THE LIGHT COUNTRY TRILOGY 
The Science Fiction Classics
TAMA OF THE LIGHT COUNTRY 
TAMA, PRINCESS OF MERCURY 
AERITA OF THE LIGHT COUNTRY 
By
RAY CUMMINGS 
ISBN 1-58873-965
All rights reserved
Copyright 1930, 31, 42, 1965-6 revised
Copyright 2006 Estate of Ray Cummings
Reprinted courtesy the Ackerman Agency
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
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PageTurnerEditions.com 
PageTurner Editions/Futures-Past Science Fiction
A Renaissance E Books publication
TAMA OF THE LIGHT COUNTRY 



TO
Andrea van Waldron Hill
dearly loved granddaughter and
prodigious reader of these books.



CHAPTER I 
SCREAMS IN THE NIGHT
THE FIRST OF the midnight raids was made upon a girls’ school on Moose Head Lake, in Maine. It was a summer camp, with something like eighty girls, almost all between the ages of fifteen and twenty. The affair—which occurred during the nights of August tenth and eleventh—was kept as secret as possible. It did not get into the newspapers, nor did the newscasters announce it until about a week later.

But it terrorized the immediate neighborhood at once, and little wonder. There were ten of the girls missing when, despite the confusion and terror, the others could be counted. Two more were dead. The principal, a Professor White, was wounded. Two of the other men teachers were killed, and one of the matrons.

I heard of the affair about noon of August eleventh. I was twenty-five-years of age the summer when the mysterious attack upon the White Summer Camp in Maine started a chain of events which brought a menace to two worlds and utter chaos to one.

* * * *
I am Jack Dean, a newsgatherer for the Broadcast & Press Association, and occasionally I do some actual newscasting. I was in the New York studios of the B.P.A., and had just been on the air with a routine news account, when the aviator Jimmy Turk called me long distance from Boston.

"Take your plane and come up,” he told me. His voice was vibrant with excitement. “Drop your work. Tell ‘em it's business, the biggest piece of news this year—if you can get a release on it!"

Jimmy Turk was an operative of the newly established Interstate Flying Patrol, and a friend from my University days, though of recent years we had not seen much of each other. A short, stocky, red-headed little daredevil, this Turk—one of the most skillful wildest flyers in the service.

"Trouble up at Moose Head Lake, in Maine,” he went on. “Meet you at Bangor—the Lanset Field. We'll go in my Dragon, so leave your tub-boat there. What time will you be up? Four o'clock? The devil! If you leave now you can be there by three, or earlier."

"For how long, Jimmy? An overnight job?"

"Tell ‘em. you don't know. A day or two. A week. Just tell ‘em it's the biggest thing ever—if you get it for the air. It's been suppressed so far. I'm in it from the police end. Damn it, Jack, don't make me talk. There's no time."

I flew up the coast and met him at the Lancet Field in mid-afternoon. He was wild-eyed, his fiery red hair tousled, his entire little body shaking with excitement. It was the strain of waiting for me, I thought. With action I knew Jimmy Turk to be cool and calculatingly deliberate.

He hustled me into his powerful little Dragon—the smallest, swiftest thing that flies.

"I've been over there and back. It isn't far: half an hour or so.

We settled down in the tiny oval cockpit. He lifted us and we sped away over the forest reaches toward the famous lake. It was a surprisingly wild country for this day and age—a playground for summer vacationists, yet there were deserted lakes and unbroken stretches of primeval forest.

"Well, Jimmy, now that we're here, what's the trouble?” I said lightly. “Something drastic?"

"No trouble—nothing at all except about ten young girls abducted, a few killed, and a couple of other miscellaneous murders."

He told me all he had learned about it, which was little enough. It was wholly confused—a muddle of conflicting accounts, none of which dovetailed to make a rational explanation.

The White Summer Camp for Girls consisted of a group of log-cabin type bungalows set on a promontory of the lake, with a larger cabin as mess-hall. A boathouse with canoes, a dock, float and diving board were at the end of the point. There was a small stable with saddle horses, and a taxi runway leading from the lake to a hangar-garage which housed several small sport hydroplanes for those pupils whose parents would allow and could afford them.

The camp was one of the wildest portions of the lake. Unbroken forest lay about it, with only a few houses in the neighborhood and a dirt road leading to the nearest village three miles away.

The place was in a turmoil when we arrived. Planes lay thick on the water about the runway. The road was jammed with automobiles. A police cordon about the camp managed to keep the crowd back, but within the lines there was a group of excited officials, investigators, and curiosity-seekers who had the connections to get inside.

The pupils—those who had not been killed or abducted—had fled to their homes. Professor White lay unconscious in a Bangor hospital. What he had to tell, if there were anything rational, as yet remained undisclosed.

The affair was secret. It was kept off the air and out of the papers. But by word of mouth the news had spread like flames before a wind in prairie grass. We got through the lines. Jimmie had a conference with his superior; I wandered about the place, talking with as many of the excited people as I could, picking up a connected story of a sort for use, I provided they let me give it out.

It was a weird, disjointed account. As far as I could piece it together, it ran like this:

At about midnight the previous night the camp was aroused by the wild screaming of some of the girls. The night was dark. This was a period of nearly full moon, but heavy clouds had obscured it. A fresh wind off the lake pounded waves on the shore and sang through the forest trees.

But above the noise the screams of terror-stricken girls had sounded. There were evidently screams from everywhere about the camp within a few minutes. But most of it was the panic of terror.

The original alarm came from one of the larger cabin dormitories where twelve girls and a matron were sleeping. The doors and windows were all open; the unbroken forest depths lay only a few paces away. Something or someone, human or otherwise, had made an attack. When it was over—in a few moments, no doubt, and before anyone from the adjacent buildings seemed to have reached there—ten of the girls from the cabin had vanished. The matron lay dead just outside the doorway. One of the girls was found dead on the floor beside her bed; the other lay across the road at the edge of the forest.

The two men instructors, and Professor White, were discovered on the road; they had apparently been running toward the sound of the screams when they were struck down.

I had an opportunity later to see one of the bodies where it lay in the police station of the nearby village. All the deaths were caused by a hole the size of a lead pencil which in some cases penetrated the heart, and in others pierced the brain. But there was no bullet. Nor had there been any sound of shots—every account agreed on that.

Some wholly soundless weapon had drilled the victims. The wound looked like a bum, as though a blast of intense heat had made a tiny round hole. Through flesh, or the bone of the skull, it was the same.

No one had seen any of the attackers. Hysterical pupils told of vague shadowy forms of men along the road. Huge men, some said, but others insisted they were small. There were other girls who claimed that they were not men at all, but weird monsters, half like beasts in pseudo-human form. And there was talk of dragging, shuffling footsteps in the underbrush—presumably the fantastic monsters dragging away their screaming victims.

Most of this was discredited by the investigators. The night was too dark and noisy to see anything, or hear very much. But the ten girls had vanished; there were five dead bodies—very tangible evidence and the wounded, perhaps dying, Professor White.

There may have been strange footprints about the place. But if so, they were trampled upon and obliterated long before the authorities got there. There was another clue which appeared to be fact, since it was one of the few incidents about which everyone agreed. The attackers used no lights, but there had been a few soundless, blue-green flashes in the darkness—tiny beams a few feet in length, instantaneous, like a miniature lightning bolt. Presumably these were the shots of some unknown weapon which had killed the five victims.

Jimmy Turk joined me. “Well, what do you make of it Jack? Come here and meet Dr. Grenfell."

He led us to an excited group nearby and introduced us to a short, thickset, middle-aged man with a massive head and a stoop to his wide shoulders which made him look almost like a hunchback.

"Who was that?” I demanded, when, after a moment, Dr. Grenfell was called away.

"Important scientific fellow. Head of the Bolton Astronomical Research Society. He's investigating this—one of the first to get here this morning."

"What's astronomy got to do with it?"

"I'm damned if I know, Jack."

But we were very soon to find out!

* * * *
Such was the beginning of the mysterious assaults. A heavy guard was placed about the White Camp that night. One or two of the male teachers and three of the women remained. Only one pupil continued to stay—an orphan girl who lived with the Whites both winter and summer. I met her a few days later.

Mrs. White was at her husband's bedside in Bangor. The professor still lay unconscious, hovering between life and death. His lung had been pierced; he had fallen in the road, struck his head and suffered a brain concussion. But the doctors hoped to pull him through. What had he seen in the darkness of that weird night? We all waited eagerly for the time when he might be able to tell.

The second night was as dark as the first. The cordon of police and a few State troopers were hidden about the camp and in its buildings. But nothing happened. Jimmy's orders were to fly at about two thousand feet back and forth over the lake, I went with him.

We flew his Dragon without lights and with the engines fully muffled. Both of us realized that the authorities knew more of this thing—or suspected more—than we could guess. We were told to watch for any air vehicle rising or descending over the lake or the nearby forest; or for any strange lights. But there seemed to be nothing.

At dawn we landed at the village, turned in our report, and went to sleep. At about noon, Jimmy woke me.

"By the gods, Jack, listen to this!"

Reports were now coming in. Apparently the White Camp had been undisturbed, but from the town thirty miles away came the news that a young girl had vanished from her home during the night. It was an isolated farmhouse, with the girl's room on the lower floor.

Her parents said she had retired as usual; they had heard nothing, but in the morning she was gone. One of her window shutters had been taken off, the wood around its hinges burned as though by a blow torch.

"And there are others, Jack! This damnable, weird business!"

The reports continued to come through. Another girl was found murdered, her heart pierced by the same strange hole burned into her chest. She had screamed in the night and they had found her too late, lying by her bed; a chair been overturned with evidence of a struggle. And two sisters, sharing the same room, told of a horrible face at their window—gray, thick-featured, flabby. They had heard dragging, shuffling footsteps outside as the face vanished. One of them said it was like a man paralyzed and trying to walk.

During the next few days a flood of incidents were reported from this section of the State. But except for the first two nights there were no missing girls, and no murders. Merely strange things that girls claimed to have seen and heard. Some seemed to have a fair basis of rationality—however fantastic they sounded—but most of the reports were now the product of an overactive imagination.

* * * *
"The thing is about over,” said Dr. Grenfall, as he, with Jimmy, myself and one or two others, sat examining the reports in the dining ball of the White Camp. “There is nothing less dependable than reports from adolescent girls. This is hysteria now."

But there were some reports which were not the fantasies of hysteria. The aerial patrols had observed strange light glows down in the forest. One pilot had even seen a shape rushing upward from the lake. He was several miles away from it and could not reach it with his light. He described it as shaped like a vague silver ball, mounting with tremendous velocity into the leaden clouds overhead. This was reported by one of the air patrols, fifty of which were on duty. And there were surface parties constantly searching the forests of the entire State. Every effort was being made to recover the missing girls, but it was all unavailing.

It was about this time that I met the girl pupil who was still living at the White Camp. Her name was Rowena Palisse. Romantic circumstances surrounded her. She was a ward of the Whites. Ten years ago her only relative, her elder brother Guy, had invented a space rocket and attempted to reach the Moon. The entire endeavor was acknowledged to be a suicidal voyage: he had provided no way of returning.

I had been fifteen then; I still remembered my boyish interest in this Guy Palisse Moonrocket. It had successfully left the Earth, but never was heard of again. My interest now was renewed by meeting the sister of the adventurer who had so stirred my youthful fancy.

Rowena Palisse was twenty-two years old now—a tall girl of five feet ten or eleven inches. She was slender, with a regal aspect in her hearing. Her long brown braids hung forward over her shoulders in the latest fashion, and her long skirt and short-waisted jacket made her seem even taller than she was. She was handsome rather than beautiful, a girl of so queenly an air that she seemed born to command.

But there was a gentle, wholly feminine softness about her as well. I understood that she had been devoted to her brother Guy. As a child of twelve she had watched him with big, frightened eyes as his cumbersome rocket carried him away from her into the mysteries of outer space.

I found that look in her eyes now—a gentle, wondering softness, a wistfulness. There was a poise in her manner, a calm dignity; but under it the wistfulness was most apparent.

I stood before her, the afternoon when Jimmy Turk introduced us. She was a head taller than the wiry little, patrol flyer. But I am several inches over six feet. She extended her hand and smiled up at me.

"I have seen you the past several days,” she said. “I wondered when someone would introduce us."

* * * *
I was with Rowena Palisse a good deal during the ensuing afternoons. I made the occasions. She was frightened at the events that had transpired, but there was nothing hysterical about her. Her mature, calm personality precluded hysteria.

I was more amazed at it when I realized that the investigators—there were a number of them who remained, including Dr. Grenfell—still felt that another assault might be made, and they were for some reason using Rowena as a possible decoy. She made herself prominent about the grounds, both by day and night, though always carefully, secretly guarded.

Then there came a night, just a week after the original assault, when the trap was sprung. Dr. Grenfell, who was in charge here, had admitted me in the capacity of assistant ... perhaps because Rowena did not hide her friendly interest in me; and because my imposing stature made me the logical choice to put up a good fight with any conceivable opponent.

It was a black, overcast night. There had been a great show of withdrawal of the guards that afternoon—though after dark many of them had crept back.

Jimmy and I, armed with automatics, crouched with Dr. Grenfell in the forest underbrush just across the road from Rowena's lighted window. She stood at it a moment, braiding her hair. And though there were a dozen armed men lurking close at hand to protect her, I marveled at her poise.

Her light went out. We waited, an hour or two at least. The heavy, leaden clouds hung close overhead. The wind swished through the treetops; the lake waves pounded the shore; the dark, silent buildings of the White Camp stood around us.

It began to rain a little, I was cold and stiff. Beside me the bulk of Dr. Grenfell's figure was a hunched black blob. At my feet Jimmy crouched like a coiled spring. There was a dim vista of the road, the roof outline of the building near us, and the vague black rectangle of Rowena's open window.

There came at last a sound, different from those of the forest to which we had listened for so long. An eerie, indefinable sound, quite close to us. We all three heard it. Dr. Grenfell stirred a trifle. Jimmy tensed, ready to leap.

A rustling of the bushes. Or was it out in the road?

I was swept suddenly with the chilling sense that this Unknown was supernatural—something advancing upon me, invisible, intangible!

From the darkness of the road the sound became clearer, turned into footsteps. But they were gruesomely unnatural shuffling footsteps, like a wounded thing dragging itself heavily along.

A moment or two passed. Jimmy touched me in warning, but I shoved off his hand. Dr. Grenfell's flashlight was raised. We had arranged not to move, or shoot, until he turned it on.

Certainly something tangible was out there in the road. I thought I could distinguish a slowly moving, formless shape. Or perhaps two shapes, mingled in the darkness.

Abruptly there was another noise, a swishing, flapping sound—not on the road, but over it. A giant bird, perhaps, or a monster, flying. I saw something white, fluttering out there.

Dr. Grenfell flashed on the light. Figures appeared in the road some twenty feet from us—figures so fantastic that the sight of them barely registered on my bewildered brain. One was a gigantic man-shape; another, similar but smaller. And a great fluttering white thing behind and above them.

Jimmy leaped, with me after him. My shot and Grenfell's stabbed the darkness together. The forest rang with the other guards rushing and firing. From the road came an answering “shot"—a tiny stab of bluegreen light. It sizzled close past me, withering the shrubbery. The gigantic figure in the road made a slow but desperate bound into the underbrush. The smaller figure fell with our shots. The white thing was hit; it came fluttering down and lay quivering, flapping in the dirt of the road.

No one thought, those first moments, of pursuing the escaping figure. With swaying flashlights we gathered in the road. A man lay there, dead from our bullets—a squat, thickset fellow clad in rude garments of animal skins. His flat-featured face was heavy with pouchy gray skin and goggling, staring dead eyes.

Near him, the wounded white thing lay struggling in death agony—a girl, her blue-white draperies stained crimson with her blood. She was a small, strangely frail-looking girl, with huge blue-feathered wings nearly as long as her body. They flapped, and then were still. She lay sprawled on the road like a great dead bird.

We bent over her. She was still alive. For a moment she tried to speak, and it seemed that the words were English! I thought that she gasped, “...warn you...” but we could distinguish nothing else intelligible. She died seconds later.




CHAPTER II 
FROM ANOTHER PLANET
THAT WAS the last of the incidents at the White Camp. But such an affair could not be kept secret. The world rang with it.

For a time, however, it seemed destined to be shrouded in mystery. Professor White died without recovering consciousness; the body of the man we had shot, and the strange winged girl with him, remained as the only tangible evidence. The giant figure which had made off into the forest was not caught. Nor were any of the missing girls who had been kidnapped, recovered.

There was a weapon found in the road the night when we gathered over the two bodies. It was evidently the projector of the bluegreen bolts, a small, globular affair, with a mesh of wires across its face, a firing mechanism, and what seemed an odd form of storage battery in its handle. What current it may have used could not be discovered. The thing was empty of charge when found; apparently its last available shot had been the blue-green stab which sizzled past me.

The two bodies were examined by many learned men before they were interred. Obviously the winged girl was nothing of Earth. Nor could the man he identified with any race on this planet. Yet the two were clearly not of the same race.

One extremely curious circumstance was brought out by this investigation. The man's body was short and abnormally thick-set-ape-like, but with a flabby, pallid, hairless skin. A man of such build would normally weigh about one hundred and seventy pounds. I was present at the investigation. Gazing at the body, I was convinced it would weight at least that much. Yet on the scales it weighed a hundred and twenty-two. I felt the body ... small-boned ... a light skeleton. And the flesh was putty-like, with what seemed to be microscopic air-cells in it.

The girl was an extraordinarily beautiful little creature, with great blue-feathered wings arching out from the shoulder blades. But her face, composed now in death, was humanly beautiful with a delicate, ethereal beauty.

She seemed certainly no more than sixteen years old. Her clear white skin in life might have been flushed rose-pink. She had long, pale golden hair, blue eyes, and a strangely frail-looking body, yet rounded almost to matured girlhood.

She was four feet seven inches tall. Such a girl of our world, might have weighed a hundred pounds. This one, with allowance for the weight of the wings, weighed only sixty-five pounds.

Queer, inexplicable facts! And I could not forget that this dying winged girl had tried to speak to us in English. This, to me, seemed most inexplicable of all.

* * * *
By the end of August the world was beginning to talk less of the affair. Then, on August thirtieth, Dr. Grenfell made public his theory, and explanation—and warning. It was more startling than anything that had gone before.

I give here, not the original paper which was couched in the technical and detailed phraseology of science, but the transcription made for the general public which Dr. Grenfell gave me to put on the air:

"The affair at White Camp secured on the night of August tenth. On the previous night, upon one of the star-filled photo-diagram plates made in routine work of the Lowell Observatory at Flagstaff, Arizona, a curious dot appeared which had no logical reason to be there. With a subsequent, longer exposure made a few minutes later, that dot became a tiny hairline streak of light, proving that it was in motion.

"Observations made at the Lowell Observatory that night established that the dot was something extremely small and quite close to the Earth—only a few thousand miles beyond the upper reaches of our atmosphere.

"The Mount Windom Observatory, near Summit, New Jersey, made similar observations during the early evening of August tenth. But the dot was moving fast, and soon disappeared to the northward. And the sky became overcast as the evening advanced, preventing further observation.

"The inescapable conclusion of both observatories is that this was some form of interplanetary vehicle hovering above our Earth. Spectrographs showed it to be shining with reflected sunlight. How far away it was, how great its velocity, or its size, could not be determined.

"Other strange facts came to light during that memorable week of August tenth, a shooting star of abnormal aspect was reported by many eyewitnesses in Maine. It fell very slowly from a point near the zenith toward the northern horizon. The “star” was pale white.

"A meteor, which generally is a mere fragment of star-dust burning with the beat of friction as it hits our atmosphere, blazes with a streak of fire for an instant; and then, consuming itself, burns out and vanishes. But this was different. It seemed to float down, glowing with a silvery light. A few moments, and then it disappeared from view.

"The observatory at Flagstaff saw nothing of this.

But at Mount Wyndam they saw it. The thing seemed a silvery metallic ball. It glowed with friction-heat and with sunlight, but when it descended into the nightshadow of Earth, it was seen no more. The time was 8:55 p.m.

"This, we believe, was a smaller vehicle descending from the larger one hovering out there in Space. As a tender comes from a liner lying outside the shoals, this silver ball came down with its occupants and landed somewhere in the forests or upon one of the lakes in Maine.

"And there were other facts: This small vehicle—though there may have been several of them—was observed subsequent to August tenth, upon at least two occasions by pilots of our patrol flyers. The sky, day and night, in Maine and vicinity, was during that week almost constantly obscured by heavy clouds. At a hundred thousand feet such vehicles would be safe from discovery.

"One of our climbing planes, with Navy pilot Rankin present holder of the altitude record, on the night of August twelfth, and again during the day, ascended over Quogg, Maine to a height of sixty-two thousand feet—but discovered nothing. As a matter of fact, an interplanetary vehicle—this silver ball, for instance—could easily attain a velocity enabling it to follow the nightshadow around the world.

"We are therefore forced to the conclusion that the attacks upon the White Camp and elsewhere in Maine were made by beings of human form and intelligence from another planet. But which one? To our knowledge, whether or not any of the other planets of the solar system are inhabited has been problematical. Yet—here is proof!

"We believe that these beings came from the planet Mercury, and have now returned there. Many astronomical and astrophysical phenomena recently observed lead to that conclusion. And so do the biological facts concerning the two bodies. Much of this is of too technical a nature to include here. I need only explain that Mercury revolves about the Sun once in eighty-eight of our days. That is the length of its year. On August tenth it and the Earth were near inferior conjunction—in other words, at their closest points to each other.

"The marauders came then, and now they have gone back, for Mercury, moving faster in its orbit than does the Earth, is rapidly drawing away from us.

"But why did they come? Certainly it was not with friendly intentions. Nor yet with the boldness of an invasion—an attempted conquest. They were prowlers in the night, using every effort to maintain secrecy, abducting our women—our young girls. Again, that is an inescapable fact: they made no move, did nothing save for the purpose of abduction.

"A dozen young girls have vanished. The prowlers have gone back into interplanetary space to Mercury or wherever they are native. The menace is over ... but is it?

"We killed one of these men, and his companion, a fantastic young girl with wings. She was a beautiful girl, no more than a child—in racial appearance no more like him than he was like an Earthman. And, during, the few words she spoke were English! That is indeed beyond all possible understanding of our logical science. Even the wildest conjecture cannot explain it.

"But we may imagine that the girl was not friendly to her companion and his fellows. She was captive, perhaps. With her dying breath she gasped something about warning us. Of what? Presumably the abduction of our women. And our imagination asks: Can there be so few women on Mercury that its men must come to Earth to, steal ours?

"Is the menace over? When the winged girl and the man were shot by our guards the night of August seventeenth at the White Camp, a gigantic figure escaped into the forest. It seems impossible—with our aerial patrol and our multiplicity of watchers in the neighborhood—that one of the vehicles could have taken him away. We believe he is still on Earth. Every effort is being made to find him, but so far without success.

"Will the marauders come back to rescue him, or to pursue their mysterious purpose? Can we believe that if the men of Mercury desire our women, the abductions are not to be planned upon a larger scale? Was this not a mere tentative foray to learn of conditions here?

"We believe just that! And when will the real attack be made? Mercury is speeding away from us now. Thousands, millions of miles are being added to the distance between it and the Earth. In eighty-eight days from last August 10th, Mercury will have completed one revolution about the Sun. But during that time the Earth will have moved along a distance requiring twenty-eight days more for Mercury to overtake us.

"Therefore, during the first week of next December, Mercury and the Earth will again be approaching inferior conjunction; again they will be at their closest point to each other. At that time we may expect another attack. Undoubtedly it will be of far greater proportions, menacing the safety of our women everywhere in the world!"




CHAPTER III 
THE ASCENT OF THE FLYING CUBE
THIS WAS put into the press and on the air on August thirty-first. I need not enlarge upon the public sensation it caused, which was mainly a combination of consternation, hysteria and ridicule. Then, within three days came a new sensation, more far-reaching, more astounding in what ultimately it was to disclose.

But at first it was merely an astronomical report—technical, and hence undramatic. It caused almost no public comment.

On the nights of September first, second and third, several observatories in different parts of the world saw what seemed to be a tiny cylinder just outside the Earth's atmosphere. Observational conditions were favorable. The cylinder—if it were that-appeared to be circling the Earth like a satellite. But with each revolution it approached closer. By September third it began to skim the thin outer atmospheric stratum, and glowed faintly with friction-heat.

It was very small—too small for an interplanetary vehicle. Indeed, except for the extremely favorable conditions prevailing, it would not have been seen at all. The scientists concluded, after many observations, that it had approached the Earth at a tangent, propelled only by the inertia of its own velocity. If it had once had power, that power must have been exhausted. The attraction of the Earth had caught and held it, the combination of forces resulting in its becoming a tiny Earth satellite.

But the centrifugal force of its velocity was lessening. Already the friction of our atmosphere was slowing it down. The Earth was drawing it closer. In a few more revolutions, coming down into the denser air strata, the friction-heat would consume it.

Both Jimmy Turk and I were in close connection with Dr. Grenfell and his associates. I had learned now for a fact what formerly had been only hearsay. For ten years, financed by the millionaire J. C. Bolton, the Bolton Society for Astronomical Research had been working to develop a practical means of conquering gravity. The problem was said to be solved.

I learned now that in the southern New Jersey workshops of the Bolton Metal Industries, an interplanetary vehicle was ready for trial. Had this weird affair in Maine not transpired, the Bolton spaceship might not have made its test flight until the following spring. The intention had been to try a voyage in the direction of the Moon, possibly to land there, and hunt for evidence of what had become of Guy Palisse and his Moonrocket of ten years ago.

The Bolton vehicle had now been rushed to completion. On the morning of September fourth, Jimmy excitedly arrived with the news.

"I've persuaded Grenfell to let us in on this, Jack! We're going, both of us!"

"Going? Where?"

"In the Bolton spaceship. They've got it ready! Well, ready enough, anyway, for a short test flight. They're going to try and get this cylinder that's circling the Earth. It has to be done at once—in a few more revolutions the thing will burn up.

We flew Jimmy's Dragon down to the Bolton plant that same day, where in the center of the huge cluster of buildings stood the laboratories and workshop for the building of the spaceship. And among the busy and tensely excited scientists and mechanics, we found the pale, calm Rowena Palisse.

* * * *
Strangely reticent girl, this Rowena Palisse! I told her so. “Am I?” she mocked.

"I thought I knew you,” I said. “We talked for a good many hours and many different times at the White Camp. You never mentioned this spaceship."

"It was a secret, Jack."

"You're going on it?"

"Yes."

"You must have known Dr. Grenfell for years. Somebody told me—"

"Yes. I have.” She was amused. “All girls don't necessarily tell everything in their minds to every chance young man they meet."

I frowned, and at once she turned serious.

"When I was twelve years old, my brother ... left me. I think, ever since then, I've been interested in astronomy—passionately so."

"Oh!"

A girl passionately interested in astronomy was something new to me. This was, indeed, a girl who in the midst of busy scientists did not seem out of place.

She added, “I studied under poor Professor White. He was teacher and father to me. And I've had some practical experience—I was one of the clockers of the last transit of Mercury. You see, even when I was a child, Dr. Grenfell promised me that someday he would take me to the Moon."

Her voice was slow, calm, but strangely intense. “I think I've been living for that—someday to get to the Moon ... My brother—"

Jimmy dashed up. “Come on. They say we can look over the ship."

We followed Rowena, who seemed as much at home here as any of these goggled, gray-robed laboratory workers. We threaded through a crowd in the inner yard and entered a square, flat building with a bulging dome-roof which housed the vehicle. It stood on a concrete platform, raised a few feet above the floor. It was an impressive, awe-inspiring thing: the first, the only one of its kind in the world. For a moment Rowena did not speak, but stood watching us as Jimmy and I silently gazed at it.

In outward dimensions it was an exact cube, each of its faces fifty feet square—a great sugar lump, girded with fantastic trappings. The upper face—the roof, so to speak—bulged convex with a dome-peak, as though up on the sugarlump a little conical bat were set.

A low doorway with a thick bulls-eye pane was at the bottom of one face. There were round bull's-eye windows in tiers which indicated three stories in the interior. And girdling it near its middle, some twenty feet up, was a sort of outside balcony, or deck. Parallel with the base, this deck encircled all four sides. It was about ten feet wide, and eight feet high, entirely enclosed with metallic plates in which large circular windows were set like a row of portholes in an airplane cabin. The entire outer shell was of a dull-white aluminum color. The lights in the room glistened on it with a silver sheen.

."Well!” said Jimmy. He was speechless with awe. I turned and met Rowena's gaze. Her face was placid, calm, but her big blue eyes glowed with a fierce emotion more intense because it was suppressed.

"It is going to take me to the Moon, Jack—someday soon."

The Cube stood vibrationless. Yet somehow it seemed trembling to be away—held here on Earth but eager to be gone. Like the restless spirit of man, which had created it, it was ready to dare everything for the adventure and conquest of the Unknown.

We entered the single lower doorway. I saw the door was some two feet thick, with mechanical fastenings upon its inner side like on the door to a bank vault. A few mechanics worked within, while the shop outside rang with the hum of the last details for the trial trip which was to be made the following night.

No one paid attention to us as we followed Rowena about the interior. I saw none of the mechanisms of the ship upon this visit, save in the cursory glance at the engine rooms and the banks of controls. Some time later, upon a far different flight than any one of us could now anticipate, Dr. Grenfell explained to me the fundamental operating principles and many of the working details.

Jimmy was not interested now—nor ever, for that matter. This Flying Cube was leaving tomorrow night to try and capture a little cylinder which was circling the Earth. And he was to be aboard: that was enough for him. His thoughts flew ahead, eager only to capture the cylinder. Twenty times he had asked me what I thought the cylinder actually was.

The interior of the Cube was divided into three stories. The lower was merely a single, low-ceilinged metal room with several small rooms partitioned off on two sides—cubbyholes which were an electric galley, storerooms for food and miscellaneous supplies, and a lower control room.

The main room looked somewhat like the small lounge of a dirigible. In the center of its grid-floor was a large oval bull's-eye pane—a window gazing downward. There were small rugs, and rattan chairs and tables. A phonograph, books set in metal shelves, and tables with chess, checkers and cards all added a feeling of comfort and relaxation.

To one side a narrow metal ladder, like a steep stairway, led upward. The second story had a single transverse corridor cutting it in half. It was fifty feet long; at each of its ends a door opened to the outer balcony-deck.

On each side of the corridor were four small doorways, giving access to as many rooms. Four of them were sleeping cabins, with windows and doors opening to the deck. The other four were instrument and machine rooms which held electric pumps for charging pressure tanks by which the pneumatic valves shifted the gravity plates, ventilators, chemical air-renewers, the heating and cooling system, interior air-pressure and interior gravity controls, and the lighting system—all small, compact mechanisms, and astounding tributes to man's inventive skill.

We ascended the ladder from the dimly lighted corridor. The top story held a circular central room surrounded by small cubbyholes which were additional instrument and control rooms. A tiny circular staircase led upward into the interior of the dome-peak—a small observatory with an ultramodern though not very large electrotelescope.

"Well,” said Jimmy again, “there's plenty to it. Compact, isn't it? Let's see the outer deck—we haven't been there yet.” We descended to the middle story and went out one of the corridor end-doors. The deck interior was somewhat less than ten feet wide and eight feet high. Entirely enclosed, it was like a narrow corridor.

Doors and windows at intervals opened into the second tier rooms, and bull's-eye panes were set in a row along the outer wall. There were similar panes both in ceiling and floor, and the ceiling held a row of hooded light bulbs. There were small lounge chairs out here. The deck was fifty feet long on each side; two hundred feet in all, it girdled the Cube, as the deck of a surface ship girdles its superstructure.

One of these fifty-foot stretches differed from the other three: D-face, Rowena called this section. An exit-port was here—a low, six-foot square room bolted outside the deck. It was an airlock, in which the air pressure could be changed by pneumatic pumps and exhausts.

"For landing on the Moon,” said Rowena.

Along the deck here she showed us somewhat similar, though more complicated ports in which guns might be mounted and fired out into a different air-pressure, or even into the vacuum of Space.

We wandered about the Flying Cube for fully an hour that late afternoon, tremendously interested. Yet with what intensified emotion I would have made that inspection if I could have seen into the future! The weird, stirring events in which I was destined to participate within the narrow confines of those enclosing walls! On that narrow deck, at those pressure-ports and airlock!

* * * *
At 10 p.m. on the evening of September fifth the Bolton Flying Cube left the Earth in its attempt to intercept the cylinder.

The orbit of this mysterious projectile—if projectile it was—had been calculated. It would approach from the west, passing over the middle of North America, and reaching the longitude of the Atlantic seaboard at about midnight.

Its altitude was now estimated to be about two hundred and fifty miles above the Earth's surface.

There were nine of us on board: Dr. Grenfell, with five assistants, and Jimmy, Rowena and myself. We three had no part in the details of this departure. There was nothing we could do. We stood together, in the dimness of one of the deck lengths, at a bull's-eye window. We were silent—words seemed inadequate. The Cube had been resounding with the tramp of mechanics, but they had all left it now.

Jimmy glanced at his watch. “Nine fifty-five—we ought to be on our way soon."

Rowena stood beside me. I felt the pressure of her hand on my arm, but she did not speak. The ports were all closed now, save the lower door. Then the ship came alive with the hum of the air-circulating system, the pressure equalizers, the throb of the little pumps on the pressure-tanks of the plateshifters, the hissing of the exhaust valves, and the low whine of the current in the magnetic gravity plates.

Through the deck window we could see the lighted interior of the workshop. The dome-roof was rolled back. The deep purple sky with blazing star-gems stretched overhead, waiting to receive us.

I heard Jimmy mutter, “Why the dickens don't we get going?"

The hum in the Cube's interior grew louder. The hissing of the shifting valves sounded. There was a slight quiver—a vibration of the deck floor under my feet. I clutched suddenly at the heavy fastenings of the window. It was nothing, however; in a moment even the tiny vibration was gone.

But outside the window there was movement. The room dropped away. I caught a glimpse of the white, emotion swept faces of the men out there, gazing up at us as we lifted.

