The Earthman's Burden
_By R. F. Starzl_
_And then he jumped._]
[Sidenote: There is foul play on Mercury--until Denny Olear of theInterplanetary Flying Police gets after his man.]
Denny Olear was playing blackjack when the colonel's orderly foundhim. He hastily buttoned his tunic and in a few minutes, alert andvery military, was standing at attention in the little office on theground floor of the Denver I. F. P. barracks. His swanky blue uniformfitted without a wrinkle. His little round skullcap was perched at theregulation angle.
"Olear," said the colonel, "they're having a little trouble at theBlue River Station, Mercury."
"Trouble? Uh-huh," Olear said placidly.
The colonel looked him over. He saw a man past his first youth.Thirty-five, possibly forty. Olear was well-knit, sandy-haired, notover five feet six inches in height. His hair was close-cropped, hisfeatures phlegmatic, his eyes a light blue with thick, short,light-colored lashes, his teeth excellent. A scar, dead white on abrown cheekbone, was a reminder of an "encounter" with one of thenumerous sauriens of Venus.
"I'm sending you," explained the colonel, "because you're moreexperienced, and not like some of these kids, always spoiling for afight. There's something queer about this affair. Morones, factor ofthe Blue River post, reports that his assistant has disappeared.Vanished. Simply gone. But only three months ago the formerfactor--Morones was his assistant--disappeared. No hide nor hair ofhim. Morones reported to the company, the Mercurian TradingConcession, and they called me. Something, they think, is rotten."
"Yes, sir."
"I guess I needn't tell you," the colonel went on, "that you have touse tact. People don't seem to appreciate the Force. What with thelousy politicians begrudging every cent we get, and a bunch ofsuspicious foreign powers afraid we'll get too good--"
"Yeah, I know. Tact, that's my motto. No rough stuff." He saluted,turned on his heel.
"Just a minute!" The colonel had arisen. He was a fine, ascetic typeof man. He held out his hand.
"Good-by, Olear. Watch yourself!"
When Olear had taken his matter-of-fact departure the colonel ran hisfingers through his whitening hair. In the past several months he hadsent five of his best men on dangerous missions--missions requiringtact, courage, and, so it seemed, very much luck. And only two of thefive had come back. In those days the Interplanetary Flying Police didnot enjoy the tremendous prestige it does now. The mere presence of amember of the Force is enough, in these humdrum days of interplanetarylaw and order, to quell the most serious disturbance anywhere in thesolar system. But it was not always thus. This astounding prestigehad to be earned with blood and courage, in many a desperate andlonely battle; had to be snatched from the dripping jaws of death.
* * * * *
Olear checked over his flying ovoid, got his bearings from the portastronomer, set his coordinate navigator and shoved off. Two weekslater he plunged into the thick, misty atmosphere on the dark side ofMercury.
Ancient astronomers had long suspected that Mercury always presentedthe same side to the sun, though they were ignorant that the littleplanet had water and air. Its sunward side is a dreary, sterile, hotand hostile desert. Its dark side is warm and humid, and resembles tosome extent the better known jungles and swamps of Venus. But it has afavored belt, some hundreds of miles wide, around its equator, wherethe enormous sun stays perpetually in one spot on the horizon. Sunwardis the blinding glare of the desert; on the dark side, enormous banksof lowering clouds. On the dark margin of this belt are the"ringstorms," violent thunderstorms that never cease. They are thesource of the mighty rivers which irrigate the tropical habitable beltand plunge out, boiling, far into the desert.
Olear's little ship passed through the ringstorms, and he did not takeover the controls until he recognized the familiar mark of the tradingcompany, a blue comet on the aluminum roof of one of the largerbuildings. Visibility was good that day, but despite the unusualclarity of the atmosphere there was a suggestion of the sinister aboutthe lifeless scene--the vast, irresistible river, the riotouslycolored jungle roof. The vastness of nature dwarfed man's puny work.One horizon flashed incessantly with livid lightning, the other wasone blinding blaze of the nearby sun. And almost lost below in thesavage landscape was man's symbol of possession, a few metal sheds ina clear, fenced space of a few acres.
Olear cautiously checked speed, skimmed over the turbid surface of thegreat river, and set her down on the ground within the compound. Withhis pencil-like ray-tube in his hand he stepped out of the hatchway.
