t - — ^ - Je ,l [ oo MM m*Mi w i« «A» » >>>- v Wrfc ra«ft *# c rw M Mi*Wr' Tl*> • 10 MONTH* TO PAY IOOayi>r**Tria>*IOM«nttiilo^a]r If ^ cm 4s9ftnU Mf Wrv «m4 Satisfaction Guoronlxd ADOU l V i OlPf 4J-C 170 BROADWAY. NIW YORK 1 ASTOUNDING STORIES ABOUT HIM! S O that was it, eh ! That’s what they were saying— the last thing he suspected. Now he could understand Lydia’s insistence that they go home early, and the distant manner of the Johnsons. He stood there flushed and humiliated. He would have given a thousand dollars to escape entering that room again, and to avoid their gaze of disguised disgust. Always Suspect yourself There are two conditions that rob a man of his popularity and cheat him out of his good times. One is the presence of body odors, and the other is halitosis (unpleasant breath). Their existence is seldom suspected by the victim. Why risk offending others when you can over- come the trouble by the use of Listerine, the safe antiseptic and the quick deodorant? 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The other Clayton magazines are: ACE-HIGH MAGAZINE, RANCH ROMANCES. COWBOY STORIES, CLUES, FIVE-NOVELS MONTHLY, RANGELAND LOVE STORY MAGAZINE, WESTERN ADVENTURES, WESTERN LOVE STORIES, STRANGE TALES, COMPLETE WESTERN LOVE NOVELETTES, COM- PLETE MYSTERY NOVELETTES, COMPLETE ADVENTURE NOVELETTES, ACE-HIGH NOVELS MONTHLY, THE DETECTIVE LIBRARY, THE READERS’ LIBRARY, THE NEW FICTION LIBRARY, and BUNK. More Than Two Million Copies Required to Supply the Monthly Demand for Clayton Magazines. VOL. XI, NO. 1 CONTENTS SEPTEMBER, 1932 COVER DESIGN H. W. WESSO Suggested by a Scene in “Raiders of the Universes. ” LOOT OF THE VOID EDWIN K. SLOAT Into the Trap- Door City of Great Spiders Goes Penrun After the Hidden Plunder of the Spacer Pirate Halkon. DISOWNED VICTOR ENDERSBY 20 The Tragic Misadventure of a Man to Whom the Shy Became an Appalling Abyss, Drawing Him Ever Upward. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW CHARLES WILLARD DIFFIN 34 Town After Town Is Fired by the Emerging Red Ones as Rawson Lies Helpless, a Prisoner, Par Down in Their Home Within the Earth. (Part Two of a Four-Part Novel.) RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES DONALD WANDREI 63 Id like, the Great Astronomer Phobar Stands Before the Metallic Invaders of the Ravished Solar System. SLAVES OF MERCURY NAT SCHACHNER 78 Hilary Returns to Find Alien Diskoids in Earth's Stratosphere, and Outworld Lords Patrolling Her Cities. (A Complete Novelette.) THE READERS’ CORNER ALL OF US 135 A Meeting Place for Readers of Astounding Stories. Single Copies, 20 Cents Yearly Subscription, $1.00 Issued bi-monthly b§j|fhe Clayton Magazines, Inc., 15 5 East 44th Street, New York, N. Y. W. M. Clayton, President; Francis P. Pace, Secretary, jgttered as second-class matter December 7, 1929, at the Post Office at New York, N. Y. under Act of March 3, 1879. 'Copyright, 1932, by The Clayton Magazines, Inc. 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Send me immediately FREE full particulars about positions marked X. Also information on State and City Civil Service Positions obtainable, and your big list of other positions obtain- able, salaries, locations, how to qualify , opportunities, etc. Name □1 Address. EARN 616 VKf7fo /, I*. m - .Mr 35 36 ASTOUNDING STORIES huge cavern — broke through, then plunged itself into molten gold, and came up bedecked in “jewel- ry/' as Riley, the drill foreman, said, “like a rich Indian squaw!” To Rawson, that meant only that the heat he had looked for was there. Jubilant, he sent down a pyrometer, but the tube of Krieger alloy, tremendously heat resistant, came back sheared off cleanly, the end of it fused. The big drill was melted off when it went down again; and Dean Rawson shot the well. Once more he sent down a bailer to test out the hole; and Riley, touching it when it returned, found his hands dripping with blood — “devil’s blood,” to the superstitious fore- man. Rawson’s premature elation van- ished under the mystery of what followed. Steel beams disappeared in the night. From a lookout point on the mountainside, Rawson and Smithy saw figures in the dim star- light about the camp. A large cast- ing vanished into the sand; a shot was fired by the guard Rawson had posted, and a flash of green light was the reply. On their return they found Riley, his body cut in two: the green flame, like a knife, had ripped searingly through flesh and bone. Only one indication had come to Rawson to show him where he might find the secret of this oppo- sition. In the top of the tallest crater he had seen a light. He be- lieved that the power monopoly which would be crushed by his own development of electric energy had located a base in the crater and was directing the attack. To Raw- son, it was an attempt to frighten off his men and halt the work. A trip to the summit brought nothing of information. Only a for- bidding expanse of ash and sand was there in the volcano’s throat, choked and filled for ages past. Blowing dust in the center of the pit meant nothing until later. Rawson watched from the top of his big derrick. He saw and fired at a figure that appeared out of the sand. A green flame flashed out, cutting the great derrick down and carrying Rawson with it. When he regained consciousness, the men had mutinied and fled. Rawson remembered the dust at the crater top, knew that the heavy ash must have been recently disturbed, and returned, Smithy accompany- ing him. He went alone to the center of the pit, which changed to a place of rushing sand. From a great rock, Rawson saw the volcano open, to become a yawning pit where red fires were shining. And out of it came strange man-shapes with throwers of green flame that slashed the stone from beneath Rawson’s feet and plunged him headlong down the glassy throat of the an- cient crater, toward the crimson glow below. . . . CHAPTER VII The Ring <*f^ MITHY ” Rawson had called him when he found V "1 the youngster fighting gamely with death in the heat of Tonah Basin. And Gordon Smith was the name on the com- pany records. Yet he remained al- ways “Smithy” to Rawson, and the name, which Rawson never ceased to believe was assumed, became a mark of the affection which can spring up between man and man. And now Smithy stood like a rigid carven statue in the midst of a barren sandy waste in the vast cup of a towering volcano top — sand that was in reality coarse pumice and ash. This was a place of death, a place where raging fires had left nothing for plant or ani- mal life. And, over all, the desert TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW stars shone down coldly and add- ed to the desolation with their own pale light. Smithy had seen Rawson pull himself to the top of a great square- edged rock. Sensing that danger of some sort was threatening, he had started to nm to the aid of the struggling man. Then came Raw- son’s cry. “Back!” he shouted. “Get back, Smithy! I’m coming — ” But he did not come; and Smithy, halted by the command, was frozen to sudden, panic-stricken immobil- ity by that which followed. He saw the leaping things, like grotesque yellow giants. They came from the sand; then red ones leaped up from the open throat that had suddenly formed. They held flame throwers, the red ones; and the green lines of fire melted the rock from beneath Rawson’s feet. All in the one second’s time, it was done, and Rawson’s body, his arms wide flung, was hurtling downward into the waiting throat and the threaten- ing red glow from within. Then the carriers of the flame throwers van- ished again into the pit, and there was left only a huddle of giant fig- ures that tore at the loose sand and ash with their hands. They threw the material in a continuous stream; the air was full of cascading sand. To Smithy they were suddenly inhuman — they were almost animals ; men like moles. And they and their companions had cap- tured Dean Rawson — sent him to his death. Slowly the watching man raised himself from the crouched position that had kept him hidden. They were through with their work, these great yellow-skinned naked men — or mole-men. Six of them — Smithy counted them slow- ly before he took aim — and two were armed with flame-throwers. Smithy rested his arm across the little hummock of gritty ash that n had sheltered him and sent six flashes of flame through the night toward the cluster of bodies. H E made no attempt to aim at each individual — the shapes were too shadowy for that. And he had no knowledge of what other weapons they might have. One thing was sure: he must take no chances on facing the red ones sin- gle-handed. He rammed his empty pistol back into its holster as he turned and ran — ran with every ounce of energy he possessed to drive his flying feet across the crater floor, out through the cleft in the rocks and down the steep mountainside. He was stunned by the sudden- ness of the catastrophe that had overtaken them. The horror of Dean Rawson’s going; the fearful reality of those “devils from hell” that old Riley had seen — it was all too staggering, too numbing, for easy acceptance. Time was required for the truth to sink in; and through the balance of the night Smithy had plenty of time to think. He dared not go back to the camp where ripping flashes of green light told him the enemy was at work. And then, even had it been possible to creep up on them in the darkness, that one chance vanished as the desert about the camp sprang into view. One after another the buildings burst into flame, and Smithy was thankful for the con- cealment of the vast, empty desert. T HE embers were still glowing when he dared go near. This enemy, it seemed, worked only at night, and Smithy waited only for the sun to show above distant pur- ple ranges. It had been their enemy once, that fiercely hot sun; they had fought against the heat — but never had the sun wrought such destruction as this. Smithy looked from haggard. 38 ASTOUNDING STORIES hopeless eyes upon the wreckage of Rawson’s camp. For the men who had worked there, this had meant only a job; to Smithy it had been a fight against the desert which had defeated him once. But to Rawson it meant the fruit of years of effort, the goal of his dreams brought almost within his reach. Smithy looked at the smoldering heaps of gray where an idle wind puffed playfully at fluffy ash or fanned a bed of coals to flame. Twisted steel of the wrecked der- rick was still further distorted; the enemy had ripped it to pieces with his stabbing flames. Even the un- used materials, the steel and cement that had been neatly stacked for future use — the flames had been turned on it all. And Smithy, though his voice broke almost boyishly from his re- pressed emotion, spoke aloud in solemn promise: “It’s too late to help you, Dean. I’ll go back to town, report to the men who were back of you, and then. . . . They’re going to pay, Dean! Whoever — whatever — they are, they’re going to pay!” He turned away toward the moun- tains and the ribbon of road that wound off toward the canyon. Then, at some recollection, he swung back. ‘‘The cable’s still down — he would have wanted it left all shipshape,” he whispered. Where the derrick had stood was the mouth of the twenty-inch cas- ing. The cable that ran from it was entangled with the wreckage of the derrick, but it had not been cut. Smithy set doggedly to work. A LITTLE gin-pole and light tackle allowed him to erect a heavier tripod of steel beams: it hoisted the big sheave block into place, and gave Smithy’s two hands the strength of twenty to rig a temporary hoist. The juice was still on the main feed line, and the hoist- ing motors hummed at his touch. The ten miles of cable wound slowly onto the drums. “It’s nonsense, I suppose,” he told himself silently. But some- thing drove him to do this last thing — to leave it all as Rawson would have had it. The long bailer came out at last; there was just room to hoist it clear and let it drop back upon the drilling floor. A glint o± gold flashed in the sunlight as Smithy let the long metal tube down, and he broke into voluble cursing at sight of the bit of metal that was caught near the bailer’s top. The gold had started it all! That first finding of the gold on the big drill had begun it. . . . He crossed swiftly to the gleaming thing that seemed somehow to symbolize his loss. He stooped to reach for it, in- tending to throw it as far as he could. Instead he stood in an awk- ward stooping attitude — stood so while the long uncounted minutes passed. . . . His eyes that stared and stared in disbelief seemed suddenly to have turned traitor. They were tell- ing him that they saw a ring — a cameo — jammed solidly into the shackle at the bailer’s end. And that ring, when last he had seen it, had been on Dean Rawson’s hand! Dean had caught it; he had hooked it over a lever in this very place — and now, from ten miles down inside the solid earth, it had returned. It meant — it meant. . , . But the stocky, broad-shouldered youngster known as Smithy dared not think what it meant. Nor had he time to follow the thought; he was too busily engaged in running at suicidal speed across the hot sand toward barren mountains where a ribbon of road showed through quivering air. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 39 CHAPTER VIII . The Darkness D ARKNESS; and red fires that seemed whirling about him as his body twisted in air. To Dean Rawson, plunging down into the volcano’s maw, each second was an eternity, for, in each single instant, he was expecting crashing death. Then he knew that long arms were wrapped about him, holding him, supporting him, checking his downward plunge . . . and at last the glassy walls, where each bulb- ous irregularity shone red with re- flected light, moved slowly past. And, after more eons of time, a rocky floor rose slowly to meet him. His body crashed gently; he was sprawled face downward on stone that was smooth and cold. The re- straining arms no longer touched him. He lay motionless for some time, his mind as stunned and uncom- prehending as if he had truly crashed to death upon that rocky floor. Then, at last, he forced his reluctant nerves and muscles to turn his body till he lay face up- ward. Darkness wrapped him as if it were the soft swathing of some black cocoon. The world about him was at first a place of utter night- time blackness; and then, far above him, there shone a single star . . . until that feeble candle-gleam, too, was snuffed out. A hand was gripping his shoul- der; it seemed urging him to arise. He felt each separate finger — long, slender, like bands of steel. The nail at each finger-end was more nearly a claw, the whole hand a thin, clutching thing like the foot of some giant ape. And, even as he shrank involuntarily from that touch, Rawson wondered how the creature could reach out and grip him so surely in the dark. But he came to his feet in response to that urging hand. The night was suddenly sibilant with eery, whistling voices. They came from all sides at once; they threw themselves back and forth in endless echoes. To Rawson it was only a confused medley of conflicting sounds in which no one voice was clear. But the creature that held him must have under- stood* for he heard him reply in a sharp, piercing tone, half whistle, half shriek. W HAT had happened? Where was he? What was this thing that pushed him, stumbling, along through the dark? With all his tumultuous questioning he knew only one thing definitely: that it would be of no use to struggle. He was as helpless as any trapped ani- mal. He was inside the earth, of course; he had fallen he had no least idea how far; and, in some strange manner, this long-armed thing had supported him and eased him gently down. But what it meant or what lay ahead were matters too obscure for him to try to see clearly. He held his hands protectingly before him while the talons grip- ping into his shoulder hurried him along. He stumbled awkwardly as his foot struck an obstruction. He would have fallen but for the grip that held him erect. For that creature, whatever it was, the darkness held no uncer- tainty. He moved swiftly. His shrill shriek and the jerk of his arm both gave evidence of his astonishment that his captive should walk so blunderingly. Then it seemed that he must have comprehended Rawson’s blind- ness. A green line of light passed close behind Dean’s head. It was cold — there was no radiant warmth — but, when it struck the face of a 40 ASTOUNDING STORIES wall of stone some twenty feet away, the solid rock turned instant- ly to a mass of glowing yellow- red. The cold green ray swung back and forth, leaving a path of radiant rock behind it wherever it touched. And the rock was hot! Once the green light held more than an in- stant in one place, and the rock softened at its touch, then splashed and trickled down to make a fiery pool. A BRUPTLY Rawson was able to see his surroundings. Also, he knew the source of the red glow that had seemed like volcanic fires. There had been others like his cap- tor; they had been down below, and had played their flames upon the rocks deep in the volcano. It was thus that they made light. With equal suddenness, and with terrible clearness, Dean found the answer to one of his questions. He wrenched himself about to stare be- hind him at the creature that held him in its grip. And, for the first time, the wild experience became something more than an unbeliev- able nightmare; in that one horri- fying instant he knew it was true. Only a few minutes before, he had been walking across the cindery sand of the crater top, walking un- der the stars and the dark desert sky — Dean Rawson, mining engi- neer, in a sane, believable world. And now. . . ! He squinted his eyes in the dim light to see more plainly the beast- ly figure, more horrible for being so nearly human. He had seen them briefly up above; the closer view of this one specimen of a strange race was no more pleasing. For now he saw clearly the cruelty in the face. It was there unmistak- ably, even though the face itself, under less threatening circum- stances, might have been a ludi- crous caricature of a man’s. Red and nearly naked, the crea- ture stood upright, straps of metal about its body. It was about Raw- son’s height; its round, staring eyes were about level with his own, and each eye was centered in a circular disk of whitish skin. The light went dim for a moment, and Dean, staring in his turn, saw those other huge eyes enlarge, the white cov- ering of each drawing back like an expanding iris. Some vague understanding came to him of the beast’s ability to see in the dark. They used these red- hot stones for illumination, but this thing had seemed to see clearly even when the stones had ceased to glow. And again, though indis- tinctly, Dean knew that those eyes might be sensitive to infra-red ra- diations — they might see plainly by the dark light that continued to flood these rocky chambers, though, to him, the rocks had gone light- less and black. E VEN as the quick thoughts flashed through his mind, he was thinking other thoughts, re- cording other observations. The rest of the face was red like the body; the head was sharply pointed, and crowned with a mass of thin, clinging locks of hair. The mouth, a round, lipless orifice, con- tracted or dilated at will; from it came whistling words. Out of the darkness, giant things were leaping. They clutched at RaWvSon, while the first captor re- leased his hold and drew back. Taller, these newcomers were, big- ger, and different. In the red light from the hot rocks Dean saw their faces, in which were owl eyes like those of the first one, but yellow, expres- sionless and stupid. Their great bodies were yellow; their out- stretched hands were webbed. For one instant, as Rawson’s hand touched his pistol in its hcl- TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 4t iter, a surge of fighting rage swept through him. His whole being was in a spasm of revolt against all this series of happenings that had trapped him; he wanted to lash out regardless of consequences. Then cooler judgment came to his aid. Other figures, with faces red and ugly, expressive of nameless evil, were gathered beside the one who still played the jet of cold fire upon the walls. Like him they were naked save for a cloth at the waist and the metal straps encircling their bodies. They, too, had flame- throwers — he saw the long metal jets and their lava tips. Yet the temptation to fire into that group as fast as he could pull trigger was strong upon him. Instead he allowed these other giant things to grip him with their webbed hands and lead him away. T HE wavering light had shown many passages through the rock. Glazed, all of them. Either they had been blown through mol- ten rock which had then solidified to give the glassy surfaces, or else — and this seemed more likely — the flame-throwers had done it. Rawson, scanning the labyrinth for some recognizable strata, had a quick vision of these caverns being cut out and enlarged, and of their walls melted just as they were be- ing melted now — melted and hard- ened again innumerable times by succeeding generations of red- and yellow-skinned men. Yes, they were men. He admitted this while he walked unresistingly between two of the giants. An- other went before them and light- ed the way with the green ray of a flame-thrower on the melting rock. These were men — men of a differ- ent sort. Evolution, working strange changes underground, had made them half beasts, diggers in the dark, mole-men! They were passing through a long tunnel that went steadily; down. Cross passages loomed black- ly; ahead of them the leader was throwing his flame upon the walls of a great vault. Rawson had ceased to take note of their movements. What use to remember? He could never escape, never retrace his steps. He tried to whip up a faint flicker of hope at thought of Smithy. Smithy had seen him go, had seen the red mole-men, of course. And he had got away — he must have got away! He would go for help. . . . But, at that, he groaned inward- ly. Smithy would go for help, and then what? He would be laughed out of any sheriff's office; he would be locked up as insane if he per- sisted. Why should he persist—for that matter, why should he go at all? Smithy would not believe for a single minute that Rawson was still alive. H IS thoughts ended. Webbed hands, wrapped tightly about his arms, were thrusting him for- ward into a great room. The green flame had been snapped off. One last hot circle on the high wall showed only a dull red. But be- fore it faded, Dean saw dimly the outlines of a tremendous cavern. He saw also that these walls were unglazed, raw; they had never been melted. Below the rough and shattered sides heaps of fragments were piled about the room. Fleetingly he saw the shadowed details; then darkness swallowed even that little he had seen. Clang- ing metal told of a closing door; a line of red outlined it for an in- stant to show where it was welded fast. He was a prisoner in a cell whose walls were the living rock. For a long time he stood mo- tionless, while the heavy darkness pressed heavily in upon his swim- 42 ASTOUNDING STORIES ming senses; he sank slowly to the floor at last. He was numbed, and his mind was as blank as the black nothingness that spread before his staring eyes. In a condition almost of coma, he had no measure or count of the hours that passed. Then a fever of impatience pos- sessed him; his thoughts, spring- ing suddenly to life, were too wild- ly improbable for any sane mind, were driving him mad. He forced himself to move cautiously. O N the floor he had seen bur- nished gold, shining dully as he entered. There had been a thick vein of yellow in the rock. The floor, at that place, was rough be- neath his feet, as if the hot metal had been spilled. His hands groped before him as he remembered the heaps of rock fragments. Then his feet found one of them stumblingly, and he turned and moved to one side. He remem- bered having seen a dim shape off there that had made a straight slanting line. His searching hands encountered the object and kept him from walking into it. The feeling of helplessness that drove him was only being increased by his blind and blundering move- ments. He told himself that he must wait. Silently he stood where he had come to a stop, hands resting on the object that barred his way — until suddenly, stiflingly, his breath caught in his throat. Some emo- tion, almost too great to be borne, was suffocating him. Slowly he moved his hands. Inch by inch he felt his way around the smooth cylinder, so hard, so cold- ly metallic. Then, with a rush, he let his hands follow up the slant- ing thing, up to a rounded top, to a heavy ring and a shackle that was on the end of a cable, thin and taut. And, while his hands explored it feverishly, the metal moved! H E clung to the smooth round- ness as it slipped through his hands. It was the bailer, part of his own equipment. That slender cable reached up, straight up to the world he knew. And Smithy was there — Smithy was hoisting it! He clung to the cylinder desper- ately. The bore, at this depth, had been reduced to eight inches; the bailer fitted it loosely. And Raw- son cursed frantically the narrow space that would let this inanimate object return but would hold him back, while he wrapped his arms about the cold surface of the metal messenger from another world. It lifted clear, then settled back. This time it dropped noisily to the floor. And suddenly Dean was tear- ing at the ring on one of the swol- len fingers of his left hand. It came free at last; it was in his hand as the cable tightened again. Swiftly, surely, he worked in the darkness to jam the ring through the shackle at the bailer’s top. Then the bailer liftted, clanged loudly as it entered the shattered bore in the rocks above, and scraped noisily at the sides. The sound rose to a rasping shriek that went fainter and still fainter till it dwin- dled into silence. But Dean Rawson, standing mo- tionless in the darkness of that buried vault, dared once more to let himself think and feel as he stared blindly upward. Up there Smithy was waiting. Smithy would know. And with Smithy fighting from the outside and he, Rawson, putting up a scrap below. . . . He smiled almost hap- pily as his hand rested upon his gun. Hopeless? Of course it was hope- less. No use of really kidding him- self — he didn’t have the chance of a pink-eyed rabbit. But he was still smiling toward that dark roof overhead as the out- lines of a metal door grew cherry TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 43 red. They were coming for him! He was ready to meet whatever lay ahead. . . . CHAPTER IX A Subterranean World T HE metal plate that had sealed him in this tomb fell open with a crash. Beyond it the passageway was alive with crowding red fig- ures. Above their heads the noz- zles of a score of flame-throwers spat jets of green fire. Rawson drew back in sudden uncontrollable hor- ror a3 they came crowding into the room. The familiar feel of the bailer’s cold metal had given him a mo- mentary sense of oneness with his own world. Now this inrush of hideous, demoniac figures beneath the flare of green flames was like a fevered vision of the infernal regions come suddenly to actuality. Rawson retreated to the shat- tered, rocky wall and prepared for one last fight, until he realized that the evil black eyes in their ghastly circles of white skin were fixed upon him more in curiosity than in active hatred. They formed a semicircle about him — a wall of red bodies, whose pointed heads were craned forward, while an excited chatter in their broken, whistling speech filled the room with shrill clamor. Then one of them pointed above toward the open shaft that Rawson had drilled, the shaft up which the bailer had gone. And again their voices rose in weird discord, while their long arms waved, and red, lean-fingered hands pointed. Only a moment of this, then one of them gave an order. Two of the red figures came toward Rawson where he was waiting. They were unarmed. They motioned that he was to go with them. And Dean, with a helpless shrug of his shoul- ders. allowed them, one on each side, to take him by the arms and hurry him through the open door. Two others went ahead, the green jets of flame from their weapons lighting the passage. The system of communicating tunnels seemed at first only the vents and blow-holes from some previous volcanic activity. And yet, at times they gave place to more regular arrangement that plainly was artificial. The air in them was pure, though odorous with a pun- gent tang which Dean could not identify. Through some of the pas- sages it blew gently with uncom- fortable warmth. The guard of wild red figures hurried him along through a vast world of caverns and winding pas- sages which seemed one great mine. The richness of it was amazing. Dean Rawson was a man, a human being, facing death in some form which he could not yet know, and, so fast had his wild experiences crowded in upon him, he seemed numbed to all normal emotions; yet through it all the mind of the engineer was at work, and Dean's eyes were flashing from side to side, trying to see and understand the ever-changing panorama of a subterranean world. M OLE-MEN, both red and yel- low, were everywhere. But it was apparent at a glance that the yellow giants were a race of toilers — slaves, driven by the reds. Their great bodies glowed orange-colored with the reflected heat of the blasts of flame used to melt the metals from their ores. Gold and sliver, other metals that Rawson could not distinguish in the half light — the glow of the molten stuff came from every distant cave that the passages opened up. The sheer marvel of it over- whelmed him. His own danger, even the death that waited for him, were forgotten. 44 ASTOUNDING STORIES A world within a world — and who knew how far it extended? Mole-men, by scores and hundreds, the denizens of a great subterra- nean world, of which his own world had been in ignorance. Here was civilization of a sort, and now the barriers that had separated this world from the world above had been broken down; the two were united. Suddenly there came to Rawson’s mind a flashing compre- hension of a menace wild and terri- ble that had come with the breaking of those barriers. They were passing through a wider hall when the whistling chat- ter of Dean’s escort ceased. They were looking to one side where a cloud of smoke had rolled from a slope beyond. One of the red fig- ures staggered, choking, from the cloud. Two yellow mole-men fol- lowed closely after. The red mole-man was unarmed; each yellow one had a flame-thrower that was now so familiar a sight to Dean. His own escort was si- lent; they had halted, watching those others expectantly. I N the silence of that rocky room the single red one whistled an order. One of the two yellow men placed his weapon on the floor. An- other shrill order followed, and the remaining worker, without a moment’s hesitation, turned the green blast of his own projector upon his comrade. It was done in a second — a sec- ond in which the giant’s shriek ended in a flash of flame for which his own flesh was the fuel. A wisp of drifting smoke, and that was all. And the red creatures who had Rawson in their charge, after a moment of silence, filled the room with shrill-voiced pandemonium, while they shrieked their approval of the spectacle. But Dean Rawson’s lips were forming half-whispered words, so intently was he thinking the thoughts. “The damned red beast! That poor devil’s flame hit some sulphur, I suppose — burned it to S0 2 — then he got his!” But, even while he searched his mind for words to describe the evil of this red race, he was realizing another fact. These yellow giants, countless thousands of them, per- haps, were held in subjection by their red masters. They would do as they were told. Dimly, vaguely, through his horrified mind, came the picture of a horde of red and yellow beasts turned loose upon the world above. There were fears now which filled Dean Rawson, shook him with horrors as yet only half compre- hended. But the fears were not for himself, one solitary man in the grip of these red beasts — he was fearing for all mankind. H IS guard was hurrying him on, but now Dean h&rdly saw the scenes of feverish activity through which they passed. An- other thought had come to him. That shaft, the hole which he himself had drilled — what damage had it done? It was he who had broken down the barriers. His drill had told these beasts that there was other life above. It had guided them. They had realized that they were near to some other place where men worked and drove tun- nels through the rocks. They had followed up these forgotten pas- sages that led to the old craters, had ascended inside the volcano, made their way through the top and emerged into another world — a clean and sunlit world. Now Rawson’s eyes found with new understanding the activity about him. The mining operations had been left behind. Here were branching passages, great cavelike rooms — a world within a world, in all truth. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 45 Throughout it, demoniac figures were hurrying, driving thousands of giant yellow slaves where the light shone sparkling from innu- merable heaps of metal weapons — flame-throwers and others, the na- ture of which Rawson could not determine. And everywhere was the shouting and hurry as of a nation in the throes of war. His speculations ended abruptly. They were approaching a room, a vast open place. High on the far- ther wall was a recess in the rock in which tongues of flame licked hungrily upward. The heat of the fires struck down in a ceaseless hot blast. Close to the fires, unmindful of the heat, a barbaric figure as- sumed grotesque and horrible pos- tures, while its voice rose in echo- ing shrillness. Below were crowding red ones who prostrated themselves on the rocky floor. “Fire worshipers!” The explana- tory thought flashed through Dean Rawson’s mind. “Here was one of their holy places, a place of sacri- fice, perhaps, and he was being taken there, helpless, a captive! CHAPTER X Plumb Loco T HE sheriff of Cocos County was reacting exactly as Raw- son had anticipated. Smithy stood before him, a disheveled Smithy, grimy of face and hands. He had made his way to the highway and caught a ride to the nearest town, and now that he had found Jack Downer, sheriff, that gentleman leaned back in his old chair be- hind the battered desk and re- garded the younger man with amused tolerance. “Now, that’s right interesting, what you say,” he admitted. “Tonah Basin, and the old crater, and red devils settin’ fire to everything. I’ve heard some wild ones since this Prohibition went into effect and some of the boys started mak- in’ their own, but yours sure beats ’em all. Guess likely I’ll have to take a run up Tonah way and see what kind of cactus liquor they’re makin’.” “Meaning I’m drunk or a liar.” Smithy’s voice was hot with sud- den anger, but the sheriff regarded him imperturbably. “Weil, I’d let you off on one count, son. You do look sort of sober.” Smithy disregarded the plain im- plication and fought down the anger that possessed him. “May I use your phone, Mr. Dow- ner?” he asked. He called the office of Erickson and his associates in Los Angeles and told, as well as he could for the constant interruptions from his listener, the story of what had oc- curred. And Mr. Erickson at the other end of the line, although he used different words, gave some- what the same reply as had the sheriff. “I refuse to listen to any more such wild talk,” he said. “If our property has been destroyed, as you say, there will be an accounting, you may be sure of that. And now, Mr. Smith, get this straight, you tell Rawson, wherever he is hiding, to come and see me at once.” “But I tell you he has been cap- tured,” said Smithy desperately. “He’s gone.” “I rather think we will find him,” was the reply. “He had better come of his own accord. His connection with us will be severed and all drilling operations in Tonah Basin will be discontinued, but Mr. Raw- son will find that his responsibil- ity is not so easily evaded.” The sheriff could not have failed to realize the unsatisfactory nature of the conversation; he must have wondered at the satisfied grin that spread across Smithy’s tired face. 46 ASTOUNDING STORIES “Do you mean you’re through?” he demanded. “You’re Rawson’s work?” abandoning “Exactly,” was crisp response. Mr. Erickson’s OIMITHY, as the telephone clicked in his ear, turned again to the sheriff. “That unties my hands,” he said cryptically. “One more call, if you please.” Then to the operator: “Get me the offices of the Mountain Power and Lighting Corporation in San Francisco. I will talk with the president.” The sheriff of Cocos County chuckled audibly. “You’ll talk to the president’s sixteenth assistant secretary, son,” he told Smithy. “And I take back what I said be- fore — now I know you’re plumb loco. By the way, son, it costs money for telephone calls like that. I hope you ain’t, by any chance, overlookin’ — ” But Smithy was speaking into the telephone unmindful of the sher- iff’s remarks. “Is Mr. Smith in his office?” he was inquiring “Yes, President Smith. . . . Would you connect me with him at once, please? This is Gordon Smith talking.” “Hello, Dad,” he said a moment later. “Yes, that’s right. It’s the prodigal himself. Now, listen, Dad, here’s something important. Can you meet me in Sacramento and ar- range for us to see the Governor — get his private, confidential ear? I’ll beat it for Los Angeles — charter the fastest plane they’ve got. . . .” There was more to the conversa- tion, much more, although Smithy refrained from giving details over the phone. An operator was break- ing in on the conversation as he was about to hang up. “Emergency call,” the young woman’s voice was saying. “We must have the line at once.” S MITHY handed the telephone to the sheriff. “Someone’s anx- ious to talk to you,” he said. He searched his pockets hurriedly, found a ten-dollar bill which he laid on the sheriff’s desk. “That will cover it,” he said with a new note in his voice. “Perhaps you’re not just the man for this job, sher- iff. It’s going to be a whole lot too hot for you to handle.” He had turned quickly toward the door, but something in the sheriff’s excited voice checked him. “Burned? Wiped out, you say?” Halfway across the room Smithy could hear another hoarse voice in the telephone. The sheriff repeated the words. “Red devils! They wasn’t Injuns? The whole town of Seven Palms destroyed!” “I thought,” said Smithy softly to himself, “that we’d have to go down there to find them, and in- stead they’re out looking for us. Yes, I think this will be decidedly too hot for you to handle, sheriff.” He turned and bolted out the door. A N attentive audience was await- ing Gordon Smith on his ar- rival in Sacramento. Smithy’s father v/as not one to be kept wait- ing even by the Governor of the state. Also, Smithy was coming from the Tonah Basin region, and the news of the destruction of the des- ert town of Seven Palms had pre- ceded him. Even the swift planes of the Coasted Service could not match the speed of the radio news. There were only two men in the room when Smithy entered. One of them, tall, heavily built, as square- shouldered as Smithy, came for- ward and put his two hands on the young man’s shoulders. Their greetings were brief. “Well, son?” asked the older man, and packed a world of ques- tioning into the interrogation. “O. K., Dad,” said Smithy sim- ply. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 47 His father nodded silently and turned to the other man. “Governor, my son, Gordon. He got tired of being known as the ‘Old Man’s son’ — started out on his own — not looking for adventure exactly, but I judge he has found it. He’s got something to tell us.” And again Smithy told his wild, unbelievable tale. But it was not so incredible now, for, even while Smithy was talking, the Governor was glancing at the report on his desk which told of the destruction of the little town of Seven Palms. “I can’t tell you what it means,’’ Smithy concluded. He paused be- fore venturing a prediction which was to prove remarkably accurate. “But I saw them — I saw them come up out of the earth, and I’m bet- ting there are plenty more where they came from. And now that they’ve found their way out, we’ve got a scrap on our hands. And don’t think they’re not fighters, either. They’re armed — those flame- throwers are nothing we can laugh off, and what else they've got, we don’t know.” He leaned forward earnestly across the Governor’s desk. “But that’s your job,” he said. “Mine is to find Dean Rawson. He's alive, or he was. He sent up his ring as proof of it. I've got to find him — I’ve got to go down in that pit and I want your help.” CHAPTER XI The White-Hot Pit H OW far his guard of wild, red man-things had taken him Dean Rawson could not know. Many miles, it must have been. And he knew that the air had grown steadily more stiflingly hot. But the heat of those long tun- neled passages was like a cool breeze compared with the blasting breath of the room into which he was plunged. It seared his eyeballs; it struck down from the tongues of flame that played in red fury in the re- cess high up on the farther wall. And the vast room, the fires, the hundreds of kneeling figures, all blurred and swam dizzily before him. The hot air that he breathed seemed crisping his lungs. Vaguely, for the stupefying, brain-numbing heat, he wondered at the figure he saw dimly in its grotesque postur- ing close to the flames. And the hundreds of others — how could they live? How could he himself go on living in this inferno? They had been chanting in uni- son, the kneeling red ones. Dean heard the regular beat of their re- peated words change to an uproar of shrill, whistling voices. But he could neither see nor hear plainly for the unbearable, suffocating heat. The clamor was deafening, con- fusing; it echoed tremendously in the rocky room and mingled with the steady, continuous roar of the flames. The mass of bodies that surged about him made only a blur- ring impression; he tried to make himself see clearly. He must fight — fight to the last! Only this thought persisted. He was strik- ing out blindly when he knew that his red guard had cleared a way through the mob and was dragging him forward. He knew when they reached the farther wall. Somewhere above him was the deep-cut niche in which the fires roared. And then, when again he could see from his tor- tured eyes, he found directly ahead another doorway in the solid rock. Beyond it all was black; it gave promise of coolness, of relief from the stifling air of the room. Red hands were thrusting him through. The burst of water, icy cold, that descended upon him from above shocked him from the stupor that claimed his senses. He was 48 ASTOUNDING STORIES drenched in an instant, strangling and gasping for breath. But he could think! And, as the lean hands seized him again and hurried him forward, he almost dared to hope. T O his eyes the passageway was a place of utter darkness, but the red ones, their great owl eyes opened wide, hurried him on. His stumbling feet encountered a flight of steps. With the red guard he climbed a winding stair where the tunnel twisted upward. That icy deluge had set every nerve aquiver with new life. He hardly dared ask himself what might lie ahead. Yet he had been saved from that mob; it might be his life would be spared, that in some way he could learn to com- municate with these people, learn more of this subterranean world — which must be of tremendous ex- tent. Without any sure knowledge of their plans, he still was certain in his own mind that they intended to swarm out upon the upper world. He might even be able to show them the folly of that. A thousand thoughts were flash- ing through his mind when the tun- nel ended. Beyond a square-cut opening the air was aglow with red. An ominous thunder was in his ears. Then a score of hands lifted him bodily and threw him out upon a rocky floor that burned his hands as he fell. Heat, blistering, unbearable, beat upon him. He was wrapped in quick- rising clouds of steam from his wef clothes. The platform ended. Far below was a sea of red faces, grotesque and horrible, where each held two ghastly white disks, and at the cen- ter of each disk a mere pinpoint eye. He saw it all in the instant of his falling — the inhuman, shrieking mob, the blast of hot flame not forty feet away at the back of the rocky niche, and, between himself and the flame, a giant figure that leaped exultantly, while its body, that ap- peared carved from metallic cop- per, reflected the red fires until it seemed itself aflame. D EAN knew in the fraction of a second while he scrambled to his feet, that the great room had gone silent. The roaring of the flames ceased; even the clamor of shrill voices was stilled. He had thrown one arm across his face to shield his eyes; the heat still poured upon him like liquid fire. But his instant decision to throw himself out and down into the waiting mob was checked by the sudden stillness. To open his eyes wide meant im- possible torture, yet he forced him- self to peer through slitted lids beneath the shelter of his arm. The flame was gone. Where it had been was a wall of shimmering red rock above a gaping throat in the floor, whose rim was quivering white with heat. Here the blast from some volcanic depth had come. Then he saw it, saw the great coppery figure leaping upon him — and saw more plainly than all this the end that had been prepared for him. Fire worshipers! Demons of an under world paying tribute to their god. And he, Dean Rawson, was to be a living sacrifice, cast headlong to that waiting, white-hot throat! The coppery giant was upon him in the instant of his realization. Somehow in that moment Dean Rawson’s wracked body passed be- yond all pain. With the inhuman, maniacal strength of a man driven beyond all reason and restraint he tore himself half free from those encircling arms and drove blow after blow into the hideous face above him. Only his left arm was free. That, too, was clamped tightly against his body an instant later. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 49 T HE giant had been between him and the glowing rocks. Now he felt himself whirled in air, and again the blast of heat struck upon him. He was being rushed backward; and there flashed through his mind, as plainly as if he could actually see it, the scintillant white- ness of that hungry throat. He tried to lock his legs about the big body to prevent that final heave and throw that would end a ghastly ceremony. The rocks were close, their radiant heat wrapped about him like a living flame. Abruptly his strength was gone — the fight was over — he had lost! His heart sent the blood pounding and thundering to his brain; his lungs seemed on fire. T HE high priest of the red ones had his priestly duty to per- form — the sacrifice must be offered. But even the high priest, it would seem, must have been not above personal resentment. Sacrilege had been done— -a fist had smashed again and again into the holy one’s face. This it must have been that made him pause, that brought one big hand up in a grip of animal rage about Dean’s throat. Only a moment— a matter of sec- onds — while he vented his fury upon this white-skinned man who had dared to oppose him. Dean felt the hand close about his throat. So limp he was, so drained of strength, he made no effort to tear it loose. He was dead — what mat- tered a few seconds more or less of life? And then a thrill shot through him as he knew his right hand was free. That hand made fumbling work of drawing a gun from its smoking, leather holster. He could hardly control the numbed, blistered fin- gers, yet somehow he crooked one about the trigger; and dimly, as from some great distance, he heard the roar of the forty-five. . . . Then, from some deep recess within him, he summoned one last ounce of strength that threw him clear of the falling body. Instinctively he had heaved him- self away from the fiery rocks; the same effort had sent his big cop- pery antagonist staggering, stum- bling, backward. And Dean, sprawled on the stone floor, whose heat where he lay was just short of redness, heard one long, despair- ing shriek as the giant figure wavered, hung in air for a moment in black outline against the fierce red of a rocky wall above a white- hot pit, then toppled, pitched for- ward, and vanished. Sick and giddy, he forced him- self to draw his body up on hands and knees. Then he straightened, came to his feet, and staggered forward. B ELOW him was pandemonium. The sea of faces wavered and blurred before his eyes. From a distant archway other figures were coming. He saw the gleam of metal, heard the wild blare of trumpets, and knew that the hundreds of red ones below him were standing stiff- ly, both hands raised upright in salute as another barbaric figure entered. The air was clamorous with a shrill repeated call. “Phee- e-al!” the red ones shrieked. “Phee- e-al !” But Rawson did not wait to see more. Behind him, the flames that had been fed with human flesh — if indeed these red ones were hu- man — roared again into life. He had returned the pistol to its holster when first he came to his feet; his weak hands had seemed unable to hold it. And now his two hands were thrust outward before him as he staggered blindly toward the tunnel mouth. It was where he had emerged upon the platform. His reaching hands found the side entrance 50 ASTOUNDING STORIES where the stairs led down to the main hall. In the darkness he made his way past. Stumbling weakly he pushed on down the long tunnel whose floor slanted gently away. Ahead of him was a light. The comparative coolness of these rocks had served to revive him some- what. He had no hope of escape, yet the light seemed comforting, somehow. He stopped. His stinging eyes were wide open. He stared incred- ulously at the glowing spot on a distant wall, where a flame must have touched, and at the figure be- neath it. The figure of a woman! A young woman, tall, slender, fair-haired, whose skin was white, a creamy white, whiter than snow. A woman? It was a mere girl, slender and beautiful, her grace- ful young body poised as if, in quick flight, she had been caught and held for a moment of stillness. What was she doing here? His exhausted brain could not compre- hend what it meant. He had seen women of the Mole-men tribe min- gling with the men. Like them their heads were pointed, their faces grotesque and hideous. Raw- son gave an inarticulate cry of amazement and staggered forward. Between him and the distant fig- ure a crowd of Reds swarmed in. They came from a connecting pas- sage. Above their heads the lava tips of flame-throwers were spitting jets of green fire. Every face was turned toward him at his cry. Beyond them the white figure vanished. Dean, leaning weakly against the wall, told himself dully that it had been a phantom, a prod- uct of his own despairing brain and his own weakness. Then that weak- ness overcame him; and the red Mole-men, their white and hideous eyes, the threatening jets of green flame, all vanished in the quick darkness that swept over him. . . . CHAPTER XII Dreams T HE black curtain of uncon- sciousness which descended so quickly upon Rawson was not easily thrown off. For hours, days or weeks — he never knew how long he lay in the citadel of the Reds — it was to wrap him around. Nor was his waking a matter of a moment. Many and varied were the impressions which came .to him in times of semiconsciousness, and which of them were realities and which dreams, he could not tell. He was being tortured with knives, lances tipped with pain that dragged him up from the black depths in which he lay. Dimly he realized that his clothes were being stripped from him and that the piercing knives were none the less real for being only the touch of hands and rough cloth upon his blistered body. Then from head to foot he was coated with a sub- stance cool and moist. The pain died to a mere throbbing and again he felt himself sinking back into unconsciousness. There were other visions, many others, some of them plain and dis- tinct, some blurred and terrifying to his fevered brain trying vainly to bring order and reason into what was utterly chaotic. Once a bedlam of shrieking voices roused him. He tried to open his eyes, whose lids were too heavy for his strength. And by that he knew he was dreaming. Yet from under those lowered lids he seemed to see a wild medley of red war- riors, their faces blotched and ghastly in the green light of their weapons. They were carrying a charred body which they threw heavily upon the floor beside him as if to compare the two. He saw the face which the flames had not touched, the face of Jack Downer — Downer, the sheriff of Cocos Coun- TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 51 ty„ His sandy hair had been scorched to the scalp. Dreams . . . and the steady beat of metal-shod feet of marching men. He saw them passing some distance away. The repeated thud- thud of metal on stone echoed mad- deningly through his brain for hours. . . . Dreams, all of them. And once there came to him a vision which beyond all doubt was unreal. S ILENCE had surrounded him. For what seemed hours no one of the red mole-men had come near. And then, in the silence, he heard whisperings and the sound of stealthy feet; and, for a moment, the same white figure that had met him in his flight stood where he could see. Only the merest trace of dim light relieved the utter darkness of the room. The girl’s figure was ghostly, unreal. Yet he saw the dull sparkle of jeweled breast-plates against her creamy white skin. Loose folds of cloth were gathered about her waist; her golden hair was drawn back except for vagrant curls that only accentuated the per- fect oval of her face. There were others with her, dim shapes of men; how many Rawson could not tell. They looked down at him, whispering softly, excited- ly, amongst themselves; but their words were like nothing he had ever heard. For an instant Dean felt his stupefied mind coming almost to wakefulness. Phantom figures, ghostly and unreal — but the faces were human, and the eyes looked down upon him pityingly. He tried to rouse himself, tried to call out, then settled limply back, for the girl was speaking — or he was catch- ing her thoughts. It seemed almost that he heard her whispered words: “They take him to Gevarro, to the Lake of Fire which never dies! Gor told me — he overheard their plans. But, by the Mountain I swear. . . .” Then footsteps echoed in a far-off passage, and the white ones vanished like drifting smoke. Dreams, all of them. Yet the time came when Dean knew that he was awake — knew too that further ex- periences awaited him in this de- moniac land. A GAIN red guards came. The wicked breath of their weap- ons filled the great room where Rawson had been with green, flick- ering light. Dean, dragged to his feet, was unable to stand. One of the giant yellow workers came for- ward at a whistled order and held him erect. Another brought a bowl carved from rock crystal and filled with a liquid golden-green with re- flected light. He put it to Rawson’s lips and with the first touch Dean knew that he must have been filled with a burning thirst beyond any- thing he had ever known. He gulped greedily at the liquid, drained the bowl to the last drop, then marveled at the thrilling fire of strength that flowed through him. “Wine,” he thought, “wine of the gods — or devils.” He came to him- self with a start. He knew that he was naked and that his body was encased in a coating of stiff gray plaster. It was this that prevented his arms and legs from flexing. Another order and the giant worker picked him up in his arms and carried him where the others led to a distant room. A stream trickled through a cut in the rocky floor. At the center of the room was a pool. Unable to resist, Dean felt the giant arms toss him out and down. The water was warm. At its first touch the hard plaster melted like snow. Sputtering and choking for breath, Rawson came to the surface. He found he could move freely, 52 ASTOUNDING STORIES then reaching hands hauled him out upon the floor, and through all his dread he found time to marvel at his own firm muscles and the healthy white of his skin that had been seared and blistered. He obeyed when the red guards pointed and motioned him into a dark passageway. He tried to keep up with them as they hurried him on. Evidently his pace was too slow, for again the big worker picked him up, swung him into the air and seated him firmly on one broad shoulder, and, with red guards ahead and behind them, hur- ried on. To find himself a child in the hands of this big yellow man was disconcerting. To be calmly lugged off was almost humiliating. No one who was not a good iport could have grinned as Rawson did at his own predicament. “Not exactly a triumphal proces- sion/' he told himself, then his lips set grimly. “They’ve got my gun,” he thought, “and now, whatever comes, all I can do is stand and take it. Still, they’ve saved my life. But what for?” A LWAYS the way led down- ward, and Rawson, perched on his strange, half-human steed, let his gaze follow up every branch- ing tunnel and widespread cave. Not all of these were as dark as the broad thoroughfare they fol- lowed. In some, strange lights glowed, and Rawson saw weird, towering plant growths that yellow workers were harvesting. Life, life, everywhere, and seem- ingly this underground world was endless. Troops of red warriors passed them, upward bound. The dancing flames of their weapons, where oc- casional ones were in action, glowed from afar. They bobbed and waved like green fireflies as the Mole-men came on at a half-run. “And this means trouble up top,” he thought. “There’s going to be hell to pay up there.” But workers, fighters, everyone they met stood aside to let the red guard pass. Again Rawson heard the strange word or call that had come to him in the temple of fire. One of the guides would give a whistling call that ended in the same strange shrill cry of “Phee- e-al,” and instantly the way was cleared. A wild journey, incredible, un- real. Rawson, as he met the count- less staring white eyes of the crea- tures they passed, found his thoughts wandering. He had had wild dreams. Surely this was only another in that succession of phan- tom pictures. Then, seeing the cold, implacable hatred in those staring eyes, he would be brought back with sickening abruptness to a full knowledge of his own hopeless situation. “Gevarro, the lake of fire which never dies” — what was it the white ones had said? But no, that cer- tainly was a dream like that other in which he had seemed to see the charred body of a man, the sheriff who had called to see him at his camp in Tonah Basin. Dreams — reality — his brain was confused with the wild kaleido- scope of unbelievable pictures. H E was suddenly aware that through it all he had been mentally tabulating their route, re- membering the outstanding fea- tures when there was light enough to see. He knew that unconsciously his mind had been thinking of es- cape. Wilder than all the other visions, he had been picturing him- self retracing his route, alone, free. He did not know that he had laughed aloud, harshly, hopelessly, until he saw the curious eyes of his red guard upon him. “Yes,” he told himself in silent TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 53 bitterness, “I could find my way back, if. . . The guard had swung off from the great tunnel which must have been one of the main thoroughfares of the Mole-men’s world. They crowded through a narrower pas- sage and again Rawson found him- self in one of the great, high-ceil- inged caves like the others he had seen. But unlike the others this was brightly lighted. Massive limestone formation. His eyes squinted against the glare and caught the character of the rock before he was able to distinguish details, and in the black limestone big disks of gray mineral had been set. Jets of flame played upon them and turned them to blazing, bril- liant white. The big yellow Mole-man who had carried him dropped him rough- ly to the floor and backed away. About him the red guard was grouped. Rawson caught a glimpse of hundreds of other thronging fig- ures. The crowd about him sepa- rated. A space was cleared between him and the farther end of the room, a lane lined on either side by solid masses of savage Reds. And beyond them, more barbaric than any figure in the foreground, was another group. A CROSS the full width of the room a lew wall was raised three or four feet from the floor. It was capped with rude carvings. The whole mass gleamed dully golden in the bright light. Beyond the wall in semicircular formation, resembling a grouping of bronze statues, were men like the one with whom Rawson had fought. Priests, tenders of the fires. He knew in an instant that here were more of the red one’s holy men. They stood erect, unmoving. At their center was another seated man-shape that might have been cast from solid gold. His naked body was yellow and glittering, contrasting strongly with the black metal straps like those the warriors wore. On his head a round, sharply-pointed cap was ablaze with precious stones. Rawson took it all in in one quick glance. He knew that these copper bodies were not encased in metal, for the flesh of the one he had fought with had sunk under his blows. Their skin was coated with a preparation, heat resistant without a doubt, and the golden one must have been treated in somewhat the same way. His thoughts flashed quickly over this. It was the face of that seated figure that riveted his attention, a white face, milk-white, so white it seemed almost chalky! F OR one breathless second Raw- son was filled with a wordless hope. Those white ones of his dream had looked upon him with kindly eyes. They were human — men of another race, but men. Then beneath the chalky whiteness of the face he found the hideous fea- tures of the red Mole-men, and knew that the white color of the face was as false as that of the golden body. But he was their leader. He was someone of importance. Rawson had started forward impetuously when he saw the figure rise. At the first motion the hands of every red one in the room were flung in air. They stood stiffly at salute. Even the priests’ coppery arms flashed up- ward. And “Phee-e-al!” a thousand shrill voices were shouting. “Phee- e-al ! Phee-e-al!’’ Rawson stopped, then walked slowly forward, one defenseless, naked man of the upper world, between two living walls formed by men of a hidden race. “Phee-e-al,” he was thinking. “He’s the one I saw coming into their temple back there. They got 54 ASTOUNDING STORIES out of our way when they knew we were coming to see him. He’s the big boss here, all right.” He did not pause in his steady, forward progress until his hands were resting upon the golden bar- rier. Strange thoughts were racing through his mind. Phee-e-al, he was facing Phee-e-al, king of a king- dom ten miles or more beneath the surface of the earth, a place of devils more real and terrible than any that mythology had dared de- pict. And he, Dean Rawson, a man, just one of the millions like him up there in a sane, civilized world, was down here, standing at a barrier of gold before a tribunal that knew nothing of. justice or mercy. T HOUGHTS of communicating with them had mingled with other half-formed plans in his rac- ing mind. Sign language — he had talked with the Indians; he might be able to get some ideas across. He met the other’s fierce scrutiny fearlessly, then, waiting for him to make the first advance, let his gaze dart about at closer range. He could not restrain a start of surprise at sight of his own clothing, his pocket radio receiver and his pistol spread out on a metal stand. They had been curious about them. Rawson took that as a good sign. Perhaps he had been mis- taken in his interpretation of what he had seen. For himself, he could have no real hope, but it might be that the outpouring of these demons into his own world was a threat that lay only in his own imagina- tion. His eyes came back to meet that gaze which had never left him. The eyes were mere dots of jet in a white and repulsive face. The rounded mouth opened to emit a shrill whistled order. In the utter silence of the great room one of the . copper-skinned priests moved swiftly toward the rear. There were chests there, mas- sive metal things afire with the brilliance of inlaid jewels. The priest flung one of them open with a resounding clang. The room had been warm, and the chill which abruptly froze Raw- son’s muscles to hard rigidity came from within himself. Dreams! He had thought them dreams, those marching thousands, and the others •who returned. He had dared to hope he might avert an invasion by this inhuman horde. And now he knew his worst imaginings were far short of the truth. He saw clearly his own fate. For the priest returning was hold- ing an object aloft, a horrible thing, a naked body, scorched and charred. And above it a head lopped awkwardly. The hair was sandy; half of it had been burned to the scalp in a withering flame. Below, staring from sightless eyes, was the face of the man who had once been sheriff of Cocos County. CHAPTER XIII “N-73 Clear!” Y OU fly, of course?” demanded Governor Drake. Smithy nodded. “Unlimited li- cense — all levels.” They had spent the night in the executive mansion, and now the Governor had burst precipitately into the room where Smithy and his father had just finished dressing. The two had been deep in an earn- est conversation which the Gover- nor’s entrance had interrupted. “I am drafting you for service,” said the Governor. “I want you to go out to Field Number Three. A fast scout plane — National Guard equipment — will be ready for you — ” He broke off and stared doubt- fully at a paper in his hand, a radiophone mesage, Smithy judged. “I’m in a devil of a fix,” the Gover- TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 55 nor exclaimed, after a pause. Then : “I don’t doubt your sincerity,” he told Smithy. “Never saw you till yesterday, but your father’s ‘O.K.’ goes a hundred per cent with me. Old ‘J. G.’ and I have been through a lot of scraps together.” His frowning eyes relaxed for a moment to exchange twinkling glances with the older man. “No, it isn’t that,” he added, “but. . . .” Again he stared at the flimsy piece of paper. “What’s on your mind, Bill?” asked Smith senior. “That stuff the boy told us was pretty wild” — he laid one hand affectionately upon Smithy’s shoulder — “but he’s a poor liar, Gordon is, and, knowing his weakness, he usually sticks to the truth. And there’s no record of in- sanity in the family, you know. If there’s something sticking in your crop, Bill, cough it up.” And the Honorable William B. Drake obeyed. “Listen to this,” he commanded, and read from the paper in his hand: “ ‘Replying to your inquiry about the doings at Seven Palms. Some Indians did that job. No help neded. I can handle this. Posse organized and we are leaving right now. — Signed, Jack Downer, Sheriff, Cocos County.’ ” “That sounds authentic,” said Smithy drily. “I’ve met the sheriff.” “Now, if it was Indians that got tanked up and came down off the reservation, burned Seven Palms and cleaned up your camp — ” be- gan Governor Drake. “It wasn’t!” Smithy interrupted hotly. “I told you — ” Pie felt his father’s hand gripping firmly at his shoulder. “Steady,” said Smith, senior. “Let him talk, son.” “There’s an election three months from now, J. G.,” said the Gover- nor, “and you know they’re riding me hard. Let me make one false move — just one — anything that the opposition can use for a campaign of ridicule, and my goose is cooked to a turn.” ORDON SMITH shook off his father’s restraining hand and took one quick forward step. His face, even through the tan of the desert sun, was unnaturally pale. “Election be damned!” he ex- ploded. “Dean Rawson has been captured by those red devils — he’s down there, the whitest white man I ever met! I’ve been to the sheriff; now I’ve come to you! Do you mean to tell me there isn’t any power in this state to back me up when — ” He stopped. There was a tremble in his voice he could not control. “Good boy,” said Governor Drake softly. “Now I know it’s the truth. Yes, you’ll be backed up, plenty, but for the present it will be strictly unofficial. Now pull in your horns and listen. “You know the lay of the land. I want your help. Go out to Field Three; there’ll be a man there wait- ing for you. Don’t call him ‘Colonel’ — he’s also strictly unofficial to- day. The sheriff and his posse will be there at Seven Palms inside an hour; I want you to be there, too, about five thousand feet up. “Tell Colonel Culver — I mean Mr. Culver — your story; tell him every- thing you know. He’ll be in charge of onerations if we have to send in troops; he’ll give you that private and unofficial backing I spoke of if we don’t. “Now get down there; keep your eye on the sheriff’s crowd and see everything that happens!” But Smithy’s parting remark was to his father; it was a continuation of the subject they had been dis- cussing before. 56 ASTOUNDING STORIES “You can buy at your own price,” he said. “They've got rights to the whole basin. But they’ve quit; I’m not treating them to a double- cross.” And he added as he went out of the room: “Buy it for me if you don’t want it yourself.” I T was a two-place, open-cockpit plane that Smithy found had been set aside for him.. Dual con- trol — the stick in the forward cock- pit carried the firing grip that controlled the slim blue machine guns firing through the propeller. Behind the rear cockpit a strange, unwieldy, double-ended weapon was recessed and streamlined into the fuselage. The scout seemed quite able to protect itself in an emer- gency. Beside the plane a tall, slender man in civilian attire was waiting. He stuck out his hand, while the gray eyes in his lean, tanned face scanned Smithy swiftly. “I’m Culver. Understand I’m to be your passenger to-day. How about it — can you fly the ship? Seven hundred and fifty DeGrosse motor — retractable landing gear, of course. She hits four-fifty at top speed — snappy — quick on the trig- ger.” Smithy shook his head dubiously. “Four-fifty — I’m not accustomed to that. But you can take the stick, Mr. Culver, if I get in a hurry and jump out and run on ahead. You see I’m used to my own ship, an Assegai — special job — does five hundred when I’m pressed for time.” The lean face of Mr. Culver creased into a smile. “You qualify,” he said. “But keep your hands off the dead mule.” At an inquiring glance he pointed to the heavy, half-hidden weapon that Smithy had noticed. “Can’t kick,” he explained, “ — hence ‘dead mule.’ It's the new Rickert recoilless; throws little shells the size of your thumb — but they raise hell when they hit.” “Sounds interesting.” Smithy climbed into the rear cockpit and strapped himself in. “Show me how it works, then I won’t do it.” A PISTOL grip moved under Culver’s reaching hand and the strange weapon sprang from concealment like something alive. The pistol grip moved sideways, and the gun swung out and down, its muzzle almost touching the ground. Smithy was suddenly aware that a crystal above his instrument board was reflecting that same bit of sun-baked earth. A dot of black hung stationary at the crystal’s center. “That’s your target.” Culver’s voice held all the pride of a child with a new toy, but he released the grip, and the ungainly gun swung smoothly back to its hiding place. He settled himself in the forward cockpit. “You will find a helmet there,” he said. “It’s phone-equipped; you can tell me all about that wild nightmare of yours while we jog along.” The white beam from the de- spatched tower had been on them while they talked. Other planes were waiting on the field. Smithy smiled as he settled the helmet over his head. “For a strictly un- official flight,” he thought, “we’re getting darned good service.” He taxied past a hangar where uniformed men pointedly paid them no attention. He swung the ship to the line as Airboard regulations re- quired. “N-73” was painted on the mono- plane’s low wings that seemed scraping the ground. “N-73 Clear!” the despatcher’s voice radioed into Smithy’s ears. Then the seven- hundred-and-fifty-horsepower De- Grosse let loose its voice as Smithy gunned her down the field. TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW *7 HATEVER doubts Colonel Culver may have had of Smithy’s ability were dissipated as they made their way cautiously through the free-flying area under five thousand. Everywhere were mail planes, express and passenger ships taking off for the transcon- tinental day run, and private planes scattering to the smaller landing areas among the flashing lights of the flat-topped business blocks. Among them Smithy threaded his way toward the green-lighted trans- fer zone, where he spiraled upward. At ten thousand he was on his course. He set the gyro-control which would fly the ship more surely than any human hands, and the air-speed indicator crept up to the four hundred and fifty miles an hour that Culver had promised. Not till then did he give the man in the forward cockpit the details of his “nightmare.” He had not finished answering the other’s incredulous questions when he throttled down to slow cruising speed and nosed the ship toward a distant expanse of sage- blurred sand. Outside the restricted metropol- itan area he had already dropped out of the chill wind that struck them at ten thousand. Behind them and off to the right was the gray rampart of the Sierra. Ahead a rough circle of darker hills en- closed the great bowl he had learned to know as Tonah Basin. S OME feeling of unreality in his own experiences must have crept into his mind; unconsciously he had been questioning his own san- ity. Now, at sight of the sandy waste where he and Rawson had labored, with the dark slopes of desolate craters looming ahead and a blot of burned wreckage directly below to mark the site of their camp, the horrible reality of it gripped him again. He could not speak at first. The air of the five-thousand level was not uncomfortably warm, but Smithy was feeling again the bak- ing heat of that desert land; again he was with Rawson in the vol- canic crater; Dean was calling to him, warning him. . . . A sharp question from Culver was repeated twice before Smithy could reply. He side-slipped in above the cra- ter’s ragged rim, heedless of down- drafts — the power of the DeGrosse motor would pull them out of any- thing in a ten-thousand-foot ver- tical climb if need arose. Smithy was pointing toward a confusion of shining black rock. “Over there,” he told Culver. Then he was shouting into the telephone transmitter. “It’s open,” he said. “That’s where Dean went down — and there they are! Look, man, there — there!” CHAPTER XIV Emergency Order T HE throat of the old volcano was a pit of blackness in the midst of gray ash and the red- yellow of cinders. Beside it were other flecks of color: red, moving bodies; metal, that twinkled bright- ly under the desert sun — and in an instant they were gone. Nor did Smithy, throwing the thundering plane close over that place, know how near he had passed to sudden, invisible death. Rugged pinnacles of rock were ahead. The plane un- der Smithy’s hands vaulted over them and roared on above the desert. “Did you see them?” Smithy was shouting. The man in the forward cockpit turned to face his pilot. “I am apologizing, Smith, for all the things I have" been thinking and haven’t said. We’ve got a job on our hands. Now let’s find that fool 58 ASTOUNDING STORIES sheriff who thinks he’s hunting for drunken Indians. We must warn him.” Smithy wondered at the wisps of blue smoke still rising from the ruins of Seven Palms as he drove in above it. It seemed years since he had left the Basin, yet the wreckage of this litle town, only five miles outside, still smoldered. Colonel Culver was shouting to him. “East,” he said. “Swing east. There’s fighting over there.” Then, in his usual cool tone: “I’ll take the ship, Smith. Give them a burst or two from up here — perhaps the sheriff can use a little help.” Across the yellow sand ran a desert road. Ten miles away black smoke clouds were lifting. Smithy knew there had been a little settle- ment there. A dozen houses, per- haps, and a gasoline station. At half that distance the clear sun- light showed moving objects on the sand: automobiles, smaller dots that were running them. They came sud- denly to sharp visibility as the plane drew near. Tiny bursts of white meant rifle fire. They were a thousand feet up and close when Smithy saw the first car vanish in flame. Others followed swiftly. Men were falling. A dozen of them had made up the sheriff’s posse, and now, like the cars, they, too, burst into flame and either vanished utterly or, like living torches, were cast down upon the sand. Still no sign of the enemy, more than the ripping stab of green fire from a sand dune at one side. They were over and past before Smithy, looking back, saw the red ones leap out into view. C ULVER must have seen them in the same instant. He throt- tled down to a safe banking speed. Opened full, the DeGrosse would have whipped them around in a turn that would have meant instant death. From five miles distant they shot in on a long slant. Smithy’s hands were off the stick. It was Culver’s ship now. He saw the man peering through his sights, then the roar of the motor held other, sharper sounds. Thin flames were stabbing through the propeller disk, and he knew that the bow guns were sending messengers on ahead where red figures waited on the sand. Their trajectory flattened, Cul- ver half rolled the ship as they sped overhead. “He wants a look at them,” Smithy was thinking. Then a blast of heat struck him full in the face. It was Smithy’s hand on the stick that righted the ship; only the instant response of the big De- Grosse motor tore them up and away from the sands that were reaching for those wings. His face was seared, but the pain of it was forgotten in the knowl- edge that their drunken, twisting flight had whipped out the fire lick- ing back from the forward cockpit. He saw Culver’s head, fallen awk- wardly to one side. The helmet in one part was charred to a crisp. He leveled off. He was thinking: “Another man gone! Can’t I ever fight back? If I only had a gun!” Then he knew he was looking at the pistol grip, where Colonel Culver’s brown hand had brought an awkward weapon to life. His lips twisted to a whimsical smile, though his eyes still held the same cold fury, as he whispered: “And I don’t even know that the damn thing's loaded — but I’m going to find out!” T HEY were clustered on the sands below him as he roared overhead. He was flying at two thousand, the throttle open full. Beside the ship a gun swung its long barrel downward. It sputtered almost soundlessly — but where it TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 59 passed, the sand rose up in spout- ing fountains. But his wild speed made the gun- fire almost useless. The shell-bursts were spaced too far apart; they straddled the blot of figures. He came back at five thousand feet, slowly — until the ship lurched, and he saw the right wing tip vanish in a shower of molten metal. He threw the ship over and away from the invisible beam; the plane writhed and twisted across the last half mile of sky. He was over them when he pulled into a tight spiral, then he swung the pistol grip that controlled the gun until the dot in the crystal was merged with the target of clustering red forms. The gun sputtered. Below the plane, the quiet desert heaved its smooth surface convul- sively into the air. Even above the roar of the motor Smithy heard the terrific thunder of that one long explosion. Above the rim of the forward cockpit Culver’s head rolled uneasily ; his voice, thick and uncertain, came back through the phone; and later -—only a matter of minutes later, though fifty miles away — Smithy set the plane down on a level ex- panse of sand and tore frantically at his belt. Colonel Culver was weakly raising his head. W HAT hit us?” he demanded when Smithy got to him. “Did I crash?” He looked about him with dazed eyes from which he never would have seen again, but for the protection of his goggles. “Fire,” said Smithy tersely. “They did it, the devils, and it wasn’t a flame-thrower, either. There wasn’t a flash of their cursed green light. It just flicked us for a second. You got the worst of it. Your half roll saved us. That thing, whatever it was, would have ripped our left wing off in a second.” He was looking at the forward cockpit where the metal fuselage was melted. The leather cushioning around the edge was black and charred. Culver’s helmet had pro- tected him, but half of his face was seared as if it had been struck by a white flame. “But we got some of them: they know we can hit back. . . .” Smithy began, but knew he was speaking to deaf ears. Again his passenger had lapsed into unconsciousness. Quickly he disconnected their own radio receiver and threw on the emergency radio siren. Ahead of them for a hundred miles an in- visible beam was carrying the dis- cordant blast. Then, with throttle open full, regardless of levels and of air traffic that tore frenziedly from his path, he drove straight for the home field. I N the office of the Governor, the radio newscaster was announc- ing last-minute items of interest. The Governor switched off the in- strument as Smithy entered, sup- porting the tall figure of Colonel Culver, whose face and head were swathed in bandages. Culver had insisted upon accompanying him for the rendering of their report, though Smithy had to do the talk- ing for both of them. He outlined their experience in brief sentences. “And now,” he was saying grimly, “you can go as far as you please, Governor. You’ve got a man’s sized fight on your hands. We don’t know how many there are of them. We don’t know how fast they’ll spread out, but — ” A shrill wail interrupted him. From the newscasting instrument came a flash of red that filled the room. The crystal, the emergency call, installed on all radios within the past year and never yet used, was clamoring for the country’s attention. Governor Drake sprang to switch it on, and tried to explain to Smithy 60 ASTOUNDING STORIES as he did so. “It's out of my hands now," he said. “Washington has — ” Then the radio came on with a voice which shouted: “Emergency order. All aircraft take notice. Mole-men" — Smithy started at the sound of the word; it was the name he had given them himself — “Mole-men are invading Western states. A new race. They have come from within the earth. In Arizona, three ships of the Transcontinental Day Line, South- ern Division, have been destroyed with the loss of all passengers and crew. Shattered in air. “It is war, war with an unknown race. Goldfield, Nevada, is in ruins. Heavy loss of life. Federal Govern- ment taking control. Air-Control Board orders traffic to avoid fallow- ing areas. . . There followed a list of loca- tions, while still the red crystal blazed its warning across the land and to all aircraft in the skies. Southern California, Arizona, Nevada — Southern Transcontinental Routes closed; all except military aircraft grounded in restricted areas. S MITHY’S excitement had left him. In his mind he was look- ing far off, deep under the surface of the world. “They've been there," he said quietly, “thousands of years. A new race — and they’ve just now learned of this other world outside. Three ships downed! They picked them off in the air just as they tried to do with us. I knew we had a fight on our hands.” His voice died to silence in the room where now the new announcer was giving a list of the dead — a room where men were speechless before an emergency no man could have foreseen. But Smithy’s eyes, gazing far off, saw nothing of that room. Again he was seated on an outthrust point of rock, Dean Raw- son beside him, and from the black depths beneath a man’s voice was rising clearly, mockingly it seemed, in song; “You’re pokin’ through the crust of hell And braggin’ too damn loud of it, For, when you get to hell, you’ll find The devil there to pay!” “The devil is there to pay,” Smithy repealed softly. He leaned across and placed one hand on Colonel Culver’s knee. “With your assistance, Colonel, I’d like to go down there and find him. You and I, we know the way — we’ll organize an expedition. Maybe we can settle that debt.” CHAPTER XV The Lake of Fire B EFORE a barrier of gold, waist-high, Dean Rawson stood tense and rigid. Behind him the great cave-room swarmed with war- riors, leaders, doubtless, of the unholy hordes. But beyond the barrier were the real leaders of the Mole-men tribes — Phee-e-al, ruler in chief, and his clustering guard of high priests. In the flooding light from the wall, their eyes were circles of dead-white skin. A black speck glinted wickedly in the center of each. Phee-e-al was speaking. His arti- ficially whitened face grimaced hideously; the shrill whistling voice made no comprehensible sound. But in borne manner Rawson gathered a dim realization of what his gestures meant. Phee-e-al pointed at the captive; and one lean hand, with talons more suggestive of a bird of prey than of a human hand, pointed downward. “Gevarro,” he said. The word was repeated many times in the course of his whistling talk. “Gevarro" — what did it mean? Then Rawson remembered. It was TWO THOUSAND MILES BELOW 61 the word he had heard in his dreams, the name of the lake of fire. The voices of the priests rose in a shrill chorus