Then there was the open roof of the building, the grounds about it, and the high wall. A crowd of people had gathered outside the wall for the news of our test ascension, however closely held, had spread to draw a thousand spectators.

Then there were trees and starlit landscape. For a few moments, I had the feeling that I was on the deck of a rapidly lifting airship. But only a few moments, for the landscape shrank amazingly—concave at first, with the horizon a great upstanding rim, like the upper edge of a circular bowl, with us near the bottom.

There were clusters of tiny lights to mark the villages far down, and moving lights along the roads—a passing airplane occasionally, but now far beneath us. Off to the west, I saw the line of seacoast, starlight on the sea.

How long we stood there I do not know. I can't recall that any of us spoke—even Jimmy was stricken into an awed silence. Slowly I became conscious that I was intolerably, suffocatingly hot.

The landscape was a landscape no longer, but a surface—the surface of the Earth. Cloudbanks were visible, but we were high above them, up in the starlight.

I saw with a sudden thrill that the surface was convex—a great, upward bulging, curved surface beneath me, with shrunken, map-like contours of land and water, mottled with cloud areas.

The Earth! But I was no longer part of it!




CHAPTER IV 
THE MYSTERIOUS CYLINDER
A STEP SOUNDED behind us. It was one of Grenfell's assistants.

"Come up. Dr. Grenfell thought you'd like to know that the cylinder is visible."

We ascended to the upper tier. Dr. Grenfell was alone in the observatory dome. Baker rejoined one of his fellows in the nearby control room. The other men were dispersed at their posts about the Cube.

I realized again how intolerably hot it was from the friction-heat of our rapid upward passage through the atmosphere. Dr. Grenfell sat hunched over the telescope. He was coatless and colorless. His rolled-up sleeves exposed his thick, muscular forearms, mottled with dark hair wet now with sweat.

There was barely room for us all in the dome-chamber. Through the circular overhead pane the star-field blazed in an almost dead-black sky. There was a new glory to the stars—amazingly steady and brilliant.

"Hot, isn't it?” Grenfell greeted us. “Have the cooling System on full, so it should be better presently. We've stopped ascending. The atmosphere is very rare here—little friction now."

His gaze fell on the quiet, intent Rowena. “Child, didn't I tell you this cube would be successful? Didn't I?"

He was triumphant. The test ascent was a success. The Cube was controllable—the secret of this form of interplanetary flight had been conquered! Strange, but in all my awe at this new experience, never once had I thought of that.

Jimmy was only concerned with the oncoming cylinder.

"Where is it, Doctor? I don't see it,” he said.

Through the small telescope it was visible off to the west where the Pacific slopes of the Rocky Mountains showed, with the snow on their higher peaks still brightened by the fading sunlight.

The cylinder was a faint luminous dot. We hung poised and the dot grew, took form. Suddenly I realized that it was quite close to us; perhaps we were moving along with it. I do not know. But it seemed to be approaching at a leisurely rate. At first I could not guess its size, or its distance—the one factor dependent on the other, and nothing with which to compare either of them. A glowing, silver-white, bulletshaped projectile, it sailed majestically along, heated luminous, with a faint trail of light-fire like a fan-tail behind it—gases from its heated metal burning faintly in this rarefied air.

We could soon see it plainly without the telescope. Grenfell spoke into a telephone mouthpiece.

"Baker? Raise us slightly. Can you see it? Close now. Swing D-face westward, if you can. A little—not much!"

Through the silent, vibrationless interior of the Cube, Baker's signal-gongs were ringing. And we could hear the hiss of the plane-shifter valves.

The electronic rocket streams were cut off now. The gravity plates were shifted, and our turning was aided by the streams of etheric pressure-vibration darting from each corner of the Cube like streams from a pinwheel. As we swung, the vault of the heavens moved around in a slow twist—then steadied.

Grenfell's voice was hurried, tense. “Dean, you and Turk go down to the deck, on D-face. Stand by the exit-port. I can only spare Gibbons for down there. You can help him with the manual locks. I don't dare trust the automatics. We'll have the thing aboard in a few minutes—if we're lucky. Rowena, child you stay with me."

The cylinder seemed no more than half a mile away now, and it was much closer when, a minute or so later, we gazed at it again from the deck bull's-eye window.

The man Gibbons stood by a series of hand-levers that operated the pressure doors of the lockchamber. Its inner deck-door was closing as we arrived.

The pane was of massive glassite, transparent. Through it the interior of the little lockroom, projecting out from the deck, was visible. The outer door-slide was closed.

Gibbons shifted a lever. “Hold that, will you?"

I held it, and he bent and opened a valve-cock. The outer door of the lock slid open—an aperture six feet wide and five feet high opening into the empty realms of Space. The air in the lockchamber, which had been under a pressure of one atmosphere like the rest of the Cube's interior, went out with a rush. The hiss and surge of it were audible with the first widening slit of the outer door.

No wonder care was needed in the handling of these controls, being operated in Space for the first time! If we had let this inner slide open, all the air in the Cube would have rushed out in a tornado blast—and we along with it! There was a heavy iron wrench which had been lying neglected on the floor of the lock. It went out like a windblown feather when the outer slide opened.

The glowing cylinder slowly approached. I judged it now to be no more than two or three feet long. It came point toward us. It was a silent, dramatic meeting—our poised Cube and this wandering projectile, coming together in the starlight with the blazing firmament above and the Earth spread like a gigantic convex relief-map beneath us.

I knew that Dr. Grenfell was trying to hold us so that the cylinder might fall into the open outer door-slide of the lockchamber. It needed several trials. The men were comparatively inexperienced as yet in handling the Cube.

We missed it completely at the first trial. It seemed to waver with the attraction of our greater mass. We circled it several times. The disturbance we caused made it rotate end over end upon an axis of its own creation. And with forward velocity destroyed, it began sinking toward the Earth.

Then at last we moved at it diagonally from above—a true aim this time. It settled through the yawning open port and fell upon the metal floor of the lockchamber, to lie there with a fading glow as instantly it began to cool.

Gibbons slung the outer slide closed. Dr. Grenfell triumphantly joined us on the deck, Rowena with him, and soon the other men arrived. The controls of the Cube were set-locked. We were sinking very slowly back to Earth, so slowly that it would take hours to reach the lower atmospheric strata.

"No hurry,” said Grenfell. “Don't let the pressure in yet—let it cool slowly."

It lay on the floor of the lock, apparently undamaged though its metallic outer shell was fused, pitted and scarred by the friction-heat. It was a small affair, not much over two feet long.

"Now, Gibbons—easy at first. Don't be rash."

Opened pressure valves began admitting the Cube's air pressure into the near vacuum of the lock's interior. They hissed and sizzled, and after a moment Gibbons turned them full. The cylinder stirred, rolled and bumped against the lock wall.

In five minutes the inner door-slide was opened. A last rush of wind pressure sucked at me as I stood nearby.

Gibbons and Jimmy bent and entered the lock, gingerly carrying the prize.

"Not heavy,” said Jimmy. “Thirty or forty pounds."

Our gravity equalizers in the inner shell-floor of the Cube's base were set to give us a gravity pull normal to that of Earth.

The cylinder had an Earth-weight of some forty pounds. Jimmy and Gibbons laid it on the deck.

"Hollow,” said Jimmy. He tapped it with his knuckles.

But Grenfell stopped him with a sharp command. “Don't do that! Want to blow us up?"

I had not thought of that! This could so easily be a bomb—a strange, deadly missile aimed at the Earth!

Jimmy leaped back as though the thing had stung him. Unreasonably, ludicrously, I took a step away and drew Rowena with me—as if that could help us.

"Don't touch it!” cautioned Grenfell. “Rance, look it over.” Rance, I learned later, was head of the so-called bomb squad of New York, and an expert in dealing with “infernal devices.” He bent over the cylinder. Under the light of his flash he ran careful, practiced fingers along its pitted sides. Suddenly he straightened.

"Grenfell, look here. Something written-etched in the metal."

There were scrawled, handwritten words, burned away in places—almost illegible, but not quite. Three words:

FROM GUY PALISSE
As Grenfell uttered them, there came a cry behind me.

"From Guy—"

Rowena stood trembling, her face white as chalk, with the blood draining from it.

"Guy! Oh ... if he's alive! If only ... alive—

I thought she would fall. My arm went about her, but she pushed me away.

"I'm ... not so silly, Jack.” She mustered a smile. “From Guy! Why, then, he must be alive. He must be alive!"

We carried the cylinder down to the lounge of the Cube's lower tier and gathered over it. Rance showed us its series of small vents through which some chemical charge giving etheric wave-pressure had propelled it by a rocket principle through Space.

"Open it!” Jimmy urged impatiently. “Can't you open it?"

Then Rance located the lever, embedded in the burned metal, by which presumably some hidden slide would move. But the lever was fused solid; the cracks of the slide were barely discernible along the scarred metal surface.

* * * *
When at last we got it open we found that the interior was a series of compartments holding the operating mechanism. But there was one packed with a thick layer of what seemed a strange kind of paper, a hundred or more sheets covered with handwriting burned into them with a faint tracery of black hairlines.

Dr. Grenfell seized them, carried them to a light, and riffled through them.

"From Guy! He is alive! It wasn't the Moon he reached, but Mercury. He's alive!"

Fully half the sheets contained astronomical data, technical notes and diagrams. The rest contained a message from Guy Palisse. A message and a warning to us of Earth!

We sat there in the lounge of the Cube, listening breathlessly while Dr. Grenfell read the pages. And as I listened, I forgot the dim interior of the Bolton Flying Cube, hanging in Space high above the Earth's surface; forgot Rowena sitting white-faced and tense beside me, with her hand gripping my forearm. My thoughts conjured the naked, rainswept copper hills of a strange planet.




CHAPTER V 
THE WARNING FROM MERCURY
I AM GUY PALISSE (the message began). Ten years ago—I suppose it must be that long—I left the Earth in what was popularly called a Moon-rocket. Any scientific institution will know of me. Whoever finds this message, I beg you to turn it over at once to some recognized scientific society.

Particularly I want this to be delivered to the Bolton Society for Astronomical Research, in New York City of the United States of America. Dr. Norton Grenfell will remember me. And I want my dear sister to be notified that I am alive. Her name is Rowena Palisse. I left her in care of Professor and Mrs. White. They can be located in New York. Or, during the summer months, at the White Summer Camp for Girls, near Quogg, Maine.

I am preparing this quickly, unexpectedly. At first I thought I would use my cylinder to send an appeal for help, because we have been in trouble here. But just as I was ready to start writing this message, I learned strange and terrible things which far outweigh our own personal trouble.

The Earth is menaced. Earth's women—particularly the young girls—are in deadly danger. Here on Mercury the young girls of the Light Country, whom I am vainly trying to aid, have unwittingly been the cause of the menace threatening the girls of Earth. And we learned it a few hours ago.

So my message is a warning! I pray it may reach you in time.

I fear that I cannot leave Mercury, though I may perhaps make the effort. My rocket is demolished. A week ago I would have said that there was no interplanetary vehicle on Mercury. I know now that there is one. But I have no access to it.

I want to give you a picture of what is here—what has happened to me. These two worlds—the Earth and Mercury—so many million miles apart, are now strangely linked with crossing, interwoven destinies. When you understand conditions and events here, the menace threatening you will be clearer and you will know better how to deal with it.

I have no time to write in terms you would wholly comprehend. So I must leave much to your imagination.

Ten years I have been here. Until the recent crisis—the whirl of events which I will try now to sketch for you—I had taken my place among the people of the Hill City, capitol of what is called the Light Country. They thought I was a god, miraculously appearing from the heavens. But the scientists, the learned men, the government, soon accepted me for what I am.

As you know, my age was eighteen when I left the Earth. I am about twenty-eight now. Time seems different here. I have lost count of Earth days, months and years. There are no days and nights in the Light Country. It is in a zone of half-light-always the same brightness, except for the weather.

There is generally a pall of gray cloud masses overhead. But occasionally there are the black storms, and then we have an inky night such as there sometimes is on Earth. Fearsome things, these black storms. They last for two or three Earth days—sometimes longer. I shall have much to say of one of them—it has played so large a part in the events which have brought us now into these dire straits.

My life for the first years was quiet in the Hill Country. I worked for the government, as does everyone. The men of learning were much interested in what I had to say of our world. I taught them English. They learned it readily, with their curiously retentive minds, capable of learning far more quickly than is normal to us of Earth.

I told them all I could of our civilization, our science, our weapons of war. And finally I was installed in the government laboratories. They were very primitive at first, but I helped make them less so. My rocket was smashed. I have worked to reconstruct it, and to devise other methods of gravity nullification. And I planned and built a projectile-cylinder by which I might communicate with Earth.

Slow, patient work for about ten years. The laboratories were established in subterranean rooms beneath the palace of the ruler of the Light Country.

I must be brief. There seems so much to tell you! I can give you so inadequate a picture. Around the Hill City is a barren waste of metallic coppery hills, jagged spires, canyons like gashes filed by some Titan metalworker in mountains of metal. Bleak landscape. For miles there is no blade of vegetation; no soil, save a metallic dust, worn by the rain and wind. Pools of water from the rain lie glistening in all the hollows. A fantastic landscape. It looks like nothing of Earth or the Moon.

This is the Light Country, the best region of Mercury. It is not quite so forbidding. There are oases-valleys where rock which was not metal has been worn into a soil. In them, with the abundant rainfall and the heavy humid beat, there is always luxuriant tropical vegetation, great spindly shafts of trees, flimsy and porous, and air vines with giant spreading leaves and vivid, exotic flowers.

In such a valley the capitol, the Hill City, was built. It occupies the bottom and the inner sides of a huge bowl-like depression in the great metal plateau surrounding it. The level floor is perhaps five miles across.

The level streets, tree-lined, are really roads rather than streets. There is no congestion of houses. Fertile fields lie around the homes, each tilled by its controller. The low houses are built of the prevalent copper. There are gardens, trees, and always a profusion of brilliant flowers.

The outskirts of the City lie upon the surrounding inner slopes of the bowl. Boulevards, like concentric rings, circle the fifteen-mile area. And there are other streets running like spokes of a wheel from the valley floor up to the thousand-foot height of the upper circular rim. An artificial reservoir-lake is beside the palace, in the center of the valley floor.

Such is the Hill City. Its people, inhabitants of this Light Country zone, are generally smaller than Earth people. The men average perhaps five feet. They are heavy-set, squat fellows, with wide shoulders and thick chests, but of lesser strength than an Earthman, so that, though the gravity here is something less than half that of the Earth, they move about much as you do.

But it is not so with me here. On Earth I weight about a hundred and forty pounds. That is seventy pounds, more or less, here on Mercury. I can run with twelve-foot strides and leap some thirty or forty feet. The Mercutian men were afraid of me at first, but they are used to it now.

* * * *
I shall never forget my first meeting with Tama. Like all Mercutian women she is winged with those sleek feathered wings which are the cause now of our disaster.

I am not one to try to explain the purpose of an all-wise Creator in thus endowing the females of this world. I think perhaps there is a logical justice to it. The male is created to pursue, to capture, and enslave the female. At least, it was so on Earth throughout the early history of mankind.

But the women here are by nature given the means to be free. They are slight of body, small of stature—I suppose an average height at maturity would be four feet six inches, with a Mercutian weight of forty pounds or less. Winged from the shoulder with a ten-foot spread, they fly like an albatross.

They are free by nature. But man could not let it rest like that. At marriage, to insure submission to the will of her husband, the wings are clipped so that she may no longer fly—a cruel mutilation, an intolerable humiliation.

But for generations the virgins at marriage were forced to it, in surrender to man's conceit, the masculine desire for physical superiority and dominance. The virgins submitted, but always with a smoldering resentment and rebellion. I sensed that even when I first came here.

The resentment was always expressed. But I saw, with the passing years, how it was growing constantly stronger—a smoldering hate against this man-made law. A few of the young men, perhaps, were always in sympathy with the virgins, but not one had ever dared publicly proclaim that he wanted to take for a mate a woman with wings unclipped. I suppose it was partly personal pride, the fear of ridicule from other men—and partly because the laws of the country made such a union illegal, its parties moral outlaws, and its children illegitimate, to be put to death unless the mother's wings were clipped.

The rebelliousness of the virgins intensified for generations. Then, just about a year ago, a leader arose to fire them into deeds—a young virgin, inspired with the desire to right this wrong.

A Joan of Arc? A warrior? Yes, I have already seen her as that. And destined to be a martyr? I pray God it may not be so.

This leader is Tama. I met her first a year ago, when she was twenty years old. I think I loved her from the beginning, though we have never spoken of love. From the moment I met her, she was obviously one who fought against the possibility of love, because to her it represented mutilation.

There were always men who wanted her in marriage. Roe was one of them, a young Mercutian newly risen to power in the Hill City Government; a sort of captain of the army, and chief of police—it is all one here.

Roe hated me from the first—and the hate was mutual—but I taught him English, and for years answered all his avid questions concerning our Earth.

I wish that I had not. And I wish that I had inquired more closely into Roes personal history. He never spoke of his family, but there were tales concerning him. I understood vaguely that some fifteen years ago—five years before I reached here Roe's father had lived in the Hill City. They said he was a gigantic fellow named Croat; a clever man, versed in science, but an unscrupulous scoundrel.

Roe was only a boy at the time Croat tried to seize the Light Country Government. Roe's father raised an army which consisted of criminals, adventurers, and slaves of the barbarous Cold Country that rims the dark side of the planet.

Croat was finally defeated and sent into exile. It was said that he was still living in the Cold Country, a leader among those benighted savages, and surrounded by the criminals who had been banished from the Light Country.

The boy Roe remained in the Hill City, and in these passing years rose to a position of trust in the Hill City Government. He never spoke of his father. How could we know that they were secretly meeting? Slowly, carefully, they were planning this thing which has now burst upon us; but no one ever guessed that the crafty Roe was always merely a tool of the unseen, almost forgotten rebel, Croat.

I taught Tama English—and taught it to Toh, her twin brother, so that now they spoke it fluently. I told them about our Earth. And I recall how Tama smiled very strangely at me.

"It seems to me, Guy, that the women of your world have had a history and a struggle not so very different from ours."

I come now to the night just a short time ago when Tama told me her purpose; and with her brother Toh, I became embroiled in the tumultuous events that now force me to send this warning to you of Earth.




CHAPTER VI 
THE FIRST MURDER
I WAS SITTING alone in my bedroom in the Hill City, the capitol of the Light Country (went on Guy Palisse's message), one evening after the last meal of that day cycle, when Tama's brother Toh came to see me. My room, with workshop adjoining it, lay buried in a dark, gloomy labyrinth of passages beneath the ruler's palace. The half-mile long artificial lake was near by. Water draining off the hillsides of the circular valley walls came down the vertical streets in open conduits and into the lake for the city's water supply. It drained from the lake in a wide, swift-flowing flume which penetrated the hill in a tunnel and spilled the surplus water outside the city.

The flume ran just above my subterranean room. I could always hear the vague murmur of the flowing water, especially after the rain of a black storm, surging with a lashing roar.

A storm seemed impending this evening. The normal daylight was gone. Heavy clouds were gathered close overhead, slowly circling in a lofty wind, the forewarning of a black storm. With ending of the cycle, darkness fell upon the city, as dark as I remember it on an overcast, stormy night of Earth. But there was no surface wind—only a heavy, steaming oppressive stillness, and a lurid green sheen in the air. A sinister portent of evil came with these Mercutian storms; and sometimes it was justified.

The storms whirled at times from the Fire Country, with a fetid, fiery, blasting breath. Or again, from the Cold Country of eternal blackness, with a seen roar and a congealing cold.

With the darkness, the emergency lamps of the city winked on. A weirdness settled upon everything. The streets lay black with shadow, greencast with the gathering murk.

But in my underground room none of this was apparent. I was sitting in the little chair that I had built in Earthfashion when Toh knocked on my door-slide, and I told him to enter. He stood before me; the light from my animal-fat lamp flickered with its yellow glow upon him.

He was a slender little fellow, this Mercutian youth of twenty-one—of pure Light Country blood, not squat and thick-set like the Mercutian men who so often have Cold Country native blood in their heritage. He was fairly tall for one of this world, straight and boyish. His thick black hair grew to the base of his neck. A ribbon of red was about his forehead, with his high-bridged nose, his face was not unlike that of a North American Indian youth. But there the resemblance ended. His short-sleeved jacket flared at the waist, and his wide trousers were knee-length, with a gaudy sash and dangling tasseled cord.

And in the sash I saw a knife sticking up.

"Toh, you have no right to wear that. Especially in the darkness of a coming storm. What if one of Roc's men should seize you?"

"No one will ... seize me.” He was panting, out of breath. He gazed furtively around my little room. “No one saw me come. The storm, it upsets the city, I came by your lower passage under the palace. The guard there was gone.” He tried to smile. It was a strange smile indeed. Or maybe in the darkness he did not see me."

"Why do you come?"

"Tama wants you,” he said.

"Wants me?"

"Yes. Now. Come with me to her. Will your[?]

"Where?"

He gestured. “Out of the city. But near. We can most easily get there—in what you call half an hour."

"But—"

"I cannot answer questions.” There was a hurried tenseness about him, and a pleading. “Guy, Tama asks you to come."

"All right,” I agreed. “Toh, how is the storm?"

"Just the same. Not upon us yet."

"Maybe it won't break. I hope it won't."

"Do you?” he responded vaguely. “I don't know about that."

He was waiting impatiently for me to put on my shoes, resilient-soled buskins suitable for running over the jagged metallic rocks. For the rest, I wore only short trousers and a white, sleeveless shirt. In the heat of Mercury this costume was all I ever needed.

Toh gestured at the white shirt. “Have you no dark one? They can see you maybe, in that."

I changed it.

He said evenly, “Have you a weapon?"

"You know I haven't. None are available outside the sealed government rooms."

"We could not get in there?"

"Of course not."

"Well, then—” his voice trailed away.

I was ready. Bareheaded, like himself, I tied a band about my forehead to keep the hair from my eyes. I recalled suddenly that twelve years before, in a very similar costume I had run my college races back in the old days on Earth. That sent a pang through me. I was no more than a prisoner here on this strange world. In all its affairs, there was for me only Tama.

"All right, Toh."

But he insisted. “Take a knife—like this.” He waved his thin, keen edged blade. “You have one?"

"Yes. But Toh—"

"Please. Tama asked that you hurry."

I got my knife and we started out through the hundred-foot vaulted corridor, sloping upward. The murmur of the flume-water near by was audible as we crept forward. The guard was not at the gate and we slipped through the small opening; its bars stood wide open.

We were outside now, just beyond the palace garden wall. The reservoir lake showed its dim expanse of water, unrippled in the breathless darkness. Behind us loomed the government building. It should have been almost dark at this hour, but it was not. Many of its window-slits were lighted.

Toh pulled at me. “Come."

But some instinct made me linger.

The trees arched overhead, great spreading, spindly branches of the lush, porous vegetation of Mercury which grows with miraculous speed wherever there is soil and water. Through the tree branches I could see the luminous green haze of the sky. And nearby, spreading around us, was the circular city—mere dots of light now, winking like eyes in the murky, abnormal darkness of the coming storm.

Suddenly I saw, not fifteen feet from us, a dark form lying on the ground. I jerked from Toh's grip and with a single bound pounced upon it.

It was the guard. He lay on his back, his heavy-jowled face a contorted mask, his eyes staring. And on his chest, his thin leather shirt was ripped with a hole. There was a dark stain of blood.

Toh gripped me again. “Yes, I killed him! He tried to stop, me from getting to you! Roc ordered you kept a prisoner until this is over!"

"This—what?” I shook him. “Murder! Good God, Toh!"

He was shaking from fear or excitement. “Guy, now that you see him, help me carry him. He's too heavy for me."

He added, almost with a stark whisper: “Guy, the first murder! I did it! This is for Tama. All this for Tama and the virgins."

A surprising, mature force came to him. “Guy, my friend, is it with me you want to act? With me and Tama? Or with Roc? He had you prisoner in there tonight."

He broke off, and we both stood listening. The city was in a turmoil; we could hear the distant murmur of voices in the streets; and nearer to us, voices at the palace doorways, in the garden—coming this way!

I cast my lot then.

"You mean, throw him in the flume, Toh?"

"Yes."

I lifted the body in my arms. The twenty-foot wide flume passed near us. I lowered my grisly burden gently into it to avoid a splash. There was blood on my shirt as I straightened.

"Gone, Toh."

The floating shaped disappeared in the darkness.

There were voices at the garden wall, but we had not been seen. And then the first surge of the black storm broke upon the city. A sigh of hot wind stirred the fronds over us into a rustle. It rippled the mirror-like surface of the lake.

We felt a hot, sulphurous breath. Overhead the greenblack sky was shot with luminous red streaks and puffs of red like tiny silent bombs bursting. And then, a moment later, came the dull staccato sounds of the thunder.

"It's on us, Toh."

We ran around the lake shore, circling its farther end, and plunged into one of the city streets.




CHAPTER VII 
REVOLT OF THE WINGED VIRGINS
IT WAS A run of some two miles across the level of the city to where the street began the ascent of the inner slope of the valley-side. The street was like a wide road, with verdure over it, sometimes interlocking overhead; low stone houses were set back in gardens or small cultivated patches of field.

The emergency street lights were not adequate. It was dark everywhere—dark and confused. People were in the street, or gathered before their dwellings, apprehensive of the coming storm. But I saw that it was more than that—an excitement at something transpiring.

No one seemed to notice us as we dashed along. I had to measure my pace for Toh. With my giant leaps, I could at once have outdistanced him.

A city cart passed us, drawn by a gruesome, insect-like brue, a giant jointed thing. I heard a girl crying within the cart.

There were many girls flying about. Like huge, aimless, frightened birds, they flapped overhead. We passed a house with one of Roc's official carts standing before it. His yellow-jacketed guards were lined at the wall-gray-skinned, heavy, dull-featured men from the Cold Country. The brue in the cart harness stretched its jointed length at ease along the ground and lifted its head with an uncanny pseudo-human movement, as though listening.

And from the house came the screams of a girl.

"Toh! What is happening?"

But Tama's brother urged me to the other side of the street. We passed the house unnoticed by the guards. But I think that the brue was aware of me. Its head turned, with bristling, waving antennae.

Toh panted, “Faster, Guy. I can go faster."

We climbed the hill, past the last of the houses. I carried Toh in my arms for a little way so that he might recover his breath. We reached the top of the cliff with its naked metal crags. The valley of the city lay stretched beneath us. Lights were moving everywhere. A party of flying girls went over us, their great wings waving as they breasted the wind, their draperies flowing behind them.

The naked, rolling waste of the uplands lay before us, the lurid sky hanging close overhead. The wind was increasing. Soon the rain would come.

"Which way, Toh?"

"Not far now."

We attained a nearby eminence, half a mile or so from the city rim-a level space of jagged, broken crags. The city was hidden from here. Boulders lay strewn about and rifts yawned like black gashes in a wild confusion of metal rock. The smooth places gleamed like burnished copper in the brief red lightning-flares of the storm. It was an inferno of glare and crackling thunder-puffs.

We crouched in the hollow of an arching rock-spire. Then Tama came. She had been waiting nearby, and came soaring from overhead, a dark blob against the red sky.

Toh gripped me. “There she is!"

Her body hung breast down. Her ten-foot spread of wings tilted, swayed as she circled, balanced and then began descending. She fluttered down, her feet dropping, her wings, flapping backward as she righted herself to land on tiptoe before us.

"Guy—you came! I was afraid that Toh would not get in to you."

* * * *
It was brighter up here than down in the city. The red sky painted Tama's deep-red feathered wings a lurid crimson. They were folded now as she stood before us, arching from her shoulderblades, with their tips just clearing the ground behind her.

She wore the usual silky gray-blue trousers, bound at her ankles. Her bare feet were encased in sandals, with gold cord crossing her instep and fastened to the lower trouser hem. A silken gray-blue scarf wound about her waist, crossing in front, passing up over her breast and shoulders, crossing again between the wings behind and descending to the waist.

Her hair was a glossy black. It covered her ears; and its two long thick plaits were laced tightly with silken cords. They came forward over each other; each was fastened to her body in two places—at the waist, and again where the plait ended, at the outside of her trouser leg, just at the knee.

I noticed that from her belt a knife handle protruded. I seized her outstretched hands.

"Tama, what is going on tonight? This turmoil—"

Several inches shorter than Toh, she stood like a child before me. But there was nothing of the child in her swift, vehement words. Nor in the flash of her dark eyes, the set of her jaw.

"Guy, I must question you—quickly. Please, will you answer?"

I held her hands and stood gazing down at her upturned face. The red sheen of the storm deepened its flush.

"Yes,” I said.

"You know not—you know nothing of the events of the two day-cycles past. Today ... yesterday ... Roc has held you a prisoner."

"That I did not know, Tama. I did not realize—"

"No,” she retorted cynically, “because you had work—no need to go out. But yesterday I sent Toh to try and get you. They would not let him in. And the things that are transpiring in the city—"

A vision of Roc rose before me: his hawk-like gray face; his long black hair, shot with white for all his youth, streaming over his ears; his leer as he assigned the work that I was to do, and told me to proceed with the completion of my rocket-cylinder.

Tama demanded abruptly, “Guy, can you get control of any weapons? We girls know nothing of such things. But you, in your work—"

There are no weapons used in the Light Country of the sort which on Earth would be called modern. Explosives are unknown. There are knives, feathered arrows flung with a sling, and several devices for longer range, mostly of the catapult principle—crude, mechanical things.

But I understood that the government had small electronic weapons, and defensive electro-armament. There is an electromagnetic current known to the Light Country scientists. I suppose it is something akin to what is called electricity on Earth. But I had never seen the weapons developed from it.

"They are all sealed in the storehouse, Tama, under the palace. They keep an arsenal there in case of an attack of savages from the Fire Country, or a revolt of the Cold Country slaves."

The last phrase affected her strangely. “Revolt—of slaves."

"Ah, yes!” There was a murmured, tense bitterness in her words. Then she added, “Could you get in there?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"Have you ever been in the arsenal?"

"Let me see—yes, once, years ago."

She thought a moment. The rain was starting now, in big, splattering drops. The wind was steadily increasing, and growing hotter: the storm was whirling down on us from the Fire Country.

Tama drew me closer under the overhanging rock. Toh crouched with us.

He said abruptly, “There was once a long-range ray. My father told me of it."

Again a vision of Roe rose jeeringly at me. It was Roe who originally had told me of this high-powered ray, a lost and almost forgotten weapon. Centuries ago, the Light Country civilization had reached a higher peak than now. There had been many wars with the neighboring savages of the hotter and colder regions. With these declining, and the population of Mercury steadily decreasing, the Light Country began turning primitive. The ray was lost now in the dim pages of history. It was almost a legend handed down from generation to generation.

Tama said, “What sort of a ray?” I answered, “An electronic ray-projector. The ray-current itself is known. I think the government has small hand projectors. The lost mechanism was for long range and very high-powered—a death-ray."

Roc had smiled very strangely at me when he described what the ray must have been.

Toh put in again: “They are trying to discover that lost ray, in the government workshops."

"Yes,” I agreed.

"But it is not ready now?” Tama asked.

"I think not."

"Then we cannot get it—nor can it be used against us. You cannot get any other weapons, Guy?"

"No. Tama, all these questions—you must tell me—” I gripped her. “Tama, this turmoil tonight-?"

"I will tell you what is the meaning of this turmoil, as you call it."

I listened, amazed at her vehement, passionate words. For months past, the virgins of the Hill City had been refusing marriage. There had been isolated instance of rebellion—I knew that, of course. But what I did not know was that two days ago, news had spread about the city of a law which Roc was proposing to the Government Council. That law had been passed this morning. And tonight it was to have gone into effect tonight.

"Forcing us into marriage, Guy! No longer now can we keep our wings until we take a husband."

They were clipping the wings of every girl in the city over sixteen years of age.

"So we will have no reason to refuse marriage, since we are mutilated anyway."

I thought of Roc's official cart as I had seen it before that house. And the girl screaming inside.

The city was in chaos. The girls had had two days warning. There had been plans, preparations. The thing that they had been contemplating for months under Tama's leadership was now forced upon them.

There was to be a flight—an exodus of marriageable young girls from the Hill City. There are five other large cities in the Light Country. The girls in them would soon come also. All day the word had been circulating. This black storm aided them in escaping. A preliminary rendezvous had been determined—a hundred miles or so off in the metallic barren desert toward the central Fire Country.

Even now the girls were flying there, singly and in groups, slipping from their homes—seeking out friends, to tell them also—winging away from the Hill City into the lurid, storm-filled gloom.

"And we have built little platforms,” Tama was saying, “with handles, so that the girls can fly with them. We're taking the victims—the few we can gather who have already been mutilated this night. Guy, when you see the poor things! Their wings, once so beautiful, with the feathers clipped and plucked—the muscles cut, the blood streaming—"

Toh said suddenly: “I killed a man tonight."

She seemed not to hear him. I had leaped to my feet, pulling her with me. She stood now, clinging to me. And she was trembling.

"We—I want you, Guy. I want you with us. I will take you on one of the platforms. We will hide—off in the desert. We are going permanently, Guy. Two thousand of us. And there will be others come to join us. We've got to do it! There is nothing left now. We'll find soil, some little hidden valley where we can build shelters and grow food. There is nothing else left for us to do!"

She silenced my questions with her tumult of words: “Will you come? We need you—we are not such fools that we do not realize a man can fight for existence in the desert better than girls. There is Toh, and a few other young men are coming. We want a little band of men to help us—to lead us."

She ended with a wild appeal. “You of the great Earth who know so much—and yet you know so little of how the virgins of Mercury feel about their wings! Guy, will you come?"




CHAPTER VIII 
THE FLYING PLATFORMS
WHEN SHE PAUSED, I said abruptly, “Yes, I'll come."

I stood watching her as she walked to the brink of the jagged eminence. She faced the rolling naked landscape, a dark blur in the murk of the storm. It was raining heavily now—hot rain that slanted down on the wind in great sheets.

