muldoon and the girl said as a single person, "Gary, you can't really
believe--"

[Illustration: Earth receded into an ominous distance.]

"I _must_ believe," corrected Gary, "what my eyes tell me. There is
only one conceivable explanation. As our chief here pointed out, the
periodicity of gamma ray bombardment is one of the few invariables
known to Man. Its constancy matches the monotonous regularity with
which uranium transmutes to lead.

"Scientists have traveled all over the world ... east, west, north,
south ... but in every latitude and clime their Geiger counters
measure the same tempo of cosmic ray bombardment. They have delved into
the deepest mine-pits miles below ground, descended in bathyspheres
to the ocean's floor, and detected no change. They have climbed the
highest mountains, traversed space to our neighboring planets ... yet
everywhere the rate of bombardment remains the same.

"But here, here in this tiny room where, for an instant, a Geiger
counter was bathed in the backwash of a strange, new, all-devouring
flame, that instrument has registered the impact of a thousand direct
hits! The conclusion is obvious. That radiation was--must have been--a
concentrated discharge of cosmic rays."

Dr. Bryant passed a hand through his white hair.

"What you say is true, Gary. And it is certainly logical. Still--"

"It is not so much the logic of our young friend's deductions I
question," interrupted the other older scientist, "as the fantastic
corollaries which necessarily follow his premise. To admit his
rightness is to concede that somewhere, someone, for some unfathomable
reason, designs the deliberate destruction--"

"Of Earth!" said Nora Powell. "Not only of Earth, but of all the
planets which circle our Sun. For as Gary has said, all these are
bombarded, too, by cosmic rays.

"Gary, there must be some mistake. There must be some freak
coincidence--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Lane's eyes narrowed. "That's just what it cannot be. The coincidence
is too striking. Consider. For thousands of years men lived in
blissful ignorance of the fact that they and their world were daily
being bombarded by rays which science now has reason to believe are
lethal.[2] During the past few hundred years men have been _aware_ of
this radiation, but unable to do anything about it. They can neither
analyze it, duplicate it in their laboratories, nor--indeed--determine
its exact nature.

[Footnote 2: Sir James Jeans' view of the cosmic rays is that they are
causing the material universe to dissolve into radiation. "The whole of
the available evidence," he writes, "seems to me to indicate that the
change is, with possible insignificant exceptions, forever in the same
direction--forever solid matter melts into insubstantial radiation,
forever the tangible changes into the intangible ... there can be but
one end to the universe ... the end of the journey cannot be other than
universal death!"--Sir James Jeans: _The Mysterious Universe_.]

"But--" And his voice tightened--"but two days ago, for the first time,
a clue was found as to the possible nature of these rays; pictures were
taken which may pave the way toward an understanding of this ancient
mystery. And then what happened? Was it sheer coincidence that almost
immediately Flick Muldoon, who hasn't an enemy in the world, should be
murderously assaulted here in the heart of his own bailiwick? And that
an attempt should be made to destroy this incriminating evidence?

"No! That coincidence is too great for me to swallow. It only
strengthens my belief that it is not simply blind nature which is
responsible for the doom to which our galaxy is being driven."

Muldoon was an easy-going man. In the tightest spots his carefree
nature was wont to assert itself in gibe and cheerful banter. But now
his laughter-crinkled eyes were wide with awe and wonderment. He made a
vague, sweeping gesture.

"You mean, Gary, that out ... there ... _something_ or _someone_--?"

Gary nodded. "Yes. That is what I am forced to believe. That
_They_--whoever _They_ are, and wherever They may exist--are making a
deliberate effort to destroy us."

"But," interpolated the ever-cautious Dr. Anjers, "you cannot be sure
of these things, my young friend. You cannot prove them."

"Not now, no. But by the gods, I'm going to try!"

"Going to--!" Dr. Bryant looked at his young assistant, startled.
"Going to try, Gary? What do you mean?"

Lane spoke slowly, putting into words for the first time the idea which
had been growing within him ever since he and Muldoon had, upon Luna,
chanced upon their amazing discovery.

"I mean I'm going _out there_, as Flick put it, in search of _Them_
and of that weapon which is slowly but surely bringing death to our
civilization. I am going to leave Earth and this galaxy and hunt in the
dark depths of the Beyond for the reason conspiring against us."

"Oh, but now wait a minute, Gary," said his friend and constant
companion, "I'm your buddy. I'll string along with you on almost
anything. But this is going a little _too_ far. Talking of leaving
the galaxy. Good Lord, man, you must be out of your mind! Oh have you
forgotten how to count? The fastest spaceship ever built travels at
a rate of only about 7,000 miles per minute. And the nearest star,
Proxima Centauri, is about four light-years away. At that rate, all
that would be left of you by the time you got there would be a little
heap of dried-up dust."

Lane smiled thinly. "Don't worry about that. We'll be alive when we get
there."

"What! _We!_ Where do you get the community spirit?"

"We," said Gary, "because you're going, too, Flick. I'll need you. And
any of the others who want to come along. I think I can promise you the
greatest adventure ever undertaken by human beings."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Bryant said, "Gary, what are you talking about? Muldoon is
absolutely right. It would take centuries to reach the nearest star.
How, then, do you expect--?"

"Centuries," acknowledged Gary, "if the ship in which we traveled had
only the speed Flick mentioned. But you know as well as I that on
another planet of this system dwells a race which knows the secret of
achieving speed beyond that of the limiting velocity of light."

"You mean," asked Nora Powell, "the Jovians?"

"That's right."

"But they won't tell. It's their most cherished military secret. And
with the entire solar system in the state of nervous unrest it has been
in for years--"

"They _must_ tell. It is to their benefit as well as ours. We will go
to them and explain the enormity of the disaster which threatens our
solar system. They are not creatures quite like ourselves, true; but
they are intelligent beings. And they desire extinction no more than
we. When they have learned the awful truth, I think they will lend us
their secret."

Professor Anjers laughed mirthlessly. "You have much to learn about
the races that people the planets, my young friend, if you think the
Jovians will contribute their great secret to save the races with whom
even now war threatens--"

"They will not be the only contributors. Each of the major planets will
contribute its share to this adventure. _Must_ contribute, for the
ultimate good of all.

"From Earth--" Gary ticked the requisites off on his fingers as he
spoke--"from Earth's government we must borrow the knowledge of
the hypatomic drive which makes spaceflight possible. Venus must
supply us with _neurotrope_, their super-efficient fuel, the only
type sufficiently condensed to enable us to leave our galaxy. The
Martian people must lend us their formula for building impenetrable
force-fields about space vehicles, lest a stray comet or a hail of
meteoric debris met in the outer darkness bring our flight to sudden
ending. And from Jupiter must come the secret of transcendent speed,
through which--and _only_ through which--can we hope to reach our goal."

Muldoon whistled softly. "That's a big order, Gary. _Four_ big orders,
in fact."

And Dr. Bryant said, "I'm afraid I can only repeat Dr. Anjers' words,
Gary. You expect too much of our neighbors in asking them to give you--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Of all his companions, only the girl, Nora Powell, offered any word of
encouragement. Her eyes were shining with a great purpose, and with a
great determination, too. With an almost indiscernible movement she
seemed to leave the fellowship of his doubters and arraign herself at
Gary's side. Her words were like the warmth of a friendly handclasp as
she said:

"But they _will_ give! Because they must! Dr. Lane--Gary--it's a great
dream. One which we must see to fulfillment."

Gary glanced at her, pleased and gratified.

"We?" he repeated.

The girl nodded determinedly. "Yes, we. Because if you'll have me,
Gary, I want to join your expedition."

"Well, now," drawled Flick Muldoon, "as far as that goes, I've been
beefing a little, yeah. But on purely technical grounds. I didn't say I
was going to pull a sneak on the shindig. Hell I'll try anything once.
You can count me in, Gary, lock, stock, and barrel."

Gary said gravely, "Thanks both of you. And you Dr. Bryant?"

The older man smiled thinly.

"I won't deceive you, Gary. I confess I still have my doubts as to the
practicality of your ambitions. Nevertheless, I'd be a poor scientist
if I were to refuse to lend my small efforts to such a magnificent
undertaking. Of course, you may count on me. Boris--" He turned to
his Eurasian colleague--"I'm sorry our conversations are to be thus
abruptly terminated by what may seem to you a somewhat impulsive
decision. But there may be something in Dr. Lane's warning."

To the surprise of everyone, the rather easily-annoyed Dr. Anjers this
time showed no annoyance whatsoever. Instead, his bland, cherubic face
was puckered with thought, and when he spoke it was with firm decision.

"No, you are completely right, my friend. Dr. Lane has not convinced
me--yet. But if he _is_ right, this is no matter for slow ponderings.
We must act at once. And I, too, if you will permit, would like to
become a member of your party."

Gary Lane smiled, ashamed now of his earlier treatment of this staunch
little scientist, of the near-accusations he had twice cast upon the
little man. He said simply, "I would be proud and glad to have you
with us, Dr. Anjers. Of course, we five will not be all. We must have
a pilot, an experienced astrogator, and crewmen to handle the ship
itself--"

"Which brings up," interpolated Flick Muldoon with devastating
casualness, "the first important question. Where you going to get this
ship, Gary? And how are you going to talk the kingpins of our planet
into giving you what you want?"

Gary smiled. "Obviously, we must go to Geneva and there present our
argument to the members of the World Council. But--" And his eyes took
on a shining akin to that in the eyes of his feminine and first-spoken
comrade--"but we cannot fail. What we do is not for ourselves alone; it
is a completely unselfish thing without personal benefit or profit. A
quest we must successfully fulfill--that worlds may live."

And the girl's voice echoed softly, "That worlds may live...."




                              CHAPTER IV

                         Fugitives from Earth


"What time is it?" asked Nora Powell.

Dr. Bryant looked up from the black-and-white-squared table over which
he and his companion were bent, engrossed in one of mankind's most
ancient pastimes.

"Er--I beg your pardon, my dear? What did you say?"

"I asked," repeated Nora, "what time it is?"

"Oh--time? Almost four o'clock."

"Time," growled Flick Muldoon, from the other end of the balcony, "he
was getting back."

"Gary, you mean?" Dr. Boris Anjers, having placed his opponent
destructively _en prise_, leaned back in his chair. "Have patience, my
boy. These things take time, you know, and it is a difficult mission
upon which our young friend has gone."

"It's all right for you and Doc Bryant. You've got a chess game to
occupy your minds. Me, I got little pink and green meemies running up
and down my corpuscles. I'm going to take a walk. Want to come along,
Nora?"

Nora Powell said, "No, thanks, Flick. I'll wait here for him." Then,
as the restless young cameraman stalked from the piazza and the two
graybeards returned to their game, she wandered disconsolately to the
far end of the balcony, for perhaps the dozenth time in the hour gazed
out over the most heartbreaking beauty of the scene before and below
her.

This eyrie from which she looked was a modest but charming _pension_ in
Geneva, a rustic famed for its beautiful surroundings and delightful
old-world charm. To the south lay the valley of the Arve; beyond this
the gray and barren rock of the Petit Salève rose like a wall, it, in
turn, overtopped by the distant, imperial slopes of Mont Blanc. The sky
was the bright and unbelievable blue of mountain country. From the vale
below echoed the mellow lilt of a shepherd's yodeling.

Here, after hasty preparation, had the five comrades-in-adventure
established residence until Gary Lane could convince the World Council,
which gathered in this traditionally neutral nation, of the urgency
of their demands ... and receive from this all-supreme body that
terrestrial secret which was vital to the furtherment of their aims.[3]

[Footnote 3: Out of the bloody conflict of the Anarchist Rebellion
(2197-2208 A.D.) was born, at long last, the Terrestrial World Union.
National boundaries were broken down, racial cliques and prejudices
were abandoned, and Earth became one single community speaking a single
language. The World Council, an electoral body seated in Geneva, Unit
44a (once the Republic of Switzerland), governed planetary trade,
politics and practices.--_Ed._]

Here had they cooled their heels for very nearly a fortnight while
Gary wormed and forced and argued his way through hordes of underlings
to finally reach the ear of those Councillors who alone could grant his
request. Such an interview had finally been achieved, and today was the
fateful appointment.

Alone, a few short hours ago, Lane had set forth to the Council Hall,
laden with Muldoon's photographs, his own and Dr. Bryant's mathematical
analyses, and all other documents necessary to prove his claims. Now
his companions, placidly or nervously as their individual natures
determined, awaited his return.

       *       *       *       *       *

As to what sort of exhibition she herself was making, Nora Powell could
not say. If she was not so openly impatient as Flick Muldoon, neither
was she complacently attentive like the two older scientists. She was,
she thought with sudden whimsy, much like one of those ancient volcanic
peaks so gloriously sharp-limned on the horizon before her: surfacely
cool, but inwardly and secretly aflame with constrained eruptive fires
which might at any moment burst their bonds.

The afternoon was pleasantly cool, but standing there alone on the
balcony her cheeks were suddenly warm to the touch as she caught
herself wondering what would be Gary Lane's reaction were he to realize
how startlingly accurate was this analogy. During these last weeks,
their past differences forgotten, she and the young physicist had
fallen into a pleasant and easy _camaraderie_. Formalities had been
swept away in the urgency of the moment, and on everything they worked
together like lifelong friends.

But that, thought Nora with a thin stirring of rebelliousness, was
just the trouble. That which within her had developed toward Gary
Lane could not so easily be dismissed with the loose and meaningless
term "friendship." It was something else, something deeper, stronger,
more tremulously chaotic ... like the subdued inner strivings of those
pleasantly placid mountains.

Did he, she wondered with a strained and baffled curiosity, feel that,
too? Or was he always too much the scientist to be just a plain man
looking upon her ... seeing her ... not as a friend, but as a woman?

The sound of crisp, firm footsteps spelled an end to her thinking. She
whirled to the doorway.

"Gary! You're back!"

Then her heart chilled within her at the look on his face. Never had
she seen Gary Lane like this. His features were hard as if they had
been cast in a mold, then frozen. His lips were whitely set, his eyes
twin glittering flints of anger.

"Yes," he said harshly, "I'm back. It's all over. We're done. Finished.
Washed up."

Dr. Bryant rose from his chair swiftly. "What do you mean, Gary? The
Council didn't--?"

"Oh, didn't they?" Lane's bark was a mirthless shard of laughter. "They
turned me down cold. Said our conclusions were erroneous, my theory a
fantastic figment of the imagination. The fools! The everlasting damned
fools! Don't they realize they're condemning a universe to oblivion?"

Dr. Anjers patted the younger man's shoulder soothingly, his bright
cherubic face soberly consoling.

"I'm sorry, my boy. But I warned you it would be difficult. Men see no
farther than the ends of their noses."

"Maybe not," grated Gary, "but they _hear_ ... oh, God, how they
_hear_! That's what killed our chances. Somehow or other they got a
rumor of what was in the wind. They had been warned in advance of
who I was and what I wanted; when I started explaining, showing my
photographs, they just sat back and smirked at me with that '_Yes,
yes, we know all about it; isn't it a pity that one so young should be
deranged?_' look on their smug, complacent faces."

"_Heard_ of it?" cried Nora. "But how could they have heard of it?"

Lane shook his head doggedly. "That's what I've been asking myself
ever since I left the Council Hall. To the best of my knowledge, not a
living soul knows our secret except us five."

"And," reminded Dr. Anjers, "one other."

"One other?"

"The marauder in the observatory."

       *       *       *       *       *

Lane was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "That's right. I'd almost
forgotten. _Their_ ambassador. It's his diabolic hand again. It must
be. Lord, if we had only caught him that day. If we only had some idea
who he _was_--"

The door opened again, and Flick Muldoon burst in jubilantly. "Great
howling snakes, folks, look who I found wandering around down on the
streets like a roaming comet! That old star-shooting son-of-a-gun
himself--Oh, golly, Gary! You're back! What'd they say, pal? Do we get
the ship? Is everything set?"

"Not set," corrected Gary. "Settled!" And told him what he had told the
others.

Muldoon's ruddy face fell. "Well, I'll be damned!" he whispered. "And
to think Earth's government set them dumb lunks up in power to rule
mankind's affairs! What are we going to do now? We can't give up just
because--"

"I think," suggested Nora, "the first thing you'd better do, Flick, is
introduce your friend. This must all seem rather mysterious and awkward
to him."

"Oh, my golly!" gulped Flick. "I almost forgot. I'm sorry, Hugh. Doc,
you remember Hugh Warren, don't you?"

"Warren?" Dr. Bryant's gaze turned querulously toward the tall,
fair, smiling young man in the doorway. The newcomer was dressed in
the respected gold-trimmed blue of the Solar Space Patrol. His even
features were tanned to a cinnamon hue by long exposure to the raw,
unshielded radiations of the void. The old scientist's eyes lighted
with belated recognition. "Not young Hugh Warren who used to study
Celestial Astrogation at the Observatory?"

The spaceman grinned, stepping forward to wring the older man's hand
with phalange-crushing enthusiasm.

"The same, Dr. Bryant," he chuckled. "I've never forgotten those
courses in Silly Ass. Most fun I've ever had ... and I've had plenty
since that. Lord--" He made the rounds, ending beside Gary Lane, about
whose shoulders he threw an arm in warm, masculine affection--"Lord,
it's good to see you earth-lubbers again! You haven't changed a bit,
Gary. You look a little more sober and settled down. But, then, they
tell me marriage does that to a guy...."

"Marriage?" echoed Lane blankly.

"Why--why, yes. Isn't this young lady--?"

"No. This is Miss Powell, my assistant. And the gentleman beside Dr.
Bryant is Dr. Boris Anjers. Dr. Anjers, Lieutenant Warren."

Dr. Anjers said politely, "It is always a pleasure to meet friends
of my friends. But hasn't Dr. Lane made a small mistake? If my poor
eyesight does not deceive me, your markings are not those of a space
lieutenant--"

Warren grinned. "That's right. S'prise, folks! The Council up and made
me a Captain, on account of me and my boys were lucky enough to salvage
a smashed liner out of the Bog.[4] That's why I'm here in Geneva.
Waiting to take command of my new ship, the sweetest, smoothest, little
whipper-dipper of a cruiser you ever laid eyes on. Boy, is it ever a
honey! All the latest equipment--"

[Footnote 4: The Bog: spaceman's term used to designate the Asteroid
Belt between Mars and Jupiter.--_Ed._]

"Cruiser!" said Lane bitterly. "They've got lots of cruisers for
routine work, but they won't even spare one old broken down jalopy
for--"

Hugh Warren looked puzzled. "For what? What's the gripe, chum? You look
like you'd just found a bug in a raspberry."

"It's worse than that," said Gary. And he told Warren the whole story
briefly, beginning with the lunar expedition and ending with the
recital of his recent interview.

       *       *       *       *       *

As Lane spoke, the young spaceman's smile faded slowly, the
laughter-born crinkles in the corners of his eyes disappeared. And Nora
Powell, watching this transition, realized that beneath the surface
vivacity of this newcomer there lay a core of steel, flame-hardened in
the crucible of action.

When Gary finished Warren did not speak. Instead, he jammed hamlike
hands deep into his trousers pockets, stalked to the far end of the
balcony, and there with head lowered, shoulders hunched, his back to
the others of the group, stared for long minutes unseeingly out over
the distant panorama. At length he turned, his eyes gravely querulous.

"Gary ... you're sure of what you've been telling me?"

"I only wish," said Gary bitterly, "there were some possibility of
error."

"What do _you_ say, Dr. Bryant?"

"There is only one thing _to_ say. Gary is right; completely right.
We have seen the pictures, checked and rechecked our calculations a
hundred times. There is no doubt but that the time approaches, and
it all too soon, when Earth's sun and its entire swarm of tributary
planets will exceed the critical dwindling point and flame into sudden
oblivion."

"And--and knowing these things, the Council wouldn't give you a ship,
Gary?"

"They just laughed at me. Said the whole theory was ridiculous."

"Lord!" said Captain Hugh Warren, "What fools we mortals be! Of course,
Gary, I can see their point ... to a certain extent. It _does_ sound
mad, your idea of visiting three only half-friendly planets and asking
each of them to open-handedly donate its most cherished military
secret. But it's the only way...."

His hands came from his pockets in a swift, decisive motion.

"Yes, it's the only way. How soon can you be ready to leave?"

"How--soon?"

"There's no time for fiddle-faddle. If we're going to do anything,
we've got to do it now before anything leaks, or anyone can get
suspicious."

"We?" echoed Dr. Bryant bleakly.

"Of course!" Hugh Warren brushed the older man's dubiety aside with
brusque and characteristic impatience. "You don't think I'm going to
stand on the sidelines and let this adventure romp along without _me_,
do you? And besides, I'm just what the doctor ordered: the answer to
your problem. You need a ship and a crew, don't you? And a pilot?
Well, I've got the first and the second. And I'm the last myself."

       *       *       *       *       *

Nora Powell burst forth impetuously, "But--but, Captain Warren, we
can't let you do that. You're a military man. You'd be court-martialed
on charges of desertion--"

"If," grunted Warren, "they caught us. Yes. But I'm not figuring on
anybody catching the _Liberty_. She's the sweetest little ether-pusher
that ever came off a cradle. And as for court-martial--" He
shrugged--"we'll worry about that if and when we get back. According
to Gary, if something isn't done--and done quick--there won't _be_ any
court-martials to try traitors.

"And--" He grinned--"I'd rather be a dead felon than a live loyalist."

Thus, in a manner far different from that which the comrades had
planned, was the matter arranged. Swiftly, but as inconspicuously as
possible, the conspirators made their preparations, gathered their
belongings together, and transported them to the Geneva rocketdrome,
which, fortunately, lay directly adjacent to the private cradle-field
of the Solar Space Patrol headquarters.

Amidst the hurly-burly and confusion of this place it was a simple
matter for Captain Hugh Warren to delegate two members of his crew to
slip to the larger drome and there, unnoticed in the bedlam of blasting
explosions, milling throngs, and tearful goodbyes, move the pile of
luggage from one drome to the other.

By nightfall the exchange had been completed; the plan was in
readiness. There came to the _pension_ a small, gnarled figure bearing
a mountainous bundle. This, when unwrapped, proved to be sufficient of
the familiar sky blue SSP uniform clothing to disguise every member
of the party. The bearer, a man who identified himself as, "'Awkins,
sir--'Erby 'Awkins, stooard o' the blinkin' _Liberty_, that's me, sir!"
gravely transmitted Captain Warren's instructions as to entering the
SSP rocketdrome.

"Just walk on past the sentry without sayin' nothin', folks," he
advised. "I'll give the password for the crew of us. Actin' like you
had maybe a drop too many might be a bit of an 'elp, but it don't
matter much. The sentries will be expectin' us, and won't think a thing
of it."

"Expecting us?" repeated Nora. "Five strangers, including a woman?"

'Erby 'Awkins grinned impishly. "Beggin' your poddon, miss, but
when you get them volly-oominus blues wrapped about your own pretty
self--meanin' no impertinence--it'd take a sharp-eyed sentry to tell
whether you was male or female, old or young. And there's no call for
them to be suspicious. Cap'n, he give five men all night leave, he did,
and told them not to bother comin' back. But he reported to the Captain
of the Guards that he was expectin' five of his crew to report back to
headquarters at eleven o'clock. That's the hour when we'll enter the
gates."

Gary said soberly, "We understand, Hawkins. I see Captain Warren has
already told you what we are planning to do."

And Hawkins replied with quiet dignity, "He didn't tell me nawthin',
sir; not a blinkin' word. And if I _does_ 'ave my suspicions, well, wot
matter? Cap'n Warren's our skipper, sir. What he decides is good enough
for me and the rest of the crew."

       *       *       *       *       *

So at eleven o'clock that night, as the long black spires of the
circling mountains rose to merge with the thicker black of a clouded,
moonless sky, five slightly tipsy figures lurched with shambling feet
to the sacrosanct portal of the Solar Space Patrol rocketdrome.

[Illustration: Lane did what must be done--and did it swiftly.]

As Hawkins had promised, they passed the gate unchallenged, the little
purser volunteering the password for all of them. And as they left
the gate behind, young Dr. Lane breathed a deep sigh of relief. The
one hazardous point of their effort now lay behind them. Five hundred
yards away lay the ship upon whose flaming jets they soon would thrust
voidward on a quest of magnificent daring.

The gate crashed to behind them, and the sentry's amused drawl advised,
"All right, lads, hop along back to your ship and sleep it off before
your skipper finds out--Wait a minute! What's the matter there?"

His voice lifted in sharp query, and beside Gary, Nora Powell gasped
in swift alarm; her right hand sought and gripped his arm in a clutch
of panic fright. For, awkwardly, in the darkness, one of their party
had slipped and fallen. And as he sprawled on the rough, uneven ground,
he cried in a loud and decidedly unsailorlike voice, "_Oh, goodness
gracious! How perfectly stupid of me!_"

It was the rotund little scientist, Dr. Anjers!




                               CHAPTER V

                           En Route to Venus


A coldness gripped Lane's heart; his breath caught in his throat. In a
moment the sentry's flashlight would dart its questing beam upon their
group. Their shoddy disguise could brook no such probing revelation.

He guessed right. A sudden shaft of silver split the darkness
dazzlingly, revealing the round, stunned face of Dr. Anjers lifted in
woebegone chagrin.

And the sentry cried again, "Say, hold on! What does this mean?"

It was no time for considered action. Lane did what must be done ...
and did it swiftly. In a single, swooping motion he whirled, raced,
dove for the sentry's legs. Both men went down in a flurry of tangling
limbs. Arms strained to escape Gary's viselike grip that a marksman's
hand might find its weapon.

But if strength and armed superiority was the sentry's, the element of
surprise favored Gary. Before the patrolman could reach his weapon,
before even his startled wits advised him to lift his voice in a cry
of warning, Lane's arm lifted once ... twice. The spaceman sighed--and
slumbered.

Gary leaped to his feet, lashing a cry of command out over the now
swiftly wakening rocketdrome.

"Take his other arm, there, Hawkins! We'll carry him. There, that's it!
Now, to the ship, folks--quickly! There's not a second to lose!"

And with the aid of the little steward he swept Anjers to his feet,
half-lifted, half-bore him to the entrance port of the _Liberty_, now
shining like a white rectangular beacon in the darkness before them.
An instant later, all five were within the craft. The airlock closed
behind them, and Captain Hugh Warren was rasping swift commands over
the audiophone system:

"_Lift gravs! Throw all thrusts at five gees immediately! No time to
warm hypos. Give her the gun! Hurry! For God's sake--!_"

The shrill, high whine of straining hypatomic motors coursed through
the ship, losing itself in the thunderous rumble of spluttering jets as
the fuel chambers stirred to power.

A voice clacked over the audio system, "Course and trajectory, Captain?"

"Later!" roared Warren. "Later. Lift gravs--quickly!"

Then a brutal, invisible hand smashed down on Gary Lane's head and
shoulders with crushing force. His knees buckled beneath him and the
blood drained from his head as he pitched forward helplessly on his
face, caught in the grip of a bruising acceleration. The roar of
exploding jets smashed furiously at his eardrums. The ship beneath him
seemed to pick itself up, shake itself like a huge, metallic beast, and
leap into the shrouded darkness.

Earth, an already dwindling ball of glowing green, lay a multitude of
miles beneath and behind them. Their journey was begun.

       *       *       *       *       *

When eons of agony later it seemed his laboring lungs could no longer
supply his wracked body with precious oxygen, when it seemed but a
matter of seconds before his very veins must burst beneath the crushing
of that horrid acceleration, there descended upon Gary Lane a brief
moment of vertigo. Darkness spun dizzily before his eyes. And when the
instant passed, the pressure was gone. He was free to rise again from
the hard metal deck to which gravitation had skewered him.

It was a measure of his fortitude that of all his companions save only
the space-hardened Captain Hugh Warren, Gary should have been the first
to regain his feet. Muldoon followed his example seconds later, to be
followed slowly by the girl and the cockney steward, then the two older
men. It was 'Erby 'Awkins who broke the labored silence.

"Well," he said with shaken satisfaction. "Well, it were touch-and-go
for a moment, weren't it? But we seems to be orl right now. Wot
blinkin' cheer, eh, shipmates?"

Nora said with a palpable effort toward regaining a vestige of her
usual composure, "Touch-and-go is right! I've lifted gravs before, but
never so swiftly nor so suddenly. If you ask me, that's no way for a
girl to keep her figure."

"I'm sorry," said little Dr. Anjers contritely. "I am deeply sorry,
my friends. It was all my fault. Had I not stumbled and fallen,
inadvertently roused an alarm--"

"Forget it," said Flick Muldoon. "Everybody pulls a pancake once in a
while. It's just tough luck that you happened to pull yours at a bad
moment. The main thing is, what are we going to do now?"

He looked at Warren questioningly, but Warren's eyes were upon Gary.

"That's your cue, Gary. I'm just flying this ship; you're plotting the
course."

Lane said soberly, "Well, Venus is our first logical stop, but I don't
know--now. The whole Patrol will be out after us like a pack of hounds."

Hugh Warren chuckled grimly, "Let them. They'll never catch the
_Liberty_. This is the fastest little ship afloat in space. We can run
circles around anything that ever punched holes in the ether."

"Yeah?" said Muldoon interestedly. "What's your speed?"

"On test flights," answered Warren proudly, "about a thousand. But that
was straight cruising speed. In an emergency we might be able to make
as much as twelve-fifty."

"What! A cruising speed of a thousand miles per second? But--but that's
over ten million miles per day!"

"And with Venus in inferior conjunction," said Nora excitedly, "we can
be there in two and a half days!"

"Well, not quite. You have to allow a time lag for acceleration and
deceleration. But--" Captain Warren grinned happily--"three days should
do the trick. Not bad, eh, Gary?"

Gary Lane said dazedly, "Not bad! Mister, when they start giving medals
for understatement, you ought to get one as big as the United Nations
Victory Tower. Why, the universal record for an Earth-Venus flight is
almost a day longer than that."