of protests, and even Phee-e-al stood silent. They crowded about their ruler, and Raw- son knew they were demanding him for themselves. Then the one who still held a human body in his arms sprang forward and his long talons worked unspeakable mutila- tion upon the body and face. Rawson averted his eyes from the ghastly spectacle. For, swiftly, he was seeing something more horrify- ing than this desecration of a dead body; he was seeing himself, still living, tortured and torn by those same beastly hands. The dead face of Sheriff Downer was staring at him from red, eyeless sockets as with one leap Rawson threw him- self over the golden wall. Ten leaping strides away was his gun. In that instant of realization, he knew why his life had been spared. In the room of fire he had de- stroyed their priest. They had saved him for further torture. T O get his hands on the gun, to die fighting — the thought was an unspoken prayer in his mind. Behind him the room echoed with demoniac shrieks. Before him was the metal stand. His outstretched hands fell just short of the blue .45 as he crashed to the floor. The copper ones were upon him. Half stunned by the fall, he hardly knew when they dragged him to his feet. He was facing the golden figure of Phee-e-al, but now the ruler’s indecision had vanished. He was exercising his full author- ity and even Rawson’s throbbing brain comprehended the doom that was being pronounced. “Gevarro!” he was shrieking. “Gevarro!” Beside him a priest swept the metal table clear. Rawson’s cloth- ing, the gun, the radio receiver, all were snatched up and hurled into one of the massive chests. Phee-e-al was still shouting shrill commands. An instant later Rawson was lifted in air, rushed to the barrier and thrown bodily from the sacred premises he had invaded. Then the hands of the red guard closed about him before he could struggle to his feet. A shining object swung down above his head. It was the last he knew. H IS dreams were of falling. Always when he half roused to consciousness he was aware of that smooth, even descent, and he knew it had continued for hours. Once he saw black walls slipping smoothly past, upward, always upward. Gropingly he tried to mar- shal his facts into some understand- able sequence. He was falling, fall- ing toward the center of the earth, and this that he saw was not rock, or any metal such as he knew. “It’s all different,” he told him- self dully, “new kind of matter. Rock would flow; this stands the pressure.” But he knew the air pressure had built up tremendously. The blood was pounding in his ears. He wanted to sleep. It was the heat that awakened him. The air was stifling him, suffo- cating. He was struggling to move his heavy body, fighting against this nightmare of heat when he opened his eyes and knew that he was in a place of light. First to be seen were walls, no longer black, no longer even with the character- istics of rock, or even metal. Here, as Rawson had sensed, was new material to form the core of a world. It would have been red in an ordinary light. It was trans- formed to orange, strangely terri- fying in the blazing flood of yel- low brilliance that came from the tunnel’s end. Rawson’s brain was not working clearly. An unendurable weight 62 ASTOUNDING STORIES seemed pressing upon him — the air pressure, he thought, to which he had not yet become accustomed. And the air, itself, hot — hot! A breeze blew steadily past to- ward that place of yellow horror at the tunnel’s end. Yellow, that re- flected light; but its source was a searing, dazzling white in the one brief instant when Rawson dared turn his eyes. Hands held him erect, red, grip- ping hands. One, whose body seemed molten copper in that fierce glare, approached. His hand described a circle over Rawson’s bare chest. Straight lines radiated out from the circle, lines of stabbing pain for the helpless man. He had seen the same emblem in the temple of fire, again in the big room where Phee-e-al had stood. T HE living sacrifice was pre- pared. Burned into his bare flesh was the emblem of their leg- endary sun-god. The priests, their bodies coated with a flashing cop- pery film that must somehow be heat-resistant, had him in their grasp. ‘ The red warriors had fallen back. Then Phee-e-al appeared; he joined the march of death of which Dean Rawson formed the head. Voices were chanting — somewhere a trum- pet blared. Then Rawson, moving like one in a dream, knew the priests were guiding him toward that waiting, incredible heat. The tunnel’s end was near. About him was an inferno where heat and hot colors blended. The whole world seemed aflame, but beyond the tunnel’s end was a seething pit upon which no human eyes could look and live. One glimpse only of the unbear- able whiteness beneath which was the lake of fire, then the chains of his stupor broke and Dean Rawson struggled frenziedly in the grip of two copper giants. They had been chanting a shrill monotonous refrain. They ceased now as they fought to throw the man out past that last ten paces where even they dared not go. Rawson was beyond conscious thought. Eyes closed against the unendurable heat, he fought blindly, desperately, then knew his last strength was going from him. Still struggling he opened his eyes; some thought of meeting death face to face compelled him. A HIDEOUS coppery face glared close into his own. Miracu- lously it vanished, disappeared in a cloud of white. Then the blazing walls were gone — there was nothing in all the world but rushing clouds of whiteness, shrieking winds, the roar of an explosion — and cold, so biting that it burned like heat. Vaguely he wondered at the hands that still clutched at him. Dimly he sensed other bodies close to his, other hands that tore him free where he lay, still struggling with the priests, upon the floor. A nar- row opening was in the wall, a blur of darkness in the billowing white clouds. They were dragging him into it, those others who held him, and they were white — white as the vapor that whirled about him. Ahead, the girl of his former dreams was guiding him, her hand cool and soft in his. Others helped him; he ran stumblingly where they led down a steep and narrow way. The Whites Ones! In a vision they had reached out to him before. Was this, too, a dream? Was it only the delirium of death? That burst of cold — had it truly been liquid fires wrapping him around? Dean Rawson could not be sure. He knew only that his fate lay wholly in the hands of these White Ones — and that hideous eyes in the coppery face of a priest had glared at them as they fled. (To be continued.) He somehow managed to close the tiny switch. Raiders of the Universes By Donald Wandrei I T was in the thirty-fourth century that the dark star began its famous conquest, unparalleled in stellar annals. Phobar the astronomer discovered it. He was sweep- ing the heavens with one of the newly - invented mu It i pow e r e d Sussendorf com- et-hunters when something caught his eye — a new star of great bril- liance in the foreground of the constellation Hercules. For the rest of the night, he cast aside all his plans and concentrated on the one star. He witnessed an unpreceden ted event. Mercia’s Childlike, the great astronomer Phobar stands before the metallic invaders of the ravished solar system. 63 64 ASTOUNDING STORIES nullifier had just been invented, a cu- rious and intricate device, based on four-dimensional geometry, that made it possible t' see occurrences in the universe which had hitherto required the hundreds of years needed for light to cross the inter- vening space before they were vis- ible on Earth. By a hasty calcula- tion with the aid of this invention, Phobar found that the new star was about three thousand light years distant, and that it was hurtling backward into space at the rate of twelve hundred miles per second. The remarkable feature of his dis- covery was this appearance of a fourth-magnitude star where none had been known to exist. Perhaps it had come into existence this very night. On the succeeding night, he was given a greater surprise. In line with the first star, but several hundred light-years nearer, was a second new star of even more brightness. And it, too, was hurt- ling backward into space at ap- proximately twelve hundred miles per second. Phobar was astonished. Two new stars discovered within twenty-four hours in the same part of the heavens, both of the fourth magnitude! But his surprise was as nothing when on the succeeding night, even while he watched, a third new star appeared in line with these, but much closer. At midnight he first noticed a pin-point of faint light; by one o’clock the star was of eighth mag- nitude. At two it was a brilliant sun of the second magnitude blaz- ing away from Earth like the others at a rate of twelve hundred miles per second. And on the next eve- ning, and the next, and the next, other new stars appeared until there were seven in all, every one on a line in the same constellation Hercules, every one with the same radiance and the same proper mo- tion, though of varying size! P HOBAR had broadcast his dis- covery to incredulous astrono- mers; but as star after star ap- peared nightly, ail the telescopes on Earth were turned toward one of the most spectacular cataclysms that history recorded. Far out in the depths of space, with unheard- of regularity and unheard-of pre- cision, new worlds were flaming up overnight in a line that began at Hercules and extended toward the solar system. Phobar’s announcement was im- mediately flashed to Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, the other mem- bers of the Five World Federation. Saturn reported no evidence of the phenomena, because of the inter- fering rings and the lack of Mer- cia’s nullifier. But Jupiter, with a similar device, witnessed the phe- nomena and announced furthermore that many stars in the neighbor- hood of the novas had begun to deviate in singular and abrupt fashion from their normal positions. There was not as yet much popu- lar interest in the phenomena. Without Mercia’s nullifier, the stars were not visible to ordinary eyes, since the light-rays would take years to reach the Earth. But every astronomer who had access to Mer- cia’s nullifier hastened to focus his telescope on the region where ex- traordinary events were taking place out in the unfathomable gulf of night. Some terrific force was at work, creating worlds and disturb- ing the positions of stars within a radius already known to extend billions and trillions of miles from the path of the seven new stars. But of the nature of that force, astronomers could only guess. P HOBAR took up his duties early on the eighth night. The last star had appeared about five hundred light-years distant. If an eighth new star was found, it should be not more than a few RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES •I light-years away. But nothing hap- pened. All night Phobar kept his telescope pointed at the probable spot, but search as he might, the heavens showed nothing new. In the morning he sought eagerly for news of any discovery made by fellow-watchers, but they, too, had found nothing unusual. Could it be that the mystery would now fade away, a new riddle of the skies? The next evening, he took up his position once more, training his telescope on the seven bright stars, and then on the region where an eighth, if there were one, should appear. For hours he searched the abyss in vain. He could find none. Apparently the phenomena were ended. At midnight he took a last glance before entering on some tedious calculations. It was there! In the center of the telescope a faint, hazy object steadily grew in brightness. All his problems were forgotten as Phobar watched the eighth star increase hourly. Closer than any other, closer even than Alpha Centauri, the new sun ap- peared, scarcely three light-years away across the void surrounding the solar system. And all the while he watched, he witnessed a thing no man had ever before seen — the birth of a world! B Y one o’clock, the new star was of fifth magnitude; by two it was of the first. As the faint flush of dawn began to come to- ward the close of that frosty, moonless November night, the new star was a great white-hot object more brilliant than any other star in the heavens. Phobar knew that when its light finally reached Earth so that ordinary eyes could see, it would be the most beautiful object in the night sky. What was the reason for these unparalleled births of worlds and the terrifying mathe- matical precision that characterized them? 65 Whatever the cosmic force be- hind, it was progressing toward the solar system. Perhaps it would even disturb the balance of the planets. The possible chance of such an event had already called the atten- tion of some astronomers, but the whole phenomenon was too inex- plicable to permit more than spec- ulation. The next evening was cloudy. Jupiter reported nothing new ex- cept that Neptune had deviated from its course and tended to pursue an erratic and puzzling new orbit. Phobar pondered long over this last news item and turned his at- tention to the outermost planet on the succeeding night. To his sur- prise, he had great difficulty in lo- cating it. The ephemeris was of absolutely no use. When he did locate Neptune after a brief search, he discovered it more than eighty million miles from its scheduled place! This was at one-forty. At two-ten he was thunderstruck by a special announcement sent from the Central Bureau to every observatory and astronomer of note throughout the world, proclaiming the dis- covery of an ultra-Plutonian planet. Phobar was incredulous. For cen- turies it had been proved that no planet beyond Pluto could possibly exist. W ITH feverish haste, Phobar ran to the huge telescope and rapidly focused it where the new planet should be. Five hundred million miles beyond Neptune was a flaming path like the beam of a giant searchlight that extended ex- actly to the eighth solar planet. Phobar gasped. He could hardly credit the testimony of his eyes. He looked more closely. The great stream of flame still crossed his line of vision. But this time he saw something else: at the precise farther end of the flame path was a round disk — dark! 66 ASTOUNDING STORIES Beyond a doubt, a new planet of vast size now formed an addition to the solar group. But that planet was almost impervious to the illu- minating rays of the sun and was barely discernible. Neptune itself shone brighter than it ever had, and was falling away from the sun at a rate of twelve hundred miles per second. All night Phobar watched the double mystery. By three o’clock, he was convinced, as far as light- ning calculations showed, that the invader was hurtling toward the sun at a speed of more than ten million miles an hour. At three- fifteen, he thought that vanishing Neptune seemed brighter even than the band of fire running to the in- vader. At four, his belief was cer- tainty. With amazement and awe, Phobar sat through the long, cold night, watching a spectacular and terrible catastrophe in the sky. As dawn began to break and the stars grew paler, Phobar turned away from his telescope, his brain awhirl, his heart filled with a great fear. He had witnessed the devasta- tion of a world, the ruin of a mem- ber of his own planetary system by in invader from outer space. As dawn cut short his observations, he knew at last the cause of Nep- tune’s brightness, knew that it was now a white-hot flaming sun that sped with increased rapidity away from the solar system. Somehow, the terrible swathe of fire that flowed from the dark star to Nep- tune had wrenched it out of its orbit and made of it a molten in- ferno. A T dawn came another bulletin from the Central Bureau. Nep- tune had a surface temperature of 3,000° C, was defying all laws of celestial mechanics, and within three days would have left the solar sys- tem for ever. The results of such a disaster were unpredictable. The entire solar system was likely to break up. Already Uranus and Jupiter had deviated from their orbits. Unless something speedily occurred to check the onrush of the dark star, it was prophesied that the laws governing the planetary system would run to a new balance and that in the ensuing chaos the whole group would spread apart and fall toward the gulfs beyond the great surrounding void. What was the nature of the great path of fire? What force did it represent? And was the dark star controlled by intelligence, or was it a blind wanderer from space that had come by accident? The flame- path alone implied that the dark star was guided by an intelligence that possessed the secret of incon- ceivable power. Menace hung in the sky now where all eyes could see in a great arc of fire! The world was on the brink of eternity, and vast forces at whose nature men could only guess were sweeping planets and suns out of its path. The following night was again cold and clear. High in the heavens, where Neptune should have been, hung a disk of enormously greater size. Neptune itself was almost in- visible, hundreds of millions of miles beyond its scheduled position. As nearly as Phobar could estimate, not one hundredth of the sun’s rays were reflected from the surface of the dark star, a proportion far be- low those for the other planets. Phobar had a better view of the flame-path, and it was with grow- ing awe that he watched that strange swathe in the sky during the dead of night. It shot out from the dark star like a colossal beam or huge pillar of fire seeking a food of worlds. With a shiver of cold fear he saw that there were now three of the bands: one toward Neptune, one toward Saturn, and one toward the RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 67 sun. The first was fading, a milky, misty white; the second shone al- most as bright as the first one pre- viously had; and the third, toward the sun, was a dazzling stream of orange radiance, burning with a steady, terrible, unbelievable in- tensity across two and a half bil- lions of miles of space! That gi- gantic flare was the most brilliant sight in the whole night sky, an awful and abysmally prophetic flame that made city streets black with staring people, a radiance whose grandeur and terrific implication of cosmic power brought beauty and the fear of doom into the heavens! T HOSE paths could not be ex- plained by all the physicists and all the astronomers in the Five World Federation. They pos- sessed the properties of light, but they were rigid bands like a tube or a solid pillar from which only the faintest of rays escaped; and they completely shut off the heavens behind them. They had, moreover, singular properties which could not be described, as if a new force were embodied in them. Hour after hour humanity watched the spectacular progress oi the dark star, watched those mysterious and threatening paths of light that flowed from the invader. When dawn came, it brought only a great fear and the oppression of im- pending disaster. In the early morning, Phobar slept. When he awoke, he felt re- freshed and decided to take a short walk in the familiar and peaceful light of day. He never took that walk. He opened the door on a kind of dim and reddish twilight. Not a cloud hung in the sky, but the sun shone feebly with a dull red glow, and the skies were dull and somber, as if the sun were dying as scientists had predicted it eventually would. Phobar stared at the dull heavens in a daze, at the foreboding at- mosphere and the livid sun that burned faintly as through a smoke curtain. Then the truth flashed on him — it was the terrible path of fire from the dark star! By what means he could not guess, by what appalling control of immense and inconceivable forces he could not even imagine, the dark star was sucking light and perhaps more than light from the sun! P HOBAR turned and shut the door. The world had seen its last dawn. If the purpose of the dark star was destruction, none of the planets could offer much oppo- sition, for no weapon of theirs was effective beyond a few thousand miles range at most — and the dark star could span millions. If the in- vader passed on, its havoc would be only a trifle smaller, for it had already destroyed two members of the solar system and was now strik- ing at its most vital part. Without the sun, life would die, but even with the sun the planets must re- arrange themselves because of the destruction of balance. Even he could hardly grasp the vast and abysmal catastrophe that without warning had swept from space. How could the dark star have traversed three thousand light- years of space in a week’s time? It was unthinkable! So stupendous a control of power, so gigantic a manipulation of cosmic forces, so annihilating a possession of the greatest secrets of the universe, was an unheard-of concentration of energy and knowledge of stellar mechanics. But the evidence of his own eyes and the path of the dark star with flaming suns to mark its progress, told him in language which could not be refuted that the dark star possessed all that im- measurable, titanic knowledge. It was the lord of the universe. There was nothing which the dark star 68 ASTOUNDING STORIES could not crush or conquer or change. The thought of that im- mense, supreme power numbed his mind. It opened vistas of a civili- zation, and a progress, and an un- paralleled mastery of all knowledge which was almost beyond concep- tion. A LREADY the news had raced across the world. On Phobar’s television screen flashed scenes of nightmare; the radio spewed a gibberish of terror. In one day panic had swept the Earth; on the remaining members of the Five World Federation the same story was repeated. Rioting mobs drowned out the chant of religious fanatics who hailed Judgment Day. Great fires turned the air murky and flame-shot. Machine guns spat regu- larly in city streets; looting, mur- der, and fear-crazed crimes were universal. Civilization had com- pletely vanished overnight. The tides roared higher than they ever had before; for every thou- sand people drowned on the Amer- ican seaboards, a hundred thousand perished in China and India. Dead volcanoes boomed into the worst eruptions known. Half of Japan sank during the most violent earth- quake in history. Land rocked, the seas boiled, cyclones howled out of the skies. A billion eyes focused on Mecca, the mad beating of tom- toms rolled across all Africa, women and children were trampled to death by the crowds that jammed into churches. “Has man lived in vain?” asked the philosopher. “The world is doomed. There is no escape,” said the scientist. “The day of reckoning has come! The wrath of God is upon us!” shouted the street preachers. In a daze, Phobar switched off the bedlam and, walking like a man asleep, strode out, he did not care where, if only to get away. The ground and the sky were like a dying fire. The sun seemed a half-dead cinder. Only the great swathe of radiance between the sun and the dark star had any bril- liance. Sinister, menacing, now larger even than the sun, the in- vader from beyond hung in the heavens. As Phobar watched it, the air around him prickled strangely. A sixth sense gave warning. He turned to race back into his house. His legs failed. A fantastic orange light bathed him, countless needles of pain shot through his whole body, the world darkened. E ARTH had somehow been blotted out. There was a brief blackness, the nausea of space and of a great fall that compressed eter- nity into a moment. Then a swim- ming confusion, and outlines which gradually came to rest. Phobar was too utterly amazed to cry out or run. He stood inside the most titanic edifice he could have imagined, a single gigantic structure vaster than all New York City. Far overhead swept a black roof fading into the horizon, be- neath his feet was the same metal substance. In the midst of this giant work soared the base of a tower that pierced the roof thou- sands of feet above. Everywhere loomed machines, enormous dynamos, cathode tubes a hundred feet long, masses and mountains of such fantastic appa- ratus as he had never encountered. The air was bluish, electric. From the black substance came a phos- phorescent radiance. The triumph- ant drone of motors and a terrific crackle of electricity were every- where. Off to his right purple-blue flames the size of Sequoia trees flickered around a group of what looked like condensers as huge as Gibraltar. At the base of the central tower half a mile distant Phobar RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 69 could see something that resembled a great switchboard studded with silver controls. Near it was a series of mechanisms at whose purpose he could not even guess. A LL this his astounded eyes took in at one confused glance. The thing that gave him unreason- ing terror was the hundred-foot- high metal monster before him. It defied description. It was unlike any color known on earth, a blind- ing color sinister with power and evil. Its shape was equally ambigu- ous — it rippled like quicksilver, now compact, now spread out in a thousand limbs. But what appalled Phobar was its definite possession of rational life. More, its very thoughts were transmitted to him as clearly as though written in his own English : “Follow me!” Phobar’s mind did not function — but his legs moved regularly. In the grasp of this mental, metal monster he was a mere automaton. Phobar noticed idly that he had to step down from a flat disk a dozen yards across. By some power, some tremendous discovery that he could not understand, he had been trans- ported across millions of miles of space — undoubtedly to the dark star itself! The colossal thing, indescribable, a blinding, nameless color, rippled down the hall and stooped before a disk of silvery black. In the center of the disk was a metal seat with a control board near-by. “Be seated!” Phobar sat down, the titan flicked the controls — and nothing hap- pened. Phobar sensed that something was radically wrong. He felt the surprise of his gigantic companion. He did not know it then, but the fate of the solar system hung on that incident. “Come!” A BRUPTLY the giant stooped, and Phobar shrank back, but a flowing mass of cold, insensate metal swept around him, lifted him fifty feet in the air. Dizzy, sick, horrified, he was hardly conscious of the whirlwind motion into which the giant suddenly shot. He had a dim impression of machines rac- ing by, of countless other giants, of a sudden opening in the walls of the immense building, and then a rush across the surface of metal land. Even in his vertigo he had enough curiosity to marvel that there was no vegetation, no water, only the dull black metal every- where. Yet there was air. And then a city loomed before them. To Phobar it seemed a city of gods or giants. Fully five miles it soared toward space, its fantastic angles and arcs and cubes and pyr- amids mazing in the dimensions of a totally alien geometry. Tier by tier the stupendous city, hundreds of miles wide, mounted toward a central tower like the one in the building he had left. Phobar never knew how they got there, but his numbed mind was at last forced into clarity by a greater will. He stared about him. His captor had gone. He stood in a huge chamber circling to a dome far overhead. Before him, on a dais a full thousand feet in diameter, stood — sat — rested, whatever it might be called — another monster, far larger than any he had yet seen, like a mountain of pliant thinking, living metal. And Phobar knew he stood in the presence of the ruler. T HE metal Cyclops surveyed him as Phobar might have sur- veyed an ant. Cold, deadly, dis- passionate scrutiny came from something that might have been eyes, or a seeing intelligence locked in a metal body. There was no sound, but in- wardly to Phobar’s consciousness 70 ASTOUNDING STORIES from the peak of the titan far above him came a command: “What are you called?’’ Phobar opened his lips — but even before he spoke, he knew that the thing had understood his thought: “Phobar.” “I am Garboreggg, ruler of Xlarbti, the Lord of the Universes.” “Lord of the Universes ?” “I and my world come from one of the universes beyond the reach of your telescopes.” Phobar some- how felt that the thing was talking to him as he would to a new-born babe. “What do you want of me?” “Tell your Earth that I want the entire supply of your radium ores mined and placed above ground according to the instructions I give, by seven of your days hence.” A dozen questions sprang to Phobar’s lips. He felt again that he was being treated like a child. “Why do you want our radium ores?” “Because they are the rarest of the elements on your scale, are ab- sent on ours, and supply us with some of the tremendous energy we need.” “Why don’t you obtain the ores from other worlds?” “We do. We are taking them from all worlds where they exist. But we need yours also.” Raiders of the universe! Looting young worlds of the precious ra- dium ores! Piracy on a cosmic scale ! “And if Earth refuses your de- mand?” F or answer, Garboreggg rippled to a wall of the room and pressed a button. The wall dis- solved, weirdly, mysteriously. A series of vast silver plates was re- vealed, and a battery of control levers. “This will happen to all of your Earth unless the ores are given us.” The titan closed a switch. On the first screen flashed the picture of a huge tower such as Phobar had seen in the metal city. Garboreggg adjusted a second control that was something like a range-finder. He pressed a third lever — and from the tower leaped a surge of terrific energy, like a bolt of lightning a quarter of a mile broad. The giant closed another switch — and on the second plate flashed a picture of New York City. Then — waiting. Seconds, minutes drifted by. The atmosphere became tense, nerve-cracking. Phobar’s eyes ached with the intensity of his stare. What would happen? Abruptly it came. A monstrous bolt of energy streaked from the skies, purple- blue death in a pillar a fourth of a mile broad crashed into the heart of New York City, swept up and down Manhattan, across and back, and suddenly vanished. In fifteen seconds, only a molten hell of fused structures and in- cinerated millions of human beings remained of the world’s first city. Phobar was crushed, appalled, then utter loathing for this soulless thing poured through him. If only — “It is useless. You can do noth- ing,” answered the ruler as though it had grasped his thought. “But why, if you could pick me off the Earth, do you not draw the radium ores in the same way?” Phobar demanded. “The orange-gray picks up only- loose, portable objects. We can and will transport the radium ores here by means of the ray after they have been mined and placed on platforms or disks.” “Why did you select me from all the millions of people on Earth?” “Solely because you were the first apparent scientist whom our cos- motel chanced upon. It will be up to you to notify your Earth govern- ments of our demand.” RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 71 “But afterwards!” Phobar burst out aloud. “What then?” “We will depart.” “It will mean death to us! The solar system will be wrecked with Neptune gone and Saturn following it!” G ARBOREGGG made no answer. To that impassive, cold, inhu- man thing, it did not matter if a nation or a whole world perished. Phobar had already seen with what deliberate calm it destroyed a city, merely to show him what power the lords of Xlarbti controlled. Be- sides, what guarantee was there that the invaders would not loot the Earth of everything they wanted and then annihilate all life upon it before they departed? Yet Phobar knew he was helpless, knew that the men of Earth would be forced to do whatever was asked of them, and trust that the raiders would fulfill their promise. “Two hours remain for your stay here,” came the ruler’s dictum to interrupt his line of thought. “For the first half of that period you will tell me of your world and answer whatever questions I may ask. During the rest of the interval, I will explain some of the things you wish to learn about us.” Again Phobar felt Garboreggg’s disdain, knew that the metal giant regarded him as a kind of childish plaything for an hour or two’s amusement. But he had no choice, and so he told Garboreggg of the life on Earth, how it arose and along what lines it had developed; he narrated in brief the extent of man’s knowledge, his scientific achievements, his mastery of weap- ons and forces and machines, his social organization. When he had finished, he felt as a Stone Age man might feel in the presence of a brilliant scientist of the thirty-fourth century. If any sign of interest had shown on the peak of the metallic lord, Phobar failed to see it. But he sensed an intolerant sneer of ridicule in Gar- boreggg, as though the ruler con- sidered these statements to be only the most elementary of facts. Then, for three quarters of an hour, in the manner of one lectur- ing an ignorant pupil, the giant crowded its thought-pictures into Phobar’s mind so that finally he understood a little of the raiders and of the sudden terror that had flamed from the abysses into the solar system. “rpHE universe of matter that JL you know is only one of the countless universes which comprise the cosmos,” began Garboreggg. “In your universe, you have a scale of ninety-two elements, you have your color-spectrum, your rays and waves of many kinds. You are subject to definite laws controlling matter and energy as you know them. “But we are of a different uni- verse, on a different scale from yours, a trillion light-years away in space, eons distant in time. The natural laws which govern us differ from those controlling you. In our universe, you would be hopelessly lost, completely helpless, unless you possessed the knowledge that your people will not attain even in mil- lions of years. But we, who are so much older and greater than you, have for so long studied the nature of the other universes that we can enter and leave them at will, taking what we wish, doing as we wish, creating or destroying worlds when- ever the need arises, coming and hurtling away when we choose. “There is no vegetable life in our universe. There is only the scale of elements ranging from 842 to 966 on the extension of your own scale. At this high range, metals of complex kinds exist. There is none of what you call water, no vegetable world, no ani- 72 ASTOUNDING STORIES mal kingdom. Instead, there are energies, forces, rays, and waves, which are food to us and which nourish our life-stream just as pigs, potatoes, and bread are food to you. “^T^RILLIONS of years ago in JL your time-calculation, but only a few. dozen centuries ago in ours, life arose on the giant world Kygpton in our universe. It was life, our life, the life of my people and myself, intelligence animating bodies of pliant metal, existing almost endlessly on an almost inexhaustible source of energy. “But all matter wears down. On Kygpton there was a variety of useful metals, others that were valueless. There was comparatively little of the first, much of the sec- ond. Kygpton itself was a world as large as your entire solar sys- tem, with a diameter roughly of four billion miles. Our ancestors knew that Kygpton was dying, that the store of our most precious ele- ment Sthalreh was dwindling. But already our ancestors had mastered the forces of our universe, had made inventions that are beyond your understanding, had explored the limits of our universe in space- cars that were propelled by the free energies in space and by the attracting-repelling influences of stars. “The metal inhabitants of Kygp- ton employed every invention they knew to accomplish an engineer- ing miracle that makes your bridges and mines seem but the puny ef- forts of a gnat. They blasted all the remaining ores of Sthalreh from the surface and interior of Kygpton and refined them. Then they created a gigantic vacuum, a dead-field in space a hundred million miles away from their world. The dead-field was controlled from Kygpton by atomic-projectors, energy-absorbers, gravitation-nullifiers and cosmotels, range-regulators, and a host of other inventions. “As fast as it was mined and ex- tracted, the Sthalreh metal was vaporized, shot into the dead-field by interstellar rays, and solidified there along an invisible framework which we projected. In a decade of our time, we had pillaged Kygpton of every particle of Sthalreh. And then in our skies hung an artificial world, a manufactured sphere, a giant new planet, the world you yourself are now on — Xlarbti ! “TX7E did not create a solid YV globe. We left chambers, tunnels, passageways, storerooms throughout it or piercing it from surface to surface. Thus, even as Xlarbti was being created, we pro- vided for everything that we needed or could need — experimental labor- atories, sub-surface vaults, chambers for the innumerable huge ray dyna- mos, energy storage batteries, and other apparatus which we required. “And when all was ready, we transferred by space-cars and by atomic individuation all our neces- sities from Kygpton to the artificial world Xlarbti. And when everything was prepared, we destroyed the dead-field by duplicate control from Xlarbti, turned our repulsion-power on full against the now useless and dying giant world Kygpton, and swung upon our path. “But our whole universe is in- credibly old. It was mature before ever your young suns flamed out of the gaseous nebulas, it was de- caying when your molten planets were flung from the central sun, it was dying before the boiling seas had given birth to land upon your sphere. And while we had enough of our own particular electrical food to last us for a million of your years, and enough power to guide Xlarbti to other universes, we had exhausted all the remaining energy of our entire universe. And RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 73 when we finally left it to dwindle behind us in the b’ack abysses of space, we left it, a dead cinder, devoid of life, vitiated of activity, and utterly lacking in cosmic forces, a universe finally run down. “The universes, as you may know, are set off from each other by totally black and empty abysms, ex- panses so vast that light-rays have not yet crossed many of them. How did we accomplish the feat of traversing such a gulf? By the simplest of means: acceleration. Why? Because to remain in our universe meant inevitable death. We gambled on the greatest ad- venture in all the cosmos. ; ‘^TNO begin with, we circled our X universe to the remotest point opposite where we wanted to leave it. We then turned our attraction powers on part way so that the millions of stars before us drew us ahead, then we gradually stepped up the power to its full strength, thus ever increasing our speed. At the same time, as stars passed to our rear in our flight, we turned our repulsion-rays against them, step- ping that power up also. “Our initial speed was twenty- four miles per second. Midway in our universe we had reached the speed of your light — 186,000 miles per second. By the time we left our universe, we were hurtling at a speed which we estimated to be 1,600,000,000 miles per second. Yet even at that tremendous speed, it took us years to cross from our universe to yours. If we had en- countered even a planetoid at that enormous rate, we would probably have been annihilated in white-hot death. But we had planned well, and there are no superiors to our stellar mechanics, our ( astronomers, our scientists. “When we finally hurtled from the black void into your universe, we found what we had only dared hope for: a young universe, with many planets and cooling worlds rich in radium ores, the only ele- ment in your scale that can help to replenish our vanishing energy. Half your universe we have already deprived of its ores. Your Earth has more that we want. Then we shall continue on our way, to loot the rest of the worlds, before passing on to another universe. We are a planet without a universe. We will wander and pillage until we find a universe like the one we come from, or until Xlarbti itself disintegrates and we perish. “TI 7E could easily wipe out all VV the dwellers on Earth and mine the ores ourselves. But that would be a needless waste of our powers, for since you can not defy us, and since the desire for life burns as high in you as in us and as it does in all sensate things in all universes, your people will save themselves from death and save us from wasting energy by mining the ores for us. What happens after- wards, we do not care. “The seven new suns that you saw were dead worlds that we used as buffers to slow down Xlarbti. The full strength of our repulsion- force directed against any single world necessarily turns it into a liquid or gaseous state depending on various factors. Your planet Neptune was pulled out of the solar system by the attraction of Xlarbti’s mass. The flame-paths, as you call them, are directed streams of energy for different purposes: the one to the sun supplies us, for instance, with heat, light, and electricity, which in turn are stored up for eventual use. “The orange-ray that you felt is one of our achievements. It is similar to the double-action pumps used in some of your sulphur mines, whereby a pipe is inclosed in a larger pipe, and hot water forced 74 ASTOUNDING STORIES down through the larger tubing re- turns sulphur-laden through the central pipe. The orange-ray in- stantaneously dissolves any port- able object up to a certain size, propels it back to Xlarbti through its center which is the reverse ray, and here reforms the object, just as you were recreated on the disk that you stood on when you re- gained consciousness. “But I have not enough time to explain everything on Xlarbti to you; nor would you comprehend it all if I did. Your stay is almost up. “In that one control-panel lies all the power that we have mastered,” boasted Garboreggg with supreme egotism. “It connects with the in- dividual controls throughout Xlarbti.” “What is the purpose of some of the levers?” asked Phobar, with a desperate hope in his thoughts. A FILAMENT of metal whipped to the panel from the lord of Xlarbti. “This first section dupli- cates the control-panel that you saw in the laboratory where you opened your eyes. Do not think that you can make use of this in- formation — in ten minutes you will be back on your Earth to deliver our command. Between now and that moment you will be so closely watched that you can do nothing and will have no opportunity to try. “This first lever controls the attraction rays, the second the re- pulsion force. The third dial regu- lates the orange-ray by which you will be returned to Earth. The fourth switch directs the electrical bolt that destroyed New York City. Next it is a device that we have never had occasion to use. It re- leases the Krangor-wave through- out Xlarbti. Its effect is to make each atom of Xlarbti, the Sthalreh metal and everything