* * * * *
A Mercurian native came out of the residence, presently, his handstogether in the peace sign. For the benefit of Earthlubbers whose onlyknowledge of Mercury is derived from the teleview screen, it should beexplained that Mercurians are _not_ human, even if they do slightlyresemble us. They hatch from eggs, pass one life-phase as frog-likecreatures in their rivers, and in the adult stage turn more human inappearance. But their skin remains green and fish-belly white. Thereis no hair on their warty heads. Their eyes have no lids, and have apeculiar dead, staring look when they sleep. And they carry apeculiar, fishy odor with them at all times.
This Mercurian looked at Olear seemingly without interest.
"Where is Morones?" the officer inquired.
"Morones?" the native piped, in English. "Inside. He busy."
"All right. I'm coming in."
"He busy."
"Yeah, move over."
Though the native was a good six inches taller than Olear he steppedaside when the officer pushed him. Men--and Mercurians--had a way ofdoing that when they looked into those colorless eyes. They were notas phlegmatic as the face. Morones was sitting in his office.
"Well, I'm here," Olear announced, helping himself to a chair.
"Yes"--sourly. "Who invited you?"
Olear looked at the factor levelly, appraising him. A big man, fat,but the fat well distributed. Saturnine face, dark hair, dark andbristly beard. The kind that thrived where other men became weak andfever-ridden. Also, to judge by his present appearance, an unpleasantcompanion and a nasty enemy.
"Don't see what difference it makes to you," Olear answered in his owngood time; "but the company invited me."
"They would!" Morones growled. His eyes flickered to the door, andquick as a cat, Olear leaped to one side, his ray-pencil in his hand.
Morones had not moved, and in the door stood the native, motionlessand without expression. Morones laughed nastily.
"Kind of jumpy, eh? What is it, Nargyll?"
* * * * *
Nargyll burst into a burbling succession of native phrases, whichOlear had some difficulty following.
"Nargyll wants to move your ship into one of the sheds, but theactivator key's gone."
"Yeah, I know," Olear assented casually. "I got it. Leave the shiptill I get ready. Then I'll put it away. Get out, Nargyll."
The native, hesitated, then on the lift of Morones' eyebrows departed.Olear shifted a chair so that he could watch both Morones and thedoor. He reopened the conversation easily:
"Well, we understand each other. You don't want me here and I'm here.So what are you going to do about it?"
Morones flushed. He struggled to keep his temper down.
"What do you want to know?"
"What happened to the factor who was here before you?"
"I don't know. The translucene wasn't coming in like it should. Sammiswent out into the jungle for a palaver with the chiefs to find outwhy. And he didn't come back."
"You didn't find out where he went?"
"I just told you," Morones said impatiently, "he went out to see thenative chiefs."
"Alone?"
"Of course, alone. There were only two of us Earthmen here. Couldn'tabandon this post to the wogglies, could we? Not that it'd make muchdifference. Except for Nargyll, none'll come near."
"You never heard of him again?"
"No! Dammit, no! Say, didn't they have any dumber strappers aroundthan you? I told you once--I tell you again--I never saw hide nor hairof him after that."
"Aw-right, aw-right!" Olear regarded Morones placidly. "And so youtook the job of factor and radioed for an assistant, and when theassistant came he disappeared."
Morones grunted, "He went out to get acquainted with the country anddidn't come back."
* * * * *
Olear masked his close scrutiny of the factor under his idle andexpressionless gaze. He was not ready to jump to the conclusion thatMorones' uneasiness sprang from a sense of guilt. Guilty or not, hehad a right to feel uneasy. The man would be dense indeed if he didnot realize he was in line for suspicion, and he did not look dense.Indeed, he was obviously a shrewd character.
"Let me see your 'lucene."
Morones rose. Despite his bulk he stepped nimbly. He had thenimbleness of a Saturnian bear, which is great, as some of the earlierexplorers learned to their dismay.
"That's the first sensible question you've asked," Morones snorted."Take a look at our 'lucene. Ha! Have a good look!"
He led the way across the compound, waved his hand before the door ofa strongly built shed in a swift, definite combination, and the dooropened, revealing the interior. He waved invitingly.
"You go first," Olear said.
With a sneer Morones stepped in. "You're safe, boy, you're safe."
