The Martian Cabal
CHAPTER IX
_Plot and Counter-Plot_
As these four men faced one another in the slanting rays of thesetting Sun far out on the desert, the planetary president, Wilcox,sat in his office in the executive palace in South Tarog, situated, aswere so many of the public buildings, on the banks of the canal.
Wilcox was in his sixties. A gray man, pedantic in his speech, hisfeatures were strong: his nose, short and straight, somehow, expressedhis intense intolerance of opposition. His long, straight lower jawprotruded slightly, symbolizing his tenacity, his lust for power. Hiseyes, large, gray, intolerant, looked before him coldly. Wilcox wasthe result of the union of two root-stocks of the human race, of aterrestrial father, a Martian mother. He had inherited theintelligence of both--the conscience of neither.
Now he sat in a straight, severe chair, before a severe, heavy table.Even the room seemed to frown. Wilcox's face was free of wrinkles, yetit frowned too. He seemed not to see the flaming path the setting Sundrew across the broad expanse of the canal, for he was thinking ofbigger things. Wilcox was a little mad, but he was a madman ofimagination and resource, and he was not the first one to control thedestinies of a world.
"Waffins!" His voice rang out sharp and querulous. A servant,resplendent in the palace livery of green and orange, was instantlybefore him bowing low.
"Who awaits our pleasure?"
"Scar Balta, sire," answered Waffins, bowing low again.
"We will see him."
Waffins disappeared. Scar Balta came in alone, sleek as usual showingno trace of his irritation over his long wait. He did not even glanceat the somber hangings that concealed a number of recesses in thewall. Scar knew that guards stood back of those hangings, armed withneuro-pistols or needle-rays as a precaution against the ever-presentmenace of assassination. And of the loopholes back of these recesses,with still other armed men, as a constant warning to any of the innerguards whose thoughts might turn to treachery.
* * * * *
Scar Balta bowed respectfully.
"Your Excellency desired to see me?"
"I wished to see you, or I should not have had you called," Wilcoxreplied irritably. "I wish to have an explicit understanding with youas to our proceeding next week at our conference with the financialdelegates. Sit here, close to me. It is not necessary for us to shoutour business to the world."
Balta took the chair beside Wilcox, and they conversed in low tones.
"First of all," Wilcox wanted to know, "how is your affair with thePrincess Sira progressing?"
"Your Excellency knows." Balta began cautiously, "that the newsagencies have been sending out pictorial forecasts--"
"Save your equivocation for others!" Wilcox interrupted sharply. "I amaware of the propaganda work. It was by my order that the facilitieswere extended to you. I am also aware that the princess escaped fromJoro's palace. An amazing piece of bungling! Did she really escape oris Joro forwarding some plot of his own?"
"He seems genuinely disturbed. He has spent a fortune having the canalsearched by divers, flying ships and surface craft. If Sira fails tomarry me Joro's life ambition will fail, for the hopes of themonarchists will then be forever lost."
"True; but his Joro some larger plan? His is a mind I do notunderstand, and therefore I must always fear. A man with no ambitionfor himself, but only for an abstract. It is impossible!"
"Not impossible!" Balta insisted. "Joro is a strange man. He believesthat the monarchy would improve conditions for the people. And, YourExcellency, wouldn't I be a good king?"
* * * * *
Wilcox looked at him morosely. His low voice carried a chill.
"Do not anticipate events, my friend! There are certain arrangementsto be made with the bankers regarding the election of a solargovernor!" His large gray eyes burned. "Solar governor! Never inhistory has there been a governor of the entire solar system. Destinyshapes all things to her end, and then produces a man to fill herneeds!"
"And that man sits here beside me, Balta added adroitly. Wilcox didnot sense the irony of the quick take-up. He had been about tocomplete the sentence himself. But his mind was practical.
"The bankers must be satisfied. The terrestrial war must be assuredbefore they will lend their support."
"It is practically assured now," Balta insisted. "Our propagandabureau has been at work incessantly, and public feeling is beingworked up to a satisfactory pitch. Only last night two terrestrialcommercial travelers were torn to pieces by a mob on suspicion thatthey were spies."