The turgid green of the sky caught the raindrops and turned them all to emeralds, and to rubies when the lightning flashed in puffs like crimson bombs. One seemed to explode directly over us. The report was deafening, the crimson glare blinding.

Tama stood with upraised arms and her crimson-feathered wings outstretched. In the lightning her figure showed clearly.

A signal. And in a moment it was answered. From some other rocky point nearby two blobs rose into the air. They came soaring and swooping—two rectangular platforms with girls flying beside them, carrying them. They came with a rush, swept by the wind, then turned and steadied over our heads.

I gazed up, and a distant lightning flare illumined them clearly. One was a small platform, possibly twelve feet by six. Three long, flexible poles were fastened crosswise under its bottom and bound with vine-strands. The poles, some eighteen feet long, thus extended out each side about six feet.

At each of these handles a girl was flying-six to the smaller platform three on each side. I saw that the other platform was similar, save that it was several times larger, with sixteen girls bearing it.

They turned into the wind and with a great flapping of wings settled down on the rocks near us. The smaller platform was empty. Upon the larger, perhaps a dozen girls were lying. I went over and gazed at them, standing silent while Tama told them that I had joined the flight. They lay huddled, clinging to the low railing that outlined the platform.

A lump rose in my throat at the sight of their strained white faces. Some of them shifted their positions, trying to hide from me the white bandages, bloodstained, with which their mutilated wings were bound. The platform carrying them was presently back in the air. We watched it as it fled off into the face of the storm, away from the city toward the wilds of the Fire Country. A moment passed; then the lurid murk swallowed it.

"Come, Guy. I will ride with you and Toh."

Toh took his place on the platform; he gestured to me. My mind was confused, whirling with all Tama had told me—the shock of this catastrophe.

Then the confusion fell from me. I stopped, stood a moment in thought. And questions rushed at me.

I faced Tama. “Did that platform start for your distant meeting place?"

"Yes! Yes, Guy."

"And now you want to take Toh and me there?"

"Yes. All is ready."

"But is it?"

I knew vaguely the locality the girls had selected. “There is no valley with soil there, Tama."

"No. But I had to select a place all the girls knew. We have often met there in little groups—to try and plan what we might do."

"And because you have been there before,” I said, “Roc probably knows the place. He'll follow. Did you think of that?"

She had not. But it was too late now to change plans. Every moment girls were leaving the city.

"On foot, Roc cannot get there in less than two day cycles,” Toh said. “More, in this storm. The canyons will be river torrents."

It was true enough. The ferocity of the storm, here on the exposed height where we stood, was only too apparent. The wind tore at us and we were drenched by sheets of rain.

"Come,” I said. “No more of this.” I realized that the wind was tearing at our shouted words. I took my place on the platform. “Tell your girls to circle over the city, Tama."

She stared at me. “But, Guy—"

"I'll explain as we go. And I must know more about your plans. It will be death—out there in the desert—without every possible safeguard."

She gave the order and we rose into the wind. The light platform swayed and bucked as the girls struggled with it. For a time I thought they would lose control. They had had little practice. The wind caught us, bore us away in spite of their struggling wings. Then they pulled more evenly, turned us, held us soaring. They turned again; and more steadily this time, we swept upon the heels of the wind, out over the circular valley.

The lights of the storm-lashed city gleamed a thousand feet beneath us. Down all the inclined streets the water was pouring. The little lake by the palace showed its surface lashed by the wind.

I crouched by Tama. “Tell me, quickly, what preparations for food and equipment you have made."

They were surprisingly complete. It was obvious that there was no way by which we could now improve them.

We crossed over the city, and turned back while she told me.

"Our plan, Guy, is to gather at this meeting place. And when we are all there and the storm is past, we can find a suitable valley with soil."

There were girls rising occasionally from the city. One passed near us. I said abruptly, “Tama, call her."

She obeyed at once. And for all my ten years on Mercury, the action gave me a start. She stood up on our tiny, tilting platform, and I had the sudden absurd fear that she would fall—a thousand feet down into the city under us. “Tama, you—"

I choked it back, as she spread her wings and leaped into the void to follow the other girl. She called to her, and the two came winging back to us.

The other girl was hardly sixteen. She gazed at me and smiled when Tama told her that I would help them.

"Tama,” I asked, “how many young men are coming?"

"Twenty ... thirty, perhaps. The platform bearing them should be gone by now."

It occurred to me that Roc, if he had learned of this, could so easily place a spy among those men.

"You think you can trust them?"

"Yes. We thought of that. They have all been in sympathy with us for months."

"Are there any others?"

"Other young men?"

"Yes. Who would have come—but have not heard of this?"

"Many others,” she said.

"You know who they are?"

"Oh, Yes. I have been testing them-talking to them, with caution, for a long time back."

"Then tell this girl who they are. She is under sixteen, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"Then Roc's men will not bother her. This new law does not touch her."

The girl listened eagerly while Tama translated. She was to stay in the city for a day or two, and find other girls of her age who would spread the word.

"Tell her to gather all the young men she can trust,” I said to Tama. Have you any other platforms down there?"

"Yes. Lina knows where they are hidden."

The girl nodded. There would be other girls in a day or two who would be wanting to leave. And there were fifty or more waiting now to gather the victims of Roc's first execution of the new law, and bring them on platforms.

The girl left us and dropped back into the city.

Tama asked me, “Now, Guy, shall we start? I do not want to tire our girls, flying here in this wind and rain, with the long flight before them."

"Presently, Tama. Circle around a moment more."

I had been studying the situation beneath us. One does not give up his known world without a struggle. My rocket-cylinder was down there, in my workshop under the palace. It was practically ready for operation. The small cylinder with its mechanisms was ready. I could, I felt sure, even unaided and alone in the desert, find means to load its firing chambers, and launch it. I had been living for ten years in the hope of communicating with Earth.

And now it came to me clearly that even more important than my own desire to send a message to Earth was the fact that it might be the best thing to do for these girls. I saw myself now as their logical leader. The responsibility for their safety would rest with me. And we were burning our bridges. This rebellion, this flight was an irrevocable step. The government, dominated by Roc, would never compromise.

We might be followed by the Light Country army, found, assailed. Or if not that, then there could be starvation in the desert, or death from savages or the strange fearsome animals that lurked in the Fire Country.

As though with prophetic vision I could see us embattled. And I knew that every one of these virgins would choose death before she returned beaten and yielded her wings to the mutilating knife—before she married and bore children, perhaps to suffer the same.

I said abruptly, “Tama, I'm going down to get my cylinder. We may have to send a message to Earth."

I told her why. There was no argument. Both she and Toh could see it.

"I killed a man tonight,” said Toh, and turned his white face to his sister as he explained how he had killed the guard to get me out. “We are in this—there is no returning."

I had been pondering how I could best land and get to my room unseen. I knew that Roc would stop me, seize me if he could. The opened gateway and the vanished guard had perhaps by now been discovered, along with my own escape.

We were now almost directly over the flat roof of the palace. The easiest way to get to my rooms was from the lake, then over the wall, into the garden and through the corridor gate—the way Toh and I had come out. But I saw, as a flare illumined the scene, that there were figures below—not at the gateway, but so near it that Tama could not land the platform unobserved anywhere in that vicinity. And the trees would make a ground landing very difficult and precarious in this wind, almost anywhere on the city level.

But the flat roof of the palace seemed empty. It would take only a moment to touch the roof. Once I left the platform, it could at once dart away. Even if it were seen from below, it could not be assailed quickly. Probably no one would realize that I had left it, and, from the roof, I would take my chances on getting down through the palace unseen.

"Then we will wait for you on the roof, Guy?"

"No! You would be seen. It would cause comment, and they would come up after you."

I thought I had a quick way of getting out of the city. I told her where to meet me with the platform, in a secluded place some distance away.

She gazed at me sharply when I described the place.

"Oh, I can get there,” I smiled. “You forget, I am more agile than the Mercutian men. The whole thing will take no more than half an hour—if I have luck."

* * * *
We were dropping toward the roof. Its flat top was a little lake of water with the rain pouring on it and gathering there. The men outside the palace saw us as we came down—there was no doubt of that. The red puffs in the sky were almost continuous now. The glare showed us clearly; and I saw the men staring up at us.

Half a dozen of the official carts were coming up to the main doorway of the building, the brues drawing them through the water on the roadway. Girls were being taken from the carts and shoved roughly into the palace. One went fighting, her cries floating up to us through the surge of storm.

We landed on the rain-soaked roof with a splash.

"I am going with you,” Toh said suddenly.

"No. I can manage it better alone. If I meet anyone, he may not necessarily know that Roc had me imprisoned. Hurry now, and get this platform away. I'll be there, Tama, in half an hour."

The platform lifted. One of the girls had already shown signs of tiring. Tama took her place.

I crouched in the water by the roof palisade, watching the platform sweep away. From the ground the rooftop was not visible. I didn't think anyone had seen me land.

I waited a few moments. Then I went to the hooded trap, opened it, and descended the ladder into the palace.




CHAPTER IX 
MADMAN'S GAMBLE
THE UPPER STORY was dim and silent, but sounds came floating up the central spiral, and I heard the dragging tread of the Mercutians downstairs. I stood at the head of the spiral. No one was on it—no one in sight. It seemed as good a time as any. I got down to the main floor, and unexpectedly ran into a man.

"Ah, it is you, Palisse. They are rebellious, these idiot girls. Listen to them.” He spoke his native language.

He gestured to a nearby room-arch. “Listen, Palisse. Roc puts the new order into effect at once."

"Yes,” I said. I had pushed past him. Evidently in the dimness of this foyer he had not noticed that I was drenched with rain, nor had he seen that I was coming from the rooftop. He went past me and disappeared.

From a nearby room came the sounds of gruff men's voices, the terrified murmur of girls, a low moan—then a scream.

I did not linger. From the direction of the main doorway another party was bringing in a group of girls. I moved away toward the incline leading downward, and reached the underground level. There seemed no one down here—just a dim candlestick in a bracket bowl.

I reached the inner door-slide of my apartment. It stood ajar, but I could not remember leaving it so. Roc had been keeping me a prisoner, but he had not let me know it. Instead of searing this inner door upon me, he had doubtless put a guard nearby, to turn me back if I tried to leave my rooms.

But the guard was not here now. I hastened into my rooms. The doorway opened directly into my bedroom, which seemed undisturbed. It was not so long since Toh and I had left it. My single light was still burning. The door-slide to the lower corridor-exit was closed. I remembered distinctly that Toh and I had closed it after us.

In the silence, as I stood an instant upon entering, I could hear the sound of the flume-water outside, vicious now, an angry torrent swollen by the rain of the storm. I went into my workshop. My benches, shelves of chemicals—all my familiar apparatus were in order.

I gathered the loading chambers of the rocket-cylinder, fuses, the little coils of rotary magnetizers, and parchment sheets and etching pencils with which I could write a message. I could put them all into the cylinder's hollow interior, to keep them dry against the storm. Lastly, I collected the chemicals needed to complete the apparatus.

I piled all the articles on my center bench. But when I turned to the box where I kept the cylinder itself, I found the cylinder missing!

It turned me cold. I stared into the little box, in the shadows of the room corner. It was empty. But I had left the cylinder there. I searched quickly.

It seemed that I heard a sound from my bedroom. I had entered with my knife in hand. The knife now lay on the center bench. I seized it and rushed into the bedroom. But in my frantic haste I stepped too briskly. The lesser gravity of Mercury was not enough to hold me down, and my head struck the eight-foot top of the connecting arch. It knocked me dizzy, but I regained my feet, and reeled into the bedroom.

The cylinder lay on my bed. And behind the head-curtain Roc rose up to confront me.

* * * *
"So you came back, Palisse. What a luck for me. I need you."

I was still dizzy from the blow on my head. I stood wavering, and saw that he was backing away from me, saw his grinning, leering face with the point of hair coming low on his forehead to give him a queer, Satanic look. His pointed ears came out from the locks of his hair as he listened.

"Where have you been, Palisse? In the rain?—well, that is evident."

His voice was unduly loud, trying to attract attention to us. He was backing behind my bed, and fumbling at his belt where I saw that he carried a small arrow-sling.

My head cleared. If I turned to close the door he would be on me. I said nothing. I was moving sideways to avoid the table. Suddenly I leaped and caught him at the bedpost, before he had got out his weapon. He twisted, seizing the hand that held my knife.

Together we swayed out into the room. The table went over and the light with it. For a moment we fought in the darkness, both silent, panting and grim. I was far stronger than he. And there is a curious fragile quality to the Mercutians. But his fingers clung desperately to my knife hand, and his other arm was around my neck.

We struck a chair and fell, still locked together. Suddenly he let go of my wrist and his groping hand found the smashed table lamp. He flung it into my face; the hot fat burned me. My swaying knife went wild.

The voices outside seemed nearer. I staggered to my feet, lifting Roc up, and with all my strength heaved his body away. It broke his hold. He crashed against the overturned table and lay still. There was a little glow of light straggling in from the passageway, and in it I could see Roe lying in the wreckage of the smashed table.

I did not stop to investigate. The congealing fat of the lamp smeared my burned face, and was in my eyes. I wiped it away, then caught up the cylinder from the bed—a two-foot, cylindrical metal contrivance.

I hastened into my workshop, stuffing the apparatus from the center bench into the cylinder and closing it. In a moment I was out through the lower corridor doorway.

I went up the ascending passage almost at a run, the cylinder under one arm, and my knife in the other hand. There would be pursuit, I knew. I could already hear the voices back in my bedroom. Doubtless I had not killed Roc; perhaps he was only shamming as he fell.

The outer gate was ajar and I went through it into the open air. The storm was raging as before, with its red torrent of rain coming down. The trees bent their porous branches like reed in a wind.

I had hoped to be able to make off into the city without raising a cry after me, but the alarm was already given. A puff of lightning showed my surroundings clearly: the garden wall curving behind me, the stretch of lake wall with the waves dashing over it, and the other side of the triangle, hemmed in by the metal flume. Its ten-foot depth was depressed into the ground, the sides rising only a foot or two. It passed quite near me and I caught a glimpse of its turgid whirling current.

An arrow sang past me as, for an instant, I stood undecided. At the gate out of which I had come, men appeared. They stood shouting. I could see that the way along the lake was blocked by other men, who had heard the shouts, and now came running at me.

I was suddenly aware of a sound close behind me, a strange sloshing. I turned. A brue was slithering forward through the water and mud of the path. In the lurid half-light its eyes gleamed balefully—a gruesome thing, ten feet long. Its upraised head, as it advanced, was nearly the height of my own; its feelers—muscular arms the length of the body, with the strength to crush me—waved over its head.

The watchful insect was partly between me and the flume. There was an instant when I was confused. A brue could leap suddenly, swift as a coiled snake. I turned the other way, back toward the wall. Arrows came at me, but a gust caught them and flung them away. The men by the wall scattered as they thought I was about to rush them.

The turmoil was rising around me. There were shouts from everywhere. Figures were approaching, it seemed, from every direction. I was caught, hemmed in. I saw a boulder lying under a tree and seized it, raising it aloft. It was a tremendous chunk, but it seemed light to my strength here on this little world. I had shoved my knife back in my belt, but it was awkward to have to cling to the cylinder.

The brue did not leap, but with lowered head came slithering toward me. I heaved the rock with one hand. It caught the giant insect full in its gruesome, pseudo-human face, mashing it. The thing let out a shrill, horrible scream and lay quivering.

The men behind me seized this opportunity to advance. A thrown knife winged past my shoulder, tearing my shirt. I went with a twenty-foot leap over the writhing, crushed insect, and reached the flume. Clinging to the cylinder, I plunged into the boiling, tumbling current and was swept away.

* * * *
The water was hot, with a heavy mist of vapor rising from it. I sank, with my plunge, but desperately held to the cylinder. In a moment I came up like a cork. But for all my buoyancy, it was difficult to keep my head above the surface. A chaos of spray and boiling, lashing water swept viciously down the incline of the flume. I could see dimly the smooth metallic sides rushing past me. Red puffs in the sky overhead illumined the sweep of passing tree branches.

I tried to swim, but could not. Momentarily I was under the surface, then up again, tumbling end over end, rolling, beaten against the rushing side of the flume when it turned a curve. The hermetically-sealed cylinder, with the air inside it, floated high. It jerked and pulled to escape from me. Once it got away, but I lunged and caught it again.

It was two miles across the city to where the flume plunged into the cliff tunnel. It seemed unending, yet I must have made it with incredible speed. Houses went by—dim shapes with lights in them, racing backward, momentarily visible over the flume edge. There was a great sweeping curve where the swollen torrent surged and slopped over the edge and I was very nearly flung over.

But presently I was able to keep my body from turning and found that I could swim a little. Then I tried holding the cylinder before me like a buoy and kicking it forward. I got along better after that. But the relief was short. The widening mouth of the tunnel entrance yawned out of the darkness ahead and swallowed me.

In the solid blackness I lost all track of direction. I could not see the sides of the flume. There was nothing but the inky chaos of sounds, a roaring reverberation now, and the beat of the waves against me. There was a dull thud as I struck the flume-side and was hurled back into the center of the current.

An interval passed of tumbling black chaos; then abruptly I saw the red lightning in the sky again. The cliff-wall opening swept backward and I was through the tunnel and in the open stormy night, outside the city valley.

The flume abruptly ended. I was spilled out in a great cascade of water. The cylinder was torn from me. Rocks struck me. I felt myself rolling, tumbling on a rocky surface.




CHAPTER X 
BESIEGED IN THE METAL DESERT
"FOR AN INSTANT my senses must have faded. When they cleared, I was lying away from the water, save for the rain that beat upon me. And Tama and her brother were standing over me. The cylinder was unharmed. They had found it lying on the nearby rocks.

"You got it!” Toh exulted.

I was bruised and battered, half choked with water, but not injured. The platform was here. We mounted it, Tama, Toh and I crouching together with the precious cylinder held between us.

The girls lifted us; we struggled up into the night, circled the outside of the city valley, and headed out into the metal desert, toward the Fire Country. The storm seemed now to burst into the height of its fury. The whirling rotary clouds were at times close over us—green and red vapor masses, hurling rain and wind heavy with sulphur.

The clouds sometimes rifted into gigantic vertical funnels through which the clear daylight of the sky was visible. It brightened the scene, and the bleak, desolate landscape beneath us was at those moments clearly shown as great rippled sheets of metallic plateau, drenched with water—shining coppery, then cast with green—or blinding red when the lightning puffed—or again, a wild, broken area with spires and crags and boulders strewn as though some frenzied Titan had flung them.

And we swept over tiny valleys where soil had collected and trees and verdure had sprung up. The trees bent low in the wind; the rain-sheet blurred our vision of them as we struggled past.

It seemed unending. It would have been called a hundred miles on Earth. If the storm had not abated a trifle we could never have gone on. Tama relieved the girls to the limit of her strength—but Toh and I had to crouch there, helpless.

Then the deep pit of the cauldron valley, with jagged, upstanding buttes and spires towering over it, lay beneath us. We knew there would be caves down there to give us shelter. A great shaft of green-red light came down from a rift in the tumbling clouds. It fell like a cathedral shaft and disclosed the mile-wide pit floor. The close-encircling walls offered a measure of protection from the wind. Girls were down there, flapping about. Platforms lay discarded. Figures of girls and a few men were dragging supplies and equipment into the nearest caves.

The meeting-place at last!

The light from the clouds held only a moment—then it was gone and there was darkness in the little valley under us. We descended into it. There were at least five hundred girls here now. At intervals more straggled in.

The valley floor was naked metal rock, thickly studded with boulders. There was not a blade of vegetation; as I had anticipated, this was indeed no place where a permanent camp could be made.

But there were caves to give us shelter. In the dark confusion I located a dozen or so of the Hill Country young men and we got all the equipment sheltered underground. Meager supplies—a few knives for weapons, agricultural implements, food-bulbs and seeds, a little clothing and personal effects.

With my strength and activity, abnormal on this small world, I raised the equipment in great armfuls and staggered into the caves.

* * * *
As order gradually came out of the confusion, Tama and I began to feel that the situation was not quite as drastic as it had seemed at first. When the storm was over we could fly to find soil, and build houses there. We had carpenters’ tools of a sort, and the wood on Mercury is very porous, easy to work. In the lush soil, vegetation grows rapidly. In a dozen day-cycles, with favorable weather, some of the food would be ready for harvesting. We had enough food with us now, with luck, to last that long.

The caves, most of them, connected. It was presently an eerie scene inside, with animal-fat lamps spluttering flickering yellow light, and our blue-green bulbs—small battery affairs of the electro-current which a few of the girls had been able to secure—casting weird shadows on the walls.

For hours, while the storm raged, the girls struggled in. Presently we had about a thousand—although there was no really accurate means of counting them. Some were from the City of the Water, the second largest settlement of the Light Country.

"The word has spread there,” said Tama.

We were in the cave which I had rigged for myself. Already I had started preparing my chemicals for the charging of the cylinder.

Tama added, “Every virgin in the Light Country will join us in time. Except those ... unable to fly."

Some of the mutilated girls with us now were in pitiable condition. The exposure of the storm, the chill of the wind, the rain-soaked platforms upon which for so many hours they had lain inactive, had made them ill and fever was attacking them.

We prepared meals of a sort, and while the others slept I tried to arrange some form of organization by which with concerted, planned effort the necessary work of existing might be performed.

* * * *
That night-cycle passed and the next day began. Day and night were alike in the darkness of the black storm. The rain fell in an almost continuous downpour. The wind surged and sang around the naked pinnacles that towered over the valley. Puffs of lightning came at intervals. Within our caves it was only a distant turmoil, but outside it was an inferno of raging, angry nature.

I posted the young men as guards at the cave-mouths, where they could see across the cauldron. It was about a mile in diameter, a pit depressed a hundred feet or so below the level of the surrounding plateau upland. The rim was broken with gullies and ravines and studded with pinnacles like great pointed church spires. The caves we had chosen were all close together at the bottom of one wall,

As one stood at the cave-mouths, all was a green lurid murk outside. The wind came only in fitful, crazy gusts down here at the cauldron bottom. The opposite valley wall could be seen only dimly, its rim outlined against the turgid sky. Then a lightning puff would momentarily redden everything with its glare.

I had my chemical reactions well underway. We expected every hour that the storm would abate. I was preparing to write this narrative, an appeal to Earth. Dr. Grenfell once said to me that within ten years he and his associates would conquer the secret of space-navigation. I hoped that might by now have been accomplished.

Two day-cycles passed. Again the storm lulled, but it still hung threateningly. We had just had an evening meal in our cave, when one of the young guards came rushing in. He knew a little English but he forgot it now. He called excitedly to Tama.

She sprang to her feet. There was a flutter around the dim cave, for a dozen or more of the girls were here with us. Tama whirled on me.

Before I could stop them, several of the girls ran, half-flying, out of the cave. I rushed out, calling after them. The rain had ceased. The valley floor held black pools of water between the boulders. The sky overhead was brighter, with slow, funnel clouds with green shafts piercing them.

On the upper rim I saw the skulking figures of Roe's pursuing band. Our girls came fluttering from the caves to gaze up at them.

"Inside!” I called. “Tama, get them inside!"

It was too late! A group of them had run into an open space. From above, a long-winged arrow came sailing down. Tama shouted. But the arrow caught one of the scattering girls. She fell on the rocks with the arrow sticking up from her back.

* * * *
From then, it was open warfare. All that day men were appearing in greater numbers on the rim-top. They did not dare come down, apparently, but were content to camp therein the upper crags and harry us. We did not know if Roe was with them or not—nor how many men there were.

They tried to open communication with us. I was in favor of it, but the infuriated girls refused. A last platform had arrived from the Hill City, with a few young men and nearly twenty mutilated girls on it. Roe's men flung a rain of arrows and stones at it as it came down. Two of the girls were killed.

But down below we were more wary now and kept cautiously within the caves whenever the sky was bright. The storm still clung. Then there came a period when the sky was black as night again. We added to our guards; it seemed likely that Roe would take advantage of the blackness and come down.

The thought of that gave me an idea. If Roe were up there with these men, why couldn't I prowl out and seize him? I told this to Tama and Toh.

"If we could capture him, hold him as hostage—threaten his life—” Tama said.

"We could make him disperse his band,” I finished. I desperately wanted them to be gone; they would hamper me, perhaps could even stop me from launching the cylinder. And when we were ready to fly from here, some of the girls undoubtedly would be killed by their arrows. There were many of the girls now who wanted to fly out in force and try to drive Roe's men away, but I was obdurate against it. These young girls, flying, armed with knives, to enter into deadly combat! It was unthinkable.

But Tama and I might prowl quietly out into this blackness and bring Roe back with us.

Toh wanted to go, but I would not let him. Tama could fly; and I, an Earthman, had unusual strength and agility.

We started out with a knife and a small electro-torch in each of our belts. We picked our way slowly to the floor of the valley. It was like the blackest of nights on Earth, save for that queer green-yellow sheen on the clouds. The wind swirled overhead, but there was no rain.

Tama walked beside me, her wings occasionally flapping slowly.

"We must keep together,” I whispered. “When we get near the top, I'll wait, while you fly around."

"But keep out over the valley if they fire at you, fly back down."

We arranged light flashes by which we could call each other if it became necessary. We passed the line of caves, splashing in the pools of water which lay on the valley bottom. Then we began to climb. No lights were showing on the rim overhead; it seemed that Roc's men were back from the brink, in cave openings, perhaps.

Climbing was not difficult for me. With my weight less than half what it was on Earth, and my strength of muscle the same, I could leap up this ascent with ease.

And to Tama it was nothing. She flew from one crag, upward to the next, and waited for me to arrive.

There was a place where we had to cross a transverse ravine. It was too broad for me to leap with safety—sixty feet, perhaps.

Tama whispered, “Hold me, Guy."

I put an arm about her thighs; and as I crouched under her wings, we leaped together. She could almost sustain me. We fluttered over the ravine and landed scrambling but unhurt on its opposite lower brink.

She was laughing softly. “We get along very well ... Look there!"

Her tone changed abruptly. We crouched among the rocks gazing up to where the valley rim showed black against the stormy sky.

A dark shadow sailed slowly across the little valley, thousand feet up. As it became clearer we could see it was oblong, with tiny lights upon it. Its small headlight ray was searching the plateau as though seeking a landing place. Then it passed over the rim and vanished.

That was the first I had heard of a flying vehicle existing on Mercury. We could see now, behind the rim-top, the answering signal-beams of Roc's men.

It took us an hour to locate the vehicle and get near it. But at last, without raising an alarm, we reached its vicinity. It had come down on the plateau perhaps a mile from the cauldron-valley, concealed from the caves by an upstanding line of buttes. The figures of Roes men on the upper plateau unwittingly guided us. Their small hand lights showed as they picked their way along the broken rocky upland toward the spot where the vehicle had landed.

Tama and I made a wide detour, ten miles to one side at least. Scrambling, running, flying, we made good speed.

Was this vehicle from the Hill City bringing Roc, perhaps, to join his men and plan what they were to do with the insurgent virgins? The scientists of the Hill City had never really admitted me into their secret activities. Flying vehicles had once been used on Mercury; had this one been reconstructed from the lost secrets of history?

We reached it at last, a great metal bird lying on the rocks. We crouched on the top of a butte, overlooking it. There were lights on its deck and in its ports. And hand lights showed a crowd of Roc's men swarming around it outside.

As I gazed, I received another shock. This was more than a mere flying vehicle: it was a spaceship. Its convex panes, the dome like a transparent bell over its deck, bore evidence to that. It was a ship from another planet. From Earth?

My heart leaped. But the hope was at once dispelled. Men appeared, working under the bell of the forward deck. It was brighter under there; we were not far away, gazing almost directly down upon them, for the ship lay close against the wall of rock. They were Mercutians, not Earthmen.

Then we saw Roc approaching. A chance beam from the ship struck him and clung. He stopped and waved his arms. From the deck of the ship, where a port in the dome had been rolled back, a gigantic figure answered his greeting.

We had relinquished hope of capturing Roc now. With all these men, and in the glow of light, it would have been too desperate an attempt. We watched Roe approach the ship, dispersing his men while he climbed aboard and met the giant figure on the deck. We could see them greet each other; then they turned and went into the ship's interior.

A moment later a light in a lower port of the hull flashed on. It seemed to suggest that Roe and this giant were in the cabin.

"Tama, if we could get down there—hear what they're saying!"

It seemed barely possible. The cabin port faced the butte wall, which was perhaps twenty feet away. The port-hole was low in the hull, only a few feet above the rocks on which the ship rested. There seemed to be none of Roe's men down there; they were all on the other side.

We approached the brink. It was about a hundred-foot drop from where we stood.

"Can you lower us, Tama?"

"Yes. Hold tight, Guy."

I put my arms around her and we stepped off the brink. My head was at her waist, my arms about her thighs, my body dangling lower than hers to be out of the way of her wings. She struggled, flapping with all her strength to check our fall.

If we were not seen! It was fairly dark, but there was a reflected glow from the ship.

There was a wind moaning around this naked rock-butte. The wall slid up past us; the ship seemed to be coming up. Then we dropped into the twenty-foot wide space.

My feet struck the ground. The impact was not too severe. We fell in a heap, but were unhurt. The port stood open, quite near us, and we could hear voices. We found a place where we could see, and ignored the fact that we were in a glow of light.

Within the small metal-walled cabin, Roe sat with the giant Mercutian. There was no one else in the room. They were conferring earnestly—the giant man talking, and Roe doing most of the listening.

He was a man of about fifty, this stranger. I could see him plainly as he sat sprawling his great lazy length on a padded bench. A man almost seven feet tall, I judged him—heavyset, but not with the thick, barrel-chested look of the Cold Country natives.

He was a Light Country man, by his aspect, but head and shoulders taller than the tallest Mercutian I had ever seen. He was garbed in an animal skin belted about his waist; his limbs and torso were naked and hairless, with great muscles that glided beneath his skin as he gestured.

A long black mane of hair covered his head and ears. It was white at the temples, and came in a peak over his forehead, with that same Satanic aspect characteristic of Roe. But Roe generally wore a grinning, crafty smirk. This older man's face had an expression of rugged, intellectual strength, with its beak-like nose, eyes sunk deep under black bushy brows, and massive, square jaw.

It was Roe's father, the exiled Croat. They were talking in the Light Country tongue. I could understand some of it—enough so that in a moment I was tense with amazement. And Tama clung to me as she listened.

* * * *
How long we crouched there I do not know. Abruptly I heard a ting! An arrow flashed past us! We started in a realization of where we were; the port glow was on us, had disclosed us! A group of Roe's men were coming around the forward end of the ship. Another arrow sang past.

I leaped the other way. It was fifty or sixty feet to the stern of the ship. Tama fluttered above me. I recall that I shouted, “Tama, fly off!"

I ran the ship's length in gigantic leaps. From under the stem another group of men appeared, directly in my path. I landed among them. They tried to scatter; I made an effort to check my leap and take another to clear them. A stone hit me on the shoulder and an arrow sank into my leg; I stooped and plucked it out. Four or five men rushed at me, fell upon me, and I went down.

But they could not hold me. I plunged my knife into one of them and lost it as he fell. I stood struggling, kicking, flinging them off. But there were a dozen or more of them here now. They came back at me like terriers. Their shouts raised the alarm and more men arrived at a run. On the ship's stem over us, Cold Country men were peering down in amazed curiosity at our swaying forms.

I was the center of a struggling group. Then from over us, Tama came like a fighting eagle into battle. She swooped once and her knife ripped a man's throat. She went past, came swooping back again.

I tore myself loose, crouched and sprang. My thirty-foot leap carried me over them all.

"Guy!"

Tama swooped at me with a rush of beating wings, and seized me. A rain of stones clattered about us. A torch-beam fell upon us and held us in its disclosing circle of light.

I cast Tama off. “Fly away—before you are hit!"

I ran on. But she came with another swoop, and caught me as I rose in one of my giant bounds. She struggled and flapped, until the ship and its turmoil had dwindled into distance behind us, and my weight pulled us down again on the cauldron rim.




CHAPTER XI 
THE PLOT AGAINST EARTH'S WOMEN
WE ARE STILL here in our caves at the bottom of the (continued the warning message from Guy Palisse)[?]. and I got back safely, and there seemed no pursuit, men were quiet up on the rim. And after a time we saw the spaceship depart.

During these last three cycles I have been absorbed in this narrative, and in preparing my cylinder for launching. My chemicals are about ready and now I am finishing these pages.

We did not know that this message was to be a warning until we stood at the window of Croat's spaceship and heard him talking to Roc.

Even then, at first I was too amazed to grasp the full import of what they were saying. I am not overly skilled in the Mercutian language, but now Tama and I have had time to compare what we heard. Some of it we have had to infer. Croat was explaining to Roc his future plans. But we came in the middle of it, after Croat had been talking for some minutes.

Yet we learned much, and I set it here as a warning, Croat is now leader of the barbarous Cold Country government. He must have stolen the formulas of the Light Country scientific devices of former ages; for he has developed the lost death-ray projector, and the small heat-rays which at twenty paces can burn a hole through a man.

Roe, for all these years, was in occasional communication with his father, spying upon the Light Country government. We think it was Roe who secured the records. And Croat built the interplanetary flying ship in the Cold Country.

I must explain that the women of the Cold Country, through long generations forced to toil under every adverse circumstance of living, have long since lost any semblance of beauty. Heavy, pallid creatures, barely able to fly, they are, besides, few in number. There is now in the Cold Country scarcely one woman to ten men. The savage race is dying out.

No doubt it was Croat's idea at first to develop lethal weapons and attack the Light Country, to capture and enslave the flying virgins. Roe's part was steadily to agitate more stringent laws regarding the clipping of the, virgins’ wings. He and Croat did not anticipate what immediately happened—the widespread, open, revolt of the virgins.

Meanwhile I—an Earthman—had come with tales of a greater world, a world with women, beautiful, who cannot fly. Curse my innocent readiness to tell Roe all I could of Earth!