on it, become compact, to do away with the empty spaces that exist in every atom. Theoretically, it would reduce Xlarbti to a fraction of its present size, diminish its mass while its weight and gravity remained as be- fore. “The next lever controls matter to be transported between here and the first laboratory. Somewhat like the orange-ray, it disintegrates the object and reassembles it here.” S O that was what Phobar’s cap- tor had been trying to do with him back there in the laboratory! “Why was I not brought here by that means?” burst out Phobar. “Because you belong to a differ- ent universe,” answered Garboreggg. “Without experimentation, we can- not tell what natural laws of ours you would not be subject to, but this is one of them.” A gesture of irritation seemed to come from him. “Some laws hold good in all the universes we have thus far inves- tigated. The orange-ray, for in- stance, picked you up as it would have plucked one of us from the surface of Kygpton. But on Xlarbti, which is composed entirely of Sthalreh, your atomic nature and physical constitution are so differ- ent from ours that they were un- affected by the energy that or- dinarily transports objects here.” Thus the metal nightmare went rapidly over the control-panel. At length Phobar’s captor, or another thing like him, reentered when Garboreggg flicked a strange-look- ing protuberance on the panel. “You will now be returned to your world,” came the thought of Garboreggg. “We shall watch you through our cosmotel to see that you deliver our instructions. Unless the nations of Earth obey us, they will be obliterated at the end of seven days.” A wild impulse to smash that impassive, metallic monster passed from Phobar as quickly as it came. RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 75 He was helpless. Sick and despair- ing, he felt the cold, baffling- colored metal close around him again; once more he was borne aloft for the journey to the labor- atory, from there to be propelled back to Earth. S EVEN days of grace! But Phobar knew that less than ten minutes remained to him. Only here could he possibly accomplish anything. Once off the surface of Xlarbti, there was not the remotest chance that all the nations of Earth could reach the invaders or even attempt to defy them. Yet what could he alone do in a week, to say nothing of ten minutes? He sensed the amused, supercili- ous contempt of his captor. That was really the greatest obstacle, this ability of theirs to read thought-pictures. And already he had given them enough word-pic- tures of English so that they could understand. . . . In the back of Phobar’s mind the ghost of a desperate thought sud- denly came. What was it he had learned years ago in college? Homer — “The Odyssey” — Plutarch. . . . From rusty, disused corners of memory crept forth the half- forgotten words. He bent all his efforts to the task, not daring to think ahead or plan ahead or visu- alize anything but the Greek words. He felt the bewilderment of his captor. To throw it off the track, Phobar suddenly let an ancient English nursery rime slip into his thoughts. The disgust that ema- nated from his captor was laugh- able; Phobar could have shouted aloud. But the Greek words. . . . A LREADY the pair had left the mountain-high titan city far behind; they rippled across the smooth, black surface of Xlarbti, and bore like rifle bullets down on the swiftly-looming laboratory. In a few minutes it would be too late forever. Now the lost Greek word* burst into Pholar’s mind, and, hop mg against hope, he thought in Greek word-pictures which his cap- tor could not understand. He weighed chances, long shots. Into his brain flashed an idea. . . . But they were upon the laboratory; a stupendous door dissolved weirdly into shimmering haze; they sped through. Phobar’s hand clutched a bulge in his pocket. Would it work? How could it? They were beyond the door now and racing across the great expanse of the floor, past the central tower, past the control-panel which he had first seen. ... And as if by magic there leaped into Phobar’s mind a clear-cut, vivid picture of violet oceans of energy crackling and streaking from the heavens to crash through the laboratory roof and barely miss striking his captor behind. Even as Phobar created the image of that terrific death, his captor whirled around in a lightning movement, a long arm of metal flicking outward at the same instant to drop Phobar to the ground. Like a flash Phobar was on his feet; his hand whipped from his pocket, and with all his strength he flung a gleaming object straight toward the fifth lever on the con- trol-panel a dozen yards away. As a clumsy arrow would, his oversize bunch of keys twisted to their mark, clanked, and spread against the fifth control, which was the size regulator. As rapidly as Phobar’s captor had spun around, it reversed again, having guessed the trick. A ten- tacle of pliant metal snaked to- ward Phobar like a streak of flame. But in those few seconds a terri- fic holocaust had taken place. As Phobar’s keys spattered against the fifth lever, there came an imme- 76 ASTOUNDING STORIES diate v growing, strange, high whine,, and a sickening collapse of the very surface beneath them. Everywhere outlines of objects wavered, changed melted, shrank with a steady and nauseatingly swift motion. The roof of the laboratory high overhead plunged downward; the far-distant walls swept inward, contracted. And the metal monsters themselves dwindled as though they were vast rubber figures from which the air was hissing. P HOBAR sprang back as the tentacle whipped after him. Only that jump and the suddenly dwarfing dimensions of the giant saved him. And even in that in- stant of wiid action, Phobar shouted aloud — for this whole world was collapsing, together with everything on it, except he himself who came of a different universe and remained unaffected! It was the long shot he had gambled on, the one chance he had to strike a blow. All over the shrinking laboratory the monsters were rushing toward him. His dwindling captor flung another tentacle toward the control- panel to replace the size-regulating lever. But Phobar had anticipated that possibility and had already leaped to the switchboard, sweep- ing a heavy bar from its place and crashing it down on the lever so that it could not be replaced with- out being repaired. Almost in the same move he had bounded away again, the former hundred-foot giant now scarcely more than his own height. But throughout the laboratory, the other metal things had halted in their tasks and were racing onward. Phobar always remembered that battle in the laboratory as a scene from some horrible nightmare. The catastrophe came so rapidly that he could hardly follow the whirlwind events. The half dozen great leaps he made from the lashing tentacles of his pursuer sufficed to give him a few seconds’ respite, and then the weird, howling sound of the tortured world swelled to a pierc- ing wail. His lungs were laboring from the violence of his exertions; again and again he barely escaped from the curling whips of metal tentacles. And now the monster was hardly a foot high; the huge con- densers and tubes and colossal machinery were like those of a pygmy laboratory. And overhead the roof plunged ever downward. But Phobar was cornered at last. He stood in the center of a circle of the foot-high things. His captor suddenly shot forth a dozen rope- like arms toward him as the others closed in. He had not even a weapon, for he had dropped the bar in his first mad bound away from the control-panel. He saw himself trapped in his own trick, for in minutes at most the labor- atory would be crushing him with fearful force. B LINDLY Phobar reverted to a primitive defense in this mo- ment of infinite danger and kicked with all his strength at the squat monster before him. The thing tried to whirl aside, but Phobar’s shoe squashed thickly through, and in a disorder of quivering pieces the metal creature fell, and subsided. Knowing at last that the invaders were vulnerable and how they could be killed, Phobar went leaping and stamping on those nearest him. Under foot, they disintegrated into little pulpy lumps of inert metal. In a trice he broke beyond the circle and darted to the control- panel. One quick glance showed him that the roof was now scarcely a half dozen yards above. With fingers that fumbled in haste at tiny levers and dials, he spun sev- eral of them — the repulsion-ray full — the attraction-ray full. And RAIDERS OF THE UNIVERSES 77 when they were set, he picked up the bar he had dropped and smashed the controls so that they were help- lessly jammed. He could almost feel the planet catapult through the heavens. The laboratory roof was only a foot over his head. He whirled around, squashed a dozen tiny creeping things, leaped to a disk that was now not more than a few inches broad. Stooping low, bal- ancing himself precariously, he somehow managed to close the tiny switch. A haze of orange light enveloped him, there came a great vertigo and dizziness and pain, he felt himself falling through bottom- less spaces. . . . OO exhausted that he could v3 scarcely move, Phobar blinked his eyes open to brilliant daylight in the chill of a November Indian summer noon. The sun shone radi- ant in the heavens; off in the dis- tance he heard a pandemonium of bells and whistles. V/earily he no- ticed that there were no flame- paths in the sky. Staggering weakly, he made his way to the observatory, mounted the steps with tired limbs, and wobbled to the eyepiece of his telescope which he had left focused on the dark star two hours before. Almost trembling, he peered through it. The dark star was gone. Some- where far out in the abysses of the universe, a runaway world plunged headlong at ever-mounting speed to uncharted regions under its double acceleration of attraction and repulsion. A sigh of contentment came from his lips as he sank into a heavy and profound sleep. Later he would learn of the readjustments in the solar system, and of the colder climate that came to earth, and of the vast changes permanently made by the invading planet, and of a blazing new star discovered in Orion that might signify the birth of a sun or the death of a metallic dark world. But these were events to be, and he demanded his immediate reward of a day’s dreamless slumber. Statement of the ownership, management, circulation, etc., required by the Act of Congress of August 24, 11*12, of Astounding stories, published monthly at New York, N. Y., for April 1. 1932, State of New York, County of New York, aa. Before me, a Notary Public In and for the State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Edwin F. Borden, who, having been duly aworn according to law. deposes and says that he Is the Business Manager ol the Astounding Stories and that the following Is, to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership, management (and If a dally paper, the circulation) ,eto. , of the aforesaid publication for the date shown In the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 411, Postal Laws and Regulations, printed on the reverse of this form, to wit: 1. That the names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business managers are: Publisher, W. M. Clayton, 155 E. 44th St., New York, N. Y.; Editor, Harry Bates, 155 E. 44th St.. New York, N. Y.; Managing Editor, None; Business Manager, Edwin F. Borden, 155 E. 44th St., New York, N. Y. 2. That the owner Is: (If owned by a corporation. Its name and address must be stated and also Immediately thereunder the names and addresses of stockholders owning or holding one per cent or more of total amount of stook. If not owned by a corpora- tion, the names and addresses of the Individual owners must be given. If owned by a firm, company, or other unin- corporated concern, Its name and address, as well as those of each Individual member, must be given.) The Clayton Magazines, Inc., 155 E. 44th St., New York, N. Y.. W. M. Clayton, 155 E. 44th St., New York, N. Y., Nathan Goldmann, 80 Lafayette St., New York, N. Y. 3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders owning or holding 1 per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are; (If there are none, so state.) None. 4. That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of tbe owners, stockholders, and security holders. If any. contain not only the list of stockholders and security holders as they appear upon the books of the com- pany but also. In cases where the stockholder or security holder appears upon the books of the company as trustee or In any other fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom such trustee Is acting, Is given; also that the said two paragraphs contain statements embracing affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to the .circumstances and condi- tions UDder which stockholders and security holders who do not appear upon the books of the company as trustees, hold stook and securities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide owner; and this affiant has no reason to believe that any other person, association, or corporation has any Interest direct or Indirect in the said stock, bonds, or other securities than as so stated by him. Edwlu F. Borden, Business Manager. Sworn to and subscribed before me this 25th day of March, 1932. Eugene A. Boast. (My commission expires March 30. 1933.) Slaves of Mercury A Complete Novelette By Nat Schachner CHAPTER I The Space Wanderer Returns H ilary grendon pi- loted his battered, time- worn space flier, the Vagabond, to the smiling Earth that rose rapidly to greet it. Only the instinctive ease of long practise prevented a smash-up, his hands trembled so at the controls. Home again — the old familiar Earth! He could scarcely believe it! Perhaps it was only a dream, and he’d wake up among the unhuman glittering cylinders of Saturn, shuddering and crawling with the iciness of their fixed regard. Hilary’s eyes blurred with unac- customed mistiness as he drank in the warm sunlight, the soft green of the grass and the gracious lines of the slender birches as they flut- tered their leaves daintily in the un- hurrying breeze. How different it all was from the harsh red angu- larities of Mars! Hilary return* to find alien diskoids in Earth’s stratosphere, and out- world lords patrolling her cities. 78 He was outside, breathing deep- ly, inhaling the perfumed air with delight. This was the only heaven; beyond — that far-flung immensity of planetary orbs — was hell I He, Hilary Grendon, the carefree, smil- ing skeptic of old, was a Funda- mentalist now. How long was it since they had started out on the first flight that man had taken into outer space — he and those stanch comrades? Five years? God! Had it been so long? Yet here he was, back on Earth again, the kindly, blessed Earth their eyes had clung to when they were fighting desperately for their lives against the protoplasmic things that inhabited Ganymede. Hilary brushed a tear away as he thought of those brave, loyal friends. Dick lay as he fell on Saturn, transfixed by an icicle dart; Martin had been engulfed in an unholy maw on Ganymede; Dorn was a frozen idol to the spiral be- ings of Pluto ; and poor Hurley, his fate was the worst of all: his 79 30 ASTOUNDING STORIES hideously bloated body was swing- ing in an orbit around Mars, a satellite through all eternity. He, Hilary Grendon, was the sole survivor of that tremendous Odys- sey! Hilary shook his head vigorously to clear away the flood of recollec- tions. Enough that he had returned. Then a sudden eagerness surged through him, a joyous intensity of emotion. What a story he had to relate — how the Earth people would hang with bated breath upon his adventurings ! And Joan — his heart gave a queer leap at the thought of that slender ardent wisp of a girl with her shining head and steady gray eyes. She had promised to wait for him, forever, if need be. She had said it simply, without heroics; yet Hilary knew then that she would keep her promise. A rush of impatience succeeded the inaction of his memories. He must get to New York at once. He could not wait any longer. Joan first — then Amos Peabody, the ven- erable President of the United States — to report his return. He smiled at the stupefaction that would greet him. No doubt he had long been given up for dead. The world had been skeptical of the space ship he had invented; had, except for a faithful few, mocked at his plans. Indignantly he had taken his calculations, his blue prints of the spheroid, along with him. If the flight was a success, well and good; if not, they would not be worth much anyway. In spite of his fever to be off, he carefully locked the controls, sealed the outer air-lock. Hilary Grendon was a methodical man; that was the reason he had sur- vived. Then he struck across country, walking very fast. He knew where he was : in the wilderness of the Ramapos, some forty miles from New York. Sooner or later, he reasoned, he would strike one of the radiating conveyors that led into the metropolis, or a human being that would set him on the right track. A HALF hour’s sturdy tramp- ing brought him out of the tangled hills into civilization. There was a glitter of metal and vita- crystal dwellings that stood four- square to the sun and the winds. A broad ribbon-conveyor hurled its shining length in ceaseless rush down the narrow valley. Human beings — normal homely Earth men with the ordinary number of legs and arms, with honest-to-God faces and warm living flesh, were seated on the conveyor-benches as they flashed by. Hilary could have wept with delight. It was two years since he had seen his own kind; two years since Hurley’s tragic misstep through the breach in the air-lock made by a meteor as they were nearing Mars. Hilary leaped on the slow-mov- ing ramp, skilfully worked his way across the graded speed belts until he was on the express conveyor that led straight on to New York. He sank into a cushioned seat next to an oldish man with iron- gray hair through which the speed of their flight whipped and pulled. Hilary was bursting for real hu- man conversation again; he grinned to himself at the excited astonish- ment of this impassive stranger if he should announce himself. How should he do it? Should he remark casually without any preamble: “Pardon me for addressing you, sir, but I’m Hilary Grendon, you know.’’ Just like that, and lean back for the inevitable gasp: “What, not the Hilary Grendon!’’ And he would nod offhandedly as though he had just taken a little trip to Frisco and back. He stole a sidelong glance at the sternly-etched profile. The man was SLAVES OF MERCURY 81 staring straight in front of him, looking neither to the left nor to the right. It did not seem as if he were aware of Hilary’s existence. So with a sigh Hilary decided against that method of approach as a trifle too abrupt. “Nice day to-day, isn’t it?” The sound of his own voice startled him. English was an alien language to his unaccustomed tongue after the hissing syllables of the Mar- tians. With pathetic eagerness he await- ed the inevitable answer to this commonplace introduction; that he might once more hear normal Earth tones in friendly converse, see the smile of greeting on a real Earth face. But there came no answer. The man continued staring straight ahead, immobile, fixed. There was no slightest turn to the etched pro- file. It was as if he had not heard. H ILARY felt a sudden surge of anger. Damn discourteous, this first Earthman he had met. What had happened to the old hos- pitality? Had it passed out while he was roaming the spaces? He leaned over, harsh words tumbling for exit, when suddenly he checked himself. There was something strange about that fierce blank stare. The man’s face, too, he saw now, was lined and worn; suffer- ing had left its multitudinous im- print upon an ordinarily rotund countenance. Hilary shouted suddenly: “Good morning.” The man did not answer, nor did he stir from his unvarying pose. Deaf! The returned Earth- man suffered swift pity. With gen- tle forefinger he prodded the man. The reaction was astounding. The man cowered like a pricked bal- loon; little strangling moans forced themselves out of clenched teeth. Dumb, too! His face jerked around to the direction of Hilary’s gentle prodding. Merciful heaven#, the man was blind also! Two vacant red-rimmed sockets stared pitifully at him — the eyeballs were gone, ripped out. But what struck Hilary particu- larly was the mortal terror that was depicted on the blind man’s face. It was as though he expected some cruel, crippling blow to fol- low ; as though it were the last straw on the back of unmention- able former agonies. Hilary shud- dered. It was not good to witness such animal fear. A dark shadow blotted out the brightness of the Earth-day for him. There was something wrong here, something that required a good deal of ex- planation. H IS probing eyes went thought* fully over the poor cowering wretch. Those careworn features were familiar, somehow. Where had he seen the man before? Suddenly he stiffened, choking an exclama- tion. The man was bound immov- ably to his seat. Thin metal links, almost invisible, encircled his feet; held the elbows taut against the fluted columns of the seat-back. Hilary’s space-tanned features hardened; the light gray of his eyes darkened. All the pleasure of his homecoming vanished. The kindly Earth seemed suddenly grown inimical. What had hap- pened in the five long years of his absence? This would have been impossible on the Earth he had known; a man, manifestly the vic- tim of hideous tortures, bound like a wild animal to the seat of a pub- lic conveyor. He went swiftly into action. From the depths of a capacious pocket he fished a sheathed blade of stellite, triply keen; its razor- sharp edge sawed smoothly at the bonds. In his mounting anger Hilary had paid no attention to the scat- 82 ASTOUNDING STORIES taring of people occupying the cushioned chairs of the speeding conveyor. But a smothered near- by gasp caused his head to jerk up. He met the incredulous stare of a paunchy, heavy- jowled man seated some chairs away. There was more than incredulity, there was furtive fear in the small beady eyes sunken in folds of fat. Hilary gave way to unreasoning anger. “Stop looking like a stuck pig,” he called sharply. “Give me a hand with this poor fellow.” The response was surprising. The man got up from his chair pre- cipitately, stark panic written all over him. The sweat oozed from his shiny forehead as he backed cautiously away. He tripped over the edge of the seat behind, and fell. Once more he scrambled to his feet, and as if the fall had re- leased his trembling muscles, he turned and ran, stumbling and dodging across the local convey- ors, never once looking back. H ILARY watched his mad flight wonderingly. “Good Lord,” he thought, “does my face frighten people so? Maybe I've turned into a Martian.” He turned to appeal to the others on the conveyor, and received an- other shock. The few men within earshot were already on their feet and moving away from there with unostentatious celerity. Hilary sur- veyed their receding backs thought- fully. What was there about him- self to frighten grown men out of their wits? Or was it the poor tor- tured wretch he was trying to re- lease who was responsible for the exodus? Already the express was almost clear. He saw the deserters throw- ing themselves guiltily into seats on the local belts, and then he was carried swiftly past. Only one man remained stubbornly in his seat. some fifteen rows back. He was a huge mountain of a man, a giant upon Earth, and there was a strangeness in his wide stare. Hilary frowned, then shook his head, and dropped down to his task again. The blind man moaned and jerked as he felt the bite of stellite upon his fetters. Hilary made soothing sounds, forgetful that he could not hear, and worked steadily. There was a little clink- ing noise and the links that bound the arms fell apart. He attacked the leg shackles next. There was a tap on Hilary’s shoulder, light, electric, yet strange- ly heavy in its implications. Hilary turned his head sharply, saw the landscape blotted out by a huge overshadowing bulk. Five years in a hostile universe had made him cautious. He pivoted on his heels and rose in a single flowing mo- tion, stellite blade ready for in- stant action. CHAPTER II The Strange Guard T HERE confronted him the. hugest figure of a man he had ever seen. Hilary was not lacking in inches himself — he was well over six feet; but the giant staring quizzically down at him was nearer seven, with shoulders to match. The features of his face were gar- gantuan in their ruggedness, yet singularly open, while a pair of mild blue eyes, childlike in expres- sion, looked in perpetual wonder out upon the world. In spite of his annoyance, Hilary instinctively liked the giant. “What do you want?” he in- quired gruffly. The Colossus surveyed him with his child’s eyes. “Man, you are crazy.” He spoke in a deep bass rumble, without emo- tion or inflection. He was simply stating a fact. SLAVES OF MERCURY 83 A surge of annoyance swept over the returned wanderer from the far spaces. This was the last straw. “I may be,” he admitted coldly, “but I like my particular form of craziness.” “You know the penalty of course for what you are doing?” the big man inquired unemotionally. Hilary swore deeply. “Damn the penalties, whatever you mean by that. Here’s a man who has been tortured unmercifully — chained like a dog. I intend to free him.” The mild blue eyes contained the hint of a gleam. “But you know the penalties,” he repeated. His murmur sounded like the rumble of a distant earthquake. Hilary straightened sharply, poked his finger at the midriff of the giant. “I don’t know what you are talk- ing about,” he stabbed. “What is the meaning of all this? Who is this unfortunate, and why did everyone disappear as though I had the plague when I sat next to him?” A LOOK of bewilderment swept over the massive face, bewil- derment tinged with a dawning sus- picion of the questioner’s sanky. “You mean to say you don’t know?” The tone held incredulity. “I’ve just told you so,” Hilary pointed out. He felt a growing un- ease. The giant eyed him closely. “Man, where on earth have you been these last three years?” Hilary grinned. “I haven’t.” “You haven’t?” echoed the other. Suspicion hardened the childlike eyes into cold flame. The man was dangerous when aroused. He thrust his jaw down at Hilary. “If you are jesting with me. . . He left the sentence unfinished, but the clenching of a huge fist left no doubt as to his intention. “I am not jesting,” Hilary as- sured him grimly. “I have been away from the Earth for five years. I’ve just returned.” The great hand clenched tighter. “Now I know you are crazy, or — Who are you?” he ended abruptly. “Hilary Grendon.” “Hilary Grendon — Hilary Gren- don,” rumbled the other in mani- fest perplexity. It was evident the name meant nothing to him. This then was the homecoming he had dreamed of in the unfathom- able reaches of space, Hilary thought bitterly. Five short years and he was already forgotten. Then the irony of it struck him, and he laughed aloud. “Yes,” he said. “Five years ago I led the Grendon Expedition to explore interplanetary space in the space-ship I had invented. I’ve come back — alone.” It was amusing to watch long- overlaid memories struggling up through the subconscious. At last the giant spoke. “Oh, yes,” he said meditatively, “I seem to remember something about it.” He surveyed Hilary with a new interest. “So you were one of those chaps, eh?” The explorer admitted it, hum- bly. Of such are the uses of fame. “Well, now,” said the giant, “that might explain it. Though it sure beats all.” And he shook his head as though he still did not under- stand. “Who is that man?” Hilary stabbed a forefinger at the blind man, who sat immobile as before, his worn etched face ever to the front. “It’s monstrous. Amos Pea- body shall hear of it.” The Colossus looked at him mildly. “That,” he said, "is Amos Pea- body!” S ILENCE lay like a live thing between them. Hilary whirled in a kaleidoscope of emotion. Was 84 ASTOUNDING STORIES this wasted, tortured being the portly, dignified President of the United States who had bade him Godspeed at the start of his tre- mendous journey five years before? His pitying eyes searched the line- aments of the poor wretch. There was no doubt of it now; it was Amos Peabody. Hilary gripped his informant’s arm. His voice was deadly calm. “I want the truth about this, and I want it fast.” “The truth,” echoed the big man with strange laughter; “now that is something — ” His eyes widened over Hilary’s shoulder. With a swiftness remark- able in one of his bulk he shook off Hilary’s restraining grip, caught him by the shoulder and thrust him, all in one motion, into a chair several removed from Peabody. In a trice his huge bulk was safely ensconced in the adjoining one. Hilary’s hand went to the butt of the automatic within his blouse. The giant saw the movement. He leaned forward. “Don’t make a move,” he warned, “the guard is coming.” “What guard?” “You'll see fast enough. Appear unconcerned if you value your life. Don’t look back.” Hilary complied. His face be- came an expressionless mask as he lounged in his chair, but his thoughts seethed and boiled. What terrible mystery had enveloped the Earth during his absence? Why was Amos Peabody tortured and made into a public mockery? There was a slight whirring noise behind him. Heedful of his com- panion’s admonition he relaxed in apparent unconcern, but his hand stole once more to the fold in his blouse. His long fingers rested caressingly upon the butt of his automatic. There were still three good Earth bullets in the chamber. The whirring ceased. There was a slight jar as of something land- ing on the speeding conveyor. Yet Hilary did not look back, though his grip tightened. A heavy body stumbled toward them, cursing in strange phrases. It passed from behind, came to a halt before the giant. Hilary shot a sharp glance upward from under veiled lids. An exclamation sprang full-throated to his lips, died unheard under a tre- mendous effort of his will. B EFORE them stood a being— it could not be called a man. He was no denizen of the Earth, that was evident, yet Hilary had visited all the planets outward from our own without encounter- ing such a monster. He hulked before them like a behemoth, even dwarfing Hilary’s companion with his enormous stat- ure; but it was noticeable that he supported his weight ill, as if Earth’s gravitation were too strong for him. Manlike he was in every essential, but the skin of his face was a pasty dull gray, and ridged and furrowed with warty excres- cences. Two enormous pink eyes, unlidded, but capable of being sheathed with a filmy membrane, stared down at them with manifest suspicion. A gray, three-fingered hand held an angled tube signifi- cantly. A lens gleamed transparent in the sunlight from the open end. Hilary did not move under the stare, nor did his companion. The mild blue eyes were childlike as ever. The guard’s gaze shifted from them to the trembling figure of Amos Peabody. He bent over him, thrust at him with ungentle hand. The automatic under Hilary’s fin- gers crept farther out from the blouse, but a warning gesture from his companion stopped him. The guard amused himself with shaking the blind man; then he bent suddenly. He had seen the broken links. With ominous de- SLAVES OF MERCURY 85 liberation he turned his vast weight upon them. His baleful pink eyes fastened upon Hilary’s companion. “You!” he growled throatily, “what do you know about this?” He spoke in English, but it was obviously not his native tongue. Mildly innocent was the giant’s face. “I know nothing, Magnificent,” he said humbly. “I am on my way to Great New York on my own in- significant affairs, and I bother my head with nothing else.” “The bonds of this dog, Peabody, have been severed,” the guard in- sisted, “and recently, too. Speak up, Earthman, or — you know the penalty.” “I know the penalty,” he an- swered respectfully, “but I have been seated here only five minutes, and I know nothing of this Pea- body.” The guard fingered his tube. “Let me see your tag,” he said suddenly. T HE other opened his blouse obediently and exposed a thin copper disk suspended on his chest. The guard tugged at it brutally to bring it within range of his vision. The pull jerked the giant’s head forward, and the thin metal strand cut cruelly into the back of his neck. Hilary saw a flush of red sweep like a wave up to his fore- head, and the mild blue eyes turned hard like glinting blue pebbles. But not a word escaped his lips. “Grim Morgan,” the guard read, “A46823 Great New York. Pah, what barbarous names you Earth- men have.” He shoved the giant back heavily into his seat, and turned his baleful glare upon Hil- ary. “You, what do you know about this?” Grim Morgan interposed hastily. “Nothing, Magnificent. He came on the express conveyor after I did.” The guard’s free hand went back. Very deliberately he struck him across the face with three ridged fingers. An angry welt raised. “That will teach you to keep your mouth shut when not spoken to.” The big man’s eyes were mild, but his hands tensed as though they were curled around a throat. He said nothing. The guard turned to Hilary again. “Answer me,” he barked. “My friend told the truth,” Grcn- don said simply. “Your tag?” “I have none.” Suspicion flared openly in the pink eyes. “Where is it?” “I never had one.” “Ah!” There was a world of meaning to the exhalation. “You know of course that every Earth- man must be registered. The pen- alty for non-obedience is — death.” The angled tube came up with the swiftness of light. Grim Morgan cried out sharply, lunged out of his seat. Hilary tore at his gun, knowing sickeningly that the draw would be slower than the action of the strange weapon in the guard’s hand. There was a sneer on the mon- ster as he pressed something on the tube. Hilary’s automatic was only half out of his blouse. Grim’s lunge would never reach in time. He was too far away. CHAPTER III The Death of Amos Peabody J UST how any inkling of what was happening penetrated the pain-swept consciousness of the blind and deaf President could never be determined. Possibly a thin repercussion of Grim’s cry, possibly an intuition that comes to sense-bereft men. But he had jerked spasmodically erect. There was a 86 ASTOUNDING STORIES sharp tinkling as the weakened leg links broke. He threw himself in a queer, awkward movement forward, directly in the path of the tubed weapon. A blinding beam flashed out of the orifice, sheared through Peabody’s middle as though he were cut cleanly in half with a gi- gantic knife. He toppled in two sections to the floor of the con- veyor — released from all humilia- tion, all suffering. At the same time two other things happened. Grim Morgan hit the guard like a crashing thunder- bolt and Hilary’s gun barked once. The monster tottered under the impact. A puzzled expression flitted over his pinkish eyes, a filmy sheath spread over them like a veil, and he fell heavily, a neat bullet hole square between his eyes. Hilary shoved the gun back in his blouse, and stared alternately at the huddled form of the grotesque being and all that remained of Amos Peabody. The old President had saved his life at the cost of his own. Instinctively his hand went up in formal salute to the gallant old man. Grim Morgan shook him by the shoulder. “Man,” he said quietly, “we have killed a Mercutian guard. Within the hour we shall be dead men too.” Hilary looked up at him sharply. “A Mercutian,” he echoed. “You mean — ” “That for three years now the Earth has been a conquered prov- ince of these devils from Mercury,” Grim interposed swiftly. “We have committed the unforgivable offense and must pay for it.” H ILARY glanced swiftly around. The express conveyor was clear of passengers for over a hun- dred yards each way. All the people within range had cleared off when Hilary had attempted to release Peabody. The small figure of a man got up from his chair beyond the charmed circle, and was threading his way forward. The local con- veyors seemed to be moving back- ward at graded speeds. Beyond was the open country, gradually thick- ening into scattered rows of crystal buildings. They were in the suburbs of Great New York. Within ten minutes the conveyor terminal would be reached. Hilary’s eyes flicked speculatively to the tiny cigar-shaped boat in which the dead guard had flown down to them. Its smooth gray- gleaming surface was devoid of wings or other lifting devices. Only a fan-shaped fin projected from the stern like the tail of a fish. The cockpit, if such it could be called, was tiny, just ample enough to accommodate the Mercutian’s girth. The sunlight dazzled back from a bewildering jumble of tiny lenses inset in the instrument board. Arranged along the hull, on either side, were larger disks of the same quartz-like material. “Let’s get away in the flier,” he said. “Can’t,” Grim said. “Those lenses you see on the instrument board are the controls. No one knows how to operate them except the Mercu- tians. Our people managed to cap- ture a few, but couldn’t do a thing with them.” Hilary stared at the motionless flier with interest. “What are those round glass disks stretched along the hull in a double row?” he asked. “They look like burning glasses.” “That’s just what they are,” said Grim sadly. “The top row are sun- lenses, that throw a terrible ray for a distance of two to three hundred feet. Melts everything in its path — men, trees, rocks even. You saw one in action in the sun-tube with which poor old Peabody was cut in half. The lower row of lenses on the flier are search beams.” SLAVES OF MERCURY 87 '‘Search beams?” Hilary echoed inquiringly. ‘‘Yes. They act like X-rays, more powerful though, and with the further property of rendering every- ing they touch transparently crys- tal for depths of ten to fifteen feet. Lead is the only element they can not penetrate. Another secret our scientists can not fathom, so they talk learnedly about the stream of rays polarizing the structure of matter along a uniaxis.” ‘‘Can’t those lenses be duplicated, and turned as weapons against the Mercutians?” ‘‘No. They are made of a peculiar vitreous material native to Mer- cury.” “And no one has found out the principle on which they work?” ‘‘Well, there have been theories. We haven’t many scientists left, you know. But the most popular one is that these lenses have the power of concentrating the rays of the sun to an almost infinite degree, and then spreading them out again, each individual beam with the con- centrated energy of the whole. Some new way of rearranging quanta of energy.” "Hmml” Hilary’s brow was wrin- kled. For a long moment he stared and thought. A T last he snapped back to their present situation: the dead guard at their feet, the dis- membered body of Amos Peabody, the cowed groups of Earthmen on the speeding conveyors, keeping respectful distances. ‘‘We’d better start moving if we want to get away,” he said. “It’s no use.” Grim spread his hands resignedly. ‘‘We’ll have to take our medicine.” Hilary flared angrily. ‘‘You’re talking nonsense. What’s to pre- vent us from hopping to another platform? There is no other Mercu- tian in sight.” ‘‘No, but there were plenty of Earthmen who saw us.” “They won’t tell.” ‘‘Oh, won’t they?” Grim shook his head quietly. ‘‘You don’t realize what has happened. Their spirit has been crushed until they are actually slavish in soul as well as in body. They fought bravely enough on the first invasion. Even after the con- quest there were plenty of men looking for an opportunity to fight them again. Amos Peabody headed the revolt. It was smothered in blood, so effectually that only slaves are left. Peabody was left as a horrible warning. He was sent from city to city to be exhibited to the populace, unattended on the way, so confident were the Mercutians of the terror they had inspired.” “So you think those Earthmen who saw us will report to their masters,” Hilary said slowly. Grim nodded. “I know it — they’ll expect to curry favor in return.” Hilary felt a web of circumstance tighten around him. His jaw tautened. Thank the Lord he had been away — on his own. He had not the soul of a slave — yet. “Won’t you fight for your life?” he asked the big man curiously. A spark lit in the mild blue eyes, died down. “Yes, if there were a chance,” he said dully. “But there is none. The whole Earth is honeycombed with their guards. They have fliers, sun weapons, invisible search beams. We’d never elude them.” Hilary snorted impatiently. “We have good Earth brains, haven’t we? I’ve traveled all the outer planets and never met any intelligence equal to that of a man, and I won’t admit for a moment that the Mercu- tians are any exceptions.” A man stepped casually onto the express, took one startfed look at the dead guard, at them, and fled precipitately back. 88 ASTOUNDING STORIES A NOTHER one to spread the alarm,” Morgan said grimly. “There’ll be a dozen guards drop- ping down on us in the next five minutes.” “Let’s get going then.” Hilary was pulling the big man along by main force when he heard a move- ment in back of them. He stopped, whirled, automatic thrusting its blue nose forward. The little man who had gotten up before on the express was push- ing rapidly toward them. “Stop.” Hilary’s voice was harsh with command. But the little man did not heed. He literally stumbled in his haste, crying: “You’ve killed a Mercu- tian.” “What of it, my bantam?” Hilary inquired softly, the muzzle of his gun boring into a lean flat stomach. The little man was actually press- ing against the automatic in his excitement. “What of it?” he shrilled ex- citedly. “God, all this time I’ve been waiting to find someone with guts enough to smash one of them. Sir, I’m proud to shake your hand.” He reached over the wicked- looking muzzle, gripped Hilary’s fist, still tight on the gun butt, and pumped vigorously. He dropped the hand, swerved on Grim. “And you too, sir.” His little fingers were engulfed in a mighty paw. “I saw it all, I tell you,” he babbled. “We’ve got them on the run. We’ll sweep the filthy devils clean off the Earth. We’ll an- nihilate them.” “Whoa there, my little gamecock,” Morgan grinned down at the ex- cited little man. “One Mercutian doesn’t make a Roman holiday. They’re plenty more where he came from. You’d better clear out before they come, or you’ll be included in the party.” The little fellow — he was not much more than five feet no inches tall — drew himself up to his full height. “What,” he ejaculated, “me desert my friends? Wat Tyler’s never had that said of him yet. We stick together, to hell and back again.” Hilary grinned as he slipped the weapon back into his blouse. He was beginning to like this little firebrand. In truth, Grim had rather fairly described him as a gamecock. His stature, the bristly red hair that flamed above a freckled face, the lightest of blue eyes that snapped with excitement, the peculiar strut of him. “You’ll do,” he said briefly. A T a safe distance a crowd was gathering, a crowd of Earth- men. Grim surveyed them carefully. They were milling back and forth, but no one dared come closer. “Slaves,” he grunted, “not a spark left in them.” His eyes swept the heavens. Two faint black specks appeared in the blue distance, from the direction of Great New York. “They’re coming for us,” he said quietly. “Let them,” crowed the fiery little bantam, “we’ll meet them man to man.” He wrenched the tube from the stiffened fingers of the dead guard, swung it exultingly aloft. “You little fool,” Hilary cried sharply, and struck it down again. “We’re not waiting for them. That’s suicide. Come. I’m afraid it’s too late for you to turn back now. You’ve been seen with us.” He dashed across the moving belts, Grim and Wat, a grotesquely assorted pair, directly behind him. Passengers, men and women both, scattered at their approach, stark, servile fear smothering their dulled countenances. Cries arose on all sides. “The Magnificents are com- ing.” The black specks became larger, forming themselves into swift one- SLAVES OF MERCURY 89 man fliers. The three men pelted across the graded conveyors as hard as they could run. No Earthman tried to stop them; one look at their grim faces would have been a most potent dissuader. And fortu- nately there were no Mercutians within hailing distance other than the rapidly nearing fliers. They flung themselves off the last slow-moving platform, panting. “Which way now?” Hilary asked. His quick eye raked the scene for possible hideouts. They were on a smoothly clipped lawn, heaving gently up to a pretty rambling structure, built on an antique de- sign, pleasingly irregular and nes- tling to the ground as though it were indigenous to the soil. The walls were modern, though, of vita- crystal, which possessed the pe- culiar property of permitting all of the beneficial rays of the sun to penetrate, and yet presented a per- fectly opaque appearance to the outside world. No other hiding place was in sight. The lawn stretched smooth on all sides except for a scattering of trees — poor enough cover. The Mercutians were almost directly overhead now, preparing to swoop. U /”\UR only chance seems to be the house,” Hilary answered his own question quietly. Grim shook his head. “Their search beams can penetrate the vita- crystal walls as though they were transparent glass.” Hilary’s heart sank. “Can’t help it,” he said laconically. “Come on.” The three men broke into a run. It was only a hundred yards, but the Mercutians were coming down fast. They had been seen. A flash as of molten metal gleamed over- head. A blinding ray leaped for the ground, struck viciously a little ahead of the running men. The velvet green grass crisped to ash; the soil underneath scorched. “Scatter 1” Hilary shouted. Instantly the men spread out. Another blast hissed down at them, so close to Hilary that the heat seared his left side like a red-hot iron. The Mercutians were getting the range. Wat Tyler stopped short with a howl of defiance. He whipped the hand tube he had taken from the dead guard out of his blouse. “Hide it, you fool!” Hilary yelled back at him. “We don’t want them to know we are armed.” Wat obeyed reluctantly. He shook his fist high in the air, and started to run again. It was not an instant too soon, either. A beam slithered down the smoldering air, and the Earth literally boiled under its impact, directly on the spot where Wat had stopped to shake his fist. All about them the terrible rays were slashing now. But a last desperate burst ol speed carried the Earthmen onto a wide enclosed portico, in the old manner. Hilary pounded on the vita-crystal door. It was tightly locked. “QTEP back a moment,” Morgan rumbled. Hilary obeyed. The big man spat thoughtfully upon his hands, worked his shoulders tentatively. Then he too retreated to the outer- most edge of the portico. Above, the crystal suddenly shattered. Sharp-edged fragments showered down upon them. There was little time to waste. Grim heaved forward in a slant- ing rush, right shoulder extended. He crashed into the locked door like a runaway train. There was a grinding noise, a smash of crystal, and his shoulder was through, in- cased in a halo of bright, sharp edges. The big man staggered back, his shoulder streaming blood from a hundred cuts. His face was pale and drawn. 