unbroken surface.
"How shall we get through?" Nona asked.
Grant surveyed it thoughtfully.
"There must be a hidden spring somewhere," he said.
He walked carelessly along the wall, tapping it idly here and there.His quick probing fingers were searching.
With a sharp "Ah!" he stopped short. He bent over a moment; hisfingers moved deftly. Then he straightened with a grunt ofsatisfaction. A section of the seemingly solid, immovable stone wassliding silently open. He looked through.
* * * * *
Nona saw him jerk his head back, heard his involuntary cry of horror.Then she heard another cry: an excited warning shout. She whirledaround in time to see a Ganymedan running toward them from behind. Adeadly pencil-ray pointed straight at her companion. Without amoment's hesitation she sprang at Grant, pushed him violently so thathe staggered and fell through the opening to the other side. In sodoing, she tripped over his body, and fell prone. That saved her life,for a blue flame sheared clean through the stone, inches above herhead.
Grant squirmed around underneath. The electro-gun was somehow out ofthe side flap and now it spat its explosive hail. The tiny bulletsflared into little puff balls of flame against the space-suit of theGanymedan. A long howl of anguish came to them as he threw up hishands and fell into a shapeless heap. But a moment later there wereother cries, angry shouts. Pemberton was on his feet again with thequickness of a cat. He pulled Nona up after him, thrust her to oneside, behind the protection of the wall. His eyes were blazing now,aflame with the ardor of battle. Very carefully he leaned out andpressed the trigger. The surging mob was caught in full flight. Theelectro-bullets spread fanwise, exploded into flaming deaths. TheGanymedans went down as though a huge scythe had swept through theirranks. The survivors scattered hastily, throwing themselves headlongto the surface of the rock to escape further execution.
"That'll hold them for a while," Grant laughed grimly.
"Drop your gun, and turn around--both of you." A cold, smooth voicespoke in deadly menace directly behind them--a voice that came fromthe mysterious inner side of the wall.
Grant spun around, his gun ready to fire. A ray snapped out at him, aray with a greenish tinge. The fingers of his gun hand grew suddenlynerveless; the weapon dropped unresistingly from his paralyzed hand.
A tall Ganymedan towered before him, unhidden by a space-suit.Evidently there was a layer of air in here. The red lidless eyes werefilled with a cold fury. Spatulate fingers tensed on the button of apencil ray.
"Miro," Grant breathed to himself unbelievingly. A great light burstupon him.
* * * * *
The Inspector of the Service for Ganymede did not recognize him,swathed as Grant was in the depths of his space-suit, nor did henotice the little movement of surprise. He was too furiously angry.His words came tumbling out in a tremble of rage.
"You damned scoundrels; have you gone mad? What do you mean by comingin here through the secret way? Don't you know it is death for anyoneto pass the barrier? And what do you mean by shooting down yourfellows with an Earth weapon? Answer, damn you, before I thrust youinto the Gorm."
Both were silent; Nona because she did not know what to say, and Grantbecause he knew his voice would be recognized by Miro's keen ears. Hekept his eyes fixed on the Ganymedan, waiting hawk-like for one falsemove, for the tiniest wavering of attention. But the pencil-ray waspointed squarely at his breast.
"You won't talk?" Miro's voice was choked with passion. "Well, thereare ways to make you." With one foot he kicked at the open slab, whilehis weapon commanded them unwaveringly. There was a smooth soundlessrush. Grant knew that the wall was an unbroken surface again. Theywere cut off on the secret side of the island, alone with Miro.
Yet that was the horror of it. They were not alone. For Grant's firstdarting look inside when he had first opened the panel had shown himthe others. Hundreds of them there were, men of all races and planets,a motley crew. And each man walked stiffly, unnaturally, lookingneither to the right nor to the left. Their eyes were fixed andglassy; the skin of their faces, no matter what their origin, wasuniformly parched and gray. A cold sweat broke out on Grant'sforehead. They looked like automatons: beings from whom life had beendrained. He heard a little choked cry from Nona; she had seen them,too.