And so I warn you! We got no details, as we listened there at that cabin port. But we learned enough. Roe mentioned that he was leaving the Hill Country permanently. That is good. Without him, the government will be more conciliatory toward the insurgent girls. Indeed, it has been decided that they return and try to make peace. We feel that the government will now realize how drastic was that last law. And there are thousands of men—fathers, brothers and potential husbands of the girls—who now will see things in a different light.

The danger is not here but on Earth. Croat's ship is leaving for Earth; it may be gone by the time I can get this cylinder launched.

How little Tama and the virgins realized that their revolt would spread to menace the women of another world! But it has.

Oh, my accursedly loose tongue! I had told Roe of my sister, and of Professor White, with his girl's camp in Maine. I had made maps of the Earth countries for the Hill City government.

Roe had access to them. Croat has them now! From the way he talked, he will land in Maine. You can imagine how I feel—to have unwittingly been an aid to this menace! Croat even mentioned my sister Rowena, there in the spaceship. With diabolical cynicism he told Roe how amusing it would be if Rowena Palisse chanced to be among the captive Earthwomen whose beauty he would soon be able to display to his men of the Cold Country. Just a few Earthwomen this first trial trip, he said; then at each inferior conjunction he would make other raids.

My sister Rowena! I pray you guard her—if only this message reaches you in time!

What Tama and I will do when the virgins return to the Hill City, I do not know. One of our girls—a blue-winged child barely sixteen—heard this story from Tama; and she disappeared yesterday. We have been wondering if she flew to Croat's ship, possibly to hide in it and go with it to Earth—to warn you, Tama says, knowing that it would be just like the girl's unselfish courage.

The storm is really abating now. Roe's men seem to have left this vicinity. We think the spaceship has gone.

I must stop, and get the cylinder launched. If only it reaches you!




CHAPTER XII 
NIGHT-PROWLING GIANT
DR. GRENFELL'S voice died away. And I—Jack Dean, a newsbroadcaster who had never dreamed of such news as this—slowly became aware of my surroundings: the lounge of the Flying Cube; Dr. Grenfell at his table, with the pages of Guy Palisse's message before him and the Space-traveling cylinder at his feet; the other men, all sitting tense; Jimmy Turk wide-eyed, breathless.

The spell broke. But still I saw those naked, rainswept copper hills—the Mercutian spaceship, the giant Croat telling his son how he was about to raid the Earth.

How well this message explained what had already happened to us on Earth! Croat had come, as Guy Palisse warned. Croat's spaceship had come faster than the cylinder. He had made his raid, captured the desired number of girls, and his ship had gone back to Mercury. Croat had been left on Earth, perhaps; but in less than four months his ship would come again.

I became aware of a hand on my arm. I heard a sob. Rowena was sitting, staring ahead with tear-filled eyes. I put my arm around her, and she yielded like a child, clinging to me.

"Well,” gasped Jimmy. “That explains it—by George, it does. Everything. He even mentions the winged girl we shot at camp. Poor little thing—come to warn us and we killed her! At the next conjunction that ship will come again. Palisse says it plainly. A raid in greater force!"

The men were all excitedly talking at once. Through the bull's-eye pane in the floor, the Earth's surface showed under us—a spread of mountains through a rift in the clouds: we were over the western United States.

"Get back to the controls,” Dr. Grenfell ordered. “Good grief, we might have dropped and smashed on those peaks for all we knew what we were doing!"

We checked our descent and swept eastward. It was one o'clock the morning of September sixth.

Dr. Grenfell was glancing through the other pages which Palisse had sent. “He evidently hoped we would have a spaceship ready. These contain astronomical data concerning Mercury—facts unknown to us of Earth—its size, density, the inclination of its axis, orbital rotation period, axial rotation—the scientists of Hill City seem fully as advanced as ourselves for all the primitive, decadent civilization Palisse pictures. These notes will be of great interest—"

"To heck with that!” Jimmy muttered. “Dr. Grenfell when is the next conjunction with Mercury and the Earth—the time when they're closest together again?"

"The first week of December. That's three months from now.

"Doctor, that's when the Mercutians will come back! You said so—you warned of that in your public statement."

"I did, Jimmy.” Grenfell's gaze was still on the pages of notes. He added slowly, “He has given us full landing instructions: how best to approach Mercury, the location of the Hill City. There's a sketch map here of that whole section of the Light Country, and details of the location of the valley where he wrote the message and dispatched the cylinder."

"Dr. Grenfell, we're going, are not we?” I burst out. “If we can get there before the Mercutians are ready to start for Earth again—"

I felt Rowena's body grow tense. She sat erect, staring at Dr. Grenfell with tear-filled eyes, but still she did not speak.

Dr. Grenfell smiled grimly, and as his gaze met mine I saw that his dark eyes were smoldering.

"Oh, yes, we're going! Do you suppose, with the Cube successful, as undoubtedly it is, I would be content to make a futile trip to the Moon? We will take what weapons we can and attempt to join Palisse on Mercury. He evidently didn't come on Croat's ship or we would have heard from him."

"When are we going?” Jimmy demanded. “How soon?"

"At once! I won't wait for the next conjunction. It will be twice as long a voyage now—but what of it? We must go there at once!"

* * * *
It was just before dawn of September sixteenth when the Bolton Flying Cube left Earth for its voyage to Mercury. There is so much which of necessity belongs in my narrative, that I pass over these ten days of preparation with only a summary.

It was soon decided that a considerable number of men aboard the Cube would be a hindrance rather than a help. The multiplicity of supplies and equipment needed, and the haste of this departure, made Dr. Grenfell desire as much simplicity as possible.

There were nine of us—the same nine who had been upon the trial ascent after the cylinder. I was not present when they tried to tell Rowena it would he better for her not to go. What she said I never knew, but she came back to me, white-faced and grim—and it had been decided she was going!

Nor was she a handicap. Accustomed to working among busy scientists, she was completely at home in this atmosphere. And those tears of thankfulness which had overcome her when she learned after all these years that her brother was not dead—never again did she show such weakness.

The ten days of preparation were busy ones. Equipment had been prepared for a voyage to the Moon. The apparatus for landing and maintaining life on the airless, waterless Moon had been set up, and most of it was unsuitable for Mercury.

A multiplicity of details indeed—things necessary to the vehicle's operation for so long—light, food, water, personal effects. I saw, when I was given the task of checking these items over, Dr. Grenfell's wisdom in holding down our personnel to nine.

There were weapons, and a great variety of scientific instruments, including the most modern wireless receivers and transmitters with which we hoped communication with the Earth might be established.

A series of exasperating delays seemed to afflict us, with Mercury daily adding tremendous distance to our voyage. But at last we were ready.

Everywhere in the world during those ten days the public eye was upon us. There was no way of keeping the affair secret. The message from Guy Palisse was given out in brief summary; the public knew that in December the Mercutians probably would come again, and that we were going to try and stop them.

We meant to capture Croat's spaceship, kill Croat, smash his ship, and thus end the menace—a simple enough plan. Yet such is the public mind that there arose a clamor of debate by self-styled experts who in reality knew nothing; astrologers and every manner of public-hungry charlatan who read the stars, gazed in crystals, or dealt the mystic card and solemnly foretold what was going to happen. And there were reporters with facile tongues who thought it clever to sharpen their wit at our expense.

Two startling incidents occurred on Earth during those ten days. The first was the experience of the Reverend Arthur T. Hoskins, of Westville, Maine-a town about twenty miles from the White camp.

This report was never made public. I give it substantially as Dr. Hoskins told it to the authorities the following day. He was not a hysterical man, this middle-aged rector—nor a publicity seeker but a man of matured, logical intellect. We could do no less than believe exactly what he said.

* * * *
On the evening of September eleventh, at about eight o'clock, he was sitting alone in his study on the ground floor of the rectory. He was an ardent lover of music. He sat before his radio, listening to a Mozart minuet, which was a favorite of his. There was no one but him in the house: his wife was attending a meeting of one of the ladies’ church societies.

It was a cool night, but the rector, fond of fresh air, had his ground floor window wide open. The strains of the minuet floated out the window and the rector was carried back into dreams of his boyhood. Then abruptly the music was split by the peremptory oscillating wave of the Boston Newscasting Studios. He did not tune them out. Instead, he listened, with the minuet fading, to an account of the Bolton Flying Cube which shortly was to make an attempt to reach the planet Mercury.

The rector was presently aware of a figure standing in the dimness of his garden outside the study window—a very tall man, apparently listening to the words on the radio.

The intruder saw that he was discovered, made a movement as though about to go away, seemed to think better of it, and came slowly forward. He presently stood head and shoulders in the window. The rector's study light fell on him.

He was a man of giant stature, bareheaded, with black hair graying at the temples. It was oddly cut, this hair-close-cropped to the man's round skull, but gouged, as though the fellow had inexpertly cut it himself. His face was hairless, massive-featured, with a beak of a nose, wide, thin lips and a heavy jaw. His dark eyes were deep set under heavy black brows.

A rough-looking fellow, the rector thought. Yet his was, in a way, an intellectual face. But of what nationality? The rector was even more puzzled when the man spoke.

The rector said, “What do you want, my friend?"

"I was listening to that instrument you have.” The heavy, thick voice spoke good English with an indefinable accent. He spoke carefully, as though it was an effort to get it right. And the man repeated: “-that instrument, there, which was talking to you."

The rector had shut it off. He made a move to turn it on again, but the stranger checked him. “I have heard enough."

The man's gaze was on the table where the rector's usual ten o'clock meal had been placed by his wife—a little stack of biscuits and a glass of milk.

"Food—give me—will you?"

It seemed, to the surprised Dr. Hoskins, that his visitor was about to climb in the window. And the rector felt a thrill of fear. There was something uncanny about this fellow—something unnatural. He wore a somewhat dilapidated suit which was far too small for him. And his soiled linen shirt, open at the throat, strained across his great chest muscles, causing a rip in the fabric.

He did not climb in the window, but he leaned far forward. “Give me that."

It was a command, but spoken as though the man were hardly aware of his tone.

The rector steadied his voice. “You are hungry, my man?"

"Yes. Very."

He wolfed down the biscuits which the rector handed him.

The glass of milk he eyed calculatingly, then smelled it tentatively.

Dr. Hoskins, realized with a vague shudder, that this man never had seen milk before.

At about this point a certain knowledge swept upon the rector. It had been growing on him with a shuddering fear, but now it swept him with conviction: this man, not much under seven feet tall, was not of this Earth!

Dr. Hoskins was no coward, but he had had no experience in deeds of violence. He was unarmed. His first instinct was to escape from his study. Then it came to him that he should make some effort to capture this fellow—apprehend him, or at least set the authorities upon him. There was a telephone across the room. But the rector, transfixed by the shock of his realization, did not dare move.

The stranger drained his glass of milk, tossed it to the floor, and appeared surprised when the fragile glass was shattered. Looking up, he met the rector's horrified gaze. He began what seemed words of thanks for the milk. But they died on his lips.

He stepped back suddenly from the window.

"You—think that you—know me?"

Dr. Hoskins found himself looking into the muzzle of a leveled weapon—a strangely-fashioned weapon, small and globular, with a mesh of wires across its face. The man's huge gray arm, with his grotesquely short coatsleeve hanging halfway to his elbow, was extended. He held the weapon with steady fingers. His voice was quiet but now it contained a grim menace.

"I want you to help me. I came for that. Do not move—make no noise!"

The rector sat frozen.

"Is that your flying car in the little house outside? I am not going to hurt you. Answer me. Is it?"

The rector moistened his dry lips. “Yes."

"You able to fly it?"

"Yes."

It was a small sport plane, given to Dr. Hoskins by the members of his parish.

"Then come out. I want you to show me how to fly it. Come out, I say!"

Dr. Hoskins was somewhat rotund. And with his fright, he climbed over the sill with difficulty. The stranger gripped him by the arm, helping him; and, outside, he stood gazing down at him with a faint smile. He was indeed a gigantic man, head and shoulders above the rector. He cut a grotesque figure, the cuffs of his trousers banging far up his legs. But he stood erect, commanding—and amused at his captive's fear.

"Stop shaking. I will not hurt you. If you shake like that you cannot fly your little car. You will kill us both. Do not do that!"

Still Dr. Hoskins could not speak. The giant pushed him down the garden path. Its shrubbery secluded it from the road and no one saw them. They reached the little wooden hangar.

The rector found his voice at last. “What do you want me to do?"

"Take us up. Can I trust you not to wreck us? Or must I kill you—and go away disappointed?"

Dr. Hoskins steadied himself. He gazed up at his captor's heavy gray face, and he managed a smile. “You will be safe with me,” he said. “Where—where do you want to go?"

But that the man did not answer. They were presently in the little barrel-winged Dinsler and away into the starlight. The rector sat at the sticks, the stranger jammed beside him. There was barely room for them both in the tiny pit.

Beneath them lay the Maine forests; the starry vault was overhead. Dr. Hoskins, occupied with the controls, found his nerves steadying. He demanded again, “Where do you want to go? It was unnecessary to threaten me. It is not my custom to refuse a service to my fellow man."

"Just around here.” The gray arm gestured north toward the valley of the St. Lawrence with the distant mountains behind it. “Just around and back. I want to learn how to sail your little car."

For about an hour the astounded rector explained how the Dinsler was operated—the engine controls, and then the flying itself. His captor showed remarkable intelligence, almost as though he were familiar with engines, and this one was strange to him only in detail.

"Let me try,” he commanded at last.

Dr. Hoskin's heart was in his mouth as he yielded his place at the sticks. But presently his captor had caught the knack of it.

"This is not difficult,” the giant stated. “We will go back now.

"You are going to land us?"

"Land you. It is the little car I want.” The rector was momentarily emboldened. “To go—where?"

"Back home.” His companion turned and in his sunken dark eyes the rector saw a gleam of irony. “I am trying to get—back home."

He said no more. He turned the Dinsler in an arc southward. A plane passed overhead, a Greenland freightship, heading north from New York.

The stranger chuckled. “No one notices us? That is good.” He gazed down at the lights of a little town set in the dark stretches of forest. “Those orange lights are the flying field?"

"Yes."

"I can read the number: M-4870. The ‘M'—is that for Maine?"

"Yes."

"The number would tell us the town?"

"Yes."

"And you have maps here?"

The rector produced his field maps and explained them.

"Yes—I understand. I, too, have maps.” He touched his clothes. “I have studied—been taught. And the landing fields of the other States are lettered and numbered like this?"

"Yes. Look here, my man, what are you—"

"I shall not use the public fields. The attendants would be curious ... Is that your settlement?"

They were back within sight of the rector's village. “Yes,” he said. “Please take us down.” He was trying to decide what he could do when they landed. The giant seemed to read his thoughts.

"Not there. We will have to find a more secluded place.” He landed them, with what seemed intuitive skill, in an empty field near a neighboring town.

"Climb out."

The rector got out of the cockpit and stood on the ground. The field, with no houses near it, was dim in the starlight. The rector saw that once more the strange weapon was leveled at him.

"You stand still until I have gone!” Again a gleam of irony shone in the giant's dark eyes. “I ought to kill you. I suppose I shall be sorry I did not. You will tell the officials all about me. That is your plan, is it not?"

"Why, I—"

"Well, you may, if you like! What harm to me? Tell them what you want.” He leaned out of the pit. The engine was purring, and his low voice seemed to purr with it.

"You are what they call a man of God, are you not?"

It suddenly struck the rector that this amused, unhuman giant was planning to kill him and then fly off. He stood stricken, clinging to the side of the cockpit.

"Take your hands off that! Are you a man of God?"

"Yes. I am!"

"Then you will not dare speak other than the truth. I have some questions: I want the truth. Will you give it?"

"Yes,” gasped the rector.

"There is a girl—a young woman. Her name is Palisse, Rowena Palisse. Have you ever heard of her?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"They say, in southern New Jersey."

"The same settlement where they keep the Bolton Flying Cube?"

"I think so—"

"In that town, where does she stay? Has the building a number?"

"I don't—don't know. I have no idea—"

"Then that is all I can get from you. I think I will not let you talk about me."

The terrified rector felt his senses fading. The dim outlines of the field whirled about him. He realized clearly his deadly danger and the realization was too much for him. His pounding heart flung the blood into his head; then it receded. He felt himself fainting, falling, stricken by his own rush of terror.

And to this undoubtedly he owed his life. Simultaneously with his fall, he dimly saw a flash, heard a hiss, and felt a burning stab in his shoulder.

Then the field went into black silence as his senses left him.

They found the unfortunate Dr. Hoskins lying in the field the following morning, his shoulder pierced by a bole burned into it. His aircar, with the mysterious man, had vanished.

Undoubtedly, as the rector fell, the assailant believed he had killed him. He had left him lying there for dead—and flown away in the Dinsler.

That was the first of the incidents. That this mysterious man was Croat the Mercutian, we could not doubt. We recalled the giant figure who had escaped that night at the White Summer Camp when we shot the Mercutian man and the winged girl.

The forests had been constantly searched for that giant Mercutian, but without success. The message from Guy Palisse, picturing Croat so vividly, caused the search to be renewed with additional vigor. When it continued to be unsuccessful, there were many—Dr. Grenfell among them—who believed that Croat had got back to his Space-flyer.

The flyer, it was thought, had never descended into the Earth's atmosphere. The small silver ball which had brought the Mercutians down from their hovering ship and took them up again with their captives, must have rescued Croat.

But now, after these many days, it was proven that Croat was still on Earth, still in the vicinity of the original raids. We could picture how he must have been living—hiding in the depths of the forest by day, prowling at night to steal what food he could, and stealing clothes—trying to make himself less conspicuous, so that if seen he could pass momentarily for a man of Earth. There had been reports from various farmhouses of midnight disturbances. The authorities had discredited them as the products of public hysteria: but they were discredited no longer.

And Croat had been listening at windows, perhaps for the newscasters’ voices on radio—hearing about the Bolton Flying Cube, trying to locate Rowena Palisse.

He had been unable to travel far on foot. But now he had Dr. Hoskins’ little flyer, and had disappeared in it.

The assault on the rector was made on the evening of September eleventh. All the day of the twelfth, by every means that was known, the Dinsler was searched for. And Rowena, in a hotel of that south Jersey town, was kept heavily guarded.

Then, at dawn of the thirteenth, came news of the Dinsler. It was sighted, passing slowly over a village near Philadelphia, heading southwest at a considerable altitude. Pursuit planes were sent up immediately after it, but not to hit it, for the orders were to take Croat alive if possible.

The little Dinsler sailed serenely on. The police pilots overtook it, to find its controls lashed and its cockpit empty. Pilotless, it had been launched and was riding the skies until its fuel ran out.

That was the thirteenth. Three days later, the Bolton Flying Cube, carrying Dr. Grenfell, Jimmy Turk, myself, Rowena and five assistants, left the Earth upon our voyage to Mercury.




CHAPTER XIII 
IN THE AIRLOCK
"THERE'S THE SUN, Rowena. It's day!"

Day! Already the world had lost its meaning. Day and night were mere terms of our rotating Earth. Here in space the Sun blazed in its field of black; the stars gleamed untwinkling; the quarter Moon hung white, like a broken, curved limb against the dead-black infinity of emptiness. Time seemed eternal here.

Rowena stood beside me on the Flying Cube's deck. Together we gazed at the firmament. We were only a few hours into the voyage, and the Earth still hung beneath us, a great spreading expanse which filled the lower heavens.

We had long since passed through the atmosphere, ascending an edge of the Earth's conical shadow; now we plunged from it and the Sun blazed with a strangely flaming glory.

Rowena pointed to the Earth. “It's dwindling. Our little Earth—how small it looks now, Jack!” Her hand touched my arm. I seemed to feel a difference in that touch, as though her fingers were lingering, caressing.

"Rowena—"

Within me there sprang—a sudden rush of emotion. I think, perhaps, that from the first moment I saw her I felt instinctively that in all the world, this was the woman for me—this girl, so queenly, aloof, but with gentle, wistful eyes.

Perhaps it was the starry firmament around us; the tiny Cube seemingly hung here motionless with great, soundless, blazing worlds strewn about the black heavens. And our Earth so small—dwindling every moment that we watched it. It was as though all this were drawing Rowena and me together, making us realize our littleness, futility, unimportance. And because we were so unimportant to all the universe, it made us that much more important to each other.

"Rowena!"

I must have stood there stupidly repeating her name. The length of deck was empty save for us two. Through the ports, mingled moonlight, sunlight, starlight and earthlight came slanting in soft silver shafts.

"Jack—"

She swayed toward me and then was in my arms, her arms up about my neck, her lips returning my kisses, with all her calm, regal poise swept away.

There was a moment when we floated off upon the torrent of a new-found love, clinging together, alone in the universe.

Then I heard a step, and a voice—Jimmy's voice: “Oh, I say—beg your pardon—I'm gone!"

"Oh!” Rowena cast me off. But Jimmy had made good his words, whirling like a rabbit and vanishing into the upper corridor doorway.

We both laughed.

"Oh,” said Rowena. “How dreadful!"

"Dreadful? Rowena, dear—"

I touched her, but she moved away.

"Dreadful,” I said, “that Jimmy should have seen us?"

"No, of course not."

"That you should—love me?"

"No—"

"Well, you do, don't you?"

"Jack—” Her smile was gone. She faced me with a quiet, level gaze. “Do you think so, Jack?"

Her eyes were shining, and in them I could not miss the light of her love for me. Then the spell broke; she laughed again.

"Dreadful, Jack, that I should yield to a thing like that now, with this voyage ahead of us—with Guy, out there on Mercury."

* * * *
We were presently talking of more sensible things. Dr. Grenfell had calculated that this voyage was to be a matter of some three weeks. Mercury would be on the other side of the Sun before we reached it. We would pass Venus in five or six days; the Moon we were already passing.

And we talked of Croat. It seemed obvious that he was the mysterious stranger who had assaulted the Maine rector.

"Still on Earth,” I said. “His ship came, sent down its silver ball like a tender, while the ship itself hovered out here. just about here, probably."

That had been on August tenth. It was now September sixteenth. Croat's ship had hovered out here while the ball went down into the Earth's atmosphere and stayed a week—the week of the raids. Then the ball had come up, with the Earthgirls captive, but without Croat. Mercury was drawing daily further away. The Mercutians, afraid to go back for their leader, had undoubtedly taken their ship back to Mercury.

"But we will reach Mercury before that, Rowena, and stop them, I said. “If we can get that vehicle and smash it, down on Earth they'll capture Croat in time, of course, and this threat will be removed."

We had no specific plans of what could be done when we reached Mercury. Rowena said suddenly, “I'm wondering if Guy and Tama were on the Mercutian ship when it waited out here."

"But if they had been—"

"That winged girl who was shot at the White Camp did what she intended and stowed away on the ship. In his message, Guy hinted that he and Tama were going to try it."

This was the old Rowena again, discussing these affairs with calm logic.

"But if they did hide on the ship, Jack, it's evident that they were not able to get into the silver ball and descend. Either they were still in hiding, or Croat had found and captured them, keeping them up here in the ship, while he went down—"

It was all theory, of course.

An hour went by. The Earth shrank amazingly with our upward flight. And as the Cube turned and swung toward the Sun, using all of its giant gravitational force to pull us, the firmament shifted. The Earth seemed to come up even with us—a monstrous ball hanging level with the deck windows. The sunlight struck it full: a great reddish ball, shrinking and turning silver.

Again a step sounded behind us. A cautious step—Jimmy again.

"I say, all right for me to show up; now?"

"All right, Jimmy,” Rowena laughed.

He came toward us along the deck.

"You going to stand there forever? We've had breakfast downstairs. I told them you two were busy."

"Jimmy!” Rowena protested.

"Why not? You were, weren't you? Anyway, the Doc says for you to come down now—at once. That's an order. You're to have your breakfast and then go to sleep."

We followed him obediently to the second floor corridor, down the ladder-steps and into the lounge.

"You're sleepy,” Jimmy added. “If you don't know it, that's your hard luck. We've all been up all night. The Doc has turned in, and Rance is in command."

At four p.m., Earth time it was Grenfell's plan for us to start the regular routine of watches which would be held throughout the voyage. It was now nine a.m.

Rowena and I had a light meal. She went to her cabin, which was off the second-floor cross corridor. Diagonally from her, on the corridor's opposite side, was the cubbyhole Jimmy and I were to occupy.

At Rowena's doorway we left her.

"Sleep well, Jack."

Jimmy whirled on her like a little bantam, gazing up at her with a frown. “And how about me?"

"You too, Jimmy!"

"Thanks."

He was grinning as we entered our room. “Nice girl, that. Crazy about you. Well, I don't blame her. You two giants look as though you were born for each other."

We lay in our bunks. Earthlight streamed in the bulls-eye window, until Jimmy drew down the shade.

I think that in a few moments Jimmy was asleep. But for a time sleep would not come to me. The interior of the Cube was silent except for the faint hum of the current in the gravity plates. There was no vibration, an utter lack of the sense of movement, though now we were plunging toward the Sun at a velocity which in comparison to the planets was still slow, but inconceivably rapid compared to any vehicle traveling upon Earth or in the air.

I drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

This must have been at about ten a.m. Dr. Grenfell was asleep in his cubby up in the third tier. In the room next to Jimmy and me, Baker and Gibbons were sleeping.

It left Rance and two other men—Jones and Allen—in command of the Cube. Rance was in the little dome-observatory at the telescope, working out a chart of our course. For all his skill with explosives and his experience with the New York bomb squad, he was versed in higher mathematics, and Dr. Grenfell depended on him for much of the routine navigational work.

I have no idea what awakened me, but suddenly I found myself fully aroused, with the startled feeling that something was vitally wrong. Jimmy was peacefully snoring in the bunk over me. The Cube interior was silent as always. Our slidedoor to the corridor was closed, as Jimmy had left it. My watch said three p.m. I had slept five hours.

The ominous feeling passed after a moment. I sat up in the bunk, thinking about it, and concluded that it must have been caused by the strangeness of my surroundings when I had so suddenly awakened.

I tried to doze again: Dr. Grenfell did not want us to assemble again until four p.m. But I was restless. Jimmy's snores annoyed me. I went to the port-window and raised the shade a trifle. Our window faced the Earth. How amazingly it had dwindled! It hung level with us—a full, round, sunlit ball, filling no more than a tenth of the visual hemisphere of the firmament. The tracery of its continents and oceans was plain.

And beside the Earth, to make the third apex of the triangle with our cube, the Moon hung cold and bleak—starkly black and white with shadows and sunlight.

I turned from the window, and decided I would go down to the lounge to wait for the four o'clock conference. Perhaps Rowena would be there.

As I passed her cabin door, I found it flung wide. She had closed it, I recalled, when she retired. And in the corridor, just outside her threshold, lay one of her slippers. I stumbled over it, picked it up—and found my heart unreasonably pounding. She had been wearing these slippers when Jimmy and I had left her at this door five hours ago.

As I straightened with the slipper, I glanced into her cabin. It was empty. Its drawn shade was bright with the glare of sunlight. The bed had been occupied; a chair beside it was overturned.

All this was utterly unlike Rowena. I hurried down to the lounge. No one was there. The shades were drawn to bar the glare of the Sun, but on the other side they were up and the earthlight and moonlight streamed in full. The room was bright. And it suddenly seemed horribly empty and horribly silent.

I called, “Hello there! Any one around?"

From one of the adjoining machine rooms, Jones appeared, a big, florid fellow in white shirt and linen trousers. His Inevitable huge black cigar was in his mouth.

'Hello, Dean. Sleep well?"

My sudden fear dissipated. “Yes. Where is everybody?"

"Asleep, I fancy. Allen went up to the dome a while ago to stay with Rance. I'm on duty here—but there's nothing much to do. It was the deuce keeping our pressure equal, but we've got it right now. You're breathing comfortable?"

"Quite.” I had flung myself into one of the wicker lounge seats. But immediately I was up again. “Have you seen Miss Palisse?"

"No. She's in her cabin, isn't she?"

"No, she isn't. The door was wide open when I passed."

"Well, she didn't come down here—went up to the dome with Rance, probably."

But she was not in the dome. Rance and Allen were there, and they had not seen her. Dr. Grenfell was still asleep in his cubby off the third-floor chartroom.

Fear was plucking at me. But Rance said with a smile, “Try the deck, Dean. She's probably Earth-gazing. Shell be glad to have you join her."

I hurried down, and again went the length of the second floor corridor. This time, I peered into each of the rooms as I passed. Jimmy was still snoring noisily, Baker and Gibbons were asleep in the adjacent cabin, and all the other rooms were empty.

I went out to the deck and searched all four sides almost at a run. No one was there.

Panic was upon me now. Back within the Cube I called frantically:

"Rowena! Rowena, where are you?"

It aroused them all. “Rowena, where are you? Rowena, answer me!"

Jimmy came rushing out. “Jack, what in the devil—"

"I can't find Rowena!"

I tried to calm myself. She was somewhere here, of course.

Baker and Gibbons came tumbling from their room. “What's the trouble?"

From the third tier Dr. Grenfell was calling, “Dean! Dean, what is it?"

And from the lounge downstairs, Jones shouted up a similar question.

We were all in a moment wildly searching—shouting back and forth to each other, and calling:

"Rowena! Where are you? Where are you?"

The Cube echoed with our voices and the tramp of our feet.

But Rowena had vanished.

Stark horror seized us as we gathered in the lounge. Rowena had vanished. But there was only a moment of that baffled horror; and then a new alarm.

Jimmy's voice bellowed from the second tier:

"Jack! Jack! Here she is!"

His words, “Here she is!” should have been reassuring. But his terrified tone combined with them was infinitely frightening.

I leaped up the laddersteps, with the others after me. We met Jimmy. He was wild-eyed and breathless, waving his automatic.

"Jack, my God, she—Jack, he has—come here!"

I went after him at a run, out the corridor to the deck around one of its angles to D-face. Five minutes ago, as I ran this length, I had unheedingly passed the closed slide door of the airlock room.

Jimmy dashed there now, and halted, with upraised weapon.

"Jimmy—look!"

In the little airlock, projecting out from the deck, Rowena was crouching. And beside her was the huge figure of a man. His arm was around her, holding her half-caressingly, half in menace. His other arm hugged his upraised knees: in his hand, a strange globular weapon pointed at Rowena's breast.

It was Croat!




CHAPTER XIV 
HUMAN PROJECTILES
"STEADY, JACK! He's got her!"

We could hear his voice through the door-slide, calmly ironic:

"Well, and so you found me!” said Croat. “It took you a fair long time to find me—did it not? Sit quiet, Rowena!"

We stood stricken with upraised, futilely gesturing weapons. We held each other back, fearful that one of us would make an ill-advised move to startle or anger Croat into killing Rowena. He could so easily do it by the merest pressure of his finger against the cylinder in his hand.

Gibbons stammered, “The air—I left it at five pounds."

"It is quite comfortable now,” came Croat's slow voice. And I realized that the door-slide was slightly ajar. “This girl—Rowena Palisse, is she not? By your gods, a woman worthy of mastering Mercury. They will say, ‘Croat's mate chosen from all the Universe could be no better suited to him.’ I had no idea!"

We stood dumb with horror, listening to him. Past his great thick shoulder, Rowena's white face peered at us.

His arm tightened around her. “Do not be foolish, Rowena, or, as I told you, I will have to kill you. And that would be a pity. Sit still, while I tell them what they must do.” Dr. Grenfell stood at the pane. He was unarmed; he had shoved us behind him with a warning command. He put his hands up on the pane of the door and face close to it.

"You are Croat, the Mercutian."

Croat shifted so as to face the door more comfortably. I saw now that he had both of Rowena's hands pinned by the tightness of his encircling arm. “Yes, I am Croat, the Mercutian. You seem to know me. That is strange.” His gray face gazed insolently at Grenfell, though he was obviously puzzled. “My fame must have spread quickly to Earth. How did you-?"

Grenfell had obviously recovered from his first shock of horror. He stood calmly, his shoulders hunched, every muscle tense.

"That's not important. We know you. I am in command here. You cannot escape."

"Escape? For a commander you are stupid! And you make still another error—you are not in command. You were, but now you are not. I command here."

I heard Dr. Grenfell answering, but it hardly registered in my mind. It seemed that Rowena was trying to attract my attention. I caught her glance, and the vague gesture of her head to indicate something behind her. And Jimmy was plucking at me, whispering, “When I first saw him he was starting to robe them in those Moon-landing suits.” Then he stopped. “Look, he's got the Moon-suits behind him."

I saw then what Rowena was indicating: the pressure suits and helmets for disembarking upon an airless world. We had brought them in case of unforeseen necessity. My mind flashed back to what Croat must have done: stolen the rector's flyer to carry him from Maine to southern Jersey, then hidden himself on the Cube, having boarded it during the confusion loading for our departure.

We found later that he had stowed away in the small lower room where raw bulk foodstuffs were stored—those which obviously we would not need during the first part of the journey. Then, while we slept, he had captured Rowena and forced her to tell him of the Moon equipment.

He had secured two, of the helmeted suits—elastic, rubberite affairs, double-shelled, with an interior air-pressure circulating system made to withstand the explosive pressure of fifteen pounds to the square inch, and great goggled helmets like an old-fashioned sea-diver. Croat had been about to use them when Jimmy came upon him.

"But use them for what? And why had he tarried?

* * * *
Croat was now arguing calmly with Grenfell. He said, “I am a different race from you. Perhaps you think I would not dare kill this girl and meet my own death almost at once? Perhaps an Earthman would be afraid to make good his threat. But that, I promise you, is exactly what I shall do. If you cross me—attempt to stop me—I promise it."

And we did not dare take the chance. Grenfell stood there alert, with Gibbons beside him. The door-slide was ajar. In a matter of five seconds Gibbons could have widened that slit, fired, and kill Croat. But in those five seconds the watchful Mercutian would have bored Rowena with the deadly blast from his little cylinder.

Rowena suddenly moved, twisting violently to test him. If she could distract his attention even for a moment—

It alarmed Grenfell. He warned her sharply: “Don't do that, child!"

Groat had not turned. His arm again tightened to; hold her. And Rowena called:

"He sent an ether-signal for his ship. A flare—didn't you see it? His ship is coming!"

"We have been waiting for it,” said Croat; and he added sharply: “Close that door!"

