The Martian Cabal

  CHAPTER VIII

  _In the Desert_

  Mellie, Sira's personal maid, was too disturbed by her mistress'skidnaping to seek other employment. She saw the teletabloid forecastsof the wedding, made life-like by clever technical faking, but rumorsof the princess' escape were circulating freely despite a rigidcensorship. She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of thecanal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror.

  Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother.Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of theInterplanetary Radio and Television Co., and his income was ample toprovide a better than average home on the desert margin of SouthTarog. Here Mellie sat in the glass-roofed garden, staring moodily atthe luxuriant vegetation.

  She looked abstractedly at the young man coming down the garden walk,annoyed by the disturbance. There was something familiar in the swayof his hips as he walked.

  And then she flew up the path. Her arms went around the visitor, andMellie, the maid, and Princess Sira kissed.

  Mellie was immediately confused. A terrible breach of etiquette, this.But Sira laughed.

  "Never mind, Mellie. It is good for me, a fugitive, to find a home.Will you keep me here?"

  "Will I?" Mellie poured into these words all her adoration.

  "Mellie, the time has come for action. Not for the monarchy. I am sickof my claims. I would give it all--You remember the young officer ofthe I. F. P.? The one who kissed me?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, that comes later. First I must consider the war conspiracy.Have you heard of it?"

  "There are rumors."

  "They are true. Will Wasil help me?"

  "He has worshiped you, my princess, ever since the time I let him helpme serve you at the games."

  "One more question." Sira's eyes were soft and misty. "My dear Mellie,you realize that I may be trailed here? What may happen to you?"

  "Yes, my princess. And I don't care!"

  * * * * *

  As Murray parted from his brother-in-arms, Sime Hemingway, on the roofof the cylindrical fortress in the Gray Mountains, he felt thelatter's look of bitter contempt keenly. He longed bitterly to giveSime some hint, some assurance, but dared not, for Scar Balta'scynical smile somehow suggested that he could look through men andread what was in their hearts. So Murray played out his renegade partto the last detail, even forcing his thoughts into the role that hehad assumed in order that some unregarded detail should not give himaway. He convinced the other I. F. P. man, anyway.

  But Murray had an uneasy feeling that Balta was laughing at him, andwhen the shifty soldier politician invited him into his ship for theride back to Tarog, Murray had a compelling intuition that he wouldnot be in a position to step out of the ship when it landed on theparkway of Scar Balta's hotel.

  Having infinite trust in his intuitions, Murray thereupon made certainplans of his own.

  He noted that the ship, which was far more luxurious than one wouldexpect a mere army colonel to own, had a trap-door in the floor of themain salon. Murray pondered over the purpose of this trap. He couldnot assign any practical use for it, in the ordinary use of the ship.

  But he could not escape the conviction that it would be a splendid wayto get rid of an undesirable passenger. Dropped through that trap-doora man's body would have an uninterrupted fall until it smashed on therocks below.

  Murray then examined the neuro-pistol that had been given him. Itlooked all right. But when he broke the seal and unscrewed the littleglass tube in the butt, he discovered that it was empty. The gray,synthetic radio-active material from which it drew its power had beenremoved.

  Murray grinned at this discovery, without mirth. It was conclusive.

  * * * * *

  At the first opportunity he jostled one of the soldiers, knocking hisneuro-pistol to the floor--his own, too. And when he apologeticallystooped and retrieved them the mollified soldier had the one with theempty magazine.

  So far, so good. Murray noted that the wall receptacles were allprovided with parachutes. It would be simple to take one of these,make a long count, and be on the ground before he was missed. Providedthat he could leave unobserved.

  The ship was now well in the air, and beginning to move away from thefort. But they were only ten miles away, and Murray had hardlyexpected that Balta would be in such a hurry.

  "You get off here!" Balta said, and Murray felt the muzzle of theneuro-pistol on his spinal column.

  A grinning soldier seized a countersunk ring and raised the trap-door.

  "So you're going to murder me," Murray said, speaking calmly.