Olear looked at the small pile on the floor in astonishment. Insteadof the beautiful, semi-transparent chips of translucene, the dried sapof a Mercurian tree which is invaluable to the world as the source ofan unfailing cancer cure, there were only a few dirty, dried upshavings, hardly worth shipping back to Earth for refining. The fullsignificance of the affair began to dawn on the officer. Thetranslucene trees grew only in this favored section of Mercury, andthe Earth company had a monopoly of the entire supply. Justly, foronly on Earth was cancer known, and it was on the increase. Thatsmall, almost useless pile on the floor connoted a terrible drugfamine for the human race.
* * * * *
Morones' smile might have been a grin of satisfaction, at Olear'squestion:
"Is that all you've bought since the last freighter was here?"'
"It is," he replied. "The last load went off six months ago, and thishere shed should be full to the eaves. There'll be hell to pay."
"It may not be tactful," Olear remarked, "but if you've got yourtakings cached away somewhere to hold up the Earth for a big ransom,you'd better come across right now. You can't get by with it, fellow.You should have close to six million dollars' worth of it, and youcan't get away. You just can't."
Morones controlled his anger with an effort.
"Like any dumb strapper, you've got your mind made up, ain't you?Well, go ahead. Get something on me. Here I was almost set to give youa lead that might get you somewhere. And you come shootingoff--trying to make out I stole the 'lucene and killed those twofellows, eh? Go ahead! Get something on me! But not on Companygrounds. You're leaving now!"
With that he made a lunge at the officer, quite beside himself withrage. Olear could have burnt him down, but he was far too experiencedfor such an amateurish trick. Instead he ducked to evade Morones'blow. But the big man was as agile as a panther. In mid-air, so itseemed, he changed his direction of attack. The big fist sweptdownward, striking Olear's head a glancing blow.
But the men of the Force have always been fighters, whatever theirshortcomings as diplomats. Olear countered with a strong right to thebody, thudding solidly, for Morones' softness did not go far below thesurface. The factor whirled instantly, but not quite fast enough tobar the door. Olear was out and inside his ship in a few seconds,slamming the hatch.
"Tact!" he grinned to himself, inserting the activator key. "Tact iswhat a fella needs." The little space flier shot aloft, until the tinyfigure of the factor stopped shaking its fist and entered theresidence. The post had a flier of its own, of course, but Morones wastoo wise to use it in pursuit.
Olear considered what was best to do. Of course he could have placedMorones under arrest; could still do it; but that would not solve themystery of the two deaths and the missing 'lucene. If the cholericfactor was really guilty of the crimes, it would be better to let himgo his way in the hope that he would betray himself. Olear regrettedthat he had not kept his tongue under closer curb. But there was nouse regretting. Perhaps, after all, he ought to turn back to pumpMorones for some helpful information.
* * * * *
His mind made up, he descended again until he was hovering a few feetfrom the ground.
"Morones!" he called. "Morones!" He held the hatch open.
Morones came to the door of the residence. He had a tube in his hand,a long-range weapon.
"Morones," Olear declared pompously. "I place you under arrest!"
The effect was instantaneous. Morones lifted the tube, and aglimmering, iridescent beam sprang out. The ship was up and away in asecond, lurching and shivering uncomfortably every time the beamstruck it in its upward flight. A good few seconds continuedimpingement....
But a miss is as good as a light-year. Miles high, Olear looked intohis telens. Morones had laid aside his tube and was working with aninstrument like a twin transit. Plotting the ship's course, naturally.Olear set his course for the Earth, and kept on it for a goodtwenty-four hours. Morones, if he was still watching him, would thinkhe'd gone back for reinforcements. Such an assumption would beincredible now, but that was before the I. F. P. had achieved itspresent tremendous reputation.
Beyond observation range, Olear curved back toward Mercury again, andwas almost inside its atmosphere when he made a discovery that causedhim to lose for a moment his natural indifference, and to clamp hisjaws in anger. The current oxygen tank became empty, and when heremoved it from the rack and put in a new one he found someone had letout all of this essential gas. The valve of every one of the sparetanks had been opened. Had Olear actually continued on his way toEarth he would have perished miserably of suffocation long before hecould have returned to the Mercurian atmosphere. The officer whistledtunelessly through his teeth as he considered this fact.
The visibility was by this time normal; that is, so poor it would havebeen possible to land very close to the trading station. Olear wastaking no chances, however, and came down a good three Earth milesaway. The egg-shaped hull sank through the glossy, brilliant treetops,through twisted vines, and was buried in the dank gloom of the jungle.Here it might remain hidden for a hundred years.