His weapon came up, swung at us, and back at Rowena. His gray face, the darting fire of his dark eyes, seemed suddenly inhuman. This was a man of a different world. He would plunge heedlessly into murder and suicide.

Gibbons snapped the deck-slide, closed.

Baker exclaimed, “Grenfell, his ship is in sight! It was down by the Moon!"

The Mercutian ship corning! Then it had not gone back to Mercury, but had been waiting out here, perhaps for a signal from Croat. And I saw Croat now menacing Rowena, making her draw on the Moon-suit.

I plucked at Jimmy. “Come! We've got to get other suits!” No one noticed us as we dashed away along the deck. Grenfell was murmuring to his companions—trying to plan something—watching, trying to dare make an opportunity to open the slide and leap in upon Croat.

We were gone only a minute or two. I came back alone, robed in a pressure suit, while Jimmy still searched for another for himself.

I passed Baker.

"Where are you going?” he asked.

He stopped short, turned and followed me back. I carried the helmet in my hand. Baker was stammering:

"You got one, Dean? I thought—he's taking her outside!"

The group at the slide stood transfixed with horrified confusion. Within the lock now were two grotesque figures, their round goggled helmets in place, humps on the shoulders where the pressure-batteries were assembled-bloated figures, with the air-pressure in the suits already operating. I saw that the rubberite of Croat's garment was stretched by his great height. He bent at the outer door-slide. Rowena was struggling now, but he held her, and turned with his weapon to menace the men on the deck.

Grenfell opened the inner slide and closed it quickly in a panic. The men were all shouting different orders at once. If Croat were to open the outer slide simultaneously with the opening of the inner one, all the air in the ship would go out in a blast-death to everyone on board!

I came with a wild rush. A sudden madness was on me. I calculated nothing—chanced everything. Grenfell and the others scattered before me. They were all shouting but I did not hear them. I jammed on the helmet, locked it, started up the mechanisms. My suit began bloating; the pressure made my head roar. Then it cleared. Through the visor-pane I could see the deck, and the door-slide to the lock.

I rushed at the manuals. Baker was ahead of me. He swung the lever and pushed me through the opening slide. I stumbled into the lock. The slide closed instantly after me.

And in the next moment Croat opened the outer door. The lock-air went out with a rush—a torrent of pressure escaping into the outside vacuum.

Like projectiles, we three in the lock were hurled into the black void of Space!




CHAPTER XV 
THE COMBAT IN SPACE
I RECALL that my first emotion was one of utter amazement. There was no sense of movement. I was motionless, while things moved around me—all very slowly, almost lazily. In the midst of them I seemed poised, unmoving.

There were the distant motionless stars—blazing points of white light in the dead black velvet of the void; there was the great ball of Earth, the Moon, the flame-enveloped Sun—all visually motionless. I had gone head first through the airlock door. Now I hung level, with no axial rotation.

But there was some movement. The helmeted figures of Rowena and Croat lay near me, perhaps twenty feet away. They were clinging together and rotating slowly end over end. Croat had lost his weapon. It floated fifty feet behind us. We were falling toward the Earth with a steady acceleration of velocity which soon would be meteoric swiftness. But none of it was apparent in the vastness of Space.

The Cube was over me. In all the glittering scene, the Cube now was endowed with the most obvious motion, a hundred feet or so above me, and slowly sailing past. It was turning on a vertical axis; from its corners faint etheric blue rocket-streams were visible.

Then far to one side, off by the Moon, I saw another object—the Mercutian spaceship—a great white bird-like shape. I twisted my head to see through the lower lens of the helmet visor. It magnified the image, showing Croat's vessel speeding upward at us; its rocket-streams were behind it, fan-shaped like the tail of a comet.

How long I hung there I cannot guess. Time, like movement and like all these astronomical bodies of which I now was one, seemed hanging poised. And I think my mind, too, functioned differently, in a detached, faraway haze of thought.

I recall that I was helpless to move, save that I could kick and flounder. Celestial forces were upon me now, inexorable beyond all puny human influence.

It penetrated to my consciousness that the Mercutian ship was only a few miles away, and that Grenfell was manipulating the Cube around me—and around Croat and Rowena. I saw the yawning, opened airlock door. Grenfell was trying to get us back in it.

If only I could reach Croat I would try to strangle him with my grip, rip and tear at his bloated garment with the knife which I had in my belt—and rescue Rowena.

The bulk of the passing Cube pulled at me. I began rotating; the heavens turned over.

The Cube momentarily moved away to take a new position. I suddenly realized I was drawing nearer Croat, or else he and Rowena were drifting slowly toward me. The gravitational attraction of our bulk was pulling us together, but it seemed, at first, desperately slow movement.

The heavens again stopped rotating. I found the Mercutian ship directly under me. I gazed numbly down at it. A mile away? Ten miles? Distance could not be calculated here. But through the visor's magnifying lens I saw it clearly, and across this airless void I saw details with microscopic, undistorted clarity.

But my brain hardly encompassed what I was seeing. There was—a commotion on the Mercutian ship's upper deck, under its bell-like dome. There were figures there, fighting Hot flashes of blue-green were visible. Men were fighting.

And I thought I saw a winged girl, and other girls—Earthgirls?

It was a vague impression. Now there was a rush of figures into a round object standing on the deck—a man's figure, fighting, holding back other men as the girls crowded behind him.

Tumultuous, silent events were happening swiftly down on the ship's deck. There was one great blue-green flash. I know now that it must have ripped the ship's dome. The air rushed out with a great explosion and the dome lifted apart. The bodies of men were blasted out—dead instantly as they struck the airless, frigid void of Space.

The Mercutian ship was wrecked, and slowly turned over. But its mass held most of the mangled bodies rotating in narrow orbits around it. Gruesome satellites! A broken litter of wreckage, it began slowly falling toward the far-distant Earth.

And with the explosion, I saw the round object catapulted out from the deck. A small silver metal ball, with tiny door and a row of windows, it hurled free; and instead of falling, it seemed to rise.

I was suddenly aware that Croat and Rowena were within reach of me! My outflung hand stretched out to him and I touched a metal plate of his sleeve with my metal fabric glove. It gave us audiphone contact. I heard his breathing, his muttered oath. And then, as he realized he could hear me, his words:

"And you think you can save her? You cannot!"

We locked together. He had seen the wreck of his ship, knew it was the end for him. His wild laugh sounded in my ear-grids with an eerie jangle.

"Death! A fitting death for Croat and his Earthwoman—twin stars, falling!"

And I heard Rowena's voice as I touched her. “Jack! Get away! Let me push at you! Don't let him hold you!"

His great arms seized me. Our bloated suits pressed together—weightless adversaries scrambling in a weightless void! He caught the wrist that held my knife and twisted it. But despite his giant size, I found that I was the stronger. The knife was above him. I forced it slowly down against all his efforts to stop me.

He gave a last wild laugh and tried to rip at Rowena's garment. Then my blade punctured his suit. With the outrush of its air, I felt it go flat against me, felt his grip tighten convulsively—and his last human scream, with all the irony gone out of it, jangled at my ears.

His grip loosened. I kicked him free. Like a log shoved violently into water, his body floated away.

As I clung to Rowena I became aware of the Cube over us, the yawning lock-opening coming with true aim this time to swallow us.

We struck the lock interior, fell in a heap on its metal floor and the outer slide closed upon us.




CHAPTER XVI 
FALLING STARS
My SENSES very nearly faded; the air in my helmet was fouled, but in a moment I had the mechanism cleared again. Rowena held me; her voice rang in my ear-grids:

"Jack! Jack, dear—what's the matter?"

I gasped, “I'm all right—the oxygen—was clogged."

We were sitting on the floor of the lock. The pressure was coming in; I felt it against me. Across the lock, at the inner side, I could see the anxious faces of Dr. Grenfell, Jimmy and the others peering in at us.

The pressure came steadily and we yielded our garment pressure to balance it. Presently they were equal. I saw Grenfell signal. The inner slide opened and Jimmy led the rush of men, pouncing upon us, lifting off our helmets.

"You're not hurt, Jack?” Jimmy's arms held me, “Thank God for that! And Rowena—you all right, Rowena? Let me help you up.” His face was white and drawn. “We were so helpless, standing inside, watching you out there."

They carried us to the decks and took off our suits. But there was no time for further talk. Outside the deck windows—out there in the starry vault—portentous events were sweeping slowly on.

The wreck of Croat's ship was far beneath us, with the Earth under it. Croat's body was still near at hand—but it was falling. Grenfell had the negative current in the gravity plates of the Cube-base, creating a repulsion there; and Croat's body had come within its influence. His twisted shape, gruesome with the sagging helmet and the deflated suit hanging in wrinkled folds, was moving swiftly away from us. The Earth's attraction had caught it.

And the silver ball was mounting; it was quite near us now. The sunlight gleamed on half its sphere with a brilliant white glare; the earthlight painted its opposite side with a mellow silver glow. It was holding a vertical axis upon which it slowly turned, so that its tiny windows went in procession before us. Its power-streams were around it like a faint green-blue aura.

Was this ball coming to attack us? I thought. I was still far from my usual self-confused, with my head roaring and my muscles trembling. Rowena seemed similarly dazed. We stood together on the deck, clinging to each other and to the bull's-eye window fastenings as we gazed out into the immensity of Space.

Around us the deck was in turmoil. They were rolling one of the guns to the firing port. Then Dr. Grenfell's voice sounded from the nearby deck speaker. He was calling from the dome-room of the Cube.

"It's all right! Baker, swing face toward them! It's all right—that's Guy Palisse and, I suppose, Tama!"

Guy and Tama! Rowena held me close. Have I said that only after Guy's message did she yield to the weakness of tears? Not so—for there were tears in her eyes now.

"Jack! He says—it's Guy!"

Again, Grenfell's voice: “I can see them at the windows. It's Guy, and a winged girl, and Earthgirls."

There was a rush of feet on the deck, but Rowena and I were in no condition to join the activity. We could barely stand and cling to each other. I felt that now the reaction was making everything seem so swift—our minds could hardly grasp it. Yet it must have taken half an hour at least.

The silver ball came level and poised. We saw faces at its windows. Rowena recognized her brother. I held her then or she would have fallen.

Another interval. Jimmy came beside me, volubly triumphant. But I hardly heard him.

Then Dr. Grenfell manipulated the Cube until the face with its open lock-entrance moved slowly toward the hovering ball, which was poised with its port fronting us. The openings met, with gravity holding the ball as though it were glued to us.

Another interval.

I murmured, “Rowena, they're here. In a moment or two—your brother, safe!"

"Yes, Jack, everything's blurred—we—what's the matter with us?"

"Just—blurred. I feel it too. The pressure change—being outside there. We're all right."

A rush of feet. Excited voices. I saw Tama—strange, frail little girl—flowing garments—sleek-feathered wings.

And the Earthgirls, the kidnapped girls from the White Camp—frightened and pale, some of them sobbing with the joy of their rescue.

And then I saw Guy. He wore a torn white shirt and trousers, a band of red cloth about his forehead. And with him was a slim, boyish youth like a little American Indian chieftain.

Guy turned: “Toh, stay with Tama a moment. Is that my sister over there? Why, Rowena! You—you're not the little girl I remember!"

Rowena cast me off, and stood wavering with opened arms to receive him.

* * * *
I recall how Guy explained that he and Tama and her brother had hidden upon Croat's ship, as in his message he had hinted they might try to do. They had been discovered, caught, and held while Croat and some of his men descended to the Earth, using the silver ball as a sort of tender.

The silver ball had returned, with the girl captives, but without Croat. The ship had waited, hoping, expecting perhaps that Croat would signal. Twice, when heavy clouds were over Maine, it had descended.

Then, with the confusion of the Mercutian ship at Croat's etheric flare-signal from our Cube, Guy seized his chance to break loose. I had seen the fight on ship's deck.

Eight of the Earthgirls were saved. I heard Jimmy ask what had become of the others. Guy avoided the question and no one asked it again.

There was still one last scene out there in the black vault of the heavens. The body of Croat, and the wrecked ship with tiny dots of Mercutians’ bodies revolving as satellites around it, were falling toward the Earth. We followed them down.

Again there was that slow, measured astronomical movement—a tiny instant of time amid the stars. But to us watching humans it was literally hours.

The Earth slowly grew larger, spreading beneath us—silver, turning yellow-red, then red like a map faintly tinted. And then with other colors coming to it: bluish oceans, graygreen continents, white-tipped mountain peaks, banks of obscuring gray haze and solid cloud areas.

The torn ship and the little dot which was the body of Croat fell steadily.

The Earth grew to a great shining surface spread half across the lower firmament.

The wrecked, falling ship was first to enter the atmosphere. It turned faintly luminous with friction-heat. Above it a tail of burning gases streamed out. It was falling like a plummet within an hour—down into the denser air strata—blazing into a great fiery ball of burning gas until it was consumed.

Then Croat's body became a luminous point of light, a dot of fire, a little falling star.

It puffed into sudden brilliance at the end, as though the spirit of the man might be making a last ironic gesture; then it faded and vanished into nothingness, with only the unseen ashes like scattered stardust sifting down.

* * * *
The events I have narrated are public property. I have tried merely to give what the newscasters have called “an actual eyewitness description."

There are some who have struggled for fame, and when they got it, found it anything but pleasant to possess. Take mine now: in the quiet that followed the extraordinary events of last year, it is not exactly fame, but it certainly is notoriety.

I do not find it pleasant, nor does Rowena, nor do any of the rest of us. The world is relieved that Croat's ship is destroyed, Croat himself dead, and the next inferior conjunction of Mercury and the Earth passed safely.

The affair is over. But now people want to know where Rowena and Guy Palisse are; and where is Jack Dean living? And why does not Guy Palisse or Jack Dean go on the lecture platform or into the motion pictures, or join a circus with that winged girl named Tama who came from Mercury? They could make lots of money: why don't they do it?

We answer: that is no one's business. Rowena and I are living in as much seclusion as we can find. Tama and Guy are near us. Jimmy Turk is still in the patrol service.

Guy is beside me now as I finish these pages. He likes the tone of these last paragraphs, but Rowena, who came in a moment ago, did not.

"Aren't you a little aggressive?” she said. “After all, everyone who reads your narrative isn't necessarily insulting you. I believe you should change it."

"Not at all,” said Guy.

Rowena kissed me and went outside.

"I'll think about it,” I called after her. “Maybe I'll change it."

But I haven't.

It is night now. We are in a lonely spot where there are forests, and a lake. No, it is not Maine.

Tama is outside, flying up into the starlight. She likes it here on Earth, though flying is much more difficult for her here than on Mercury. But she is worried about her comrades of the Light Country. The Hill City government took them back, promised them new laws. But Tama is suspicious of those quickly given promises. She and Guy are returning to Mercury as soon as Dr. Grenfell will take them.

Tama keeps very secluded in the daytime here, but at night she flies out. We never grow tried of watching her. Guy called me to the window a little while ago. She went past with fluttering wings and flowing draperies and waved her white arm at Guy as she wheeled and soared out over the starlit lake.




TAMA, PRINCESS OF MERCURY 
TO
Forrest J Ackerman 
loyal and trusted friend for many years.



CHAPTER I. A NIGHT OF HORROR 
THE NEWSCASTER'S VOICE came blaring from the sound-grid:

"And we have upon good authority the information that the Bolton Flying Cube is almost ready for another trial flight. Dr. Norton Grenfell, when interviewed yesterday, was evasive regarding his plans. But from other sources we learn that at the next Inferior Conjunction of Mercury and Earth—which occurs in about two weeks from now, at which time the two planets will again be at their closest points to each other—we are informed that this new concept in interplanetary travel—the Flying Cube, will endeavor to reach Mercury—"

"Well!” exclaimed Rowena. “They think they know a lot, don't they?"

"Hear him out,” I said.

The voice went on: “There is undoubtedly no further menace from Mercury. The marauders from last fall will not come again. Jack Dean and his wife, Rowena Palisse, will, of course, be upon the Flying Cube when it makes its adventurous flight. Dean and his wife and Guy Palisse and the strange girl named Tama, and her brother Toh, who came last fall from Mercury, are still in seclusion. We have as yet been unable—"

"To locate us,” Guy said with a grin. “This fellow has a lordly manner, hasn't he?"

I am the Jack Dean whom the newscaster mentioned. This was in March; in August of the previous year the world was startled by an attack of Mercurian invaders upon a girls’ summer camp in Maine. Some of the girls were abducted—vanished in the night. I met Rowena Palisse then.

She's a very tall girl, with the regal aspect of a Nordic queen. I myself am several inches over six feet. I think our abnormal statures first attracted us to each other.

Rowena's brother, Guy, had tried to get to the moon ten years ago, an abortive attempt in a moon rocket. He left the earth, and was not heard from again. It was to Mercury the rocket carried him. He lived there those ten years—and last August he came back, a captive with the Mercurian invaders.

How the ship of these invaders was destroyed in outer space some three hundred thousand miles from the earth; how the giant Mercurian Croat was killed; and Guy, the Mercurian girl Tama, and her brother Toh were rescued by the Bolton Flying Cube—all this was public news.

And now Rowena and I were married and, with Guy and Tama and Toh, were trying to live in seclusion from the prying newscasters. The affair was over. Groat was dead. The only spaceship existing on Mercury had been destroyed. There was no further menace.

Ah, if we had but known !

The newscaster's voice interrupted my thoughts: “We feel sure that within a short time now the whereabouts of Jack Dean and the others will be disclosed. The Broadcasters’ Press Association has every hope of being able shortly to supply its millions of subscribers with television scenes of the strange Mercurian girl Tama—"

"Not a chance,” Guy gibed. “Get that right out of your mind, young fellow."

Rowena, Guy and I were sitting before our audiophone grid in a secluded new cabin set in a lonely spot in one of the northern states not far from the Canadian border. Forests surrounded us. A little lake was nearby. It was a clear, frosty evening of mid-March. The lake was frozen now. Snow lay thick on the ground and edged the naked tree branches with white. The underbrush, ice-coated, gleamed with a white brilliance in the sunlight. The snow was piled high against our windows; but inside, with a roaring log fire, we were snug enough.

Toh came into the living room. He was a slim, straight and boyish fellow, this Mercurian youth of twenty-one. In height he was no more than a little over five feet. He was dressed in high laced leather boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel shirt open at his slender throat. It seemed a costume utterly incongruous to him. His thick black hair was long to the base of his neck. A band like a ribbon of red was about his forehead to hold the hair from his eyes; and with his high-bridged nose, it gave him something of the aspect of a North American Indian youth. Toh was gentle-featured, almost girlish; yet there was about him an unmistakable dignity and strength.

He joined us quietly, unobtrusively, at the radio grid.

Guy said, “Toh, listen to this—he's talking about us."

"The air always talks, these days, of the Bolton Cube,” Toh said, in a soft, gentle voice with an indefinable accent. He spoke perfect English. Guy, on Mercury, had had years to teach him and Tama.

"Right,” said Guy. “And they're all excited because the news reporters can't find us."

For a time we listened to the droning voice. Guy replenished our log fire.

"They don't mention Jimmy,” he commented.

Jimmy Turk was my best friend. He had been with us on that memorable test flight of the Flying Cube, when we had gone, last fall, out of the earth's atmosphere and met the Mercurian spaceship. He was an operative flyer in the newly established Interstate Patrol.

Then the newscaster did mention Jimmy: “It was thought that James Turk might be persuaded to reveal the hiding place of his too-modest friends. But it seems not. He visits them occasionally, and it is no secret that our reporters have tried many times to trail him to their lair. But he is fleet and clever as clever in avoiding our pursuit as he is in tracking down criminals."

Rowena laughed. “That newscaster is frank enough, anyway.

"Where is Tama?” Guy asked suddenly.

"Out flying,” said Toh. “She left just a little while ago.” Guy frowned. “She shouldn't be out. I've told her—not while there's still light."

"Pretty cold,” I said.

"She has a knitted suit,” said Rowena, and smiled. “I told her, too, that she shouldn't go, but she went. You know Tama. But she can't go far. She can hardly fly with those clothes weighing her down, and the Earth's gravity—"

Guy went to the window, stood gazing out. Presently he called us.

"Look here!"

The sunset light was almost gone, but one could still see a snow-white cloud sailing high overhead.

Guy pointed. “Look—"

We went outside. A tiny dot was far up there, dropping out of the cloud. We knew it was not Tama. It came down like a plummet, resolved itself presently into a midget monoplane descending almost with a nose dive.

"Jimmy's dragon,” I said. “He must have been at fifty or sixty thousand feet—dropping through those clouds—making sure nobody is trailing him here."

Jimmy landed on the snow nearby. Climbing from his little pit, he was a shapeless bundle in his electrically warmed flying suit. In our living room he revealed himself—a short, stocky, redheaded little daredevil, with an unfailing grin.

"Hello, folks! A damned B.P.A. plane was after me when I left the city. Hope they had a good trip. I say, how about a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, I'm sorry,” Rowena apologized. “Of course you'll want something. I'll tell Eliza."

Eliza was our one servant, a middle-aged woman. She and Rowena returned presently with a hot breakfast for Jimmy.

"What brought you, Jimmy?” I demanded.

"Oh, just to see you. Don't I have to see my buried friends every so often?” His grin faded. “I've got news, a message for you from Grenfell: We're definitely going—the Cube is starting for Mercury—the tentative date is March thirtieth ... I say, Rowena, you do serve the most marvelous coffee."

He took it as lightly as that! In two weeks we were leaving for Mercury. My heart pounded at the thought of it. We had been waiting here only for Grenfell's decision.

Jimmy went on: “Inferior Conjunction is the first week in April—the shortest distance. I've been down to see the Cube. They've got perfect equipment this time. Everything's about ready. Grenfell wants you in Trenton in about a week, say March twenty-second."

The Flying Cube had been built and now was housed in the midst of the huge buildings of the Bolton Metal Industries near Trenton, New Jersey.

"Where is Tama?” Jimmy asked.

Guy was still anxiously at the window. And now Tama was coming. We went to the cabin doorway to meet her. She came, flying low over the frozen lake. A great, white-bodied, red-winged bird! Flying sluggishly as though tired, but she was only hampered by the weight of her clothes, and Earth's heavy gravity.

The wonder of Tama had never ceased to thrill me. The men of Mercury were very much like the men of Earth. But the women with their great feathered wings—

Her warm knitted suit made her slim body white as the surface of the frozen snow-covered lake. But her long black hair was waving in the wind; and her crimson-feathered wings with their ten-foot spread showed plainly in the twilight.

Her body hung at an angle, breast down. She flew straight for our doorway, fluttered down, her feet dropping, her wings flapping backward as she righted herself to land on tiptoe among us. She was panting with the flying effort, and laughing, and the frosty evening had brought into her clear white cheeks a mantling red.

"Tama!” exclaimed Guy. “You shouldn't fly out before it's dark."

"No one saw me, Guy. I must get out. It smothers me indoors ... Oh, good evening, Jimmy!"

A few minutes later Tama had taken off the knitted suit, and wore now her native garments. Beside the tall, queenly Rowena, Tama was an elfin, fantastic figure indeed. As small as Toh. They were, in fact, twins, twenty-one years old.

Tama stood before me. “You are not angry at me, Jack?"

"Well—"

"Guy is."

Elfin little creature, pouting at me to placate my anger. But like her brother, there was about her a decided dignity. The set of her jaw could be firm; her dark eves, twinkling at me now, could flash with command. On Mercury, as Guy had told us, she was leader of all the winged virgins of the Light Country.

On Mercury, a leader. But here on Earth, so strangely fantastic. Her crimson-feathered wings were folded now as she stood among us. They arched from her shoulder blades, with their flexible feathered tips just clearing the ground behind her. She wore silky fabric, gray-blue trousers bound at her ankles; sandals encased her bare feet. A silken gray-blue scarf was wound about her waist, crossing in front, covering her breast and shoulders, crossing again between the wings behind and descending to her waist.

"Angry, Jack?"

"Well—"

I found it difficult to be angry; yet she should not have gone out.

We sat down to discuss the voyage to Mercury in the Cube. Guy sat with his arm about Tama. It was no secret that they were in love. They were to be married as Tama wanted, on Mercury, in her native Hill City, at the end of this forthcoming trip.

"I am glad,” said Tama. “It seemed so long, waiting here."

The elfin look was gone from her now. With her thoughts back on Mercury she was Tama of the Light Country, a leader. She met my gaze.

"It is not that I do not like your Earth, Jack. But you know I am worried about things in the Hill City. My girls, the winged virgins as you call them, Jimmy, tell me just what Dr. Grenfell says. We go, surely?"

"Sure thing!” said Jimmy.

Late into that night and most of the next morning we discussed it; then Jimmy had to leave.

"See you in a week,” he told us. “Ill come up and fly you down to Trenton."

We stood beside his tiny dragon to see him take off. If we had only known under what terrifying stress of circumstances we next were to see him !

* * * *
The remainder of that memorable day passed without incident. Jimmy left just before noon. That evening we all retired early. Our log-cabin bungalow was a rambling, many roomed structure. Rowena and I had a bedroom off the living room. Toh and Guy slept in another room; Tama occupied a room alone. And Eliza, the housekeeper, had a bedroom nearby.

It was after midnight when I awakened. I had slept uneasily, perhaps the stimulus of Jimmy's exciting news. What woke me up, I do not know. I started into full wakefulness, and at once became aware that Rowena was not beside me.

The room was cold, the house wholly silent. Through the drawn window blinds faint shafts of moonlight were straggling. Rowena's negligee was gone from the chair beside our bed.

I lay listening in the silence. The door to the living room was open; a log in the dying fire fell with a sound startlingly loud.

And then I heard something that set me shuddering, and took me out of bed with a bound. A crunching in the snow outside the cabin! Footsteps! And, it seemed, low murmurs of voices!

I reached the living room. The waning fire illuminated it with flickering yellow light and waving shadows. A shaft of moonlight showed me that the outer door was open; it hung askew on its hinges, the top one broken so that it dangled forward into the room!

My confusion lasted no more than a moment, however. I found myself shouting, “Rowena! Guy!"

At the door I saw a trail of footprints in the snow. Not our beaten path to the lake. These led sidewise toward a line of naked trees. I thought that in the moonlight there were dark blobs of retreating figures off there!

The frosty outer air struck at me as I stood thinly clad. Our overcoats hung on pegs near the living room door. I recall donning a heavy coat and pulling boots over my bare feet.

My shouts brought the household. A confusion of figures and voices.

"Jack! What the devil—"

"Jack—"

Guy and Toh were plucking at me. Then Toh saw the broken door.

"Oh—” He darted at it. Stooped. Straightened. “Burned! The hinges burned with a heat-ray! Where is Tama?"

Guy and Toh were here! But not Rowena! Not Tama! The housekeeper appeared; stood stricken with terror. “Mr. Jack, what is it? Tell me! What's wrong? What—"

I ran outside. The distant figures had vanished. In the house the voices and tramping steps of Guy and Toh resounded.

Guy shouted, “Tama! Rowena! Tama, where are you?” Guy met me at the doorway; his face was livid in the moonlight.

"Gone! They're not here!"

Eliza was screaming with shrill, hysterical wails.

I gasped, “I think I saw them out there among the trees!"

We seized our large-bore rifles, which stood in a corner of the room. Guy and Toh drew on overcoats and boots.

In a moment we started. The moon went under a passing cloud. The white snow surface turned dark gray, but the trail was plain. A wide, scuffled path, many footsteps. The edge of the forest was a few hundred feet away. We were half running. I suddenly realized, heedlessly running—

I stopped, and drew Guy and Toh crouching beside me behind the huge bulk of a fallen tree.

"Wait! They must be close ahead. I saw them!” We could not fire on any distant figure, with the girls possibly among them.

Toh murmured, “It must be Mercurians!"

"They can't travel fast,” I whispered. “The earth's gravity is too great. If we can decide their direction, then circle and get ahead of them—"

I checked my words. Beside me in the snow, almost at my feet, a dark object was lying. I reached for it. A torn piece of cloth. There was light enough for me to see it. A portion of a man's coat sleeve. The wrist cuff had some insignia on it. It was queerly burned, blackened where a segment of it had been melted away by a blast of heat.

It was from the uniform of Jimmy Turk!

I had no time to do more than show it to Guy and Toh. The Mercurians had seen us. From the edge of the nearby forest a narrow beam of blue-green light came with a hiss, like a tiny lightning bolt darting over us. It caught a snowdrift twenty feet away; melted a hole like a clean-bored tunnel with vapor rising from it.

I leaped up, against the efforts of Toh and Guy to pull me down. A figure stood at the forest edge—the bundled shape of a man in animal skins. I shot. My rifle stabbed its spurt of yellow flame. The report echoed in the still night air over the frozen lake.

But my shot never reached its intended mark.

From my adversary the blue-green beam came again. By chance it must have met my bullet. A puff of fire showed in mid-air as the steel-tipped missile melted into burning gas and ashes.

The scientist hastened away and boarded the Cube, mounting to the second of its three interior tiers, to stand at one of the bull's-eye windows of its narrow, corridor-like enclosed deck.

And Guy burst out, “If they'd only let us help them! Do something. God, this delay—"

The dawn was just coming when we left the earth, pursuing the silver ball into space.




CHAPTER II. AN UNKNOWN VOICE 
FROM WHAT Jimmy afterward told me, I can construct a picture of what happened to him from the time he left us that noon of March 15. From our secluded camp he flew his dragon directly back to Boston. His little monoplane—the fleetest, most agile type of flyer of its day—mounted high into the clouds. Jimmy was taking no chances that a newscaster's plane might be on the lookout for him, guess that he had been visiting us, and thus reveal our vicinity.

The dragon had its own insignia in chameleon letters on its underwing surface, but Jimmy could light the wings to show other official insignia.

When he left our cottage his wings bore a naval device. His plane, constructed for instant camouflage, dangled a false landing gear, and wore wide, spreading false upper wings. No observer at a distance could have guessed it was Jimmy's dragon.

He mounted to high altitudes, changed the angles of incidence of his wing surfaces, switched the pressure air into his carburetor for rarified flying, and kept mounting. At sixty thousand feet he swung southeast toward Boston.

"Coming,” he told the chief over the ether-phone. “Be there in an hour."

Over Boston he nosed down. The false plane-shape ribs were folded. The camouflaged landing gear had been drawn up. His wing surfaces carried his own familiar device.

He landed on the Commonwealth Building; descended to his office, dispatched his routine work.

At about two o'clock his televisor phone puzzled.

"James Turk speaking. Interstate Patrol, New England, Division Four. Who wants me?"

The call-sorter's voice answered him. “Someone wants you through the Bangor Broadcasting Studio. Do you accept the call, please?"

"Plug ‘em in,” said Jimmy.

"I would speak to Jimmy Turk,” came a soft, low-spoken man's voice.

"I'm Turk. Who are you? Where's your image?"

The sorter cut in. “I can't get his image, Mr. Turk."

"Let him come through without it."

The soft voice sounded: “I—you do not know me. I am a friend of Rowena."

"Rowena?"

Was this some hoax? Some newscaster trying to work a game on him?

"Rowena,"the voice barely whispered, “is in danger—great danger. And Tama—you know Tama—"

"Who in the devil are you?” Jimmy bent at his sending grid with tense vehemence.

"A friend.” The voice now spoke with furtive swiftness. “Rowena and Tama—they are together? Both in the same place?"

"None of your damned business!"

"They are in danger. I do not ask you to go to them. Come to me."

Jimmy still thought it was a hoax; but in spite of himself his heart was thumping.

"I'm not going to them. You want me to come to you? Why? Where—"

"I will tell you of the danger if you will meet me. It must be secret."

"Where will I meet you?"

"Moosehead Lake, in Maine.” The voice was intensely earnest. “There is a landing field—M 56—and another landing field—M 57. From the air a line connecting them would cross a north arm of that lake. I will be where it crosses the lakeshore."

"When?"

"In an hour."

"I'll come,” Jimmy agreed. “And look here, if this is some damned newscaster's joke, I'll slam you into pulp."

"Danger is no joke. You will come alone? If you do not, you will never find me."

"Don't worry—I'll come alone."

They broke connection. Jimmy left orders to trace the call, and in five minutes had his dragon in the air. Jimmy Turk was afraid of nothing. His worst fault was that he was too hasty, heedless. There was a chance that one of the many criminals with whom he constantly dealt was using this method of luring him to a lonely spot. But a landing on Moosehead Lake in broad daylight was nothing in Jimmy's life; and his dragon was nimble as a Rea and a veritable arsenal of weapons.

Nevertheless, as he approached the rendezvous, he flew high, gazing cautiously down, sweeping his binoculars over the white, frozen landscape. The afternoon sun was shining. The forest stretched white, with sharp black shadows; every twig of the underbrush was touched with winter's fairy fingers, glittering in the sunlight.

He could see, some ten miles apart, the two landing fields which the unknown voice had named—the hangars, repair shops, and the towns nearby. Mentally he drew a line connecting them.

Jimmy made a wide circle. There were a few towns, shapeless in the snow, overhead an occasional plane, and camps in the forest, most of them deserted in this season. The town of Quogg was visible, and far off to the south, a patch on the lakeshore marked the snow-piled site of the White Summer Camp for Girls, where the Mercurian invaders had made their first raid the summer before.

Jimmy saw nothing suspicious. The designated spot was obvious—a level snow field near the lake shore with the forest set close around it. A desolate, lonely spot.

Jimmy flashed on his wing insignia, dropped his snow-skid gear and descended. The dragon skimmed the naked treetops like an albatross, struck the field, slid its length, and stopped with the forest edge and a thick line of underbrush twenty feet beyond its propeller nose.

For a minute Jimmy sat in his little open pit, waiting. The forest was silent; the small open field lay blue-white in the sunlight, an unbroken surface save for the double track of his skids.

No one was waiting here. Then it occurred to Jimmy that he had the dragon in a wrong position. He pressed down his turning spikes, wheeled the little plane around, facing the open field for a quick takeoff.

Jimmy was alert. He was awkward in his thick suit, but he had flung back his face visor, taken off his gloves, and in his hand he held his automatic. As the dragon wheeled with its tail to the nearby forest edge, a figure appeared from the underbrush there. Jiminy did not see it at once; but he saw it an instant later when he raised himself cautiously up to gaze back over the pit-cowl.