  "I take no chances," was Balta's short answer. "Step!"

  Murray stepped, swaying like a man in deadly fear. He lowered his feetthrough the hole. Looking down, he saw that they were about to passover a bitter salt lake, occasionally found in the Martian desert. Helooked up into the muzzle of the menacing neuro-pistol.

  "Balta, you're a dog!" he stated coldly.

  "A live dog, anyway," the other remarked with a twisted grin. "Youknow the saying about dead lions."

  Murray's fingers clenched on the edge of the rug. It was thin andstrong, woven of fine metal threads. They were just over the edge ofthe salt lake.

  Murray dropped through, but retained his death-like grip on the rug.It followed jerkily, as the men above tripped, fell, and rolleddesperately clear.

  * * * * *

  Murray's heart nearly stopped as he fell the first thousand feet. Therug, sheer as the finest silk, failed to catch the wind. It ran outlike a thin rivulet of metal, following Murray in his unchecked drop.

  But he had a number of seconds more to fall, and he occupied the timeleft to him. He fumbled for corners, found two, lost precious timelooking for the others. He had three corners wrapped around one handwhen the wind finally caught the sheer fabric, bellied it out with asharp crack. The sudden deceleration nearly jerked his arm out.

  Even so, he was still falling at a fearful rate. The free corner wastrailing and snapping spitefully, and the greasy white waters of thelake were rushing up!

  At any rate, the rug held him upright, so that he did not strike thewater flat. His toes clove the water like an arrow, and the rug wastorn from his grasp. The water crashed together over his head withstunning force. After that it seemed to Murray that he didn't care. Itdidn't matter that his eyes stung--that his throat was filled withbitter alkali. All of his sensations merged in an all-pervading,comfortable warmth. There was a feeling of flowing blackness, of timestanding still.

  Murray's return to consciousness was far less pleasant. His entirebody was a crying pain: every internal organ that he knew of harboredan ache of its own. He groaned, and by that token knew that he wasbreathing.

  As unwillingly he struggled back to consciousness he realized that hewas inside a rock cave, lying on a thin, folded fabric that might wellbe the rug that had served as an emergency parachute. He could see theirregular arch of the cave opening, could catch hints of rough stoneon the interior.

  * * * * *

  He sat up with an effort. There was a vile taste in his mouth, and helooked around for something to drink. There was a desert water bottlestanding on the floor beside him. That meant he had been found andrescued by some Martian desert rat who had probably witnessed hisfall. He rinsed out his mouth with clean, sweet spring water from thebottle, drank freely. His stomach promptly took advantage of theopportunity to clear itself of the alkali, and Murray, controlling hisdesire to vomit, crawled outside into the blinding light of theMartian afternoon. He saw that the cave was high up on the side of oneof the more prominent cliffs. There were many such hollowed places,indicating that the sloping shelf on which he now lay had once beenthe beach of a vast sea which at some time must have covered all butthe higher peaks of the Gray Mountains. It was, of course, the seathat had deposited the scanty soil which here and the
re covered therocks. During geologic ages it shrunk until it all but disappeared,leaving only a few small and bitter lakes in unexpected pockets.

  There was a succession of prehistoric beaches below Murray's vantagepoint, marking each temporary sea level, giving the mountain aterraced appearance. A thousand feet below was the white lake,sluggish and dead.

  Murray was looking for the man who had saved him. He was able todiscern him, after a little effort, toiling up the steep slopes. Hewas still nearly all the way down. He could see only that he seemed tobe dressed in white desert trousers and blouse, and that he wore abroad-brimmed sun helmet. He was carrying something in a bag over hisshoulder. He was making the difficult ascent with practiced ease, hisbody thrown well forward, making fast time for such an apparentlydeliberate gait.

  * * * * *

  The desert glare hurt Murray's eyes. He closed them and fell asleep.He awoke to the shaking of his shoulder, looked up into ablack-bearded face, a beard as fierce and luxuriant as his own. Butwhere Murray was bald, this man's hair was as thick and black as hisbeard. He had thrown off his helmet, so that his massive head wasoutlined against the sky. His torso was thick, his shoulders broad.Large, intelligent eyes and brilliant coral skin proclaimed the man tobe a native of Mars.