"Three days," supplied Warren, "eighteen hours, twenty-three and a
half minutes. Which same so-called 'record' we're going to bust six
ways to hell-and-gone on this little shuttle. Only--" he admitted
ruefully--"our new record won't count, seeing as how it's unofficial as
hell. Well, Venus it is? I'll be leaving you, then, to chart the course
and trajectory. Hawkins, show our guests to their quarters. We'll meet
later in the lounge."

And he vanished bridgeward.

       *       *       *       *       *

So set the _Liberty_ forth upon the first leg of its argosy. The next
three days sped swiftly. So fraught with activity, indeed, were his
waking hours, that Gary Lane found scant time in which to acquaint
himself with the _Liberty_ and its personnel. One thing he learned from
his space commander friend: that there were, in addition to himself
and his companions, fifteen souls aboard the craft. Of these, three
were Patrol officers: Hugh Warren himself, his mate, Lieutenant Angus
MacDonald, and the Chief Engineer, a lean, taciturn man named Sebold.
Two more were subalterns: Bud Howard, the assistant engineer, and Tommy
Edwards, the ship's Sparks. The enlisted men included Herby Hawkins,
the steward; Tony, potentate of the galley; four able-bodied spacemen;
and four blasters of the jet-chamber crew.

"We're short," Hugh Warren pointed out, "five men. The five as whom
you masqueraded when you came aboard. Two of these were spacemen. We
can spare them. Another two were blasters. We can get by without them,
too, though it means longer shifts and harder work for the remaining
four. But the other one--" He shook his head--"we're really going to
need him. He was Fred Harkness, my first mate. A good spaceman with a
keen mind for figures and a swift, intuitive ability at handling a ship
in an emergency. If we run into any snags we're going to wish he was
along."

"Then why did you let him go?" asked Gary.

Warren grinned a tight, lopsided grin. "For the same reason I gave the
other four leave. Because I knew I'd never be able to convince him I
was doing the right thing. He was strong on discipline. He would have
wanted no part of this escapade."

That was something which had been troubling Dr. Gary Lane. He said
thoughtfully, "And you, Hugh? You're not sorry?"

"That I cast my lot in with yours? Made your cause mine? No." Warren
shook his head decidedly. "Decidedly not. I'm sorry I had to, on the
surface at least, play traitor to the uniform I wear. But under the
circumstances I believe I did the proper thing. This little emblem--"
he touched the small gold rocket pinned above his heart--"is inscribed
with the motto of the Solar Space Patrol: '_Order out of Chaos_.' That
is the duty to which we are charged above all others. And though for a
time it means flying in the face of orders and conventions, I feel the
importance of our task justifies my desertion.

"If--" his jaw set tightly--"if we succeed in doing that which you say
we must, exoneration will follow swiftly and surely."

"And," said Gary softly, "if we do not?"

Warren shrugged. "The question carries its own answer. If we do not,
then according to your own calculations, there will be no Hugh Warren
to stand trial, nor court to sit in judgment upon his sins."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus sped the _Liberty_ through space at a rate of speed attained by
no other spaceship before her. Each passing hour found Earth dwindling
smaller and dimmer behind them; each hour saw Earth's sister planet
looming ever larger and brighter before.

As they flashed sunward, the Sun grew greater, too. Its radiance,
down-pouring upon them with devastating beneficence, was like the
molten spuming of gaseous gold. Though the polarized quartzite of
the ship's viewpane blacked out its brazen light, nothing could stay
the increase of its heat. It grew warmer and ever more sultry in the
_Liberty_ despite the labors of the ship's air-conditioning system.

Flick Muldoon, shirt plastered wetly to his back, mopped his brow and
groaned, "It takes a trip away from home to make you realize what a
sweet little old gal Mama Earth is. Boy, I wouldn't live on Venus for
all the bubbles in a beauty bath! If it's like this out here in space,
what must it be like on the planet itself?"

From his seat at the control studs, Lieutenant Angus MacDonald grinned
companionably.

"Not so bad as you'd think. You see, even though Venus is 25,000,000
miles nearer the sun than Earth, she's protected from the sun's glare
by a cloud-layer almost three times as thick as the atmosphere layer
of Terra. As a result, the planet has neither a burning hot summer
season nor a frigid winter period, but a fairly pleasant and constant
temperature all the year 'round."

Dr. Anjers said, "I have been fearing recently that we may find
something else, too, not quite so pleasant."

"What's that?"

"The Space Patrol," said Anjers gravely, "waiting for us. We are
traveling at the greatest rate of speed ever attained by a spacecraft,
true, but the speed of light makes mockery of our efforts. And that is
the rate at which a warning message must have winged its way before us.
Is it not possible we are running directly into a trap? A Patrol fleet
grimly awaiting our arrival?"

Skipper Warren shook his head. "A couple of years ago, yes,
undoubtedly. But not now."

"No? Why not?"

"Because," explained Warren gravely, "the Solar Space Patrol is not
an interplanetary patrol any longer. Few earthmen realize that, but
it's true. The purpose for which it was formed, that of policing and
providing judicial protection to all the civilized planets, has been
overthrown. The militaristic ambitions of each world have heightened so
greatly in the last couple of years that now every other planet in the
system looks with disfavor upon the SSP, which was an invention of the
Earth government.

"One by one, its garrisons have been withdrawn from Venus, Mars,
Jupiter, the asteroids, until now the organization which used to
proudly boast the maintenance of order throughout the whole system has
become nothing more than an armed protective corps for Earth itself."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Is that true?" gasped Nora Powell. "But why should the other planets
refuse to cooperate?"

"It's our own fault," confessed Warren glumly. "The Patrol was a good
idea, but it wasn't organized properly. Its membership should have
been drawn from the likeliest youths of each world. Instead, through
selfishness or cunning or greed--I don't know why--Earth undertook the
policing of the entire solar system with only the young men of her own
world.

"Then again, throughout many decades we have steadfastly refused to
aid the other worlds in developing spacecraft. Earth, and Earth alone,
knows the secret of the construction of hypatomic motors which make
spaceflight possible. It is a secret we guard jealously. That is why
there exists no Venusian fleet, no Martian fleet, Jovian fleet. Only
an Earth fleet which--and perhaps with reason--the denizens of all the
other planets fear as an aggressive force.

"Earth, too, has the only merchant fleet. And while it is no doubt true
that other planets profit somewhat by the interchange of commerce our
merchantmen make possible, it is into Earth's coffers pours the wealth
of the universe."

"Why--why, that's true," said Dr. Bryant. "I had never realized it
before, but that is undoubtedly responsible for the known disaffection
between Earth and the outlying planets. But, Captain Warren, the common
people of Earth don't realize this! They, like myself, are too busy
with the small details of their private lives to wonder more than
casually about such things. It never occurred to me to wonder at the
lack of other interplanetary merchantmen. I suppose I always took it
for granted that we of Earth were doing our solar neighbors a great
favor by regulating interplanetary commerce. Now I can see--"

He paused, his eyebrows knit in thought. Then--"But something must
certainly be done about this situation. What can we do?"

"Right now," replied Warren gravely, "nothing. We have a more important
task confronting us. But if and when this other affair is successfully
cleared up, something should be finally done to create a new world
order truly based on the principle of equal rights ... with liberty and
justice for all."

Muldoon said cautiously, "But, wait a minute. There's a bug in that
reasoning somewhere. You say the other planets haven't learned the
secret of the hypatomic motor? Well, ships crash, don't they? And ships
can be captured. It seems to me that if any nation really wanted to
learn that secret--"

"They could not do so," replied Warren, "any more than we in this ship
could learn the actual mechanism of the motor driving us."

"What? We can't--but why?"

"Because the hypatomic motors which drive us are encased in a steel
jacket equipped with a device so regulated that were any attempt made
to open it and study its mechanism it would instantly explode, blowing
itself and us into oblivion."

And Warren added softly, "I think you begin to understand now, my
friends, why every other world fears and distrusts Earth. And why our
task of pleading for their cooperation is harder than Gary expected."




                              CHAPTER VI

                   "Introducing Larkspur O'Day...."


In exactly three days, one hour and forty-five minutes Solar Constant
time, the _Liberty_ dropped to a perfect landing in a cradle on the
rocketdrome of Sun City, seat of the Venusian planetary government.

As Warren had foretold, their arrival was unchallenged by any ship
of the SSP fleet. Sole occupants of the rocketdrome's cradles were
lumbering freighters and sleek merchantmen emblazoned with the emblem
of Earth's merchant marine.

But if their arrival was unchallenged it was not unexpected. A host of
ebony-skinned Venusians gathered about their ship instantly. As soon as
their party emerged from the lock, a delegation moved forward to greet
them. With but a few words of preamble they were whisked away to the
Venusian Council Hall. There, serving as spokesman for the group, Gary
Lane launched earnestly upon an explanation of the mission which had
brought them hither.

It was a strikingly different group of beings whom Gary now spoke to
than those to whom he had addressed his plea on Earth three short days
ago. The Venusians were human. Upon his conquest of space, man had
discovered--somewhat to his surprise and more than a little to the
chagrin of the ethnologists who had predicted otherwise--that nowhere
(in the solar galaxy at least) had risen to planetary supremacy any
race of creatures other than that represented by _Homo sapiens_.

But where on Earth of the Twenty-third century white, or Caucasian,
man was the acknowledged cultural leader of his planet, here on Venus
the situation was reversed. The planetary overlords were dark-skinned
men of magnificent figure and intellect. The planet embraced only a
minority of the white and yellow-skinned races. And these, when found,
were for the most part centuries deeper in barbarism and savagery than
were the negroid rulers of the planet.

To the bafflement of science, laboratory research had proven beyond
the shadow of a doubt that these Venusians bore a fundamental kinship
with the dark-skinned races of Earth. Blood plasma, hair structure, and
other physiological phenomena proved Earth's dark children were more
nearly related to the Venusians than to their own terrestrial brethren.

All this Gary Lane had known in advance. So it was with no surprise he
addressed himself to the Venusian court. He did, however, despite the
intensity of his purpose, in some dim recess of his mind find time to
marvel that the racial characteristics of the colored men, sometimes
mildly amusing at home, were here lifted and dignified by universal
usage to a station of high importance.

The great vaulted Council chamber, with its curving spires and gaudily
tinted walls; the bright colored raiment, the elaborate equipage and
formality with which the Venusians embellished their pomp, on Earth
might have exacted derision. Here they seemed the normal, the true and
graceful and cultured thing.

       *       *       *       *       *

And if there was a certain childlike love of color and circumstances in
the Venusian heart, it was no juvenile attention the Venusian overlords
turned upon Lane's words. They listened carefully and thoughtfully to
what he had to say, then conferred briefly amongst themselves. Finally
their Chief Councillor turned to him.

"Your story is fantastic, but there is a certain ominous ring of truth
in its telling. Still we do not quite understand. Why have you come to
Venus? What would you have of us?"

"One of the four things," answered Gary, "requisite to our escaping our
own solar galaxy that we may seek the cause which threatens to bring
about our doom. We need from you--_fuel_. Sufficient stores of precious
_neurotrope_, which only your planet produces. It is the only fuel with
great enough power in small enough quantity to serve our purposes."

"And how much," asked the Venusian spokesman, "of this fuel would you
need?"

"A minimum of five thousand tons."

"Five thousand tons!"

The noblemen murmured amongst themselves restlessly. Their leader bent
a shrewd, hard glance upon Gary.

"That is much fuel, Earthman."

"We have far to go," replied Gary. "From here to Mars ... from Mars to
Jupiter ... then outward, beyond this universe itself. Five thousand
tons of _neurotrope_ is barely enough for our needs."

"It is _also_ enough," reminded the other, "to fuel the whole of your
Earth fleet for a trip to Venus."

"Yes," acknowledged Gary, "I suppose that's true. But this is a
relatively short trip, whereas--" Then he stopped suddenly, the
implication of the other's words striking him. "But surely you can't
think--!"

"Our relationship with your planet," said the Chief Councillor slowly,
"has not always been ... pleasant. We have small reason to place great
faith in your words and promises; none whatsoever to turn over to you
a supply of the only important military weapon we possess. Unless, of
course--"

Gary grasped the straw eagerly. "Yes?"

"Unless you would be willing to show your good faith by disclosing to
us, in return, an Earthly secret vital to our defense."

"But," faltered Gary, "I know no such secret."

"I think you do. You came here in a spacecraft. It contains the secret
we want. The knowledge of the hypatomic motor which drives it."

Gary's heart sank. He turned to Hugh Warren.

"Tell them, Hugh, what you told us on the trip here."

Warren did so. The councillors were courteous but unmoved. Their chief
merely shrugged as he made reply.

"The situation is even worse than I thought. Earth's government is so
jealous of its military secrets that it does not entrust them even to
the Patrolmen who fight in its cause. No, gentlemen, I am afraid--"

       *       *       *       *       *

It was the girl, Nora Powell, who interrupted him.

"But, Excellency," she cried, springing forward, "you can't _do_ this!
You can't risk the very existence of a dozen worlds for the sake of a
selfish principle. You can't turn us away like this. Don't you realize
what these men have dared already? Disgrace and death at the hands
of their compatriots, unless our mission succeeds. We are exiles,
fugitives from Earth, fighting alone and single-handed to protect Earth
and all Sol's other children from--"

The councillor said, "Yes, we have heard the news by ultrawave radio of
your--er--melodramatic escape from Earth. Surely, my dear young lady,
you do not think we are taken in by such a ruse? It is an exquisitely
imaginative tale. But we find it scarcely credible that five learnéd
scientists and a crew of Solar Patrolmen should 'steal' a ship against
the will of Earth's government.

"It is more likely--_much_ more likely--that your world, in order to
gain a sufficient supply of our vital fuel, has planned this little
drama."

"Why," burst out Flick Muldoon indignantly, "that's nonsense! Begging
your pardon, Excellency, but that idea's as crazy as hell! We did this
on our own hook in order to--"

But Gary stopped him before the irate cameraman's outspoken indignation
should only worsen their plight. He asked quietly, "That is your final
and considered decision?"

The councillor nodded for himself and his associates.

"It is. When you return to Earth you may tell your government we of
Venus are not fools. And now, farewell."

He nodded to a retinue of guards. Short minutes later the dejected
little group was being led back toward the spaceport.

For the most part they were silent, each lost in the overwhelming
sadness of his own thoughts. Only one spoke, and he in a mutter. That
one was Flick Muldoon.

"Not fools, eh? I wonder if he'd like to make book on that...."

       *       *       *       *       *

"So," said Hugh Warren, "that seems to be that. What do we do now,
Gary? Give up?"

Gary said, "I don't know _what_ to do, Hugh."

"I am afraid," sighed Dr. Anjers, "our mission is a failure. Perhaps it
were best we go back to Earth and throw ourselves on the clemency of
the World Council."

"You maybe," said the skipper of the _Liberty_ ruefully, "but not me.
I'm in it too deep. Well, Gary, better make up your mind."

"We go on," decided Lane suddenly. "That's all we _can_ do. Swallow
this failure and go on to Mars. Perhaps there our plea will meet with
more success."

"But," demurred Dr. Bryant, "if we lack sufficient fuel--"

"We must find some substitute," said Gary. But even as he said it,
he knew he was guilty of wishful thinking. There was no substitute
for _neurotrope_. There were many fuels capable of adaptation to the
explosion chamber of hypatomic motors, but none compact enough and
powerful enough to make possible the long, sustained flight which lay
before them.

Warren said, "You're the doctor," and turned to the control studs,
setting the stops for the next leg of their journey, that which must
carry them 200,000,000 miles through space to the crimson, arid comet
of Mars.

As he depressed the proper button, lights flashed and relays clicked.
Small bells jangled in the bowels of the ship, setting unseen engineers
and crewmen to the fulfillment of their tasks.

Skipper Warren smiled drearily, "Well, at any rate," he said, "we have
the satisfaction of knowing that fuel or no fuel, we have under us the
smoothest little ship in space. Mile for mile it will give us more
speed per pound of fuel than any other ship--"

He stopped suddenly, lurching and grasping for support, startled into
silence as the deck beneath him bucked and quivered violently. Someone
shouted. Nora screamed a little scream of dismay. Only by grasping an
upright of the control turret did Gary Lane keep himself from tumbling
bruisingly across the room. Flick Muldoon, victim of an unexpectedly
violent threepoint landing, glared up irately from the floor.

"Smoothest little ship in space, eh? It's sure acting like it now."

But Captain Hugh Warren's face had suddenly drained of color. Now his
hands smashed open the ship's intercommunicating system, and he bawled,
"_We're caught in an enemy tractor beam! All hands at battle stations!
Stand by to repel boarders!_"

But overlapping his command came that of a second voice, one crisp and
cool and pleasantly amused,

"I shouldn't if I were you, Captain. You see, we're already alongside,
with our guns trained on you. It would be wiser to bow to the
inevitable."

"But what ... who...?" gasped Dr. Bryant.

Hugh Warren turned from his controls with a shrug of resignation, and
in a voice of gathering despair, "Troubles," he said, "never come
singly. Now it's pirates."

       *       *       *       *       *

Minutes later he was proven correct. There came the grating clamor
of spacecraft in embrace, the hiss of opening airlocks, and into the
_Liberty_ strode a band of Earthmen, bulger-clad and armed to the teeth.

With the swift efficiency of long practice, these men dispersed
throughout the ship to accomplish their marauding aims. Only their
leader and a lieutenant refrained from piratical activity. These came
to the bridge of the _Liberty_, and there with an ease and calmness
Gary Lane found amazing under the circumstances, addressed themselves
to the skipper of the invaded vessel.

"Greetings, Captain. No hard feelings, I hope? If you'll just toss
your sidearms over into the corner--There, that's better. No reason
we shouldn't enjoy a pleasant little chat until my men have completed
their mission."

"Mission?" grated Warren savagely. "What mission? Damn your rascally
hide, we're no merchantman. This is a cruiser of the Solar Space
Patrol."

The corsair chieftain chuckled pleasantly.

"Why, yes, Captain. So we noticed. That's our mission. I thought it
would be a good joke to stop you--just to see if we could, you know.
And as a matter of proof, in case anyone should ever contest our claim,
I've asked my men to remove the insignia from the uniforms of each of
your crew. Sorry to seem impolite, Captain, but if you wouldn't mind
tossing me your epaulettes ... just as a little souvenir, you know--"

Hugh Warren's face, which had been apoplectic with rage, now froze in
slack-jawed wonder.

"J-joke!" he stammered. "Just to see if you could? Souvenir! There's
only one pirate in space crazy enough to do a thing like this. You must
be--"

The marauder smiled amiably. "Well, now," he drawled, "that's right
flattering of you, Captain. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is
O'Day. Larkspur O'Day."




                              CHAPTER VII

                            Moon of Madness


And he pushed back the quartzite helmet of his bulger, exposing the
whitest smile, the handsomest face, the laughingest pair of eyes, all
topped by the most unruly mop of cinnamon hair, Gary Lane had ever
seen. A buccaneer the man might be, but he could equally well have been
an artist's model for a gay and laughing cavalier of the Seventeenth
Century.

"Lark O'Day!" gasped Nora Powell.

She knew the name, as did all Earthmen and women with a spark of
romantic imagination in their systems. Lark O'Day was a privateer
whose exploits were so remarkable as to be almost legendary. Though
a tremendous price was offered for his apprehension by the harassed
merchantmen of Earth's fleet, there were few but had a sneaking
admiration for this gallant and quixotic young champion of derring-do,
who, alone in this late day of ultra-civilization, carried on the
traditions of an earlier Robin Hood or Dick Turpin.

Though no rare cargo of precious gems or valuable ores was safe from
the attentions of Lark O'Day, it was not only such things which tempted
his forays. When the traitorous rebel government of the tiny planetoid
Ceres had fled its orb with a ransom of priceless gems ravaged from the
imperial coffers, he it was who had apprehended the traitors, delivered
upon them a swift and merciless punishment, then sent to Ceres'
beauteous Princess Alicia a gorgeous crown encrusted with the finest of
the stolen gems ... retaining only (as his fee for services rendered)
those jewels which found no place in the coronet.

He it also was who, when Earth's government dared not openly
accuse that brilliantly ruthless business tycoon, Jeremiah Draven,
of establishing slave colonies on Earth's lunar outpost, whisked
the trillionaire scoundrel from his private space yacht, held him
incommunicado until a court, declaring him legally dead, broke up
his financial empire ... then returned him to Earth horribly and
ineradicably branded across the brow with a cicatrix which theologians
identified as the biblical Mark of Cain.

And it was Lark O'Day who, for a whim, had stopped on its maiden voyage
the _Orestes_, greatest luxury liner ever built by man, for the sole
purpose of stealing one kiss from the ripe, bewildered lips of the
newly crowned "Miss Universe."

This, then, was the nature of their attacker. And though Gary Lane knew
the man to be a thief, daredevil, and desperado, he could not help but
like him at first sight. Nor was even Captain Hugh Warren, who should
have been furious, more than mildly amused at this latest prank of the
void's piratical playboy.

He chuckled and stripped off the gold braid emblems for which O'Day
asked, tossed them toward the privateer.

"Here you are," he laughed, "and welcome. I'm afraid I have no right to
wear them any more, anyway. At least, that's what my commander would
say."

O'Day glanced at him curiously.

"What? Say, wait a minute! This isn't the _Liberty_? You're not the
ones I heard about on the radio? The ones who stole a brand new cruiser
and--"

       *       *       *       *       *

He paused, then rocked with infectious laughter. Whatever strain had
existed on the _Liberty's_ bridge disappeared as all joined him in his
mirth. When finally the redhead had regained his composure, he picked
up the fallen epaulettes, returned them to Warren with a courtly bow.

"My apologies, Captain. I am afraid I cannot take these. It appears
we're both in the same boat, figuratively as well as literally
speaking. And, after all, there _is_ 'honor amongst thieves', you know.
But--tell me? All I have heard is the World Council's side of the
story. I'm sure the whole truth must be interesting. Tell me about it."

So they told him the entire tale. Of Lane's discovery, the attack in
the Observatory, the World Council's refusal to grant a ship, and the
subsequent theft of the _Liberty_. Of their recent adventure on Venus.

As Gary spoke, the laughter faded from the corsair's lips and eyes.
A new seriousness gathered about the corners of his mouth and anger
tightened his lean, lithe figure.

He interrupted, frowning. "Just a moment. These calculations of
yours--you're sure they're right?"

"If mathematics is a pure science, yes."

"And the Venusian government--you say it refused to give you the fuel
you need?"

"That's right," said Gary glumly, "and without it, I'm afraid--"

He shrugged. But Lark O'Day turned sharply to his lieutenant. In his
voice was a note which the others had not heard before. It proved
beyond need of demonstration why laughing Lark O'Day could command a
hard-bitten crew as his.

"Call the men, Mark. Get them aboard the _Black Star_ and place every
hand at battle stations. Open the gun ports. Not short range--the
troposphere rotors. Prepare for immediate action. If those damned
fools--"

He spun to Warren angrily. "Captain, may I request the use of your
radioman and signal turret for a short time?"

"Why--why, yes," faltered Warren.

"Good! Then we'll teach those idiots to sacrifice an entire system to
their own selfish greed!"

"What are you going to do?" demanded Gary.

O'Day laughed, a single explosive bark in which was little mirth. "Do?
Why, I'm going to get you that fuel you need, of course! The Venusian
Council knows me of old ... and they know what the _Black Star's_ guns
can do. I'm going to call them now and tell them that unless they load
your fuel bins to the last millimeter I'll blast Sun City off the face
of their stinking planet. Come along if you want!" And he headed for
the radio turret.

What happened after that was anti-climax. The effect of Lark O'Day's
little speech to the Venusian Council was a measure of his greatness.
He talked and they listened. They demurred and he raised his voice a
note. They complained and that note became a warning note. They entered
a half-hearted refusal and he stopped _asking_ and started _telling_
them what they must do ... or else. They capitulated, servilely. A
short time later the _Liberty_ was once again nestling in a Sun City
cradle; this time gorging its belly with the five thousand tons of
_neurotrope_ for which Gary had unsuccessfully pleaded. The only
difference between this arrangement and the one Lane had suggested was
that the Venusians were not paid cash on the line for the vital fuel.
That was Lark O'Day's idea.

"Not a damn cent," he said. "Serves them right for being so stingy with
it before. This will teach them a lesson. And--" He grinned--"if your
conscience bothers you, you can pay them when we come back, if our trip
is successful."

"_We?_" said Nora Powell. "_Our_ trip?"

Lark O'Day grinned at her happily. "Why, sure," he drawled. "You don't
think I'd let an expedition like this get away without _me_ being
aboard, do you? That's my fee for helping out in a pinch. You don't
mind, do you, if I join the party?"

Lane said, "Mind! We're tickled to death to have you." And he really
meant it.

       *       *       *       *       *

So set the _Liberty_ forth upon the second leg of its quest. Nor was it
now a halting leg upon which they limped. For their bins were filled to
the brim, "With enough fuel--" as Flick Muldoon put it--"to drive us
from here to Hades and back, with lay-overs at Erewhon and Shangri-la!"

This phase of the journey was not so frenzied as had been the brief
shuttle from Earth to Venus. For Mars lay not in conjunction with
Earth, but in opposition to the green planet. Their course bore them
sunward from Venus, inside the orbit of Mercury, then outward again
two hundred million miles to where slow Mars, pursuing its inexorable
course, should meet them in celestial rendezvous.

Thus the first week of their twenty day voyage was a far from pleasant
experience. Nearing Venus they had experienced a sample of Sol's
heat-dealing abilities. Now, as they flashed yet farther sunward, Gary
Lane and his companions realized that this had been indeed but a tiny
taste of what was to come.

Hour by hour the temperature within the _Liberty_ rose as flaming
radiation lashed at the cruiser's hull with scourges of flame. It
scarcely mattered that the refrigerating unit strained and labored like
a floundering Titan. The metal walls were unbearable to touch, and cool
drinks were but a sop to bodies which oozed perspiration from every
pore like desert-parched sponges.

Nor did it matter that the air-conditioning system functioned
perfectly. Its vents and fans had no cool air with which to bathe their
bodies. From its spouts gushed blasts of withering heat, scarcely less
endurable than the thickly stagnant air of unventilated corridors. One
by one the travelers shed layers of useless clothing. At their point
of nearest proximity to Sol, the men on duty labored in sweat-soaked
shorts, while those off duty--and Nora Powell--for modesty's sake
sought the sanctuary of stripped relaxation in their private quarters.

       *       *       *       *       *

To Gary Lane's unspacetrained eye it appeared that save for this raw
discomfort the period passed without incident. Once, to be true, there
was a time when it seemed they would never swing out, past, and away
from the sky-filling crimson globe which is Earth's sun. And once
there came a breathless moment when it seemed the _Liberty_ choked and
throbbed in mid-flight, shuddered violently ... then ploughed along her
course.

But he was not spaceman enough to read meaning into these episodes. It
was not until much later, when they had recrossed the Mercurial orbit
and already the scorching heat was a fading memory, that Captain Hugh
Warren told him how near they had come to disaster.

"Nip and tuck there for a while," he confessed, "just as we reached
perigee. Even at our rate of speed I didn't think we were going to make
it for a minute. And we might not have, either, if it hadn't been for
O'Day."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Lane.

Warren grinned. "Heard of sun-baths, haven't you? Well, all of us
nearly took one. Only not in the sun's rays, but in old Sol itself.
Remember that time day before yesterday when the ship stalled for a
minute, then trembled and went on?"

"Yes. I thought something had gone wrong with the motors."

"It did," grunted Warren. "Solar rays locked 'em. Hysteresis, you know.
If O'Day hadn't jumped to those controls and done something--God knows
what--Sol's gravitation might have pulled us in and then ... blooie!

"I'm telling you, I'm glad he's along on this trip. Frankly, I don't
know whether I could have pulled us out of it myself."

Gary said, "And _I'm_ glad I didn't know about it until it was all
over! It is all over? We're in good shape now?"

"Yes. Though I'm afraid the jets may be a bit warped from the beating
they took. Not enough to cause us any trouble, I guess, but we'll have
to have them fixed up when we get to Mars."

"And that should be--?"

"Oh, at least another ten days. Might as well relax and enjoy yourself.
Speaking of which--" Warren's tone altered suddenly--"there's something
I'd like to mention. I hardly know how to say it, but--"

Gary stared at him puzzledly. "Well, go ahead."

"It's about Nora ... Miss Powell. I mean--I never quite understood the
setup between you two. I don't want to poach on a friend's preserves,
but in this instance--"

Gary said slowly, "Why--I have no strings on Nora, if that's what you
mean, Hugh. We're friends, but--"

"But there's no understanding between you?"

"No."

Warren laughed relievedly. "Well, in that case, you wouldn't have
any objection if I--well, sort of showed her around a little? Maybe
pointing out, meanwhile, that a certain Hugh Warren isn't a bad sort of
guy?"

"No," said Gary even more slowly. "No, of course not, Hugh. You have
every right in the world to do so."

It was all very open and above board. Nora was a fine girl and Gary
admired her greatly. Hugh was a great guy and an old friend. In view of
these facts, it is strange that when Warren, that night after dinner,
took Nora's arm in his and wandered off with her to the observation
deck of the _Liberty_, young Dr. Lane should have found himself
suddenly seized with a restlessness and impatience quite outside the
usual emotional experience of an earnest scientist with a burning
mission before him....

       *       *       *       *       *

So the long hours rolled by, becoming days, and the slow days passed
until at length the sun lay far behind them, a dwindling ochre glow
in the black of space. And before them, increasingly larger with each
hour of flight, lay a huge crimson sphere, scored with a multitude of
crisscross scars, about which endlessly circled a pair of hurtling
satellites. The planet Mars.

Toward that they flashed at constant driving speed, filled with a
gathering impatience now that the second stage of their quest was so
near completion. Only three men seemed in any way perturbed by the
approaching nearness of the red planet. They, significantly enough,
were the three trained spacemen upon whom evolved the duty of guiding
the _Liberty_ from orb to orb.

Flick Muldoon who, mechanically inclined, had shown intense interest in
the technique of spaceflight throughout the journey, was surprised, on
that day when finally their destination loomed directly before them,
to note a growing apprehension in the eyes and actions of the three
astrogators.