90 ASTOUNDING STORIES “Good fellow,” Wat yelled, “even though you are an overgrown ox." He darted in behind the man- mountain like a twisting snake. His deft fingers reached in through the shattered crystal, pressed some- thing on the inside. The door slid into its wall pocket with a sound of grinding glass. Wat burst into the opened room first, Grim right behind him. Hilary brought up the rear, Grim’s great bulk blotting out for the moment any view of the interior. There was a sudden gasp — a girl’s voice. “Wh — What does this mean?” She was tremulous, yet unafraid. Hilary stopped suddenly as though brought up against a solid wall. His heart pounded madly. That voice-— but it was utterly im- possible! Wat answered, gallantly. “Sorry to annoy you, miss, but they’re after us. My partner here’s wounded.” “Oh, you poor man.” There was quick sympathy in the clear tones. “But who is after you?” A splintering crash resounded outside. “The Mercutians, as you no doubt hear,” the little man responded with faint irony. The girl gasped again. “Oh my God!” There was silence. Hilary strained his ears, yet took care to keep hidden behind Grim’s huge frame. What would she do now? It seemed to him as if the whole world depended on her reply. The girl broke the silence. She had come to a swift decision. “They must not get you. Go up- stairs, quietly, into the chamber on the left of the hall. It’s my bed- room. Their search beams can not penetrate it; the walls are draped with lead-encrusted curtains. I’ll stay down here and try to throw them off the trail.” Hilary’s heart recommenced beat- ing. A gush of joy overwhelmed him. The girl had proven herself. Grim spoke, for the first time. “You know the penalty of course, for hiding us.” She did not answer directly. “I can’t help it. I can’t surrender Earthmen to those beasts. Be- sides” — there was a catch in her voice — “it does not matter much since — ” Hilary stepped quietly from be- hind Grim’s overshadowing bulk. The girl’s eyes went wide at the sight of him; her slender white hand flew to her throat. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. “You — you!” she choked. “Hil- ary!” S HE swayed and would have fallen, had Hilary not jumped to catch her. His heart was beat- ing thickly with excess of emo- tion. Joan Robbins in his arms again — how he prayed for this mo- ment in the icy reaches of inter- planetary space. Yet what was she doing here in Bronxville? Her home had always been atop the windswept Robbins Building in Great New York. Her hand went softly over his features, as though to assure her- self that it was really he. “Oh, my dear,” she whispered brokenly, “I had almost given up all hope. Everyone was certain you were lost — long ago.” Whirrings sounded outside. “Sorry to break up your re- union,” Grim interrupted in his bass rumble, “but the Mercutians have landed on the lawn. They’ll be in here right away.” Joan tore herself out of Hilary’s arms. Her slim straight figure taut- ened; her velvet soft eyebrows puckered over deep-lit pools. “Upstairs quickly, all of you,” she cried. “I’ll manage them some- how.” Hilary said quietly. “I won't SLAVES OF MERCURY 91 leave you alone with those brutes. You go along up, and I’ll remain here.” The automatic gleamed in his hand. “No, no,” she panted, “you mustn’t. You wouldn’t have a chance. Leave it to me.” She lit- erally pushed them with her little hands to the stairway. “Go, if you love me.” “The girl’s right,” Grim said, “there’s a chance. If not,” he shrugged his shoulders, “we can always come down again.” Outside were heavy thuddings on the portico. “You in there,” a heavy alien voice resounded, “open or we blast our way in.” The door had been slid back into position. There was no room for further argument. Very reluctantly Hilary followed his companions up the winding stairway. At the top of the stairs an en- trance slide showed darker on the left. Wat fumbled for a moment until he found the button. The door whirred open, even as they heard Joan’s clear voice below: “Come in, Magnificents !” There was a trampling of feet. CHAPTER IV The Kidnaping of Joan T HE Earthmen moved quickly and quietly into Joan’s room. Thin crinkly draperies of heavy silk impregnated with lead in col- loidal solution, covered all the walls, the door itself. But Hilary shot no more than a cursory glance around; he had left the slide slightly ajar; he was listening in- tently. The gun was in his hand. There were only two bullets in the chambers — all that were left of the thousands of rounds the expedition had started out with. He must not waste them. The thick rough voice of a Mer- cutian floated up from below. “Three Earth slaves came in here. Where did they go?” “They did,” Joan admitted read- ily. “They frightened me out of my wits. I screamed and they ran through the house and oqt the back way.” The Mercutian was suspicious. “Hmm. Funny there’s no sign of a struggle here. Nothing is up- set.” “They ran out the back way,” the girl repeated tonelessly. “We’ll see; but if you are lying. . . .” He said no more, but the pause was significant in its implications. “I would not lie to the Mag- nificents.” “Not if you are wise.” He seemed to be the leader. He evidently turned to his companion, for there issued a flood of throaty con- sonants to which the other grunted once. Then the listeners heard his heavy stamping as he walked through the house to the rear. A door whirred; he had gone out. T HE remaining Mercutian said suddenly: “He won’t find them.” “Why not?” Joan asked, a bit tremulously. The Mercutian laughed harshly. “Because you lied. You’ve hid them in the house.” Hilary heard Joan’s sudden sharp intake of breath. “No, no, Magnificent,” she cried. The Mercutian laughed again — a hard cruel laugh. There was no mirth in it. “All Earthwomen are liars. I know where you hid them. In your bed chamber. The trick is too old already. We may not be able to see through the lead curtains, but we can break down the door. I warned Artok not to permit the use of the lead curtains, but he has a soft streak. He listened to the women’s pleadings for privacy. 92 ASTOUNDING STORIES Privacy, pah! A cloak for con- spiracies, that’s all it comes to. When Gurda returns, we search upstairs and drag out your rats from their hole.” He laughed smugly, pleased with his own cleverness. “It is not so.” Strange how calm Joan sounded. “They are not in the house. Only my dying mother is here. She is bedded upstairs. The doctor ordered absolute quiet. The slightest noise would be fa- tal.” The Mercutian sneered. “We’ll take a look at that dying mother of yours right now.” “You mustn’t,” the girl panted. “She will die, I tell you.” “And what does it matter to me?” There was the sound of a strug- gle, a sharp cry, followed by a dull thud. H ILARY was out through the door like a flash, down the corridor to the head of the stairs with automatic extended. The mon- ster Mercutian was coming heavily up the treads. They saw each other simultaneously. The Mercutian’s pink eyes turned a vicious red; the tube dangling in his hand jerked sharply up. Hilary squeezed the trigger. The gun barked. The Mer- cutian spun half around with the force of the tearing bullet. The deadly beam from his weapon slithered over the wall, searing a great molten gash in the crystal. He was badly hurt, but he did not fall. Howling with pain and rage, he slewed himself around again, pointed his sun weapon unsteadily upward. Hilary let him have the other slug. The big body jerked, and fell backward with a crash to the bottom of the stairs, there to lie oddly contorted and still. There was a thundering rush from the rear of the lower floor, a hoarse throaty cry. Hilary tore down the steps three at a time, Grim and Wat slithering behind him. The other Mercutian was bend- ing over Joan’s semiconscious form, sweeping her into the crook of a huge arm. He shot a startled glance at the down-pouring Earth- men, swerved the girl around, and aimed his tube. Hilary pulled the trigger as he swerved. There was a sharp click, but no explosion. Hilary cursed and threw himself down. He had forgotten that there were no more bullets. The speeding flash scorched overhead. Grim and Wat crouched low. Wat’s tube, the one he had wrested from the dead guard on the con- veyor, was being slowly raised. The Mercutian saw it, shifted the in- animate girl in front of himself, and backed stealthily toward the splintered door. “Don’t shoot,” Hilary cried sharply. “You’ll kill Joan.” Wat lowered the tube dis- gustedly. Hilary groaned aloud. If only he had had one more bullet. There was enough of the gigantic body exposed to offer an excellent target to a steel slug without harming Joan, but the sun weapon sent out its beam in a flat spray. The Mercutian sensed their di- lemma as they crouched on the stairs. He laughed unpleasantly as he backed through the doorway, Joan’s limp body held straight in front of him. “Good-by, Earth slaves,” he taunted. “I take your pretty Earth maiden with me. In five minutes I return, with others. You cannot escape. Good-by.” He jumped clumsily through the door. The crouching Earthmen heard a click. It had closed be- hind him. SLAVES OF MERCURY 93 H ILARY and his companions cleared the stairs in almost a single bound. He had snatched the sun-tube out of Wat’s hand. Through the splintered slide he saw the Mercutian climbing into his flier, but a great crystal col- umn of the portico intervened. Nevertheless, while Wat fumbled for the button that released the slide, he took a chance. Every split second was precious now. He aimed the weapon, pressed the spring. A white dazzling ray darted fan- wise from the orifice. It touched the column, fused it into molten, running glass. But the Mercutian was already in his seat, Joan limp beside him. He was fumbling at the controls. The door slid open at last. Hil- ary shot through like a bullet from a rifle. The flier had already taken off on a long slanting rise. A three-fingered hand waved mock- ingly down at him. Hilary raised his weapon, then lowered it with a groan. The flier was well within range yet, but if he aimed the terrible beam at it, there would be a crash of fused twisted material, and — Joan was in it. What a di- lemma! If he didn’t shoot, she would be borne away — he dared not think to what horrible fate. Grim’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder as he watched the flier become a faint black speck in the direction of Great New York. “She was your sweetheart.” His gruff voice was oddly gentle. Hilary brushed a weary hand over his forehead. The Earth, the universe itself, were suddenly dead, meaningless gobs of matter. “Yes,” he said tonelessly. “Five years ago she promised to wait for my return. She kept her word. I found her again — only to lose her.” Grim said quietly: “I too once loved a girl. I joined the last re- bellion under Amos Peabody. The Mercutians threatened to seize the wives, sisters, sweethearts of the revolters if they persisted. Many of the men surrendered. I was one of those who refused. When the revolt was over, smothered in flame from their giant sun-tubes, I found that they had made good their threats. My girl was gone, vanished. Two Mercutians had taken her away. She was never found again.” He paused in brooding silence. “They are up to their old tricks again.” His eyes were steely blue now. Hilary pressed his hand in silence. They were welded together by a common loss. Wat Tyler broke in upon them. “If you fellows want to hang around here, I’ll be on my way. That Mercutian hyena will be back here with a dozen other* just like him in less than no time.” H ILARY snapped out of his sorrow. He could not help Joan by having himself captured or killed, nor was it fair to Grim and Wat. They had placed them- selves unquestioningly under his leadership. Something else too was growing into burning life in his mind. This was his Earth, his and Grim’s and Wat’s, and of millions of other normal human beings. The Mercutians were interlopers, brutal conquerors. He would de- vote his now otherwise meaning- less life to driving them off the planet, wiping them out of the solar system. A tall order, yes, but not for nothing had he fought almost single-handed against those other monstrosities on other worlds: Martians, Ganymedans, Saturnians. The Mercutians were no stronger than they. Besides, there was Joan. “Men,” he said crispy, once more the clear-headed commander of his space expedition, “I in- 94 ASTOUNDING STORIES tend to fight these Mercutian in- vaders until Earth is free once more, or — I am dead. I have no illusions about the magnitude of the job, of its practical hopeless- ness. But that does not mean that you two have to throw away your lives also. I am a marked man, without any identification tag. You on the other hand, can get away from here, mingle indis- tinguishably with the hordes of people in Great New York. You would be safe. Our ways part here, if you desire it so.” He added hastily. “I would be the last to blame you.” Grim Morgan and Wat Tyler looked at each other, a great giant of a man and an undersized ban- tam. Yet some electric spark of sympathy seemed to dart between them, these so dissimilar beings. Wat elected to be the spokes- man. His voice rose shrilly, as it always did when he was laboring under stress of excitement or emo- tion. “You won’t blame us,” he almost squeaked. “Who asked you? Damn it, haven’t we consciences of our own? Are we quitters, yellow-bel- lied Mercutians to quit a pal? Are we, Grim Morgan? Speak, you big ox.” He wheeled abruptly and shook a small fist high in the air. It barely reached under Grim’s nose. The big man looked down at the little gamecock unsmilingly. “No, Wat Tyler, we are not,” he said gravely. Wat turned to Hilary trium- phantly. “There, you see,” he crowed, “we stick together. We’ll lick those Mercutian monsters; we’ll sweep them into the ocean, into space. And what’s more, we’ll rescue your girl too.” He stopped to catch his breath. Grim was noddino- o slowly. He had not the little man’s exuberance. His girl could not be rescued any more, but he could remember. Hilary’s frozen heart warmed into life again. With loyal com- rades such as there, even the im- possible might be accomplished. Very quietly, without heroics, the three men shook hands. Nothing more, yet they knew that they were bound indissolubly together, as long as there was a gasp of breath in any of them. H ILARY’S brain functioned with racing smoothness. In minutes the Mercutians would be back. “We must find a secure hiding place at once,” he said. “Know of any?” Grim shook his head negatively. “There is none,” he spoke slowly. “Their search beams penetrate everything.” “Except lead,” Hilary interposed. “Except lead,” he conceded. “Very well then. We shall have to find a place we can line with lead. In the meantime, I have my space flier up in the Ramapos. If it hasn’t been discovered yet, it will be essential to our task. We’ll have to get there quickly.” “How?” Wat asked. “By the conveyors, of course.” “No good,” the little man de- clared. “Mercutian guards will be patrolling them. You have no iden- tification tag. You would be caught.” Hilary considered that. “Suppose you two go on along,” he sug- gested. “Find it and wait for me. I’ll manage somehow.” “No,” they answered unani- mously; “we go together or not at all.” Hilary did not try to argue. He would have replied himself in ex- actly the same terms. He looked longingly at the abandoned flier of the gray-faced Mercutian, lying cold and still within the house. SLAVES OF MERCURY 95 “If only we could operate the ship,” he said. Then, characteristically, he dis- missed the vain longing and bent to the business in hand. “That means we’ll have to make it on foot, and keep under cover all the way. Come on.” As the three men moved rapidly over the great lawn toward the nearest covert, a little wood a quar- ter of a mile away, the horizon that was Great New York showed silhouetted against the westering sun numerous little black dots. The Mercutians were coming. CHAPTER V Outlaws of Earth T HREE days later three foot- sore, weary, hungry men skulked in the edge of the woods near a little clearing in the Rama- pos. For three days they had ducked and dodged and literally burrowed into the ground by day, traveling only at night. Above and around them the noise of pursuit rolled. The Mercutians were per- sistent. Speedy one-man fliers patrolled the airways, their search beams casting invisible rays in wide sweeping arcs over the uneven ter- rain. Wherever they touched, the ground sprang into vivid illumina- tion, crystal clear to depths of ten to fifteen feet. Several times the crystal swath swept breathlessly close to the place where the fugi- tives crouched in covert. The con- veyors carried back and forth armed companies of guards. The Mercutians were making a mighty effort to capture their prey. But somehow the Earthmen had won through, and eager eyes searched the little glade. Hilary exhaled sharply. The Vagabond, stanch and faithful companion of all his travels, rested immovably on the deep green grass. It had escaped the questing eyes of the Mercutians. The travel lanes did not touch this secluded spot. “So that’s your space ship, eh?” said Grim, surveying the tarnished, pitted spheroid with something of awe. ' 7es,” said Hilary lovingly as he unlocked the outer port slide. A hasty glance around inside showed that nothing had been touched. Everything was orderly, methodi- cal, just as he had left it. Grim and Wat examined with in- terest the banked controls, the po- larization apparatus that set up re- pulsion waves and literally kicked the ship out into space away from the planet against which it had been set. “Time enough to inspect,” Hil- ary warned them. “Never can tell when those damned Mercutians may spy on us.” H E set the polarization con trols so that the mere pull- ing of a switch would send the flier careening off into space. He surveyed the apple-pie order of the interior with vast satisfaction. “Now let them come,” he said, “the Vagabond can show anything that flies a clean pair of heels. Let’s eat.” He dragged an aluminum box out of its locker, opened it to dis- close a gray funguslike mass. He cut off huge slices and offered it to his companions. They looked at it doubtfully. “Ugh,” Wat shuddered vio- lently, “I never saw stuff like that before. It doesn’t look good.” The little man, they soon discovered, had violent discriminations in food. “Try it,” Hilary assured him. “It’s a Martian growth, and de- licious. We had to live on the land, so to speak, on our journey. Our Earth food gave out long be- fore the finish.” 96 ASTOUNDING STORIES Wat looked at it with manifest distaste, but Grim was already wolfing his portion and making little pleased sounds. Wat bit into a portion gingerly, found it tasted somewhat like truffles, and soon was not far behind in gulping it down. W HEN their appetites had been appeased, Hilary called a council of war. “First of all/' he told them, “we’ll have to find a hideout. That presupposes two things: a place large enough to store the Vaga- bond, and hidden from view, either from the naked eye or their search beams.” “That sounds like a large cavern lined with lead,” said Grim. “Exactly.” “And there are none such in this territory,” Grim replied quietly. “I will not move too far from New York,” Hilary spoke with de- termination; “there is Joan. . . .” Grim looked blank. There was Joan, of course. Wat got up suddenly. “I know a place,” he said, “within a mile of here, and it’s not a cave. Come on; I’ll show you. I was a Ranger in the Ramapo Game Preserve in the old days.” Hilary asked no more. The po- larization switch made contact, and the Vagabond left the Earth with a swift rush. It maneuvered with the ease of an Earth flier. Wat directed him, scanning the rugged tree-clad mountains with eager eye. “There,” he said finally, “set her down right there. Easy.” Hilary saw no break in the un- interrupted line of the mountain, but he followed directions. He had come to have an abounding faith in the little red-haired man. The space flier eased gently down. Just as it seemed as if it would perforce come to rest upon serrated tree tops, a faint glimmer showed amid the darker green. There was an opening, just barely room for the Vagabond. H ILARY jockeyed skilfully through, kept on descending into a narrow cleft in the slope. The walls rose almost perpendicu- larly on either side. About fifty feet down there was a sharp turn and the gorge angled downward for another fifty feet. When the flier came to rest at the bottom, it was securely hidden in a slanting cleft, some forty feet wide and sev- eral hundred long. A mountain brook brawled at one side, assuring plentiful water. The outside world was absolutely invisible. Perpetual twilight reigned; only a pale dim religious light filtered through. “Just the thing,” Wat exulted. “We’ll never be found here, no mat- ter how much they search, unless someone actually stumbles into the opening. There’s almost eighty feet of solid rock above us, and their search beams only penetrate about ten to fifteen.” “Splendid,” Hilary said. “Now we’ve got to get to work.” For two days they toiled inces- santly. A rope ladder was fabri- cated to insure ease of entrance and exit without recourse to the ship. Wat, as the least conspicu- ous, was delegated to scour the countryside and bring in stores of provisions. The bottom of the gorge was leveled off with infinite labor. Rough wood shelters were erected. Spares and electrical equip- ment to replace worn parts in the Vagabond were also purchased by Wat, in cautious small purchases. It necessitated long trekking through mountain trails, but there was no murmur from him. The search, he reported, seemed to be slackening. Only the routine guards whizzed by on the conveyors, and the usual Mercutian fliers that kept to the regular air lanes. SLAVES OF MERCURY 97 At last even Hilary was satis- fied. He was ready now for the plan that had been slowly forming in his mind during the days of their flight and of work. He was going to attempt a rescue of Joan. She had never left hi3 thoughts once; he was burning with inward anxiety, though hi3 face wa3 a mask to cover his true feelings. T HE last evening he sat with the others within one of the wooden shelters. A huge fire of fragrant pine knots blazed up a crude boulder chimney. “I am going out now to find Joan,” he told them quietly. “When do we start?” asked Wat. “I am going alone.” There was a movement of protest. He checked it at once. “You can understand the reasons. One man can worm his way where three men cannot. It isn’t a question of force, of brute strength. Besides, if anything should go wrong, there are still the two of you to carry on — to be the focus of a new revolt. If all of us were caught, there v/ould be no further hope for the Earth.” “It’s a hell of a note,” Wat grum- bled, unconvinced. “There’s fight- ing to be done, and me cooped up here like a sick hen.” “Hilary’s right,” Grim interposed thoughtfully. “It's a one-man job. We’ll have our chance later.” He turned on Hilary. “But if anything does happen to you, you under- stand we won’t stay quietly. We’ll come — if you are still alive. Prom- ise you will let us know — if you can.” “I’ll promise that,” Hilary agreed. “There is a way.” He got up and went out of the hut. In a few minutes he was back, holding three small flat disks en- meshed in a spray of fine wires for them to see. “I’ve just removed the communi- cation disks from our space suits. Strap them in position on your right shoulder blade, hook the wires — so — and you can talk to me or to each other over distances of one hundred miles. Underneath your clothing they cannot be seen. Should I require your assistance, I’ll call, and further, I’ll show you both how to run the Vagabond, in case. . . .” His voice trailed. “Yes, yes, of course,” Grim in- terposed hastily, “but you’ll be here to run it when the time comes.” “Perhaps,” Hilary smiled faintly. Then he leaned forward. “I’ve got- ten a pretty good idea of what’s happened on Earth since I went away, but now I need more details. Otherwise I’ll run into things that will surprise me, and that might not be so — pleasant.” They told him, interrupting each other, arguing over details, Hilary interposing questions every now and then. A BOUT a year and a half after Hilary’s departure into track- less space, a huge flat diskoid came hovering to the ground near Great New York. It carried a party of Mercutians on a friendly explora- tion, so they said, once communi- cation could be established between Earth linguists and themselves. They were welcomed, made much of. They seemed friendly enough. At their own request they were whirled over the Earth in Ean.Ii planes on a tour of inspection. When they departed, with much protestation of friendship, they as- sured President Peabody they would return some day, they and others of their race. Just what hid- den threat there was in that prom- ise, no one on Earth realized. It was taken at face value. Just a year later, almost to the day, the by this time familiar diskoid was seen hovering once more over Great Mew York. The ASTOUNDING STORIES Mercutians were returning. The people of New York suspected nothing. No troops were rushed to the scene to repel invasion; no guns were trained on the space ship. It was just another friendly visit, and hurried preparations were commenced for a rousing wel- come on their landing. What New York did not know was that simultaneously with the appearance of the Mercutian flier over their city, a hundred others were even then hovering over the strategic capitals of the world. The first Mercutian ambassadors had put to good advantage that hurried tour of inspection. No one was alarmed. Each capi- tal city thought itself signally hon- ored by the reappearance of the lone Mercutian over it. The plan was clever, the timing perfect. At a signal flashed through the ether, things started happening. The great diskoids, hovering high in the stratosphere, suddenly blazed into blinding light. To the dazzled onlookers below, a new sun seemed to have been born. A truncated cone of flame leaped downward. The diskoid was the apex, the spreading base all of Great New York. The sheeted brilliance en- veloped the doomed city. It was a holocaust. New York became a roar- ing furnace. Stone and steel heated to incandescence. The affrighted people had no chance for their lives. Like moths in a flame they died on the streets, in the ovens of their homes, in the steaming rivers into which they had thrown themselves to escape the awful heat. There were few survivors, only those who hap- pened to be inside the giant sky- scrapers, protected by many thick- nesses of crystal and steel. A S Great New York went, so went a hundred other cities. The Earth was caught unawares, but the governments, the people, responded nobly. Troops were mo- bilized hurriedly, preparations rushed for warfare. But the Earthmen did not have a chance. The great sinister disk- oids moved methodically over the Earth, high in the stratosphere, where the futile Earth planes could not reach them, and sent the ter- rible blaze of destruction down un- erringly upon armies, cities, towns. It was over soon. One after an- other, the Earth governments ca- pitulated. America was the last — old Amos Peabody vowed he would rather go down to utter destruc- tion than yield — but he was out- voted in Council. It was pure slaughter otherwise, without a chance to fight back. At once the Mercutians set up their government. The Earth was turned into a colony. The leader of the invaders, the son of the Mer- cutian emperor, became Viceroy, with absolute powers. Sooner or later, it was their intention to transport the entire Mercutian race to the Earth, and make it their permanent home. Mercury was not an ideal place to live on ; in the restricted area around the poles where life was possible, terrific storms alternated with furnace droughts, to which the hottest part of the Sahara was. an Arctic para- dise. No wonder the first Mercu- tian expedition had broached the subject of Earth as an easy con- quest when they returned. The Mercutians treated the Earth people as slaves. Their rule was brutal and arrogant in the extreme. The Earth people revolted, under the leadership of Amos Peabody. Weaponless, except for small hid- den stores of rifles and revolvers — the Mercutians had eannily dis- armed their slaves — they fought desperately with axes, knives, clubs, anything, against the over- lords. SLAVES OF MERCURY 99 The result could have been ex- pected. The rebellion was smoth- ered in blood and fire. The bravest o£ the Earthmen died in battle, or were executed afterwards. The slaves, the weaklings, were left. Old Amos Peabody was treated as Hilary had seen. He was exhibited in city after city as a public warn- ing. H ILARY'S blood was boiling as the terrible narration went on and on. But his face was calm, immovable. “How do the diskoids operate?” he asked. “Something like the sun rays on the one-man fliers,” Grim told him, “only vastly more powerful. They are not limited in range, for one thing. It took only one, fifty miles up in the stratosphere, to destroy all New York. I saw the one that first spied on the Earth. It was about five hundred feet in diam- eter, made of the same vitreous material, and shaped like a huge lens. No doubt, besides being a space ship, it is just that. The sun's light flashes through it, is rearranged into terrible burning rays, and sears all in its path.” “Hm’m!” Hilary meditated. “So everything the Mercutians have in the way of weapons and armament depends directly on the sun’s rays.” “Yes,” Grim agreed. “After all, you must remember that with Mer- cury exposed as it is to the fierce heat of the sun, it would be only natural for them to develop weap- ons that utilized its rays.” “Then the tubes and the fliers cannot operate at night?” “Yes, because then they receive the reflected waves from the disk- oids that are stationed out in space, in eternal sunlight.” Hilary considered this a moment. “Where do you think it possible Joan was taken?” he changed the subject abruptly. “It is hard to say,” Grim an- swered slowly. “But your best chance would be with the Viceroy himself. There have been rumors — when pretty girls disappear.” Hilary’s jaw set hard. “I think I’ll interview His Mer- cutian Magnificence,” he said. “Where are his quarters?” “The Robbins Building.” “Good Lord, that’s Joan’s. . . .” So that was why Joan was up in the Bronxville suburb. “What hap- pened to her father, Martin Rob- bins?” “Executed after the revolt,” Wat interposed. “Your girl must have escaped, otherwise she’d have been treated then like the other girls whose relatives had fought.” Hilary smiled unaccountably, the first smile since Joan had been taken. He knew the Robbins Build- ing well; he had been a frequent visitor there in the old days. There were surprises in store for His Nibs the Mercutian. . . . CHAPTER VI Mutterings of Revolt T HE next morning, as dawn burst over the mountain tops, he started on his perilous mission. But no one who knew Hilary Gren- don would have recognized him in the meek, shambling, slightly bent Earth slave who climbed the last rung of the rope ladder out of the hidden gorge. He had changed his clothes for an old, space-worn suit that one of his former comrades could never have any further use for. The skil- ful application of wood ash and powdered charcoal to the hollows around the eyes, the pits beneath the cheekbones, gave him a gaunt, careworn appearance, suitable to an Earthman too brow-beaten to dream of defying his overlords. Wat, who had artistically ap- plied the make-up, viewed his han- 100 ASTOUNDING STORIES diwork with admiration. “You’ll do,” he grinned. “The way you look, even a little fellow like me would be perfectly safe in spitting upon you.” Before he went, he explained the mechanism of the Vagabond thor- oughly to his friends. Finally they nodded; they would know how to work the controls. There was the question of weap- ons. The captured sun-tube was out of the question; it could not be secreted beneath the dark-blue blouse. Hilary fondled his auto- matic wistfully. “If only I had some bullets,” he sighed. “Hell, man, I know where you can get plenty,” said Wat. There svas a hidden cache, not far from where they were, stored against the day. There were still some brave spirits left on Earth who hoped and plotted. Wat had been one of them. Hilary’s spirits rose immeasurably. With his gun loaded he could face the whole Mereutian planet. H ILARY made the return jour- ney to Great New York in an hour. He wormed his way care- fully to the nearest conveyor, and made his way openly to the ex- press platform, secure in his dis- guise. There was an air of unrest, of tension in the air. The Earth pas- sengers no longer sat dully, apa- thetically, as they were whizzed along. Little groups buzzed to- gether, excited, gesticulating. Hilary unostentatiously joined one. There was a sudden silence as he sank quietly into his seat, glances of uneasy suspicion. But he looked thoroughly innocuous, and the chief whisperer felt embold- ened to resume the thread of his interrupted discourse. “There are men left on Earth,” he mouthed secretively to the little circle of heads. “The Mercutians went down like animals — fifteen of them killed, I hear. The whole company of guards retreated in a hurry” — he paused for greater ef- fect, and continued slowly and im- pressively — “from — three — Earth- men.” Hilary raised his head sharply. They were discussing his exploit, evidently. With exaggerations of course. That was inevitable. “Yes, sir,” the speaker proceeded, “that shows you. These damned Mercutians are not invulnerable. They can be overcome, chased off the Earth. But we’ve got to be men, not slaves.” High excitement shone in the surrounding faces. “But we ain’t got no weapons,” a small, weak-chinned man pro- tested. The other spat carefully: “No weapons, huh? Man, I could show you—” A dark silent man standing un- interestedly next to him jabbed him in the ribs. The orator gulped and stammered : “I — I mean — ” “Psst,” someone hissed hurried- ly, “the Mercutians.” T HREE giant Mereutian guards, their sun-tubes at the ready, stumbled heavily down the aisles of the express, sagging with the pull of Earth’s gravitation. Their gray, warted faces were black as thunderclouds. They stopped before the hastily scattered group. “You heard the orders,” the hugest one barked: “no congregat- ing of Earth slaves on the convey- ors or elsewhere. Next time you disobey, I’ll ray you. You under- stand?” “Yes, Magnificent,” the weak- chinned man muttered hurriedly. But the little knot reformed im- mediately after the guards had passed on. SLAVES OF MERCURY 101 “Magnificents !” The first speaker spat viciously. “I’d like to wring their necks.” Hilary shifted unobtrusively to another excited cluster. There the same procedure was followed. A quiet-voiced man was talking, laud- ing the exploit of the three em- battled Earthmen, skilfully and subtly enkindling enthusiasm, rais- ing wholesome doubts as to the in- vulnerability of the hated Mercu- tians. Numerous patrols of guards stalked up and down the convey- ors, arrogant, manifestly itching for a pretext to ray the conquered. But the Earthmen gave them no oppor- tunity. The groups melted at their approach into meek, vacuous indi- viduals; reformed instantly as they moved on. And there were no in- formers. The Earthmen had re- sumed their almost forgotten Earth solidarity in fronting the invaders. H ILARY watched the restless shifting groups with a glow of pride. This was his work, the spark he had kindled was being fanned into a steady blaze. These whisperers, these exhorters, who were they? Members of an under- ground organization? Possibly. Wat and Grim had both belonged to loose circles, vague and shifting in membership. Possibly they were coalescing now, joining up into a world-wide organization. He hoped so. It would make his task easier, it also helped restore his pride in being an Earthman. He had almost thought that this supine listless race of his was not worth rescuing. He reached the terminal in Great New York without untoward incident. No one challenged this meek, shabby-looking Earthman. The Mercutians gave him barely a glance; the Earthmen disregarded him when they whispered together. Hilary was content; he was not seeking undue notice. The terminal was the scene of unwonted activity. The conveyors were disgorging crowds of Earth- men, grim, determined-looking in- dividuals. They scattered purpose- fully through the various exits of the huge building. Hilary noted with interest that there were no women, no children, on the con- stantly incoming expresses. The Mercutians were massing, too. The terminal was crowded with guards. They stalked heavily about, shouldering their Earth slaves rudely out of the way, send- ing them sprawling with sudden quick shoves. It would take only an untoward word, a false move- ment, to start a massacre. The Mer- cutians were deliberately trying to egg them on. But the Earthmen took the abuse, the physical violence, quietly. They picked themselves up, disappeared through the exits, giving way to new arrivals. Once Hilary caught a gleam of familiar steel in the un- buttoned recess of a man’s blouse pocket. He smiled. There were un- toward events impending. But first he must take care of his own private matter. Joan was a captive in the hands of the Mer- cutian Viceroy. What was his name? Wat had told him. That was it — Art ok. H E was out in the street now, a wide vita-crystal paved thoroughfare, one of the many that radiated from the terminal like the spokes of a wheel. On either side v/as an upflung spray of tall re- ceding towers, dazzling in the sun- shine. It struck Hilary suddenly. There had been bright unclouded skies during the days since his arrival. Only at night had it rained, like clockwork; every night for fifteen minutes immediately after mid- night. A light steady shower that ceased as suddenly as it sprang up. 102 ASTOUNDING STORIES It was unusual. This was April in the Spring of 2348 and April was always a month of showery heav- ens. Had the Mercutians, accus- tomed to the blazing light of their own planet, deliberately