  The man's white teeth flashed brilliantly when he spoke.

  "Feeling better? Man, you can feel good to be here at all! Time andagain have I seen Scar Balta drop 'em into that lake, but you're thefirst one ever to break the surface again. He gave you a break,though. First time he ever gave anybody as much as a pockethandkerchief to ease his fall. That lake is useful to Scar. It keepsthe bodies he gives it, and none ever turn up for evidence."

  Murray was still struggling with nausea. "Want to thank you," hemanaged. "I got it bad enough. Ow! I feel sick!"

  The Martian bestirred himself. He scraped up the ancient shingle,making a little pillow of sand for Murray's head. The Sun was alreadynearing the western horizon, and its heat was no longer excessive.Murray watched through half-closed lids as the big man descended ashort distance, returning with an armful of short, greasy shrubs. Hebroke the shrub into bits, made a neat stack; stacked a larger ring offuel around this, until he had a flat conical pile about eight incheshigh and two feet in diameter.

  * * * * *

  From a pocket safe he procured a tiny fire pellet. This he moistenedwith saliva and quickly dropped into the center of his fuel stack. Thepellet began to glow fiercely, throwing off an intense heat. In a fewseconds the fuel caught, burning briskly and without smoke.

  "Wouldn't dare do this in the open," the Martian explained, "if thisstuff gave off any smoke at all. The pulpwood mounds down in theflats make a nice fire, but they smoke and leave black ashes, easy tosee from the sky. Now you just rest easy. You'll feel better soon asyou get some skitties under your belt."

  The skitties proved to be a species of quasi-shellfish, possessinghemispherical houses. In lieu of the other half of their shell theyattached themselves to sedimentary rocks. They were the only form oflife that had been able to adapt themselves to the chemicalization ofthe ancient sea-remnant. The Martian had left them thin flakes ofrock. Now he placed the shells in the red-hot coals, and in a veryshort time the skitties were turning out, crisp and appetizing.Following his host's example, Murray speared one with the point of hisstiletto, blew on it to cool it. It proved to be delicious, althoughjust a trifle salty.

  "Drink plenty water with it," the Martian advised him. "Plenty moreabout five hundred feet down. Artesian spring there. Fact is, that'sall that keeps that lake from drying up. You ought to see the mistrise at night."

  Murray ate four of the skitties. Then, because the sun was gettingready to plop down, they carefully extinguished the fire, scatteringthe ashes. The I. F. P. agent felt greatly strengthened by his mealand assisted his host with the evening chores. Nightfall found them intheir darkened cave, ready for an evening's yarning.

  * * * * *

  "I took the liberty of examining your effects," the Martian began."Sort of introduced you to myself. The fact that you wore the Martianarmy uniform was no fine recommendation to me, though I once wore itmyself. Your weapons I hid, except for the knife you needed to eat.But you'll find them in that little hollow right over your head. Thefact that you're an enemy of Scar Balta is enough for the present.That alone is repayment for the labor of carrying you up all thisway."

  Murray then told him of work on Mars. There was no use concealinganything from one who was obviously a fellow fugitive, and who mightbe persuaded to do away with his guest, should he have strong enoughsuspicions. He told of the war cabal, of the financial-politicaloligarchy and its opposing monarchists. He related his own discoveryand arrest; the pretended enlistment in Scar Balta's forces whichterminated in Scar's prompt and ruthless action. When he finished hesensed that he had made a deep impression on his host. The latterspoke.

  "What you have told me, Murray, relieves me very much," he said. "Iknow that we can work together. You might as well know how I came tobe here. Perhaps I look forty or fifty years old. Well, I'm thirty. Iwas news director for the televisor corporations. I didn't have to bevery smart to realize that a lot of the stuff we were ordered to sendout was propaganda, pure and simple. Propaganda for the war interests,propaganda for the financiers. Commercial propaganda too.