O'Day was in the pilot's seat, his fingers poised and ready above the
innumerable banked studs. Of him Flick asked, "What's up, Lark? You're
as fidgety as a yogi on a cactus mattress."

O'Day dismissed the query with a swift, impatient shake of the head.
"Not now, Flick, if you don't mind. I'm busy."

Muldoon transferred his questioning to Warren.

"Busy? What's all the fuss about? All we've got to do is slide into
Mars and make a landing, isn't it?"

But Warren, too, showed no inclination to talk. He said to the man at
the controls, "Co-ordinates look good, O'Day. Both moons are on this
side. Of course, that may or may not mean anything. You never can
tell."

"What _is_ this?" demanded the now completely baffled Muldoon of the
only remaining space officer. "You guys act like you're expecting
trouble. What's the matter? Do you think the Martians are hostile?"

Lieutenant MacDonald smiled thinly. "It's not the Martians we're
worried about, Flick. It's those damned moons."

"What about them?"

"Well, we want to make sure we clear them, that's all. You see, Mars
has two moons, Deimos and Phobos. They're tricky little gadgets to
calculate when you're plotting a landing on the mother planet. Both of
them travel like bats out of hell. The inner one, Phobos, takes only
seven hours and thirty-nine minutes to make a complete revolution.
Deimos scoots along even faster. Though it's three times as far from
its primary as Phobos, it gallops through its orbit in thirty hours and
twenty minutes."

"So," Muldoon said, "What? You're not afraid of one of them hitting us,
are you? We're traveling faster than they are. And if you know where
they're going to be at any given moment--"

"No, we don't expect one of them to hit us. The thing we have to guard
against is _our_ hitting one of _them_. You see, those satellites have
peculiarities. One of them is that every once in a while, for no known
reason, they suddenly cease being tiny balls of inert matter hurtling
about their primary, and for a brief period become tremendously potent
magnets.

"Technicians have been studying the problem for a long time, but so far
haven't discovered the solution. All we know is that the oddity exists.
And so long as it does, Deimos and Phobos remain a constant hazard to
spacecraft approaching Mars."

"Magnets?" said Muldoon. "You mean they exert force on us? Drag us down
to them like--"

"Like," interrupted Captain Warren with a sudden bellow of dismay,
"_this! Lark, throw clear!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

For in the split of a second a change had marred the smooth, even
flight of the _Liberty_. There came upon Muldoon a swift and sickening
sensation of increased weight. Despite himself he lurched and tumbled
forward to his knees aware that the ship's nose had spun dizzily off
course, and that the cruiser itself was streaking at increased speed in
a direction unplotted by the pilot.

Then everything happened at once. Great beads of perspiration springing
from his brow, Lark O'Day began pounding his controls like a master
organist playing the keyboard of a delicate instrument. Captain Warren
leaped to the audiophone, barked sharp commands to the men in the
engine room below. And over the intercommunicating system MacDonald was
crying hurried instructions to crew and passengers alike.

"_Go to emergency quarters immediately! Hammock yourselves for crash
landing!_"

"Crash landing!" gasped Muldoon.

"Here!" Warren grasped his arm, threw him into one of the well-padded
percussion chairs of the control turret. "Lock your safety belt and
relax. Everything's going to be all right ... I hope."

He turned questioning eyes to Lark O'Day. The one-time privateer took
time from his labors for an encouraging grunt.

"I think so. We're hooked, but I think I can bounce her down on a
slant. Hold tight, everybody."

Then in the vision lens which mapped that segment of space immediately
before them, Flick Muldoon glimpsed the rapidly swelling globe which
was Deimos, lesser moon of Mars. Like a great, gaunt blood-red rock
it looked; quartering, then halving, then completely blotting out the
vision plate.

Muldoon was momentarily aware of razor-sharp cliffs, high rocky
plateaus, and jagged tors unsoftened by a blade of vegetation. Then
the motors whined in shrill and screaming protest. The _Liberty's_
nose came up, and the ship struck with a resounding crash. Struck ...
bounced ... shook itself angrily ... and ground to a grating stop....




                             CHAPTER VIII

                            Power from Mars


"Well!" said Flick Muldoon. "Everything happens to us!"

Lark O'Day pushed a final stud which silenced the _Liberty's_ motors.
The ship lay still upon the satellite's rocky surface.

"That," said the pilot moodily, "is that! You all right, fellows? How
about you, Muldoon?"

Flick eased himself from his chair, flexed arms and legs gingerly.
"They _seem_ to be all right," he admitted cautiously. "I'll study them
for defects when the goose pimples go down."

Mac was already at the intercommunicating system, rasping queries to
the far chambers of the ship. "Everybody O.Q.? No casualties?"

The responses were encouraging if somewhat blasphemous. Typical was
the reply from Slops, the ship's chef. He snarled irately, "_I'm_ all
right, Lootenant, but did you say we was to have soup for dinner?"

"Eh? Why, yes. But--"

"'Cause if you did, everybody better come on up to the galley right now
with spoons. Dinner's slip-sloppin' all over the floor."

There came the sound of footsteps on the ramp. The door burst open,
admitting that quartet which Lark O'Day had humorously dubbed "the
brains of this here outfit." All were excited. Gary Lane demanded
intently, "Hugh.... Lark.... What is it? Where are we? We're not on
Mars?"

Warren shook his head. "No. We are about twelve thousand miles
short of our goal. This is what you might call 'time out by command
performance.' We're grav-locked. Have you tried to make her respond,
Lark?"

O'Day had again been jiggling the activating studs. Now he said, "Yeah,
but it's no go. Just our luck. We've blundered into one of Deimos'
unpredictable magnetic periods. We're frozen tighter than a pollywog in
a Plutonian puddle."

"How long," demanded Muldoon, "does this here magnetic grab operate?"

Dr. Bryant answered for the navigators.

"That, Muldoon, is as unpredictable as the phenomenon itself. Sometimes
these periods last but a few hours; at other times they are sustained
for months. I'm afraid we must just resign ourselves to remaining here
as long as need be."

"Which being the case," drawled Lark O'Day, rising and stretching
nonchalantly, "I might as well take a stroll outside and make sure we
didn't split any seams when we pancaked. Come along, Hugh?"

He lifted down a brace of fabricoid bulgers from their racks on the
control room wall. But before he and the skipper had time to don
the airtight suits, there came an interruption not so alarming as
unexpected. From the starboard airlock athwart the ship came the rasp
of an entrance buzzer, then the wheeze of escaping air as someone or
something outside employed the opening apparatus.

For a moment the companions stared at each other in bewilderment, then,
as one, they turned and dashed toward the portal.

They arrived just as the inner door of the lock opened, admitting two
bulger-clad figures. The taller of these stepped forward with hands
outstretched in gesture of peaceful intent, and a quiet, pleasant voice
said, "Greeting, friends. We bid you welcome to our tiny refuge."

Then the bulger helm was thrown back, and they were gazing upon the
slant-eyed, ivory-skinned countenance of a native Martian.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now again the ex-pirate, Lark O'Day, proved himself a valuable adjunct
to the party. He moved to confront the newcomers, conducting the
amenities of greeting as only one with a knowledge of Martian custom
and tradition could.

"Welcome, O brother of the ancient world," he said politely. "Your
presence is like water to a sun-parched tongue. We are honored by your
visit."

Never a word of surprise or astonishment. Never a query as to whence
came the two interlopers. And though the old Martian's impassive face
moved not a muscle, it was apparent he was pleased to find amongst this
group one who respected the formalities of his people.

He bowed in turn, and with a politeness surpassing that of O'Day
breathed, "You are most kind. The mongrel barks unbidden at the
courteous man's gate."

"The bright sun also rises without warning," answered O'Day gallantly,
"kindling fresh life in flagging souls. Will your lordship deign to
brighten our humble vessel with his presence?"

The Martian bowed, and without further word he and his companion
followed the others to the recreation room.

There, when all were settled comfortably, the visitor reopened the
conversation. To the relief of all the Earthmen he did so in a manner
at once pleasant and abrupt.

"I am charmed, Captain--" It was to O'Day he spoke, for the pirate
chieftain, like Warren, affected the insignia of a space captain--"by
your acceptance and usage of our Martian rites of greeting. But proud
as I am of our ancient customs I must confess that when urgency
presses, our formalities consume too much time. Let us, therefore,
speak in the manner of your people, and--as you Earthmen so aptly put
it--'get down to business.'

"You know, of course, you have landed on the planetoid Chou-shen, that
which Earthmen call Deimos. I trust your craft was not damaged in the
landing?"

O'Day said, "I think not, sir. We were about to investigate when you
arrived. But I think I brought the _Liberty_ down without any trouble."

"That is good. And now, if you please, just what is your purpose in
approaching Mars?"

Lark said dubiously, "Well, sir, that's quite a long story. I'd like my
friend here to explain it. He knows the facts better than I. Meanwhile,
perhaps your companion--" He nodded to the second and somewhat slighter
Martian who so far had not removed his helmet--"might make himself
more comfortable--?"

The old Martian permitted himself a faint smile. He murmured, "Though
your ship is on Martian soil, it is a part of Earth. And it is written,
'The wise traveler eats of native bread.' So I suppose it will do no
harm--"

He turned and spoke swift, rippling sentences to his associate. After a
moment's hesitation, the other vested himself of his headpiece....

Himself?

       *       *       *       *       *

It was no male Martian who stood shyly smiling at the assembled
Earthmen, but a girl. Her long, almond-shaped eyes were sloe-black and
lustrous, modestly concealed beneath lowered lids which rested like
velvet fringes upon soft cheeks of palest amber sheen. Her hair was
black and glossy, gathered up from a shapely neck and piled high upon
her head in an elaborate but striking coiffure.

Looking at her, Gary Lane was stricken with admiration for the gentle
charm and beauty of Martian women. She was, he thought swiftly, the
most beautiful creature he had ever seen--well, the _second_ most
beautiful, anyway. His betraying eyes sought reassurance with a glance
at Nora Powell, and when his gaze met hers he colored faintly.

Flick Muldoon, a dependable barometer of feminine pulchritude, gulped
audibly and might have whistled his admiration had not Hugh Warren,
jabbing him severely in the ribs, jolted the pucker from his lips.
But it was upon Lark O'Day whom the sight of the girl had its most
devastating effect. The handsome corsair's eyes widened in frank
admiration; a spark lighted within their moss-brown depths, and his
lips parted.

Young Dr. Lane began his tale.

"Well, you see, sir--"

The Martian said, "My name is Kang Tsao. And this is my daughter,
Pen-N'hi."

The Earthmen introduced themselves swiftly. Then again Gary embarked on
the telling of his oft-told tale.

Here in this quiet room, on one of the solar system's tiniest
satellites, he found his most attentive audience. The old Martian
listened gravely, attentively. When he had finished, Kang Tsao said,
"I find this a strange, but not incredible narrative, Dr. Lane. You
mentioned proof; mathematical computations. Might I see those proofs?"

And when some time later, he lifted his eyes from the perusal of the
other world scientist's calculations....

"There is no doubt," he said, "but that everything you have said is
completely and horribly true. One question, however, you have left
unanswered. Why did you come to Mars?"

"Because," answered Gary frankly, "there is something we need from
your planet. We know, or believe, that the authors of this disaster
threatening Earth dwell not in our solar system but beyond it. There
is no spacecraft known to men capable of carrying us outside our
own little solar galaxy. But if all human intelligence, the wit and
wisdom of every planet, could be brought to contribute its portion,
such a spacecraft could be built. It was our hope to gain the four
requisite elements from the four major planets. The secret of the
hypatomic drive from Earth; fuel from Venus; from Jupiter the secret of
faster-than-light travel--"

"And from Mars?"

"From Mars," said Gary slowly, "a vital gift. Your most cherished
defensive military secret ... the power shield. Yes, we know you have
it, sir. We know it because--I am ashamed to say--you have been forced
on several occasions to employ it against Earth's space-vessels.

"Your science has discovered some form of force field which is
impregnable against the onslaught of every known weapon. Our heaviest
HE shells, our heat beams, needle rays, and rotor-blasts alike are
harmlessly diverted by the magnificent barrier your people have
invented.

"With such a shield must the _Liberty_ be equipped if she is to dare a
long and arduous trip through space to a hostile bourne. Not only is
the entire journey made in peril of collision with rogue asteroids,
bits of cosmic debris, and the like ... but when we reach our
destination we will need protection against any conceivable weapon our
enemy may bring against us.

"Therefore, that for which we ask is a vital prerequisite to the safety
and success of our journey."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Kang pondered briefly. Then, at length, "It is true," he admitted,
"we possess a force-shield such as you have mentioned. But you have
made one error. It is not altogether the defensive weapon you imagine
it. It is, indeed, the reason your craft lies now on Deimos."

"What?" interjected Hugh Warren. "You mean the intensified
magnetization--"

"Exactly, Captain. That is my reason for dwelling here on this
outpost, twelve thousand miles from my beloved homeland. We of Mars
have installed here a tremendous power plant capable of projecting its
magnetic beam upon any vessel which approaches our planet. There is
another similar station on Phobos. Master scientists control each of
these laboratories. When spacecraft which we have reason to believe
may have hostile intent approach Mars, switches are thrown converting
these satellites into gigantic magnets of tremendous power.

"That is why--" He smiled a bit ruefully--"That is why, on several
occasions, Earth ships have crashed on Deimos and Phobos. Because it
was clear they planned to disturb the quietude of our community."

"But," cried Flick Muldoon, "how about us? _We_ didn't come here with a
chip on our shoulders. _Our_ purpose was peaceful enough."

Dr. Kang said softly, "This I know, my friend, _now_. But you must
admit that appearances were against you. You came foreheralded by
bulletins of treachery and theft on Earth, of strong-armed compulsion
and allegiance with a privateer on Venus. We did not know what you
wanted, but--" The old Martian shrugged--"we thought it best to deter
your arrival until you could be questioned."

O'Day, whom it was hard to believe had heard a single word of the
conversation, so raptly had his attention been riveted upon the
ivory-skinned scientist's daughter, said abruptly, "And now that you
know, Dr. Kang, what is your decision?"

Kang's long dark eyes seemed to withdraw within the curiously involute
epithelial folds of their lids. For a long moment he considered the
question. Silent he sat, and as impassive as a carven Buddha of the
Earth race whose members he so strongly resembled. Then he said, "There
can be but one answer, my friend. And on a matter such as this I am
free to speak not only for myself but for all my people. You shall have
that for which you came."

"We may, Doctor?" cried Gary Lane.

"No kidding?" yelled Muldoon.

"_Say_--!" breathed Captain Warren.

The old man halted their expressions of gratitude with a turn of the
hand.

"Yes, you shall have what you need. We of Mars are a peaceloving race.
That which you have chosen to call a 'military weapon' we employ simply
and solely as a defensive measure against aggression. But now it
seems the time has come to turn this weapon against an interloper of
unguessed strength. Therefore, you shall have what you need. But there
is one small stipulation--"

Lane thought grimly, "_This is it. The fly in the ointment. You never
get something for nothing._" But aloud he asked politely, "And that is,
Dr. Kang--?"

"Simply," replied the aged Martian, "that my daughter and I be
permitted to install the equipment on the _Liberty_ ourselves--"

"Why, of course!" said Gary.

"And," continued Dr. Kang, "that we further be permitted to join your
party." And for the first time a flicker of expression crossed his
features. A smile touched the corners of his lips. "You see, my friend,
though we of Mars are called an impassive people, we are not entirely
without curiosity. This quest upon which you are embarked has about it
a breathtaking challenge which stirs me greatly. I am an old man, but
I am not unlearned. It is possible that my knowledge may prove of some
value--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Bryant said, "Please, Dr. Kang! Not another word! We should be not
only happy but _proud_ to welcome you to our party."

Lark O'Day stirred restlessly. "But your daughter, Dr. Kang? It is a
perilous trip. Scarcely the sort of adventure for a girl of gentle
breeding."

"Where I go, there goes my daughter also. And I note that there is
already one woman of refinement and gentle breeding among you. I
think--" said Dr. Kang--"I think it is not utterly unreasonable to
expect my daughter will find herself surrounded by champions more than
willing to assure her comfort and happiness."

And this time it was a full smile he turned upon the suddenly
embarrassed Lark O'Day. Gary Lane chuckled too. It appeared that the
supposedly "impassive" Martian did not lack, among other things, a
delightful sense of humor....




                              CHAPTER IX

                       Speed Limit--186,000 MPS!


Thus it was arranged. Dr. Kang Tsao and his daughter, beautiful Kang
Pen-N'hi, moved kit and equipment aboard the _Liberty_ that very day.
The events of the following week were days not so filled with adventure
as with plain hard and dogged work.

At Dr. Kang's own suggestion the _Liberty_ did not linger on Deimos
until the installation of the new power shield should be complete.

"This discovery," said the Martian scientist, "is remarkably simple.
With what little equipment my daughter and I have brought aboard, and
with such standard stores as may be found aboard your ship, we can make
the craft impregnable. So let us waste no time, but get under way. We
shall make the installation as we fly to Jupiter."

And this they did, in plain sight of all the _Liberty's_ staff and
crew. Despite which, few were able afterward to say what had been done,
or why such minor alterations should make such a tremendous difference.

Old Douglas Sebold, Chief Engineer of the _Liberty_, openly
acknowledged his inability to grasp the force field's method of
operation.

"Come down here to the engine room, they did; the Martian man and his
daughter. Fidgeted and fiddled around for a couple of hours without
speaking nary a word to any of us except maybe a polite, 'Howjyedo?
G'bye!' And when they left, what had they did? Hooked up a little hunk
of wire here and a condenser there and a thingamajigger somewhere else,
none of which looks like it ought to do nothing!"

Lieutenant MacDonald made much the same plaint.

"They opened the control banks and threw a few shunts across the
relays. Then they ran one cable to the hypos. But so far as _I_ can
see, what they did shouldn't make any great difference in the operation
of the ship." He stared at Gary dubiously, "You don't think the old
man's giving us the runaround, do you? Pretending to put out, when
really all he's doing is stealing the secret of Earth's hypatomic?"

Lark O'Day, from the neighboring plot desk, looked up, glowering
darkly. "Mac," he advised, "if I thought you really meant that, I'd
come over there and push your face so far down your throat you'd have
a tapeworm's view of your own stomach. Anybody who cracks about Dr.
Kang--"

"Also cracks," grinned Gary, "about Kang's charming daughter, Pen-N'hi.
Which Lark doesn't allow. But, no, Mac; I'm sure you're mistaken. As
soon as we reach the asteroid belt Dr. Kang has promised us proof that
the force-shield has been installed and is in operation."

With this assurance everyone had to be content, until ten days out
from Mars the _Liberty_ hove within range of that tremendous swarm of
shuttling bodies which comprises the Bog, spaceman's term for the belt
of myriad asteroids ranging in size from tiny granules of rock to
life-sustaining mountains of matter larger than many satellites.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was when they reached this point that Dr. Kang offered his promised
proof. As the leaders of the party gathered within the _Liberty's_
control turret he said, "And now, for those of you who have not had
the opportunity of seeing the Martian force-shield operate, a little
demonstration may be heartening. Who's at the controls? O'Day? Good!
Larkspur, my friend ... you see that asteroid moving within our vision
range to loft and starboard?"

O'Day, fingers flickering incessantly over the keyboard as the ship
wove its way through the treacherous belt, nodded tightly.

"I see it," he grunted, "and I'm getting out of its way now. If that
thing ever plowed into us, the _Liberty_ would be one small blob of
crumpled metal floating through space."

"On the contrary," said Dr. Kang smoothly, "you will make no attempt to
avoid the planetoid. You will set a course directly for it."

"Directly--!" gulped Lark.

"Yes. If you will be so kind."

Then Dr. Kang stepped to the board and depressed the single black stud
he had installed on the instrument panel. "Steer directly for that rock
at the greatest speed you can achieve."

O'Day essayed a grin that didn't quite jell. But with the eyes of
Pen-N'hi upon him, he had no intention of showing the white feather. He
merely shrugged.

"You're calling signals," he muttered ... and did as the old Martian
directed.

With the die irrevocably cast, young Dr. Lane could sympathize
completely with the _Liberty's_ pilot. He, too, felt qualms of
misgiving as the cruiser bore down at flashing speed upon a chunk of
rock large enough to shatter the ship into billions of tortured rivets.

Nor was it pleasant to stare into the viewpane, watching that lethal
asteroid loom ever larger and more deadly, now like a gray, grim,
gaunt and fearsome stony beast, its gaping canyons yawned like fangs
bared to destroy them. Nearer and nearer flashed the _Liberty_. Lane's
heart missed a beat ... then another ... then started pounding with an
excitement which moistened the palms of his hands and dried his lips.
He cast a nervous glance at Dr. Kang. But the aged Martian's features
were expressionless.

Flick Muldoon was frankly apprehensive, and Nora Powell, standing next
to Warren across the room, moved closer to the sturdy space captain as
though to eke from his presence some breath of reassurance.

Nearer and yet nearer. And now they were almost upon the cosmic
juggernaut. At the rate at which they were traveling, if something were
not done _now_--immediately!--it would be but a matter of instants
before--

Gary was not surprised to hear a cry rip from the group of awed
watchers. Only a certain pride had prevented _him_ from being the one
to cry aloud. But it was little Dr. Anjers, cherubic face gray, who
broke forth.

"O'Day, turn away! It's a failure! We're going to crash! Look out--!"

But in that moment came a sudden, shuddering twist. Not hard, not
damaging, not shocking, but a sensation as though the _Liberty_ had
plowed headlong into a mass of sponge rubber. The nose of the ship
flew up, the dreadful vision in the viewpane swung suddenly out of
sight--and a moment later the rock which had threatened certain death
to all aboard lay far behind!

Dr. Kang smiled. "You see, my friends?"

O'Day said wonderingly, "It--it shunted us! Bounced us up and around
it, away from it, as if we were a rubber ball!"

"Exactly," said the Martian. "Our ship is encased in a sphere of
electrical force through which no matter can penetrate. A yielding
barrier which absorbs the shock of collision. The Bog holds no more
perils for us, my friends. You may if you wish, lock your controls and
pursue a set course to our destination."

"Well," said Flick Muldoon. "Well, I'll be damned!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Bog lay a trifle more than 120,000,000 miles from Mars. Great
Jupiter swung in its gigantic orbit a full 225,000,000 farther beyond.
Thus a journey of more than three Earth weeks' duration lay before the
space questers. Merchantmen were wont to speak of this as a dreary,
tedious journey, but those aboard the _Liberty_ did not find it so.
They had much with which to occupy their every waking hour.

For one thing, as the final stage of their adventure beckoned closer,
it seemed to definitely decide a problem up to now left dangling. That
of determining into exactly which quadrant of space should they direct
their flight when--and if--they were successful in gaining from the
Jovian council the fourth of their needful loans.

"Proxima Centauri," said Dr. Boris Anjers. "That is, of course, the
goal toward which we must set our course."

Gary said dubiously, "I'm not so sure. The studies of Millikin, and the
later research of Marquart and Thompson Blaine would seem to indicate
that cosmic rays emanate not from _that_ sector of space, but rather
from the neighborhood of Sirius."[5]

[Footnote 5: Early investigators were unable to discern any one
particular sector of space from which the mysterious cosmic rays seemed
to emanate. The painstaking research of Larson T. Marquart (2034-92
A.D.) and Thompson Blaine (2041-99) subsequently determined, however,
the point of heaviest emanation as being from that sector of space in
which is found the Dog Star, Sirius (Canis Major).--_Ed._]

"But," persisted the small Eurasian, "our main desire is to escape this
galaxy. And certainly Proxima Centauri is our closest neighbor."

"Closest, yes. But by going toward _it_ we travel in the opposite
direction to that which I think we should go. No, Sirius is the star we
must seek. There, if anywhere, lies the answer to our problem."

Flick Muldoon stared from one to the other of the two wrangling
scientists, his honest face wreathed in bewilderment.

"Am I nuts?" he demanded, "or have you two gone completely off base?
You're talking about Proxima Centauri and Sirius like they were weekend
excursions. If I haven't forgotten everything my astronomy prof told
me, Proxima Centauri is about four light-years away. Sirius is twice
that far. At the rate we're traveling it'll take us about 6,500 years
to reach Proxy, and damn near 14,000 to get to the Dog! What do we do
to live that long ... eat vitamins?"

Lane smiled. "You'd better stick to photography, Flick. Don't you
realize by now that our whole purpose in going to Jupiter is to learn
the secret of faster-than-light travel? If they'll tell us this secret,
we can reach our destination in--well, I don't know exactly how long.
That will depend greatly upon how far we can exceed the so-called
'limiting velocity'."

Here Dr. Kang interpolated, "That my boy is the term I suggest you use
with the greatest respect. It is not merely the 'so-called' limiting
velocity. The speed of light _is_ actually the greatest velocity at
which matter can travel and still retain its integral form. Beyond that
speed, mass becomes infinite. What happens then, no man knows. I am
afraid we must reconcile ourselves to a long and wearisome voyage of
nine Earth years."

Gary said tightly, "We can't _afford_ nine years. I'm not thinking of
our own discomfort, I'm remembering our computations. According to
those figures, Sol's dwindling point will be reached not in years, but
in months ... maybe _weeks_! Before we can reach our goal, the universe
from which we are fleeing will exist no more!"

"All the more reason," insisted Dr. Boris Anjers, "for heading toward
Proxima Centauri, my young friend. I am older than you, and have
studied cosmic radiation for a great many years. I _assure_ you, there
is no reason to believe one extra-galactic destination is more likely
than another."

       *       *       *       *       *

Gary glanced at the man oddly. It was unlike Anjers to flaunt his age
and wisdom; equally unlike the small scientist to rouse to such heights
of nervous excitement. Gary said slowly, "Well, Dr. Anjers, this is a
communal enterprise. I don't wish to dictate our course. I'm willing to
place the decision to a vote of all our party."

Dr. Bryant said quietly, "That will not be necessary, Gary. You have
led us most successfully up till now. I think we are all willing to
accept your judgment."

"You're darn tootin'!" said Muldoon.

And Dr. Kang said blandly, "I, too, have perfect confidence in your
decisions, Dr. Lane."

Anjers' round face puffed with petulance. His bushy eyebrows drew
together. "Oh, very well!" he snapped in a tone almost a snarl. "But I
warn you, you're making a great mistake!" And angrily he stomped from
the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

But to the man's credit, his pique did not last long. Before the day
ended he had returned, as urbane as ever, with a contrite smile and an
apology on his lips. So equanimity was restored aboard the _Liberty_,
and that was good, for on a voyage such as this it was better to avoid
all clash of personalities.

"We are fortunate," said Dr. Kang one night after Lark O'Day had
reported an argument in the crew's quarters which had almost resulted
in a free-for-all between the blasters and the mariners, "we number no
Venusians or Jovians among our corps. It has been my observation that
the members of these two races mingle poorly with the children of your
world and mine. Of the four races, our two are the more easy-going,
theirs the more emotional. Perhaps the early history of your Earth
might have been less bloody had not your continent embraced such a
diversity of planetary colonists."

Hugh Warren stared.

"Colonists? Are you trying to tell us, Dr. Kang, that the races of
Earth's mankind aren't indigenous to Earth?"

The ivory-tinted one's eyebrows lifted slightly. "But of course they
are not, Captain. Surely you didn't believe--or did you? But how
unreasonable to think that one small planet would breed more than a
single species! You of the white-skinned race are the only true race of
Earth."

"We _are_?"

"Why, surely! Just as all the true children of Venus are dark-skinned,
and we of Mars amber-fleshed. Oh, there is a certain fundamental
root-stock common to us all, I suppose. But any medical man can assure
you our differences lie not only in the color of our skins. Our races
show many physiological variations. Blood plasma, hair structure,
distribution of sinews, skeletal articulation--"

Nora Powell asked, "Then the yellow races of Earth--the Chinese,
Eskimos, Amerindians--were originally natives of _your_ planet?"

Dr. Kang nodded.

"Just as the ebony hued natives of your Africa came originally from
Venus; yes. On my planet are small colonies of white and black skinned
humans, and on Venus are aboriginal tribes of yellow and white skinned
men. It seems an inexorable law of nature that on every globe the
native tribe should rise to supremacy, while the secondary groups
should achieve to a lesser culture."

Gary said, "That is only partly true, Dr. Kang. Your Martian colonists
on our Earth--or at least those who colonized the country known as
China--have ever been a great and cultured people. Our forefathers
called them 'backward,' but that was because they placed social culture
above mechanistic advancement."

       *       *       *       *       *

"But, Dr. Kang," broke in Muldoon, "you're implying that spaceflight
existed God-knows-how-long-ago! Centuries ... eons ... before the
launching of the Wentworth-Kroll experimental rocket in 1973!"[6]

[Footnote 6: Muldoon here ignores the two much earlier experimental
rockets which left Earth in 1942 ... that of Dr. Frazier Wrenn from
Arizona and that of Doktor Erich von Adlund from Berlin. (See Amazing
Stories, Dec. 1939.) Since both these rocket flights came to disastrous
end, the history of rocket travel really begins with the launching of
the Wentworth-Kroll ship, _Primus_, in September, 1973.--_Ed._]

Dr. Kang nodded. "And that is true. Spaceflight _did_ exist countless
centuries ago. It was achieved and perfected by a race now vanished. A
race which persists today only in vestigial form. You will meet some of
its members a few weeks hence."

"The Jovians?" demanded Gary. "You mean the Jovians once had a great
civilization and visited all the worlds? From way out there in their
far orbit?"

"Not exactly. But from their _former_ planet."

"Former--?"

"Yes. The one through whose shattered remnants we have but recently
passed."

O'Day said dazedly, "The asteroid belt! That's right! Science _does_
believe it once comprised a planet. It was destroyed mysteriously, some
say by a gigantic tug of war waged between Jupiter and the sun; others
say by internal explosion, millennia before civilization came to Earth.
But--" His brows drew together thoughtfully--"but the Jovians are a
_blue_-skinned race, Dr. Kang."