* * * * *
The twilight of the jungle was almost darkness. Landmarks were not.But Olear made a few small, inconspicuous marks on trees with hisknife until he came to an outcropping rock. He had noticed thescarlike white of it slashing through the jungle from the air, andused it as a guide to direct his stealthy return to the trading post.His belt chronometer told him it would be about time for Morones toget up from his "night's" sleep. A little discreet observation mighttell much.
Long before he reached the compound, Olear heard the rushing of thegreat Blue River in its headlong plunge to the corrosive heat of thedesert. And then, through the mists, he glimpsed the white metal wallsof the Company sheds.
He climbed a tree and for a long time watched patiently, lying prone ona limb. Blood-sucking insects tortured him, and flat tree-lice,resembling discs with legs, crawled over him inquisitively. Oleartolerated them with stoic indifference until at last his patience wasrewarded. Morones was coming out of the compound. He was alone andobviously did not suspect that he was being watched, for he steppedout briskly. Once in the jungle he walked even faster, watching outwarily for the panther-like carnivora that were the most dangerous toman on Mercury.
Olear shinned to the ground and followed cautiously. Morones had hisray-tube with him, as any traveler in these jungles did. Olear couldand did draw fas
t, but a dead trader would be valueless to him in hisinvestigation, so he stalked him with every faculty strained tomaintain complete silence. Often, in occasional clearings where thebrown darkness grew less, he had to grovel on the slimy ground,picking up large bacteria that could be seen with the naked eye, andwhich left tiny, festering red marks on the skin. Mercury has nosnakes.
The trader seemed to be heading for higher ground, for the path ledever upward, though not far from the tossing waters of the river. Andthen, suddenly, he disappeared.
Olear did not immediately hurry after him. A canny fugitive, catchingsight of his pursuer, might suddenly drop to the ground and squirm tothe side of the trail, there to wait and catch his pursuer as hepassed. So Olear sidled into the all but impenetrable underbrush andslowly, with infinite caution, wormed his way along.
* * * * *
Presently he came to the little rise of ground where Morones haddisappeared, but a painstaking search did not reveal the factor. Therewere, however, a number of other trails that joined the very fainttrail he had been following, and now there was a well-defined trackwhich continued to lead upward. With a grimace of disgust Olear againplunged into the odorous underbrush and traveled parallel to thetrail. It was well he did so, for several Mercurians passed swiftly,intent, so it seemed, in answering a shrill call that at times camefaintly to the ear. They carried slender spears.
Several more Mercurians passed. The growth was thinning out, and Oleardid not dare to proceed further. However, from his hiding place hecould discern a number of irregular cave openings, apparently leadingdownward. They were apparently the entrances to one of the nativecavern colonies, or possibly of a meeting place. No Earthman had everentered one, but it was thought they had underground openings into theriver.
As the cave openings were obviously natural, Olear conjectured thatthere might be others that were not used. After an anxious search hefound one, narrow and irregular, well hidden under the broad, glossyleaves of some uncatalogued vegetation. As it showed no evidence ofuse, Olear unhesitatingly slid down into it. It was very narrow andirregular, so that often he was barely able to squeeze through. Theroots of trees choked the passage for a dozen feet or so, requiringthe vigorous use of a knife. Bathed in sweat, his uniform a filthymass of rags, Olear at last saw light.
The passage ended abruptly near the roof of a large natural cavern.Lights glistened on stalactites which cut off Olear's larger view, andvoices came from below. By craning his neck the officer could lookbetween the pendent icicles of rock and see a fire burning on a hugeoblong block of stone. Figures were sitting on the floor around thisblock--hundreds of Mercurians. The leaping flames made their white andgreen faces and bodies look frog-like and less human than usual.
* * * * *
But the figure that dominated the whole assemblage, both by its ownhugeness and the magnetic power that flowed from it, was not ofMercury but of Pluto. For the benefit of those who have never seen astuffed Plutonian in our museums--and they are very rare--let me referyou to the pious books still to be found in ancient librarycollections. The ancients personified their fears and hates in a beingthey called the Devil. The resemblance between the Devil of theirimagination and a Plutonian is really astounding. Horns, hoofs,tail--almost to the smallest detail, the resemblance is there.