"Hi!” called Jimmy. “Stand where you are—that's close enough."

The single figure stopped obediently. It was a small man bundled in a huge gray-white fur garment with a hood over big head. His pale face was uncovered, but his hands were lost in the voluminous fur.

Jimmy noticed that at once and ducked back of his cowl, clicking open a tiny slit through which he poked the muzzle of his gun. Down in the pit where he crouched, his periscope mirror showed him the standing figure. The stranger was only twenty feet away; the astonished expression of his face at Jimmy's actions was plainly discernible.

Jimmy called, “I've got you covered. Better throw your hands up. Up I tell you! I never talk to strangers when they bide their hands like that."

The man's arms went up. His hands were seemingly empty. His voice—the soft voice of the phone call said, “Are you Jimmy Turk?"

"Yes. What is it you want to tell me?"

"I cannot shout it. Can I come closer?"

"Yes. But keep your hands up."

The man came walking with a slow, dragging tread. To Jimmy's mind flashed the thought that he was a cripple, his feet laboriously scuffling the snow.

And then another thought came: a realization. Jimmy's heart leaped. His finger very nearly pressed the trigger of his leveled automatic. But it was not Jimmy's way to kill in cold blood. He shouted, “Hey there—I say, wait a minute! Stand still!"

The man stopped. He was only ten feet from Jimmy now. His hands were over his head and one of them hipped forward suddenly.

Jimmy fired. He thought he saw the man's knees knock together, an instant in advance of the shot. At the stranger's waist a spreading stab of blue-green light leaped out. Jimmy's bullet went into the light-radiance: melted in a harmless puff of ignited gas.

All in a second. Jimmy was aware of the tiny object the man had flipped, dropping into the open pit beside him as he crouched. It shattered into a tiny puff of light, almost invisible—colorless—incredibly bright. Stabs of pain leaped in Jimmy's eyeballs. The pit interior went dazzling white, then dark. Black.

Jimmy felt himself firing again, blindly. He blinked. The pain in his eyeballs was horrible—confusing, blaring. His eyes were open. But he was blind.

He felt arms reaching in to seize him. He swung up his automatic, but it was knocked from his band. Then something struck his head—a blow dulled by his headgear, but it was enough. His senses whirled; he felt himself falling backward to the floor of his pit.




CHAPTER III. THIRD DEGREE 
JIMMY'S FIRST returning consciousness brought again those stabbing pains in his eyeballs. The white puff of light had caused only a temporary blindness: a horribly brilliant actinic ray which narrowed his pupils and paralyzed their nerves so that they could not expand when the light was gone.

The effect was wearing off now. He could see dim blurred shadows around him; and out of the shadows of unconsciousness the murmur of voices became audible.

Jimmy felt himself to be lying upon something soft. He moved his hand and struck a curved, smooth metal surface. He felt his head. His hair was matted with blood, drying now, stiffly sticky. A scalp wound where something had struck him.

He realized that his headgear had been taken off; and then that his flying suit was off. But he was warm, lying in some interior. His returning senses were clarifying, the sounds around him becoming less blurred. He could hear footsteps, and men's voices in a strange, unintelligible language.

Then he heard the approaching tread of heavy footsteps. A shape bent over him and a face took form—a woman's face with a wide, flat nose, flabby, sagging pallid-gray cheeks. Over her thick shoulder he could distinguish the arch of gray-feathered wings.

She said in a guttural, broken English, “You better? No hurt now?"

"No,” said Jimmy. “But I can't see. Where am I? That man—

"No talk.” She pushed at him with a flabby hand as he tried to sit up. “You no move. He kill."

Jimmy sank back. “If he's here, you send him to me."

She straightened and moved away into the blurred shadows of the room. Jimmy lay motionless and felt his strength coming back to him. He felt now that he was capable of standing, fighting—

But he was still very nearly sightless, and unarmed. He felt his clothes. There was no weapon upon him. He was in a lighted room; several men were here. A room unmoving, vibrationless.

Again approaching footsteps. A man this time. As the face came down, Jimmy saw a man with a smallish face of perhaps thirty. His black hair grew down in a little peak on his white forehead to give him a curiously satanic look. Jimmy recognized the soft voice of the man who had phoned him, he was saying, “And you have your senses now?"

"Yes. What the devil do you mean by—” Jimmy broke off. That line of talk was useless. He amended, “You've done something to my eyes. I'm blind."

"That will wear off presently. Have no fear, I have not harmed you."

The man sat down beside him.

"Look here,” said Jimmy. “What's this all about? Who are you?"

The man laughed softly. “My name you have heard, just as I have heard of you. I am Roc."

Roc, the Mercurian! Jimmy had never seen him before, but from Guy Palisse he had heard of him. He was the son of the giant Croat who had come to Earth last summer and met his death. In the Light Country of Mercury this man Roc had risen to be chief of the army in Tama's native Hill City. Guy had taught him English, had known him for nearly ten years.

At Jimmy's exclamation, Roc chuckled grimly.

"You have heard of me! But you and Palisse, that Jack Dean and the rest never thought I would come to your Earth. Well, I came, to find out what became of my father and his spaceship—"

Jimmy interrupted cautiously, “Did they come to Earth? Well, I don't know—"

"You lie! You know his ship was destroyed. He was a fool to bother with your accursed Earthwomen. I told him so. I told him he was not clever enough to come here. He is dead now. Well for me, because it leaves me to be master of the Light Country ... He had another spaceship in the Cold Country of Mercury. It was nearly completed and I have finished it: this ball you are now in."

"I can't see a thing,” said Jimmy calmly. “Where are we?"

Again Roc chuckled. “Hidden in the forest, near where I caught you. It is still daylight. We descended last night. For one never here before, I know this land very well. Guy Palisse was nice to teach me your language, and to draw me maps.

He seemed ready enough to talk. A conceited fellow, proud of his own cleverness; pleased on the whole that his father was dead. Jimmy could barely see him as a blurred shape sitting nearby. Roc told with bland conceit how he had crept upon a farmhouse not far from here, listened to its radiogrid. Every grid these days shouted of nothing but the Bolton Flying Cube; the death of the marauding Croat last fall; the hidden Tama, Rowena, Guy Palisse and Jack Dean; and Jimmy Turk, the patrol flyer who knew their whereabouts but would not tell.

Roc was shrewd, quick to learn; and he was fairly familiar with Earth devices. He had found no trouble in communicating with Jimmy.

"Well,” said Jimmy. “You're a clever fellow, aren't you? What comes next?"

Roc retorted softly, “I want Tama, that is all. Your Earth does not interest me. I never liked my father's plan to populate Mercury with your Earthwomen. But the virgins of the Light Country are rebellious. They fly off in revolt if one crosses them."

"You mean, if you mutilate their wings,” Jimmy put in.

"Clip their wings. I passed a law that their wings should be clipped. But that is not important now. When I return to Mercury, I shall be master of the Light Country. Everything is ready: from the Cold Country our armies are coming."

"When are you going to return?"

"Tonight, when the darkness comes."

"Well, I'm not interested in your Mercury. Suppose you let me out of here and I'll go—"

Roc suddenly gripped him with thin, talon-like fingers and a fair amount of strength.

"You are a fool! If I had weapons to do it, I would destroy this Flying Cube that dares plan a flight to Mercury. At any rate, your Earth can give me Tama and that Earthgirl, Rowena. There is a comrade with me here—big like her—who would like to see her.” The grip of Roc's fingers tightened. “Tonight, when the darkness comes, you are going to lead me to where Tama and that Rowena bide."

"I don't know where they are,” said Jimmy.

"You lie!"

Jimmy's sight was steadily returning. He was lying in triangular room which was evidently a segment of a small metallic globe. The metal ceiling arched concave—a dull white metal surface, with a small lens-paned window. It stood partly open. There were tree branches close outside dimly visible in the fading daylight. Other figures had been in the room, but they had moved away now. Their voices were audible through one of the interior doorways.

Roc leaned closer. “I am going to have trouble with you then?"

"You are, if you expect me to tell you what I don't know.

"We shall see."

Jimmy felt a sudden stab of pain on the upper flesh of his arm. A burning, blistering heat as though a small white hot needle had been laid against his skin and instantly withdrawn. The smell of burning cloth, his coat sleeve, wafted to him. In Roc's hand was a small black object the size and shape of a metal lead pencil.

"That is nothing,” Roc sneered. “Just a hint. Will you tell me now where those two girls are living?"

Jimmy suddenly lunged. His flying fist caught Roc in the face. Roc went over backward, with Jimmy on top of him. They were about the same size, but Jimmy was far stronger. Roc's pencil-weapon emitted a tiny silent flash. It missed Jimmy. He knocked the thing from Roc's hand. His fingers encircled the Mercurian's slender throat, choking him; but Roc had been able already to shout. Footsteps were approaching.

Jimmy let go of his writhing adversary and sprang to his feet. The bulk of a giant man's figure loomed before him. Jimmy's sight was still far from normal. He ducked sidewise, trying to gain the doorway. A stab of light flashed past him; missed him. Roc was shouting, struggling erect. There were other men's figures.

Jimmy stumbled over something. Fell, with the curiously light weight but bulging bulk of the giant on top of him. He felt something damp against his face. The acid smell of a drug. His senses blurred. He went limp.

Jimmy did not lose consciousness this time. All his muscles seemed paralyzed. As though in some strange form of catalepsy, he lay helpless, unable to move, but with his eyes wide open. There was a blurred sense of sight and bearing. Blurred thoughts, as though something were pulling at him, striving to waft him off into a phantasm of chaos. He fought against it vainly.

He was lying on his back. They had shoved him against the wall of the room. Someone was talking nearby.

Jimmy fought for consciousness. He blinked. He could twitch the muscles of his face a little. Not quite dead! He could swallow awkwardly, with effort. His tongue seemed swollen, but would move.

Time passed. Jimmy suddenly realized that he had relaxed and floated off into a wild, drugged sleep. Someone had held more of the drug against his nose and mouth. He had a vague recollection of it.

The vehicle was moving now. There was vibration; and a humming in the interior. Jimmy thought he could see a window. Night outside; it seemed to be starlight. No forest trees. Only a field of glittering stars.

Roc bent over him. “Can you talk?"

"Yes."

"It is night now. We have ascended. Still over Maine, up about a hundred thousand feet. Are you ready now to tell me where those girls are?"

"No."

"But you know their location?"

"Yes."

A dull feeling of surprise swept over Jimmy as he heard his thick, toneless voice giving his answer. His brain was rational. He had meant to say, “No"—tried to say it, but the answer had come, “Yes."

Roc demanded, “Are they in this state of Maine?"

"No."

Again Jimmy had tried not to answer truthfully. He realized now that this drug which had paralyzed his muscles, his nerve centers, had also paralyzed his will. Against all his efforts, his answers were truthful.

"Are they in New York State?"

"Yes."

"Tell me just where."

Jimmy fought not to speak at all. He could feel Roc's gleaming dark gaze upon him—feel, as though it were something tangible, Roc's will dominating his own.

The Mercurian's voice was low and intense:

"Tell me, I command you. Do you understand? Command you."

Suddenly he heard his voice telling the detailed description of the location of the secluded cabin. Roc would have no trouble in descending in the forest near it. Jimmy gave all the details of the cabin's interior, the location and occupants of its different rooms.

Roc laughed softly. “Thank you. I hope there will be many times when you can help me like this."

Jimmy lay mentally exhausted. His senses were floating now and it was pleasant to be at peace.

* * * *
He came to himself with the realization that he was outdoors. It was still night. Snow was under his feet and a vista of open snow fields, with forest trees nearby. A thick cloth hood protected his head; the under jacket of his flying suit was over his shoulders.

He seemed to have almost his full strength at once. He was slumped by a tree trunk which loomed beside him. A giant man clung to him by the arm—had evidently dragged—him here. The man leaned down.

"You right, now? All right?"

Broken, guttural English. A giant Mercurian. Jimmy became suddenly aware that this was a familiar locality. He saw the dim outlines of a nearby log cabin, dark in the starlight. This was our cabin, which he had left only about twelve hours before. He saw figures prowling outside it now.

Jimmy did not answer. With all his force he wrenched from his captor and tried to run. But his strength suddenly drained from him. He stumbled and fell in the snow. A flash stung his arm and burned his sleeve; and as the giant leaped on him and pulled him erect, a portion of burned fabric fell unheeded to the ground beside the stump. It was the cloth which I came upon a few moments later.

Another figure gripped Jimmy. A voice, in better English, said softly, “Do not try that.” And then, “They come, Dorrek—Roc no need this fellow."

They had brought Jimmy out to revive him in the cold air, perhaps thinking they might need him to show them further details of the cabin. They hurried him now toward the nearby forest. Jimmy saw, behind him, a following group. He saw the silver ball resting in the shadows of the forest nearby. He was led into it, flung down on the floor of the same room where he had been before. The giant sat watchfully at his elbow.

Then there were shots outside, in the distance. A flurry of footsteps in the vehicle; excited voices. Arriving figures.

Rowena and Tama were flung down beside Jimmy. Roc's voice said:

"Guard them, Dorrek ... If anyone of you causes trouble, Dorrek will kill you."

The lenses of the windows and the door were slamming. The vehicle lifted, quivered. Outside the window, the forest trees were sliding downward. Then only starlight. The ball was making upward, leaving the Earth.

"Jimmy—you!"

The girls clung to Jimmy. The giant seemed to ignore their whispering. Tama had been caught by Roc while she was still asleep, but the slight noise had awakened Rowena. She had seized a long dressing gown and gone into the living room. Roc and his men had pounced upon her.

To Rowena's easy capture, Guy, Toh and I undoubtedly owed our lives. Had there been a commotion Roc would probably have killed us in our beds, but with the girls captured, he retreated at once.

"I told him where you were,” Jimmy whispered. “I was drugged—paralyzed—I couldn't keep from telling."

Tama knew the drug. It was foolproof. She named it in her native language. Roc had thrown a cloak over her wings. She was shivering, but presently, with the friction-heat of the rapid ascent, the room began to warm.

"We're headed for Mercury,” whispered Jimmy.

The giant abruptly leaned toward Rowena, plucked at her gown.

"You—the Rowena girl?"

There was light enough to see his face. A great bloated, flabby—jowled, hairless face of pallid gray skin. A wide flat nose with a bridge suggesting that it had been broken. He was grinning with a leer meant to be ingratiating.

Rowena flung off his hand. Jimmy muttered an oath, but Tama gripped him.

"Wait! He is a Cold Country native; perhaps a leader."

"You—the Rowena girl?"

"Yes,” said Rowena calmly. “That's my name."

"I like you. I, Dorrek, master of the army when we capture Light Country. Soon now. And I like you. Big woman—beautiful. My woman soon—"

His gaze devoured Rowena's figure. Jimmy was tense, but a movement of Tama's directed his attention across the room. Behind the squatting giant, a heavy-set gray woman was standing. Her gray wings were folded behind her. She stood against the wall; the light fell upon her wide, flabby, gray face to illumine it plainly. It was contorted now with hate. The venom of a woman's jealous hate.

And all in an instant Jimmy realized that in her hand as it came up from the folds of her drab-colored robe, a long glittering knife was clutched.

The woman moved suddenly forward, uttered a piercing hysterical scream and with waving knife blade leaped at Rowena.




CHAPTER IV. ENDLESS VOID 
I SAT BESIDE Guy in one of the deck corridor chairs of the Bolton Cube. A bull's-eye window was at hand. Earthlight and starlight, and mingled moonlight fell upon us—the great firmament out there blazing with a glory wondrous, amazing. The Earth hung fairly below our window. Tremendous, reddish-yellow ball, etched with the tracery of its land and water, mottled with cloud areas, white with its polar snowcaps.

To one side hovered the gleaming, sharply black and white Moon-disk and everywhere the stars blazed like points of fire in the dead black void of space. The sun was overhead. From this side of the deck we could not see it.

"How far out are we?” Guy asked. I had been to the dome-peak and just returned.

"About four hundred thousand miles."

"Has Grenfell's telescope lost sight of the silver ball?"

"Yes."

We had been on the voyage some ten hours. It was now, by Earth Eastern Standard Time, which we were maintaining on the Cube, about 3 p.m. on the afternoon of March 16th. The Mercurian vehicle had departed some four hours in advance of us and now it was beyond our sight.

"But Grenfell is sure we have been making as good speed as the ball,” I added. “And he hopes to do better. We'll overhaul it in a day or two."

"If it heads directly for Mercury,” said Guy. “But we're following it blind."

Through the window there was no movement apparent. The Earth and Moon were dwindling, but very slowly. The sun was growing larger. Our velocity was now only a million miles in about nine hours. More than a month to reach the sun at this rate, and something like twenty-six-thousand years to the nearest star!

For an hour Guy and I talked that afternoon on the deck of the Bolton Cube. We would overtake the Mercurian vehicle. And then what? There was a gun mounted at a pressure port on the deck of the Cube. But with Tama, Rowena and Jimmy in the ball, we could not attack it.

On the other band, if Roc had the necessary weapons, he was free to attack us. Guy felt, however, that Roc had no long-range weapons.

"It won't be armed,” Guy insisted. “They'll have hand weapons—but that's about all. That ball was only a tender for Croat's ship."

* * * *
A day passed. Anxious hours, seemingly interminable. Our almost vibrationless little square metal house seemed hanging in the void. Everything remained almost the same. The Earth was still full-round, but smaller, with a silvery aspect mingling now with its yellow-red sheen; the moon, behind it, a tiny white sphere. Both were level with our side windows, with the sun and Mercury on the other side. Grenfell kept us in this position so that his telescope might most readily seek the Mercurian vehicle in advance of us.

The sun seemed a trifle larger now. The crescent Mercury could be seen only through the telescope. And far to one side, the blazing point of light which was Venus showed in the telescope as a glorious half-moon.

Then at last we were rewarded. Five p.m. of March 17th, thirty-six hours after leaving the Earth. A shout from Toh resounded through the Cube.

"They have picked it up! It is visible—a dot against the Sun-disk! Jack, come up here! Guy—oh, Guy—the thing is in advance of us, but not so far."

We jammed into the little dome-room. Our velocity was now some five hundred thousand miles an hour. It had reached and passed the maximum of which apparently the Mercurian vehicle was capable. The ball showed as a tiny black dot against the flaming gaseous envelope of the sun's surface.

I faced Dr. Grenfell. “Can I see you a moment alone?” He gazed up at me from beneath his raised bushy brows. “Alone? We've no secrets here, Jack. What—"

But he left Baker at the telescope and accompanied me down the inclined ladder into the third and upper tier of the Cube. A small central room, with table and chairs, surrounded by a number of cubbies-control and instrument rooms. Guy had followed us, with Toh beside him.

I had a plan: wild, suicidal. All day the details of it had been obsessing me: I had been waiting for the sighting of the silver ball as the time to tell it to Grenfell. He listened quietly, hearing me through with only an occasional question. He sat low in his chair, his thick shoulders hunched, his eyes peering up at me; and only his thick fingers toying restlessly with the black ribbon of his seldom-used eye glasses betrayed his emotions.

Guy sat speechless, turning grim and white, regarding me with an eagerness almost pathetic. Only once, he spoke.

"Jack! I'm going with you! Dr. Grenfell, if he goes, I'm going."

And Toh protested the same.

We ignored them. When I finished, there was a tense silence.

Then Dr. Grenfell said, “That's all, Jack?"

"Yes ... Wait, Guy—” I gripped his arm. “Take it easy! Let's talk this out. Dr. Grenfell—"

He interrupted me with his slow quiet voice. “I think you could get there. The way you reason it, the thing is rational. But Jack, you could not do anything."

"Except yield myself up. But I don't think they'll kill me, and just being there with Rowena—Dr. Grenfell, she's my wife, don't you realize that? She—"

His gesture checked my outburst. “You could not take any weapons, or it would result only in arming our enemy."

"I know it. I don't want any. One, perhaps—a little revolver or a knife which I might hide. I just want to be there. It's when they land on Mercury—instead of Jimmy alone, it will be Jimmy and me to try and guard the girls and find some way of escape. Well succeed, I'm sure.” I tried to be calm. “Dr. Grenfell, you can spare me?"

"Yes, I can spare you. But it may be suicide.” He gazed down at his eyeglass ribbon; and then he looked up with sudden decision.

"I can imagine your emotion, Jack. I won't keep you, won't try to influence your going,” Guy insisted. “Two of us—” He stopped Toh from speaking. “You keep out of this. They'd kill you the moment they got hold of you, and you know it."

Grenfell shook his bead at them both. “I won't spare more than one of you."

"But, Dr. Grenfell—” Guy began.

"And you, most emphatically, I cannot spare. When we reach Mercury, trying to plan what to do, whom do you think we'll depend on most? You, Guy! Isn't that obvious? There will be only eight of us here on the Cube, and of us all, only you and Toh have been to Mercury before. You think I'm going to let you try this mad thing? Lose you and your knowledge of Mercury? I'm not!"

He leaned forward with his hands on Guy's shoulders. Get it out of your head. The very thing you want, the safety of Tama, would be jeopardized ... Jack, if you insist on trying it, well start your preparations now. Toh, please—you're only a lad. I won't let you try this mad thing ... Your Moon-suit, Jack; we'll get it ready, test it out in the air lock. We'll overtake Roc's vehicle presently."

So it was decided that, I alone, was to undertake the adventure, fantastic, suicidal attempt! I prepared for it with outward calmness. But he who says he is incapable of fear is a liar.

Our vehicle was a cube fifty feet in each of its three dimensions. Outwardly it suggested a great sugar-lump, ornate with little windows, a doorway, a bulge around the middle which was the enclosed balcony deck. On top there was an observatory dome set like a tiny conical hat.

The Cube inside was a maze of softly blue-lit apartments of metallic walls, floors and ceilings, draped and furnished into a fair semblance of comfort. There were three tiers, and a balcony deck surrounded the four vertical sides of the middle tier. Of these four deck-lengths of the balcony, one was different from the others. D-face, it was termed. Along this fifty-foot length there were pressure ports—air locks projecting outward from the deck. Our single long-range gun was mounted at one of them. Others were for the firing of hand weapons, so that from the normal air pressure of the deck a bullet might be fired into the vacuum of space.

Grenfell added, “I've had the telescope on them. Not a show of anything at the windows. They must be avoiding each window as it turns toward us."

On the deck, three of our men were waiting to launch me off. Gibbons was in the dome at our telescope; Baker was in the main control room. They had all been alert as we overhauled the ball. Roc might have been able to fire upon us. D-Face was kept now fronting the ball, and one of our men stood alert at the long-range gun. Roc's shot, had it come, would have been promptly answered. I thanked God that such a thing had not been necessary.

Guy touched me. “Well, good-bye—good luck!"

They all chorused it as, with hands that shook in spite of myself, I bolted on the helmet, started my tiny motors, felt the suit bloating with its interior pressure. Through my visor pane I could see Grenfell's face as he stared at me. His lips framed, “Good luck!"

Someone pushed me into the pressure lock. The door slid closed after me. I sat awkwardly on the floor in the center of the little metal room. Through the transparent slide I could see the men's faces peering; and beyond the outer slide, which was also closed, was a vista of stars and the round gleaming shape of Roc's vehicle.

The exhaust pumps were sucking the air from the lock. Currents plucking at me.

A few minutes later I was in a vacuum. I stood up, swaying unsteadily. There was a glimpse of Guy's white, anxious face. I turned away from it, faced the outer door panel.

It moved silently aside. The last swirl of rarified air in the lock pushed at me as it rushed out. I clutched the doorway, poised at the sill. At my feet a brink—a million million miles of black void and blazing worlds down there.

Once before I had found myself in a situation similar to this—a human projectile in space, detached, a world of myself. Yet now, for all my anticipation, the shock of it numbed me. A vague amazement of thought,

I did not fall. There was no sensation of falling. No movement. A suspension, as though with my body hanging poised in the void, my thoughts were also poised. A shock—but in a moment it passed, leaving only confusion.

The heavens slowly, soundlessly shifted, and stopped. The earth hung level, unmoving. I turned my head. The fiery ball of the sun was steady to my right. A firmament of blazing, unmoving worlds. And I now was one of them. Subject now, not to human movement, but to the laws of celestial mechanics. The finding of my orbit would be the result of all the complicated forces now acting upon me. Perhaps I could take the open trajectory of a comet; or the closed ellipse of a planet, or become only a satellite, forever to revolve about one of these greater astronomical bodies near me.

Time was lost with movement. I was a world which could exist a few years or hours or minutes, and then die, disintegrate. Poised in the infinity of Time and Space. Hung chained as a satellite to something.

I shook myself free from the confusion. How long it lasted I cannot say. I lay helpless, floating weightless in a weightless void. I could kick and flounder but could not change my position. I had left the air lock with a carefully planned forward dive. It had carried me, like a log floating in water, a hundred feet or so away from the Cube. My outward velocity had retarded.

Of all the myriad forces pulling at me, the attraction of the Cube was the greatest. Dr. Grenfell held D-face of the Cube with neutral gravity plates. The Cube's nearness checked me, held me. I sensed only the movement of my slow, outward dive; yet at that instant I was plunging forward with the Cube at half a million miles an hour!

The Mercurian vehicle hung before me, seemingly unmoving, some ten miles away. I wondered if Rowena had seen me leap—if she could guess it was I.

Then the heavens were shifting, slowly oscillating with pendulum swing as I picked up a rolling motion. I became aware that I was lagging behind the Cube, the beginning of a small velocity of my own—the making of an orbit. Soon, with these forces, I would be a satellite of the Cube with the lesser attraction of the Roc vehicle retarding me at each revolution.

Again my jumbled thoughts clarified. The air lock door at D-face was closed. I could see Grenfell in the lock peering out at me. I raised my bloated arm with our agreed upon signal that I was all right.

He answered it, and vanished. Another countless interval of time went by. I knew that Grenfell was shifting the gravity plates in D-face so that their force would repulse me. It was presently apparent. I began moving away from the Cube. Moving free. Slowly at first. Then faster.

The Cube visually began dwindling. The Roc vehicle grew larger.

I fell free. The heavens shifted. Then the attraction of the silver ball caught me. I went around it in a great ellipse. And with a slow axial rotation I was turning end over end, so that now the Earth was over me and then the sun—my days, which now were minutes or seconds of human time—and my year was now once around this enlarging globe.

I circled it several times in a narrowing spiral orbit, as steadily its bulk drew me closer. There were glimpses of the Cube, hovering watchful in the starry distance. I saw that my orbit was eccentric as I passed the side of the ball upon which Roc was using his power. Then I think he made all the ball neutral, for it drew me evenly inward each time I went around. I thought several times that at the small convex panes there were faces peering out at me.

The whole process took many minutes, or hours. I went at last with a curving rush at the ball. Struck its smooth gleaming, convex side. Rebounded, with the impulse of the air pressure in my bloated garments; struck again. It seemed like a fall: I landed with hands and knees under me, and felt that I now had a little weight: I lay sprawled, sticking outward like a fly upon the side of the sphere!

With the contact, blessed normality returned. Detached no longer, free of the abnormality of an independent existence, I was once again the inhabitant of the world.

The sense of human time came back to me, with human movement. I sprawled on the sharply rounded metal surface. I was on its side, but it seemed like its top, with the windows set wrongly and all the globe under me.

I lay for a moment. I seemed to weigh a few pounds. I began cautiously crawling away from the windows, and to my senses, the ball was slowly passing beneath me, so that always I remained on top.

My mind was working clearly now. Would they let me in? It seemed probable. I had a tiny revolver. It was hidden in one boot, inaccessible now; I thought that perhaps when they captured me they might not find it. And there was a thin-bladed knife, of a size that made a fair weapon, fastened to my outer belt.

I clutched it now in my gloved hand. It might be that in the confusion of my arrival some chance would present itself. I knew that with my more than six-foot stature, I had many times the strength of any Mercurian.

I crawled past a window. A face ducked away. I moved sidewise over the small lower doorway—an entrance that could not be used in the vacuum of space. I could not get in that way.

The pressure port was farther around. I was over its smooth, opaque panel before I realized it. Sprawling, knife in hand.

The panel abruptly slid from beneath me. I dropped out of the starlight of the outer surface and fell in a heap against an inner wall; then I dropped to a metal floor.

The panel slid swiftly closed. I was in a soundless blackness.




CHAPTER V. HATRED 
WITHIN ROC'S VEHICLE, shortly after it left Earth's atmosphere, Tama, Rowena and Jimmy were sitting and talking with the giant Mercurian. He had told them his name was Dorrek and that he was an army leader on Mercury. And Rowena, a giantess compared to the women of Mercury, quite evidently attracted him. He told her so, in his guttural, broken English.

"I like you—big woman—beautiful. My woman soon—"

Then Jimmy saw, lurking in the dimness of the narrow metal room, the short, flabby, gray Muta with folded gray wings. Her face was contorted with jealous rage. Without warning she gave a scream and with a glittering knife-blade in her hand, leaped upon Rowena.

Jimmy had no time to rise; he flung himself, sprawling forward from his sitting posture. But Tama was quicker. Her wings were spread behind her on the floor. She half turned, raised one of the crimson-feathered wings and with a sweeping blow, struck Muta as she leaned down. Rowena had thrown herself backward; the descending knife missed her.

The force of her blow and the thud of Tama's wing made the woman fall. Jimmy reached her, seized the knife and wrenched it from her hand. Dorrek was struggling to his feet, shouting with rage and surprise. He clutched the woman, lifted her up, and cuffed her in the face.

Out of the confusion Jimmy found himself apart and armed. He sprang erect. Then, for the first time, he was aware of the feeble gravity pull existing within this Mercurian vehicle. To the Mercurians it was normal. To Jimmy, it was riot enough. He bounced into the air with his upward leap, and his head struck the vaulted ceiling. He fell back, fortunately on his feet, with the knife still clutched in his hand, and found Roc confronting him.

The small triangular room was in a turmoil. Jimmy had an instant flash of determination. He was armed. He would fight his way out of this.

But before he could translate his thoughts into action, other thoughts brought sanity. How could he fight his way out? Imprisoned with two girls in this silver ball hurtling through space! Jimmy's muscles relaxed. He raised the knife, held it out toward the astounded Roc, and smiled.

"Here's the knife, Roc. I took it away from that damned woman—she tried to kill Rowena.” Roc took the knife, turned from Jimmy to the turmoil of the others. The woman stood sullen in the clutch of the angry Dorrek.

There was a confusion of argument in the Mercurian tongue. Then Muta was ordered from the room. The giant Dorrek, triumphantly grinning, turned to Rowena.

"That Muta—she be punished soon by me—Dorrek.” He struck his bulging chest with a show of manly strength.

"Brave fellow,” muttered Jimmy.

Roc said abruptly, “The end of that. She will not try that again. You, Turk, come with me. Another room—I will give you something to eat. Are you hungry?"

"Yes. So are the girls, I think."

"They shall be well cared for, have no fear. The Earthship, that Flying Cube they call it,"—he pushed Jimmy toward the door—"I suppose it will be after us?"

"I suppose so.” Jimmy flashed a farewell look to Rowena and Tama as he let Roc lead him away.

This, by Earth-time, was shortly after dawn of March 16th, about the time our Cube was leaving the earth. Jimmy was confined in a small three-sided room. He could see that the ball was divided into two stories. A raised base-floor perhaps a third up the vertical height gave a level area for the bottom of the lower tier of rooms. The space beneath it—a single bowl-shaped room—held the ball's driving mechanisms. The lower tier was cut into triangular rooms, like slices of pie. The upper tier was the same—two triangular sleeping rooms, the others housing operating instruments and controls.

It was to this upper tier, up a steep metal ladder, that Roc now pushed Jimmy ahead of him. They entered a small triangular room. Wall and ceiling one continuous curve, which was the outer side of the ball; the other walls converging to a point at the ball's center.

Jimmy stood gazing around. The room was dimly lighted by starlight and Earthlight streaming in its single window.

"So this is where I bunk down? Do I eat in here?"

"Yes."

It was a comfortable though very small room. There was a low, bunk-like couch on the floor set under the bull's-eye window. A low, curiously-shaped table, a wide-armed metal seat, and an animalskin rug were on the floor. One side wall was blank; the other held the small door-slide through which they had entered. Roc turned toward it.

"I will send you food, or bring it."

"Much obliged.” Jimmy took a step and gripped his captor. “Say, what are you going to do with us?"

Roc eyed him. The fellow's queer satanic look with his thin pale face and that peak of black hair down on his forehead was accentuated now by an ironic smile.

"You can follow me in our great conquest of Mercury, the Light Country.” He checked himself suddenly. “You ask too many questions"

But Jimmy gripped him again. “I don't give a damn about your Mercury. Except for Tama—"

"Tama is mine!” The irony left Roc's face. “It is you who are the intruder. You and Guy Palisse, Earthmen. Tama is a girl of Mercury, my world. I loved her years before you or Guy Palisse ever heard of her. Did you know that?"

His eyes held Jimmy. His voice was vibrant with the intensity of his emotion.

"You Earthmen would think to steal her from me? She is mine!"

"She doesn't say so. Look here, Roc, don't let's try to kill each other, especially about a girl who most certainly is nothing to me."

It flashed to Jimmy that something might be gained by talking. He added, “Get me some thing to eat. Bring it back and we'll argue this out."

Roc's look was gauging him. “You Earthmen are strange."

"That's our way. You help me, and I'll help you. I like that better than sticking knives into people. Do you realize that the Bolton Cube will probably be after us by now?"

"Yes."

"Well, I know all about the Flying Cube and what it's going to do to you, Roc. Get that food and we'll talk."

Roc did not answer. He went through the doorway; and Jimmy heard the snap of the door-slide as it closed upon him.

Left alone, Jimmy examined the room in which he was imprisoned. No way, apparently, of getting out. Much good it would do him, to get out until they landed on Mercury.

He went to the window. The earth hung level with it, a great disk spreading half across the firmament. The ball had now a very slow axial rotation. The earth, the moon and all the starfield slowly swung; presently the sun was visible.