"Quite so," agreed Kang. "And as such they are bespoken in the
legends of my people. And--if I am not mistaken--also in your ancient
records.[7] We should pity them, my friends. They were once a great
and valiant empire; now they are decadent. Those of them who escaped
the holocaust which destroyed their former worlds have taken refuge on
Jupiter, and there live quietly, concerning themselves no longer with
matters of solar government.

[Footnote 7: Such records do exist in Earthly legends. In many parts of
the world may be found folk-tales concerning "blue-skinned" gods who
brought to this planet the benefits of civilization.--_Ed._]

"It is piteous," mourned the old man, "to see a once noble people
brought so low. But that is, and ever has been, the history of man's
strivings."

"Centuries," mused Gary Lane. "Thousands of years ago. I wonder--"

"Wonder what, my friend?"

"I wonder if their downfall has anything to do with the problem we're
tackling now. But--" Gary shook himself, ridding his mind of the
sudden, uneasy thought--"but of course that's nonsense! It couldn't
possibly be...."




                               CHAPTER X

                            Death Sentence


So time sped by. And outward, ever toward the fringes of Sol's empire,
flashed the _Liberty_ on her all-important mission. The sun which but
a few short weeks ago had been a blazing furnace threatening fiery
annihilation to the space venturers had now dwindled to the apparent
size of a tiny, glowing pea, half lost in the black depths behind them.
A small, feebly glistening body whose heat at this great distance was
scarce sufficient to make its presence felt.

And as this great luminary shrunk, its offspring grew ever larger in
the _Liberty's_ vision plate. Now the fifth planet was a heaven-filling
orb scant hours away. Already the cruiser had whisked through the orbit
of Jupiter's nine satellites and now, on a course carefully set by Lark
O'Day, Skipper Warren was preparing to drop the _Liberty_ to Jupiter's
surface.

Muldoon, standing beside the space patrolman as he fingered the studs,
said wonderingly, "Boy, that's one big planet, ain't it? Only--" His
brow furrowed--"there's one thing I don't understand. How far away from
it are we?"

"'Bout twenty thousand," answered Warren.

"Well, then, how come it hasn't gripped us yet? I should think a thing
as big as that would have a grav-drag strong enough to clamp hold of us
about three or four times this far away."

Warren chuckled. "Appearances are deceiving, Flick. Don't let the
apparent size of Jupiter fool you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Simply," explained the pilot, "that the true planet Jupiter is not
much larger than Earth."

"What? But I can see for myself--"

"What you see is Jupiter's tremendous atmosphere belt. For some reason
never satisfactorily explained, Jupiter's gaseous protective envelope
is more than a thousand times deeper than that of any other planet.
That's why Earth's astronomical instruments always show Jupiter's mass
to be so tenuous; with a specific gravity, in fact, less than that of
water. Jupiter is a gigantic cosmic fake; a huge bubble of semi-viscous
atmosphere in the heart of which is embedded only a tiny, normal-sized
core of the more cohesive elements which go to make up a planet."

"Why, the big quack!" said Muldoon indignantly. Then another thought
struck him. "But say, if that's the case it must be colder than Tophet
on that planet? Those miles upon miles of cloudbank should completely
blot out the sun."

O'Day nodded. "And so they do. But on the other hand, they completely
blanket the cold of interstellar space. You'll find Jupiter a
dark, murky planet, but one with a very pleasant and equitable
climate. Well--" He nodded to Warren as the vision plate before them
was suddenly befilmed with writhing tendrils of moisture-laden
atmosphere--"we're diving into the cotton. From now on it's blind
flight. Co-ordinates O.Q.?"

"O.Q.," said Warren briefly, and concentrated on the task of dropping
the _Liberty_ through unfathomable miles of enswaddling cloud to the
tiny core within.

       *       *       *       *       *

A short time later his efforts gained their recompense. The gray veil
thinned, then parted, and once again the _Liberty_ was scudding through
clear atmosphere, sunless and damply gray, but not unpleasant. Above
the virgin surface of a planet not unlike jungle-strewn Venus, great
rivers sprawled through chains of rolling hills. The brown soil was
resplendent with wild, brilliantly multicolored foliage.

The rest was simple. Pangré, capital city, lay at the north polar
extremity of Jupiter. They had but to follow their compass to reach it.
So in a space of time measurable by minutes the _Liberty_ had attained
and hovered over the fourth of the great world capitals that they had
visited on their flight.

A bustle of activity on the spaceport below greeted their arrival.
They asked and were given clearance. Smoothly Hugh Warren dropped
the whippet craft into the designated cradle. And as the hypatomics
spluttered into silence, the spacefarers prepared to leave their ship.

A great throng was gathered at the rocketdrome. That was
understandable, for of all the civilized planets, Jupiter was least
visited by Earth's commercemen, and it was a rare occasion indeed which
saw a sleek cruiser of the Space Patrol dropping jets on the faraway
world.

That many of the assemblage were bearing arms was also evident to
those aboard the _Liberty_, but Gary Lane found no cause for alarm
in this fact. It was only natural that since suspicion and a degree
of animosity existed amongst the governments of all the planets
the Jovians should come to meet their visitors prepared for any
eventuality. On every planet so far his mission had been greeted with
distrust. He did not expect it to be otherwise here. He only hoped that
candor and a complete explanation of the crisis would here win him the
last of those four needed secrets.

"Nevertheless," said Dr. Kang, "it is written: 'The wise man treads the
unknown path with drawn sword'. It would be well for us to approach
the Jovians as cautiously as they await our coming. Therefore, while
you go out I shall remain within the ship, watching carefully. At the
first sign of hostile movement I shall depress the force-shield button,
surrounding you and the _Liberty_, with an impenetrable field. Good
luck, my friends."

"And since," added Dr. Anjers, "it would not look well for the crew to
remain aboard, if we are to give an appearance of frankness and amity,
I shall go to the engine room and there keep the hypos running for
immediate departure ... if such should be necessary."

Thus it was arranged. And so, a few minutes later, young Dr. Lane
headed a company numbering a score which clambered from the _Liberty's_
airlock to the surface of the planet Jupiter.

       *       *       *       *       *

The space sailors and blasters, grateful for an opportunity to stretch
their legs, came happily from the ship. But none, not even the skipper
Hugh Warren himself, wore sidearms, so desirous was Gary of proving to
the Jovians his good will. With calm assurance the venturers moved
toward the azure-fleshed assembly awaiting them, taking care, however,
not to step beyond that imaginary line which Dr. Kang had said was the
limit of the force-shield protection.

Gary raised both arms aloft in the universal token of greeting.

"Peace, men of Jupiter!" he cried. "We come from Earth in friendship
and goodwill on a mission of vital importance, and we beg an audience
with your leaders."

He could not have dreamed what was to happen next. It happened too
swiftly and too suddenly for any comprehension. The leader of the
Jovians, a member (if one could judge by the elaborateness of his
trappings) of the Supreme Council, flung high his arm in a sign which
was anything but friendly. His voice rasped forth in strident command.

"It is they! The Earthling traitors who would steal the fruits of our
knowledge and destroy our noble culture. Seize them and hold them fast!"

In that instant the waiting throng coalesced into an angry mob, and as
one man surged violently forward to seize their earthly visitors!

       *       *       *       *       *

There was but one thing for Gary Lane to do. He spun toward the ship,
shouted, "The force-shield, Dr. Kang! Turn it on!"

Then, with a sigh of assurance that they were safe from their
attackers, to his comrades he said mournfully, "Well, we might as well
go back to the ship. They don't seem to believe us. Guess we'll have to
talk to them by radio until we can make them understand--"

Then the shrill cry of Nora Powell brought his words to an abrupt end.

"The barrier, Gary! It's not working! Look! They're breaking through!"

And Gary whirled again to see. In truth, there was no invisible shield
to stay the advance of the onrushing Jovians. Already the vanguard of
the blue-skinned warriors was rushing down upon his band, and already
the startled Earthmen were preparing to combat this unexpected threat.

They were, or had been, men of the Space Patrol. They had no intention
of surrendering meekly to a force of an alien planet, no matter how
out-numbered or outarmed.

The voice of Herby Hawkins cried in shrill dismay, "Why, the blue
blighters! Wot scum! Let 'em 'ave it, boys!"

And though guns had been forbidden the landing party, other but still
formidable weapons appeared miraculously in space-bronzed fists. Sheath
knives and leaded knucks, a Martian _kuugla_, an Erosian _traal_.[8]

[Footnote 8: "The _Kuugla_ of the Martian outlanders is vaguely similar
to the _bola_ of Earth's Polynesian tribesmen, being a length of fine
hemp weighted at one extremity with three barbed hooks. When thrown
by an expert, the _kuugla_ wraps itself about the body of its victim,
the barbs sinking into his flesh while the rope coils itself about
his body, stifling any movement.... The _traal_ of the Eros guards
is somewhat like the _boomerang_ used by early Australian bushmen,
except that it is shaped more like a swastika, each blade being honed
to a razor edge. An accomplished "_traalul_" (or "traal-thrower") can
decapitate an enemy at two hundred yards with this weapon ... and make
the _traal_ return to his feet for another casting."--Excerpt from: _A
Survey of Tribal Weapons_, Stellar Institute Press, 2208 A.D.--_Ed._]

       *       *       *       *       *

In vain, Lane cried swift warning, "No, lads! Don't fight! Let them
take us if they must! Go peaceably!"

His words came too late. Already a Jovian had fallen beneath the thrust
of a slashing blade. Another was gasping out his life in choking coils
of the Martian _kuugla_, while bubbling screams of horror bespoke the
whirling path of the cross-shaped Erosian weapon.

Then sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed the feeble defense. The
Jovians smashed through the battling few, and their stronger weapons
took harsh toll of those who had dared oppose them.

Gary saw two Earth mariners go down, Robinson and Mulasky, parched to
cinders by the lethal flame of the universally employed needle-gun. He
saw Bill Smikes, who had wielded the _traal_, literally torn to pieces
by the vengeful hands of blue-skinned foemen. And another fell also;
one innocent of any attack. Chief Engineer Sebold, whose only crime
had been attempting to hurry his men to safety. A ray gun caught him,
burning his legs out from under him as if they had been tinder. He
toppled and fell forward, his grizzled old space-beaten face a mass of
shock and incredulity.

With a cry Gary leaped to his side. But there was nothing to be done.
The engineer was as good as dead ... and knew it. He twisted his
writhing form to look up. His lips muttered thickly, "The foreign
doctor! The filthy, murdering beast! He sold us out!"

Then a whiteness drained his lips ... and he was gone.

       *       *       *       *       *

But with his passing ended--for the time being, at least--the
slaughter. For now the Jovians had accomplished their end; had
completely surrounded the Earth party, and held every member captive
save those in the ship. Nor did _they_ hold their freedom for long. At
the Jovian leader's command a corps of warriors rushed the airlock.
When they emerged a few minutes later they escorted with no gentleness
Kang and Boris Anjers. Anjers' usually cherubic face was mottled with
rage and scorn. As he was thrust into company with his comrades he
pointed a quivering finger at Kang and screamed, "The yellow devil! He
never pressed the button! The shield was never activated!"

O'Day, who during the brief affray had made no attempt to fight, but
had leaped to the protection of the two girls, now glanced up from the
pale golden creature whose slim form his arm still encircled to meet
the eyes of Dr. Kang questioningly.

"Never pressed--But, Dr. Kang, why not?"

No muscle moved on the aged Martian's features, but his eyes were dark
pools of bewilderment. "There is something terribly wrong. I _did_
depress the button. The force-shield should have worked. I--I do not
understand!"

Then there was time for no more, for the Jovian commander was prodding
them into motion, and his voice was unequivocably harsh.

"To the Hall with them, that they may be judged and sentenced for this
vile treachery!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus, not as free men freely seeking a gift of equals, but as already
half-adjudged and half-condemned captives, were the space venturers
transported to the Council Hall of Pangré.

Here sat in judgment upon them white robed and diademed beings of a
race not now to be found on any of the inner planets. The azure-tinted
people who, if Dr. Kang's explanation were true, had in eons past
spread culture throughout the whole of the solar system.

The judging of the _Liberty's_ equipage was a swift formality, speedily
concluded. The Jovian council's handling of the case was a travesty of
justice. It listened to the tale told by its fellow members, crisply
abbreviated Gary Lane's attempt at explanation, and the half score
Councillors conferred briefly amongst themselves.

Then one, their leader, turned to address the Earthmen. "It is enough!
We have decided. By the powers invested in us, the Supreme Council of
Ahura-Pangré, we do hereby determine and judge--"

"But," cried Gary Lane, "you haven't listened to our story ... haven't
heard our reasons for coming here...."

"That since in violation of every rule and precept of interplanetary
law you, a group of criminal felons from a neighbor planet, have made
landing without permission upon our world--"

"We couldn't do otherwise. We had to come here, learn your secret...."

"And did hereupon murderously set upon and slay certain of our
citizens--"

"_Us?_" cried Flick Muldoon. "Us set upon and slayed? Listen, you
blue-skinned baboon, we came here as friendly as fleas on a pup's tail.
_Your_ boys are the ones who started the fighting!"

"We do therefore," continued the Jovian Councillor sternly, "hereby
condemn and sentence you--"

Gary drew a deep, regretful breath. Well, here it came. Imprisonment. A
long wrangle of extraditionary rites ... transportation back to Earth,
there to stand trial before a jury of Earthmen ... a dreary, tedious,
legalistic process, wasting precious--oh, so precious--time! He twisted
restlessly under the knowledge that while worlds dillydallied, disaster
crept ever nearer. If he could only make these people understand--

Then his petulance died, appalled. For the Councillor was speaking
again, and from his lips were falling words that in his wildest
imaginings Gary had not dreamed to hear. Words which not only wasted
precious time but spelled forever an end to their vital mission.
Dreadful words of doom.

"Do hereby condemn and sentence you," intoned the Chief Councillor
stridently, "to ... _immediate execution!_"




                              CHAPTER XI

                       Flight Through the Fourth


As in a dream, Gary Lane heard those solemn words fall from the lips of
his Jovian judges. Execution! Immediate execution! This, then, was to
be the end of their adventure; this their recompense for having fought
single-handed to stay the doom which threatened the entire system of
worlds circling the tiny star called Sol!

With what happened next, the dream became a nightmare. Blue-skinned
stalwarts of the Jovian guard closed about him and his companions,
prodded them toward a grim, arched opening which Gary intuitively knew
must be the portal of their execution chamber.

He was conscious of Nora Powell weeping softly at his side, of
Dr. Bryant muttering in mute and babbled protest, of the subtle
strengthening of Lark O'Day's broad shoulders as the ex-pirate tensed
himself, despite the overwhelming odds against them, to hurl one last
and gallant defiance at their murderers. And because there was now no
other path, he sought O'Day's eye ... in that glance grimly arraigning
himself on the corsair's side for whatever desperate attempt O'Day
should choose to lead.

Then, as the entire corps of Earthmen readied themselves to go out
fighting rather than as sheep herded to the slaughter, there came a
sudden interruption from an unexpected source.

Through an entrance at the rear of the Council Hall rushed a wildly
excited figure, a Jovian bearing in his hand a scrap of paper. This he
waved wildly above his head, crying as he hurried forward, "My Lords!
My Lords and Councillors--_wait!_ Stay the execution! A message from
the planet Earth!"

The Chief Councillor frowned. "It is useless. We will entertain no bids
for extradition. It is the law of our homeland these Earthmen have
transgressed. They must pay the penalty."

"But," panted the messenger, "it is no plea for clemency, but something
else ... something more important...."

All eyes were riveted on the curious tableau. O'Day's whisper grated
softly in Gary's ear.

"O.Q., Gary, now's the time. Their attention is divided. We'll never
have a better chance."

But Lane grasped his companion's wrist tightly, hopefully.

"No, Lark, no! Not now. There's more here than meets the eye. Look--the
Chief Councillor's face--"

And indeed, a sudden and striking change had overswept the countenance
of the Jovian judge as he scanned the message thrust into his hand
by the excited messenger. His brows drew together. He turned to his
associates and growled, "But what is this? Have the men of Earth gone
mad?

"This message says," he read aloud, "_'If Liberty and crew, including
group of Earth scientists, arrive on your planet, in the name of all
humanity offer them every possible assistance. Investigation proves
their theories are absolutely correct. Sun is dwindling rapidly to
dwarf-star stage. Planet Mercury tottering in its course; may plunge
into Sun hourly. Entire solar system hovering on brink of dreadful
disaster.'_"

"Thank God!"

The grateful cry ripped itself unbidden from Gary Lane's throat. His
tightened nerves relaxed in a warmth of justification, and his eyes
were bright with happiness.

"Thank God, they've seen the truth at last! Now, if it is only not too
late!"

The Jovian councillor turned to him, puzzled.

"Too late, Earthman? Too late for what? What does this mean?"

       *       *       *       *       *

And so, at last, Lane was given an opportunity to explain that which he
had not been permitted to tell before. He told the true and only reason
for their journeying hither, and pointed out the vital importance of
the _Liberty's_ mission.

The Council heard him through. Before the earnestness of his eyes, the
burning ardor of his voice, their doubts seemed to melt away. Save for
one member of the court who grumbled dourly, "This is all very well,
and a pretty tale, but to me it has the smell of a prefabricated plot.
So you want our cherished secret, eh, Earthman? The secret of achieving
speed greater than that of light?"

"I not only want it," said Gary earnestly, "but must have it. Time is
growing perilously short."

"And how do we know that this message is not a trick of your Earth
government to save your spying hides? We have no reason to trust Earth."

Lane bit his lip. There it was again, the old, oft-told story of
Earth's greed and selfishness now working against the better interests
of all the planets.

"No, maybe not," he acknowledged, "but--"

"But--" interrupted Flick Muldoon, always to be depended upon in an
emergency for clear and logical reasoning--"All our talk ain't worth a
tinker's dam. The proof lies in the sky above us. Tell your astronomers
to turn their 'scopes on Mercury. What's happening there should prove
or disprove that radiogram's honesty."

The Chief Councillor nodded judicially.

"The Earthman is right. The truth or falsity of this message is beyond
Earth's power to dissemble. We shall see and judge for ourselves. You
leaders of the Earth party, come with us. Your crew shall remain here."
He addressed his own warriors. "Show them every comfort--but guard them
well. For if this message turns out to be a hoax--"

He let his words dwindle into silence, but the silence was pregnant
with meaning.

Thus it was that the members of the Jovian Supreme Council and the
arbiters of the _Liberty's_ course convened presently within Pangré's
magnificent observatory. Here, awed, they saw proof of the great and
learned culture which was Jupiter's. For not even upon Earth nor sage
Mars had ever been erected an edifice so complete and so impressive as
this.

The size of the reflecting telescope to which a hurriedly summoned
Chief Astronomer led them was one to stagger the imagination. It was
greater by half again than the monstrous tube constructed by Kang's
people on the desert planet. So huge was it that a 200 inch 'scope,
equal in size to the proud but primitive instrument used by Earthmen at
Mount Palomar in the Twentieth Century, was here employed simply as a
spotter for the larger telescope.

But that, Gary Lane knew, was as it must be, since Jupiter was so far
removed from its primary. And that this instrument sighted by infra-red
radiation he also knew. In no other way could its vision pierce the
murky pall of cloud banks enswaddling the planet.

       *       *       *       *       *

All these were but vagrant thoughts flickering through his brain as
the gigantic tube was brought to bear upon the desired image. And
then, as all took seats before a huge reflecting screen upon which the
enmirrored vision was projected, he gaped in wonderment to see the
heart of their solar system brought so near that it seemed scarce more
than a day's journey.

Gigantic was the sun, its space-filtered radiance a blinding sheen
which covered almost half the screen before them. Large, too, and
visible plainly to the naked eyes was the gleaming, innermost planet
Mercury.

When first Gary looked, Mercury seemed and acted in all ways natural.
But then....

A cry escaped his lips. Because, contrary to all sound common sense and
experience, the glittering orb of Mercury could be actually seen to
move! And that movement was not the steady, normal hurtling of a planet
in steadfast course about its primary. Mercury was bobbing, weaving,
twisting, shaking itself like a gigantic silver terrier tugging to
break free of an invisible leash!

For breathless minutes the assemblage watched the staggering spectacle
being enacted before them. Then the Jovian Supreme Councillor spoke,
his voice sincere in apology.

"Gentlemen of Earth, forgive us. We have wronged you. We did not, could
not, comprehend the magnitude--"

But his words were interrupted by a hoarse cry bursting simultaneously
from the throats of Jovians and Earthmen alike.

"_Look!_"

And turning once more to the screen, all witnessed the dreadful
climax ... the end of the planet Mercury.

For how long a time it had been tugging at its cosmic bonds none knew,
but suddenly a critical point of balance was reached. With a great,
impulsive leap the tiny planet burst free of its solar gyves. Like a
gleaming stone hurled from some gigantic catapult it flashed outward
from its orbit, writhing, shimmering, shaking. Then its flight altered.
For the space of a long-drawn, tremulous breath it seemed to hang
motionless in the void, ungoverned by any gravitational force or power
of natural law ... then the immutable order of nature asserted itself.

The laws of Mass-and-Distance asserted their claim. Like a fluttering
moth drawn irresistibly to a flame, the fleeing world fell backward
into its luminary. Faster and faster it raced, now dropping plummetlike
toward the blazing prominences of Sol. As it fell it was squeezed and
hammered out of shape by the tremendous forces playing upon it. For
a moment it looked like a lengthening sphere ... then a teardrop ...
then the pear-shape split into an infinitude of crushed and shapeless
fragments which streaked like falling pebbles into the beckoning heart
of Sol.

For the briefest instant a faintly brighter flame seemed to flicker
upon Sol's surface as the parent sun hungrily swallowed its infant.
Then ... that was all.

       *       *       *       *       *

Muldoon turned away, shuddering. He said in a dull, dazed voice,
"There--there were men on that planet. Posts, mines, laboratories...."

"Johnny Cosgrave," said Hugh Warren. "He would have finished his three
years of foreign service next month. He was going back to Earth to get
married."

Gary said tightly, "What happened to Mercury will happen to _all_ the
planets if we are not successful. That or something equally horrible.
As the sun dwindles, its weight per volume will increase; all the inner
planets will be devoured as was Mercury.

"You--" He turned to the Jovian Councillor--"Your planet may not suffer
that fate. You are too far away. But the sun's heat will fail, and when
that happens cold will sweep down upon you ... such devastating cold as
cannot be imagined. If your orbit widens, you may whirl away from the
sun and be lost in the never-ending depths of space."

The Councillor said gravely, "You need say no more, Earthman. I
understand perfectly. We of Jupiter are sometimes hasty, but never
fools. Say now, what do you need of us? How can we cooperate with you
to stay this impending doom?"

"Speed," said Lane. "The knowledge of that which your race alone knows:
the secret of achieving speed faster than that of light."

The Jovian nodded gravely. "You shall have it. The requisite apparatus
shall be installed in your spaceship immediately. But you must help us.
Tell us your destination, that we may calculate the co-ordinates, and
bring you to your objective."

"We must go," said Gary, "to the galaxy of the star known as Sirius."

"Sirius! Outside our solar system?" The Councillor frowned. "That is
difficult and perilous. There are dangers even to our method."

"We must risk them. As it is, we have no way of telling if we are going
to the proper place. Nor, indeed, whether when we get there we will
find ways to do that which we must.

"Tell me, what is the limiting velocity of this new method you have
devised? How fast will we be able to travel?"

The Jovian smiled faintly. "Upon that score, Earthman, you need have no
apprehension. You will reach your destination in plenty of time--if you
reach there at all. Because, you see, there is _no_ limiting velocity
to our method."

"No limiting--?"

"None at all. Your translation from one spot to another will be
practically instantaneous."

"Instantaneous!" cried Dr. Anjers. "But that is impossible. Only by
warping space itself could an object be transferred instantaneously
from one spot to another!"

"And that," acknowledged the Jovian, "is identically the principle upon
which our secret is based. Our instruments do not enable an object to
_move_ at a speed greater than that of the limiting velocity of light.
Such a thing is, by definition and natural law, quite impossible. No,
the principle we employ is utterly different. The object itself does
not move at all. It merely stands still ... for a brief time cast into
a state of infinite entropy...."

"And then--?" asked Dr. Bryant.

"Space warps itself about the object, unfolding to place it in an
entirely new sector. Thus, you see, our speed-heightening device does
not depend upon velocity at all, but on the unchangeable mechanics of
Space and Time. It is, in brief, a method of flight through the Fourth
Dimension!"




                              CHAPTER XII

                               Betrayed


The worst enemies make the staunchest allies. That old truism never
proved itself more surely than to Gary Lane and his comrades in the
ensuing days. Those same Jovians who, considering them enemies, had
been swift to condemn them to death with but a travesty of trial now,
allied to their cause, proved themselves most eager of aides.

While technicians hastened to equip the _Liberty_ with that secret
device which would enable the ship to project itself through
quadridimensional space to the ulterior universe, other craftsmen
labored diligently to refurbish the ship, check its armaments, and
render it in all ways completely shipshape for the journey to follow.

Nor made the Jovians any effort to conceal that which was being done
aboard the _Liberty_. They worked openly, their engineers offering
painstaking explanations of the device's operation to those who
cared to learn. And, of course this number was great. Almost all the
_Liberty's_ personnel was eager to learn the secret of that novel
flight method which was to henceforth govern their ship. As the sublime
simplicity of the plan revealed itself physicists and spacemen alike
were awed.

"Not so much," said Captain Hugh Warren wonderingly, "at the method
itself as at the fact that nobody ever thought of it before. Why, when
you hear it explained it's like child's play!"

Dr. Bryant smiled thinly. "And is that not always true of great
inventions? The wheel, the steam engine, the gasoline motor, the rocket
drive--all these things seemed simple commonplaces to the civilizations
which used them. But each was, to a former civilization which knew it
not, a mystery at once profound and obscure. So it is with the Jovian
fourth-dimensional drive.

"I venture to predict that in the future days--if, that is, we
successfully accomplish our mission--it will become the standard method
of space travel. Its advantages are obvious. Instantaneous transfer
of objects from one spot to another ... why, just think! Tomorrow's
earthman may eat for breakfast fresh budberries plucked that morning
from the marshes of Venus, covered with milk shipped short hours ago
from a Martian dairy ranch!"

"All of which," said the little steward, Herby Hawkins apologetically,
"sounds mighty good, guv'nor. And maybe this here now device is, like
you say, child's play. But--beggin' your pardon, sir--I still don't get
it. 'Ow can a ship get so fast from one plyce to another? Almost like
it was in two plyces at the same time?"

"Why," explained Dr. Bryant professorially, "simply by contracting into
contigual adjacency two _loci_ of the continuum--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"Excuse me a minute, Doctor," grinned Gary. "Maybe I can explain it
in a way Hawkins will understand more easily. You see, Hawkins, it's
like this. I draw two circles on this piece of paper--" He sketched
rapidly--"Now, let us suppose you are a two-dimensional creature living
in this universe, which we will call 'Flatland.' You are on _this_
world and you wish to travel to _that_ one. How would you go about it?"

"Naturally," said Hawkins, "this way." And he drew his finger laterally
between the two "worlds." "A stryte line bein' the shortest distance
between two points--"

"Of course," said Gary. "And being a Flatlander you would have
neither knowledge nor comprehension of any swifter way of making a
journey than to traverse the broad width of the sheet. However,
_three_-dimensional creatures like ourselves can immediately see a
still shorter and easier way of traveling from one sphere to the other.
We would simply--" He picked up the sheet of paper and folded it so the
two worlds lay adjacent--"_We_ would simply create a two-dimensional
space warp through the third dimension."

"Well, blimey!" said Hawkins.

"To complete the analogy," Gary went on, "that is what the Jovians have
done ... only working in _four_ dimensions rather than three.

"Everyone knows magnetic matter warps space. Einstein proved that way
back in the early days of the Twentieth Century. So the scientists of
Jupiter have invented a machine which, setting up a highly magnetized
flux field, warps three-dimensional space in the direction of the
flight they wish to make. Their 'ends of the paper' fold together ...
and when the warping machine is again disengaged you are where you want
to be. It's as easy as that."

"It's as easy as that--" Hawkins gulped and ran a finger under his
uniform collar. "Yes, sir. Now that you point it out, it's all very
clear, sir. Ridic'lously simple, if I might say so. So, completely
comprehendin' the sitchyation, I'll be gettin' back to my work now,
sir ... if you don't mind." And he disappeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

But if Gary Lane found it easy to explain the operation of the Jovian
space warp, he found it not quite so easy to explain other facets of
the blue-skinned race's psychology.

It was baffling, for instance, to find himself confronted with smiles
when, fearful of mishap, he warned the Jovian technicians against
tampering with Earth's jealously guarded hypatomic unit.

"You must be very careful. The hypos are protected with devices which
will cause them to explode if tampered with."

The chief technician smiled pleasantly.

"Yes," he said, "they were, weren't they?"

"I'm sorry," apologized Gary, "but there's nothing I can do about it.
What! _Were?_ I don't understand. Do you mean--?"

"We've drawn the dragon's teeth. Yes, of course. We had to in order to
install our own equipment."

"But how--?"

"Another useful trick," smiled the Jovian, "of fourth dimensional
science. It was a simple matter to reach our instruments into sealed
chambers and cut the wires connecting the explosive fuses."

That, young Dr. Lane could see clearly, was quite true. It would be no
harder for mechanics working with quadridimensional tools to perform
this observation than for a tri-dimensional bank robber to remove the
contents of a Flatland safe.

But there was a corollary to this revelation. Gary said slowly,
"Then ... then that means you now understand the operation of the
hypatomic motor."

The other nodded casually. "Why, yes. And most ingenious, too."

"What do you plan to do with your knowledge?"

"Why," said the Jovian frankly, "I think it would be a very good idea
to expose it openly to the races of every solar planet. Earth has
held its monopoly on spaceflight long enough. I think, don't you,
it's almost time _all_ the worlds were given the right to free and
competitive commerce?"

Gary grinned, a warm admiration for this people suffusing him. And:

"I think," he agreed, "you are absolutely right."