Philosophers have written books on the "coincidence" in appearance ofthe ancient Devil and the modern decadent Plutonians. The Plutonianswere once numerous and far advanced in science, and no doubt theycalled on the Earth many times, in prehistoric days, and the so-calledDevil was a true picture of those vicious invaders, who are somewhatless human than usually portrayed. What was once classed assuperstition was therefore a true racial memory. Long before ourancestors came out of their caves to build houses, the Plutonians hadmastered interplanetary travel--only to forget the secret until humaningenuity should reveal it once more.
The modern Plutonian in that dank cave was over ten feet tall, and itis easy to see why he dominated the assemblage. His black visage wasset in an evil smile; his ebony body glistened in the firelight. Heheld a three-pronged spear in one hand, and sat on a pile of rocks, asort of rough throne, so that he towered magnificently above allothers.
He spoke the Mercurian language, although the liquid intonations cameharshly from his sneering lips.
"Are ye assembled, frogfolk, that ye may hear the decision of yourThinking Ones?" he asked.
* * * * *
A respectful peeping chorus signified assent. But in that there was ahint of unrest; even of fear.
"Speak, ye Thinking One, your commands!"
"Hear me first!" An old Mercurian, unusually tall, faded and drylooking, his thick hide wrinkled like crushed leather, rose slowly tohis feet and stepped before the oblong stone. His back was to thePlutonian, his face to the crescent of chiefs.
"The Old Wise One!" A twittering murmur went around the assemblage."Hear the Old Wise One!"
"My people, I like this not!" began the ancient. "The Lords of theGreen Star[1] have dealt with us fairly. Each phase[2] they havebrought us the things we wanted"--he touched his spear and a few gaudyornaments on his otherwise naked body--"in exchange for the worthlesswhite sap of our trees. If we longer offend the Lords of the GreenStar--"
[Footnote 1: In their various languages, almost all solar races callEarth "The Green Star." Although conditions on Mercury areunfavorable, Earth can be seen from the dark star, on mountain tops,during occasional dispersals of the cloud masses.]
[Footnote 2: The Mercurians had no conception of time before theEarthmen came. A "phase" is the time between calls of the freightships, and is therefore variable; but in those days it was about sixor seven months.]
A raucous laugh interrupted the Mercurian's feeble voice, and itechoed eerily from the walls of the chamber.
"Valueless ye call the white sap?" sneered the Plutonian. "Hear me.That sap you call valueless is dearer than life itself to the Lords ofthe Green Star. For they are afflicted in great numbers with astinking death they call cancer. It destroys their vitals, andnothing--nothing in this broad universe can help them save this whitesap ye give them. In your hands ye have the power to bring the proudLords of the Green Star to their knees. They would fill this chambermany times with their most priceless treasures for the sap ye givethem so freely. Withhold the sap, and your Thinking Ones may go to theGreen Star itself to rule over its Lords. They are desperate. Theiremissaries may even now be on the way to beg your pleasure. Speak,Thinking Ones! Would ye not rule the Green Star?"
* * * * *
But the chiefs failed to become enthused. One of them rose andaddressed the Plutonian:
"O Lord of the Outer Orbit! For near one full phase have ye dweltamong us. And well should ye know we have no desire for conquest. Wefear to go to the Green Star to rule."
"Then let me rule for ye!" exclaimed the Plutonian instantly. "Mybrothers will abide with ye as your guests--shall see that ye receivea fair reward for the white sap; and I will convey your commands tothe Lords of the Green Star."
The Old Wise One raised his withered hands, so that the uncertaintwittering of voices which followed the Plutonian's suggestionsubsided.
"My children," piped the feeble old voice, "the Black Lord has spokencunning words, but they are false. It is plain to see that he desiresto rule the Green Star, and our welfare does not concern him."
"If so it be that the white sap is of great value to the Lords of theGreen Star, it is still of no value to us; and if the gifts they bringto us are of no value to them, they are dear to us."
The Plutonian sneered.
"Dearer than the Paste of Strange Dreams?"
A startled hush fell among the assembled Mercurians. They lookedguiltily at one another, avoiding the eyes of the Old Wise One.
"What is this?" shrilled he, turning furiously to the Plutonian. "Haveye brought the paste of evil to our abod
e, knowing well the strictproscription of our tribe? Fool! Your death is upon ye!"