managed some way to create perpetual sun- shine on Earth? Very likely, con- sidering the clockwork night show- ers, no doubt for the purpose of preventing droughts. There was the matter of weapons and power, too. They all depended on the sun. Hilary took the inside moving platform. It would take him to the Robbins Building. The street was black with people, surging back and forth, restless, ominous. Mercutians stalked purposefully along, in companies of ten. Their guttural voices were harsh with command. The Earthmen scattered out of their way. Those who were not nimble enough were knocked down, trampled underfoot. One Earthman, braver than the rest, or more foolish, gave vent to a scream of rage, when a young girl, with whom he was arm in arm, was wrested brutally away. His fist shot out, caught the leering guard flush on his chin. The Mercutian staggered, then bellowed with rage. His tube flashed upward. The Earthman’s eyes opened wide as with wonder, then he collapsed, cut cleanly in half. There was a full-throated growl from the jammed thoroughfare, a sudden surging forward. But the guards, reinforced by others, had their tubes lifted, ominous, death- dealing. The crowd ebbed back hastily. H ILARY had joined the first rush. His blood pounded in hjs veins at the unprovoked bru- tality. For a hasty moment he vis- ioned the commencement of the re- volt. But as the mob retreated be- fore the weapons, his brain cooled. The time was not. ripe yet. It would be pure slaughter. Besides, there was Joan. Once more he was the meek, downtrodden slave. He got off the platform, shambled over to the Robbins Building, an imposing pile of vita-crystal. It rose high into the air, overtopping even the great Memorial Tower. Martin Robbins had been wealthy, very much so. He had been a physicist of world repute, and this building was a monument to his inventive genius. The top floors were devoted to marvelously equipped laboratories. On the roof were the living quar- ters — dwelling of many rooms sur- rounded by an alpine garden. All Great New York stretched beneath. In the distance the green waters of the Atlantic dazzled in the sun- shine. Hilary knew the layout well. It had been his second home be- fore. . . . He put the bitter thoughts determinedly behind him. There was work ahead. The stooped, hol- low-cheeked creature shambled aim- lessly up to the entrance. It was filled with Mercutian guards. He edged his way along, hoping to pass through unnoticed. “Here, you,” a burly Mercutian barred his way, “get out of here before I ray you.” H ILARY seemed to shrivel to- gether in mortal terror. He turned to slink out again. The guard had him by the shoulder, was propelling him with ungentle paws toward the exit. Hilary let himself be shoved. A cold curt voice spoke a sharp command : “What have you there?” Where had Hilary heard that voice before? The pushing guard spun him around hastily. “He was trying to get into the building, Cor Urga,” he said re- spectfully. “These damned Earth SLAVES OF MERCURY 103 slaves are everywhere under foot. It’s time we rayed a few to teach them a lesson.” Hilary found himself gazing at the gray saturnine countenance that had burnt itself into his memory. Urga — the Mercutian who had kid- naped Joan! His muscles tensed suddenly for a quick spring, then relaxed. He must play the game. Urga looked him over carefully, puzzled. “Strange,” he grunted, “I’ve seen this fellow before, but I cannot remember where.” Hilary was taut. Would he be recognized? But the Mercutian Cor — in Earth terms, Captain of a Hundred — shook his head finally, and turned away. The disguise had held up. “All these Earth slaves look alike. This one is a particularly poor specimen. Turn him loose. If he tries to come in again, kill him.” “Get,” the guard growled vicious- ly, and sent Hilary sprawling out into the street to the muttering accompaniment of the seething Earth crowds. The temper of the people was rapidly reaching the explosion point. B UT Hilary picked himself up, meekly, brushed himself off, and melted unostentatiously into the moving crowd. He desired no undue attention. Strangely enough, there were no Mercutians in sight. Only the surg- ing, growling Earthmen. Hilary felt their mysterious disappearance to be ominous — as though they had been warned by some secret signal. Something terrible was about to happen. He must get to that certain passageway he knew, and quickly. If only it were not guarded. A cry went up about him, a yell of many voices. “The Mercutians are coming.” Hilary whirled. Down the street, issuing from the terminal, deployed a full regiment of guards, bowed under the strong pull of the Earth, but formidable enough. Sun-tubes glinted dangerously. A stentorian voice reached him. “Clear the streets, you Earth dogs,” it roared. “You’ve been warned enough. One minute to obey and I’ll burn you all down.” A babel of excited voices went up. The crowds farther down, near the advancing Mercutians, melted into a wild scramble. Men tram- pled each other underfoot in a mad attempt to reach safety be- fore the minute’s expiration. Where Hilary had paused, there was a milling indecisiveness. Men were already quietly edging their way toward adjoining buildings, into side thoroughfares; others were more belligerent. “Kill the bloody beasts!” a man suddenly screamed near Hilary, drawing a pistol from beneath his blouse. He waved it frantically in the air. There was an ugly surge, a low-throated growl. It needed very little for the mob to get out of hand and hurl itself upon the steadily approaching Mercutian regiment. Hilary acted swiftly. He caught the man’s pistol arm, thrust it down sharply out of sight. A quick wrench, and the gun was in his own hand. The man, wild-eyed, opened his mouth to shout. “Shut up,” Hilary hissed fierce- ly. “Are you mad? You wouldn’t have a chance. They’d ray us all clean out of existence.” He thrust the pistol back into the man’s blouse. “Wait; our chance will come.” “Oh, my God! Look!” someone screamed. A command shattered the air; the tubes of the Mercutians up- lifted; a blinding sheet of flame blazed solidly down the street. The minute’s grace was up. 104 ASTOUNDING STORIES E VEN at this distance, the heat scorched and seared. There were many unfortunates caught far- ther down, men who had had no chance to seek safety in time. They melted in the furnace blast as though they were bits of metal in an electric arc. “Run for your lives !” the shout went up. All thought of resistance was gone. It was every one for himself. The man with the gun was the first to run. Hilary found him- self caught in the mad rush. The Mercutians were pounding along methodically raying in front of them. Hilary was thrust into a little eddy of men to one side. It swirled and shoved. The entrance of the Pullman Building loomed ahead. The sight of it gave Hilary new vigor. That was his destination. If only he could make it. He straightened out of his stoop, squared his shoulders. The next instant a human battering ram crashed through the swirling, yell- ing mob. Head down, right shoul- der and elbow working in unison, a path magically opened where no path had been before. Every sec- ond was precious now. The heat of the tubes was engulfing him in waves, raising little blisters on the unprotected skin. Hilary plunged into the open en- trance of the Pullman Building. It was packed with humanity, strug- gling for the lift platforms, to take them to the upper stories, out of reach of the awful rays. Hilary was thankful for that. His destina- tion was beneath, in the sub-levels. A moving escalator led downward. It was deserted. A fierce, wild screaming arose outside, screams that gurgled and died horribly. Hilary felt sick in- side. The full blast of the rays had reached the milling crowd. It would be a hideous and merciless slaughter. H ILARY’S gray eyes burned, his lips set in a straight, hard line. The beasts would pay for this. He shot down the escalator at full speed. A spray of passageways met him. He did not hesitate. He chose the one farthest to the left and dashed along its winding length until he came to a dead end. The vita-crystal gleamed blankly back at him. But Hilary knew what he was doing. Long ago Martin Robbins had told him of the secret connec- tion between the two adjoining buildings. A passageway that led between the outer and inner shells of crystal walls; lifts that shot smoothly to the laboratories and pent-apartments on the roofs of the two structures. For Simeon Pullman had been a close friend of Robbins; a fellow physicist, in fact. They interchanged theories, re- sults of experiments, and found this swift connection most conve- nient. Both men were dead now — Pull- man as the result of a premature explosion, and Robbins, executed by the Mercutians. But the secret passageway remained. Hilary pressed the secret spring he knew of. A gleaming oblong of crystal slid silently open. He went in without hesitation and the slide closed with a little whir behind him. A low tunnel confronted him, just barely high enough for him to move without stooping. The walls here were of burnished metal, glow- ing with impregnated cold-light. It was empty, silent. Evidently it had been undisturbed for years. The Mercutians had not discovered this secret way then. T HE tunnel slanted downward for several hundred yards, then turned sharply upward until a vita-crystal wall barred the way. Hilary could hear vague sounds SLAVES OF MERCURY 105 from the other side. He was in the Robbins Building. He turned to the left, where a shaft stretched upward, completely enclosed by crystal walls. A thin oblong edging showed the platform beneath. He stepped on it, hesitated for a mo- ment. There were two control but- tons; one that stopped the lift in the laboratory, the other in the sleeping room that once was Martin Robbins'. Hilary decided in favor of the penthouse; there was less chance of a present occupant of the room. If there was — he shrugged his shoulders and loosened the auto- matic in his blouse. He pressed the button. The platform shot smoothly up- ward, up, up, thrusting a thousand feet up. At length it came to a gliding halt. Hilary knew he was on the roof now, in the interior of the wall making one side of the sleep-apartment. The vita-crystal gleamed mockingly opaque at him. If only he could see through; if only he had a Mercutian search beam now. Was there someone in the room on the other side of the wall? He strained his ears to listen, but the crystal was pretty much sound-proof. Very quietly Hilary drew his gun, broke it, examined the cham- ber. The six bullets lay snug. He snapped it back in position, held the automatic butt against his side, reached over and pressed the re- lease button. T HE slide whirred open. Hil- ary waited a second, tense, ready to shoot at the slightest sound. His eyes bored through the oblong. Nothing was in sight ex- cept the luxurious furnishings he remembered so well ; nothing stirred. But his vision was limited to that part of the room framed by the slide. With infinite caution he peered out, his searching gaze flicking swiftly around the sleep- apartment. It was a man’s room with built-in divans, automatic sleep-spray, wall rack to hold il- luminated book sheets, magnified so as to be read comfortably from a reclining position on the divan — in short, the usual ordered lux- uries of a well-furnished sleep- room. It was empty — but the divan was touseled, certain small things dis- arranged. Someone used this room. Hilary stepped out, leaving the slide behind him open in case of an enforced retreat. He paused to think. Where could Joan be held prisoner — if, and it was a big if — she were really here. He ran over the possibilities. The laboratories were out of the question. The great master room then. No doubt Artok, the Viceroy, had installed himself there. It was regally magnificent. That might re- pay a visit. A bold scheme flashed across his mind. Seize Artok him- self, abduct him into the secret passage, and compel him to dis- close Joan’s whereabouts, give her up. Hilary smiled grimly. Sheerly suicidal, yes, but he was desperate now, and there seemed no other way. Gun shifted back into his blouse, with his right hand thrust in, on the butt, he glided softly out of the chamber. No one was in sight. The passageway seemed oddly de- serted. Possibly the staff had been attracted to the outer rim of the terrace by the commotion below. At the end of the passageway, facing him, was the master room. Another swift look about, and Hil- ary was moving down the long corridor, close to the wall, his footfalls deadened by the soft com- position rug. Slowly, very slowly, he pressed the button to release the slide. It slid open at a barely perceptible rate. As the slender crack widened. 106 ASTOUNDING STORIES Hilary looked in, taking care to keep his body to one side. CHAPTER VII In the Hands of the Mercutians A MERCUTIAN was lolling in a reclining chair, his gray warty face turned half away from Hilary. He was rather undersized for a Mercutian, standing not more than seven feet, and his gray un- wieldy body was heavy and gross as though thickened with good liv- ing and debauch. A fleshy three- fingered hand was pounding vehe- mently on the arm of the chair. His guttural roughened voice came clearly to the listener. He was talk- ing to someone, unseen from the angle of the slowly widening slit. He was annoyed. “For the last time I give you the opportunity,” the Mercutian howled — in English. “If you refuse I turn you over to Urga; he wants you.” The crack in the door had wid- ened perceptibly. Hilary’s heart gave a tremendous leap. Disclosed to his vision was a figure standing opposite the Mercutian, slim, de- fiant, proud — Joan. What unimaginable luck! The automatic leaped like a live thing into his hand. He crouched, the blood pounding in his temples, waiting for the slide to come com- pletely open. He dared not reach over for the button control to shift the speed; the movement might be heard inside. The path was clear now. Over- power the Mercutian, escape with Joan down the deserted corridors back to the secret passageway, emerge below, return to their hide- out in the Ramapos and plan for revolt. It was all as simple as that. “TI 7E must have these Earth VV slaves,” the Mercutian con- tinued, unheeding. “They must be made an example of. They are re- sponsible for the unrest. They have killed Magnificents; and the Earth fools think they can do the same. They will find out their error soon enough. But as long as those three live, so long will the slaves hope, and plot.” “I cannot tell you anything about them,” Joan said monotonously. It was evident that this was not the first time she had said so. “Yes you can,” the Mercutian said as softly as his gutturals would permit. “There is one in particular you know a great deal about. Urga told me. A long-lost lover, no?” His gray-ridged coun- tenance contorted into a thick dis- gusting leer. “There is something mysterious about him. He has no identification tag; he releases Peabody; seems not to know the penalties. He has a pistol, a forbidden weapon; he dares to kill a Magnificent; he eggs on two others, ordinary Earth slaves, to join him; he disappears out of sight, in spite of all search.” He was shouting now, pounding the chair arm with complete loss of dignity. “Who is he, where does he come from, where did he go? Answer me?” The girl faced him boldly. “You are afraid of him, Viceroy,” she challenged. “You fear his ex- ample. He has shown what a brave man can do; the Earth people will follow him. The Mercutians are not invulnerable.” “Yes,” the Viceroy said heavily. He was talking more to himself. Then he realized his mistake. “No, of course not,” he growled hurried- ly. “Enough of this. You tell me what I want to know or I call Urga in.” Joan’s face went white, but she faced him unflinchingly. “I do not know where he is, and if I did, I would not tell you.” “Very well then.” The Viceroy leaned over to the table. SLAVES OF MERCURY 107 The slide was completely open now. “I wouldn’t call anyone if I were you.” T HE Viceroy whirled in his chair at the sound of the calm Earth voice, calm yet deadly in its implications. He found himself staring into the stubby opening of an Earth automatic, a forbidden weapon. The hand that held it was steady, and the gray eyes that bored into his were hard as peb- bles. There was a smothered gasp from Joan. “Hilary.” “Yes; come to take you away.” He spoke swiftly. “We have no time to waste, Joan. Is there any binding material in the room?” “I — I believe there is. Dad al- ways kept odds and ends in the store chest near the bookshelves.” “Go and get it then. We’ll truss up his most Mercutian Magnifi- cence — No you don't,” Hilary said harshly; “keep your hands in front of you and don’t move.” The Viceroy was stealthily reach- ing for the sun-tube dangling from his belt. He jerked his hand back, a cold sweat beading his forehead. Hilary’s finger had compressed on the trigger; the slightest extra pressure meant flaming death. “That’s better,” Hilary approved. “You shall pay for this,” howled the Mercutian, finding voice again. “You shall suffer a hundred deaths in one.” “Softly,” Hilary grinned. “Just a little while ago you were very anx- ious to meet me. Now that I’m here you don’t seem overmuch pleased.” Joan was rummaging frantically in the open chest. The Viceroy started, his unlid- ded pink eyes opened wider. But he was careful to keep his hands in plain view. “You are the Earth dog who killed the Magnificents.” “I wouldn’t call names,” Hilary advised. “It might be unhealthy. But I am that very individual. And I trust” — he bowed mockingly — “to have more notches on my gun be- fore I am through.” “You — you — shall be taken to Mercury. My father has special places for such as you.” Joan was coming now swiftly with lengths of wire, soft thick material for swathing. “Get me there first,” Hilary said indifferently. “Gag him, Joan, so he can’t open his ugly mouth any more. Then tie him up, well.” Joan thrust the gag into the thick gash of a mouth, choking off a torrent of imprecations in the guttural Mercutian tongue. Then she proceeded to truss him, expert- ly, efficiently. “Good job,” Hilary approved. “Now with your kind permission. Most Viceregal Magnificence, we shall go.” He bowed mockingly. “Come, Joan.” “Not so fast, Earth slave.” A cold saturnine voice resounded like the clang of doom behind him. He whirled, shifting his gun swiftly for a quick shot. A little gush of heat caught his trigger hand as the index finger contracted desperately. The smart- ing pain tore the pistol out of his hand. It dropped to the floor, un- heeded. Hilary found himself star- ing into the gross unpleasant face of Urga, a sun-tube trained directly at his midriff. “rpHE Earth slave who tried to X slink into the building,” Urga said, surprised. “How did he get up here?” “I don’t know,” the Viceroy said shortly, working the gag out of his mouth. “Don’t stand there like a fool. Untie me.” Gratitude was not among the Viceroy’s virtues. Urga’s face mottled as he hast- ened to obey. When Artok stood 108 ASTOUNDING STORIES finally released, he glared heavily at Hilary and Joan. Then slowly a smile broke over his warty fea- tures, a smile that boded unutter- able things. Hilary waited quietly, ready to seize the slightest open- ing; Joan pressed wide-eyed against his shoulder. “Know this Earth dog?” the Viceroy jerked at Hilary. Urga’s glance was puzzled. “I told you I threw him out of the entrance, but even then I felt I had seen him before.” “You have, Cor Urga,” the ruler laughed shortly. “This is the one who is responsible for the mutter- ings of the slaves. He slew your comrade, Gornu.” The captain started, peered into his captive’s unflinching counte- nance. “He’s disguised!” he cried. “Let me kill him, Magnificent.” He fin- gered his sun-tube significantly. The Viceroy was in high good humor now. “Not so fast. You would let him off too easy. I have a better scheme. We shall show the mutinous dogs how we treat those who revolt against our will.” A cruel smile broke over Urga. “I understand, Magnificent. Make a public warning of him like that fool Peabody. Rip out his tongue and his eyes, smash his eardrums, and ride him from city to city, in chains.” “Exactly.” Joan shuddered convulsively. “No, no,” she cried aloud in her terror, “don’t do that. I’ll tell you everything; I’ll do — ” “Joan,” Hilary interrupted sharp- ly, “not another word.” His arm went around her. She collapsed against his shoul- der, sobbing. “TT is too late for bargains now,” X the Viceroy shrugged indif- ferently. “We have the man we wanted. As for the other two, you will tell us where they are hiding anyway.” Urga turned to him expectantly. “Your Magnificence,” he urged respectfully, “you promised me the girl, if — ” “Yes, take her.” The Viceroy waved a weary hand. “I don’t want her; I have too many as it is.” The captain’s face lit up with an unhealthy glow. He approached eagerly to seize his prize. Joan gave a little cry of dismay, and shrank closer to her lover. Hilary tensed in every muscle. Though it meant instant death, he would not permit that towering brute to lay his clumsy paw on Joan. Urga reached out to clasp the frightened girl. Hilary seemed to uncoil. His fist shot straight up with all the power of his body be- hind it. It crashed into the jutting jaw of the Mercutian like a charge of high explosive dynol. For all his height and massive strength, the giant toppled over, thudding heavily against the floor. For the moment Hilary saw free- dom ahead. The sun-tube had fallen from the nerveless fingers. He dart- ed for it with the speed of a strik- ing snake. Even as his fingers curled around the handle, there came a roar from the Viceroy. “Drop it, or I’ll cut you in two.” H ILARY knew when he was beaten. Slowly, reluctantly, his fingers uncurled. He arose, to meet the gleaming opening of the Viceroy’s weapon, and the sur- prised stare in back of it. Urga got up groggily, feeling gingerly the tender point of his jaw. There was unfathomable hatred in his lidless eyes. The Viceroy chuckled throatily. “I never thought, Cor Urga, to have seen a puny Earthman, a mere midget, overcome a Mercutian. SLAVES OF MERCURY 109 Especially you, a winner of the prize of strength three times run- ning in the arenas/’ Urga flushed darkly. “It was an unexpected blow; it caught me unawares,” he said heat- edly. “I’ll break the slave in two.” “Try it — without your sun-tube,” said Hilary laconically. The captain made a movement toward him. “Leave him alone,” Artok cried sharply. He seemed to enjoy his captain’s discomfiture. “I have other plans for him. Now go. Take the girl with you. I’ll watch this presumptuous Earthling.” Urga advanced with an evil grin. Hilary thrust Joan suddenly be- hind him; crouched like a cat. He would go down fighting. For all his bulk, the Viceroy wheeled on his flank, raised his weapon. “One false move, and you are dead carrion,” he said coldly. His weapon was raised. Hilary was caught between two fires, exposed to the searing blasts that would issue at the slightest pressure. Nevertheless he intended to strike. A sudden swerving jump, and he might throttle one before he would be blasted into nothing- ness. It would be Urga, he decided grimly. He tensed for the final des- perate, suicidal spring. The two Mercutians were watching him like unsheathed hawks. “Good-by, Joan,” he whispered, and his muscles went taut. Urga paused, his weapon came up sharply. One little pressure, and — T HERE was a commotion in the outer hall, the sound of pad- ding feet. The four in the master room froze into immobility. Two Mercutian guards stumbled panting into the room. They came to a jerking halt, threw themselves prone upon the floor, arms out- stretched in obeisance. “May we speak, oh Magnificent?” they asked humbly. “Say your say,” the Viceroy said crossly. They rose to their feet heavily, and one of them spoke. “The Earth dogs are revolting. The Cors of the outlying districts report that the slaves are massing, and are marching on Great New York. They are armed with Earth weapons. The Cor of the Third Dis- trict reports two men responsible- one is a giant among them, almost as tall as our own kind; and the other a puny red-haired firebrand. The Cor has tried to capture them, but they are elusive. Even the search beams cannot disclose their hiding place.” Hilary’s heart gave a great bound. Grim and Wat had not waited then. The Viceroy’s face darkened with anger. “The filthy scum,” he growled; “this morning’s lesson was not enough. This time I’ll slay, burn, smash until there isn’t a single rebel left. I’ll fertilize their damned Earth with their own black blood. You, Cor Urga,” he snapped, “trans- mit my orders to the Cors of the Hundreds. They are to mobilize their men at once, and proceed in accordance with instructions known to them as General Order One. All conveyors to be stopped except for troop movements. Every slave found with weapons, or acting sus- piciously, to be slain on the spot. Flying patrols to scatter in pairs, observe for concentrations of slaves. Ray any gathering without warning. Inform Cor Algor of the Tora (this was the great armed diskoid of the Mercutians that had previously reduced Great New York, Hilary found out afterwards) to resume his station over the city, ready to act when I give the sig- nal.” Even in the conflict of emotions, Hilary marveled at the unhesitafc- 110 ASTOUNDING STORIES ing, snapped flow of orders. The Viceroy, inspite of his seeming gross lethargy, was a soldier, and an efficient one to boot. “Yes, Magnificent.” Urga bowed low, and departed, thrusting a ma- lignant glance at Hilary. T HE Viceroy thrust off from him his bright yellow robes, wriggled his vast bulk swiftly into a close-fitting dull-gray tunic. To his belt he fastened little round knobs; the sun-tube dangled swank- ily at one side. He was accoutered for battle. He seemed to have forgotten the existence of the Earthlings. “You,” he snapped to one of the waiting guards, “go to the labora- tory at once; convey my strict or- ders to Cor Bela that the weather machine must function perfectly. There must be no slip-up — his life will answer for it.” “Yes, oh Magnificence.” The guard prostrated himself once more, then departed hastily. Vast echoes resounded in Hil- ary’s mind. “Weather machine — weather machine,” he puzzled, hold- ing Joan the tighter. There was more to this than met the eye. He must think. The Viceroy turned suddenly, stared at them, fingering his tube. “I could of course have you killed at once,” he thought aloud, “and have no further trouble; but then Urga would be angry.” His lidless eyes rested fleetingly on Joan. “And I would lose my pub- lic warning to the few Earth dogs who will survive. If it weren’t that I needed them to till the fields, and work the machines, I would not leave a single one alive.” He seemed to come to a decision. “You’ll wait my return.” He spoke sharply to the guard. “Bind them up, well. Thrust gags into their mouths.” He grimaced. “I can taste mine yet. And remember, if they escape, just turn that sun-tube of yours on yourself. It will be pleas- anter for you. Understand?” “Yes, Magnificent.” The obsequious guard caught hold of Hilary, under the watch- ful tube of Artok, and proceeded with clumsy weighted fingers to tie him up. Hilary did not resist. An idea was slowly forming in his mind. Joan’s turn came next. When they were trussed so tight- ly that neither could move, the Viceroy smiled mockingly. “We shall meet again, Earth dogs,” he said, and was gone. CHAPTER VIII Rescued T HE guard looked at his cap- tives sourly, kicked viciously at Hilary to relieve his feelings. There was fighting to be had out- side; Earth slaves to be tortured and slain, and he was out of it — wet nurse to a couple of prisoners. He growled disconsolately. Through an open slide window giv- ing out on the terrace, a confused roaring, a babel of sounds came filtering through. There was trou- ble below — fighting already, very likely. The Mercutian glanced back at his bound and gagged prisoners. They were immobile, helpless. He looked guiltily about. The great room was bare, silent. With almost furtive movements he opened the door leading to the terrace, stum- bled out, and was leaning over the parapet, absorbed in the spectacle of Great New York below. Instantly Hilary lifted his head, exerting to the utmost his muscles. He could just see the guard’s back, strained over the side. Hilary re- laxed, rolled painfully over to Joan. She stared at him wide-eyed. If only he could make her under- stand. He must get the gag out of his mouth. Every moment was precious; the guard might return SLAVES OF MERCURY 111 momentarily. He screwed his face into tremendous contortions, wig- gled his feet as much as he could, worked his jaws, trying desperate- ly to convey his meaning. Joan watched him puzzled; try- ing to follow those strange contor- tions. Beads of perspiration started on his brow as her face registered blank incomprehension. Just as he was giving up in despair, she grasped the idea. Her face bright- ened, and her shapely head nodded stiffly. The trussed-up pair started at once to pivot around on the floor. Fortunately the composition was polished, affording little friction. With infinite pains the maneuver was completed. They lay side by side now, Joan’s trim feet close to Hilary’s head. Writhing and contorting, she worked the sharp heel of her foot against the thick wad of the gag in Hilary’s mouth, and pushed. It was solidly tied, but it gave a little. Encouraged, she redoubled her ef- forts, pushing with all the limited force of her bound limbs. The yielding gag cut cruelly, the sharp heel scraped and gouged into Hilary’s cheeks, but he did not mind. He was in a fever of appre- hension. If only the guard’s inter- est were held by the events below until he had accomplished what he intended! A T last his mouth was free. The gag had been pushed over his nose. Joan rolled away. She had accomplished the task Hilary had set her, but she was still puz- zled. What earthly good would it do him to talk? She found out almost immediate- ly. He was twisting his head, bur- rowing with his nose against the blouse over his right shoulder. The open tunic gave a bit, and he bur- rowed painfully, Joan watching with growing fascination, until one of the binding wires stopped fur- ther progress. But it seemed far enough, judging from the satisfied illumination in Hilary’s eyes. He spoke, his mouth pressed close against the shoulder blade, his tones queerly muffled, thick. “Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler, Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler,” he whispered over and over again. He could not hear if there was any response; his ears were muffled now by the spread gag. He could not help that. “Grim Morgan, Wat Tyler,” he muttered monotonously, “Hilary Grendon calling. Held prisoner with Joan, top of Robbins Building. Guarded. Urgent you free us. Artok has sent out general death orders. I have plan to stop him. Come, quickly.” Over and over he murmured the message, hoping desperately they would hear him in the communica- tion disks strapped to their shoul- ders. “Come quickly,” he repeated; and then the guard, tiring of the view below, or the streets having been cleared of rebels, came softly into the room. Hilary’s head jerked quickly back, the shoulder of his tunic falling back into position. “Here, what’s this?” the guard growled suspiciously, catching sight of the displaced gag. “How on Mer- cury did you do that?” He knelt swiftly, thrust the gag back into position with ungentle paw, kicked the unresisting form in the side to show his displeasure, and rose. Hilary's heart pounded; the guard had not seen the incon- spicuous disk under the tunic. He was in an agony of expectation. Had his comrades caught his mes- sage? Could they rescue him even if they had? Questions that only time could answer. The guard was alert now; he did not like that queer removal of the gag. There would be no further chance to unbind themselves. What 112 ASTOUNDING STORIES seemed hours passed as they lay cramped, immobile. The air grew thick and warm, or was it only his imagination? No, for the guard felt it, too. Then something buzzed, intermittently. One long, two short. It seemed to emanate from a round black button on the sleeve of his gray tunic. A signal ! T HE guard exclaimed something In guttural Mercutian, rose hastily, and closed the open door and window. He pressed another button, and sheeted lead curtains rolled swiftly over the vita-crystal roof, darkening the room, cutting off the rays of diffused sunlight. Then he seated himself not far from the captives, facing them, grinning savagely. Hilary wondered why. Again what seemed hours passed. Behind the lead curtain, the room had become definitely, uncomfort- ably warm. The Earthlings per- spired; the atmosphere was literal- ly steaming; and in their cramped limbs, the torture was fast becom- ing unbearable. Only the Mercu- tian guaru did not seem to mind. He was accustomed to far higher temperatures on the arid planet that was his home. Just as the prisoners were gasp- ing almost their last gasp, the heat seemed to recede, swiftly. At once the guard rolled back the leaden shade opened the door and window again. His grin was broadly trium- phant. Something clutched at Hil- ary’s heart; he understood now. The beastly invaders! He struggled furi- ously at his bonds, but they did not give. He ceased his efforts, pant- ing. The moments passed. Hilary was giving up whatever slender hopes he had had. Wat and Grim had not heard, or if they did, they could do nothing. A slow, sullen despair enveloped him. He was watching the guard. That gray-faced giant turned his head suddenly, jumped up as fast as his lumbering alien weight could move, snatched at his sun-tube. “Don’t move an inch, if you want to live,” a deep, slow voice vibrated through the room. A well-remem- bered voice. Hilary would have laughed aloud his relief, but he was gagged. His comrades had not failed them. T HE guard dropped his half- raised weapon sullenly, staring at the intruders in dazed incompre- hension. Hilary jerked his head around. Framed in the doorway was Grim — good old Grim — a long-bar- reled dynol pistol steady in his hand. From behind him there dart- ed a little figure, red-haired, frec- kled, shrill with delight. An old-fashioned submachine gun, ab- stracted from some museum, weighed heavily under his arm. It clattered unheeded to the floor as the bantam dived for Hilary and Joan. “We came as fast as we could when we got your message,” he crowed. “Dropped everything.” His nimble fingers were making havoc of the knotted bonds, while his nimbler tongue wagged on. “Boy, we have them on the run. We’ll sweep them out into space by the time we’re through.” Hilary and Joan were free now. Very painfully they rose to their feet, stamping and pounding their arms to make the sluggish blood circulate again. Wat hopped about in his excitement. “Here, you little runt,” Grim’s voice boomed at him, “stop jump- ing around, and tie up this Mer- cuian. We have no time to waste.” Wat groaned comically. “See how that big ox orders me around,” he proclaimed, but he picked up the wire and in a trice had the guard helpless and glaring. Hilary had recovered his speech. SLAVES OF MERCURY 113 “Thanks, boys,” he told them sim- ply. “I knew you’d come if it was humanly possible. But how did you manage to get through the Mer- cutians? The building is honey- combed with them.” M ORGAN grinned. “We came in the Vagabond,” he said. “What,” almost yelled Hilary, “you mean — ■” “That your ship is resting com- fortably outside on the terrace. When little Wat here caught your message in the communication disk, we were busy organizing companies of Earthmen in the hills back of Suffern. As recruits poured in, we’d tell them off in hundreds, appoint officers, see that they had arms, or gave them directions where to find the old caches, and hustled them off. Had to shift our quarters con- tinually, because Mercutian fliers would pick us up with their search- beams, and start raying. Had some close shaves. But when we heard you were caught, we turned over the command to the nearest new officer, hurried to the gorge, and here we are. The Vagabond han- dled beautfully.” “I could take her myself to the Moon,” Wat boasted. “Hadn’t we better be going?” Joan asked anxiously. “There is work first to be done,” Hilary answered grimly. “There’s a certain weather machine in the laboratory I want to take a look at.” “Weather machine?” Grim echoed, puzzled. “Yes. The Viceroy let something slip about it. For some reason it’s very important to them that it con- tinues to function. I’m curious.” A gasp from Joan. Surprised, the men turned to her. “Of course,” she said breathless- ly. “Father had been working on it for the longest time. It was a machine to control weather. Some- thing to do with broadcasting tre- mendously high voltages, ionizing the air and causing rain clouds to form, or reversing the process and scattering clouds back into thin air. This was the Master Machine. All over the Earth, at spaced distances, were smaller replicas, substations, controlled from this one. He had great hopes of furnishing equable weather to all the Earth. It was just completed, when. . . .” She trailed off. G RIM frowned. “Very interest- ing, but what is so terribly important about it now?” “You fool,” Hilary exploded, “it’s as important as hell. Don’t you see? What are the Mercutians’ weapons? Sun-tubes, sun-rays from their fliers, tremendous burning disks that are their space-ships. Sun — sun — everything they have de- pends upon the sun. Take away the sun, and what have they? Nothing but their hideous giant bodies — they are weaponless. Now do you see?” He fairly shouted at him. Grim’s face lit up heavily; Wat was dancing insanely. “Get hold of the machine, reverse the process. Make it form clouds, great big woolly ones. Start a rain that’ll make the Deluge look sick; forty days — a year — and we’ll drown them all,” Wat cried. “Exactly,” Hilary nodded. “Joan darling, you and Wat get into the Vagabond, and wait for us. Grim and I will take care of the labora- tory.” “What?” Tyler ejaculated. “Leave me cooped up when there’s a fight on. I’m coming.” “So am I,” Joan was pale but de- termined. “Oh, Lord,” Hilary groaned. “Lis- ten to me, please,” he said patient- ly. “Time is precious, and I can’t argue. Joan, you would only be a hindrance. I for one would be thinking more of protecting you 114 ASTOUNDING STORIES than fighting. As for you, Wat,” he turned to the furious bantam, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take or- ders. The Vagabond must be guard- ed. If we’re cut off, we’re through. And there’s Joan.” “Well, if you want to put it that way,” Wat grumbled. “I knew you’d be sensible,” Hil- ary said hurriedly, not giving them a chance to change their minds. “At the slightest alarm, take off. Don’t try to rescue us if we don’t re- turn. The Earth cause is more im- portant than any individual. If you get caught, too, the revolt will be leaderless; at an end.” The men shook hands gravely. Joan, white-faced, kissed Hilary passionately. “Be careful, my dear.” T HEN the two men were gone, moving cautiously down the corridor with deadened footfalls. Hilary had retrieved his automatic; Grim had his more modern dynol pistol. The guard had been thrust into a corner, bound, unnoticed. The laboratory was on the floor below. They trod carefully down the inclined ramp connecting all the floors. The corridors, the ramp, were deserted. “All out fighting,” Hilary whis- pered. “The revolt must be spread- ing.” Grim swore. “The idiots. I told them not to start anything until I returned. They’ll be wiped out — they weren’t ready.” Hilary nodded slowly. He thought of the strange heat while he had been captive. There would be very few Earthmen left alive in Great New York now. They were at the foot of the ramp now. Just ahead gleamed an open slide. A pale-blue light streamed out at them ; in the oblong of the interior they could see mov- ing shapes, weirdly cut off, cross- ing their field of vision ; bright gleaming machines, segments of tremendous tubes flooded with the pale-blue light. And over all was a constant hum, a crackling, a whin- ing of spinning parts. The labora- tory! CHAPTER IX The Weather Machine T HE two men flattened them- selves against the wall so that they could not be seen by a casual glance from the Mercutians inside the laboratory. “There are a lot of them,” Grim whispered. “Can’t help it,” Hilary answered grimly. “Have to take our chances.” “Of course,” Grim said simply. There was no backing out. Silently, with catlike tread, they inched their way forward flat against the wall, keeping out of the blue flood of illumination. The shapes, or rather segments of shapes within, moved about, engrossed in the business at hand, unaware of the creeping death. The Earthmen had reached their stations unobserved, one on either side of the open slide. Very care- fully Hilary protruded his head around the vita-crystal, and ducked back almost instantly. But his quick eye had taken in all the essential details in that momentary vision. There were about a dozen Mer- cutians in the long laboratory, and each had a sun-tube dangling from his belt, ready at hand. The labora- tory was crowded with apparatus, but what had drawn Hilary’s at- tention was a gigantic gleaming metallic sphere set up prominently in the center of the room. Pro- truding from it at all angles were great quartz tubes, through which a blue light pulsed and flamed. It was connected by huge cables to a spark-bathed dynamo. Other cables writhed through the translucent ceiling. The weather machine! Hilary took a firmer grip on his SLAVES OF MERCURY 115 automatic, nodded once to Grim. The two Earthmen stepped simul- taneously through the open oblong. “Raise your paws high and keep them up.” Hilary’s voice cracked like a whip through the busy con- fusion of the laboratory. The Mer- cutians, scattered as they were, whirled around from their tasks to face two deadly weapons held by two determined-looking men. There was a chorus of strange guttural oaths, but every hand moved skyward, reluctantly. H ILARY picked out the most blasphemous sounding of the cursers, rightly deeming him the Cor in charge. “You,” he said, “what switches regulate the weather machine?” The Mercutian Cor was a par- ticularly ugly specimen. The gray warts were gigantic, hiding what- ever semblance of manlike features there might have been beneath. “I’ll see you dogs burned to a cinder in the sun first,” he growled. “Keep them covered, Grim,” Hil- ary said sharply. “I’ll take care of this fellow personally.” He walked straight across the room for the Cor, eyes blazing, in- dex finger on