       *       *       *       *       *

All these were interludes. There were others, too: amusing,
entertaining, beguiling. Because now, on the eve of what must assuredly
be their last and most perilous journey, almost to a last man the
argonauts of the _Liberty_ were having a last fling at such pleasures
as presented themselves.

And in truth, there was much to be done, many beauties to be seen on
Jupiter.

For the entertainment of the Earthmen was planned an expedition to
the Flaming Sea, that weird chemical phenomenon of cold light whose
shimmering, ruddy reflection, viewed by Earth's telescopes centuries
ago through the filtering layers of Jupiter's foggy shroud, had caused
Earth scientists to ponder on the nature of the "Red Spot."

On this trip almost all the _Liberty's_ personnel embarked, gay and
carefree as youngsters gone a-picnicking. Lark O'Day, arm linked
through that of his now-constant companion, the shy and quiet Pen-N'hi,
came bridgeward to urge Gary on the trip.

"Oh, come along, Lane!" he coaxed. "Come along and have some fun. A man
can't work _all_ the time."

Gary said with sincere regret, "I'm sorry, Lark, but I can't. I have
to help the engineers complete their installation. And there are some
final computations to be made yet--"

Nora Powell, who had been standing in the background pleaded almost
wistfully, "But it would be _so_ much fun, Gary. They say the Flaming
Sea is one of the most beautiful sights in the galaxy. One of the seven
wonders of the universe."

"I know it. But I'm up to my ears--"

The girl said almost hopefully, it seemed, "Then, maybe I'd better stay
with you? Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

But Gary shook his head. "No, you run along. Hugh, you look out for
Nora. See that she has a good time."

Warren, grinning broadly, moved forward to link his arm in that of the
girl. "Sure will, pal. The pleasure's all mine."

So, in the end, all the adventurers save two took the sightseeing
trip. Those two were Gary Lane and the elderly Eurasian scientist, Dr.
Anjers, who had courteously excused himself.

"When one reaches my age, my friends, one loses interest in romantic
surroundings. No, I shall remain here to be of what assistance I can to
Dr. Lane."

And of assistance he was. For it was he whose adroit questioning of the
Jovian engineers finally brought clarity to a question whose answer had
been often hinted but never answered. As the workmen put the finishing
touches on the warping unit's installation he asked, "And just what,
gentlemen, are the limitations of this device ... the usage to which it
may not safely be put? Your Councillor, Kushra, gave us to understand
that there was a certain amount of peril inherent to its use."

       *       *       *       *       *

The chief technician frowned. "That is right. However, we have taken
all safety factors into consideration. In reaching your destination, if
the dials and verniers are not changed from the settings which we have
established, you will not experience the slightest difficulty--"

"But just what," asked Gary, "is the nature of this danger?"

"Simply that through an improper setting of the dials you might
end your journey in some place quite unlike that which was your
destination. In other words, if this central vernier were twisted to
the right by so much as one degree the _Liberty's_ flight might end
not, as intended, within the solar galaxy of the star Sirius ... but
within the burning heart of the star itself."

Gary frowned uneasily. "The only consolation to that thought is that if
such a thing happened none of us would ever know anything about it."

"Quite true. The _Liberty_ and all aboard would be instantaneously
seared to a clinker by the inconceivable heat of a star thousands of
times greater than our little sun."

"Why, then," asked Dr. Anjers, "employ control verniers at all? Why not
simply set and lock the controls upon the desired objective?"

The Jovian smiled. "Have you forgotten, sir, that when your mission is
ended you will wish to return home? Then the new course and trajectory
must be calculated and the verniers reset. That is why it is necessary
we install a complete unit and train you in its use."

The scientist said petulantly, "Despite all these precautions it is a
fool-hardy trip. It would be safer, to my way of thinking, to visit a
nearer star ... say Proxima Centauri ... thereby diminishing the risk
of over or undershooting our mark.

"Sometimes," he bridled, "I think this whole scheme is madness. It is
ridiculous to think of us, tiny mites that we are, daring to attack the
people of a universe so infinitely greater than ours that we will be as
dust motes beneath their crushing heels!"

Gary stared at the little man curiously. "People greater than us, Dr.
Anjers? Now, that's a peculiar thought. Whatever makes you say--"

Anjers wriggled in sudden defiant embarrassment. "It was not my idea,
Dr. Lane, but your own. It was you who advanced the theory that our
universe is dwindling. It follows as a natural corollary that any race
existing _outside_ our universe--"

Gary nodded. "Why, yes, I suppose you're right. But I'd never stopped
to think of it in quite that way. A race of giants--"

But the little man's words had had an even more striking effect upon
the Jovian engineer. He said excitedly, "A great race? A race of
giants? That's strange. There is a legend among our people that once,
countless centuries ago, our forefathers were mighty men who clashed in
brutal conflict with a race of giants."

[Illustration: The Liberty's personnel embarked on an expedition to the
Flaming Sea.]

"Naturally," said Anjers curtly, "there would be such a fable. That
legend occurs not only in the mythology of _your_ race but in that of
every civilized planet. Earth's theosophy speaks of Gog and Magog, the
giants who lived before men.[9] The Venusian folk-tales sing of an
ancient battle of Titans. The Martians tell of a day when giants warred.

[Footnote 9: Gog and Magog: according to the old Erse records, these
were the names of two races which waged a tremendous warfare ages
ago ... the conclusion of which conflict was "the loss of Magog and the
banishment of Gog."--_Ed._]

"Such myths are easily explained. They are simply barbaric
nature-myths; explanations of the recurring solstice, the battle
between the giants of summer heat and winter cold."

But the Jovian said somewhat haughtily. "_Ours_ is no folk tale of a
barbaric people, Doctor. Our race was old when yours still roamed the
jungles of its native world. Our written history is based on fact,
not fancy. And it is strange that you should speak now of a race of
giants...."

Gary Lane held his peace. Yet, he, too, was oddly troubled by this new
and disturbing thought.

       *       *       *       *       *

But all things end at last, even hours of impatient waiting. And it
was shortly thereafter that the installation of the Jovian machine was
completed. So, at last, their adventure appropriately feasted, their
success prayerfully toasted, the _Liberty's_ complement prepared to set
forth on the final leg of their journey.

All hands were aboard, all stations manned, and in the control turret
stood those upon whose efforts depended not only the success of this
mission but the very existence of the universe.

It was a great moment, one calculated to not only lift with pride the
heart of the humblest person, but to instill humility into the heart
of the most prideful. A strange silence fell over the little group, a
silence finally broken by Hugh Warren.

"Well ... all ready, Gary?"

Gary nodded. "Yes. You understand the operation of the Jovian
machinery?"

"Yes, I press this first button ... the green one ... allow fifteen
minutes for the motors to warm and the space warp to develop, then
press the red button. Right?"

"Right," said Gary. He looked around at his friends, then bent his head
in a swift, decisive nod. "Here we go, folks. High, low, jack and game!"

Warren's finger touched the green button.

Nothing happened.

That is, nothing _seemed_ to happen. The _Liberty's_ hypos were cut.
There sounded through the ship not even that dim, familiar, whining
undertone which was its usual accompaniment of generating speed. There
was no sensation of flight, no hurtling shock of acceleration, no
grip of suddenly intensified gravity. No intraspatial weightlessness.
Nothing.

For a moment the wayfarers stared at each other with speculative eyes.
Could it be the Jovian invention was, after all, a failure. Did they
still lie in their cradle on Pangré spaceport.

As if to solve this question, Lark O'Day pressed the stud which opened
the vision plate to the outer hull. And what appeared thereon finally
dissolved all doubts. It was not _what_ they saw but what they did
_not_ see which offered clinching evidence of the fourth dimensional
drive's effectiveness.

Because it was no spaceport over which they looked, nor jet space
spangled with the colorful burning of a myriad stars. Instead, there
reflected on the vision plate before them a blank, gray, writhing
_nothingness_. Just that. The soul of an emptiness beyond space and
time, beyond color and form and life.

It was a vista terrible to look upon, awful to consider. Gary Lane
drew a short uneven breath. "Well, take a good look, folks," he said.
"There it is. The world between the worlds. The universe between the
universes. The unfathomable fourth dimension."

Then, amazingly, came a burst of giggling laughter from one of their
party. From the mirth-contorted lips of their Eurasian scientist
companion, Dr. Boris Anjers.

"Yes," babbled Anjers triumphantly, "look long and well, little fools,
while yet you may. For when that mist passes your puny efforts will end
in flaming oblivion. That all too brief gray pall is--your shroud of
death!"




                             CHAPTER XIII

                      The War Between the Worlds


Gary Lane's immediate reaction to these incredible words was a swift
and regretful commiseration. The little man plainly did not know what
he was saying. The rigors of the long and arduous trip had undermined
his nerve. Now this final, most perilous adventure had completely
disrupted his morale.

Lane said soothingly, "Easy, Doctor. It's not so bad as all that. It'll
be all over in a few minutes. Here, sit down and rest--"

And he moved a few paces toward the rotund little savant. But Anjers,
moving even more swiftly, evaded him. He darted back, a hand dipping
into one capacious pocket of his jacket, and when that hand emerged
it gripped the hilt of an ugly Haemholtz ray pistol. With this Anjers
covered his stunned companions.

"Stand back, Lane! Another step and I'll--Aaah, that's better." There
was no cherubic placidity on his features now. Nothing but pure,
unadulterated malevolence. "No, my friends, I am not, as you think,
unnerved or mad. I am in complete possession of my senses ... and have
been all along. Too much so to permit that you outcasts of Gog shall
ever achieve your purpose--"

"Boris!" cried Dr. Bryant. "Whatever _is_ the matter? Calm down man,
for God's sake!"

"Gog?" spluttered Flick Muldoon. "What's he mean, Gog?"

And Gary Lane, remembering it was wise to humor the deranged, said in
as calm a voice as he could muster, "Now, Dr. Anjers please! Be calm.
Rest a while."

"Rest?" Anjers' voice broke almost hysterically. "Yes ... rest. That is
good. When the red button is pressed, we will _all_ rest, eternally."

"What do you mean?" demanded Lark O'Day harshly.

"I mean it was an evil day for you, pirate, when you cast your lot with
these too-ambitious thwarters of destiny. For this journey is, and has
been since its beginning, doomed to failure. I, the _Kraedar_ Borisu,
Prae-consul of Magog, have seen to that!"

"Now it's _Magog_!" cried Muldoon. "A minute ago it was Gog. What's all
this double talk--Gog and Magog?"

Gog and Magog! The two names struck a familiar spark in Gary Lane's
brain. The ancient legend of Earth, about which they had been talking
only the other day. A folk tale of an elder age when giants walked the
earth and strove mightily amongst themselves.

The dim beginnings of a horrible conception stirred within him, and he
repeated the words. "Gog and Magog. Not two mythical persons, but two
worlds. Two ancient worlds embattled."

       *       *       *       *       *

Anjers' half-mad laughter rang shrill in the tense control turret. "You
surpass yourself, Dr. Lane. Sometimes your swift intuition amazes me.
Yes, you have guessed the truth. A truth forgotten by man for countless
centuries. There _are_ two worlds--two worlds which one time warred.
The name of one is Magog. That is the planet whereon I was born, from
which I came to Earth. The name of the other was Gog. It was the solar
globe which one time circled your sun between Mars and Jupiter. Long
ages ago our two great empires strove in bitter conflict. Long ages ago
_your_ time, that is. In the Greater Universe--the true universe--of
which Magog is still a dominant part, time has passed more slowly. To
our people it has been but a score of years since our great weapons
crumbled Gog to destruction and hurled your entire solar system into
the doom which now approaches its climax."

Nora Powell cried, "Then Gary's theory was right! The cosmic rays _are_
a deliberate force being played upon our solar system to destroy it.
And you--you--"

"I am one of a race pledged to the utter obliteration of your people,"
snarled Anjers. "Yes. Had you not been blind and trusting fools you
should have realized this long since. I did my utmost to prevent this
expedition. And even though through fortunate follies on your part my
efforts came to naught, now at the end triumph shall be mine!"

Gary said dazedly, "Then--then the marauder in the laboratory, that
_was_ you! And the informer whose distorted revelations caused the
World Council to reject our pleas--"

"And it was you," challenged Muldoon, "who stumbled and fell at the
Space Patrol port, almost ruining our escape? You, too, who suggested
we turn back when Venus refused us _neurotrope_--"

"And it was also you," said Dr. Kang gravely, "who from the engine room
tampered with the controls of the force-shield on Jupiter, imperiling
all our lives? You who insisted we should set our course toward
Proxima Centauri rather than Sirius--"

Boris Anjers, or "Borisu", as he now designated himself, bowed
mockingly. But his grip was still firm upon the butt of the Haemholtz
pistol, and his eyes carefully guarded against sudden movement by his
erstwhile comrades.

"Yes, my friends," he taunted. "It was I who did these things. Your
belated recognition of my exploits is amusing ... but not significant.
For it was _also_ I who, a short while ago, reset the verniers of the
Jovian quadridimensional drive. In a few short moments I shall press
the red key which unfolds the space warp. When that happens, success
will finally crown my efforts. For in this room are gathered the half
dozen Earthmen capable of staying your solar system's destruction. With
your passing dies the last hope of saving your universe."

O'Day's eyes were narrowed slits. He rasped dryly, "Haven't you
forgotten something else, Dr. Anjers. _You_ are one of our party. When
that red stud is depressed _you_ will share our fate."

The Magogean traitor asked proudly, "Do you think, scavenger of the
spaceways, _that_ consideration would in any way alter my act? When I
was assigned to espionage service in your universe, I knew and accepted
the perils of my post. The death of one Magogean is a small price to
pay for the complete and final destruction of your hated empire. And
now--"

       *       *       *       *       *

A smile of fanatic triumph touched his lips as he moved toward the
banked studs. But Gary, staring beyond him, had been watching with
a glimmer of hope the frantic gesturings of Captain Hugh Warren.
While the Magogean spy boasted, Warren had been inching toward the
_Liberty's_ intercommunicating audio system. He was now but a few feet
from the diaphragm over which his voice could be borne to every nook
and cranny of the ship. His eyes pled desperately with Gary to stall
the small Magogean a while longer.

Gary answered with no sign but with action. He cried, "But Dr. Anjers--"

"The name, my foolish young Quixote, is not 'Anjers' but 'Borisu'. The
second name I adopted to comply with your silly Earth tradition of two
names for a single entity. It is an amusing joke. In our tongue the
word 'anjers' means 'the fox'."

"Fox," growled Lark O'Day, "spelled r-a-t."

"But tell me, Borisu," persisted Gary, "if we are to die, there can
be no harm in our knowing now ... why do your people bear such fierce
hatred for those of our universe?"

Borisu glowered darkly. "That is a story too long to tell in its
entirety. But a portion I _will_ tell you that you may die realizing
the implacable enmity of all Magogeans.

"It is a story which goes back many years--as we measure time in the
true universe. Many millenia of your brief solar time.

"In true space once existed side by side two universes. That of our
mother sun, which you call Sirius, and that of your parent star--Sol.
Life spawned on the planets of these two systems; human life evolved.
Men similar to you and me grew in stature and wisdom, developed
civilizations, cultures.

"All this was long ago. For ages untold each planet lived in
ignorance of its neighbors. But some two hundred years ago--I measure
chronology now in Universal Constant time, which is the only true
measurement--that race of azure-tinted humans who peopled Sol's fifth
planet--"

"The predecessors of the Jovians?"

"Yes, they. The Gogeans they called themselves, for the name of their
world was Gog. Their science discovered, as has recently your Earthly
science re-discovered, space travel. Their employment of this knowledge
was a parallel to your own. They ventured, explored, expanded. They
colonized, transporting their people to the other worlds of your
sun. They set up outposts, carrying their superior culture to every
habitable world. So potent was their rule, so all-embracing their
lordship, that all the other planets' creatures they made slaves,
shuttling them back and forth between the worlds as they had need of
them."

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Kang interrupted, "Then my theory was right, at least in part?
Space travel _is_ responsible for the commingling of planetary types."

"Yes," nodded Borisu. "And had the Gogeans gone no farther than this,
their worlds might still exist. Their people might still be a great
people instead of the decadent sprinkling we met on Jupiter.

"But they were not content with draining the wealth of one solar
system. No, they must venture afar. So Gogean space-vessels, a mighty
armada of them, came to our neighboring system, there by weight of
superior science wreaked havoc on our cities, slew our brave warriors
and set themselves up as rulers not only of their system but of our own.

"But their tyranny was short-lived. Though our race had not solved the
secret of spaceflight, still our scientists possessed a vast knowledge.
They turned to the construction of a weapon which should overthrow
the interlopers. You know the result, because you have experienced
it. Our scientists discovered an all-penetrating ray with the power
of contracting the molecules of anything upon which it was turned. In
brief, a 'dwindling' ray which projects what you Earthmen call gamma or
cosmic rays.

"The hour for revolt was struck. Long was the warfare, and bloody.
But ultimately our people were triumphant. And in judicial council,
when victory had been won, it was decided that never again would Gog
be granted an opportunity to threaten cosmic peace with its lust for
power. And since the only way to cure a disease is by ruthlessly
crushing out its roots, a gigantic cosmic ray gun was built. This was
turned upon Gog--"

"And Gog," Dr. Bryant took up the tale, from the depths of his
scientific wisdom supplying the details as accurately as if he had
been eye witness, "dwindling, crumbled into ruins beneath the cannon's
radiation. But your vengeance did not stop there. You continued to play
the gun upon the whole of Sol's system. Now, not only one world but an
entire universe had been contracted well-nigh to the breaking point.
Shortly our parent star itself will become too densely packed to supply
light, and then--"

"Then," proclaimed Borisu stridently, "our planet, called 'Magog'
because it is 'the enemy of Gog', will reign triumphant throughout not
only ours but through _every_ universe."

Gary risked a swift glance at Warren. The skipper had not been idle.
Moving a hair's breadth at a time he had finally gained the wall. Now a
single motion of his hand would snap open the switch.

"But, Borisu," demanded Gary. "Are not your people satisfied? You have
destroyed your real enemy. Must you take vengeance on the children of
the other planets which never harmed you? On the descendants thousands
of years removed of those with whom you once struggled?"

"That," said Borisu, "does not matter. Our vengeance will not
be complete until the last despised Solarian is destroyed. Only
then--_Stop!_ I warned you--"

       *       *       *       *       *

His ray pistol, whirling to bear upon Warren, spat viciously. Its flame
cracked across the turret to blast at the spot where Hugh but a moment
before had stood. But its lethal tongue barely licked Warren's uniform.
With a blinding movement the captain had smashed open the audio key,
bawled, _Engine room! Hypos on, quickly!_

Then no more, for a second flare of the pistol dropped him, choking,
to the floor. Its searing blast kindled the serge of his uniform. Nora
Powell screamed and impetuously lunged forward to beat at the burning
cloth with bare hands. A familiar thin, high, whining shuddered through
the ship, and from the engine room below came the voice of Bud Howard
demanding, "_Why, Skipper? I thought you told us not to--_"

Then the Magogean _Kraedar_ wheeled, his face livid. "Enough," he
rasped. "It will do you no good, Miss Powell, to extinguish that
little burning. In a moment it and you and _all_ of us will merge in a
mightier flame ... Magog's blazing star!"

He laughed madly as his fist smashed down upon the crimson stud!




                              CHAPTER XIV

                                Escape


As Borisu's hand depressed the fateful button, a sort of sick
paralysis seemed to fall upon almost everyone in the control turret.
It was as though all realized that a moment hence in one brief,
blinding flame would vanish all for which a lifetime of struggle had
been spent. Joy and sorrow, happiness and care ... hope, love,
ambition ... all these were to merge as one in the final erasing of
life's futile slate.

Even Borisu, high-minded a patriot as he proclaimed himself to be,
stood stricken by the irrevocable enormity of what he had done. Mad
laughter froze on his lips, panic glazed his eyes, and the hand which
held the threatening Haemholtz faltered and dropped to his side.

And in that moment Warren roared, "_Now_, Gary! _Get him!_"

Gary dove across the room, his shoulders crashing the little man to the
floor as his hands wrenched and tore the ray pistol from Borisu's grasp.

And the sudden death they had been led to expect?

Nothing happened.

No blinding flame engulfed them. No cascade of heat crushed the
_Liberty_ to a blob of molten metal. The gallant ship rode mightily,
smoothly, evenly, the hum of its hypatomics a reassuring sound in their
ears.

And now the tables were turned, for Muldoon and O'Day had leaped to
Lane's assistance. Already Flick had snatched the skittering pistol
from the floor, while Lark's strong arms encircled the raging Magogean,
locking him in a vise. Meanwhile Warren, lurching to his feet, had
charged to the controls, glanced swiftly at the vision plate, made a
few swift corrections in their course. Now he turned, grinning.

"Made it," he cried relievedly. "I figured we might. Just in time,
though. There's Sirius off the port bow. Too close for comfort."

"B-but," faltered Nora. "What did you do, Hugh? I thought we were
headed for certain death? Even the Jovians warned us that if the
controls were tampered with--"

"That's right," admitted Warren cheerfully. "But the Jovians were
thinking only of their _own_ drive. They didn't take all the factors
into consideration. _This_ slimy rascal--" He jerked his head toward
the impotently fuming Quisling locked in O'Day's arms--"reset the
quadridimensional stops to plunge us into the heart of Sirius. And it
would have worked, too, had that been our only means of propulsion.

"But it occurred to me that if we could get the hypos working, adding
the _Liberty's_ normal acceleration to the space-twisting speed of the
Jovian drive, we might put enough distance between ourselves and Sirius
to save our necks.

"And--" He shrugged--"it worked. That's all."

"Hugh," said Gary, "you're terrific."

"Me? No, just plain lucky. I was only playing a hunch. But I figured we
had everything to gain and nothing to lose."

"He's a violet," snorted O'Day. "A modest, shrinking violet. Stop
playing coy, skipper. That was one of the neatest bits of mental
astrogation I've ever seen."

Warren said uncomfortably, "Comets to you, sailor. You could have done
the same thing yourself."

"Sure. If I'd thought of it."

"Anyone who can handle a spaceship like you can--"

"In," acknowledged Lark O'Day, "my own back yard; our own little
solar system. But when it comes to figuring intergalactic calculus
with a quadridimensional drive as a factor--" He shook his head
admiringly--"you're the boy for my money."

       *       *       *       *       *

Muldoon's fingers were itching on the butt of the Haemholtz. He glanced
at the silent Borisu, then longingly at his weapon.

"When the Mutual Admiration Society adjourns," he said, "what are we
going to do with our lethal little pal? You want I should take him out
somewhere and play punchboard on him with this?"

Gary Lane said grimly, "Murder in cold blood isn't ordinarily my dish,
but it seems to me that in _this_ case it isn't so much a case of
murder as it is fitting retribution. I'm in favor of--"

But Dr. Bryant said, "No, Gary. We can't do that."

"Why not? He's got it coming to him."

"I agree with you perfectly. But now that we have reached Sirius we may
have need of him."

"Need of _him_?" exploded Muldoon.

"Yes. For one thing we already know the Magogean language is unlike
any used in our universe. We will have need of an interpreter. Another
thing you must remember is that so long as we hold him unharmed aboard
the _Liberty_ we hold as hostage one whom we know to be a person of
importance among his own people."

Lark O'Day said bluntly, "I'm agin it. I was raised in a hard school, I
know. But one thing I learned long ago was that the best way to get rid
of an enemy is--get rid of him!"

And Dr. Kang, too, added quietly, "It is not wise to spare an enemy
like this; one who has already attempted not once but many times to
destroy us. It is written, 'Who dallies with the wasp will feel its
sting.'"

Neither Muldoon nor Gary appeared to think highly of Dr. Bryant's
clemency. But surprisingly it was the skipper who came to Dr. Bryant's
support.

Warren said soberly, "What you say about Anjers'--Borisu's--treachery
is quite true. Nevertheless, _we_ have no right to pass judgment upon
him. The thing to do is hold him in protective custody, take him back
to Earth with us when we go, and there let him stand judgment before a
properly constituted court. Law and order must be upheld."

O'Day laughed curtly. "There speaks the Space Patrolman. Once a cop,
always a cop, eh, Warren?"

Warren flushed. "Maybe so. But that's the way I feel about it."

And the one-time pirate shrugged. "Okay, skipper. It's your ship. Save
him it is. But--" He glared distastefully at the Magogean--"it's a good
thing for you, buster, that we're aboard the _Liberty_ and not the
_Black Star_...."

       *       *       *       *       *

So Borisu was taken away and placed under lock and key in the
_Liberty's_ brig. And later the leaders of the expedition gathered once
more in the control turret of the _Liberty_ as Hugh Warren, with his
instruments, struggled to set a true and proper course for the ship.

"It's baffling," he confessed ruefully after futile consultation with
his azimuth chart and astrogation table. "I can't seem to orient myself
at all. There are no constant bodies to set a course by. Or, rather,
there are plenty of known bodies--but they don't _look_ right. Nothing
looks right!"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, just that. Everything's cockeyed. Out of proportion. Here, see
for yourself--"

Warren touched the stud which activated the vision plate. On the
fore-lens screen was enmirrored that segment of space which lay before
the _Liberty_.

As one, the company's eyes opened wide at the curious picture which
lay exposed to their views. Star-strewn heavens sprawled before them,
yes; but no such spangled jet as might be seen from Earth or any of
Earth's sister planets. There, stars were dim, small specks, faintly
aglitter in unfathomable distance. Stars had diversity of size ...
this one was great, that other small. Stars clustered in recognizable
patterns. Here a portion of the sky was filled with their tinsel
sprinkling; elsewhere might be a patch of sparse-strewn midnight black.
Thus the heavens as seen from Earth.

But not so was space as seen from _this_ vantage point. For, viewing
their surroundings through the vision plate, it seemed as if they
swam through a sea of radiant light where every star was a beacon,
each planet a steadfast buoy of glowing color. And in this gleaming
pattern was a regularity, an orthodoxy as painstaking as if some master
craftsman had allocated each glowing sphere with precise care.

Regularly discernible against the omnipresent back-drop of space
were the solar galaxies, each a complete entity, aloof, removed from
its fellows and confined to its own definite segment of space. Some
galaxies were younger than others. One formed a whirlpool nebula.
Another, giving birth to worlds, was a gleaming, egg-shaped blob of
gold. Still elder universes had achieved secure and permanent balance.

But in certain things they were all alike. Each dominated its own
sector of space without encroachment on a neighbor. And each parent
star was very nearly equal in size to every other.

It was, in short, the mathematician's dream: the perfect achievement of
theoretical stellar mechanics. A universe balanced in absolute stasis,
with each galaxy arranged in contrapuntal adjacence to each other.

"But this--" said Flick Muldoon wildly--"_this_ can't be the Sirian
system! This isn't any part of the universe we knew!"

Young Dr. Lane nodded soberly. "Yes, Flick, it is. This, at last, is
the _true_ universe. The real and constant universe we theorized might
exist when first we took those photographs on Luna. We are looking, as
no man has looked for countless years, upon the true 'bubble universe'
of which our solar system was once a part."

"But--" asked Nora--"our solar system _now_?"

Warren had been twisting the vision lens. Now he halted its periscopic
movement at a space sector behind the _Liberty_. "I think," he said
dubiously, "_that_ may be the universe from which we came. Gary--?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Gary looked and nodded. Sharp against the dazzling brilliance of the
true universe was a strange blot, a circular well, a cone-shaped funnel
of blackness carven through the bright surroundings. And deep and far,
where the end of this funnel faded into unfathomable distances, was a
single, tiny, pin-prick of light glimmering faintly.

"Yes," he said, "that is--must be--it. That tiny star is Sol. The one
diminishing unit in all the constant universe. And that funnel is the
path of the cosmic rays, the cone through which Magog's ultrawave
cannon is beaming its lethal radiation upon our little system."

"Gad!" gritted Lark O'Day. "What a vengeance! What a punishment to mete
on an innocent people! We must stop those scoundrels, Gary! If we only
knew where to find them--"

"We do," Gary pointed out. "As Earth is the _far_ end of the funnel,
the planet from which the rays _emanate_ must be Magog."

"Right as rain," declared Hugh Warren. "And, Gary, I've got it spotted
now. It's that second planet over there, the blue one. Hello, below
there! Bud!" he shouted into the audio. "Accelerate the hypos to max.
And tell the men to stand by for any emergency. We're approaching our
destination."

"A.X. to max it is, sir!" came back the reply.

And the whining sound of the hypatomic motors heightened as the
_Liberty_, its goal in sight, leaped through unworldly space like a
bow-sped silver arrow.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was as they neared Magog that Gary Lane experienced a final qualm of
misgiving. Dim memory stirred him. He recalled a remark the man they
had known as Dr. Anjers had made on Jupiter.

"It is ridiculous to think of us, tiny mites that we are, daring to
attack the people of a universe so infinitely greater than ours that we
will be as dust motes beneath their crushing heels," Borisu had said.

At that time he had still been pretending allegiance with his
companions. Which did not alter the fact that there might be truth
to his claim. The Earthmen, born of a contracted planet, might be a
hundred, a thousand times smaller than the enemy whose homeland they
were approaching. Appraising the size of Magog from this distance, Gary
could not tell. Size is relative, and in this Great Outer Universe
there was no commensurable object by which the spacefarers might judge
their own stature.

But Dr. Kang disabused him of this thought the moment Gary ventured it.

"No, no my friend. You need entertain no fears on that account. Just
as the Magogean, Borisu was similar in size to us on Earth, so on Magog
will our height correspond to that of the natives."

"But if we come from a planet which has been dwindling for untold
years--"

"That does not matter, my boy. You forget, we are now in the real
or 'static' universe. Moreover we came here through a space warp,
traveling with a speed which exceeds that of light. Elementary
astrophysics will tell you that any object exceeding the speed of light
attains infinite mass. Therefore we may safely assume that during
our period of translation from the inner to the outer universe the
_Liberty_ and all of us aboard the ship expanded to a size comparable
to this universe which now surrounds us."

"Expanded?" grunted Lark O'Day. "But I don't feel any different."

"Naturally not. For you are as perfectly attuned to this greater
universe as you were formerly to our own contracted solar system."