"Good!" Wilcox approved. "Let there be no interruption in the work.Our terrestrial agents report excellent results on Earth. Theysucceeded in poisoning the water supply of the city of Philadelphia.Thousands killed, and the blame placed on Martian spies. Our agentsfound it necessary to inspire a peace bloc in the pan-terrestrialsenate in order to keep them from declaring war forthwith. But thesethings are of no concern to you. Have you made the necessaryarrangements with the key men of the army?"
"I have, Your Excellency. They are chafing for action. The overt actwill be committed at the appointed time, and the terrestrial linerwill be disintegrated without trace."
"And have you made arrangements for the disposal of the ship'srecords?"
* * * * *
"Our own ship? I thought it best to have a time bomb concealed aboard.That way not only the records will be destroyed but there will be nomen left to talk when the post-war investigating commission comesaround."
"Well managed!" Wilcox approved shortly. "See that there is nofailure!" He dismissed the young man by withdrawing to his inner self,where he rioted among stupendous thoughts.
Scar Balta emerged into the streets, brightly illuminated with thecoming of night, and his thoughts were far from easy. The absence ofthe princess was a serious handicap--might very easily be disastrous.With her consent and help it would have been so simple! The people,entirely unrealizing that their emotions were being directed into justthe channels desired, could most easily be reached through theprincess.
First the war, of course, and then, when the threatened businessuprising against financial control had been crushed, a planet-widesentimental spree over the revival of the monarchy and the marriage ofthe beautiful and popular princess. As prince consort, Scar would thenfind it a simple matter to maneuver himself into position as authenticking.
But without the princess! Ah, that was something else again! For thefirst time in his devious and successful career, Scar Balta feltdistinctly unhappy. He had schemed, suffered and murdered to puthimself in reach of this glittering opportunity, and he wouldinevitably lose it unless he could find Sira.
In the midst of his unhappy reflections he thought of Mellie.
* * * * *
Sira knew well that Wasil adored her. He had for her the same dog-likedevotion that Mellie had. She knew she could ask for his life and hewould give it. And what she had planned for him was almost equivalentto asking for his life.
She told him as much, sitting beside him on a bench in the garden. Hissmooth coral face was alight, his large eyes inspired.
"I will do just as you have commanded me!" he declared solemnly, andwould have kissed her hand.
"You must not only do it; you must keep every detail to yourself. Youmust not even tell Mellie. Do you promise?"
"I promise!"
She kissed him on the forehead. "Farewell, Wasil. I have been here twodays already--far longer than prudence allows. They will be herelooking for me. Have you any money?"
Wasil produced a roll of I. P. scrip; handed it to her.
"Kiss Mellie for me," she called, as she slipped out of the garden.She was still dressed in the coarse laborer's attire that she hadbought on the trading boat, and mingled readily with the crowds in thestreets. She hoped she would not meet Mellie, for the girl's devotionmight outweigh her judgment.
The rest of that day Sira pro
wled about the city. Mingling with thecommon people, she came to have a new insight in their struggles,their sorrows. Passing the walls of her own palace, now locked andsealed, she felt, strangely, resentment that there should be suchpiled-up wealth while people all around lacked almost the necessitiesof life.
* * * * *
She surprised herself, also, by a changing attitude toward the lifeambition of Prince Joro. The old man's discussions of socialconditions that could be corrected by a benevolent monarch had alwaysbefore seemed to her merely academic and without great interest. Suchco-operation as she had given him was motivated entirely by personalambition. Now she recalled some of Joro's theories, reviewed them inher mind, half consenting.
Always she would strike a barrier when she came to Scar Balta. Themore she thought of him the more he repelled her. She puzzled overthat. Scar was quite personable.
Tarog, every industrial city along the equatorial belt, and even theremotest provinces, were seething with war talk. The teletabloids atthe street corners always had intent audiences. Sira watched one ofthem. Disease germs had been found in a shipment of fruit juices fromthe Earth. The teletabloids showed, in detail, diabolical lookingterrestrials in laboratory aprons infecting the juices. Then cameshocking clinical views of the diseases produced. Men, on turningaway, growled deep in their throats and women chattered shrilly. Theparks were milling with crowds who came to hear the patrioticspeakers.