trigger. The Cor, fear staring out of his lidless eyes, backed slowly away from the ap- proaching death. There was a hushed silence. “I’ll tell, I’ll tell!” the Cor screamed, as the relentless weapon almost touched his paunchy stom- ach. “I thought you would,” Hilary said grimly, not for an instant re- laxing the pressure against the trigger. “If you value your worth- less hide, you’d better talk, and talk fast. What switch reverses the machine, to bring on rain? If you are wise, you won’t try to fool me.” The wretch almost stumbled in his eagerness. “By the gray soil of Mercury I’ll tell you the truth.” His arm flung up, pointing. “That knob over there controls the — ” Hilary never heard the rest. There was a crash at the other end of the laboratory. One of the Mer- cutians, tired of keeping his arms high extended, had attempted to rest his huge bulk against a labora- tory table. It went over with a splintering crash of glassware. H ILARY whirled around to face the noise. As he did so, the Cor seized his opportunity. His right arm dropped to his side, jerked up his sun-tube. Hilary heard Grim’s warning cry, tried to pivot back again. But Grim beat him to it. The dynol pistol explod- ed sharply; the flaming pellet caught the Cor square in his side. There was a dull explosion and the Cor was torn violently into bits. He dropped, a mass of shapeless blobs. But now hell had broken loose. The Mercutians were not cowards. At the moment of the diversion, every one of them had gone for his sun-tube. A flame streaked close to Hilary’s head, shivered the oppo- site wall into molten fragments. He ducked behind a table and fired. A Mercutian threw up his hands, stag- gered and pitched forward heavily. Grim’s dynol bullets whined in their passage, spattered the labora- tory with flying blobs of flesh. They did terrible execution. Hilary’s au- tomatic spat its leaden hail. But the Mercutians were en- trenched now behind tables, ma- chinery, whatever cover they could find. The beams from half a dozen sun-tubes slithered across the room, burning flaming paths through the overheated air, bringing the very walls down about them. It could not last long. Already Hilary had a nasty burn across one shoulder; there was a streak of red across Grim’s forehead as he hid behind the panel of the entrance, whipping his pistol around to fire, and duck- 116 ASTOUNDING STORIES ing back again. There were too many of the enemy, and overwhelm- ing reinforcements could be ex- pected any moment. The Earth- men’s position was desperate. Through it all the great weather machine hummed and crackled; the tubes were sheets of surging flame. Hilary cursed softly. If only the Cor had completed his sentence be- fore he died. Hilary would have chanced a sudden rush forward to reverse it, to bring on a deluge of rain and clouds, even though it meant certain death. The machine seemed to gleam at him mockingly; the hum continued with tantalizing smoothness. “Look out,” Grim’s voice came to him sharply. He jerked his head back, just in time. A ray streaked past his ear like a thunderbolt. The heat from it scorched his face. T HE Mercutians were stealthily crawling nearer, pushing heavy tables in front of them as shields. He was almost outflanked now. In another minute he would be ex- posed. Hilary thought rapidly. His posi- tion was untenable. He would have to run for it. A sudden dash to the door might possibly win through. But the machine! He set his teeth hard. If he could not change the weather, at least he could destroy the infernal thing, stop its grind- ing out perfect sunshine for the Mercutians. He lifted his weapon. Off to one side a Mereutian arm advanced cau- tiously, bringing up a sun-tube. He swung on it and fired. The sun- tube clattered to the floor, and the arm jerked back, accompanied by a howl of anguish. Hilary smiled grimly, took careful aim at the metal sphere of the machine. The bullet leaped true for its mark. A little round hole showed — but noth- ing happened. The infernal machine hummed softly as ever. He cursed, fired again. Another round hole, and that was all. With increasing viciousness he turned his aim on the quartz tubes, pierced them through and through. Before his very eyes, the quartz seemed to run and melt around the holes, to seal them tight as if he had never shot. The blue flames leaped and surged mockingly. The Mercutians were jeering now; raucous calls went up. H ILARY felt a sinking despair. He had failed; would have to run for it now. Small chance to make it, too. Then he heard Grim’s deep bass. “Hold it a moment,” he said as if he had read his thoughts. Fascinated, Hilary saw the giant’s pistol slowly thrust its long barrel around the edge of the crystal slide. A half dozen rays leaped viciously for it. But a flaming pellet streaked out of its orifice before it was jerked back. Hilary could see its red path as it struck the sphere of the machine. The next instant there was a dull explosion and the whole machine disintegrated into a smother of fly- ing fragments. The expanding dy- nol had done the trick where lead had failed. There would be no more weather control. But Hilary did not pause to see the finish. Even as the machine burst, he was running across the room, bending low. Fragments whizzed by him at a fearful clip; rays crisscrossed all about him. But somehow he was through. Grim’s finger was on the slide but- ton. It closed with a snap behind him, cutting off the pursuing howls of rage. Silently the two men darted up the ramp to the pent-apartment, dashed into the master bedroom. The Mereutian guard, whom they had left securely bound, was gone. The Earthmen looked at each other, a great fear in their eyes. In one SLAVES OF MERCURY 117 bound Hilary was at the door slide, thrusting it open. He tore out upon the open terrace. Grim right behind him. T HEY looked wildly about. The terrace was empty. There was no sign of the Vagabond, or of Joan and Wat. High overhead hov- ered a great burnished diskoid. Long streamlined Mercutian fliers darted through the air, but nowhere was there a sign of the familiar sphere. Hilary gripped his companion’s arm. “They’ve been captured, Grim,” he choked. “Nonsense,” the giant said gruffly, to hide his own misgivings. “They just took alarm at something and winged off.” “But where is the guard then?” Grim shook his head. He could not answer that. Despair over- whelmed Hilary. After all he had gone through, to have Joan snatched away from him at the moment of success. It was terrible. Wat too, that freckled-faced bantam. “I should never have left them alone,” he accused himself remorse- fully. “Here,” said Grim sharply, “none of that. You did exactly the proper thing. We’ll find them yet.” It was a confidence that he did not feel. There was the noise of padding feet up the ramp. The Mercutians were coming, in force. Grim gripped Hilary by the shoulder, shook him vigorously. “They’re coming. We’re trapped.” Grendon snapped out of the lethargy into which he had sunk, face drawn and gray. “No. There is a way. Follow me.” The first of the Mercutians pounded heavily into the room when Hilary had thrust Grim into the secret lift. He whirled and fired. The Mercutian coughed and fell forward. Other gray warty faces, furious, thrust from behind their dying comrade. But Hilary was in the lift, pressing the outton for full speed down. A darting ray showered them with rounded smok- ing bits of vita-crystal, but they were dropping headlong through the building. T EN minutes later they emerged cautiously from the entrance to the Pullman Building It was de- serted, deathly still. The two Earthmen stopped short, horror- struck at what they saw. The streets were shambles. Hun- dreds of bodies lay sprawled in tumbling twisted heaps. Earthmen all, with here and there the gro- tesque huge bulk of a Mercutian who had failed to hear the warning signal. The bodies were scorched, blackened. Raw agony appeared on contorted desperate faces. It was not good to look upon. “Wh-what has happened?” Grim gasped, his breath coming heavily. “Just a little pleasantry of the Mercutians,” Hilary said bitterly. He looked upward. High overhead hovered a gigantic shape, motion- less. Its great disk, burnished and dazzling in the cloudless sky, seemed to cast a sinister shadow over the city it had destroyed a second time. “There’s the toy that did it,” said Hilary. “I felt the heat while I was a captive up in the Robbins Build- ing. You must have flown over after, and missed it.” Grim shook a great brawny fist aloft. His deceptively mild eyes were hard flames now. His face was set in great strong ridges. Hilary had never seen him this way before. “I’ll rip every Mercutian to pieces with my bare hands — shred him into little bits.” He meant it too. Hilary shuddered. Far off down the wide thorough- fare, came the glint of weapons, the sight of massed ranks. A Mercutian 118 ASTOUNDING STORIES patrol was shambling along, heavy- gaited. “Come on, Grim, let’s get out of here,” said Hilary. They flattened like shadows against the wall, slunk stealthily through radiating streets. As much as possible they kept their eyes away from the sickening sights, the poor burned bodies of their fellow men. Steadily they headed for the branch local conveyors as being less likely to be under surveillance. The Ramapos was their destina- tion. Hilary went dully, listlessly. Joan was gone again; this time he could not possibly know where. Every step he took though, seemed to lead him farther away from her. His glazed eye searched the shin- ing skies as he stumbled along. Not a sign anywhere of the Vagabond. Only the hateful swift-moving Mer- cutian fliers. It was only Grim’s insistence that kept him going. The secret gorge was the headquarters of the revolt, he argued. If the fools he had left in charge hadn’t thrown their men recklessly on New York against his instructions to join that last foolhardy heroic attack, there was still a chance of salvaging the revolution. CHAPTER X Back to the Ramapos I T was dark when they reached the first swellings of the Ramapo Range. It was dangerous to try and make their way though tangled brush and mountain trails. All night they camped on the bare ground, sleeping fitfully, cramped cold, shivering. They dared not light a fire; it would draw instant unwel- come attention. When dawn came, they were on the move, glad to stretch their sodden limbs. Unerringly Grim homed for the invisible cleft. Noth- ing stirred in the forests, even the birds seemed gone. The fog had lifted, the sun blazed forth in un- clouded majesty. The damp on them dried quickly. But Grim shook his fist at the unwitting orb. “Damn that weather machine,” he growled. “Breaking it seems to have made matters worse. Even the regular midnight shower has stopped. I’d give ten years of my life for the sight of a cloud.” “It will never rain again,” Hilary said wearily. “It has forgotten how.” The bright sunny sky seemed a brazen hell to the footsore Earth- men. It mocked and jeered at them with sparkling waves of warmth. Before them was an unbroken mass of underbrush. The next in- stant they were on the brink of the chasm. “They haven’t found us yet,” said Morgan, surveying the looped end of the rope ladder. They climbed swiftly down the swaying rungs. The rock slanted with them, turned sharply and fell sheer. Below there was a confused murmur, the sound of movement. A voice came floating up to them, sharp, commanding. “Stop where you are, you two. You’re covered.” “It’s Morgan,” Grim bellowed, not pausing an instant in his descent. The next instant he dropped lightly to the floor of the gorge. A moment later Hilary stepped be- side him. Men were crowding about Grim, clean-cut, determined-looking Earth- men. Nothing like the men he had encountered on his first trip on the express conveyor. The bottom of the gorge had all the appearance of a wartime camp. There were at least a hundred men encamped in the narrow cleft, crowded and crowding. A tall man thrust himself forward, spare, angular. SLAVES OF MERCURY 119 W ELCOME, Captain Mor- gan,” he cried. “We had given up all hopes of seeing you again.” “Hello, Waters,” said Grim. “Where’s Lieutenant Pemberton?” The other looked shamefaced. “He’s gone,” he muttered. “Took two hundred men with him.” Morgan’s face was awful. “Dis- obeyed orders, did he? Where did he go?” “To join in the attack on Great New York. Reports came in that the countryside was up in arms, moving to attack the Mercutians. I couldn’t hold him. Said you were crazy, never coming back. He went, and two hundred of the boys went with him.” Grim said: “Know what hap- pened?” Waters shook his head. “Our radio communication went dead yester- day afternoon.” “He’s dead,” said Grim softly. “The others too.” A groan went up as he described swiftly the holocaust of the day before. “That was why I warned you all to wait. We can’t fight them yet. But I’m forgetting. . . .” He turned to Hilary, who had remained quietly aside. “This is Hilary Gren- don, your Chief. He’s the man who is responsible for the revolt. I told you about him. We all take orders from him hereafter. If anyone can beat the Mercutians, here’s your man.” A babel of sound burst about him like a bomb. Men patted him on the back, shook his hand, crowded him until he was almost smothered. It was a rousing reception. The kind Hilary had dreamed of on his re- turn from his tremendous flight through space — and had not re- ceived. For his act of revolt, unwitting as it was, had fired the imagina- tions of the Earth people, who in their degradation and despair had come to believe the Mercutian over- lords invulnerable. It had been the little spark that touched off a far- reaching train of events. In the few days that had elapsed Hilary had become a legendary figure. The sparkle came back to his eyes, his brain cleared of the fog of hopelessness as he took com- mand. Joan was lost — yes — but there was the Earth to be saved. H IS orders crackled. The little gorge became a hive of ac- tivity. With Grim and Waters as efficient assistants he soon whipped the tiny company into ordered dis- cipline. Absurdly few to fight the Mercutians, but Hilary counseled patience. They were a nucleus merely, he told them. When the time arrived to fight in the open, the peoples of the Earth would swell their ranks. To provide against the day, he sent scouts out to filter through the surrounding villages and towns; unarmed, to all seeming meekest of the Earthlings. They stirred the embers of revolt with muted whis- perings; they found trustworthy leaders in each community to or- ganize secretly all able-bodied men; they returned with tidings of the outside world, with food and other necessities. Sometimes they did not return. Then others went out to take their places. It was the fortune of war. Day and night a sentinel was posted in a dugout directly under the overhanging lip of the gorge. It was his duty to warn of impend- ing attack; above all, to rake the sky ceaselessly with a crudely- contrived periscope for signs of gathering clouds, be they no bigger than a handsbreadth. But the heavens were a brass blaze by day and a glittering mask of stars by night. Weather ma- chine or none, in truth it seemed that it had forgotten to rain. 120 ASTOUNDING STORIES H ILARY was hard put to it to restrain the impatience of his men. Reports drifted in from the scouts. The premature revolt had been crushed in blood and agony New York was deserted except for the Mercutians. The country round had been ruthlessly rayed; not only had the armed bands of Earthmen been ferreted out and destroyed, but peaceful communities had been wantonly burned into the ground. Strong reinforcements had been rushed to the Great New York ter- ritory from more peaceful sectors of the world. There were three of the terrible diskoids hovering with- in a radius of one hundred miles, ready to loose their hideous de- struction at the slightest sign of disaffection. But this time the spirit of the Earthmen was not broken. Their gait was springier, their glance more forthright, than heretofore. For every one knew that Hilary Grendon, the prime mover, the de- fier of the Mercutians, had escaped. The invaders sought him ceaseless- ly, offering huge rewards for knowledge of his whereabouts. But there were no traitors. Even those few who knew would suffer un- imaginable tortures rather than re- veal him to the enemy. “Patience,” Hilary counseled his little band. “I know it is hard; I have my own scores to even. But we could only bring disaster upon ourselves and the cause of Earth’s freedom by premature action. What have we? A handful of men, poorly armed. A few pistols; only three of which can use the dynol pellets; a little ammunition. The rest of you have knives, axes, pitchforks. Poor enough weapons against the terrible rays of the Mercutians. We must wait.” Someone grumbled. “For what? Until the Mercutians finally trace our hideout and ray us out of exis- tence?” “We must take that chance,” Hilary told him quietly. “Let it but rain, and we move at once.” “It never will,” someone averred with profound conviction. I T began to seem so as the days passed, and the sun blazed pit- ilessly as ever. The brief night showers had ceased completely. That seemed the only effect of the weather machine’s destruction. Some of the weaker spirits among the men were for disbanding. They were afraid of eventual discovery; anxious about their families, left to the tender mercies of the out- landers. Hilary argued, dissuaded, but to no effect. They were deter- mined to go. If by the end of the week there was no action, they said, they would leave. It was Wednes- day then. Thursday and Friday passed. No change. On Saturday a scout brought breathless tidings. One of the great diskoids had crashed to the ground from its station fifty miles up in a smother of flame and flying frag- ments. No one knew what had hap- pened; the Mercutians of course threw a strict censorship about the affair. But rumors flew on winged whis- perings. Some war vessel from space had attacked the Mercutian, brought it down. More diskoids were rushed to New York; there were five now menacing the territory. Grim looked steadily at Hilary when the news was brought to them. A momentary wild hope flared in his friend’s eye that died out quickly. “I know what you’re going to say,” said Hilary. “You think it is Wat Tyler and Joan, somehow es- caped in the Vagabond.” The giant nodded slowly. “Why not?” he challenged. “It’s impossible,” muttered the other. “Where could they have been all this time? Surely they would SLAVES OF MERCURY 121 have returned to this place. And you forget that Mercutian guard who was freed. No, my friend, they have been killed, the Vagabond seized, and that was the end to that.” Morgan shook his head skepti- cally. S ATURDAY was cloudless. Sun- day morning the malcontents were to leave, to dribble back quiet- ly to their homes. They were sul- len, defiant in the face of the openly expressed scorn of the loyal men, but determined. “No use getting ourselves killed for nothing,” they muttered. Double sentries were posted that night. A gloom hung over the camp. Hilary went to sleep heavy- hearted. This seemed the end of all his visions. Joan dead, Wat too; no hope of freeing the Earth from its slavery. If only he had the Vagabond, he’d take off again for the uncharted reaches of spaces, find some little habitable asteroid, live out the rest of his meaningless life there. With these gloomy thoughts he fell at last into fitful slumber. He was awakened, hours later by a sudden uproar. The camp was in confusion. Sleepy voices tossed back and forth in inextricable babble. Hilary was on his feet in an in- stant, instinctively slipping his au- tomatic into his blouse. Grim looked huge at his side, unperturbed. “What’s happened ?” Hilary shouted to make himself heard. “Don’t know,” grunted the other, “but we’ll soon find out.” He pushed massively through the milling crowd of sleep-frightened men like a ship shouldering the waves, Hilary in his wake. One of the sentinels appeared suddenly be- fore them. “You,” spat Hilary, “why aren’t you at your post?” The man saluted automatically and gasped. “The Mercutians have come.” “What do you mean?” Hilary de- manded, as a groan went up. “^\NE of the weak-kneed men, sir,” the sentry ejaculated, “wouldn’t wait until morning to make his get-away. We found him climbing out. Said it would be dan- gerous in broad daylight. He was in a terrible funk. We had no or- ders to stop anyone who wanted to leave, so we just jeered him, and let him go. My comrade leaned out to watch. “As he hit the ground, he was bathed suddenly in light. The next instant the blackness of the night was split by a sizzling flame. It crisped the poor fellow to a cinder, and sheared the head of my com- rade clean off. I caught the body, pulled it back into the dugout, but it was too late. “I knew what had happened, sir. Some damned Mercutian flying pa- trol had spotted us with their search beam. I didn’t wait for more, but scrambled out of the dugout as fast as I could. Up above I saw a one-man flier slanting down for me. It was a-sparkle, ready for another ray. .1 came down the ladder in a hurry, I tell you.” The man was panting, white- faced. Someone cried: “It’s all over; they’ll smother us in now.” Hilary swung around. It would take very little to start a panic. “Stop that,” he said sharply. “Now is no time to play the coward.” He turned again to the sentinel. “A one-man flier, you said?” he reflected aloud. “Yes, sir,” the other answered, “and I’ll bet he’s calling for help right now.” “That’s just what I intend put- ting a stop to,” said Hilary grimly. He shifted his gun to an easier drawing position, swung himself aloft on the ladder. “Take over, Grim, until I come back,” he 122 ASTOUNDING STORIES shouted down. “If I don’t, send others up to get that Mercutian.” “Come down,” Grim yelled after him, alarmed. “I’ll go up; you’re the leader here.” “That’s why it’s my job. So long.” The men stared up after the tiny ascending figure, lumps in their throats. They would die gladly for Hilary Grendon now; he was prov- ing himself. Grim fumed and waited. Hilary had disappeared above the angled bend. CHAPTER XI Driven from Cover F AR overhead, Hilary climbed swiftly. He realized the se- riousness of their situation. Let that Mercutian flash his message to Headquarters and there would be a swarm of fliers upon them within an hour’s ame. They would be caught like rats in a trap, without a chance for their lives. He gritted his teeth and swung himself up the faster. He turned the bend. There was the dark sky above, faintly spangled with stars. The flier was not in sight. Hilary stifled an imprecation. If he had taken off, they were doomed. He moved more cautiously now, stepping gingerly from rung to rung up the swaying ladder. The cleft widened; he was near the top. He paused. There was not the slightest sound. But Hilary was taking no chances. With infinite slowness he raised his head over the matted under- brush that masked the entrance. For the moment he could see noth- ing in the pitchy blackness. Then a dim shape loomed to one side. From within it there came a tiny hum, intermittent, almost inaudible. Hilary knew what that was : a transmitter. Even then the fatal message was winging through the ether. He did not hesitate. He lofted to the ground with one quick heave, steadied on his swaying feet as the automatic flashed into his hand. “Throw up your hands, Mercu- tian,” he shouted at the dimly- perceived bulk. “I have you cov- ered.” He tensed, straining his ears for any movement that might lo- cate the hidden foe. The tiny humming ceased ab- ruptly. There was painful silence. “Don’t try — ” Hilary commenced. He stopped, swerved his body sud- denly to one side. A red glow had warned him. The hurtling ray scorched past him with a crackling blaze. Hilary was off balance, teetered, and went down with a crash into the thorny underbrush, his automatic exploding into sharp flame. A HOARSE guttural laugh came from the flier. “Got you that time, Earth dog,” the invisible Mercutian taunted. There was si- lence. Another bolt crashed from the ship, heaved the ground under its impact. Another and another. Still no break in the silence, no cry. The Mercutian muttered to him- self: “The dog is dead, all right.” He peered out cautiously. The un- derbrush was black, sullenly quiet. Great swaths showed where the rays had swept the Earth. With a hoarse chuckle the grotesque giant climbed over the side of his ship. A search beam swung in his hand. He was in deep shadow. He swung the beam in a short arc. There was nothing, only matted vegetation. There was one thick thorny bush he noted, however, extending its bulk behind the bow of the ship. He stepped out a bit, away from the flier’s shadow, and swung his beam directly at it. The invisible ray pierced through the interlacing twigs with ease. It picked out a prone figure, lying with arm ex- tended. SLAVES OF MERCURY 123 The Mercutian chuckled again, but the chuckle changed almost im- mediately to a throaty cry of alarm. With a swiftness that went incon- gruously with his awkward bulk, his free arm dropped for his hand ray. There was a sharp burst of flame, a staccato bark. The Mercu- tian staggered, swayed with sullen pain-widened eyes, and pitched headlong forward. T HE prone figure in the bush leaped up, ran for him. The Mercutian was dead, drilled through the heart. Hilary sheathed his weapon grimly. His task was done. One thing, though. How much of the message had been transmitted? He must know. He vaulted over the side of the flier, fumbled around until he found the receiving ap- paratus. Then he waited, dreading to hear the silence broken, A minute passed, two minutes, and Hilary breathed a sigh of relief. The message had not gotten through. Then it came — a tiny sparking, an intermittent hum. Hilary’s heart sank with hammering blows. He tried to read the signals, but they were in code, or in the Mercutian tongue, which was just as bad. It was not necessary, though. Head- quarters had heard; they knew. Hilary did not waste an instant in vain regrets. Within an hour the gorge would be a vicious trap; he must get his men out at once. What then he did not know, nor bother. There xvas the more imme- diate problem. He went down the swinging lad- der hand over hand, not pausing for the rungs. Every instant was precious now. His hands scorched, but he did not feel the pain. His flying body collided thud- ding with a heavy bulk beneath. There was a grunt, the rope jerked from his hands, and two bodies fell cursing, entangled, to the ground. Luckily it was not far distant. He sprang to his feet, found Grim heaving his bulk up more slowly. “I was coming up after you,” the giant growled. “You were gone too long. That’s the thanks I get.” Hilary had no time for idle talk. “Attention, men,” he snapped. “We leave at once. You have five minutes to get your arms, ammuni- tion clips and rations, light march- ing order.” Without a word they scattered alertly to their tasks. It was the discipline of veterans. “You didn’t get the Mercutian?” Grim was troubled. “I got him all right,” answered his leader laconically, “but too late. His message had gone through.” F IVE minutes later to the dot, the camp was lined up, ac- coutered complete. They were si- lent, tense, but smartly erect. Hilary’s flash glowed over them in the dark. Then he nodded approv- ingly. “Fine work, men. Up that ladder, one at a time,” he said. “Each man counts twenty slowly, one — two — three before he follows. Keep your distance, and move fast.” The first man sprang to the lad- der, went up swiftly. Twenty sec- onds later, the next man’s foot was on the bottom rung. Up and up they went, one after the other, each man counting off and climbing. Hilary watched them anxiously. “Hope we make it,” he muttered to Grim. “It’ll take all of forty minutes to evacuate, and the Mer- cutians may be on us by then.” It was almost forty minutes to the dot when Hilary’s head emerged from the cleft. He was the last man out. The men were lined up on a level bit, nervous, apprehensive. In spite of the discipline, heads auto- matically jerked upward, raked the sky for sign of the enemy. Where to now? — thought Hilary. There were no more hiding places 124 ASTOUNDING STORIES as perfect as the one they had just left. They were forced into the open, easy prey for the first lynx- eyed Mercutian. Sooner or later they would be discovered, and then. . . . A last hopeless glance at the mocking stars. Never had man yearned more for rain, oceans and oceans of it. H ILARY roused himself. What- ever of despair he felt did not appear in his staccato orders. “We march at once, men,” he said. “Scatter formation, five paces between. At the signal, take nearest cover, and prepare for action. For- ward — ” “Too late.” Grim’s voice was flat, controlled. Hilary looked around sharply. “What do you mean?” “Look.” Morgan’s hand swept aloft. Through the darkling night, faintly visible in the feeble star- light — there was no moon — were driving shapes, a full score of them converging upon the little band. One look was sufficient. Mercu- tian fliers hurrying in response to their fellow’s signal. There was no time, no chance to escape. “Very well, men,” Hilary com- manded, coldly calm. “Take cover. Do not fire until I give the order.” There was instant scattering. The men dived for whatever poor bit of protection they could find: jutting rocks, tree trunks, thin thorny bushes even. Grim and Hilary crouched to- gether behind a great boulder. “How many pistols are there in the crowd?” Hilary asked quietly. “Not many. Outside of your auto- matic and my dynol pistol, there are two other dynols and not more than a dozen automatics. If only we had the submachine gun with us, but Wat took it along, and he’s gone.” “Not much chance, I’m afraid,” said Hilary; “but we’ll fight it out. Here they come.” The two men crouched lower. All about them was silence; not even a leaf stirred in the heavy breath- lessness. T HE driving fliers were easily visible now. Ominous hurtling projectiles, coming to crush out the last vestige of revolt on the con- quered planet. On they came, pur- posefully, directly, knowing their way; a full score, converging in a scream of wind against their bows as they dropped straight for the hidden gorge. It seemed to the hidden watchers as though they would crash to Earth with the speed of their swoop. But at one hundred feet aloft the fliers braked their head- long flight, hovered motionlessly in echelon formation. A moment’s breathless pause — to the hiding men it seemed eternity — and all the uneven terrain, rocks, trees, bushes, the soil itself, burst into glowing white crystal clear- ness. The Mereutians had turned on their search beams. Hilary gazed clear through the rock behind which he crouched as though it were a transparency. All around him he saw the prone bodies of his men, naked to the view of all and sundry. A hoarse derisive chuckle rasped from above. Hilary sprang to his feet; further attempt at conceal- ment was useless. As he did so, the air seemed to split in two, there was a blinding, rending crash. Not ten feet from where he stood, the ground tossed in torture. A man screamed — terribly. The first blow had been struck. Hilary burned with a cold con- suming anger. “Up, men, and fire. Aim forward, about three feet back of the prow.” That was where the pilot would be. A scattered burst of cheers an- SLAVES OF MERCURY 125 swered him. On all sides, like crystal ghosts, the Earthmen rose to their feet. They were fighting men. Hilary took careful aim at a flier almost directly overhead and fired. He could have sworn he hit it, but nothing happened. Grim’s dynol pistol flamed redly nearby. The tracer pellet scorched upward, im- pacted against the hull of a flier. There was a faint detonation, and the next instant the air was full of flying fragments. “Got that one,” he said softly. H ILARY was conscious of a faint envy. His automatic seemed like a harmless popgun against that deadly weapon. But he drew another bead and fired again. With bated breath he awaited the result. Nothing. Hilary groaned, made as if to throw the useless gun away, when the flier he had aimed at wabbled, tried to right itself, and crashed in a swift erratic loop. By now the pitifully few weapons of the Earthmen were popping. Two more of the enemy fliers hurtled to destruction. But as at a given signal, the air above them seemed suddenly to flame destruc- tion. With the noise of a thousand thunderbolts the massed rays struck. The groaning Earth tossed and heaved in billowing waves to es- cape its torture. The trees were blazing pyres. It seemed impossible for anything that lives within that area to escape instant destruction. Hilary felt a wave of blinding heat envelop him, and he was thrown flat to the quaking ground. Frightful cries, screams of agony, came to his dulled ears as from a great distance. He heaved himself up wearily, scorched, smoldering, but otherwise unhurt. “/^RIM,” he whispered through thick cracked lips, “Grim, where are you?” “Here.” Strange how tranquil he sounded. A scarecrow of a figure arose almost at his right from a smoldering bush, a giant clothed in smoking rags. In the strange illu- mination of the search beams he seemed the wraith of a scarecrow. “Thank God you’re alive,” Hilary croaked. “The others. . . ?” Figures were staggering up from the holocaust about them. Grim’s practised eyes counted. “About fifty left,” he said, “just one half.” Hilary’s voice rose suddenly, strongly. “Keep on firing, men.” Once again his pistol barked de- fiance. A faint, ragged cheer answered him. A few guns flamed; there were only a handful left. “God!” someone cried. The massed ships above were gleaming faintly. Little shimmer- ing sparkles ran over the hulls. They were going to ray again. Hilary went berserk, screamed strange oaths, fired again and again. Grim fired, more slowly. Two of the enemy ships left the formation, plunged headlong. But the shim- mering grew brighter. In seconds the terrible bolts would be loosed. It was the end. The Earthmen knew it. They could not survive a second raying. Grim shouted. Never before had Hilary heard him raise his voice to that pitch. His great arm was up- flung. “Look!” he screamed. CHAPTER XII The Vagabond H IGH up, a dark blob against the feeble starlight, some- thing was dropping; dropping with the speed of a plummet, straight for the massed Mercutian fliers. From outer space it seemed to come, a plunging ripping meteor. A search beam must have swung hurriedly aloft, for it flamed into 126 ASTOUNDING STORIES startling being; a spheroid, com- pact, purposeful, dropping with breathtaking velocity. Something seemed to explode in Hilary’s brain. A great cry wrenched out of his torn throat. “The Vagabond ” Unbelievable, impossible. Yet he could not be mistaken. The Vaga- bond was coming home again! By this time the Mercutians had seen it too. It meant suicide, that rushing projectile from outer space, but it would take along with it in the crash of its flight a goodly num- ber of the Mercutian fliers. The Mercutians were no cowards, but death stared them openly in the face. Instantly all was in confusion. Forgotten the rebellious Earthmen below, forgotten everything but es- cape from the down-rushing thun- derbolt. Hilary, staring upward, could visualize the fliers working des- perately at their controls. The clustered ships vibrated like a school of frightened fish poised for instant flight. Then they were in motion; scattering, wabbling in the terror of their retreat. The Vagabond hurtled down among them like a hawk among pigeons. Its surface glowed with the speed of its flight. To Hilary’s fascinated gaze it seemed as if there would be a terrific smash. But the Vagabond came to a scream- ing, braking halt directly in the center of the milling, scattering Mercutians. Almost simultaneously the air re- sounded with staccato bursts. Ratatat-tat-a-tat. “Good little Wat.” Grim danced insanely. “He’s cutting loose the submachine gun.” Hilary woke from his amazement with a start. “Shoot, and shoot to kill,” he shouted above the turmoil. “Don’t let a single one get away.** A UTOMATICS spat their leaden hail, dynol pellets flamed red- ly, and over all resounded the rapid drum fire of the machine gun, pour- ing steel-jacketed death into the confused ranks of the Mercutians. The monster invaders had lost their heads. Even then, they could have destroyed the Earthmen with their deadly spreading rays. But the strange apparition from above had demoralized them. No one thought of fighting; flight, safety, were the only thoughts in their minds. Flier after flier went tailspin- ning to horrible death while his comrades fled in all directions. It was soon over. The greater number of the Mercutians were twisted smoldering wrecks. The few who escaped were rapidly di- minishing dots in the cold star- light. Its work finished, the rescuing space flier settled softly to the ground, in the midst of the em- battled cheering Earthmen, tempo- rarily gone insane. The air-lock port yawned, and a slim figure darted out, straight into Hilary’s outstretched arms. “Joan !” B EHIND her danced a small red- haired individual, his homely features grinning with delight. Un- der his arm swung heavily a sub- machine gun. He disappeared al- most immediately into the vast bearlike grip of his gigantic friend. His shrill voice went on unceasing- ly, but strangely muffled, as Grim hugged him. Finally he extricated himself, ruffled, breathless, but still talking. “What did I tell you, you big ox?” he shrilled. “We’ll chase them off the Earth, sweep ’em out into space.” “Why, you litle gamecock,” the giant observed affectionately, “I’m beginning to believe you can do it.” SLAVES OF MERCURY 127 “We thought you had gone for good,” said Hilary, holding Joan tightly to him as if he feared to lose her again. “What happened to you on the Robbins Building?” “Can’t get rid of us that easily, can he, Joan?” The little man smirked knowingly at the girl. “It was all very simple,” he went on. “No sooner had you two left us than we heard the thud of a flier landing on the other end of the roof. The pilot looked out at us startled. We recognized each other simultaneously. It was our old friend — Urga.” Hilary clenched his fist. He had a good many scores to settle with the Cor. Wat saw his action. “I did my best,” he stated apologetically. “I ran for the machine gun. But by that time Urga had shot aloft again. Didn’t seem as though he wanted to wait. I heard his whistle shrill- ing in the air. Fliers came thick as flies.” He spread his hands in a quaint gesture. “What could I do, Hilary?” his voice was appealing. “Any min- ute I expected to have a ray on us. I couldn’t wait for you two, the Vagabond would have been a little pile of ashes. Besides, there was Joan. She kicked and struggled; she wanted to stay for you, but I shoved her in the ship, locked the port, and went scooting up like a rocket. You should have seen the Mercutians scatter.” F OR the first time in his life words seemed to fail him. “You — are — not — angry?” he fumbled, looking for all the world like a bedraggled dog who knows he has been in mischief. “Angry?” Hilary fairly whooped. “What for? For saving the ship, Joan, all of us? Why, you little bit of pure gameness, you did the only sensible thing.” Wat grinned from ear to ear. “But why,” Grim interrupted, “didn’t you have sense enough to come back here, instead of scaring everybody to death?” Wat turned on him indignantly. “Sure,” he squeaked, “and bring all the Mercutians along with me? No sir, I shot straight up into the stratosphere, and headed for the Canadian woods. Felt we’d be safe there.” Hilary looked at him. “I’ve heard,” he said overcasually, “that an accident happened to one of the Mercutian diskoids. Know anything about it?” The redhead grinned. “I was the accident. I wasn’t staying cooped up in the wilderness. Joan and I decided we’d do some scouting be- fore we came back; see what was happening over the rest of the world. We were returning from one of those little expeditions, cruising about fifty miles up, when we al- most bumped into the diskoid. We saw them first; we had just come out of the shadow of the Earth; they were in the sun. I let them have it before they had a chance to turn on their rays. The bullets punctured them clean; must have let out their air. I didn’t wait to see; ducked back into the shadow again.” “How did you get here in the nick of time?” asked Hilary sud- denly. “A few minutes later and there would have been no rescue.” Wat looked at him in some sur- prise. “Why, we got your signal, of course.” “Signal?” Hilary echoed. “I never — ” Then he paused. Morgan was grinning sheepishly. “Here, what do you know about this?” he queried sharply. T HE giant’s grin widened. “Just a little,” he admitted. “I’d been playing around with my transmitter. Used some of the spare equipment 128 ASTOUNDING STORIES we had cached for the Vagabond, and stepped up the sending radius to a thousand miles or so.” “We received your call in the woods north of Lake Ontario,” Joan interrupted. Grim nodded, gratified. “I thought it might work,” he rumbled. “You see,” he explained to Hilary, “ever since I heard about that diskoid, I knew that the Vagabond was re- sponsible. But you refused to be- lieve it. So I worked in secret, rig- ging up the apparatus. Didn’t want to stir up false hopes. I finished it yesterday. When we were discov- ered, I started sending.” “It took us just ten minutes over the hour to get here from a stand- ing start,” Wat boasted. “We al- most burned up the old machine smashing through the air, didn’t we Joan?” She nodded happily from her cozy position in the crook of Hilary’s arm. Hilary looked long and steadily at his friends. “Well — ” he finally began, when someone cried out sharply. A dark shape shot over the rim of the mountainside, swooped down at them in one fierce lunge. In- voluntarily the Earthmen threw themselves flat on the ground to avoid the tremendous rush of its flight. At one hundred feet it banked sharply, a circle of light gleamed, and a long blazing streamer thrust its relentless finger at the prostrate figures of the Earthmen. There was a blinding flash, a roar. Hilary was on his feet, bul- lets spitting rapidly. But already the lone Mercutian flier had com- pleted his bank, and was zooming out of range. Hilary watched the flier grow fainter and fainter in the starlit distance. Almost he could hear the far-off hoarse chuckle of its pilot. Then he ^turned to survey the damage. The Earthmen were up, growling low heartfelt curses. That one blast had been catastrophic. T HERE on the ground lay the smoking ruins of the Vagabond, beloved companion of his space wanderings. For a moment Hilary gave way to a deep-seated despair. This was the end of all his