* * * * *
But the Plutonian only grinned and spread his glistening, black handsin a careless gesture. High overhead, peering through thestalactites, Olear instantly understood the Plutonian's strange power,the Paste of Strange Dreams, a fearsome narcotic of that far-swingingdark planet. More insidious and devastating than any drug everproduced on Earth, it had wrought frightful havoc among many solarraces. The Earthmen had opened the lanes, broken the age-old barriersof distance, so that the harpies of evil could traffic their poisonfrom planet to planet. So the Paste of Strange Dreams was added to theEarthman's burden.
"Seize him--the Evil One!" shrieked the old chief, but the Mercurianssat sullen and silent, and the Plutonian sneered.
Finally one of the chiefs arose and with an effort faced the Old WiseOne and said:
"The Strange Dreams are dearer to us than all else. Do as he says."
The piping voices rose in eager acclamation, but the Old Wise One heldup his claws, waiting until silence returned.
"Wait! Wait! Before ye commit this folly, hear the Green Star man.Many times has he demanded audience. Let him come in."
"It is not permitted," demurred one of the chiefs.
"Ye permitted this being of evil to enter; let him enter also."
"He is in the outer chambers now," one of the guards spoke. "His faceis like the center of a ringstorm."
"Let him enter!"
* * * * *
Morones strode into the room angrily. Blinded by the fire after thedarkness of the antechambers, he did not at first see the Plutonian.He strode up to the ancient chief and glared at him.
"Does the Old Wise One learn wisdom at last?" he rasped. The ancientshrank away from him, as did the nearer of the lesser chiefs.
"The Old Wise One thinks less of his wisdom," he replied wearily."Behold!" He pointed to the enthroned Plutonian.
Morones started. His hand flashed to his side, and came away empty.Deft fingers had extracted his ray-tube. But he was a man of courage.Never could it be said to his shame that an Earthman cringed in thesight of lesser races.
"So it's you, my sooty friend!" he snarled in English. The Plutonian,accomplished linguist, replied:
"As you see. You don't look very happy, Mr. Morones."
Morones regarded him impassively, his eyes frosty.
"That explains everything," he said at last with cold deliberation."First Sammis, then Boyd. Going to finish me next, I suppose?"
The Plutonian twisted the end of an eyebrow and smiled.
"Interested in them?"
"What'd you do with the bodies?"
The Plutonian jerked his thumb carelessly. "The river you call theBlue is swift and deep. But before you follow them there is certaininformation I wish to get from you. Where is the soldier who came tovisit you?"
A crafty light came into Morones' face.
"He is not far from here, waiting for me."
* * * * *
Olear, in his cramped hiding place, could not help feeling a warm glowof admiration for Morones' nerve, because Morones thought him well onhis way to Earth.
"Nargyll, what did your master do with the visitor?"
"Drove him back to the Green Star," Nargyll said promptly.
"And the oxygen tanks. Did you empty them?"
"I let them hiss." Nargyll's grin was sharkish.
"News to you, eh, Morones? Your officer's corpse has probably droppedinto the sun by this time. Tell me, why did you drive him off?"
Morones sagged perceptibly. To gain a little time he said truthfully:
"I knew I should be blamed and ruined for life. I didn't know you werehere, damn you! I hoped to get this mess with the natives straightenedup before he'd come back with reinforcements."
"Yes. Well, you owe some months of life already. Your presence herehas been more or less embarrassing, but I had to let you live or I'dhave had the whole I. F. P. here to investigate. Now that you'vefailed in keeping them from getting interested you may do me one moreservice." The black giant grinned.
"I've often wondered at the Earthman's prestige all over the solarsystem. Even to-night, soft and helpless as you are, these nativesfear you. You will, therefore, be an object lesson in the helplessnessof Earthmen."
* * * * *
Morones was pale but courageous. With contempt in every line of him hewatched some of the less frightened chiefs, at the command of thePlutonian, push aside some of the blazing blocks of fungus on thestone, to make room for his body. At last he raised his hand.
"Frogfolk!" he cried, "if ye do this thing, the Lords of the GreenStar will come. They will come with fires hotter than the sun; theywill blast your rivers with a power greater than the thunder of theringstorms; they will fill your caves with a purple smoke that turnsyour bones to water--"
Shrill cries of fear almost drowned out his words. All the Mercurianshad seen evidences of the dreadful power of the Earthmen. They beganmilling around, then stood rooted by the roar of the Plutonian'svoice.
"Lies! Lies!" he bellowed. "See, they are weak as egglets!" He steppeddown, picked Morones up by one shoulder, and held him, dangling, highover the heads of all. Morones clawed and tore at the brawny arm. Hemade a ludicrous picture. Soon the simple natives made a snifflingsound of mirth, and the Plutonian, satisfied at last, set him downagain.
