In the Beginning: Tales From the Pulp Era

  Well, Archman thought, I’ve got to begin somewhere. Getting to Darrien would be a slow process—especially if he wanted to live through it.

  The city’s streets were thronged with aliens of all sorts: bushy-tailed Venusians, swaggering boldly with their deadly stingers at the end of their black tails; blue Mercurians, almost impregnable inside their thick shells; occasionally a Plutonian, looking like a fish with legs with their finned hands; and, of course, the vicious, powerful Martians, all of them showing their sneering tusks.

  Here and there was an Earthman, like Darrien himself a renegade. Archman hated those worst of all, for they were betraying their home world.

  He stood still and looked around. Far ahead of him, in the middle of the city, rose a vaulting palace sculptured from shimmering Martian quartz. That was undoubtedly Darrien’s headquarters. Surrounding it were smaller buildings, barracks-like—and then the rest of the city sprawled around it. Darrien had built himself a neat little fortress, thought Archman.

  He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to reach Darrien. But that would come in time. The first action, he thought, would be to get a couple of drinks under his belt and to have a look around the town.

  A sign in three languages beckoned to him: BAR.

  He cut his way through the milling traffic and entered. It was a long, low-ceilinged room which stank of five planets’ liquor. A Martian bartender stood before a formidable array of exotic drinks; along the bar, men of five worlds slumped in varying degrees of drunkenness. Farther back, lit by a couple of dusty, sputtering levon-tubes, there were some secluded booths.

  Archman stiffened suddenly. In one of the booths was a sight that brought quick anger to him—anger that he just as quickly forced to subside.

  A blue Mercurian was leaning over, pawing a near-nude, sobbing Earthgirl. There were two Venusians in the booth with them, both slumped over the table, lying in utter stupor face-down in little pools of slops.

  An Earthgirl? Here? And what the hell was that hardshell doing pawing her?

  Archman’s first thoughts were murderous. But then he realized such a situation gave him a chance to make a few contacts on this unfriendly planet. He shouldered past a couple of drozky-winos at the bar, choking back his disgust, and moved toward the booth in the back.

  The levon-tube was sputtering noisily, going griz-griz every few seconds. Energy leakage, thought Archman. He reached the booth, and the Mercurian left the girl alone and looked up inquisitively at him.

  “Hello, Mercurian. Nice bit of flesh you’ve got there.”

  “Isn’t she, though? I just bought her off these sots you see before you.” The Mercurian indicated the drunken Venusians, and laughed. “We ought to cut their tails off before they wake!”

  Archman eyed the alien stonily. “Drunk they may be, but they wear Darrien’s uniform—which is more than you can say, stranger.”

  “I’m here to join up, though. Don’t leap to conclusions. I’m as loyal to Darrien as you are, maybe more so.”

  “Sorry,” Archman apologized. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Go right ahead. Dump one of the tailed ones on the floor. They’re so drunk they’ll never feel it.”

  Casually Archman shoved one of the Venusians by the shoulder. The alien stirred, moaned, and without complaining slid into a little heap on the floor. Archman took his seat, feeling the girl’s warmness next to him.

  “My name’s Archman,” he said. “Yours?”

  “Hendrin. Just arrived from Mercury. A fine wench, isn’t she?”

  Archman studied the girl appreciatively. Her face was set in sullen defiance, and despite her near-nudity she had a firm dignity about her that the Earthman liked. She seemed to be staring right through the Mercurian rather than at him, and the fact that her breasts were nearly bare and her lovely legs unclad hardly disturbed her.

  “Where are you from, lass?”

  “Is it your business—traitor?”

  Archman recoiled. “Harsh words, pretty one. But perhaps we’ve met somewhere on Earth. I’m curious.”

  “I’m not from Earth. I was a colonist on Planetoid Eleven until—until—”

  “An attractive bit of property,” Archman told the Mercurian. “You capture her yourself?”

  Hendrin shook his domed head. “No. I bought her from these Venusians here. I mean to sell her to our lord Darrien, for use as a plaything.”

  Archman smiled casually. “I could almost use one like her myself. Would you take a hundred credas for her?”