Miro plucked out with his free hand a little pear-shaped mechanismpunctured with innumerable holes. He blew into it, once--twice. Itgave forth a high whining note. Instantly two of the strange lifelessmen wheeled angularly, and with queer mechanical movements headedstraight for them. A bloodless hand stretched out, grasped Nona. Grantheard her scream and saw her struggling in a loathsome grip.
* * * * *
Forgetting everything, forgetting the deadly ray in Miro's hands, hesprang to her rescue. The next instant he was in the grip of a similarhand, a frail, dead-white naked arm, yet endowed with the strength ofsteel. Struggle as he might, dash his fist as hard as he could againstthe unresisting blank face, he could not loose that grip. Miro watchedhis futile strugglings mockingly.
"Take these traitors over to the Gorm and let me look at their faces,"he ordered.
Grant and Nona were picked up in those emaciated, powerful arms aseasily as though they were children, and the unhuman creaturesproceeded at a slow, awkward pace away from the hall, toward the outeredge of the island. From his uncomfortable vantage point, Pembertonnoticed that they were passing clumps of intricate stone machinery.Dead-faced automatons, similar to their captors, were tending thewhirring machinery with ordered, stiff-legged movements.
Then, straight ahead, Grant saw the edge of the island, against whichbeat and billowed in furious, gigantic heaves, the reddish overarchingclouds of the Great Spot. Strangely enough, though they whirled andeddied, they could not seem to break through the invisible barrier.And then the lake of fire sprang into view--the mysterious place offlame they had seen from afar, that had pulled the hapless _Althea_out of its course down to destruction on Jupiter. This then was theGorm!
A wide circular pool it was, of an unearthly yellow-orange brilliance.The midday sun was no more dazzling to the eye. Out it stretched fromthe island into the vapors of the Great Red Spot, only touching thestone rim of the island at one thin point. Its liquid fires werewaveless now, oily, yet there was something horrible, too, about itssmooth quiescence.
Miro whistled. The rigid guards dropped their burdens roughly andstood at attention. One was an Earthman, the other a fish-facedVenusian. Yet the queer dead look of their eyes was exactly the same.
"Will you remove your helmets, or shall I ask the Doora to assistyou?" Miro's voice was silky.
* * * * *
Because there was nothing else to do, Grant unscrewed his helmet andlet it fall back on its hinge. Then he looked very calmly and steadilyat the Inspector of the Service for Ganymede.
A dull flame leaped into Miro's eyes at the sight of his captive.
"You!" Then he smiled, a peculiarly horrible smile. "You are clevererthan I thought, my Earth friend. You should have been strangled todeath on the _Althea_, or made into one of--"
He stopped short, and the smile widened cruelly. "But it is not toolate. No, it is not too late."
Grant disregarded his cryptic phrases. He smiled, too, a contemptuoussmile that cut like a lash.
"You, Miro, an Inspector of the Service, are only a lying,treacherous, butchering Ganymedan. Filthy scum of the Universe."
Miro started forward with a roar, a dark flush of rage suffusing hisgreen-tinged countenance. His blunt-edged finger trembled on thebutton of the pencil-ray. Grant knew he was perilously on the vergeof sudden death, yet his scornful glance did not waver.
It was Nona, hitherto unnoticed, her helmet removed, who darted uponthe giant Ganymedan with small beating fists. Miro saw her coming andswung her sprawling away with one sweep of his free hand, while hecovered Grant with the other.
> He had recovered his composure. Some secret merriment seemed toconvulse him.
"Ho! ho!" he shouted. "Who is this little spitfire? By Jupiter, she isa tempting morsel." And his red eyes took in the flushed beauty of thepanting girl speculatively.
Grant tensed for a quick spring.
"Stand where you are," Miro barked. "One move and it will be yourlast." Gone was the smooth unctuous speech of former times. His tonenow was cutting, deadly.
* * * * *
"You damned Earthmen have been crowing long enough," he said. "When Miroand Ganymede get through with you, the very memory of your filthy planetwill have been erased from the solar system." His voice rose higher."You thought you had us beaten down with your space-battleships and yourembargoes on metals. And we were meekly repentant. Oh yes, we were! Wetook you in nicely. Why, they even made me, Miro,