Roc did not return. He sent in the meal. Jimmy confronted the sullen woman who had attacked Rowena.

"Where is Roc?"

"He no come. Not now. Once again maybe, later."

She put down the thin metal slab on which Jimmy's meal was arranged. She had left the door-slide open; Roc evidently did not much fear that Jimmy would try leaving the room. As she closed the door-slide, Jimmy called:

"Tell Roc to come in here!"

But Roc did not come. Jimmy had no way of calculating the time. He slept, and Muta served him his meals. The ball's axial rotation continued. Outside Jimmy's single window the heavens passed in slow horizontal procession.

Then Roc brought Jimmy's meal. While Jimmy ate he squatted on the floor. He thumped his chest.

"Master of Mercury, and Tama my mate to help me rule it!” A crafty look was on the Mercurian's face. “I love Tama. It was a fortunate choice for me. She is leader of the flying virgins. They have always been rebellious. With Tama as my mate I can win them."

"Diplomacy,” said Jimmy, “is a great thing. But maybe Tama is rebellious too?"

"I shall win her."

"Not force her?"

"No, unless she makes it necessary."

"What do you want of me?"

"Perhaps as what you call a hostage,” Roc promptly returned. “The earth vehicle might attack us. They would not want me to kill you. That Cube is in sight now—"

"Is it?” Jimmy involuntarily turned to the window, but Roc stopped him.

"Eat your meal. It is not visible yet—only with my detection instruments."

"Will you attack it?” Jimmy held his breath.

"No. I cannot. And it will not attack me. That is one advantage of having you here. You and Tama and that big Earth-girl you call Rowena.” Roc rose to his feet. “We will talk again."

"Sit down a minute,” Jimmy urged. “You mention Rowena. What do you want of her?"

"I brought her,” said Roc, “for Dorrek. Or at least, he thinks so.” Roc's crafty look came back; again he lowered his voice. “I would rather trust you, Earthman, than any Mercurian of the Cold Country. This Rowena makes a good hostage now. That is what interests me. I do not wish to harm her."

"No, I believe you don't. But there's Dorrek—"

"A leader of many men, is Dorrek. I need them so I need him. Yet—” His voice fell still lower: “I have been in the Light Country for many years. This Dorrek—these eight other men with us here now—they are strange to me. I command them, because I am my father's son. But I cannot trust them. I did not realize it when we started for Earth, but I do now. So you see, Jimmy Turk, why I want to make friends with you? I am really alone here on this flight.” A pulse was pounding in Jimmy's throat. For the first time he felt that he and Roc were talking without duplicity. A bond was between them. They both desired, at least, the present safety of Tama and Rowena. And they were shut up here with what Jimmy now realized were barbarians, savages of a strange planet. Roc was bad enough; but Jimmy realized now these others were infinitely worse.

"You mean,” said Jimmy tensely, “he might slip a knife into you? Now that your father is out of the way, if he got rid of you, would he be the leader then of this invasion or conquest or whatever it is you are planning?"

"Yes."

"Look here,” pursued Jimmy, “hadn't you better give me a weapon?"

"And have you turn it on me?"

"Don't be a fool, Roc. I'm with you—for this flight, anyway. See here, we're shut up in this damn little ball—"

They were startled by a sound outside the door. Roc's cylinder weapon sprang into his hand. He shoved it back to his belt with a laugh.

"Talking like this makes me nervous."

He and Jimmy were on their feet. Jimmy gripped him, whispered, “See here—those girls, don't let anything happen to them—"

The slide abruptly opened. It was the giant, Dorrek. What had he heard? His face was impassive as he stooped and squeezed through the little doorway. He spoke to Roc in the Mercurian tongue. Roc said in English:

"The earth vehicle can be seen now."

They went to the window, waited a moment for the ball's axial rotation to bring the earth into view. Jimmy stood gazing at the slowly shifting starfield; but he was very conscious of the giant Mercurian beside him. Roc was undoubtedly an unscrupulous, crafty scoundrel. But at least one could talk to him, perhaps almost reason with him.

Jimmy's surreptitious gaze roved Dorrek. Six and a half feet—a gigantic hulk of a man, with a gray, flat, flabby face, heavy jowls and a broken nose. An animalskin was draped now across his bulging, hairless chest.

Other Mercurians crowded in to question Roc about the approaching Earthship. Men of smaller stature, but with the same heavy barbaric look that characterized Dorrek.

A babble of unintelligible Mercurian words enveloped Jimmy. Suddenly Jimmy thought of the girls on the lower tier. The woman Muta might be down there alone with them. He flashed Roc a significant look.

"Let's go down, see it from below. Why wait up here?"

Tama and Rowena were standing at one of the lower windows. Strangely contrasting types, these girls of different worlds. They stood with arms around each other. Rowena's tall figure was draped in the brown dressing gown; her hair fell in brown braids down her back. Her extended arm with the robe was thrown out over Tama's wings, enveloping the small Mercurian girl who leaned affectionately against her. Their backs were to the room; and its only other occupant at the moment was Muta. She stood against the wall gazing with heavy brooding eyes at Rowena.

They saw the Cube draw level and check its acceleration, sweeping along with them some ten miles away. They saw me leave as a tiny projectile hurtling toward them across the intervening void. Roc kept everyone away from the windows; he threw his mechanism to neutral so that the attractive mass of the ball might capture and hold me.

Roc had no way of knowing the identity of this emissary sent by the earth vehicle. But when I had closely approached, Jimmy could guess. He thought it likely that the personnel of the Cube now was the same as upon its first flight, when Jimmy himself had been aboard. And as my bloated, grotesquely helmeted figure now encircled Roc's ship, drawing inward until I fell against the gleaming side, Jimmy guessed who it was, for I was by far the tallest man on the Cube.

The occupants of the ball crowded one of its lower compartments at the inner entrance of the air lock chamber. The inner slide was closed.

Jimmy said nothing. He stood tense beside Roc at the gauges of the pressure port.

They saw my figure as I crawled like a fly outside the windows. I came against the outer entrance slide. Roc shoved at a lever.

They felt the vibration of the metal wall as I tumbled to the floor of the air lock.




CHAPTER VI. WEAPONS 
THE AIR LOCK was black. I lay huddled on its floor. I could feel the air pressure coming into it. For a moment or two I crouched, clinging to my knife. When the air in the lock reached the pressure of the interior of the ball, the inner door would open, no doubt; and the Mercurians would leap upon me. I had an instinct to put up a fight, if I saw that Jimmy was free. It was a chance for us. But now I felt that it would be too dangerous, shut up here in this tiny world, to start acts of violence with Rowena and Tama aboard.

I determined to keep my wits, betray myself into no rash move.

I became aware that the air pressure was about normal. The tiny gauge inside my helmet, faintly illumined, showed 15.5. The darkness continued. But my eyes were more accustomed to it now; I could see the narrow walls of a small room. Where the inner slide might be I could not yet determine.

Another moment passed and I took off my helmet, placed it on the floor and stood up cautiously. There was barely room for me to stand erect, scarce an inch above my bead to the metal ceiling. As I got to my feet, I realized they were maintaining a gravity much less than that of Earth.

A sudden slit of light dazzled me. The inner slide was opening. Air of a little heavier pressure rushed in with a gust. I saw figures: squat, heavy men in crudely fashioned animal skins. One was gigantic. Then I saw a small slender fellow who was Roc. I recognized him from Guy's description.

They crowded in upon me with a rush and jerked me forward out of the lock into a metal room which seemed brightly illumined.

But though I was dazzled by the sudden light, I could see enough. Infinite relief swept me. Rowena, unharmed! Tama and Jimmy—I saw them standing in a group in the midst of the confusion. And over the babble of voices, I heard Rowena give a single cry, instantly suppressed joy at seeing me, yet fear, too, for my safety.

I found myself standing alone, with the Mercurians crowding me. The knife was still in my gloved hand; I had held it in a fold of my deflated robe.

Roc confronted me. “Who are you?"

In that instant a score of wild plans flashed over me. I discarded them all. I smiled. I was holding the knife by its blade; I extended its handle.

"My only weapon. Take it. I come peacefully.” He took the knife. “Who are you?"

"Jack Dean."

I thought that Rowena gave a cry of protest. I could see comprehension sweep Roc's face, but to the other Mercurians the name seemed to mean nothing.

Roc demanded, “What did you come for?"

"Peace. Not war.” I added vehemently, “The release of these prisoners, with my promise that then the Flying Cube will never attack you."

Roc's face was impassive. The Mercurians were murmuring among themselves.

Jimmy said abruptly, “We had better have a talk with him. Another room, Roc, where we can talk quietly to him. Bargain—"

I was aware then, as Roc ordered me to take off the pressure suit and searched me for weapons, of the smoldering undercurrent here. It seemed that Jimmy and Roc were very watchful, not of me, but of the giant and his jabbering followers.

Jimmy added, “Can the girls come with us?"

Then I saw the woman Muta, standing with the smoldering dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

Something here—a situation unexpected, to me unfathomable. I sensed at once the menace of it. I stood divested of my pressure suit-but a hidden pocket in the upper flap of my high leather boot held a small revolver. Roc had not found it when he searched me. I could reach it with a single swift motion.

Roc pushed me before him, roughly. Jimmy, Rowena and Tama crowded after us. The giant tried to stop them. It seemed that every other man in the room was tense, as though waiting for some signal. Muta's eyes were blazing. Roc pushed the giant away, with a command in their native tongue. We went up a small inclined ladder to an upper level into a small room, and Roc slid the door upon us. I could sense the relief.

Tama held onto me. Rowena flung herself into my arms. “Jack! Jack, dear—you should not have come into this!” I kissed her, then pushed her away.

"Rowena!"

What words could tell what was in my heart? This—my wife—again with her arms around me. But it was no time for words, nor were they needed. She stood aside, her gaze clinging to me.

I gave Tama the message from Guy: that he would give his life to come to her.

The Mercurian said abruptly, “Sit down, all of you."

There was a low metal settee, and cushions on the floor. Roc stood over us, weapon in hand.

"You are Jack Dean, husband of Rowena here?"

"Yes."

"And you have come to rescue her?” He said it without sarcasm.

"Yes,” I retorted. “But not with bloodshed. I promise that the Cube will not attack."

"I know that it will not attack so long as I hold all of you here."

Jimmy interrupted impatiently, “What's the use of sparring, Roc? Let me tell him our situation—” In a burst Jimmy told me with lowered voice. And he ended, “You, Roc, can't you see that Dean is a help? We've got to get out of this—not all get murdered."

Roc said abruptly, “I believe I can trust you, Jack Dean."

Yes,” I agreed.

"He only wants Rowena out of this,” Jimmy added. He flung a significant glance at me.

"And Tama?” Roc said. He was smiling again. A strange fellow this: I could not make him out. “You think I will release Tama? Is that what you came for, Dean? Your ship off there, threatening me."

"And meanwhile Dorrek will murder us all,” Jimmy put in. “I'm not armed, nor is Jack—” I could have snapped that revolver out within a second, but I thought it best not to say so.

"If Dorrek knew I had given you a weapon,” said Roc, “it would bring trouble."

"Then I'll keep it bidden,” Jimmy insisted. “What weapons have you? What have Dorrek and his men? See here, Roc, you're a fool if you don't come out in the open now. Let us stand with you. Man, we're all shut up here! You're only holding Dorrek off by the grace of the Almighty—I saw his look when you crossed him as we came up here. And his men—every one of them waiting for his signal."

"True,” said Roc calmly. “But they would not dare attack me now. They can handle the controls only as long as they do what I tell them. I chart our course, the navigating. Without me they would be helpless. When we get to Mercury—"

"The danger will come then,” finished Jimmy. “But that doesn't help me now. Or these girls. Or Dean."

"Dorrek will obey my orders."

"Maybe he will, maybe not. Roc, you used a lot of weapons on me. That ray-weapon,"—Jimmy indicated the cylinder Roc was holding—and that light-bomb in my plane, that blinded me. And gas fumes—where are they all? Has Dorrek got them?"

"No.” The Mercurian had been gazing thoughtfully at Tama. He turned abruptly to the wall of the room, pressed a hidden mechanism. A small slide opened. In a compartment like a little closet we saw an array of hidden weapons.

Roc moved the slide closed again. “Dorrek does not know this locker is here. Nor could you open it, even though you have seen me."

"All right,” said Jimmy. “What weapons has Dorrek?"

"A cylinder like this. His men have knives."

"That's enough. Roc, if you'll give me and Dean each a cylinder, we'll keep them hidden, watch ourselves until we get to Mercury. Then you order a landing. That's when Dorrek will make a play to kill you. But we'll be prepared to break away—force a passage for you out of this—"

Roc was again staring fixedly at Tama. He said abruptly to Jimmy, “You spoke truth a while ago, Turk. My affairs on Mercury are none of yours. This Rowena—I wish her no harm, except that I am glad to have her as hostage so that your Earthship is not firing at me now. But there is Tama whom I love. I think I will speak to Tama a moment."

He stood with Tama across the room. We could not bear what they were saying, nor could we have understood it, since it was in their native tongue; but later Tama told me.

She began quietly, “You heard this fellow, Turk. He speaks with wisdom sometimes. He and I have talked much of you. He knows I love you."

He waited but she was silent.

"You have nothing to say?"

"No."

"I am planning a conquest of all Mercury. I want you to rule with me, and keep the virgins from rebellion."

"You want many things, Roc."

"Most of all, I want your love. This Turk has the wisdom of Earth. He says I should not use force against you. Perhaps now I realize I should try to earn your love."

She measured him, wondering if he were sincere. “How, Roc? By warring on my country? By playing the traitor? By mutilating the wings of the virgins so that they might not fly, and then to—"

"That was your own country's law."

"You tricked them into passing it!"

He waved that away. “I want not to quarrel, Tama. I am thinking of joining with these Earthmen. Perhaps hoping to win your love.” His calm voice turned suddenly vehement, intense, and he seemed wholly sincere.

"Perhaps I did play the traitor. Taught by my father. I was only a boy, did you never think of that? I grew up, with my father planning a conquest of the Light Country, which had banished him ... These last months, Tama, while you were taken from me to Earth, I had time to think. And now I know that to win your love, to have you, is what I want more than any conquest.” Again he paused.

"You talk very strangely, Roc."

"I talk truth.” He smiled. “You are not a fool but a very wise girl. I will tell you more truth: My father assembled a Cold Country army. It is waiting now. Weapons, every scientific device of war. And even in the Fire Country, the savages are ready. Do not shudder, Tama. It is ready now, everything for the conquest.

"With my father's death, I should be in command of it. And now, because you are a wise girl, I will hide nothing from you. I say I will give up all this to win your love. I will join these Earthmen, get them to help us in the Light Country to repel the invasion. It will start very shortly.” He paused again.

"Go on, Roc."

"You are charitable, Tama. You avoid saying the sharp things which are in your mind. You know—and therefore I am not trying to hide it from you—that I realize now I cannot lead the invasion. My father had all these forces under his control, but I have not. This Dorrek and his men—they are only waiting to murder me. If I escape them, and try to lead the invasion, it will be the same."

She said sarcastically, “And so, failing in villainy, you will try heroics?"

"Yes. But you must give me credit—I tell you frankly my reasons. And that I love you, as I always have, and that I regret the wrongs I have done."

She touched him. “I wish I thought you were truthful. But I have learned to fear your trickery."

"Tama, this time you are unjust. This time I will not change. And I think perhaps you might love me. Someday—"

They were startled as Jimmy darted suddenly away with a gesture of silence; he crossed the room on tiptoe and jerked at the door-slide which Roc had left unfastened. Behind the door aperture the woman Muta was standing, bending down as though listening. She started backward with surprise, recovering herself and said in her guttural, broken English:

"To the Master Roc, say food is ready."

Her gaze swept the room. And abruptly she whispered to Jimmy, “I talk you alone, maybe, sometime."

"What in—"

Her face was inscrutable. She turned and left the room. Jimmy gazed after her with his jaw dropping in astonishment. “What in—now what in the devil does she mean by that?"




CHAPTER VII. MERCURY 
"I TELL YOU, Jimmy, I'll trust Roc just as much as I have to. No more."

"Reasonable enough. But, Jack, we have to trust him. He's as frightened as I am. If we ever get out of this—"

Jimmy's smile was lugubrious. Five days had passed. They had worn our nerves ragged. The situation was the same within the Mercurian ball, save that every hour as we approached Mercury the critical moment when we must make our escape, or be murdered by Dorrek and his fellows, came closer.

And with it all, I could not bring myself to trust Roc. He had been allied to us these days by a common desire for safety. Yet, for all his words and his actions, I was mistrustful. Here in the narrow confines of these enclosing walls, he was with us right enough. But outside, free upon Mercury—I wondered. And I knew that Tama mistrusted him also.

The passing days seemed interminable. We were allowed apparent liberty of movement on the vehicle. Roc had given Jimmy and me each a small cylinder of the heat-ray and shown us how to operate it. We kept them hidden, and I still had my revolver, which even Roc did not know.

Outwardly we were Roc's prisoners. Dorrek and his men were subordinates. But it was all thinly disguised. The mutinous Dorrek obeyed Roc—but always with a sneering confident smile.

There were times when Jimmy, Roc and I thought that it would be best to rush Dorrek and his men at once. Kill them and have done with it.

We had for instance, little bombs of blinding light and fragile bombs with fumes which would have stricken Dorrek and all his men into catalepsy. But to release one of them here would have endangered or killed us, as well as our enemies.

Both Jimmy and Rowena tried to find out from Muta what she had meant by her queer hints that she had something to say. But her face was blank—exasperating. She had changed her mind; she only shook her head and would not answer.

The days passed. It was now March 22nd by Earth time. The earth had dwindled to a star, a dot of white tinged with yellow. The moon, to the naked eye, was invisible. To one side, Venus hung with dazzling glory, a trifle larger than she appears as the brilliant evening star from Earth. The sun had expanded to a great round pot of fire with flames leaping from it, slow streamers of flaming gas-tongues licking into space with a reach the distance from the earth to the moon!

Ahead of us hung Mercury—larger now, even, than the sun. We had swung in a line almost between the two. The bronze-red Mercurian disk was nearly full-round. Expanding hourly: becoming convex.

Other hours, and Mercury was a disk spread well across the firmament. Cloud areas bid the sharply convex surface. The Fire Country, facing us, was hidden beneath grayblack vapor masses. The great celestial ball here in space, was waiting to receive us.

By Earth time, March 23rd. We swung lower, with the Mercurian atmosphere in its heavy layers close beneath us. The world here under us now half filled the firmament. The sense of falling and traveling sideways was soon distinct—real movement now, to which our human senses are accustomed.

Gazing down at the great spread of vapor masses, I saw a gray-black tumbling sea, with rifts of fire in it—electrical storms tossing the clouds. Gigantic whirlpools of vapor appeared sucking huge circular holes with tossing flames edging them. Leaping bolts of jagged lightning slit the atmosphere.

And then, a sea of mist, shining opalescent with the sunlight on it; and a chasm in the clouds, with rain beating across it, and the sunlight catching the raindrops, spreading them with great shafts of prismatic color.

There was a vast area where the sea of clouds hung lower to the fiery surface—a boiling, bubbling sea, the spread of a giant caldron with red-green volatile liquid boiling up its crimson sediment.

The surface of the Fire Country was seldom visible; but once, through a great rift, I saw a spread of rocks, peaks and spires. As the blistering sun-rays went down, diffused and radiated by the heavy air, it seemed that one of the mountain peaks burst with a jet of steam, edged with green burning gases. And then the clouds closed the rift.

We swept on, still above the upper atmosphere levels, heading toward the Light Country.

Grenfell had made sure that Mercury was his destination. And as we fell into position over the planet, the Cube drew again into sight above us, following us down. And then we plunged into the cloud masses. The Cube was lost to our sight.

Descending the atmosphere, a rush of new problems came to the interior of our tiny falling world. Roc was tensely active, giving orders for the handling of the controls, which Dorrek and his men anxiously obeyed. Jimmy and I, and the two girls were for a time, ignored. We made plans for escape, and watching the activity around us.

This plunge from the cold of interplanetary space to the friction-heat of the atmosphere brought the temperature controls of the vehicle into constant operation. And with the swift-changing temperatures, for all Roc could do to keep them equalized, came pressure changes of our interior air. This required skillful manipulation.

Dorrek and the others did Roc's bidding with an eager desire to make no errors. It was obvious that the safety of the ball depended now on Roc's skill—and Dorrek had not dared cross him. Roc had told us so with his cynical smile. But once into the lower atmosphere, with the door and windowports open, Roc would no longer be needed. Dorrek and his men could then safely fly the vehicle.

I whispered to Jimmy and to the girls, “Be careful, now! We'll land in an hour or so—make the rush. Don't turn your back on anyone for a second!"

We were in the largest room in the lower tier of the ball. Most of the Mercurians were dispersed elsewhere at the various controls. Dorrek was in and out of the room, relaying his orders. In a corner angle, Muta sat on a low settee—a shapeless lump with her deformed wings spread out behind her. Her eyes clung to us with that expressionless, fathomless gaze.

I had my cylinder in a trouser pocket, and the revolver in the flap of my boot. Jimmy, in his tight-fitting trousers, puttees, and thin gray shirt, with sleeves rolled up and collar wide, sat dejectedly beside me and mopped his forehead in the beat.

"Hot, Jack! My heavens—” I knew that he was tense, with his hidden cylinder ready for instant action. In outward aspect, to the gaze of Dorrek and Muta, we were docile prisoners.

We had found an opportunity of purloining a small knife for each of the girls. Even Roc did not know they had them. For use if the worst should come. I prayed that it might not.

We burst presently through the clouds. The landscape of Mercury lay spread in the half-light of day beneath the ball.

We crowded to one of the window ovals, and in a moment Roc joined us. Dorrek, in command of the ball now, had momentarily left the room; but Muta did not move.

"I will open the door soon,” Roc whispered. He gazed down through the window. “We are not far from the Water City."

I glanced out, but at once turned back. “Roc, is that woman armed?"

"No, I do not think so. A knife, perhaps.” I strode across the room.

"Muta!"

She lifted her dark gaze. “What you want?"

"Roc says, go to another room.” I gestured. “You go and make food for us. For me—hungry—"

She did not move. It seemed that the shadow of a smile plucked at her heavy, shapeless mouth. Her eyes, like vacant dark pools, gazed at me. Then she looked away. But she did not move.

"Do you understand me, Muta?"

"Yes."

Roc joined me and gave her a brusque command in Mercurian. She gazed at him sullenly.

Dorrek came in. I saw Roc hesitate. Then evidently he told Dorrek that she was to go. My breath stopped; my hand went to my hidden weapon. Across the room Jimmy took a tense forward step. It seemed in that breathless instant that the conflict we feared was upon us. I saw in the inner doorway three Mercurians crowding forward.

Then Roc laughed, waved at Dorrek and pulled me away. Muta sat motionless. The giant Dorrek's gaze swept us all. But he did not speak, and turning, he pushed his fellows back and left the room.

Roc whispered, “They will no longer obey me. You saw it?"

We went back to the window.

"God, I thought it had started!” Jimmy exclaimed.

To fire these ray cylinders here in these tiny rooms was doubtless as terrifying to Dorrek as to any of us.

"Open the door,” Jimmy whispered. “Let's get out of this. Order us to land."

Roc nodded. “Our interior air pressure is a little low. In a moment."

Beneath my window I saw a great spread of naked landscape—the Light Country, fairest region of the planet! The daylight glistened on the naked surface of bleak, metallic hills. There had recently been a storm; the burnished hillsides were wet with moisture, and little rills and pools of water filled the rock depressions.

Desolate spread of landscaper, no soil, no blade of vegetation. The convexity of this small world was obvious. An undulating metallic plain, and off to one side a range of naked little hills, with buttes, square-sided, flat-topped, and spires like pointed minarets rising against the flat monochrome background of the sky.

We fell lower, swept on at an altitude of not over fifteen hundred feet. Tama stood beside me. She gestured. “The Hill City is not far. And the Water City is ahead of us. They have had a black storm not long ago. See the water on the rocks."

We passed almost over a valley. Soil was there. Porous looking trees, suggesting a mushroom growth, fringed a little lake. There were small areas with a red soil plowed up. And set in a long strip at the bottom of one of the enclosing hillsides was a collection of little huts—crude habitations built of the porous tree trunks, thatched with huge, dried leaves.

A deserted camp. There seemed a litter of equipment lying abandoned. Agricultural implements stood in the fields where a vegetation growth had come up, unharvested, and died again ... We passed on in a moment once more over the metallic desert.

"That was one of our girls’ camps,” Tama said. “Abandoned when we returned to the Hill City. You remember it, Roc? You ought to—you drove us there."

The camp of the flying virgins. Guy had told us of those events. Only the women of Mercury were endowed with wings, and the men, by instinct, were jealous. Man-made laws decreed that at marriage the wings of a virgin should be clipped.

The revolt of the virgins, smoldering for years, had come at last. Led by Tama, they had pleaded for different laws. Instead of which, led by the sly Roc, the government had passed a new, more drastic law. Even before marriage, at the age of sixteen, the virgins were ordered to accept the mutilation. They had revolted, flown from the Hill City, the Water City and elsewhere, and established this camp in the desert. And then when Roc had proved a traitor, stolen the government secrets of war and joined his outlawed father in the Cold Country, the Hill City government had been repentant. Alarmed at the lengths to which it had forced the young girls, it had begged them to come back, promising them new laws.

They had gone back, just before Tama and Guy had left for Earth. That was the situation, all we knew of it, save that here in the silver ball we had learned of the coming invasion of the Light Country by the Cold Country barbarians. Whether the Hill City government was prepared for it or not, we could not say. Our duty now was to get to the Hill City and warn them.

The welfare of our own Earth was at stake as well. The present Hill City government would never make a raid on Earth. But if the barbarians were victorious here on Mercury, raids upon Earth were inevitable.

Rowena touched me. “Look off there!"

Against the distant sky little moving dots were visible: a group of flying girls winging off toward the Hill City. And down on the naked plateau, a few miles away, men were moving.

We came over the horizon to a new vista. Human figures moved on foot. Several groups at intervals, hastened laboriously forward. They were fairly distant, mere dots. But there seemed to be men, and women, and children as well. A cart or two drawn by peculiar long creatures close to the ground.

It seemed like a flight, a rout, as though these were refugees, with belongings hastily gathered in the face of some disaster—all heading toward the Hill City.

Then the horizon rim showed others—a line of tiny dots. Then several distant groups of girls, coming from the Hill City circling over the figures on the ground, and winging back.

They had doubtless seen our vehicle, and fearing it, kept well away.

This had come upon us all in a few moments as our flyer sped forward. I saw that Tama was white and grim. She stood clutching at Rowena, whispered to her. Horror swept Rowena's face.

Jimmy whispered, “What in the devil, Jack—"

Roc had not been looking out of the window. He said abruptly, “Our pressure is right. I shall open the door."

Dorrek was not here. Muta made no move. Roc unclamped the mechanism; the thick little panel slid aside. The air of Mercury surged in with a gust upon us: Moist, heavy air with the smell of rain and a hint of sulphur in it from the recent storm.

The change of pressure appraised Dorrek that the door was open. He appeared at once and stood gazing at us. The open doorway was near us all—six feet high, and half as wide—a threshold with a fifteen hundred foot drop do to the rocky plain beneath us.

Dorrek made no move. There came a cry from Tama. “Roc, look! The Water City!"!

Ahead of us at the horizon a low-hanging murky cloud had appeared over a range of hills, with what I assume was the Water City still hidden behind them. In a moment we could see clusters of figures on the distant hilltops.

A little blob of light rose in an arc, went over the line of hills and fell into the still hidden city. A rocket bomb! This was an attack! We all forgot Dorrek and Muta behind us Tama cried, “Roc, this is the invasion—already started. You have tricked us—tricked me again!"

"No, Tama. I swear I had no idea of this !"

He seemed to be speaking the truth. He swung around. “Look at Dorrek, Tama! If you think I lie, look at Dorrek! He is as surprised as I am."

The giant had glimpsed the scene through the window near him. He called Muta. Momentarily ignoring us, they flung open the breast-high circular pane and stood gazing with obvious astonishment.

The sphere swept on, rising to a higher altitude to pass over the line of hills. Presently the stricken Water City lay beneath us.

Fantastic, ghastly scenes unrolled to our horrified gaze.




CHAPTER VIII. WASTE. 
THE LITTLE LINE of jagged hills had behind it a sheer drop of perpendicular copper walls, clean as though cloven by Titan's knife. Beyond them the contour was a wide-spreading, shallow oblong bowl, with gentle slopes undulating upward to other heights, at the distant horizon.

A small inland sea had once been here. It was gone now but, at the bottom of the depression, water still collected, making a little lake some two miles wide, with the city houses built on stilts and water trees—a spring-fed lake of turgid, warm water rising from the fire-heart of the planet.

The copper precipice stood against the lake; to the left it straggled into a marsh as the land rose up. There were fields on the terraced hillsides off there, spreading in a great semicircle beyond the lake-terraces of water and mud in which something like rice might be growing. To the right the lake drained in a slow-moving, sluggish little river that wound off into the distance between canyon walls.

We stood gazing from the window of the silver ball at a height of some two thousand feet. Gray-black clouds were over us; the scene was flat and dim in the half light of day. And the murk of gas fumes and smoke clung to the city, hiding it. A murk of horror!

We passed along the peaks of the rim at the top of the precipice walls. The figures of men were massed down there. A flare burst momentarily to illumine them. Men garbed in animal skins; men like Tilde Dorrek and his fellows of the Cold Country.

A giant projector sent down a spurt of light-fire like a lightning bolt. It split the smoke cloud that hung on the city. A rift, through which I saw a little group of thatched buildings perched like a cluster of birds’ nests between the huge stems of water trees. A tiny segment of the city was made suddenly visible, with a tangle of water plants rising thirty or forty feet above the lake surface. The huts were woven into this jungle-laced platform, with oval mounds of thatch upon them. There were six or eight of them in this cluster, set upon different levels. Leaves like giant palm fronds hung around them, with interlacing vines, woven into ladders.

The heat-ray bolt hurled itself down. I saw the birds’ nest houses wither, shrivel and fall to the water in a strewn little heap of wreckage. Human bodies were floating in it. I saw a woman with broken wings trying to flap upward. She struggled an instant and then fell back.

The bolt's duration was only a second or two, when the murk closed again. I turned to see Tama staring at Roc. Her voice rang with horrified accusation:

"That projector! You and your father stole the plans for those weapons!"

He gripped her. “Yes, I did! I'm sorry, Tama.” He ended with a wild laugh. “Look—they do not know how to use it—"

I looked down on the rocky hilltop, where the projector burst into a puff of light. The figures clustered about it were gone. There was only a small blackened patch of empty rock.

We moved on, out over the city. Roc was laughing wildly.

"This attack! They should have waited for me! Or you, Dorrek!” He swung toward the giant. “You saw that? They are not ready—they do not know how to use their weapons."

Dorrek shouted an order to one of his fellows. Our vehicle swung slowly over the city, turning on its axis and making a great circular sweep. The scenes we saw down in the gloom were fragmentary. I recall them now as a kaleidoscope of horror.

Men dying on the precipice top, and men fighting off on the distant terraced slopes. An occasional rocket flare rose in a slow arc and burst in the city. Brief vistas of shriveling houses.

Presently the rockets and bombs ceased. Grayness fell upon the scene. Then a wind from the distant mountains sprang up. The murk began rolling aside. The city opened to our sight.

The attack was almost over. On the terraces the clusters of men, and those dark oblong things slithering on the ground, began moving away. In the distance I saw moving dots in the sky—girls, who had flown up from the menaced city and escaped. And other patches, dark and leprous—boles where the black water showed, strewn with shriveled litter.

As the smoke swept away, we descended. We turned at the entrance to the little canyon where the river wound into the naked hills; and swung back. I saw, in the strewn river surface, blackened, shriveled bodies floating off.

There was a little patch of open water like a city street with tree stems lining it and the houses still intact. Something was still living, swimming down there. An oblong thing. It reared its head, came to a half-fallen tree, began climbing the incline of the trunk. It had a jointed body some ten feet long and myriad short, spindly legs. A round head, with waving arm-like antennae. A “brue"—one of the giant insects! There were some larger than this one. Guy had told us of them, how they were domesticated in the Hill City.

I saw this one leave the water and slither up the tree trunk. It reached a house platform, against which the top of the fallen tree was resting. A woman was lying there on the platform. Her wings were burned away, her body mangled so that she seemed even unable to crawl. But she was still alive, lying against the thatched side wall of her home. At her breast a white-skinned, golden-haired little girl was huddled in the dying mother's arms. The child's pale blue wings were flapping in helpless terror.

The giant insect reached the platform. Our vehicle had dropped so low I could glimpse its face. Half-human—monstrous. Its tongue licked out; its great slit of a mouth seemed grinning.

I heard the woman scream—a thin, racking shriek. The brue slithered eagerly forward. The woman tried to cast the child off the platform into the water. The insect caught it.

I looked away. Tama and Rowena were shrinking, trembling against me. Roc and Jimmy were staring transfixed. Mercifully, the ball turned on its axis. The window showed only a section of the city where all the houses were leveled and the blackened bodies were lying inert. I saw other brues: swimming—stopping to seize upon something—eating—casting it away.

Then from the distant terraces, where the invaders now were withdrawing, a shrill, mechanical whine sounded. A siren call; it sang over the valley and echoed back from the cliff walls. The call for the brues. We could see a hundred or more of them appearing in the wreckage. Swimming in the demolished streets, slithering over the marsh shores, and up the terraces to join their masters.

Our vehicle had been seen and recognized. Groups of men stood gazing up at us. A flare rose vertically up from them, as a signal.

The ball had turned toward the center of the city. It had risen again—an altitude of about a thousand feet over the water. Dorrek and Muta still stood at their window, en grossed in their thoughts.

I whispered to Roc, “Now is our time! Order us back behind the hills, the way we came. Tell Dorrek to land us there.

Roc nodded agreement. He advanced across the room toward Dorrek. Jimmy and I stood tense where we were.

I whispered, “Watch them, Jimmy! Your flash ready? If Dorrek rebels, we can kill him from here and hold this room against the others."