  "Why, the stuff we put out was a crime! The service to theteletabloids was the worst. You know how they outstrip the news; hiredactors take the part of personages in the news. Ever watch 'em? Theway they enact a murder is good, isn't it?"

  * * * * *

  "We got orders to bear down on your service too, the I. F. P. Yourcrew has too many points of contact, hiking from planet to planet. Thehigh command couldn't see things the bankers liked, I guess.

  "So whenever a man of the I. F. P. figured in the news we always gavehim the worst of it. We hired bums to play his part, criminals,vicious degenerates. People believe what they see--that's the idea. Ihad seen very few of your men but I knew we were giving them a dirtydeal. Orders were orders, though. We got lots of orders we didn'tunderstand. Then secret deals were made, and those orderscountermanded.

  "But the order against the I. F. P. remained standing, and wecertainly did effective work against 'em. The people had no way ofknowing the difference, either, for the company controls all means ofcommunication, and the I. F. P. does most of its work in out of theway places. Why just to show you how effective our work was--thepeople, in a special plebiscite, voted to withdraw their support fromthe Plutonian campaign! But that was going too far; the financiersquietly reversed that.

  "At the same time, we got orders to glorify Wilcox, the planetarypresident. It was Wilcox signing a bill to feed the hungry--aftertheir property had been stripped by the taxes. It was Wilcox thebenevolent; Wilcox the superman. Wilcox, in carefully rehearseddramatic situations, reproduced on the stereo-screens in every home.You know who put over the slogan, 'Wilcox, the Solar Savior?' We didit. It was easy!" He laughed shortly.

  "The only time we failed was, when they wanted to end, once and forall, the prestige of the royal house. That was after they had boughtthe assassination of the claimant, his wife and their son. Didn't daretake Princess Sira too, because she has always been a popular darling.It would have been too raw, wiping out the whole family. They left oneclaimant, see? And then put it up to us to discredit her!

  "Man! That fell down! The first attempt was very smooth, at that. Butit brought in such a storm of condemnation they had to drop that.

  "You can guess how we boys at the central office felt about it. Nowonder we got cynical and lost all self-respect. We couldn't havestood it at all, but sometimes we'd put on a special party, just tolet off steam. Did we rip 'em up high and handsome? The moreoutrageous the flattery we sent out, disguised as news, the morebaldly truthful we were in those early morning rehearsals, with themikes and telegs dead. Wilco
x was our special meat.

  "Of course, it was foolhardy. One night a mixer in the room below usgot his numbers mixed, killing a banquet program on a trunk channeland sending our outrageous burlesque out instead. When the poor fellowdiscovered his mistake he made for the bottom of the canal. As for me,I made for the desert. I never heard what became of the others, andthat was six years ago. I wonder if I've changed much."

  "What's your name?" Murray asked suddenly.

  "Tuman. Nay Tuman."

  "The others must have been caught. As for yourself, orders have beensent all over the solar system to kill you on sight. They hung thekilling of that electrician on you."

  "That's their way!" Nay Tuman absented gloomily. "A price on my head.They thought I'd stow away on some rocket liner, I suppose."

  "Weren't you afraid some desert rat would give you away?"

  "No danger. They're just about all fugitives themselves. They hid metill I grew this foliage. They showed me how to find food and waterwhere seemingly there was none. The desert isn't sterile. Why, I knowof three or four men within fifty miles of here! Sometimes they stopat my spring for water. As for the harness frames at the fort, thosesojers might as well be blind, considering all they miss."

  "You asked a while ago if you've changed much. You have. I rememberyour picture. All of us studied it, because there's a 100,000 I. P.dollar reward out. You were a slim lad then, not the fuzzy bear youare now. How would you like to go in to Tarog with me? They seem tohave us licked now--but did you ever hear that the I. F. P. is mostdangerous when it's been thoroughly licked?"

  "I don't know--I'm used to the solitude," Tuman demurred. "In the cityI'd be lost."

  But Murray won him over. He had a persuasive way with him.