"He tells truth!" The Old Wise One had climbed to the top of the stoneblock. "The Lords of the Green Star have their power not in theirbodies, but it is great. It is greater far than the frogfolk. It isgreater than the Lords of the Outer Orbit. They will come even as thesurly one has said, and great shall be our sorrow. It is not yet toolate. Release him, and deliver to him the white sap. Seize this evilone--"
The feeble, fickle minds were being swayed again. In a gust ofimpatience, the Plutonian stepped down, seized the aged chief's skinnybody in his great black hands, and snapped him in two. There was atearing of tough cords and tissue, and the two halves fell into thefire.
For an instant the Mercurians were stunned. Then some of them ventedhissing sounds of rage, while others prostrated themselves on thefloor. The black giant watched them narrowly for a moment, then turnedhis attention to Morones. He seized him by the arm and drew him slowlyand irresistibly to him.
* * * * *
The murder of the Old Wise One had been done so quickly that Olear wasunable to prevent it. Had he been able to use his ray weapon he couldhave burned the Plutonian down, but it had been bent at one of thenarrow turns of the crevice he had come down. The need for extremelightness in weapons was rather overdone in those early times, and alittle rough handling made them useless.
So now Olear, weaponless except for the service knife at his belt,began the hazardous undertaking of climbing among the stalactites to aposition approximately above the Plutonian's head. The job requiredjudgment. Some of the stone masses were insecurely anchored and wouldcrash down at the lightest touch. Some were spaced so closely togetherthat he could not get between them. Others were so far apart that itwas difficult to get from one to another.
Yet he made it somehow, and unnoticed, for all eyes were turned on thetense drama being enacted below. From almost directly overhead he sawMorones being drawn upward.
"You saw," the Plutonian was saying triumphantly in Mercurian, "--yousaw me unmake your Old Fool. And now you will see that a Lord of theGreen Star is even softer, even weaker--"
Morones, in that pitiless grasp, turned his face to the hatefulgrinning visage above him. In his last extremity he was still angry.
"You devil!" Morones shouted. "You may murder me, but they'll get you!They'll get you!"
"Who'll get me?" the Plutonian purred silkily, deferring the pleasureof the kill for another moment. Morones was having trouble with hisbreathing. His red face lolled from side to side
, his eyes rolled inagony. Suddenly he saw Olear. Unbelieving, he relaxed.
"I'm seein' things!" he breathed.
"Who'll get me?" persisted the Plutonian, applying a little morepressure.
"The I. F. P.!" Morones gasped.
"Well, you little son-of-a-gun!" Olear thought, and then he jumped.
He landed a-straddle the neck of the Plutonian, which was almost likeforking a horse. One brawny arm seized a horn. The other, with alightning-swift dart, brought the point of the long service-knife tothe pulsing black throat.
"Put him down!" Olear spoke into the great pointed ear. "Easy!"
Back on his feet, Morones began bellowing at the Mercurians. Utterlydemoralized, they fled pell-mell. Morones came back. He said:
"Nothing to tie him up with."
"That's all right," Olear replied, studiously keeping the knife pointat exactly the right place, "I'll ride him in. Get going, you, and betactful when you go through the door, or this sticker of mine mightslip!" With extreme care the Plutonian did exactly as Olear orderedhim to.
* * * * *
It was necessary to radio for one of the larger patrol ships to takeOlear's enormous prisoner back to Earth for his trial. The officertestified, of course, and the Plutonian was duly sentenced to deathfor the murder of the old Mercurian. Execution by dehydration wasdecreed, so that the body would be uninjured for scientific study; andto-day it is considered one of the finest specimens extant.
In his testimony, however, Olear so minimized his own connection withthe case that he received no public recognition. It was not until somemonths afterward, when Morones, on leave, rode back with a shipload oftranslucene, that the whole story came out, emphatically andprofanely. Olear finally consented to speak a few words for theTelephoto News Co. As he stepped off the little platform deferentialhands tried to push him back.
"You haven't told them who you are," protested the announcer. "Giveyour name and rank."
"Aw, they don't have to know that!" Olear rejoined, keeping on going."They know it's one of the Force. That's all they have to know.Besides there's a blackjack game going on and I'm losing money everyminute I'm out of it."