"But," demurred Gary, "Anjers--I mean Borisu--himself said--"

Dr. Kang smiled quietly. "Borisu made _several_ paradoxical remarks. He
also showed an appalling lack of comprehension of the hypatomic drive.
Moreover, on several occasions he failed rather pitifully to accomplish
a mission he had every opportunity of achieving.

"All of which leads me to believe, my friend, that--his boasting to
the contrary--he's not so brilliant a genius as he believes himself.
Nor is his race so scientifically advanced as he considers it. In at
least several respects we have already discovered their knowledge to
be inferior to ours. Let us hope we can maintain our superiority, and
bring about the end we desire."

"By golly, that's right!" muttered Muldoon. "Borisu never struck _me_
as being any master mind. And he _admitted_ his race didn't know the
secret of spaceflight."

"Excuse me," interrupted Dr. Kang. "At one time they did not. But they
must know that secret now."

"Why?"

"How else could Dr. Boris Anjers have reached Earth to serve as an
espionage agent for his people? We are forced to assume this Magogean
surveillance of the solar system is a regular thing, with new
appointees assuming their duties periodically. Borisu intimated he was
but one of many. Obviously, therefore, the Magogeans have mastered not
only spaceflight but faster-than-light travel. As well as the ability
to diminish their own bodily size at will. At any rate, we shall know
in a little while."

       *       *       *       *       *

Warren's voice interrupted him. The skipper was seated at the controls.
"You've got part of your answer now, Doc."

"What do you mean, Captain?"

"About spaceflight. The Magogeans _have_ got ships. Because here comes
a flock of them right now."

O'Day's eyes lighted. Restless for action, he had been chafing
impatiently ever since they sighted Magog. Now his moment had come. He
sprang to his feet.

"Man the guns! We'll teach those scoundrels--"

"Wait," advised Dr. Kang. "Not so swiftly. Let us try every peaceful
means to win them over first. Dr. Bryant--where is Dr. Bryant?"

"Below," said Muldoon. "He went below a little while ago. I don't think
the old man feels so good. He looked sort of funny. Kind of a sick
expression around his mouth. And his eyes were glazed, like he was
sort of dopey, or something."

"Well, let us send for him. We will need his advice. And bring Borisu
from his cell, too. We must attempt to communicate with the Magogeans
by radio. We will need Borisu to interpret for us."

Lieutenant MacDonald said, "Yes sir. Right away, sir," and hurried from
the room.

Warren, closely scanning the vision plate, muttered, "Six ...
eight ... a dozen of them. If they're friendly, all right. But if
they're hostile--"

"You have turned on the force-shield?" asked Dr. Kang.

"No, but I'll do it now." The skipper pushed the black button. "_That_
should take care of any tricks they try to pull. Say--" His voice broke
in a sudden exclamation of astonishment. "Say, _that's_ funny! Where
did _that_ come from?"

"That? What?" demanded Gary.

"Why--why, it looked like a life skiff. Matter of fact it looked like
one of the _Liberty's_ auxiliary craft. It just scooted across the
vision plate for a minute and then--I'll try to pick it up again."

Warren twisted the scanning device deftly, succeeded in centering it
upon the foremost of the approaching Magogean spacecraft. He leaned
forward, studying intently the scene revealed.

"By God, it _is_ a life skiff! But what's it doing this far out in
space? And where did it come from?"

He got his answer, but from an unexpected source. For suddenly the
audio crackled into activity. The voice of Lieutenant MacDonald came to
them from midships.

"Captain! Captain Warren!"

"Yes? Yes, what is it?"

"It--it's Professor Bryant, sir."

"Bryant? What about him?"

"He's lying in the brig ... unconscious!"

"You mean--you mean Borisu attacked him? Seize the traitor! Bring him
here immediately."

MacDonald's voice was anguished. "I can't, sir. That's what I'm trying
to tell you. The cell door is open ... one of our auxiliary craft has
been stolen from its cradle ... and Borisu--_has escaped_!"




                              CHAPTER XV

                           Life Everlasting


"The life skiff!" thundered Hugh Warren. "That was Borisu. He's escaped
to his own fleet!"

"And ruined," groaned Muldoon, "everything. Now they know who we are,
where we came from, and what we want!"

MacDonald spoke again from below. "Dr. Bryant, sir--he's coming around.
Shall I--?"

"Bring him up here," ordered Lane. "And for God's sake, hurry!"

The audio clicked off. Gary turned to his companions. "Whatever we're
going to do, we've got to do fast. Now they've got wind of our scheme,
we may _never_ accomplish it. And if we don't--"

He let the sentence dangle. But all knew as well as he what must follow
if their mission failed.

Minutes later, a dazed Dr. Bryant appeared in the turret, supported
on the shoulder of the young space lieutenant. He shook his head in
sorrowful reply to Gary's unspoken query.

"I--I don't know. I can't remember a thing. I was here in the turret
with the rest of you. The next thing I knew MacDonald was breaking an
ammonia tube under my nostrils. All that happened between is--blank."

"I told you he looked sick," said Muldoon. "He looked sort of dopey.
Like he was drugged or--"

"Or," burst forth Gary Lane with a sudden comprehension, "hypnotized!
Doctor, could that have been it?"

Bryant stared at the younger man confusedly.

"Why--why, I don't know, Gary. It is possible. I remember now that
months ago, when Anjers first came to the observatory, one evening
we discussed hypnotism at great length. He claimed some small
faculty along that line. I laughed and told him it was impossible
for a mesmerist to gain control over a strong minded person. Why--he
experimented, with me as the subject. His efforts were a complete
failure. Later he acknowledged as much, and we never broached the
subject again."

"You didn't have to," grunted Lark O'Day. "That experiment wasn't
the failure you thought it, Doctor. On the contrary, it must have
been a complete success. At that time, with your cooperation, Borisu
established a control over your brain. One which he has never
relinquished."

"With my cooperation? But I concentrated upon rejecting his mental
suggestions--"

       *       *       *       *       *

"That," interrupted Dr. Kang gently, "is the explanation, my good
friend. You erred in saying strong wills cannot be hypnotized.
Research indicates that quite the opposite is true. It is _only_ the
strong-willed who make good hypnotic subjects. Never the dolts, morons,
the weak of brain. For in order to accept hypnotic influence, one must
be able to concentrate solely upon a single thought to the exclusion of
all others. And only the highly intellectual have this power. I fear it
is true you have been an unwitting partner to Borisu."

"I _know_ you have," cried Gary. "There has been one thing which
bothered me all along. It was not satisfactorily explained after Borisu
admitted he was the one who attacked Muldoon in the observatory. _You_
alibied him at that time, Doctor. You said you and he were together in
your office. Had it not been for this we should have discovered long
ago who was the traitor in our midst."

"He," moaned the aged scientist, "must have compelled me to say that.
And this time he forced me to come below, open his prison cell, and
permit his escape. But what are we going to do?"

"It's not what we're going to do," fumed Flick, "but what we should
have done. I _told_ you we ought to have conked that--"

"Stow it, Flick," suggested Gary. "There's no use crying over spilt
milk. Borisu's skipped. So we'll have to abandon that plan of approach.
We must figure the next best thing."

"Skipper? Captain Warren?" Again the intercommunicating system was
alive.

"It's Sparks," said Warren, "calling from the radio turret. Yes,
Sparks? What is it?"

"A telaudio message coming in. Someone calling us by name."

"Borisu," snarled O'Day.

"Pipe it down here, Sparks," ordered the commander of the vessel.
"Throw it over the IC so we can all hear it."

"Very good, sir!" There was a moment's hush, then an instant of
metallic confusion. Then the incoming message was retransmitted from
the radio room to the control turret. A voice was calling, "_Spaceship
Liberty! Signalling the Liberty! Can you hear us?_"

Warren glanced at his friends significantly. "It _is_ Borisu," he
whispered. "I'd know that soapy, accented voice in a million." He
pressed the activating control of the turret transmitter and answered,
"Spaceship _Liberty_ answering. Hugh Warren, commanding officer,
speaking. Who are you? What do you want?"

Transmission cleared as the beam between the converging spacecraft
strengthened. It was definitely Borisu's voice addressing them. All
recognized and tensed with anger to hear the vindictive mockery in his
tone.

"What, Captain? But certainly you're clever enough to know without
being told. We not only _want_ but _demand_ the immediate surrender of
your ship!"

       *       *       *       *       *

O'Day's face turned brick red. His lean jowls mottled with rage.
In stifled tones he choked, "Surrender! That slimy rat! All right,
Skipper. We know where we stand now. Let's unhinge the guns and give
them--"

"They are a dozen," reminded MacDonald nervously, "to our one."

"All right! So what?" blazed O'Day. "Our weapons will more than match
theirs. And we're protected by Dr. Kang's force-shield. Come on!"

He took three quick strides toward the nearest gun embrazure, and was
in the act of whipping the tarpaulin from the rotor port when Borisu's
voice sheered through again.

"That was the reformed corsair's voice I heard, was it not? Well,
_Captain_ O'Day--" He stressed the title with gentle irony--"I suggest
you think twice before opening hostilities. Having shared your
comradeship I am well aware as to the power of your weapon and the
strength of the learned Dr. Kang's force-shield. However, the weapons
mounted on our craft are not the destructive type averted by electrical
barriers. _Our_ guns are ultrawave cannon."

"Ultrawave!" repeated Dr. Kang, and stayed Lark O'Day's hand swiftly.
"Stop, Lark! If he's telling the truth, our shield is useless."

"What? But I thought it would stop anything."

"Anything of material or radiant nature--_except_ cosmic rays. They
will penetrate _all_ matter; even our force-shield. One blast of their
guns can loose upon us the dwindling destruction which they have been
using to destroy our universe."

"Well spoken, Dr. Kang," came the taunting voice from afar. "You grasp
essential truths with admirable swiftness. And now--your surrender,
Captain? You will drop your force-shield, permitting a boarding party
to enter your ship."

All the while the Magogean had been speaking, Hugh Warren's fingers
had been twisting dials on the control panel. Now, his face aflame
with anger, he roared defiantly, "Like hell we will, Borisu. The Space
Patrol dies but never surrenders! If you want to board us ... _come
find us_!"

And his finger pressed suddenly down upon the green key installed by
the Jovian engineers. A violent shudder trembled the _Liberty_ from
stem to stern, warped plates screamed in metal agony, and for an
instant it seemed the straining ship would shake herself to shards, so
great was the shock of that abrupt movement.

But even as lurching passengers tumbled headlong upon the metal deck,
as contact broke abruptly between their ship and the Magogean fleet,
Warren pressed a second stud: this time the red one.

Then horror loomed upon horror. For in the vision plate which
fore-shadowed the _Liberty's_ trajectory, appeared a gigantic darkness
blotting out all space.

Gary Lane cried hoarsely, "My God, what--"

"Hugh!" screamed Nora Powell. "What have you done?"

       *       *       *       *       *

But Warren's voice smashed through their cries of dismay, roaring crisp
orders to the control room below. "Search-beams, Howard!"

And the young engineer's voice came back shakily, "Aye, sir! Search
beams it is, sir!"

The darkness before them was rent with silver radiance. And what had
seemed a black, impenetrable nothingness was now revealed as a black
landscape over which the _Liberty_ was hurtling like a bird in the
night. Dark hills loomed starkly through whipping fingers of fog. The
search-beams limned sharp outlines of crags and gulleys, forests thick
with uncombed vegetation....

Dr. Bryant cried, "A planet! But which, Warren? One of our own
universe, or--?"

Warren grinned mirthlessly. "Not on your life. The only place to lick
an enemy is in his own back yard. Thank heavens, those Jovian engineers
taught me how to use their tricky drive! I warped us clean around that
space fleet into the night side of their home planet. The world you see
beneath us is _Magog itself_!

"And now for our landing--" His fingers flickered over the studs. The
_Liberty_ dropped slowly, smoothly, speed dwindling as Warren searched
for a likely landing place--and found it. A low plateau, cradled like a
saucer between encircling hills.

No lights gleamed there; no glare of hostile cities. There was
only Stygian darkness and the interminable greenery of jungle. The
_Liberty_, enveloped in its matter-repulsing shield, struck once
lightly and bounced; dropped lower. Warren released the shield that the
ship might settle. Through the metal hull they could hear the crackling
of timber as the great ship plowed its way through virgin forest
land ... then the grating grind of metal against rock as the ship
wallowed to a landing ... and lay still.

Hugh Warren cut controls. He turned to his friends, panting, his
forehead damp with perspiration. But he forced a shaky laugh, and....

"All right, folks. Turn in your tickets. This is the place we started
for."

       *       *       *       *       *

"So," said Flick Muldoon, "we're here. Actually here on Magog! We've
been working and plotting and contriving it seems like forever. And
all of a sudden when it seems like we're licked--bingo!--here we are!"
Flick's face had a curiously woebegone expression. "I'm confused. No
kidding, I'm up a tree. All this time, even though I knew where we were
heading, I kept thinking subconsciously that we'd never make it. And
now we're here, and I'm puzzled even worse. What are we going to do
here?"

Dr. Bryant said, "Well, I should say the _first_ thing we must do is
test the gravity and atmosphere of Magog to make sure it's safe for us
to venture outside."

"We won't have to worry about that," said Warren. "I told you the
_Liberty_ had all the latest gadgets. The testing apparatus went into
action automatically upon our landing. We'll have a complete report in
a few minutes."

"Then," said O'Day, "the first thing we must do is find a good hiding
place for the _Liberty_. Or if there isn't one, camouflage the ship
immediately. It's night now, but with morning I've got an idea the
Magogean fleet will be circling this planet looking for us. Borisu and
his buddies aren't dummies. They'll know we used the quad drive to
scoot, and they'll leave no stone unturned--"

Dr. Kang interrupted quietly, "I think that is _another_ point on which
you need have no apprehension. By the time morning comes we shall have
either accomplished or failed in our mission."

"What?" Gary Lane whistled. "Aren't you a little optimistic, Doctor?
We're going to work as swiftly as possible, yes. But getting our job
done in a couple of hours is a bit too much to expect."

Kang's ivory features framed a wisp of a smile. "Have you forgotten
Borisu's remarks concerning the time differential between our planets?"

Gary said testily, "Not by a long sight. And it's been worrying me
plenty. Borisu said Magog had been playing the cosmic ray cannon on our
universe for only twenty years. Yet it is a scientifically recognized
fact that the planet which existed between Mars and Jupiter in our
system was destroyed no less than 40,000 Earth years ago. Isn't that
so, Dr. Bryant?"

"Quite true, Gary," agreed the older scientist worriedly.

"Therefore," pointed out Lane, "every Magogean year is the equivalent
of two thousand Earth years; every day on this planet the equivalent of
three Earth years. And--" His breath caught in his throat--"since our
calculations prove that the critical dwindling point of Sol can be at
most no more than two months away, we must fulfill our task here in a
matter of Magogean _hours_--or our universe will die!"

       *       *       *       *       *

At his words the younger men in the turret sprang to their feet as one.
Flick spoke for all when he cried, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's
get going! My God, we've got to move and move fast--"

"Gently, gently," chided Dr. Kang. Again one of his rare smiles touched
his lips. "Youth is impetuous. It is written, 'The young man tests the
balance of the sword; the elder sage admires its chaste engraving.' Dr.
Lane's discovery would be frightening ... if it were based on fact. But
there is another way of viewing the matter. One you have not pondered.
Have you failed to take into consideration the _length_ of the Magogean
year?"

Dr. Bryant stopped him in mid-sentence, his eyes lighting with swift
admiration. "But, of course! That is extremely important. If the
orbital revolution of Magog takes longer than that of Earth--"

"I believe," said Dr. Kang placidly, "you will find it does.
Approximately 2000 times longer! We have not, just now, the time to
study the truth of my conjecture. But from certain factors I have
noticed, I believe we shall find this to be true. The size of Magog
argues a slow orbital movement.

"In brief, my friends, I conclude that Magog revolves about its primary
but a single time while Earth is whirling around the Sun _two thousand_
times. There is, therefore, a one-to-one correspondence between the
time units of our systems. We may completely disregard their relative
size. A 'day' on Magog may equal 2000 Earth days--but twenty-four
Earthly hours spent on Magog are of no longer duration than the same
period spent on Earth. We may govern our actions accordingly."

Gary said soberly, "I certainly hope you are right, Doctor. Otherwise,
howsoever short a time we spend in this system may be too long to save
our universe. But--but you realize what this _means_, don't you? I am
thinking now of the life span of the Magogeans."

Dr. Kang nodded. "I realize very well. It means that if they live an
average of sixty to a hundred Magogean years, each of them exists for
a period of many _thousands_ of Earth years. But--" He shrugged--"is
it too unreasonable to concede this? Has not our Earthly science
already suggested that the shortness of our life span may be due to
the bombardment of cosmic rays? Here on Magog where they do not live
beneath this lethal radiation--"

Dr. Bryant's fine features cleared, his eyes lighted raptly. He said,
"Then it is not only the _immediate_ existence of our universe for
which we are fighting, but another and greater goal. One of which
mankind has dreamed for centuries. If we succeed in putting to an end
this cosmic radiation, we may win for our people not only life, but--"

"Yes," nodded Dr. Kang. "Almost ... eternal life!"




                              CHAPTER XVI

                             Cosmic Allies


"Cripes!" said Flick Muldoon, awed. "Eternal life! Golly, that's almost
enough time for a guy to catch up on his back sleep."

"Or," chuckled O'Day, "really learn how to play a good game of
tri-chess.[10] But this is no time to be talking about things like
that. The first problem is: how are we going to contact the Magogeans
again?"

[Footnote 10: Tri-chess: a highly involved game of tri-dimensional
chess played on a series of eight superimposed glassine boards.
Pieces move not only horizontally, as in the ancient Persian game,
but vertically as well. Two additional types of pieces are used in
conjunction with the traditional "pawn, knight, bishop," et al. ... the
"pilot," which may move in any direction horizontally or vertically
until opposed by another piece, and the "ranger," which may move five
vertical spaces and three horizontal, or vice versa, disregarding
occupants of those squares.--_Ed._]

"I think--" Hugh Warren had risen abruptly to his feet as a light
flashed on the signal panel before them--"I think we won't have to
worry about that problem. The Magogeans seem to have already contacted
_us_! See that warning? It means there is someone at the airlocks."

"Then quickly," snapped Gary, "turn on the force-shield, Hugh!"

Dr. Kang shook his head. "It is too late, now. If invaders have lighted
the warning signal they are already inside the protective envelope." He
turned worried eyes to the space patrolman. "What shall we do, Captain?"

"There's only one thing _to_ do," grunted Warren. "Find out who it is,
then blast them to hell-and-gone out. Hawkins!" He bawled the name out
over the audio. A moment later the little cockney steward bustled into
the turret.

"Comin' hup, Captain. You called me?"

"Yes. Break open the ordnance lockers. Supply every man aboard with
arms. I'm afraid we have visitors."

Hawkins grinned impishly. He didn't scare easily. "Right, Cap'n. Side
arms all around it is, sir." And he scampered away as Warren turned to
his companions.

"All right. Let's go have a little look-see at our unexpected guests."

Moments later they were standing in the companionway beside the fore
sta'b'rd lock. As the turret's warning system had advised, someone
was outside the ship. A duplicate signal, activated by electric eye,
was flashing on the airlock's inner port. Not only that, but through
the aerated protection chamber could be heard faint noises of someone
rapping or fumbling with the exterior controls.

O'Day nodded at Lane significantly. "Magogeans, all right. But our pal
Borisu's not with them. He'd know how to operate the lock from outside.
They don't."

Gary said tightly, "Well, since the mountain can't come to Mohammed--"
and drew down the lever which opened the inner port. The noises were
clearer now. In addition to the scrabbling sound there were faint
murmurs, a low babble of indistinguishable voices.

Warren glanced swiftly at instruments on the airlock wall, nodded to
his companions. "Gravity and atmosphere O.Q. We're adjusted to the
first by our changed size, I guess, and the second approaches Earth's
normal. Everybody set? I'll throw open the outer door. The minute you
see them, let 'em have it."

And his hand reached for the second control lever, that which would
open the passageway between the _Liberty's_ interior and the outer
darkness. But even before the activating machinery could throw the
massive door open, a single voice raised above those others which
muttered outside. And the words it spoke startled all the _Liberty's_
equipage into stunned immobility. For in clear, unmistakable terms, the
voice repeated a single phrase in three languages ... Jovian, Solar
Universal, and Amer-English.

"_Phaedu m'akki; toratu'sl!... Amiji sumo; ammité!... We are friends;
let us in!_"

Gary gasped, "Good Lord! English!"

"A trick!" Lark warned. "Don't take any chances!"

But then the great door swung open. And even _he_ allowed his ready
weapon to fall to his side as there stood outlined in the bright oblong
of the portal a group of azure-tinted men similar in trappings and
appearance to their Jovian benefactors.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Bryant choked, "Men of Jupiter! But how come _you_ here?"

The leader of the newcomers, both arms widely outstretched in token
of pacific intent, smiled with happiness at learning which tongue he
should employ.

In precise and only faintly accented English he said hesitantly, "No,
not uff Jupiter, Misser. We are chilttren of the planet Gog."

"Gog!" exclaimed Gary. "But that planet has not existed for--"

A cloud darkened the stranger's eyes. He nodded sorrowful agreement.
"For many centuries your time ... for long years, ours. Nor did any
uff us here ever see our parent planet. We are the children and the
children's children uff our forefathers who once ruled Magog."

Warren, suddenly remembering his obligation as space captain and host,
said, "Gad, this is incredible! But we can't talk here. Come into the
ship where we can be comfortable while we get acquainted."

The Gogean leader turned to the doorway, raised his voice to an
assemblage of attendants. Muttered replies and the stirring of many
bodies in the darkness betold acceptance of his command. Then,
designating one or two to be his companions, he followed Warren to the
_Liberty's_ lounge.

And there in an ultramodern Earthly space-cruiser was held the
strangest conference ever attended by humans. A conference between
adventurers of two solar worlds and representatives of an alien galaxy
whose ancient culture had long since vanished from mankind's ken.

It was a give-and-take exchange exciting to both sides.

"We haff been looking for you," said the Gogean leader, Tsalnor, "and
hoping against hope we might somehow get in touch with you. When we
saw your ship and recognized it to be no space vessel of the Magogean
fleet, our hearts leaped with joy. Joy which increased when you landed
scarce four _talus_ from our encampment."

"Saw our ship?" exclaimed Nora. "In this impenetrable darkness?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Gogean shrugged. "Darkness ... light ... what difference do these
things make? We whose lives are spent in everlasting night make no
distinction. Long years ago we were forced to either lose the power uff
vision entirely or adapt our eyesight to seeing in the dark. Our people
haff done the latter.

"When, years ago, the Magogeans with the help of their diabolic
ultrawave cannon succeeded in overthrowing our empire, those uff us who
were not slain sought refuge here on the eternally dark side of Magog."

"Eternally dark side!" broke in Dr. Kang. "But of course! I had guessed
the period of axial revolution might be slow, but did not realize it
coincided _exactly_ with that of your planet's orbital revolution about
its primary. Like our solar planet Mercury, Magog presents always the
same face to its sun!"

"True," said Tsalnor bitterly. "And for two decades haff our people
languished here, never seeing the glorious light uff day, save when a
few members uff daring expeditions venture into the Twilight Zone for
essential supplies we cannot here obtain."

"But--but don't the Magogeans know you are here? There must be many of
you."

Tsalnor said bitterly, "We number in the hundreds uff thousands. And
they know we are here, yes. But they dare attack us no more than we
have dared attack their fortified cities. There exists between us an
implacable hatred, but an armed truce. For neither force dares meet its
enemy on that enemy's home terrain.

"Yes," he continued, "we who were millions now number in the hundreds
uff thousands. But those who claim Gog is dead would eat their words
to see the cities we haff hewn from these harsh rocks. We haff culture
here, libraries and science.

"And--" he gritted--"an ever watchful army uff men who will someday
arise to reclaim that which is rightfully theirs!"

Dr. Kang roused suddenly from an attitude of thought. "There is one
thing which puzzles me, Tsalnor. Your knowledge of the language of our
universe. You addressed us not only in _modern_ Jovian tongue but in
Universal and English as well. How knew you these languages?"

Tsalnor answered proudly, "By long study and careful translation, uff
course. For many of your centuries we haff been listening to the speech
transmitted via etherwaves by what you call your radio. Our people have
long studied your three most-used languages against the ever-hoped-for
day when our empire should be resurrected."

"But," demanded Gary shrewdly, "since you know our tongue, how is it
_you_ never attempted to communicate with us? If you have receivers to
pick up our radio conversation, certainly you should be able to build
transmitters as well?"

"Certainly, we _could_ do so, Earthman. But we would not dare. We
are not fools, but neither are our adversaries. Were we to build
transmitting units here on Magog's Darkside, by directional finders
they could locate our cities and send a space armada to wipe us out uff
existence.

"No, we haff had to wait and build and hope and plan for just such a
day as this.

"But now--" And his eyes lighted raptly--"Now at last you haff come!
Working together, we shall overthrow the Magogeans, stay the disaster
you haff told me threatens our ancient universe, and again be free to
look upon the sun."

       *       *       *       *       *

Captain Hugh Warren spread his hands in a gesture of despair. "You know
you have our friendship. We would do anything within our power to help
you, but--what can we do? If you, with a great army, have never been
able to breach the Magogean defenses, what can our pitiful group do--?"

"You," said Tsalnor promptly, "can do what no Gogean can do ... effect
entry to Magog's capital, and there work from within to destroy the
barrier wall which protects it. When that wall falls our warriors will
flood into the city of Khundru in hordes--"

"We? But why _we_--?"

Tsalnor smiled mirthlessly. "It is a matter uff hue."

Warren jumped. "Who, me?"

"No," said Dr. Bryant. "Not you, Hugh--hue! I see what he means. It is
a matter of fleshly color. The Magogeans are our color, or nearly so.
Dr. 'Boris Anjers' was of a complexion sufficiently similar to that of
an Earthman to pass himself off for many years as a Eurasian. Similarly
_we_ might, I suppose, masquerade as Magogeans--"

He turned a questioning gaze to Tsalnor. The Gogean nodded. "Exactly.
Let one uff our blue-fleshed brethren but present an appearance before
any Magogean and he would be rayed down mercilessly without ever being
granted an opportunity to speak.

"You alone haff the coloration which would permit entry into the city
uff Khundru--"

"Where _is_ this city?"

"A very short distance from here. Scarce more than a hundred _talus_,
on the edge of the Twilight Zone."

"And you say it's the Magogean _capital_? Isn't that location a rather
dangerous one for their most important city?"

"On the contrary, Khundru is located at an axis uff vital strategic
importance. It spans the estuary uff the river Driya where it meets the
Pinoor Sea, and is protected from assault from either side by lofty
mountain ranges. Its rear is protected by Darkside."

"But you spoke of a barrier shield."

"Yes. It is that which prevents our armed forces from storming Khundru.
About and around their capital the Magogeans have forged some sort uff
an invisible barrier impenetrable by any material substance. What this
is, we do not know. Unable to study it at first hand, our scientists
haff never been able to study its secret."

"Invisible barrier! A force-shield!" Gary Lane spun swiftly to their
Martian comrade. "Dr. Kang, it must be something like the force-shield
you installed on the _Liberty_!"

Kang nodded slowly. "Very likely. I know now why Borisu never
questioned _me_ so eagerly about the activation of _my_ device as he
did the Jovian engineers about their quad warp. It was because he
already understood it."

"You mean," demanded the Gogean, "you _comprehend_ this mechanism?"

Kang nodded.

"But then no one need enter Khundru!"

"Unfortunately, someone must. There is no way to rupture an entropic
force barrier from without. If your divisions are to storm Khundru, the
wall must be broken from the control room inside that city."

       *       *       *       *       *

Gary drew a deep breath. "O.Q. We're elected. Lark ... Hugh ...
Flick...."

"A moment, Gary," interrupted Lark. "Just how are we to effect entry
into Khundru? Will there be questions to ask or answer?"

Tsalnor puzzled briefly. "It would be best," he decided, "to pass
yourselves off as common serfs. We shall teach you the Magogean
language and acquaint you with its customs. But it would take too long
a training to enable you to pass yourselves as members uff the ruling
class. There are but two divisions uff Magogeans. The common people,
serfs who are little more than feudal slaves; and the kraedars, or
overlords--"

"That's what Borisu called himself," remembered Gary. "Kraedar."

"The kraedars are the military and ruling class. You would never be
able to pass yourself off successfully as one uff these. Therefore it
were wiser to allow yourselves to be taken into the city as workers.
This may entail some hardships, but you will be inside where you want
to be. And once there, your own ingenuity can devise ways and means uff
doing that which is needful."

"I thought," nodded Kang, "the situation would be something like that.
In that case, Gary, you must change your plans. Nothing would arouse
Magogean suspicion quicker than to have five strong, strapping, young
strangers seek entry to their capital city ... particularly on the
heels of the report Borisu may even now be submitting to his peers."

"But who, then--?" questioned Gary.

"Why not," suggested Kang quietly, "just my daughter and myself? We
understand the operation of the force-shield. Of the two of us, surely
_one_ can find some way to break the Magogean barrier for a short time."

Gary said stubbornly, "The idea is a good one, Dr. Kang. But two is not
enough. Let it be the _three_ of us."

"The _four_ of us," broke in Lark O'Day. "If Penny's going, I want to
be in on this shindig, too."

"Why not," suggested Nora Powell, "count me in? With two women out
of five, certainly we would seem an innocuous little band. A family
circle, so to speak, with Dr. Kang as the parent, Penny and I his
married daughters--"

Kang said dubiously, "I don't know. There is too much difference in the
pigmentation of our skins for us to be taken as a family unit. True, my
daughter's flesh is little more golden than yours, Miss Powell--"

Tsalnor dismissed the objection with a short laugh.

"You do not know Magog, Dr. Kang. Such dissimilarities in coloration
are not the exception but the rule amongst their people. The Magogean
hordes haff interbred to such an extent that the closest blood brothers
oft look like men of different races. Miss Powell's plan is quite
feasible."