plan- nings. He had built high hopes on the Vagabond in his carefully laid schemes for overcoming the Mer- cutians. He stood as one stunned. Someone cried: “A curse is upon us; let us scatter before it is too late!” It acted on Hilary like a cold shower, that cry of despair. “No,” his voice resounded strong and vibrant. “We did not need the Vagabond. It never was part of my plans.” A lie, of course, but most necessary. “That Mercutian saved me the trouble of finding a hiding place for it. Come, let us march. At dawn it rains, I know it will.” “You’ve said that every day since the weather machine was smashed,” a voice cried out from the rear. Hilary paused, thrown off his balance momentarily. Yet a second’s hesitation would be fatal. It was Joan who answered for him. She sprang forward, lithe and exalted, her dark eyes flashing even in the dark. “I’ll tell you how he knows. I myself had almost forgotten. To- morrow is exactly two weeks since the weather machine was destroyed. My father, Martin Robbins, built it. He told me then that its effects were so powerful that they lasted for two weeks, even with the ma- chine turned off. Only positive action could bring an immediate reversal of weather conditions. That’s how he knows.” Joan had turned the tide. The waverers turned as one man to Hilary. “Lead on! We follow!” “Very well,” he stated quietly. “We can’t remain here. The Mer- SLAVES OF MERCURY 129 cutians will be back soon in over- whelming force, burning for re- venge. We march.” To Joan, in barely audible tones: “Is that true, what you said?” “I — I think so. I remember Dad mentioned a time limit. I think it was two weeks.” “If it isn’t, we’re facing a damned unpleasant prospect to-morrow,” he said grimly. CHAPTER XIII The Last Battle D AWN found the little band still struggling over the thick-forested mountains in a des- perate attempt to avoid detection. They were footsore, weary, their clothes shredded by innumerable sharp thorns, their eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Overhead, the paling sky was already dotted with the fliers of the Mercutians; faint sounds came to them of the clumsy thrashing of enemy patrols as they beat the woods for the fugitives. The Mercutians were putting forth all their resources to seek out and destroy these irritant foci of revolt. At length Hilary called a halt. They were in a little valley, not far from Bear Mountain. It offered some protection from the searchers. The enclosing hills would mask them from all but search beams directly overhead. “It is no use going any farther,” he said wearily. “We all need sleep and rest. Sooner or later they’ll find us, no matter where we go, and then — ” He shrugged his shoulders. The weary, panting men threw themselves down upon the ground, too tired even to eat. Immediately they were in a drugged sleep. Joan was sleeping too, her face pale drawn, but like a little child’s in her slumber. Hilary watched her with a sharp pang in his heart. What would the next few hours bring to her, to all of them? Nor did Grim and Wat sleep either. The three of them squatted on their heels, silent, as the cold dawn wind swept with a great sigh through the valley. The stars were paling now, the purple sky was enswathing itself in pearly grays. Something glowed pinkly overhead, and was extin- guished almost immediately by the prevailing gray. Hilary started violently. “Did you see that?” “See what?” Grim was drunk for lack of sleep. Hilary was on his feet, peering upward. “I thought I saw — there, there it is again.” The other two were on their feet also, weariness forgotten, heads thrown back. High overhead, in the overturned cup of the sky, an irregular pink wisp formed before their wonder- ing eyes, and vanished again. But more slowly than the first time. “Well?” asked Wat, puzzled. “A cloud.” Hilary’s voice was a prayer. “Hell,” said Wat disgustedly. “If that’s a cloud I’m a Mercutian. There wouldn’t be enough water there to moisten a canary seed.” “And even if there were it wouldn’t matter now,” said Grim calmly. “We’re discovered.” A LONG slim flier shot athwart the brightening sky, paused suddenly in flight as though jerked by an invisible string. The next instant the valley was illumined by a transparent glow. It enveloped the Earthmen, made crystal figur- ines of the most solid among them. They seemed like wraiths through which, as in a glass, more could be seen beyond. The solid ground, the rocks, were transparencies floating in an ocean of airy nothingness. A search beam ! The flier hung steady, high over- head, holding them in the dissolv- 130 ASTOUNDING STORIES ing area of his beam. Too high to ray them, but also too high for their futile bullets. The Mercutians no longer underrated the fighting abilities of their erstwhile slaves. “He’s sending out messages for help,” observed Hilary. “Let’s take it on the run,” Wat suggested. “No good. Where could we run to that his beam couldn’t follow?” “Well, we can only die once,” Wat observed cheerfully. “And take as many Mercutians with us as we can,” Grim amended. “That’s one lucky thing. Their rays have no greater range than our bullets.” “Except the diskoids,” said Hilary. “Here’s your chance, Wat, to play with your rattle.” The red head, who had lugged the heavy machine gun all the way with him, patted its snout affec- tionately. “It plays the devil’s tattoo,” he said. More fliers materialized in the by now brighter blue of early morning. The sun was just peeping over the serrated tops of the mountains. But still they did not attack. “Afraid of us,” Wat chuckled. “Bet they’ll send to Mercury for the whole damn army before they come for us.” T HE first shock was over. With the inevitable staring them in the face, the men had achieved something of a gay recklessness. Hilary found some natural reces- sions under overhanging masses of rocks that would afford protection from the searing power of the rays. To be effective, the fliers would have to land in the valley or fly low, thus exposing themselves to the raking fire of the Earthmen’s weapons. Hilary posted his little band skilfully underneath these natural shelters in such a way that they would be able to command the bit of sky from every angle. The men jerked and fidgeted. The heavens darkened with massed fliers, and still they came. The Mercu- tians were taking no chances. “Plenty of guests at our funeral,” Wat chuckled, sighting along the barrel of his gun. Hilary left the jesting to the others. He was watching the skies intently. Joan slipped her arm through his. “You see something that we don’t. What is it?” He nodded with an intent frown. “There are clouds forming up there. The first I’ve seen since I came back to this planet. Rain clouds, too, if I know anything about it. Look.” Joan tilted her head backward. Thin scuds of vapor darted across the sky, driven by the morning breeze; dissolved and reformed a little farther on. Tenuous wisps, evanescent, wraithlike. The sun shone steadily, unobscured. “Those little things,” said Joan unbelievingly. “Why, if that’s all you’re depending on, we’re finished.” “Nevertheless they are rain clouds. But when the rain will come is another matter. Very likely too late.” Grim came hurriedly over from his post near the entrance to the little valley. His face was placid as ever, but his eyes were worried. “We are being surrounded,” he stated calmly. H ILARY sprang to his feet. “What do you mean?” “Listen. Do you hear it?” Far down the overgrown trail they had followed into the valley came the noise of heavy stumbling feet, innumerable feet. “They are taking no chances,” said Grim, his countenance un- changed. Hilary looked swiftly around. The valley was a cul-de-sac, sur- rounded on three sides of its nar- SLAVES OF MERCURY 131 row oblong by precipitous hills. From the fourth side the Mercu- tians were coming — an army, from the sound of them. Overhead were a hundred fliers, and more coming. The trap was sprung! Hilary’s voice rang out. ‘‘All men without guns down the valley to repel invaders. Those with guns re- main at your positions; watch the fliers. Wat Tyler in command.” With a joyous cry the Earth- men started for the narrow mouth of the valley, all without guns. Gone was the helpless feeling of before; now they could fight too. Axes, spades, pitchforks, sticks and stones even, were their weapons. Hilary thrust his automatic into Joan’s hand. ‘‘You use it, dear. I won’t need it. Come on, Grim.” Morgan smiled slowly, handed over his dynol pistol without a word to a weaponless man and stalked after his leader. His great hand clutched and unclutched un- consciously. This was what he wanted, hand-to-hand fighting. B Y the time they reached the foot of the valley, the noise of the oncoming Mercutians sounded like the rumbling of thunder. Se- cure in their numbers there was no thought of concealment. The Earthmen were pitifully few, only thirty of them, and wretchedly armed. Hilary disposed of them up the slope of the hill on either side, set them to loosening jutting boul- ders. He was in command on one slope, Grim on the other. In a minute the Mercutians would be upon them. A simultaneous at- tack, no doubt; the fliers dropping low to loose their deadly rays from above as the land force at- tacked with their hardly less deadly hand rays. Hilary shot a last hasty glance aloft. H is heart gave a great bound. The thin insubstantial vapors of a little before had solidified, taken on a grosser leaden hue. The sky was a sullen gray, shot through inter- mittently with the broad flares of a sun valiantly struggling to re- assert its long undisputed sway. Little flickers of lightning played around the ragged edges of the clouds. To the most unobservant it was evident now that a storm was in the making. But might it not be too late? The sun still shone, and as long as its light pierced through, the weapons of the Mercutians held all their deadly potency. The alien invaders sensed the urgent necessity for quick action, for the fliers were dropping now, hundreds of them, to within range. Hilary heard the shouted orders of the Mercutians Cors, the crashing forward of a mighty host, and then the front of the attack burst out of the trees in an engulfing flood of gigantic unwieldy bodies and gray warty faces. A quick view of the stout un- gainly Viceroy, Artok, another of the coldly saturnine visage of Urga in the front rank, and with a roar of gutturals, the attack was on. D OWN from above came a myriad blinding flashes, turn- ing the inclosed valley into an inferno of heat and rocking, boil- ing, shattered ground. Up the val- ley shot the massed hand rays of the hundreds as they swept along in close-packed trot. It seemed as if nothing could exist in that blazing, screaming hell. Hilary, stunned, shaken, scorched, felt as if he were the only one alive. Yet as the front of the attack washed up before him, he did not hesitate. He sprang to his feet, swung the nicely hefted long-handled ax he had picked up, uttered a war whoop that went back to remote ancestors, and flung him- self headlong into the boiling mass of Mercutians. 132 ASTOUNDING STORIES As he did so, he caught a fleet- ing, comforting glimpse of Grim rising to his full height on the other slope, huge hands raised, and crashing down barehanded, silent, into the ranks of the enemy. A cheer went up, a faint. ragged cheer, and other figures popped up out of nowhere and dropped feet first into the fray. Hilary found himself engulfed in a welter of figures that towered heads above him. His ax swung up and down, bit into something soft and yielding. The Mercutian screamed horribly; blood spouted from his wide-split shoulder. He fell stumbling to his knees, and Hilary stepped into the little open space. That gave him more elbow room. A furious towering monster swung his tube around in the press. Hilary ducked as the sizzling ray sped over his head. There were howls of pain as the spreading beam cut a burning swath through the packed Mercutians. Thereafter no more tubes were raised. The quarters were too close. It was to be hand-to-hand fighting; thousands of giant Mercutians against a handful of puny Earth- men. H ILARY swung his red-drip- ping ax in ever-widening circles. At every swung a Mercutian tumbled. A little space opened around him, literally hewn out of living flesh. But with strange fierce cries he threw himself again and again into the wall of bodies. There and there only was salvation pos- sible where the sun-tubes could not be used. Far over to one side he caught glimpses of bodies in violent up- heavings, bodies that thrust explo- sively to either side as from the sharp prow of an invisible ship. Then a great figure heaved stagger- ing into view, bloody, gashed, great arms encircling Mercutian heads, smashing them together like egg- shells, flinging them apart, seizing others. Grim Morgan, berserk with bare hands. Here and there in his own travail Hilary sighted little foci of strug- gle, Earthmen with ax and pitch- fork and spade battling valiantly in a sea of Mercutians. A swirl, an eddy, and all too often a sudden surge and flowing of gray warty faces, and smooth rippleless heads where an Earthman had gone down, trampled into pulp. Hilary’s first rush with swinging flashing ax had caught the Mer- cutians unawares. They had relied upon their sun-tubes, and in the melee succeeded only in inflicting frightful havoc on their own kind. Now, however, they came for Hilary in a solid mass, huge three-fingered hands flailing, seeking to thrust him down by sheer weight of numbers. He swung and swung again, the ax bit deep, but still they came. His arm grew weary from so much slaughter, it rose more and more slowly, and then it rose no more. The bloody ax was wrenched from his nerveless fingers, and he was down, smothered by innumerable trampling bodies. Over him the tide swirled smooth. Heavy feet kicked and battered at his body, hands reached down to pluck and rip at him. F EEBLY he tried to fend them off, but the shodden hoofs smashed him down again, gouged at his unprotected face. He strug- gled, but soon he would not strug- gle any more. From afar came to his dimming ears below, a huge shout that shook the ground. Feet pounded him down into semi-unconscious- ness; there was a mighty shuffling to and fro over him, and then the feet were gone. A huge well-re- membered hand caught him, heaved him upright. It was Grim. His face SLAVES OF MERCURY 133 was a wreck, battered out of all semblance, but those blue mild eyes were flaming with an unholy light. Hilary tottered, and the giant shook him. “Wake up,” he bawled; “they’re coming again.” With a great effort Hilary cleared his numbed brain, saw the resur- gence of the temporarily beaten herd. His fists clenched automati- cally. “Good boy,” Grim whooped. “Let’s get them.” Then they were engulfed, fight- ing back to back. Hilary seemed to be fighting in a dream. He never had a clear conception of what hap- pened. Faces thrust themselves into his own, furious, contorted; his fist went out mechanically, thudded against something soft, and the face disappeared. Hands reached plucking for him; he thrust them off, and swung left and right again. Once he looked dully upward. The sky was gray slate now, festooned with bellying black. No sign of the sun; not the least ray could pierce. The fliers hung aim- less overhead, no sparkle to their hulls. The valley was dark too; the terrible rays had ceased raking it with an inferno of heat. J UST before he lowered his up- flung face to smash his fist into another face, something wet blobbed on his forehead. A raindrop? Per- haps, but he was too far gone to care now. Life was an endless series of howling Mereutians to thrust fists into. A cheer rose high, punctured by quick sharp explosions of sound. Guns. Those few remaining of the fighting Earthmen farther up the valley, no longer menaced by the futile fliers, had come down to help their weaponless brethren. Wat’s voice was shrill in the land, yelling, exhorting, screaming. A familiar rat-a-tat-a-tat came down the wind. The submachine gun was spitting steel-jacketed death. Where was Joan? Hilary wondered wearily. A face towered over him, a face he knew. Urga. The Mercutian was no longer impassive; his gray coun- tenance was distorted with hideous hate. “I’ll break you in two,” he mouthed, and lunged for Hilary. The Earthman came out of his daze at the sight of the other. Strength seemed to flow back into his weary body. His fist came up, clean with all the power that was left in him. It went home with a soul-satisfying crunch. Urga’s gray gash of a mouth seemed to smear slowly over the rest of his face. A wild animal scream burst from him as he sagged. Then a swirl of other Mereutians anxious to get at the Earthman eddied him out of view. Hilary felt better. Now he could die content. Even with their guns, what could a handful of Earthman do against the resistless, ever-com- ing tide of Mereutians, thousands of them? I T was raining now, slowly at first, large scattered drops, then heavier and heavier, until the fogged air was a driving sheet of water. What of it? — thought Hilary bitterly as he fought and slipped and stumbled in the slimy, bloody muck that was now the ground. The Mereutians’ weapons were useless, but they did not need them any more. Sheer numbers would over- whelm the Earthmen. Then to his amazement something happened. The heavens, long out- raged by the artificial repression of the weather machine, kicked over all traces and opened their sluices in earnest. The sky was one vast waterfall. The elements roared and rocked; the valley was knee deep already in a spate of waters. 134 ASTOUNDING STORIES Hilary splashed and waded after his enemies. But they were going. They staggered and trembled in every shaking limb, heedless now of the Earthmen. They slipped and fell into the flood, and stayed there, motionless under the waters. Like Pharaoh’s army they were being drowned before the amazed Earth- men’s very eyes. On their own planet it never rained; there was no water except for carefully hoarded underground lakes. This first taste of real Earth weather was too much for them. They could not withstand the driv- ing rain, the water swirling round their knees. All the strength went out of their shaggy frames, their knees buckled and down they went, helpless, destroyed by a natural phenomenon to which they were un- accustomed. They had actually been smothered by the humidity! Hilary’s voice was strong again. With great shouts, he rallied his men. A pitiful handful; only fifteen of the fifty that had entered tne valley. But Joan was alive, her face black with burned skin, otherwise unhurt. Wat’s grin rose superior to a mask of raw flesh, and Grim, bleeding from a hundred wounds, was still a tower of strength. I T was a strange sight as they stood almost waist deep in the flood, the storm beating down upon them, hundreds and hundreds of bodies floating, bumping against them. “We must clinch our victory, men,” Hilary shouted above the roar of the elements. “We must go to arouse the Earth, sweep the Mer- cutians into the oceans while the storm lasts, or all our work will go for naught.” A great cheer went up from the little band, and without resting, without food or sleep, they waded their way out of the valley, into civilization once more, carrying their message, arousing the peo- ples, gathering to themselves like a tiny snowball rolling down a mountainside, a huge swelling army of jubilant Earthmen, Earthwomen, too, moving in resistless flood down upon New York. The rest is history. Like a tor- rent they swept down upon the cowed, weakened Mercutians. Those that did not escape in the great diskoids back to their own torrid, waterless planet were searched out, torn to pieces by the infuriated Earth peoples. For five days and five nights the storm raged, all over the world. The floodgates were opened; out- raged nature was taking her re- venge. For five days and five nights the sun was hidden behind bucket- ing gray skies. And for five days and five nights, Americans, Eng- lish, Chinese, Zulus, Australians, Russians, Bushmen, Argentinians, animated by a common purpose, rose gleefully and smote the in- vaders. When the sun finally peeped once more from behind the thick blanket of clouds, not a Mer- cutian remained. Few had escaped; the rest would never see Mercury again. W E’VE won,” Joan sighed happily, after it was all over, and was able to nestle once more comfortably in Hilary’s arms. “Thanks to you.” “You forget Grim Morgan and Wat Tyler, dear.” “Ye-es, they helped, too,” she ad- mitted grudgingly; “but without you, what could they have done?” Hilary started to protest, but over her crown of shining hair, he saw Grim and Wat watching him, grin- ning like two monkeys. Wat’s thumb was raised to his nose in an immemorial gesture. “You’re right,” said Hilary defi- antly. “What could they have done?” krsCornci Vrty Trm # tc Trl iO Uwm »if« layat- «W<* a law run t|« t taloy rtad.-ar a |««< a*u4 crlti- ha *TV iu4ut Cum.' k« trtiuiu as fi lM ii a# *iuaa«lkllii; He* 4e Ikt; kaev *Vt'a lufMaiU f A* Gartaia au4 "TV *«4 i ay tttiblr it a«r 4 ta iv Taylut ja.' It M ayplttf ta ■■■; taa- •tfactivi tbaartaa au»y«7 bccaat r (Wf art aa« aVnuai Ajtcaatuf lUfl ri .carriaa •«« >4*u . u* mau.k ikiariti af ttui* atary dr r>r>d tt ta truii a atetoat ta Tat tkt aaart • >klt fw ■ carry ha ttottfk tbr u Wnjto totekan 44 n JaSrt Vir» taaatoatW iaaaaa far *ncit| af a abi L>I ttiuM tafrf autre Naa nk- auau art nflanai arctic taat abrrt aa MtU ttoy et a ! 4 paturatc [ayac uMi " ■at'i »llrafti«| tk« aa« kart tcir- It'ctia^k. atrticaa tairri- |ra at. « rraal art Haw tkay 4a iryirti 4 ta artia af taai race * 1 aa ufinu PVctiaa to af* cat art. the ilia 1*4 r iaiar t. u4 abaa af 1* 4 ta a- idctoifc i k i ai a* **c Intact FW traa. Keep to ay aal 4aa1 to by tkt at -MpoMcWr* kaacktrt ikry bat* ap tbrtr critic war rbabai taf praaf A A t*'bart arita aitb rka ttcmie* i— oaaibtli'iaa af ■kick tnll b* tbr accauaplu ic ■trraa Tkt y art aaf ct cottar* aitb tba to — M ty atof af aia Tbat'a aby I alaayt beat A A ta lb* l atal uauual — SiAary C aruat, ISM Arcrl* RA. La taila. O L 135 fir i« 1 M ASTOUNDING STORIES PriMt-i O. K. Dr* r Edita* l Um beta a imJ« of the A B arar MU It Mirttd Ud tkM|k MM MMIM »ttt m ap la par. M% rttt terp road. 'Hawk Cum' «u tka bu< alary I bin •»« rial, aal tka arqaal wn batter, it t^ci it Mr tkarrr'a ermetam el *Ha«k Caraa* taaid ba ippliad ta au; ie«l atonal which wel d ba apoila J mtMU u ai accempltahmaa* w h i ch ia abea* tka antaft. I tbiob kia criticism la aattralp Raagh ld|ti aad big or amall n|* itnaa a r« isMtuttl la aaa; baa tka priat. al ccarac. la M pa rtial , aal pearl U last r jy — ffial Pina. Oaraaaaan. CaiiL Not Petiect Daar Idmr: la rudier tka ”C amr” ad A C la Marti IIU Una, t «ai nrpni*d to bod a iattar bp a ftoaata Plattea aalka .i.nr wka did aal **>sp a let al Kuatt la kaa atari**. Tka aaia m Mr Paal J. HaJ I bad thoaght tk« tmpeauhU Mr. Hail fata a* ■ bial ta tk* affart that Ailcnlnt Scorn* aai parlatt H* fcaa tafcaa tk* wraag eiewpoiat. Alj thief aad Itwjtkiit caa b* lafritad. aal Ait oaa rliaa Scoria*. am ti M la a •apar-Sciaac* FlcCioa rut >* apaa t* we aid iperaciaca tap •»*,*11 car- trapped tnci free* Soaac* Ptctiaa aad KKtxi Im I ta It p**ri aid, aad ckiautrp «* mj third be b bp— Wi ll i a aa Paiaar. Jlrd Art. Kaaeaba. Waa*. Well. W*ll. Weill Daar Cdatar: \ I nad tk* Iattar* at poor lapal raad- ari ark* tknagh* that mp Iattar aa the NiiaaWr iaaaa an *a;a** aad aa- gnaali A. aad I'a dowartgh* i ib i m a d a 4 BfMl 1 fa* kanaf itartad aack a diaaarb- acti 1 • (Til that aap latter waa tea critical, aad that I sad* aoaaa awfallv hank atatiavraia If 1 hart pear faal- la(. I aaaara aaa that H waa whailp a* 1 strut >ral aad that tka latter waa writ- tea with Mia dip I a n a t Garni* u right arkaa ba abjacti ta aap aadatr ftim t a l that *M*a*pa tka Mrikti* wn traak. Clan t* that it wv*r. 'Maaepe* ww • goad pic*. *ad tkar* wn a* aarp aariow* akfactiea I ceaid ban kaaad ap itata- bwt I ban apaat a let ad tin* thiet-g tka matte* ant bad oca tarn i n ta Ihn COM i«td 4 A Aad igaia Mr. Oarral* la right wkaa ba ii pi that wi taaaat ba aara wkatkar of oat time trmiiog la poaai b l a at whether a* ear wa caa deal la nb» atomic ala* bp takiag • fill; ka w at t ad a* baa* torn* paattp bard aad lua tkaoaia* aaoa tk* aahlact. Mp tat era alrtadp adna tn ad. Wka* a aeoa* k* coiaai haw ta mek* a pill akkk wlH_ bp rada atw g tka ipac* bttwaaa tka tril- boa* ad atom* la ea*‘a badp. r ad oc • tk* uii ad a whale parte*, aleag with c latka * . pat aad atkar gadget*. to a lira aa**Uaa tkaa that ad a aiagl* atom. In aat aap abirt. «fc c «* aad bat l l oag with aatatai milium or mot aa a^aaJ l ail it •( ta map ban bat Bat tkaa, that* • mmitkiag ia what Mr. Akao l aa tap* S a p p aaa, ia pear wip ad think mg. It la im a o m hl* w k p mat *a)ap It )wl tk* wa«' I hat* a* mack. ad and p • aad _«PI I **>op Straag* Tala* a* mack II aap- •at tlaa do**. •* wkp aet ta>*p tk* Im- pli wik l* Mori** *i*ag with tk* ocher*? Aal aapkew. bow caa wt lap that *ap- thiag ia t m pr wiWa ta fatara *c iaaaa ? I h a p a k W. Blnherf will occapt mp meat proda** npa ncoot at lUKatnt ra- grrt if *ap wfiow **rt*br*l traaM* ra- ni rad from tk* pair la tk* each which mp Iattar warn ta kart glare Mm T> t March now* of Xiroc-.Iag Sta*. la* M tnclioa* — cent *ad all Tk* H im w a r ad TW » pul The AJaia ad tk* Brim* I* *r*a btttn tkaa "Hlwk Cum - * Pollened Air” I* tk* bate Dr Bird atorp that hat pat tp- ptuti 'V tempera* ed Spec** la taocka* crodit ta tk* Jake Haaaaa aarta* "Waadk Tk* laeedar” it im poa p tacaUaa* aterit* the** lit: ‘Moral*. log UK*i the** lit: * Moral*. * "Tk# Whit* land***,” 'Gtaata aa tk* Earth.” ‘Oat Aroaad Rig*!.* Tk* Miad Maa- taa.” "Tka Space Rerar.” ’Seed ad tk* Arctic ica* aad Tk* Pig-rap Planet * All the pt I ■» ■ ! < Uka U |1'< pt u tned a p«« ©< adrica n a =7 mi m<4«1 Yaw urn attract in* tW cent* c a— tr y No*, tl pa wa=t to attract tW whole world. I o a a M ad- rUa pa to taka a howl two ■ otar ko d aad practice diaouf apci ikip. (I alao kora a kook tatuM 'How to Draw to 29 Eery L t aaooa **) Yoo ora. el caaraa. a po i arttac, kot I kaiaraa too cao ktcoaaa *i aatar — Thee K Dao t oi . Boa 247. Safety. Make. "IV or* It Out. GaatUmam' ao. pat ait kar o e oa I aaraa with Boh ao- Bryd e a to what ha aaya ahead kaa. For ■aa toot what rraaco dad Mr Shuar toaa that ay- krick at has? Ha awl dolly moat kora at- sat a Hawk Carat hi hie trarala aad tat rot the wot at rod at tl la alBoor carry ad- Uttar I road Carre wao liked aad at oraiaadL which waa itaetly rl*ht — Pad (I Doaa. m Roakary it. Olid too Porgi Thtm's Strong Words Door Bditor *Ow” (sorariae to i'bobT aaraOrwt. I ray alBoot hrcaoee Dr, Bird la ^attlai beau aa Oa^atorin. The rcadera who t Aa la lrmliai all By copter library ad tl alt or a m astounding stories oad • caaplitt MTtlctit. Ail ui *«rr good Wko« MI r— Id worn) I liked >«7 wtU tki (ollewiag "TW H^4M (raa Um lileal' “Brood •f the Dark Moo*.' TW Capper CU4 World.* “TV. Rod H*U ol JopMer.' 'Hawk Corot* — as tiullrM Mery — The Whitt (imitn,* TV. Miad Matter * I thiek row htti takMi ora: Wjater, Vlaceer. Well*. HomiHoe, Btorrl. l'r M t, V not tot Walla. HomtHoa, Btorrl. Ditto. Ctfcaart Wrtghc. Camw ngi M Barba. Rjjt W.Uiomooe aad —Lewie C DafT * Caotral A. a. Brod- lari Maaa. Stan' T iungj Moyhe I aaial tsrprioedl I «u ril W H* ( a a.(UiM ikaa aad I aaw a r*i - 7 poiated tent with Ik. title ol Aetraadiag Baeeiea. Oa aalniai tW shop a (aw doya Utar. 1 asked Ik. ptK* Me wo* ik. aaawar I k.aaka M aad aa pa* raai a d Ik. ta t. a t . ;*(* I aaw it wa* aa Aaratid no tunaa Qwiartr Ht H| (it|d<>| ! f atartad rtMk| Ik. Hr at nary. I wa* ao itaraatad I rod* that* Mac h . a. dao Tioali ao. Th* Baev wa. a rl I atartad la raad t reread atory — aad thaa ik. iltra dark atartad to naa Allow aa* to i.aflian. yae aa TW Afa*r ad tW Braiaa.* TW atory waa . frtaag tassel to tW Btenryien. *Hawk Car**.' TW hi d* at ad Mr aaaaatar |nia K. Sat wa* tlaaat. Bo. wWt ki;[.E«: to tW Warns ( Wart tWy (lotto wWa tW iiartykwi escaped a a whatF (Too watt aad teal— I d] 1 wa gatag to atart a Bcieaca Rlrttaa clad far My* Aayoae lattraatad pit*** write to aae_ I Waa a Woo. a caaplttt coUectiea ad Aaaadiaf Br a ri aa. 1 aa aa ardaat t r ad er ad Stroagt Tala* 1 cWagha that TW Dtaal ad tW Barter era' waa tW Mol .taay la tW luBth la aac WWt tW rarer actart ad "Wolem ad Darkaaoe.* third laose waa— I coot a ipi * TW Barr grata aye* ad the karaia. aad tW twa oolttt— ykto l— I had atghCBaret tWt mght •— Jaaaaa Mc- Craa MK Vaadyka St- Phla. Pa Tkiaker Kindly. Sir 9 • Dear Ed tar: Baa tear. I n a saw writer, hat aot a aaw reader . I*aa aaoaa Biased a easy. It's a pity that aa. d tda‘1 fatal. Dr Bird I km W safer* a itUpo* Wicra wa raad o I kia t* ai r. . aad wWa wa da raad ad Mat. 1 h o a r it's aa ihi tw i r y. I thick that TW Petit PUaet" aad TW Cad at tW Bom* art tW two heat Barit t yea Woe tohlnhtd yah ‘Dark Maaa* aad ‘Broad ad tW Dork Moos' mat oral, with TW Afoir ad tW Broiat' ieUowiag data. Hoot.tr iW ft at Hawk Corse story saoat kaythtag utra At lea tW dt(uu* It's yarfroly OX ayk at It s tW ttaatta Ta ia t treated m. 1 a tat to carreer Mr Bihaatitk aa t ttttemeat h* Bode ia has letter. Ha ia highly BtataWa win W says W thiaka W (CaataraA— Ed.) sat- tWad ako at art. (at W Boot otoarodly daas aah Paal a th* m* tattoo aad Waaaa is th* goad*, aad Wttaoa at W ne t doBoged gw da ttthaa. l a iwilm aa pretty good aachoaity By**J( lea l*aa atadiad aider tataraJ good leathers, too I b wcmlcnag whether or aat X Pt dacha* will salat tW 'egg aad Wa* dia- per r T ah. uf! Paa ahaiaa. Editor I Aad George H. Arana troag. id yea da tike a shot at apace fytag. radio aa 111 go EaOCf Wad. I hope A B aa.tr rat aat ad t ceacaarratad load say y( y . aad ah ta I tty ceaccatratedL t dea't B r no Alert 4 Mr. Edttar. yea era gt.r ycsna l d a pat aa tW Wck lea rma r ag sack aa aat staadtag aarutat — Charles M. Toarp- kiaa. Walt hill. Neka Seqatl X«f*ri(rd Dear Editor Tear r treat at ary. *Oer Arc sad Rt «*V proha hi y the hast atory yee ht.r • •at yak l ak.d. ia tW Bract caaoa ad ay writia^te the 'Career * It Garth aad Dsaal a r a agar a t ad tie* aad apace why did they aor select ear ol tW aearer Bart far their goal, sack aa Alpha Ceatiaa oa dl Cygaat aawtaad a( Rigtl I U they had does Mas the* wadd hart got tea hack la Laaa tra d e ad ■ yaara, si least, hat thaa tW aary wealds'! Waa that aad. ja pe e a s t s, rad which waa its hie sacceea. Aa this is so. why c oa l d a t the aa ih .i watt* a aapaal ta tW Mary teiliag ad DaaTi ilK.nry ad • record which gisea Mo ttaa rti aat ad Ww to erase! ia time «w tag tW raw ad th* city 1— Carl Jehaoe a . IT* Cob phi II It. Daasill*. V * Yourt TUI They Da Doer Editor Adler In o hi ag at Me caret aa the March m a s . 1 am weak aad wohhiy It * the hast tWt Waaaa Boa petered by (or. I ttly raad ‘ P aiaaaid Air* Wraaaa It eta ia A S. TW Afoir ad the Bra. as' wa* good 'Vomptrc* ad Base a' — whet alas ceald yea aspect ( — « wall, ad c a area 'TW llisaor ad Thar' w*. yat* aa- other doom-ad -tW weald koct Bah Tears till i;*c* ahsps gnah — t* J tan Bltsh. *IK Kao wood Asa. Cht- cogo. tO / Ok Yto k. nod Ok Yenk Dear Editor: TW March .torn ad Aot. sod. eg goo- nos has ta n s . imp a ct* hatter leataras. m THE READERS’ CORNER 1 M «M wort*, than tte firtt iaso* 1*0 /cart axe. No io l W A*- and la of ta _ Wet I taa huflr irM /lac*, tho otcalM *«m- la eotl caact kin calf |o*a half *i; W* /leaded for edge*, ft* (a** a* straight la the edge* Wei Mill Mac king eel Wryoad racli an y one who aa Wefere Why eel cel tha edge Uh eiaf la of the sag airtight deem a ■ aboet half la Mortal co of the ocker Clayton / ehl i c atteea *r«P laaesmUt regooots caae* aa for Pair « work: yea gaol a* Paal. nei time* oea ill at Iran ae aa late r . aom * • eaet. Wetee aeca eat good, tad to* he ha* leak to tha ■tdao t tr. Gar* at Paal I The cover eeedt ae toeaaet Ho, I veaa'i going ta tay at - * tee good la /n il It farther— cr*i grove la* /oee la condemn it Mere. Art need eg Stone* ta f*M ha r flag a Magana* of the oee tatiaaal the ttonoa, thaag h good, art all of tha a tract ado racer c tya*. aad tha *m *«a**tio**li«m. Dare at. atari fd eat good— it Mill oc- casionally /rials a Sotoca Ftctooa Mary — vkv cast at May that e * yf Only tech oiatifa aa Merritt. Loot- er* ft. tad ocelli ftlly loeaoo a who Watt aa a tee idee, /codec* Scieaca Fiction Nearly *»ery t eth e r that get* Wit Mat la Attfilier Matt write a thrrtTrillaag tale that will laart /aa gaapug (with * fiaoor of rift, robots. aad rocket* ■Wool ml t* rare tree*** c t ap id r r at oea. I kaow the great Majority ah* read it oa if far thr accaaoeaal Scieaca Fktwa sctaally yoWiiahed Moat *f the idea* * ar* *a tld aad tooth cotrs they’r* W tkte aag The Reeder • of the Mag. aad. a* far aa Ter riser ■■■ a f airly hr a ad* hhaarU a* aaa of a childiah Mtad ha Mae If. who Mill taad* far tha thrill of H. Tha mom rea- tea I'm writing this la kacaaaa Tea aevrr teca a letter yet ilet /at It gatt* to ttraagly— werha/e kocaeaa T* Ed doeaat pobiaah that kind? (AbaolMsiy all wet. PartherMert, Yt ti k a ie talf raada Settee for tha Shrilf of It; aad t to tay I’*t a "chtld- it bereWy formally challtaged t rattlaa at taa /acta, or of t locate la oer pcranWola- rt— and May tha b*M *Waky" via Ed ) Pleas* Welae** me. the* it aa taroeef Na matter haw May get. 1 gee** I'D || Ml N Wuhaa^lM Pa /’rors Fur Fur Awry Dear Ed. tor Allow Me ta tay a few ward* of praie* aad entacian of ‘‘ear' mag cam*. Paal. 1 want to aay that A i ti gettiog hotter with every laeao if two k**/ Ray C om miogt* Monet oat of 'ear' Mag I will h* gaits satisfied H* la the world" * greatest wttur of tv/ereoctea. rod re atari**. Nad aad t AH tha atari** la tha Sepf > ar laaaa war* very rood. Tha oa* I liked Waal God la the Bog.* oast West waa "Tha tWa Tfc# Co^vr Clad World.* ^ Devil Crystal* of Amt" aad 'Brood of tha Dark Mata* —John B Stacey. !M Carry Sc. Oaa- Aacklaad. N Z. Art, Science tod P entry Corvee* I* tha hen oart tha Mag. and a* Ur a* Tv* l a v of . It ha/artaal. I Wav* area /Italy of with the Sower* Soil that print atathng I Wav* fit la Ml 1 Irt- trr like tha* tier* Wafer* IT! fro! yov rr lair Let me hand yea tW* SrM Waoo oe t la thU Utter: “Tha Rradert’ Corner of thi itaa* ha* /aaatirrly the beat left art aad Saevt idea* of a ay Maganas I Wav* read Plena*. if yea want t# r*ack a Wagh standard. laa; the "Corrrr" as It aa Tha grading *f Maria* /elated was. wlthaat a da aba. a */l*wdM idea, aad Wy all year 1 thick Y# Ed* grading oat fair aad mkuiaf. Wat 1 wish I arret with kirn oa tha general high Ian! of the atone* (Aad at the aaaa tfaM. pot priatad a letter addriMcd from Scot- land that waa /oMcitcly tha U ar t tM Idea of a lokt t e-rer am.) (P— Ed) it I* really ta* had that aa many read- art •< Scieaca Pictaan at* aaly readme l It fa* the thrill It pit* them I r a aweit r roe Mi a Kill wh*a I ta* Dear Editor: Ha nag Barer aeaa a letter •tat* MAE. rm Uklag It a/aa to correct tha deficiency aad air, My /or tonal sieve. Fir at of all. res a hooa to pick with owe frioad P. ShootUk. of BdTaM. N. Y. ahowl has atat amt ot: "We too is aa * I heartily diaagret with him Weaao is wonderful Hi* work la aacaf- W tally t h a da d aad tattef ally arraaged. aad tha figor** wall oro/ortioaad aad aaatly dona. Mr She mack. I gjao am a eroded of art. with k. I (fat am a _ of a tooree to aay credit Saiaktf. Wt d>f *r aa a tfc aa l *. tVovgh. I am rrgiwarad at the tch aal of Ayyfiod Art. I t* ao fawlt to Sod it fa sots crrtUxieg u nion * *laa for adiar far BMC octane r aad 1 * 0 * psmlitt of * 4 - veaeoroo* aiaoaaae la Moeiea. Tha triti- wtth Pad a work. ly worked OBI. «h*rt ta aa iaianV‘~g la all Wit pictoras which ay yaait (• aa*. I aay Weaao is good; Pool ■a likawiae Oaade Hoel of Miaooorf f i n al aeom ta itaHa that it wootd Wt a diftcoit ■o»«l to rm a magana* wi fW oo t • leer - t .aments . Wet I ta w«U a* W* woold 140 ASTOUNDINO STORIES Why (M add i h»m to the mag. had also let th*e« M|W Mtf tWu KMKI vxk th# di«(y«ii( Ual Tkta »0» d at H7 r»» «t«» rate*. b»! 7 M caold Muly MU • Mm tad itcM.it c matm*a eat terrible Th* autamast that "Aa Eatra Man ' thawed lack of knowledge of elementary phyatc* indie a* r* that the anrhort ad th* iter count do aat aaderaaaad their act- cnee. I bates t rtad all the ataetaa Iitttd. end * lot af <-n* I hate read I hate forgotten, bat f rim ght 'An Eatra Mao' wit a lot better thaa wet* aad read it three or fear l“-»i before I loot lb* angaria* Itt been In a k mg leeward ta owe* ttoeiee by Mr Gee His character! art THE READERS' CORNER >41 raaliotU u> hU kw of kow U mj keen — *»k*rt MUU. Dm Mian loot Wktt—No Whiskers/, Dm r Uiier: Juur; laawa: tom |t>o< k« M iw i a a dni f «aoyk All tko atari**. fcow- •»«. «* mj, wj good Ftkwj: U« tom u tkt k»o(it tad aaat rart aaa ***** I haaa taar aaaa oa a ay Idtatt F ktl aa a ng aria* . Urn&i acaa Tha Fiafiar of H*: !*rr=' waa tha heat atary. With "V c S.coor a Cloaa aacood 1 fowad a ma t ik*. bow rear. with tha illaa- tratiow for tha latter alary. Tha aaaa wara awpooaed ta haaa toe*. lowia( hair aad heard*. Who waa thair harbor, may I aak? (Too 7 — Id] A ad tha Ntu- darthal a*a> They wara awppoaad ta haaa laar. cooraa hair a ad bawd*. Tha boar U that*, bat ao hoard Aad I das'! thick ha had him a a aatt ta tit It of —resort war* aakaowa. Thai* war* really a n i l fialt*, howavar. Aa t awof in g Stone* ka getting batter aad batter with tatty I tea r Wrote U a aarr good trtUl. bat a* pood a* ha U b* caa t aaaka a patch oa Pail — Oawald Traia. Boa H Baraaoboro. Pi Ytstir Dtir Editor * After raadtar DiSn’a The Fladiag of Haldgraa.' I a aad aa cwtlet far wy aathwaiaam. It U eaa of tha boat yorao I baa* r**r read. It may act b* high- brow tear atari. bat If a lot of it 40*09*1 raak right op with Kiyla|'t air atone* I woold Itka to kaow why. Taka for la- titat* the Lgis batwaaa the aid freighter aad the patrol akip. Ire tlmpty gttstl Bight bow I aaa p«tia| ta a recent for caort 'Dark Koaa* *l oriel — J. R Paaaar. Iff WoodUwa Art, Belli*. n. r. tor* Krrmi Killings Dear Editor: Hat* jest h aie h e f reading tb* April ioaw* of Attosairi Scoria*, aad terry atory la it wot nett, bat plaa**. woo t yoa fat year aathort to writ* of Koa ■ thing other thoa war? Sorely oat of all the plaaatt that year oacbort write a boot there owght to be owe where loo* rtlfit oapaetaa aad war ia aUeo*. o pUc* where oil t o a a a tt ooa taad* or* ta real ad for tha Ijyyiaeti aad f o od of all tha tahebetaate and aot for thair daotractiaa. ' How abowt it I Moot W* alwtyi he** killim? Coat W* bar* toortluai atoaf I I throagh o*m war. aad balnea ao I aaw a ao w g h of It. Par ha pa that U why I woau l ^liJU to hart a change latest a rtpeU.ng ray that wcaii keep other? W* wo al d aot ha** ao aaay ac- cl d a wta that*. What lay ? Per hap* oa* of y e ar aaay reader* caa iamac each a ray [Aathora taka aot*. — Ed.) Now abowt a paarttrly. 1 rancor aaa for the Ufa of ms why ao aaay art a*k- la| for *0* whea all they bate to do ia to co f at a to the aoaroot 01 wapraod aad bwy a copy of String* Tala* Strabo Tala* ia battar thaa a ay qaartarly bo- caaaa it com** owl m two** a year So. aow. all ysa eaartarly fanatic* (to rat a paar tarty, /oat ta aad bwy a co py of Strang* Tala*, aad altar yaw bar* rtod it writ* aad let at kaow what yaw thick of it. i will in* war y e a r latter* if yaw *0 dealt*. 1 haaa the Utoat copy with at. aad 1 aa gong to etart rra'.ng it right away — Fred O. Michel. M 7 Mil too St, Oak land. Cal. Thr Sod Side Dear Editor : Par the Uat few M o at ha I haaa ao- tic ad yoar atoriM heap hit the ap-grad*. with poor atoriM baconiag ileonat aa- tiacL. Swch eacalUac talari* a a W anil tha taaadar, - by Camm lagi aad "The Piafiag of HaUgrac.* by DiJto. ia add* tioo to Buy race. lent abort atoriM aad •mUtm baia aided Aatowndiag Storiaa la taaebaag tha high pooi ti oa it aow bold*. Mowtaaa. a* raarythiag baa iu aad aid*. Aatowndiag Storiaa miaaea aow a aaay good pc inf* which if corroded, weed help tho acaodmg of year mag. Yea goaaaad it all right — I aa apeak*ag of aa adrtariai. paarttrly. aad ociaaca gaeatiowa aad aaawera. I will aaawar aayoae who writM to me ee the t object of aciaace. [day* or.' All right: which can* hr**, tha haw or the age?— Ed.)— Baa Freed. MU Frank* town Art. Pmabargh. Fa Mote* ia the Eye Dear Editor: la yowr Utaat laac* that* appeared 1 atory erjitled Th* Finding of Hald- graa." Ia my aatomatioa tkia atory aowed* at thowgh th* eathea waa aad rr th* laSarac* of Miltoa'a ‘ParadUe Loet * The tcahtkai tUi art lowed wo th* raoow by th* tsplorara iaclode tet* th* fere* of hall a* wall at angata acd drriU. Ia th* atory Tb* At air of th* Braiaa. I cawtd cot aaa how oa* bean awhjertrd lowr Other e to ita will *0 far that they weal f do ita altghtaat Wadding n;eu*lly 1*2 ASTOUNDING STORIES 11W11- pari at Frna** aianp tkt Da*- tka* »• la* paar part will uaoaat ta 4mm I*»m A S a* MlkaarMlcaU; a* paa *TW r— f-< *4 HaMtraa' a». pato. a-napt kaaa ■ taa pan Ti~t*— I p< ta* tim «kai a *h l*»M *• k* «ka» tb* mm M d - - J ■ Ca*a*r“ rear k* t Ten* m m m i • mm**** ant “ . * ■ _ -a^ I,. earth I Mnunaa «a >a*a is aar “*',7, - ■ Ikium at MOa n>W. KMMif. ZT , _p_ „< I a*at |,r» »***•**«» *at »a*M> Ml — ■ ■I'l t bi.. IT L- .. M hMtMT la I tkaf, at «■■■■■ M cm.. r m ..?L •** * * * ■ ■< «« »•#*-* Hr,.M w .. TM« VmW. •*■ PWh- — T.SrJTJV fTTTZS:. rail fall a*, at K. Laka* talilM, anti- Tm 7 a*# Tan Lit* «***■*. rap anaewaa lam krxkkaaa aa( 7 *a L*|» “ paa*.... . ii oim Ni atlnai bar* I a* D*a* Etna* -ana an* « Tk* Krat r n' Cama f ant | 1 1 - paa* Utf iti i M af A t w tanai M ail* ill at oat P*rw I 'a* Ant tt tkaf eo*«r M* a*’ — fk rt'w < T« T^ » ( W » ^.r ■ zzSZESFZliii FOREST JOBS orirtraUb. |1HW> pa mmtk 09 M voua wav to success/ to uuun - ton- mu ssg&s* STRONG GRIPPING GLAMOROUS ENTERTAINING o- L VERY MONTH o M^vFnaYau FREE Mm Book Thot Iw helped Thousands get Government Jobs / ftSESRE? Sag r ASTOUNDING STORIES STORIES OF AMERICA THE WEST THE NORTH SPORTS . His Harvest Years Made Miserable Through Failure of the DANGER GLAND' That W recks Mm After 40! I . u Take me away from him!” 6 i Lock me up so I cannot escape — beat me if you like — and I will tell you all 1 know. But while HE is my master I will not betray HIM!” Terrified, trembling, she crouched there— an exotic vision from the Orient, pleading with the stern-faced detective to save her from the fiend she called “Master!” Who was this girl —whose rare loveliness stood out so richly against its setting of murder and deviltry? Who was this Yellow Monster who plucked men from life and left no clue behind? What wore the strange bonds that made her his slave? If you would join London’s great- est detectives in unwinding this and many other equally baffling Ori- ental Mysteries — if you would match your wits against the most diabolical Oriental cun- ning ever conceived — then by all means send at once for Your Free Exam- ination Set of Of**#® If you ico aid enjoy cxcit i n