  “I paid a hundred-eighty.”

  “Two hundred, then?”

  “Not for a thousand,” said the Mercurian firmly. “This girl is for Darrien himself.”

  “Beasts,” the girl muttered.

  The Mercurian slapped her with a clawed fist. A little trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth, and Archman had to force himself to watch coldly.

  “You won’t sell, eh?” Archman said. That was unfortunate, he thought. Having merchandise such as this to offer might conceivably get him close to Darrien quickly. And the girl was just that—merchandise. As an Intelligence agent went, Archman knew that all lives including his own were expendable in the struggle to assassinate Darrien.

  “I sure won’t,” said the Mercurian exultantly. “Why, Darrien will go wild when he sees this one! What do I need your money for, against the power he can offer for her?”

  “What if he simply takes her away from you?”

  “Darrien wouldn’t do that. Darrien’s smart; he knows how to keep the loyalty of his men.” The Mercurian rose, clutching the girl’s wrist. “Come, lovely. We go to seek Darrien now, before anything might happen to her. And as for you, Earthman, it was good to make your acquaintance—and perhaps we shall meet again some day.”

  “Perhaps,” Archman said tightly. He sat back and watched as the Mercurian, gloating, led his prize away. A flash of thighs, the bright warmness of a breast, and then girl and captor were gone.

  This is a filthy business, Archman thought bitterly.

  But the Mercurian was on his way to Darrien. It would be useful, reflected the Earthman, to follow along and find out just what happened. At this stage of the enterprise, any trail could be taken.

  Hendrin the Mercurian moved at a steady rate through the streets of Canalopolis, dragging the sobbing girl roughly along.

  “You don’t have to pull me,” she said icily, struggling with her free hand to pull together the tatters of her clothing. “I don’t want my arm yanked out. I’ll come willingly.”

  “Then walk faster,” Hendrin grunted. He peered ahead, toward the rosy bulk of Darrien’s palace, as a structure of intrigue began to form in his mind. Using the girl as a pawn, he could gain access to Darrien.

  That alone wouldn’t help. In all probability he’d see not the real Darrien, but an orthysynthetic duplicate of the shrewd leader. One false move and Hendrin would find himself brainburned and tossed out as carrion for the sandwolves.

  This had to be done carefully, very carefully. But Hendrin felt no fear. Overlord Krodrang had hand-picked him from the ranks of his secret operatives, and Hendrin was confident he could fulfill his monarch’s commands.

  “Why do you have to do this to me?” the girl asked suddenly. “Why couldn’t I have been left on Planetoid Eleven with my parents, in peace, instead of being dragged here, to be paraded nude through the streets of this awful city and—” She gasped for breath.

  “Easy, girl, easy. That’s a great many words for your soft throat to spew out so quickly.”

  “I don’t want your lying gentleness!” she snapped. “Why am I being sold to Darrien? And what will he do to me?”

  “As for the former, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off. I’m selling you for money—”

  “But those Venusians said you bid more for me than Darrien would have paid!”

  “They were drunk. They didn’t recognize a prize specimen when they see one.”

  “Prize specimen!” She spa
t the words back at him. “To you aliens I’m just a prize specimen, is that it?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Hendrin said lightly. “As for what Darrien will do to you—come now, milady, that ought to be obvious!”

  “It is,” she said glumly. “But why does life have to be this way? That Earthman, back in the bar—doesn’t he have any loyalty to someone of his own world?”

  “Apparently not. But enough of this talk; what’s your name?”

  “Elissa Hall.”

  “A pretty name, though a trifle too smooth for my taste. How old are you, Elissa?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Umm. Darrien will be interested, I’m sure.”

  “You’re the most cold-blooded creature I’ve ever met,” she said.

  Hendrin chuckled dryly. “I doubt it. I’m a kindly old saint compared with Darrien. I’m just doing my job, lady; don’t make it hard for me.”

  She didn’t answer. Hendrin rotated one eye until he had a good view of her. She had blonde hair cut in bangs, blue eyes, a pert nose, warm-looking lips. Her figure was excellent. Some other time, perhaps, Hendrin might have had some sport with her first and scarcely found it dull. But not now. Like all his people, the Mercurian was cold and businesslike when it came to a job. And—much as he would have liked the idea—it didn’t fit into the strategy.