"O.Q.," said Gary. "Then that's the ticket. How long to put us through
this teaching-training period you were talking about?"

"Not long. Those things will be done during studying periods and even
while you sleep ... electrically."

"Then," said Gary, rising, "let's move the _Liberty_ to your
headquarters and get on with the job. Because there's lots to be done,
and very little time left to do it in."




                             CHAPTER XVII

                            Inside Khundru


"Gary," said Nora, "I'm frightened. Suppose--"

"Hush, my dear," warned Dr. Kang swiftly. "From now on speak only in
the Magogean tongue. Suspicious ears may lurk at any crossroads."

A full week's time, as measured by earthly watches, had passed since
the _Liberty's_ fortunate landing near the Gogean camp. In that time
all the space venturers, and particularly those who were to attempt the
first reaching of Khundru's gates, had been given an intensive training
course in the other world's formalities. Through means of instruments
so ingeniously clever that the Earthmen could only marvel at them,
there had been electrically superimposed upon their brain structures a
knowledge-pattern giving them complete acquaintance with the Magogean
tongue, habits, customs, traditions, something of the history of the
race, and even a general knowledge of current events.

"I'm sorry," whispered Nora, shifting to the Magogean tongue, "but--but
I'm frightened, Gary. Suppose we should meet Borisu?"

Lark O'Day grunted. "He'd have one hell of a time recognizing us
dressed--or _undressed_--like this."

He scowled disdainfully at the crude _peon_ garb with which his sturdy
frame was draped; clothing which consisted of little more than worn
sandals, a twisted, filthy rag about his loins, and a loose, sacklike
halter draped from his shoulders.

Gary admitted ruefully, "We _aren't_ exactly candidates for a sartorial
award. But this is the best disguise we could possibly effect. The
Magogean kraedars spurn their slaves like dust beneath their feet. Even
if we _were_ to meet Borisu, he would look past or through us and never
notice our faces. And that's what we want."

"It's damn hard on the girls, though," grunted O'Day. "The least the
blue boys could have done was given us a lighter cart. One we three
could handle by ourselves, without _them_ having to act as dray horses,
too. Ease up there, Penny. Don't ruin those pretty hands."

Kang's daughter glanced at him sidewise and smiled. She said in a soft,
liquid voice, "Do not worry about us, Lark. It were better Nora and I
ruined our soft hands on this cart than that your fighting hands should
not be ready when the moment comes. Is it not so, Nora?"

Nora, tugging beside her at the draw-tongue of the cumbersome vehicle
which comprised part of the typical _impedimenta_ of lower class
Magogean nomads, smiled agreement.

"Much better. Though I confess I don't envy those whose rôles we are
playing. I wouldn't like to do this _all_ the time."

"I don't believe," said Kang in a low voice, "you are going to have to
do it much longer. For see? Before us? A city on the river's edge, and
armed soldiers watching our approach. You know our story?"

"Yes."

"Good! Remember it well. We must make no mistake."

       *       *       *       *       *

This was their last exchange of free, unguarded speech. For as he had
said, the soldiers had spotted them, and a company was moving forward
to challenge their approach.

They did so, Gary Lane could not help thinking, in a manner typically
Magogean. Not with any warmth or friendliness, but in dictatorial tones
of sharp suspicion.

"Hold, there, slaves! Who are you? Whence came you? Whither are you
going?"

Gary, haltered shoulder to shoulder beside his friend and comrade, felt
Lark O'Day's body stiffen with suppressed rage at this form of address.
But like himself, O'Day remained hunched, with head hanging stupidly
low, as if both were the witless serfs they pretended to be.

The elderly Kang spoke, as had been agreed, for their group.

"Greetings, O warriors of strength and valor. I am the freedman, Kengu.
These are my daughters and their mates. We come from the Twilight Zone
to seek employment in the city of Khundru."

"Twilight Zone?" demanded the warrior captain suspiciously. "What were
_you_ doing there?"

"For three years," answered Kang, "we labored there in the service
of the _kraedar_ Alisur. Now the noble _kraedar_ is dead. We have no
master."

He could say this confidently. From a Magogean newscast had been
learned of Alisur's recent and opportune demise. That Alisur had been
an explorer operating in the Twilight Zone was a feature upon which
they had been swift to capitalize.

The warrior captain nodded and strode to the cart, pulled back the
sacking with which it was covered.

"And what have you here? Valuable goods, no doubt, you stole from your
dead master?"

"Nay, Noble One. Naught but our common household belongings. Bedding
and articles of furniture. Clothing ... utensils for cooking."

The captain, peering into the laden cart, grunted disdainfully and
threw back its cover. "The old man speaks truth. The foul cart reeks
of rubbish. Very well, old fool, on your way. Report yourself to the
guardsman at the Twilight Gate, and show him this pass." He scribbled
briefly on something resembling paper, tossed it at Kang. "This will
permit you to enter the city. Wait!" A look of cunning stole into the
chieftain's eyes. "Of course there is the matter of an entry fee. You
have some money?"

Kang answered humbly, "Very little, my lord. Scarce enough to sustain
us until we have succeeded in finding employment. Barely five units--"

"Hand it over!" demanded the other harshly. "There are five of you. The
entry fee is a unit each. Well, swiftly, slave! Or must I use the lash?"

       *       *       *       *       *

He fingered almost hopefully the braided whip which dangled at his
belt. But docilely Kang withdrew a sweat-stained leather pouch from his
garments and handed it to the captain. And without further challenge
they stumbled down the road to the entry gate.

Here they were stopped by a sentry, and Kang proffered the captain's
note. The sentry read it, Gary thought, almost angrily, and grumbled,
"Curse Draliu! I suppose he got what money you had?"

Kang answered meekly, "We had but five units, sir. And that was the
entry fee, the captain told us."

"Curse him," repeated the sentry. "He bleeds them _all_ white before
they get this far! Very well, in with you. But look sharp you move in
a hurry when this light turns white. If you're only half way over the
line when the shield closes again, God help you!"

He laughed unpleasantly, pressed a button, and spoke into a diaphragm
beside him. An instant later a light at the sentry box glowed white,
and hurriedly the five slaves, straining, tugged their heavy cart into
motion. They had barely succeeded in crossing the designated line when,
with a sudden, crackling sound, a dust film rose from the ground behind
them and the white light went out.

Gary, glancing back at Dr. Kang, saw the old man's forehead was beaded
with perspiration. When he looked askance, Kang whispered, "They don't
take many chances. They didn't leave the barrier open long. If we had
been a minute slower in bringing the cart through--"

"What?" asked Nora Powell.

"The closing barrier would have smashed us into atoms. But we have
learned one important thing, at any rate."

"Yes?" asked Gary.

"Again," said Dr. Kang, "as several times before, we have tangible
evidence that the Magogean culture is not so high as they would
believe. _My_ people--" he said almost proudly--"have ways to open
one portion of the force-shield at a time, admitting friends to its
protection through a small opening. Theirs is a more elementary form.
To open it in any spot is to open it everywhere. That may be a handy
thing to know."

Thus entered Gary Lane and his companions into the city of Khundru. It
was a strange city. Even Lark O'Day, who of them all was best capable
to judge, having flung his madcap way afar amongst the planets of Sol's
universe, admitted that.

"I've seen Greater New York," he said, "and Imperial Ceres. They're
about tops in ultramodern culture. I've seen the barbaric splendors of
the Venusian capital, and the filthy mud hovels the Mercurians call--or
used to call--their temples. But never anywhere have I seen anything
which looked like this."

And he shook his head bewilderedly at the heterogeneous architectural
display sprawling about them. Khundru was a city of contradictions:
the dwelling place of a people who believed themselves capable of
attainments greater than they possessed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here both sides of a thoroughfare so exquisitely inlaid and tessellated
that it might have graced the entrance to a potentate's _seraglio_,
would be lined with dingy, malodorous dwellings earthborn dogs might
have scorned to sleep in. Turn a corner and the eyes widened to behold
great gilded temples towering skyward in a setback architecture
dwarfing the most hopeful achievements of any solar race. The sky above
the city was athrong with space and air vessels ... huge, thundering
rockets and gossamer-winged glidercraft of scintillant beauty ... but
the streets below rumbled with the wooden wheels of such cumbersome
vehicles as that which they themselves hauled painfully along.

The sights, the smells, the street sounds of the city were comparable
to those of an oriental bazaar in, thought Lane, Earth's woefully
anachronistic Twentieth Century; that period when only a portion of
humanity's masses had known the delights of civilized existence.

Even without the benefit of the training to which they had been exposed
they could have picked their way almost unerringly to the city's
center. Khundru was built like a huge wheel about the central hub which
was its Palace Royal. The streets through which they threaded their way
was a spoke of this wheel.

In the Palace Royal, they knew, could be found not only the governing
but also the dwelling chambers of the highly elect _Kraedaru_, the
ruling gentry of Magog. There also was to be found the vital control
center of this sprawling octopus whose tentacles they must paralyze so
the Gogean army could burst into the city.

But if they had hoped to attain so far without challenge, they were
bitterly disappointed. For they had penetrated scarcely a third of
the way when a sudden clamor aroused them from their furtive study
of the city. Voices cried out, whether in surprise, alarm or joy was
hard to tell, and the milling throng which but a moment ago had rubbed
shoulders with them too closely for comfort began to clear from the
thoroughfare and huddle fearfully against the walls of the street.

Gary glanced at Dr. Kang, his eyebrows asking the question his lips
barely muttered.

"What now?"

Kang answered softly, "I do not know. But there is a saying of your
people, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' Quickly, move the cart to
the curbing, and let us take our places with the others."

But before the awkward tumbrel could be dragged from the right of way,
with a flurry of brazen hoofs and a raucous clamor of trumpets there
galloped around the corner and squarely down upon them a small troop of
mounted lancers.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was room and to spare for these haughty warriors to pass them
by ... but such was not the way of the Magogean _kraedaru_. As the
cavalry captain, drawing near, saw upon the street one cart which had
not yet moved completely to the curb, one tiny knot of struggling
serfs who had not as yet taken abject posts against the wall, a flush
darkened his cheeks and his eyes darted anger. With a guttural cry he
changed his troop's straightforward charge, bore directly down upon
Dr. Kang and his "family." Then, at the last possible moment, when
it seemed certain his armed warriors and their mounts must trample
ruthlessly over the bodies of the trapped quintet, shattering their
cart to splinters, he drew up his men, and, his voice heavy with rage,
leaned from his saddle and cried to Dr. Kang:

"You there, slave--what means this? How dare you deliberately block our
passage?"

[Illustration: The cavalry captain bore directly down on Dr. Kang's
cart.]

"Why, you--" began Lark O'Day.

But Lane, standing with his head abjectly bowed beside his friend,
gripped the other man's wrist to silence him. And from the cart, Dr.
Kang answered in a thin, meek voice;

"Forgiveness, Excellence. Your servants did not know--"

"The lash!" cried the warrior captain. "Twenty to each of them, then
let us be gone. Or--_Wait!_" His eyes narrowed as the implication of
Kang's words struck him. "Did not know? You did not recognize our
signal as we approached? Where are you from? You are not of Khundru."

"Nay, master," whined Kang. "We are poor exiles of a far northern city,
Tabori by name, but recently come out of the Twilight Zone to seek
service in the noble capital of our race--"

"Recently come?" The chieftain's eyes narrowed still farther. Then:
"Where is your master, serf?"

"Our master is dead, sire." Kang explained as he had explained to the
captain of the barrier guard. But it was evident that in Khundru the
higher a man's post the greater became his authority and greed. For
scarce had he revealed that their erstwhile master was no more than the
cavalry leader interrupted him.

"No master, eh? That situation shall soon be remedied. By the rank and
authority which is mine as a _kraedar_ of Khundru I hereby claim you as
mine own. Not--" He laughed--"that I shall put you to use. A Captain
of the Royal Guard has no need of house servants. But your two sons
should make sturdy slaves for the tilling of someone's land. And your
two daughters--"

He paused and stroked his jaw reflectively. It was clear that the
Captain of the Royal Guards was reconsidering his need of servants. To
forestall his thinking, Kang spoke hurriedly, invoking a law which he
had learned existed amongst the Magogeans.

"A thousand pardons, sire--but we are not slaves. We are freedmen. When
our master died he gave us household goods and chattels wherewith to
establish our own little home--"

"So?" The _kraedar_ laughed mockingly. "Yet if you had not these
things, old man, you would be slaves again, is it not so? Well, then--"

He turned and barked a command to his soldiers. Instantly bright
weapons leaped from their belts to their hands. And it was with the
barest warning the quintet of Solarites managed to scramble from the
proximity of the cart as the blazing rays of a dozen ultrawave handguns
spat flame upon the cart. In a moment of searing fire the vehicle was
gone, blasted to oblivion by those frightful rays.

"So," continued the captain, "having no chattels of your own, you are
again slaves. _Tramir_ Chingru--herd me these cattle to the mart,
and there get for me the best price you can. And mind," he added
dangerously, "you bring me back _all_ the profits. Make no mistake as
to the amount."

A single warrior fell out of formation, gestured the quintet into a
little knot before him, and pointed the way down a side avenue. The
warrior captain, smirking with satisfaction, spurred his company on its
journey.

An hour later all five were parcels of merchandise in the slave mart
of Imperial Khundru.




                             CHAPTER XVIII

                           The Control Tower


Standing there in the slave mart of Imperial Khundru, Gary Lane
realized--as millions of his human brethren had discovered in past
ages--that it is one thing to experience an emotional uprising when
_reading_ about a situation, but quite another to be involved in that
situation yourself.

In his university history classes Gary had read of the day when
unenlightened Earthmen enslaved their human brothers, offering their
flesh and services to hire on the auction block. From a purely rational
standpoint he had disapproved of this barbaric custom, in this age
happily abandoned. But now, here on a planet inconceivably far from
the little world called Earth, he himself was not only _witnessing_
such a deal in human wares but was, indeed, one of the chattels to be
auctioned!

As his mind busied himself with abortive plot and speculation, his eyes
roved covertly about his surroundings. He saw the raised central dais
upon which a lean and hawknosed auctioneer singsonged the merit of a
thick-thewed and filthy serf. He saw the encircling throng of bidders,
Magogeans ranging through all walks of life from the lowest freedmen
land-owners, through the merchantmen exporters, to the elaborately
caparisoned lords and nobles who lolled in their scented boxes, raising
listless fingers in token of bid when an offering took their fancy.

What turn this _contretemps_ would take he could not guess. But he was
not left long in wonderment. For the warrior into whose hands they had
been placed was impatient to rejoin his troop; with a stern command
that his charges await his return, he shouldered his way through the
mob to the auction block.

As soon as he had gone, Lark turned to Gary, a question in his eyes.

"Make a break for it?"

Dr. Kang spoke before Gary could answer. "It would be useless, Lark.
They would only catch us again. As serfs we cannot expect freedom. We
might as well wait and let them sell us to whomsoever they will. If we
cause no trouble we can more easily learn that which we need to know."

Gary said, "The cart's gone. That's a bad break. With it were our
cached arms. We're helpless now, trapped in the middle of Khundru--"

"Hush!" warned Nora. "Here comes our guard again, with the auctioneer."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was so. Apparently the soldier had argued to the tradesman the
necessity of selling this quintet immediately. For though the
auctioneer grumbled and complained, he led the five to the dais. His
shrill singsong resumed its wheedling chant.

"And now, O nobles and freedmen," he whined, "a special consignment
from the chattels of the _kraedar_ Pridu, Captain of the Royal Guards.
A family of Taborians, newly come to our city from years of talented
service in the Twilight Zone under the deceased _kraedar_ Alisur. Said
family consisting of one elderly male in good physical condition, two
young and sturdy males, and their mates, two fine, fertile females. How
is your wish? Have I a bid on this family as a lot?"

"Fine and fert--" began Lark O'Day, outraged.

Kang silenced him with a gesture.

There came no bid from the assemblage, but a voice cried, "We want no
job lot goods in muffled packages. Bring them out one at a time, and
let us see them. The females first."

"As you wish, my lord," agreed the auctioneer. "So be it." And he
reached down from his dais, seized the wrist of the lovely Martian,
Pen-N'hi, and hauled her to his side. "Behold, O wise purchasers,"
he cried. "Here is one of the females. A fine, staunch creature in
the bloom of her young womanhood. Lovely and graceful as the fleeting
_catooni_[11] but yet--" And he winked lecherously at the mob--"not
_too_ young to be acquainted with the Lore of a Thousand Delights, in
which she was well trained by her late master."

[Footnote 11: _Catooni_: a Magogean woodland beast similar to the
Virginia red-tailed deer, but with six legs and two sets of vestigial
wings.--_Ed._]

"Rat!" grated Lark between his teeth. "Another crack like that--"

"Silence!" whispered Kang. "His words mean nothing. It is written,
'Speech will neither spot the lily's face, nor hide the leper's sores.'"

A voice raised from the audience. "Two hundred _dwari_, Tisru!"

Tisru's sharp face looked grieved. "Two _hundred_, sire? For a
beautiful mistress such as this? Two _thousand_, you mean. Behold this
graceful throat, this slender waist ... these tiny hands which can
thrill with a thousand caresses--"

"Three hundred," cried another voice.

"Four hundred."

"Five hundred."

"Six."

The auctioneer's oily insinuations did not lack the power to titillate
his listeners. A flurry of interest sharpened the bidding.

"Eight hundred" ... "Nine!" ... "One thousand _dwari_!"

"Behold those eyes, those feet, those golden arms...."

"Twelve hundred, Tisru!"

"She can sing and dance and play sweet music...."

"_Fourteen_ hundred!"

"Behold those lips, gentlemen ... those dainty, shell-like ears--"

A coarse laugh broke from one of his listeners.

"Stop pointing out things we all can see, Tisru. I told you before, we
want no packaged goods. Off with the woman's rags that we may know on
what we bid."

It was evident that Tisru had been cleverly biding his time for some
such request. Now, with the air of a sculptor preparing to unveil a
masterpiece, he pretended humble acquiescence to the demand.

"Very well, my lords and masters," he whined. "Then prepare yourselves
for a vision of blinding radiance--"

       *       *       *       *       *

His greasy talons reached out to clutch the single supporting halter
of Penny's crude garment. The girl froze at his touch, and a color
suffused her clear, golden skin, but true to the teachings of her race
she said no word, but stood stock-still with lowered head.

But if Penny could endure personal degradation for the good of their
cause, and if Kang could philosophically accept this as a necessary
evil, not so the two young Earthmen. As if both stanchions of a bridge
had broken simultaneously, Lark O'Day and Gary Lane hurled themselves
forward side by side.

O'Day's voice was a blaze of fury. "Take your hands off her, you slimy
weasel!"

With a slashing blow he loosened the man's grip, hauled Penny to the
shelter of his arm.

Tisru gasped. Fierce anger narrowed his eyes, and with a hiss he
groped for a knife sheathed in his belt. But he never touched it. For
at that moment Gary struck. His right fist moved scarce fifteen inches,
but it smashed the auctioneer's bearded chin with a furious accuracy.
The man flew backward off the dais, flailing, awkward, scrambling,
spitting blood from his broken lips.

Then everything was bedlam. The crowd came to its feet, roaring in
outrage at the sight of serfs who dared rebel. Knives whipped from
belts as figures surged forward. Not only knives but deadly ray guns,
too. And Gary panted, "We're in for it now! Stand them off as long as
you can, Lark. I'll see what I--"

But there came an interruption. A sharp incisive voice rose from
somewhere at the back of the throng.

"No! Touch not the slaves! Let none move another step!"

All heads turned as one. A current of astonishment coursed through the
throng, swelling to a murmur as the speaker was recognized. "Moranu,
Seneschal of the Inner Council!" And there pressed through yielding
ranks a Magogean clad even more grandiloquently than any the Solarites
had yet seen. A tall, impressive figure who carried himself with an air
of supreme and confident authority.

Haughtily he strode to the steps of the dais, there confronted the
rebels.

"Now, by the gods," he marveled, "you two must be madmen. Had I not
been passing by, for your rebellion at this moment your bones would be
pickings for the curs of the streets."

"The curs of this city," ground O'Day savagely, "are not all
four-legged--"

"But in me," continued the newcomer, "you find one who admires a
fighting spirit in howsoever an unsuspected source it may be found.
Aye, and an eye which needs no stark unveiling to detect beauty.
Tisru!" He turned to the auctioneer who, glaring malevolently at his
attackers, had cringed back onto the dais. "I will bid me this family
of rebel serfs. What is your price?"

The auctioneer pleaded greasily, "I can set no price, my lord. This is
an open auction with chattels sold to the highest bidder."

"So?" The Seneschal eyed each of the quintet in turn, appreciatively
appraising the two girls, nodding his head slowly at the frames of the
two young men. Dr. Kang he dismissed with a glance, then turned to
Tisru.

"The old one I do not want. For the young ones, as a lot, ten thousand
_dwari_. Is there a higher bid?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Tisru knew there would not be. Not only was the price staggeringly
high, but none in this audience dared bid against the Seneschal of the
Inner Council.

He shook his head, gasping, "Nay, sire, there is no other bid. For that
price take also the old one, with the compliments of Tisru's Mart."

The Moranu nodded to a servant, who negligently tossed a bag to the
auctioneer. The lord nodded to his new purchases. "Follow me," he
commanded, and led the way from the market place.

An excited hum rose from the crowd to follow their exit.

       *       *       *       *       *

As they followed their new "owner" it was all the members of the
Solarite quintet could do to mask the triumph which threatened to
reveal itself on their features. For almost instantly it became clear
that they were being led to that very spot they had hoped, but had not
known how to plan, to attain. The hub of Khundru's circle which was
the Palace Royal.

As they journeyed along, their superiors mounted on the curiously
horse-like creatures which the Magogeans called _batanidi_, themselves,
of course, humbly afoot, they could not help but overhear the
conversation between Moranu and his companions.

"Ten thousand _dwari_! That was a lot to pay, my Lord Seneschal, for
five carcasses," said one.

Moranu chuckled. "It was worth it to see the spittle of greed drool
from that hawknosed old scoundrel's lips. Nor is it a bad buy. Of
course, the old one ... I do not know where we can use him--You, aged
serf!" he cried to Dr. Kang. "What talents have you, if any?"

Kang scraped servilely and said, "I have a smattering of mechanical
lore, O master. Much my former owner taught me about the operation of
instruments and machines."

"So? And much you have forgotten by this time, no doubt," grunted
Moranu. "Still, I think I know a place where you can be of use. The
control tower. You will need no strength there but that sufficient to
push buttons."

The control tower! It was with an effort that Gary Lane restrained the
cry that surged to his lips. But his eyes leaped to those of the aged
doctor, and found there assurance that Kang would well know what to do
when he found himself within the control tower.

"And the young men?" asked another of the riders.

"For the Games, of course," laughed Moranu. "Where else? Tell me,
when have you seen before two slaves with such spirit and courage as
these showed? It will be worth many an afternoon of boredom to watch
these pit themselves against the fanged _goraru_[12] or the two-horned
_sneri_[12] in the arena."

[Footnote 12: _Goraru_ and _sneri_: wild beasts of Magog. The first is
somewhat similar to the extinct "saber-toothed tiger" of Earth, except
that it is equipped with a stony carapace; the second is a gigantic
lizard with poisonous mobile horns.--_Ed._]

"Perhaps," gibed one of the young nobles slyly, "we might even match
them against one of the--what were they called?--'Earthmen', when we
capture the creatures."

And all laughed. Gary wondered what form that laughter would take were
these carefree young noblemen to learn the truth about their captees.

"And the girls, I suppose, go to--" began still another speaker.

Moranu nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Too bad," murmured one of the younger noblemen regretfully. "The pale
one I could use myself."

"The gold fleshed one for me," chuckled another.

"That's right," growled Lark between clenched teeth. "Talk it over. One
day I'll make you eat each other's tongues."

"Who could not?" asked Moranu. "But we can afford to be magnanimous
this once, and surrender them to our brother. After his long privations
he deserves a little relaxation."

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus they came to the gates of the Palace Royal, a city within a city,
a citadel within an armed camp, the innermost fortress of fortified
Khundru. And it was here their little group was broken up.

As they passed within the gates the nobles dismounted, surrendering
their beasts to grooms, and Moranu designated the direction to which
each slave should be taken.

"The old man to the control tower. Tell Vesalu to set him to work. The
girls to the baths, then to the seraglio of adornment, then to await
our brother's pleasure. The men--Well, for the present quarter them
with the palace help. Away with you now."

Thus callously were the five members of a family separated. Gary and
Lark were placed in the charge of a young lieutenant who led them
through a maze of corridors beneath the citadel towards the servants'
quarters. As they followed him Gary asked meekly, "Your pardon, sire,
but you spoke of 'Erzmun', or creatures of some such name. What are
these? Fierce beasts we must meet in the Arena?"

The subaltern chuckled. "Earthmen ... fierce beasts! That's good! No,
slave. They are puny creatures from afar who recently dared attempt to
storm our planet. They were driven off by our cruisers and crashed, we
believe, on Darkside. But a search is being made for them. If they are
found, I promise you rare enjoyment at the Games. For they are stupid,
weakling creatures. It should be amusing to watch you carve them to
bits during the Games."

"And," asked Gary in simulated eagerness, "our mates--when will we see
them again?"

The garrulous young lieutenant grinned. "Oh, by and by, I suppose. When
our brother to whom they are being loaned for a little while wearies
of them. You see, he has been journeying afar quite a while, and is in
need of relaxation. It was he who returned but a day ago to warn us of
the invasion of these Earthmen--"

It was fortunate that as he spoke the young subaltern did not happen
to look at the faces of his two charges. For at his words, both Lark
and Gary stiffened, their eyes met in wild surmise. Then Gary spoke for
both.

"And--and the name of this noble _kraedar_?" he asked.

The nobleman laughed curtly. "I do not see that it concerns you, serf.
But there is no harm in telling you whose august presence your mate
will be permitted to attend. It is our brother, lately returned from
tiny Gog. The great and noble _kraedar_ Borisu."




                              CHAPTER XIX

                               Deadlock


"Borisu!"

There is a limit to which human impassivity can be constrained. Gary
Lane had now surpassed his ability to play the ignoramus. The name
burst from his lips with explosive force. "Borisu!"

O'Day echoed the cry. "Borisu! But my God, Gary, that means--"

In his dismay Lark spoke in English. Their captor had been startled
enough at Gary's cry, but upon hearing speech in a foreign tongue from
the lips of a supposedly uncultured slave, his eyes opened wide in
astonishment. He demanded, "What _is_ this? Whence came you twain that
you speak a language I do not know?"

And his hand reached for the ray gun at his belt. But it never got
there. For Lark O'Day called signals in a language the Magogean could
never possibly understand. He cried sharply:

"All right, Gary, punt formation.... One, two ... _Hep!_"

And simultaneously the two Earthmen converged on their guard, one
high, one low. Gary, taking his cue from Lark's quarterbacking, made
no effort to wrest the weapon from the Magogean's grasp, but kicked
straight and true at the young lieutenant's wrist. The gun flew high,
and by the time it clattered to the paving Lark had smashed the young
_kraedar_ to the ground and battered him into unconscious submission.

Gary tugged at his friend's shoulder. "O.Q., Lark, that'll do. You
don't have to pound him into hamburger."

"Not hamburger," rasped O'Day, withdrawing reluctantly, "just a
reasonable facsimile thereof. He's the louse who said he wouldn't mind
making a play for Penny himself!"

Gary said, "Never mind that now. Somebody's going to make worse than a
play for Penny if she and Nora are ever taken before Borisu. You know
what that means, don't you?"

Lark nodded grimly. "Taps for the bunch of us. He's the one person in
Khundru who could recognize any of us beneath our disguises. And by the
time the gals get tidied up--Well, what'll we do?"

Gary said, "I've got an idea. You're about that guy's build--" He
nodded toward the prostrate figure. "Scramble into his uniform, quick.
Before somebody happens along this way. And while you're dressing, I'll
roll _him_ into _your_ rags."

"O.Q."

The shift was made. Finally a "slave" lay prone in the middle of the
corridor floor, and a handsome young _kraedar_ of the Magogean guard
towered above him.

"O.Q.," repeated Lark then. "What next, director?"

"You must have something on you," figured Gary, "with which to call
help. Find it."

Lark pawed the unfamiliar paraphernalia with which his uniform
was draped, finally discovered a small whistle. He looked at it
distastefully. "You mean I have to put this in my mouth and blow it?"

"Yes. Go ahead."

"I'll probably get hydrophobia," grunted Lark ... but obeyed.

       *       *       *       *       *

The whistle brought immediate results. Footsteps clattered through the
tunneled corridor, and shortly questions were being hurled at the
false guard officer by an excited handful of Magogean soldiery.

"I was taking these two slaves to their quarters," explained Lark.
"That one is a trouble maker. He turned against me. I was forced to
strike him down. Cart him away. Throw him in the dungeon. You--" He
picked out a likely looking prospect Gary's size--"come with me while I
take this other where he must go."

So, as the band of soldiers lugged their unconscious _kraedar_
into durance vile, Lark and a soldier escorted Gary to the first
conveniently dark passageway. From this came shortly a thud, as of some
blunt instrument striking a heavy object ... and a few moments later
two warriors clad in the habiliment of the Magogean armed forces were
speeding upward through the labyrinthine corridors of the Palace Royal
toward those chambers to which the girls had been taken.

They had ascended three levels and reached the point in the Palace
Royal where the corridors were beginning to look less like passageways
of a fortress and more like the aisles and avenues of a residential
area when there burst about their ears a cascade of sounds at once
bewildering and startling. It was the clamor of a myriad of ringing
bells, sharp warning tocsins sounding an alarum of some sort. Whence it
came, at first they could not tell. Searching for an explanation, their
eyes discovered a series of grilled openings periodically spaced about
the wainscoting of the chambers through which they hurried.

Gary guessed, "A general communicating system of some sort, Lark.
But what does it mean? Do you think Borisu has seen the girls,
discovered--"

"He's hardly had time," demurred Lark. "But _something's_ up--no doubt
about that. Ah! Here comes someone. Perhaps now--" He lifted his voice
in a shout as a soldier clad like Gary raced into the corridor. "Hello
there, you!"