  * * * * *

  The next morning they started, guiding their course by the Sun. Theymade no attempt to travel fast, but the going was easy. Although theyrested during the heat of the day, and buried themselves for thenights in the sun-warmed sand, they made about fifteen miles a day.They saw no other human being. These desert dwellers did not meet formere sociability.

  They left the mountains on the second day, descending to the lowerlevel of a broad, sterile plain which was studded by the low, greenishpulp-mounds, that resembled mossy rocks more than vegetation. Aftertwo days more they came to a region where huge blocks of stone, of theprevailing orange or brick color, lay scattered around on the plain.

  "They look good to me," Tuman said. "If some patrol comes along nowwe'll have plenty of cover, at least. This belt is a hundred mileswide, maybe a little more. Good hunting there. Plenty of desert hogs,as fat and as round as a ball of bovine butter. I can knock 'em overwith a rock, and you can use your neuro, in a pinch."

  They did, in fact, succeed in capturing one of the little creaturessoon afterward, and, dropping a moistened fire pellet on top of apulp-mound, soon were roasting their meat.

  Not once, however, did either one relax his vigilance. Almostsimultaneously they discovered the little black dot that seemed to popout of the irregular southern horizon. They leaped to their feet,kicked out the fire. They would have covered the ashes with sand butfor hundreds of feet in either direction there was nothing but barerock.

  "Never mind!" Murray said. "Let's make for cover. They may think it'san old fireplace. With rains only about once in three years that spotwill look like that indefinitely."

  "Yes," Tuman agreed, running along, "if they didn't see the smoke!"

  * * * * *

  As the craft neared they could make out the orange and green of theMartian army.

  "From the fort," Murray guessed. "Scar Balta must have had his doubtsabout me. He ordered them out to finish the job, if necessary."

  "It's drifting," Tuman observed. "The driving tail seems to bemissing."

  "Well, anyway, it's coming down, and where an army ship comes down isno place for us."

  They heard the scrape of her keel as she settled down. Murray gave agasp of surprise.

  "Tuman," he muttered, "that fellow wearing the Martian uniform is anI. F. P. agent named Hemingway. The uniform doesn't fit and I bet theman he took it from is no longer alive. Do you know the giant withhim?"

  "Under that dirt and blood, I'd say he's Tolto, Princess Sira'sspecial pet. No other man of Mars could be that big! Seven or eightyears ago--she was just a kid, you know--she picked him up in somerural province. Kids just naturally do run to pets, don't they? Andthe princess was no exception. But he looks like nobody's pet now. I'drather have him peg me with his neuro, though, than to take me in hishands!"

  They watched as Sime and Tolto slowly walked about in wideningcircles, and when they were sufficiently far away Murray and Tumanclosed in. They had no expectation of finding the ship unlocked, andwasted no time trying to get it. Instead they climbed a flat-toppedblock of stone about ten feet high. From this position they couldcommand, with Murray's neuro, anyone who might seek to enter the ship.

  "These fellows are our best hope," Murray told Tuman. "But we have toconvince 'em that we're friends first. Otherwise we're liable to becold meat, and cold meat can't convince anybody. Keep your head down."

  The necessity of lying flat, in order to keep from silhouettingthemselves against the sky, deprived them of the opportunity to see.Nevertheless, they could tell, by the sound of their voices, when Simeand Tolto returned. When it seemed that they were directly beneath,Murray risked a look. There they were.

  Murray carefully set the little focalizer wheel for maximum diffusion.He felt sure that it would not be fatal, considering the distance andthe physical vigor of the men he meant to hold. He pressed thetrigger.

  "Get down quick!" he snapped. "I'll let up for a second; you grabtheir neuros."

  Tuman executed the order with dispatch. Stepping back, he trained thepistols on their late owners, while Sime and Tolto, a little dazed,stumbled to their feet. A man may argue, or take chances, when menacedby a needle-ray, but mere bravery does not count with the neuros. Allmen's nervous systems are similar, and when nerves are stricken,courage is of no avail.