  “Halt and state name,” snapped a guard suddenly, presenting a zam-gun. He was a Martian, grinning ferociously.

  “Hendrin’s my name. I’m a member of Darrien’s raiders, and I’m bringing this girl to sell to him.”

  The Martian studied Elissa brazenly, then said, “Very well. You can pass. Take her to Dorvis Graal’s office, and he’ll talk to you.”

  Hendrin nodded and moved ahead past the guard and into the compound of buildings surrounding Darrien’s lofty palace.

  Dorvis Graal, Darrien’s Viceroy and the Chief of Canalopolis’ Security Police, was a Venusian. He looked up from a cluttered desk as Hendrin and the girl entered. There was a bleak, crafty glint in his faceted eyes; his beak of a nose seemed to jab forward at the Mercurian, and the deadly stinging-tail went flick-flick ominously.

  “Who are you, Mercurian?”

  “The name is Hendrin. I’ve recently joined Darrien’s forces.”

  “Odd. I don’t remember seeing a dossier on you.”

  Hendrin shrugged. “This red tape is beyond me. All I know is I signed on to fight for Darrien, and I have something I think might interest him.”

  “You mean the girl?” Dorvis Graal said. He squinted at her. “She’s an Earth colonist, isn’t she?”

  “From Planetoid Eleven. I think our lord Darrien might be interested in her.”

  Dorvis Graal chuckled harshly. “Possibly he will—but if he is, there’ll be the devil to pay when Meryola, Darrien’s mistress, finds out!”

  “That’s Darrien’s problem,” the blue Mercurian said. “But I’m in need of cash. How can I get to see Darrien?”

  “Darrien wouldn’t bother with you. But let me think about this for a moment. What would you consider a fair price for the wench?”

  “Two hundred credas and a captaincy in Darrien’s forces.”

  The Venusian smiled derisively. “Mars has two moons, as well. Why not ask for one of those?”

  “I’ve named my price,” said Hendrin.

  “Let me look at the girl,” Dorvis Graal rose, flicking his bushy tail from side to side, and stepped forward. “These rags obscure the view,” he said, ripping away what remained of Elissa’s clothing. Her body, thus revealed, was pure white for a moment—until suffused by a bright pink blush. She started to cover herself with her hands, but Dorvis Graal calmly slapped her wrists away from her body. “I can’t see if you do that,” he said.

  After a lengthy appraisal he looked up. “A fair wench,” he remarked. “Perhaps Darrien will expend a hundred credas or so. Certainly no more.”

  “And the captaincy?”

  “I can always ask,” said the Venusian mockingly.

  Hendrin frowned. “What do you mean, you can ask? Don’t I get to talk to Darrien?”

  “I’ll handle the transaction,” said Dorvis Graal. “Darrien doesn’t care to be bothered by every Mercurian who wanders by with a bare-bottomed beauty he’s picked up in a raid. You wait here, and I’ll show him the girl.”

  “Sorry,” Hendrin said quickly. He threw his cloak over the girl’s shoulders. “Either I see Darrien myself or it’s no deal. I’ll keep the girl myself rather than let myself be cheated out of her.”

  Dorvis Graal’s whip-like tail went rigid with anger for an instant—but then, as he saw Hendrin apparently meant what he said, he relaxed. “Just a minute, there.”

  Hendrin and the girl were nearly at the door. “What?”

  “I’ll let you in,” he said. “I’ll let you see Darrien and take him the girl. It’s rare to let a common soldier in, but in this case perhaps it can be done.”

  “And how much do I bribe you?”

  “Crudely put,” said the Venusian. “But I ask no money of you. Simply that—if Darrien, for some reason, should not care to buy the girl, I get her. Free.”

  Hendrin scowled, but his active mind had already jumped to that conclusion. It was too bad for the girl, of course, but what of that? At least he’d definitely get to see Darrien this way—which was his whole plan. And the chance of Darrien’s turning down the girl was slim.