The Magogean warrior identified the rank of his accoster and halted,
saluting. "Yes, _kraedar_? Foot soldier Norad, preparing to take post,
sir, in accordance with emergency alarm instructions."

"Very good," approved Lark. "What is the nature of the emergency? Have
you any idea?"

       *       *       *       *       *

The private nodded. "Yes, sir. An official telecast was just issued
over the diaphragm. It is a Gogean attack."

"A Gogean--?"

"Well, not exactly an attack, sir ... yet. Because the force barrier
prevents their entering Khundru. But a mighty army of the cursed
Darksiders has been spotted by our observation posts. They number in
the tens of thousands. They have been seen at every gate. Apparently
their army has completely encircled Khundru."

"Good!" said Lark. "I mean ... er ... very good, soldier. Report to
your post as ordered. Oh, what _is_ your post?"

"Main control tower, sir. The ultrawave cannon."

"Indeed?" Lark's eyes lighted sharply. "And where lies this tower?"

"Why, at the lowest level, of course, sir--" began the _tramir_ ...
then stopped abruptly, suspicion darkening his gaze. His voice changed
tone and one hand crept furtively toward the sidearm holstered at his
side. "But--but how is it that _you_ a _kraedar_, do not know--"

"That," said Lark softly, "is a question you must ask your ancestors,
_tramir_." And his hand, too, streaked to his belt. Before the startled
warrior could draw, a shaft of orange lightning seared the life from
his body. It was a charred carcass when it hit the floor.

Gary said regretfully, "Poor devil! He was only doing his duty as he
saw it."

"War," reminded Lark, "is war. The only good enemy is a _dead_ enemy.
We know where we stand now. The Gogeans are on deck as they promised
to be, and we know where the control tower is. Now if we can just lift
that barrier shield--"

"We must get the girls first," reminded Gary. "I think we're almost
there. Come on."

He was right. They sped through a few more chambers, then emerged into
an apartment more elaborately furnished than any seen so far. Into this
they shouldered rudely. At sight of them a gross figure, a mountainous
mass of jelly parodying Magogean manhood, came mincing up to them on
swollen feet emitting shrill little bleats of horror and dismay.

"_Kraedar! Tramir!_ A thousand pardons, but these are the _women's_
quarters. You have no right here."

"Beat it, capon!" grunted Lark, and with a twist of his foot sent the
piping eunuch sprawling. He lifted his voice. "Penny! Nora! Where are
you?"

At his cry a flurry sounded from an adjacent chamber as curtains flung
apart and Penny and Nora ran to greet them. They still wore the peasant
rags in which they had been sold.

Penny cried, "Lark! We knew you'd find us! We knew you would come!"

And Nora echoed, "We were waiting. But Gary, what does the alarm mean?
When they heard it, those who were attending us fled. All the women in
Khundru have taken shelter--"

"And every man has gone to his post," explained Gary. "They've spotted
the Gogean army outside the city. We must work fast before they can
turn their armaments on our unprotected friends. Come on."

"Yes, but where?"

"To the control tower. It's the key to the whole situation."

       *       *       *       *       *

This time their flight through the avenues of the Palace Royal was
not so unimpeded as before. The entire city had sprung to a state
of alert. As they left the residential quarters and moved once more
into that portion of the citadel which was its walled fortress, they
passed on several occasions small bodies of troops hurrying toward
designated battle posts. As they passed gun stations they saw artillery
crews huddled behind flame guns and rotors which, through slits in the
palace wall, commanded wide areas of the city before and below. Twice
their passage was challenged. Once by a patrol sentry whom Lark easily
satisfied.

"_Kraedar_ Gorilu and one attendant on special duty. Taking these two
females to the dungeons for safekeeping."

"Very good, sir," said the sentry, and permitted them to pass.

But the second challenge was not so easily averted. This came from a
_kraedar_ of equal rank to him as whom Lark masqueraded. This noble
made the fatal error of attempting to question the fugitives without
first calling assistance.

"_Kraedar_ Gorilu?" he repeated. "I know no such lord. And your
trappings designate you as one of the _inner_ Palace Guard. Why, then,
are you fleeing in _this_ direction? And why are you drawing that gun,
_kraedar_?"

"Because," answered Lark simply, "you ask too damn many questions, and
we haven't got time to answer them. Sorry, pal!"

And they left the inquisitive _kraedar_ behind, inquisitive and
suspicious no longer....

But finally they went again to that section of the Palace Royal which
they knew to be its nerve center. From the deepening throb of many
motors, and by the slowly increasing static crackling of dynamos
endlessly turning, they knew when they had reached their objective.

But there was something missing. Something which puzzled and worried
Gary Lane. So much so that as they approached the central control tower
he drew his companions to a halt in the shadow of a deserted lookout
niche.

"Wait a minute," he warned. "Let's stop and look this situation over.
There's something wrong here."

"Wrong," repeated Lark. "What's wrong about it? Everything looks O.Q. to
me. We got _this_ far without trouble--well, much, that is. And judging
by appearances, that doorway--" He nodded--"opens to the control tower
proper. So far as _I_ can see there's not a damn soul around to stop
us."

"That's just it! This is the nerve center of the entire Magogean
defense system. Look ... look below, there!" Gary gestured to the
window slit by which they were huddled. Through it could be seen the
lower court of the Palace Royal and several streets of Khundru beyond.
All had been emptied of vehicular traffic and were aswarm with fighting
men prepared to repel any invasion attempt. "They've got the Palace
guarded to the hilt ... but the main control tower doesn't have a man
around it!"

Lark chuckled cheerfully. "Just like the Magogeans. Dr. Kang's been
saying all along they don't have good sense. So much the better for us.
Come on ... let's get going. We've got to open that barrier.

"Well, all right," agreed Gary. "But be careful. I don't like this."

       *       *       *       *       *

So they crossed the last open space between their present post and
the partially isolated control tower, a domed minaret of a building
constructed within the palace walls but remote from other portions of
the edifice.

Serving to strengthen Gary's suspicions, the door of this tower was not
even locked, but yielded readily to their pressure.

Within this dome the thrumming drone of motors sounded more insistent
than ever. It throbbed in their ears, their brains, their veins, like
the slow and deadly dripping of a creeping poison. It was an audible
magnet which drew them to the innermost chamber.

And here again--stunningly!--was the door unlocked! Its latch clicked
at Gary's pressure. The heavy door swung slowly open, and a bright room
yawned before them; a tremendous, vaulted chamber in which were mounted
gigantic instruments of almost unguessable size and power.

The control panels governing these instruments were set on high walls,
but as they entered Gary saw that a single figure, garbed in smock and
apron of laboratory white, head encased in a heavy visionplated shield
similar to that used by welders, sufficed to keep all this intricate
paraphernalia in working order. This single technician was darting back
and forth before his control banks, here touching a vernier, there
readjusting a rheostat, elsewhere depressing a stud which performed
some unfathomable duty.

At sight of this single lab man, O'Day's exultation could no longer be
restrained. With a gleeful cry he charged into the room, handgun drawn
and menacing. His voice cried in swift command. "All right, you at the
controls there! Turn around, and put your hands up--_Up_, I said!"

And then--too many things happened at once! There came a sudden gasp
from Penny's lips.

"Lark! It's--"

And a frightened scream from Nora Powell. Metal clanged noisily as the
great door clanged behind the four invaders. A bolt thick as a man's
arm jarred into place. And even as the four whirled to comprehend this
phenomenon, an all too horribly familiar voice repeated O'Day's order.

"Yes, my foolish friends--hands up and drop your weapons to the floor!
What delayed you? I have been waiting for you quite some time."

And from behind the concealment of the now-closed door, flanked by a
detail of Magogean warriors, armed to the teeth and ready for instant
action, stepped Borisu!

       *       *       *       *       *

"A trap!" cried Gary Lane. "A trap!"

Borisu smiled easily. "Yes, my dear young doctor. You did not believe
that we of Magog were stupid enough to purposely leave unprotected our
control tower? Particularly when we knew you had contrived entry to our
capital city?"

Nora Powell cried, "Then you _knew_ we were in Khundru?"

"Let me not assume undue credit," smirked Borisu in mock modesty. "Let
us say, rather, I _guessed_ it was you the moment I learned one of our
younger _kraedar_ had been attacked, and his uniform exchanged for the
garment of a serf.

"When upon further investigation it was learned that this self-same
'serf,' in company with four of his pretended 'family,' had created a
scene of violence at the slave market, it was not hard to guess that
such impetuous blunderers must be part of the late comradeship of the
_Liberty_."

His manner changed abruptly, his oily smile disappeared and tiny
needles of flame darted from his eyes. "But enough of this," he rasped.
"There are but four of you here. Where is the fifth? Who was he?
Muldoon? Or that young traitor patrolman, Captain Warren?"

Gary stared at him in frank astonishment. This did not make sense. Was
it not to this control tower that Dr. Kang had been sent? If Borisu and
his henchmen had not already met and apprehended the Martian savant
here, then where--?

A sudden thought struck him, one so staggering that it was only with an
effort that he kept his eyes from turning in a revelatory direction.
He struggled to keep his voice under control. He asked levelly, "And
suppose I refuse to tell you, Borisu?"

"It will not greatly matter," snarled the Magogean. "But I warn you, it
will be better if you _do_ tell. Speak, now! Who was the fifth member
of your party?"

"The fifth member," said Gary slowly, stalling for what he had reason
to believe was precious time, "was--"

Then came an interruption. The hooded technician at the control board
turned suddenly, spluttering swift, fearful words at the _kraedar_ and
his guards.

"My lords! Your attention quickly! Something has gone wrong with the
force barrier!"

"Wrong?" echoed Borisu, turning swiftly to the man. "But nothing _can_
go wrong. What do you mean?"

"It's weakening ... failing.... Come, see for yourself."

The technician pointed with trembling fingers at an alarm signal high
upon the control banks; a light now pulsating in fitful ruby flares.
Borisu spat a stream of angry curses, turned and waddled hastily across
the amphitheatre to the engineer's side.

"Where is the fault?" he demanded wildly. "Hurry, man! Bestir yourself!
Don't stand there like a stricken schoolgirl. Do something!"

And:

"Very well, Borisu!" cried the engineer, his voice changing suddenly.
"I _will_ do something!"

His hand leaped out and tore the pistol from the _kraedar's_ grasp, in
one split second completely changing the situation.

"Down on your face, and keep your arms outstretched above your head!
Tell your men to throw their weapons away."




                              CHAPTER XX

                          The Last Treachery


"Kang!" The name burst from Lark O'Day's lips.

"Quickly!" crisped the Martian scientist. "Pick up their guns!
Daughter--" As Lark and Gary and Nora scrambled to the task of
collecting the astonished Magogeans' fallen weapons, Kang directed his
attention to Penny--"you will find my former slave apparel in that
cupboard. Tear it to strips and bind our enemy."

"Bind him?" demanded Lark. "Why waste good rags on a scoundrel like
that? I know a better way to take care of--"

"No!" commanded Dr. Kang. "We will need him to transmit our peace terms
to the Magogeans when our allies have flooded the city."

"And these others?"

Kang said, "The storage closet over there. Throw them into it and
lock the door. There is no reason to occasion useless bloodshed. These
soldiers have committed no crime but that of obeying orders."

"Okay," said Lark. "You're running the show."

He herded together the now helpless and sadly bewildered half dozen
Magogean guards, and thrust them into the cubicle pointed out by the
scientist. When the door was secured behind them--

"But how did you manage to get control of this chamber?" asked Nora
Powell.

Kang shrugged. "It was very simple. There was but one man watching
these panels when I was brought here: the technician whose garments I
wear. He expected no trouble from an elderly slave. And since we two
were alone--well, it seemed an elementary precaution to don his clothes
before I began the necessary operations."

"And the barrier?" inquired Gary eagerly. "You have lifted it yet?"

"Not yet. I had first to make a few alterations in the Magogean
machinery. I wanted to make sure a power failure would not cause the
barrier to fall before all our allies had entered. My work is now
complete. And so--"

Kang turned to the panels. His hands tugged at a single gigantic switch.

No light glowed. There came no change in the humming sound that
permeated the control room. The adventurers looked at Kang and at each
other anxiously. Penny spoke for all when she asked, "You are sure, O
my father, that the barrier is open?"

Kang said, "See for yourself." And he pressed a stud which lighted a
vision screen before them.

What they saw left little doubt as to the effectiveness of Kang's
accomplishment. For the screen reflected one segment of the imperial
city's surrounding wall, a location which had been a gate in Khundru's
defenses. But now that sentry post existed no more. It was a mass of
broken kindling trampled under the rushing feet of hordes of Gogeans
who had burst from their place of ambush to storm the city.

       *       *       *       *       *

"This is _one_ spot, Kang," cried Gary excitedly. "And elsewhere?"

"Elsewhere," repeated Kang, "it is the same."

He spun the dial which moved the telelens of the vision screen at a
360° arc about Khundru. Everywhere they looked it was the same. Tsalnor
of Gog had placed his troops cunningly, entirely encircling the city.
To the north and south, divisions had crossed the chasmed mounts to
take their posts outside the barrier. Now in two wedges they were
storming Khundru's primary defense line toward the central citadel.

The marine detail, which had completely bypassed the capital to reach
the shoreline, was now swarming up yet another avenue of Khundru
from the docks and wharves which they had seized. These three formed
diversionary forces, hammering at the flanks and rear of the Magogeans,
who were forced to concentrate their main defense on the eastern front;
that which faced the Twilight Zone out of which the _bulk_ of the
Gogean army was pouring.

So swift was the movement, so hectic the opening phases of that battle,
that it was only in fitful glimpses one could comprehend the magnitude
of what was going on. Afterward Gary Lane recalled having briefly
glimpsed Tsalnor himself riding at the fore of a cavalry detail hewing
its way through broken ranks of fleeing Magogeans up to the citadel
proper. In another sector, whether yards or miles away it was hard to
tell, he saw for an instant Flick Muldoon, wild-eyed and jubilant, in
command of a foray squad busily opening a new breach in the fading
Magogean defenses. Little Herby Hawkins fought beside Flick, and though
no sound transmitted itself over the vision plate, the watchers could
almost hear the voice of the little cockney raised in joyful battle cry.

"Blimey, wot fun, eh? Wot bleedin' fun!"

How long the battle raged was hard to tell. Certainly long enough to
place on pins and needles Gary and Lark, both of whom, as they watched
the scenes depicted about them, chafed with impatience to fight at
their comrades' sides. But this Dr. Kang sternly forbade, and gave good
reason.

"No, not yet! As we have seen, it should be easy for our allies to
take the _outer_ city. The real difficulty will come when they try to
storm the Palace Royal. We must wait until that moment, then take from
within."

"From within?" echoed Lark. "But how?"

"This is how we will use _him_," Kang nodded toward the trussed Borisu
who lay smouldering with impotent rage upon the floor. "This chamber
is the heart of all Magogean apparatus; not only their barrier shield
and vision screens but their intercommunicating system as well. When
the proper moment comes we shall visiplate him throughout the entire
palace, and make him order his countrymen to lay down their arms."

"_Order_ them, yes," grunted Lark. "But will they _do_ it? That's
another question."

Kang nodded serenely. "They will do it. They are not like _our_ people.
They are a race trained through long ages to obedience. But if they
don't--"

"If they don't--?"

"Then," continued Kang soberly, "having given them their chance, we
shall destroy them ruthlessly and without mercy."

       *       *       *       *       *

All present knew what he meant. For that, too, was part of the plan
which had been arranged in conference with the Gogeans. Noticeably
absent from those who now stormed the city was Captain Hugh Warren and
his crew of Space Patrolmen. They, Gary knew, were even now waiting
aboard the _Liberty_ with motors idling, ready to lift at an instant's
notice to soar over the capital.

With their own fleet grounded, if the Magogeans would not listen to
reason the _Liberty's_ guns would bathe Khundru in such a flood of fury
and destruction as had never before been witnessed!

Thus it was with a sense of increasing triumph the Solarites watched
the battle for Khundru turning more and ever more in favor of the
invaders. More swiftly with each passing moment the defenders gave way,
retreating to the shelter of their palace walls. Walls which, though
they did not know it, were a fateful trap for themselves.

And at last, save for mopping-up operations carried on by small bands
of Gogeans in outlying sections of the city, the first stage of the
battle was ended. All surviving soldiers of Magog had taken refuge in
the Palace Royal, there to withstand siege.

And siege, they now discovered to their horror, it most certainly
was! For when, assailed by the weapons of their enemies, they
attempted to retaliate by loosing their own destructive ray cannon
upon the attackers, their artillery-men learned that the cannon were
not in operation! These were not, like the smaller hand weapons,
self-charging, but were powered by direct cable from the control tower.
And the control tower was in the hands of the adversaries!

It was then, with the battle stalled briefly at a deadlock, Dr. Kang
nodded. "Now," he said, "is our time. Bring him here."

Gary hauled Borisu to his feet, prodded the bleating Magogean forward.
Kang addressed him bluntly.

"You have heard what you must do?"

"Never!" cried Borisu, blustering defiance. "Never will I betray my
people!"

"It is written," said Kang quietly, "'Only the fool rejects the
inevitable.' You are no fool, Borisu. Will you proclaim an armistice?
Or for stubborn pride will you witness the destruction of your empire?"

Borisu blubbered, "Better to go down fighting than abjectly. If I bid
my people lay down their arms, your hordes will sweep in and destroy
them."

"That," Kang assured him, "they will _not_ do. In conference we have
already discussed this with the Gogeans. Much have our two races to
hate yours for, Borisu. Theirs for years of life-in-death in the
darkling wastes of Magog; ours for impelling upon us centuries of
premature death and a dwindling doom.

"Even so, we will not sow the seeds of new conflict in the peace of
the old. Lay down your arms in peaceful surrender and I offer you the
pledge of two worlds that about the conference table shall be reasoned
the merits of a new and lasting peace for all concerned."

"And if I do not?" demanded Borisu.

"Then," Kang promised him, "you shall surely die. And as for your
city--" He paused and gestured toward the visionplate. Words were
needless in the face of that which might there now be seen. The
silver tube of the _Liberty_, shimmering faintly in the atmosphere of
Magog, surrounded with its impenetrable force-shield, flying supremely
aloft above the capital city, coming to sedate rest directly over the
citadel. "There is your answer, Borisu. The decision is yours. There is
little time in which to make it. Speak, or--"

       *       *       *       *       *

And Borisu capitulated. With a grinding cry, he reached for the
diaphragm Kang offered him. The Martian doctor depressed a series
of studs, and instantaneously, in a thousand chambers and corridors
scattered throughout the whole of the Palace Royal, there appeared on
vision plates before the startled eyes of all the embattled Magogeans
an image of him who was a _kraedar_ supreme in the Inner Council of
Magog. And they heard his cracked voice crying out its message.

"_Brothers of Magog, lay down your arms! About our city are entrenched
our Gogean foes. Above our citadel hovers a vessel which, if we do not
surrender, will blast us all to atoms. Your guns, as you have learned,
are useless. The foe has overthrown our might. Surrender!_"

The vision plate went dead. Throughout the whole of the Palace Royal
a murmuring arose. Men lifted from concealment, and doors once barred
were opened as a race trained to obedience followed the instructions of
a superior. The battle of Magog was ended.

       *       *       *       *       *

Days before, hours before, even short minutes ago, Gary Lane had hated
this little man who stood beside him. Had wished nothing more than
an opportunity to meet him face to face, and crush the life from his
treacherous little body. But a victor can afford to be magnanimous.
And now, in this moment of triumph, Gary found it in his heart to feel
commiseration for one who, though he fought to distorted ends, had seen
his empire fall before a braver, cleverer force.

He turned to Borisu, and in a quiet voice he said, "Well done, Borisu.
You have my pledge, with that of Dr. Kang, that you shall not regret
this move. There shall be no vindictiveness in the peace terms we
offer. Only justice and equality for all. No more warring between our
worlds."

And Borisu said quietly, "Yes, it is over. It is done. It is
finished ... and I have lost. I will not say I am not sorry, but we
must bow to the inevitable. And now, Dr. Kang, my bonds? I am free to--"

Kang said simply, "Yes, Borisu, you are free." And he moved closely to
the little man to cut the strips of cloth which bound his wrists. A
knife flashed briefly, and then:

"_Father!_" screamed Penny. "Father, look out! He--"

Her words were drowned in a roar of rage as Gary, stirring belatedly,
was witness to the last mad vengeance of the erstwhile kraedar Borisu.
The instant his bonds had been stricken the little man's hands danced
like serpents, turning the knife in Kang's hand and thrusting forward
with all his strength.

Kang grunted once heavily, then slumped forward, hands clutching
futilely at a blade which clung half buried in his side. From between
his clawing fingers surged ugly rivulets of crimson.

Nor was this all. In the same flashing movement Borisu snapped a ray
pistol from the falling doctor's belt, turned its lethal muzzle upon
those who leaped toward him. His mad voice rose in harsh command.

"Back! Back, all of you or I will ray you down like dogs. Victory,
eh?" His laughter cackled shrilly. "Your moment of triumph? We shall
see!"

His tiny eyes darting from one to another of them to detect any
slightest motion, he backed all the way across the room to where
stood the most ponderous of all the machines in that control tower. A
gigantic tube surrounded by gleaming coils and iridescent busbars. A
huge, revolving drum of an instrument whose purpose Gary did not know.

Borisu left him not long in doubt. Still mouthing the taunts and curses
of a half-demented man, he clambered to a raised platform on this
machine, loosed a panel, and dug his free hand somewhere deep into its
entrails.

"So," he mocked, "you have won victory? But out of your victory you
shall drink only the dregs of deepest defeat! You and all your cursed
universe!"

Kang, who had lain as one dead where he had been stricken, now stirred
and lifted his head dazedly. His eyes, turning slowly, sought and found
Borisu, then widened in horror. He tried to speak, but his voice was a
thick mumble; his words were punctuated by tiny streamers of blood that
leaked from the corners of his mouth.

"That ... machine! Don't ... let him ... touch it!"

Borisu's quick gaze darted to the dying man. He laughed stridently.
"Then you are not dead yet, my good doctor? You barbarians take a lot
of killing. Well, I shall not finish the job. I much prefer that you
should live long enough to watch, with your comrades, the vengeance of
Borisu."

       *       *       *       *       *

He tugged suddenly, and something came loose in his hand. Wires.
Connecting wires of some sort. Instantly the low thrum which had
sounded through the control chamber began to heighten. The tone crept
higher up the tonic scale. Something within the machine Borisu had
damaged was beginning to move faster and faster.

"You dog!" grated Lark O'Day. "You filthy, conniving scoundrel! I'm
coming after you. I'll break your neck with my bare hands if it's the
last thing I--"

"Back, corsair!" snarled Borisu. "I assure you--take another step
forward and it _will_ be the last thing you ever do. You see this
object I hold in my hand?" He dangled a bit of metal before them
tauntingly. "You are space trained men. Do you recognize it? It is
a governor. Ah, yes! A small governor controlling the speed of the
instrument upon whose platform I now stand.

"Until this moment the machine has always operated at an inexorable
and never-changing rate. But no more. From this moment henceforth the
machine will gain speed ... and speed ... and speed--" His voice broke
in a shrill cackle, "And you know what _that_ means, my friends?"

O'Day said stoutly, "I know it means your death, Borisu. Here and now,
or elsewhere and later, but surely your death."

"Perhaps so," laughed the diminutive _kraedar_. "But more than that ...
it means the swift and final death of your universe. For this on which
I stand, gentlemen, is the instrument we of Magog have for years been
playing upon your system. The ultrawave cannon! And now I have speeded
its action to such an extent that the length of your world's existence
may be measured no longer in weeks or months--_but in hours_!"

A pang of fear drove deep into Gary's heart. Mad the little man might
be, but staring into his red-rimmed eyes Gary knew he spoke the
truth. The ultrawave cannon, speeded a thousand-fold, was hurling its
destruction ungoverned upon a universe which even now was dwindling to
the breaking point!

This then was the end of their adventure. It did not matter that they
had come afar and conquered many hazards. Here at the last moment, with
triumph within their grasp, was to be torn from them all for which they
had fought and labored and--his eyes sought Dr. Kang--and died.

What if their mission were a success and Magog's power overthrown, the
children of Gog returned once more to look upon the sun? The children
of Earth within a matter of hours would be obliterated in what to them
would be a horrendous holocaust of flame, but would to observers from
this far vastness seem no more than the flickering of a momentary
candle in lost distances.

He cried in a choked voice, "Borisu! Stop! For God's sake--"

       *       *       *       *       *

But his plea dangled unfinished. For at that moment a miracle
transpired before his eyes. Dr. Kang, who should ere now have been
dead, with some supernal effort had not only raised his head ...
but was slowly, laboriously, rising to his feet. He stood there for
a moment, swaying dangerously, his knees half buckled beneath him,
his eyes already glazed. And again his lips parted in that thick and
blood-spumed mumble.

"Borisu, turn off ... that ... gun!"

"The doctor," mocked Borisu, "is hardy! The doctor is courageous. But
the doctor is _also_ a fool. Stop this gun? Never! Not until your world
has met the oblivion it deserves. Not until--_Wait! Stand back there
you fool! Stand back! Aaah!_"

The raygun in his hand gushed a livid flame as Kang, tightening
his worn, exhausted body for one final effort, pitched forward
convulsively. The random shot missed the old man, and Borisu screamed
a cry like that of a stricken animal, as in a last futile moment he
realized Kang's intention.

Kang, already living on borrowed time, was yet the scientist. He alone,
of all in the room, had seen what could and _must_ be done. He alone,
of all those who stood helplessly trapped, was close enough to do it.

Three strides he stumbled forward ... then Borisu's second blast caught
him squarely in the chest. If he should have been dead before, he was
_surely_ so now. But it did not matter. Understanding had come too
late to the mad-man of Magog. For sheer impetus carried Kang's body
forward to that which Kang had planned. His body plunged full length
and sprawling upon the gleaming busbars of the wave cannon. There
burst from Borisu's lips a last and frightful scream. The atmosphere
crackled. For a moment the biting odor of ozone was horribly mingled
with the charnel stench of searing flesh.

"_Down!_" roared Gary. "_Down on the floor, for God's sake! Short
circuit--!_"

As one, the watching four fell flat on their faces just as the gigantic
machine before them, quivering and trembling to its very roots, rocked
itself from its moorings ... and in a roaring fountain of flame
exploded into a million fragments!




                              CHAPTER XXI

                          "Journey's End...."


"So," said Tsalnor regretfully, "you will not change your mind? You
will not stay?"

Gary Lane shook his head. "No, Tsalnor. Someday we may return. But now
our duty is to go to our own system, there tell them what we have here
learned."

Tsalnor nodded. "Yes, man uff Earth, I suppose that is best. But you
will send others uff your people to see us? You will teach us, as you
promised, your method uff travel? That there may be friendship and
amity between the people uff our worlds?"

"We will," pledged Gary. "Dr. Bryant has said that now the ultrawave
cannon is destroyed the solar universe will not only stop its dwindling
but will, indeed, begin to return to the true and greater universe from
which it was exiled.

"But before this happens our races will have forged bonds of friendship
so close that when Sol returns to take its place amongst its sister
stars there need never again be war between our worlds."

Muldoon said, "And you, Tsalnor, you've got an even more important job
than we have. Keeping the Magogeans under control. You've got to see to
it that they never try to build another one of those cannon."

Tsalnor said softly, "We shall be careful. But I think we need
never again fear the construction uff such a weapon. The _kraedars_
of Magog have been overthrown. It was never the common people who
conspired against us. When we haff taught them the benefits of freedom
and democracy, they too shall take their place in a new and better
universe."

A bell clanged in the control turret of the _Liberty_, and Captain Hugh
Warren, seated in the pilot's swivel, turned to his friends. "Well, I'm
afraid that's the signal. All ashore that's going ashore."

[Illustration: "Short circuit!" roared Gary. "For God's sake...!"]

Tsalnor and his retinue left. A few minutes later the _Liberty_ was
once again tenanted only by those making the return trip to the solar
universe. To an Earth free now forever of the dangers which had
threatened it.

Dr. Bryant sighed. "And so," he said, "begins the long journey home."

"Only," grinned Lark O'Day, "it won't be such a long journey. We've got
the Jovians' quadridimensional co-ordinates for a space warp that will
drop us a couple of hours from Earth. All set over here, Hugh."

"Right!" Warren called from his banks. "All right, folks, here we go!"
And he depressed the green stud.

Lark rose. "Leaving me," he drawled, "with nothing to do for the next
couple of hours. Unless," he spoke to Pen-N'hi hopefully, "unless maybe
you'd like to take a little stroll out on the observation deck?"

"Yeah," chuckled Flick, "and watch the fourth dimension whizzing by?
That ought to be a lot of fun, Miss Penny."

"It all depends," chuckled Warren, "on who you're watching it with. I
was just about to suggest something of the same sort. How about it,
Nora? Suppose you and I--"

       *       *       *       *       *

But Gary interrupted him. This was a new and different Gary Lane from
the curt young man who, for months past, had been too preoccupied
with a life-and-death struggle to pay a proper amount of attention to
matters which were a part of his personal and private life.

Gary said, "Oh, no you don't, Hugh! Not so fast. I got here first." He
reached out and folded the arm of Nora Powell into his own. He said,
"Nora and I have a few matters to discuss. _Business_ matters."

The girl looked at him astonished. "B-business, Gary? At a time like
this--_business_?"

Gary said seriously, "Very important business that has been delayed
altogether too long. A--a matter of a merger, you might say."

Nora sighed. Whether it was with relief, or whether there was in that
sigh a hint of acquiescence to follow was hard to tell. But she smiled
and nodded. And:

"In that case," she said, "I have no choice. I have to do what my boss
tells me, Hugh. I'll go with you, Gary."

And they left the bridge.

Muldoon snickered. "Business!" he snorted. "Business my hat!
_Biological_ business, if you ask me!"

And Warren shook his head dejectedly. "Oh, well," he shrugged. "What
the hell! _Somebody's_ got to stick around to drive the ship...."





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