There was hardly anyone at the stereo-screens, where the news of realimportance was given.
"President Wilcox announced to-day that an interplanetary conferenceof financiers will be held in his office three days from to-day,beginning at the third hour after sunrise. President Wilcox, whoseefforts have been unremitting to prevent the war which daily seemsmore inevitable, declared that the situation may yet be saved unlesssome overt act occurs." At the same time the device showed athree-dimensional picture of the planetary president, impressive,dominating, stern with a sternness that could mean almost anything.
Sira, hurrying home to an inexpensive lodging house, thought:
"Three days from to-day! I have done what I could. The hopes of thesolar system now rest with Wasil. I am only a helpless spectator."
* * * * *
Tarog awaited the conference on the morrow bedecked like a bride. TheMartian flag, orange and green, fluttered everywhere. On both sides ofthe canal the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares were restless withpedestrians, and the air was swarming with taxicabs. Excitement wasuniversal, and business was good.
The glare of the twin cities could be seen far out in the cold desert.Four men, stumbling along wearily, occasionally estimated the distancewith wearied eyes and plodded onward.
After a long silence Murray remarked:
"It's just as well that the levitators gave out when they did. We weredrifting mighty slow--making practically no time at all. Probably we'dhave been spotted if we'd gone much further."
"Yeh?" Sime Hemingway conceded doubtfully. "But they may spot usanyway. We have no passes, and none of us looks very pretty. As forTolto, we could hide a house as easy as him."
"But we must go on," said Tuman, the Martian. "Yonder lights seem toobright, too numerous for an ordinary day. There's some kind ofcelebration."
They trudged on for several hours more. Although weariness made theirfeet leaden and pressed on their eyelids, they dared not halt. Eachone nursed some secret dread. Tolto thought of his princess, his childgoddess, and mentally fought battle with whomever stood between himand her. Sime and Murray saw in those lights only war, swift andhorrible. Tuman imagined a city full of enemies, ruthless andpowerful.
Gradually, as they came closer, the lights began to go out one by one.The city was going to bed.
* * * * *
An hour later they came to an illuminated post marking the end of astreet. A teletabloid was affixed to this post, buzzing, but itsstereo-screen blank. Murray found a coin, inserted it in the slot.
"Marriage of the Princess Sira and Scar Balta will be held immediatelyafter the financial congress," the machine intoned briskly, and intime with its running comments it began to display pictures.
Sime, watching indifferently, caught his breath. It seemed to him thathe knew this girl, who appeared to be walking toward him up a statelygarden alley. She came steadily forward with a queenly, effortlessstride. And now it seemed as if she had seen him, for she turned andlooked straight into his eyes. It seemed that her expression changedfrom laughing to pleading. And he recognized the girl with thestiletto whom he had caught in his hotel room.
He said nothing, however. He could hardly explain the feeling ofsadness that came over him. He stood silent, while the otherscommented excitedly over the overshadowing war news.
"It's all in the box," Tuman said gloomily. "Many times I've helpedcook up something like this. The boys in the central offices arelaughing, or swearing, as the cast may be. The poor devils don't owntheir own souls, if they're equipped with any. I'd rather be here,expecting to be thrown into a cell by daylight!" He shivered in thenight chill.
They ran into a little luck when they needed it most. A roving taxiswooped down upon them, hailed them for fares. They flew the rest ofthe way in. Their luck held. A city policeman, noting their stumblingwalk as they lurched into a cheap hotel, did not trouble them fortheir passes. He had seen many such men that night, soldier andcivilian, with clothes bloody and torn. The excitement of the day,coupled with the fact that nearly everyone carried arms, had led tonumerous fights, not a few of which ended fatally.
"Merclite!" grinned the policeman, suppressing a hiccup of his own."And besides, that big 'un would make two of me."