  “Fair enough,” he said aloud. The girl uttered a little gasp of mingled shame and rage at this latest bargain. “How do I reach Darrien?”

  “I’ll give you a pass to the tunnel leading to the throne-room. The rest is up to you. But remember this: you won’t live long if you try to cheat me.”

  “I’m a man of my word,” Hendrin said, meaning it. He accepted the pass from Dorvis Graal, grinned wolfishly, and seized the girl’s arm. “Which way do I go?”

  “The tunnel entrance is down there,” Dorvis Graal said, pointing. “And here’s hoping Darrien isn’t in a buying mood today.” He leered suggestively as Hendrin led the girl away.

  Lon Archman watched, puzzled as the Mercurian and the girl disappeared into Dorvis Graal’s office. He had followed them this far without difficulty—but now that he was within Darrien’s compound, he had no idea where he was heading now. His body writhed impatiently, longing for action, but his mind kept careful check, holding him back. This was a game that had to be played cautiously.

  The Mercurian was selling the girl to Darrien. That seemed like a good dodge, thought Archman—except where was he going to get another girl to take to the tyrant? He’d have to find some other way of working himself into the palace. It was too late to overpower the Mercurian and take the girl from the Planetoids to Darrien himself.

  Or was it? He wondered…

  Suddenly the door of Dorvis Graal’s office opened and Hendrin and the girl stepped out into the street again. Archman noticed that the girl no longer wore her tattered clothes; she had been stripped bare in the Viceroy’s office, it seemed. Now she wore the Mercurian’s cloak loosely around her shoulders, but it concealed little.

  And Hendrin was clutching some sort of paper in his hand. A pass?

  Yes. It had to be a pass. A pass to see Darrien!

  A plan formed itself instantly in Archman’s mind, and he broke from the shadows and dashed toward Dorvis Graal’s office just as the girl and Mercurian disappeared into another door.

  A figure stepped forward to intercept him after he had run no more than a dozen paces. Archman felt a stiff-armed fist hurl him back, and he stared into the barrel of a cocked zam-gun.

  “Where are you heading so fast?” The speaker was a Martian guard.

  “I have to see Dorvis Graal. It’s on a matter of high treason! Darrien’s in danger of an assassin!”

  “What?” The Martian’s expression shifted from one of menacing hostility to keen interest. “Are you lying?”

  “Of course not, you fool. Now get out of my way and let me get to
the Viceroy before it’s too late!”

  The zam-gun was holstered and Archman burst past. He reached Dorvis Graal’s office, flung open the door, and bowed humbly to the glittering-eyed Venusian, who looked up in some astonishment.

  “Who are you? What’s the meaning of this?”

  “I’m Lon Archman of Darrien’s brigade. Quick, sir—have a Mercurian and a girl been through here in the last minute or so?”

  “Yes, but—say, what business is this of yours?”

  “That Mercurian’s an assassin!” Archman got as much excitement into his voice as he could manage. “I’ve been following him all morning, but he shook me just outside the entrance to the compound. He intends to kill Darrien!”

  A mixture of emotions played suddenly over the Viceroy’s face—greed, fear, curiosity, disbelief. “Indeed? Well, that can easily be stopped. He’s in the tunnel, on the way to Darrien. I’ll have the tunnel guards intercept him and send him up to Froljak the Interrogator for some questioning. Thanks for your information, Archman.”

  “May I go after him, sir?”

  “What?”

  “Into the tunnel. I want to kill that Mercurian, sir. Myself. I don’t want your tunnel guards to do it.”

  “They’re not going to kill him,” Dorvis Graal said impatiently. “They’ll just hold him for questioning, and if you’re telling the truth that he’s an assassin—”

  Archman scowled. This wasn’t getting him into the tunnel, where he wanted to go. “Let me go after him, sir,” he pleaded. “As a reward. A reward for telling you. I want to be in on the capture.”

  Dorvis Graal seemed to relent. It was pretty flimsy, Archman thought, but maybe—

  Yes. “Here’s a pass to the tunnel,” the Viceroy said. “Get going, now—and report back to me when it’s all over.”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks!”