If only we had done that! And yet, Dorrek's men in the other room had control of the vehicle. The door was open beside us, but we were still a thousand feet in the air.

Roc, cylinder in hand, reached the center of the room. Dorrek turned to face him. Tama and Rowena had moved aside, closer to the open doorway. But closer, also, to Dorrek.

Roc gave his command. Dorrek stared. Again there was that instant of electrical tenseness. Would the giant obey?

He stared at Roc impassively for an instant—and then he leaped. My heat-cylinder was out but I could not use it! I held my impulsive finger from the trigger. With my left hand I struck at Jimmy's rising weapon, and shouted in horror to Roc.

For Dorrek had leaped, not at us—but upon Rowena! She had passed within a few feet of him. Like a huge leopard, without warning he whirled and pounced upon her and seized her. There was an instant when he was struggling with her, and with Tama. Rowena was taken too much by surprise to get her knife from the dressing gown pocket.

Dorrek's arms went around her from behind. As she struggled with him, twisting, clutching backward over her shoulder at his face, Tama came at them. Her knife went into Dorrek's arm. He shouted with an infuriated roar of pain. Muta dashed heavily forward. A sweep of Tama's wing knocked the woman back. Dorrek, holding the struggling Rowena before him as a shield, retreated against the wall. Again, like a wrathful, desperate bird, Tama with spreading wings hurled herself at them.

Within an instant the little room was a chaos of strife. Whatever plans we had were discarded now. No time to think, even to realize what we were doing. Against the open door, the giant Dorrek fought with the two girls. Muta had turned aside, crouching, watching. I saw her stoop for Tama's fallen knife.

Jimmy and I were rushing forward. Roc made a leap—then fell. Dorrek's weapon spat a blue bolt. It hissed overhead, struck the metal ceiling with a rain of falling sparks, crackled into the metal and was absorbed. I felt the heat of it; I thought Roc had been hit, but in a moment I saw him up again.

Jimmy and I did not dare fire. As we plunged those few steps forward toward Dorrek, Jimmy screamed a warning, “Jack! Behind you!"

Half turning, I saw three of Dorrek's men crowding through the doorway. One flung a knife. I turned in time to see it coming; the heavy handle of it struck me in the forehead.

There was a moment of blackness. But at once my senses came back. I was on the floor, with two of the Mercurians upon me. I found myself still clutching the ray gun. My revolver had fallen from my boot—was gone. Hands were plucking at me. A heavy shoulder pinning me, another body on my legs.

I lunged, twisted with returning strength. Above me I heard Jimmy's shouts, then Roc's. A turmoil of staggering footsteps; the thud of blows; the beat of Tama's wings; a scream. A man's scream of agony. The thick body of a Mercurian man fell on me and my antagonists as we struggled. Then another hiss over me: Roc's weapon, I thought. I saw a gray figure lunge past me, meet the heat bolt and fall.

A hand and knife came down with a stabbing blow. I jerked away from it, fired my cylinder into a flat gray face bending down at me. The face went black, sank backward. The stench of burned flesh was around me as I heaved off restraining arms and staggered to my feet.

The room was crowded with struggling forms and clouded with vapors: the acrid gas of the bolts, the smell of charred flesh. The lights were out; the place was dim with the outside daylight. I stumbled over a body on the floor as I took a step. I saw the outlined window ovals, and the rectangle of the open doorway. Tama was there, in the grip of a Mercurian. Roc and Jimmy were rushing at them. I found myself reeling against Dorrek, who still held Rowena. We were in the center of the room. I leaped upon them, struck at the giant's face, and felt another antagonist thud against me from behind. Then a stab of pain as a knife blade went into the flesh of my shoulder.

At the doorway, silhouetted against the outside light, four figures were entangled in a struggling mass: a Mercurian man, Tama, Jimmy and Roc. They toppled at the threshold, the brink of a void with a thousand-foot drop to the Water City beneath us. I saw Tama and Roc go over the brink, and Jimmy with them!

The Mercurian swayed, fought for his balance. Jimmy's disappearing hand made a last clutch—caught the Mercurian's leg, and pulled him over.

The rectangle of doorway was empty. I struck again at Dorrek, trying to pull Rowena from him. The man behind me pounded at my head with a ray-cylinder. I crumpled to the floor as I felt my senses going.




CHAPTER IX. SUSPENSE 
GUY AND Toh waited impatiently in a room of Guy's apartment in the palace at Hill City. Some twelve hours earlier, Dr. Grenfell had brought the Flying Cube to a safe landing. But they had lost sight of the Mercurian sphere in clouds of smoke and fog, and with it their hopes of finding Tama and Rowena, Jimmy and me.

"But, Guy, what are we to do?” demanded Toh. “What does Dr. Grenfell say?"

"What can he say? We have no idea where the ball landed. Girls have been flying here to the Hill City from everywhere. You must talk to them, Toh."

"I have! Always, none have seen it."

Guy seized the little Mercurian youth. “Toh, I'm as eager as you—desperate. Tama, off there somewhere—” He choked on his words.

They had reached the Hill City only to find chaos. News of the unexpected invasion from the Cold Country had just come, brought by girls flying from the outlying districts. The twelve hours that followed were a blurred turmoil to Guy. The shocked, frightened government of the Light Country they knew well—and his friendly companions from Earth with pleasure at having them as Flying Cube, with its earth weapons and its crew of five men, in addition to Grenfell, was an asset in the war.

Grenfell, as he afterward told me, was startled by this sudden crisis into declaring his Earth party as active allies and participants. His first instinct was reluctance. With scientific foresight he appreciated the new era of interplanetary relations, at the threshold of which he now stood as a pioneer. He was upon Mercury, meeting the inhabitants of this other world as a representative of the earth. He had planned coming merely as a friendly visitor; but it was unavoidable that he should not be in pursuit of Mercurian outlaws who had abducted an earth girl.

Grenfell was a forceful man. Once his decision was announced, he sat with the aged, impractical rulers of the Hill City government, doing his utmost to cope with the chaos of hasty preparations for defense into which the Hill City was plunged. Earth and civilized Mercury were allied against a Mercurian barbarian nation.

News of the advancing army from the Cold Country had come to the Hill City; and then other parties of girls had flown in to tell that the Water City was being attacked. Across all the distant copper hills refugees were straggling.

But the occupants of the Water City had been caught unawares. There had been recently, over all this section, one of the dread black storms. Whirling black clouds, so thick that the half-light of day became like the blackest of a stormy earth night. And a sweep of winds, and torrential rain.

The invaders from the Cold Country had advanced through the storm; when it had cleared and daylight had come again, they were infesting the Water City, surrounding it on all sides, men with deadly weapons and a hundred giant insects.

So ran the reports that came to the Hill City. The men and the married women, the children, the aged of both sexes—all these in the Water City would meet death. Only the flying virgins could escape.

From where Guy and Toh were, they could hear the turmoil of the palace overhead, and outside in the garden, the shouts of an excited crowd.

Guy leaped to his feet. “Those shouts—what are they saying?"!

They stood listening. The cries were muffled by the palace walls and blurred by the sound of rushing water in an irrigation flume which passed nearby.

"Toh, can't you distinguish?"

Guy understood the Mercurian language fairly well, but it was native to Toh. He cried suddenly, “It's something about Roc's ship!"

There was a doorway from Guy's room leading into a short corridor. They hurried through it to a gate which admitted them to the open, just beyond the garden wall. The garden was thronged with milling, frightened people. There were lowering black clouds overhead: aftermath of the storm. A deep twilight hung over the small lake nearby, the high metal sides of the water flume; and behind the garden, the outlines of the palace were faintly distinguishable with dim lights now in its windows.

There were high spreading trees out here, heavy with clinging air vines and huge exotic flower blossoms. Tiny lights showed in the spreading circular city. The crowd in the garden and along the banks of the small artificial lake milled aimlessly about. Girls were flapping in and out of it. Others were perched on the high side of the flume, and in the trees. Urged by men on the ground, they flew up to gaze over the city, and came back again. Or flew to the palace roof, demanding news from the men up there.

Occasionally dots in the sky materialized into figures of girls flying in from distant points. They dropped down into the garden, or by the lake, or upon the palace roof, and were immediately set upon by the eager crowd.

Guy and Toh stood gazing. Toh ran to a nearby group of men, then came back.

"They were shouting from the roof that the silver ball was seen passing over the Water City."

"Nothing else? Did it land?"

"They don't know."

There were other shouts. They stood momentarily alone. Toh added, “They say the Water City is wrecked, but the invaders have turned back—not coming this way. Grenfell is going after them with the Flying Cube. Our army is being organized."

"Then Dr. Grenfell will want us,” said Guy. “We'd better go in."

They turned, but stopped again. On a little balcony of the palace a man appeared; he stood calling for silence, then began addressing the crowd. The Earthmen, with their flying ship, were going to lead an army to repel these invaders. There was no immediate danger; the enemy was all on the other side of the Water City now, apparently not planning to advance for the present. Mobilizing or waiting for reinforcements.

Guy and Toh listened. But Guy's attention was distracted. A girl came fluttering down from overhead and landed on the ground quite near them, falling into a heap. Guy thought she was wounded; she lay huddled, with wings spread behind her, not attempting to rise.

Guy and Toh ran to her, bent over her. A small girl, smaller than Tama; a frail-looking little creature, not over fifteen. Flowing draperies lay on her white limbs; her golden hair was braided and fastened to her sides; her spreading wings were blue-feathered. She raised her white face to Guy.

"Aina!” he cried. “Why? Aina—"

He and Toh knew her well; a girl of the Hill City. She had gone recently to the Water City to see the young man whom she was to marry.

"Guy Palisse! And Toh—my friend, Toh! Oh, where is Tama? We need her."

She spoke in English; one of the score or so of the girls whom Tama had taught. She was not hurt now, merely winded from her swift flight. She stood up, panting to get her breath while they told her how the Cube had come from Earth, and that Tama was a prisoner.

Aina gasped, “I saw it land! It was beyond the Water City, where the Cold Country men were gathering. I saw it come down and join them ... Guy, you knew my loved one—Jal of the Water City? He is dead! I was with him. I tried to fly up with him. I could not! I am too small—too weak—” She buried her face in her hands. “He—A brue caught him as he fell back into the water."

Guy held her shoulders. “I'm sorry, Aina."

She raised her face. “I know—this is not the time for crying—"

"No, Aina, we must think of the living.” Decision came to Guy. “Aina, will you help us?"

She was suddenly calm. “What can I do?"

"Are you strong enough to fly now?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Do you know where there is a platform large enough to carry Toh and me and two or three others, if we can rescue them? Can you get a few girls—as many as the platform needs to bear it—perhaps ten?"

"And have them bring it here?"

"No, we would be seen—too many questions. Take it—"

Toh interrupted. “I will tell you where to take it.” He named a distant point of the city. “There may not be anyone there now."

"Yes,” agreed Guy. “We'll meet you there. Soon?"

"I can have it before you can get there."

She spread her wings, leaped, and flapped upward past the tree branches and was gone.

Guy had no definite plan; he would make one as they went.

"Toh, we can get near the ball, creep up on it through the Water City marshes, if only the weather will stay dark."

"If we could get weapons—"

They were both unarmed except for small knives. Guy said, “I'll get them now from Grenfell."

It occurred to him that Grenfell might stop their going. But he realized that the scientist must be told about the landing of the ball.

"Listen—that man up there!” Toh's voice was eager.

From the balcony of the palace the Mercurian official was still haranguing the crowd. Other girls reported having seen the silver ball. The man on the balcony was saying that it had gone now, off over the dark mountains toward the Cold Country.

"That might be true or it might not,” Guy whispered. “We must go, anyway."!

Toh agreed. “Listen to what he is saying! We have time to get there and back before Dr. Grenfell will need us."

The speaker was announcing that the Flying Cube would soon be ready to start for the Water City, to make a survey and to follow the ball into the Cold Country. A giant ray projector was being mounted on the Cube, and defensive electronic barrage armament. Within a few hours it would be ready to start.

Guy and Toh departed at once, pushing through the gathering people along the lakeshore, they passed into the narrow city streets. By the Light Country living cycle, this was the middle of the time of sleep. None were sleeping in the Hill City this night.

Walking and running, Guy pulling Toh by the hand. They hastened through the city, ascending toward the distant heights beyond it.

As the clouds turned black the dim street lamps were lighted. There were lights in most of the houses. Toh and Guy threaded the crowds and attracted little attention. Soon they came to wider, deserted streets: A steady upward ascent out of the broad circular bowl, spread like a flat cauldron upon the inner slopes of which the city was built.

The street they followed was soon a wide ascending road, with spreading tree branches interlocking overhead; low stone houses at the sides, set in verdant gardens or patches of cultivated soil.

With the lesser gravity of Mercury, Guy could have run leaping like a fawn. But he did not want to attract undue attention. He held Toh by the hand, pulling him up the steep incline of the street. The houses were soon farther apart. Less soil was here; the metallic, barren desert land began showing. The street dwindled and was lost at the summit. Ahead was a tumbled region of pointed crags and strewn boulders—an upland desert plateau stretching away into the darkness with the black sullen clouds hanging low above the encircling hills. This was the highland from which the Hill City took its name.

They reached the rim. Behind them the bowl of the city lay with winking tiny lights like myriad eyes. Ahead there was a small level space strewn with boulders.

Guy gestured. “That's where you told her?"

"Yes."

They stood at the brink of a small canyon, a rift in the coppery rocks. It was some thirty feet wide and equally deep.

Guy smiled at his companion. “I can't help you over, Toh."

"No. I will climb down and across it.” He started clambering laboriously down the broken side of the rift, Guy walked back, came with a rush, and leaped-sailed in a flat arc with spread arms for balance and legs hitched up, and landed well across the rift, where he stood waiting for Toh. The Mercurian climbed up, panting.

"Not in sight yet, Guy?"

"No—yes, there they are!"

The platform came sailing from over the city. A small rectangle, fifteen feet long by half as wide. Like a small raft, built of split, porous tree trunks, lashed together with ropes of vines. It had six-foot handles—sticks projecting out from its sides. At each of them a girl was flying, five on either side. The platform passed in a low circle, came down and landed on the rocks.

The two men ran to it. The platform had a low, foot-high railing surrounding it, with handles to which the riders might cling. The girl Aina was crouched there.

"We are ready, Guy. They would not let me fly. I am tired; they said I would hold them back. May I go with you? They will not mind my little extra weight."

The ten girls stood, eager with questions—a flood of them hurled in their native tongue at Toh. He waved them aside. The girls were all barely matured—red-feathered and blue-feathered wings, black and gold-haired. They stopped their questioning, and stood alert and grim. Little warriors.

The thought struck Guy and made him shudder. Frail, beautiful little creatures, these flying virgins of Mercury. For them to be embarked on deeds of violence seemed utterly unjust. Yet, with a flash of vision, Guy saw what was coming.

The girls realized it well enough. Their land—fairest region of the universe to them—was threatened now by an alien race. They had had differences with their own government and had rebelled. But that was forgotten now in the greater peril.

Guy was saying, “Yes, you may go with us, Aina. Ready, now.

The three of them were on the platform. Guy gave the command, told the girls the direction. The girls raised the platform by the handles, stooped a trifle, and in unison, at a word from their leader, leaped into the air. With wings beating rhythmically, with stroke set by the two leading girls, they sailed off toward the Water City.

To Guy, lying on the platform, it seemed an interminable flight. Yet in actual time it was not long—hardly more than an hour. The low, sullen clouds formed a leaden canopy overhead. The platform sailed level, creating its own wind in the heavy, sultry air.

A thousand feet below it, the bleak landscape rolled steadily backward. Copper desert. Sheets of burnished, wavy surface like a strange shining sea rippled by a breeze and frozen to immobility. Again it was broken by canyons. Sheer walls; a mist of vapor sometimes at their feet. There were small valleys, with water and soil and a little struggling vegetation. Others, incongruously luxuriant, with a rank, exotic, tropical growth.

There had been occasional huts, tiny clusters nearly always where the vegetation existed. Mound-like stone huts, here the half-nomadic rural population of the Light Country fought for meager existence. They were all deserted now. Girls had flown past with news of the invasion.

From the platform occasional refugees were visible—little groups toiling along, sometimes attended by a few young girls flying low above them. There was no sign of the enemy.

From here the valley of the Water City lay concealed behind the rim line of tumbled peaks with the precipice brink beyond them. As Guy had hoped, the semidarkness held; it had even grown dimmer. A deep twilight gloom now, through which the distant peaks were appearing, blurred against the solid dark sky. The girls were tired, but they still flew in steady, orderly fashion.

"They were on this side when I left,” murmured Aina. “On the heights. The attack was over, I think."

"But the main body of them were on the other slopes?” Guy demanded. “Beyond the marshes?"

"Yes. From these peaks they were going down to join the others. It was all so blurred. Smoke clouds, fumes, burning houses, smoke everywhere...” She shuddered. “I could not see much, so I did not know what was happening. I saw the silver ball go past."

She stared with eyes that now had no hint of tears. “I want now only to rescue Tama. To follow her, fighting these men who killed my Jal."

And she was only fifteen, with childhood barely passed! “None are down there now,” said Toh. “No one along the rim."

Blurred and dim, the wrecked Water City lay smoldering in the night shadows of the valley. Vapors still hung upon it, and the heavy silence of death. Shadows down there concealed the drab aftermath of a thousand horrors. Occasional little red-yellow flames glowed, where charred, still luminous embers of wreckage lay strewn on the water.

The platform ascended, passed to one side over the dark and silent marshes, higher over deserted terraces, swept beyond the farther uplands. The invaders had been here; but they were not here now. From this height, down through the gloom, there was no sign of any living thing remaining.

"Well, that's the end of that,” said Guy. Disappointment flooded him. A few short hours before, Tama had doubtless been here. But now she was gone.

It seemed obvious that the ball and one portion of the Cold Country army had met here, and now had withdrawn. The invaders, having destroyed the Water City, were waiting before attacking further. To follow them with the platform back toward the Cold Country seemed to Guy a useless undertaking. Yet he dallied with it, even though he knew his better course was to return at once to the Hill City, tell Grenfell the condition, and join the Flying Cube.

Toh had turned them back, directly over the wreckage of the city. They flew lower, by whatever chance of fate, Guy never knew. He was deep in his gloomy thoughts. Toh was silent, waiting for Guy's orders. Aina told the girls to return.

The platform went down in a long swoop. Guy came to himself, to see that they were barely two hundred feet above the water. The acrid smell of gases, smoke of charring embers, enveloped them. A turgid, rushing darkness.

Close under them, Guy made out what had been a street: sullen, oily water strewn with mangled houses; naked, blackened tree trunks standing like sticks with dark, torn ribbons of shriveled vegetation dangling from them.

A little further on an up-ended house, still preserving its shape, was floating half submerged. Its porch platform, now detached, floated like a raft beside it with a fallen tree holding them together.

Guy's breath stopped. Death and desolation everywhere. Things floating, gruesome, that once had been animate humans. Nothing alive now. Except here! Guy's hand clutched for Toh. The Mercurian saw it also, and the girls. The little segment of scene down there swept past; but the girls wavered and turned back to see it again. The platform lurched, swayed, and then was level.

Aina murmured, “Guy, you saw it?"

Again it was under them. That floating house—the raft—the connecting tree. There were human forms clinging to the steep-sloping rooftop. Humans, alive! A winged girl, with two men beside her. Injured, perhaps; holding with weakening clutches to the thatch of the roof.

And from the water, up the incline of the fallen tree, the hideous, jointed length of a giant insect was crawling!




CHAPTER X. BATTLE 
AMID THE TURMOIL of the fighting in that narrow lower room of the silver ball, Jimmy momentarily found himself free of his antagonists. A dim chaos of horror was around him. The window ovals and the open doorway showed with the daylight behind them. And in the doorway, toppling as though they were about to fall, he saw Tama and Roc. They had flung off a Mercurian, who reeled backward and fell. But another was coming.

Jimmy rushed to help Tama. He had lost his cylinder, but he still clutched a knife. With it he struck at an oncoming Cold Country man, but the fellow ducked and avoided him. Jimmy reached Roc and Tama; they were confused, panting, and wavering at the threshold. A Mercurian struck them; Jimmy felt all three of them going over the brink.

Roc shouted, “Hold to Tama! Don't fall free—"

There was an instant of horror as Jimmy felt them going. He saw the void—a thousand feet down to the shattered bestrewn Water City. The gray man pushed them; and as he fell, with one hand holding to Roc, Jimmy reached up and pulled their antagonist out of the ship. He fell free, hurtling rapidly below them.

A dizzying moment of falling, with the silver ball seeming to leap upward. Jimmy found himself clutching Roc, who was holding to Tama. Her wings were flapping desperately. She was above the men, their weight pulling her down as she struggled to support it.

Underneath, Jimmy saw a blurred vista of the city, where a patch of water was apparently mounting upward. The body of the Mercurian was whirling end over end. Jimmy thought he heard the crash of splintering wood when it struck.

Tama panted, “Hold tightly! Come higher!"

Roc pulled himself up and Jimmy with him. They clung to Tama's waist, long enough to be free of her wings. The three of them falling, but not too fast—not if Tama's strength would hold.

The silver ball had moved on and vanished. They fell through a layer of smoke, almost dissipated, but thick enough to choke Jimmy. He felt his senses whirling. Roc was coughing, choking.

Tama's white face was above them. Her wings beating. Then there seemed to be purer air again. Beneath them Jimmy caught a glimpse of dark water, strewn with wreckage. It was rushing upward, close. He saw that they would strike a litter of broken wood. Suddenly he cast Tama off, and gasped, “Roc! Let her free!"

He seemed to fall more swiftly. There was a flash of uprushing floating logs—an impact.

Jimmy did not quite lose consciousness. He had struck a half-submerged log. He thought, a second later, he heard another crash as Tama and Roc came down. He went under water, entangled with vines and thatch, but he came up swimming.

Tama was swimming near him. Jimmy was conscious that one of his legs would not work. A horrible pain stabbed through it. But in this water he found himself buoyant. He saw something looming nearby, and swam for it. As he drew himself up he saw that it was the porch platform of a wrecked house.

Tama gasped, “You—all right, Jimmy?"

"Yes."

Tama was holding Roc, who was inert. Jimmy started back into the water. One of his legs dragged limp; the pain of it made his senses reel.

"Wait, Jimmy—I have him!"

They were only a few feet away. Jimmy helped Tama draw Roc's body up to the raft. They stretched him out, bent over him. He was unconscious, but there seemed to be no bones broken.

I have had from Jimmy the details of those hours he, Tama and Roc spent in the Water City. Tama was bruised from the fall, but otherwise unhurt. Jimmy's left leg was broken. Roc seemed without broken bones—internal injuries, perhaps—but he had struck his head in the fall. He lay unconscious for hours, with Tama and Jimmy beside him on the raft,

It was dark there at the water level. Nearer objects only were visible: a dark patch of littered water, a few houses, flattened, half-burned. A murk in the distance, with ghastly naked trees standing in the water like half-burned sticks; a distant burning house—a yellow glow in the thick turgid gloom.

There seemed a slight current to the water. Occasional blobbing things floating, drifting past. Charred, blackened bodies. A grotesque detached face under a tree. A human limb, torn and cast aside by a giant insect.

Nothing living remained. The smoke fumes wafted down with occasional winds; then up again. But always thinner, less choking.

"What shall we do, Tama? He may die—probably will. You're not hurt. You fly out of thiss."

"Not yet. I can't leave you now. Your leg is broken. You can't walk."

They were unarmed. Tama had flown around in a brief circle near them. She had come back, white-lipped, grim, with a queer look in her eyes which Jimmy could not miss.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

He lay on his side. The pain in his leg made it difficult for him to think. He demanded again, “What's the matter?"

Tama did not answer, but bent over Roc, who was still unconscious. “If only we could do something for him. Poor Roc! And you, Jimmy—doesn't it hurt very badly?"

It seemed that Tama was very alert, her gaze constantly roving.

"What's the matter with you?” he demanded again. “Did you see any of the invaders?"

"No."

"The ball—is it still overhead?"

"No."

A mist rising from the water had closed around them; through it, the nearer objects standing on the water showed like phantoms. Overhead was a pall of darkness. Jimmy had been afraid at first that some of the enemy would discover them lying there, but now there seemed less danger of that. Tama on one of her brief, cautious flights had discovered that the invaders were marching off beyond the marshes. The silver ball had descended to join them.

"We'll wait a few hours,” said Jimmy. “If they're leaving, they'll be far enough away then. And you'll be rested. You can fly back to the Hill City to safety."

"And leave you? And Roc?"

"Well, I guess he'll be dead. And me—you can bring help. I'll stay right here, you can be sure of that."

Now, after another hour or two, Jimmy reiterated his suggestion. Tama ignored it and then said abruptly, “We are too near the water here. Jimmy, could you crawl? And help me a little, with Roc? Up there—"

An inclined fallen tree connected the raft with a half-submerged house close at hand. The house lay in the water tilted at an angle.

"Climb up there,” said Tama. “Onto its roof. Then maybe we could get down inside it and hide."

"From what?"

She would not answer. They tried to get up the tree incline with Roc. But could not. And then, after another interval, Roc came to consciousness.

An hour later and they had laboriously crawled to the housetop. Tama had been down inside the house and returned with a single knife, as well as scraps of food and a vessel with fresh water,

It revived the men. Roc was weaker than Jimmy, but not in great pain. They lay clinging to the thatch.

"Soon,” said Tama. “I can get you down inside. There is a place where you can lie."

"Then you get away. Come back with help. We'll wait—no fear we'll run away, eh, Roc?"

Roc said abruptly, “They were using the wild brues to attack the city. Have they all gone? None—"

He never finished. Tama had seen a lone, prowling insect a distance away when she had flown around, and had feared it would find these helpless men. It appeared now out of the mist; its ugly length slithering through the water. It saw the three figures on the housetop—raised its round head with a leering, monstrously half-human grin.

Tama, knife in hand, crouched on the sloping thatch of the roof, with Jimmy and Roc lying behind her, and her wings spread over them protectingly. Roc tried to rise, nearly lost his weakened clutch and sank back.

The brue reached the raft where a short time before they had been lying. Its tongue licked out from its wide mouth-slit. With waving antennae, it crawled over the edge of the raft. Brown, jointed length with the water rolling from its shell, hairy legs under it.

Jimmy murmured, “Tama! Fly up! You fool—don't stay here!"

The brue reached the inclined tree. Came faster. Jimmy, looking over Tama's spread of wings, could see its baleful gleaming eyes, deep-set under the bulging forehead.

"Tama!” He tried to push her. If she fell, she would flutter away.

Far above them, the mist curtain had parted. Jimmy heard the sound of wings beating. A shape appeared. It was a rectangular platform, with flying girls bearing it. Jimmy stared, his brain blurring with astonishment.

"Tama—look!"

Two men and a girl were on the platform. It came with a swoop. The insect on the incline of the tree trunk paused, and turned its face upward to gaze at this new enemy.

It was Toh and Guy, crouching there on the flying platform with the girl Aina. The girls, frightened and confused as they came down, fluttered in disorder. Guy stood up, swaying precariously.

The platform landed on the raft with a thud, which submerged a foot or two under the weight of the girls. Guy was flung down, but he leaped up at once, and Toh with him.

"Swim away—all of you!"

The girls were floundering in the water. Guy shouted at Aina, “Get the girls away from here—all of them!"

The brue lay motionless, peering around at the confusion; then it turned and began moving back down the tree trunk. The girls on the raft were fluttering up. On the roof, Jimmy lay behind Tama. He felt Roc gripping him.

"I can't move,” Roc muttered.

"No,” said Jimmy. “Lie quiet—don't lose your hold!"

The brue's head reached the bottom of the tree. Guy and Toh with drawn knives stood confronting it. Suddenly the great insect jumped. Not with a forward rush but with a movement incredibly swift, it flipped its whole length upward, head down, with the forked tail high in the air. It landed, facing the other way on the raft.

Jimmy saw the water on the raft lashed white, the great jointed body thrashing, lunging, with Guy and Toh astride of it, hacking with their knives. Spurts of black fluid came like jets from its cracked shell, staining the water with ink, reeking in the air with a horrible stench. The screams of the thing were blood-chilling, gruesome. Its head twisted around. Its long feelers, like the tentacles of an octopus, clutched Toh. He tore at them with his knife. But they lifted his slight body in the air, flung him around, brought him down.

Jimmy was aware that he was screaming a futile warning and trying to crawl with his dangling leg past Roc, who was holding him and shouting, “Don't—you can't do anything!"

Tama was gone! Jimmy saw her go down with a swoop. Like a thrown missile, she struck the insect's head, just as he was drawing Toh toward it. Her knife, went into its face. The bulging forehead cracked—smashed inward like a broken shell. Tama, lunging, striking, fought to free Toh, and in a minute had him loose, fluttered upward with him. He was not injured. She dropped him into the water and swooped back.

The brue, with mashed head, its travesty of a face still bearing the semblance of an agonized human look, screamed continuously. Its great body lashed, writhed, squirmed. But aimlessly now, and with lessening strength. Guy still clutched its middle, hacking, tearing. It was as thick there as a stout man. But he hacked through it. The two segments fell apart, each of them writhing, fighting. Tama went again for its head. Toh came swimming, but she turned and flung him back.

Then Guy was at its throat, stabbing—hacking off the clutching feelers. Aina had been shouting, fluttering ten feet overhead, calling to the swimming girls. They shook themselves free of the water, like gathering birds fluttered up into a confused group. All unarmed, they poised; and then, at a word from Aina, plunged down. Wrathful birds, picking, tearing, wrenching at the two lashing segments of the brue. Clutching its hairy, spindly legs. Twisting them...

The mangled insect's screams gradually grew less. Then Guy hacked through its throat and they died in a gurgle as its great round head fell and floated off.

Guy ceased his efforts. Toh swam forward again. Guy gasped, “It's over, Toh! All right—we've killed it!"

Then Tama got the girls away. Strange little virgins of this strange planet! Four of them fainted from the shock and honor of it, now that it was over. They were all livid white, and most of them were crying, half-laughing with hysteria.

I need not detail the reunion of Tama and Guy, and Roc's turning from an enemy into a friend, eager to help and to atone for his former treachery. Toh gazed silently at him and said nothing. Guy listened to Jimmy's explanations and glanced questioningly at Tama. Perhaps Guy was jealous. He need not have been, for Tama flung herself unhesitatingly into his arms.

Roc watched them with his dark, somber gaze. He sat up, bracing himself against the thatch of the sloping roof. He said quietly, in his precise, careful English:

I want you all to believe in me. For what I have done in the past, Guy Palisse, most truly I am sorry.” He offered his hand, palm up in the Mercurian fashion. “Guy, will you accept me?"

Guy hesitated.

"I think it would be just,” said Tama quietly.

Guy reluctantly smiled. “I'll try, Roc.” He laid his hand on the outstretched palm. “It's not easy, at first. We hated each other for a long time, Roc."

"Yes. But that is over now. My country is assailed. I want only to save it. You, an Earthman, are here to help us win, and for that I am really grateful."

Guy stared at him, but did not answer.

It was two hours before the girls were rested and ready to fly back. The platform was cleared and washed clean of its stanching litter. Jimmy and Roc were carried down to it. Guy and Toh joined them, and two of the weakened girls. Tama and Aina took their places at the handles.

The platform rose from the Water City, to wing away upon its return journey. Presently they met the Flying Cube, coming to reconnoiter. Grenfell saw the platform, whereupon the Cube landed on the metallic desert. They all boarded it, abandoning the platform.

After encircling the Water City once more, the marshes and empty hills behind it, the Flying Cube returned to the Hill City, the Earthmen plunging again into preparations for the coming battle.

News had arrived. Dorrek with his silver ball had retreated with all his forces to the Dark Mountains at the borders of the Cold Country, in the dark, gloomy canyons there.

Grenfell decided not to wait for his advance, but to go and meet him. To cast all into one engagement: the old stratagem, so often used in Earth wars—defense by attack. To keep the fight away from the all too vulnerable Hill City. Defeat Dorrek's forces in one battle, in the wilderness of Dorrek's own choosing. And with his defeat, the menace to the Light Country and to Earth would be ended.

The young men of the Hill City were assembling into an organized army. Nearly a thousand girls were ready volunteers. With Tama's return, they hailed her as their acknowledged leader.

The Hill City arsenal and workshops were a confusion of activity. The hand weapons, the defensive armaments, bombs and rockets, giant projectors of the deadly heat-ray—all were hastily being assembled. Flying platforms were armed; girls were assigned to fly them and armed young men to ride them.

Three day-cycles passed. Dorrek and his barbarians were still in the distant mountains. Little news of them was obtainable, save that they were there. Jimmy's leg had been set by skilled surgeons in the Hill City. He could not walk; but he could ride a flying platform, and he chose it rather than be in the Cube. Roc's strength had fully returned. He had earnestly and faithfully helped in the busy activities of those three days; urged by Tama, the Hill City officials had accepted him.

In the half-light of a gray noonday, led by the Flying Cube, with Tama and her girls winging in orderly formation behind it—a group of armored flying platforms among them—and on the ground a low queue of young men winding slowly out into the metal desert—this strange army of the Light Country went forth to battle.




CHAPTER XI. MOUNTAIN STRONGHOLD 
"BUT, MUTA, I do not love him. That's absurd.” Rowena gathered the long brown dressing gown more closely around her, pulled her brown braided hair from her face and gazed earnestly at the stolid Cold Country woman.

"Don't you understand me, Muta? I wish you no harm. I hate your Dorrek!” She lowered her voice; gazed furtively around the small room of the silver ball in which momentarily she and Muta were alone. “I want only to escape—to get away from him. Can't you understand me? You speak enough English for that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand you. But you tell no truth. A lie."

"No—it is not!"

"Because you are beautiful—big—he loves—"

"But I can't help that, Muta. Don't you believe me?"

"No."

"But you must. You tried to kill me. I do not blame you."

"Ah—"

"No. Wait! I do not blame you, because you were jealous—you thought you had cause—and you love Dorrek."

The woman's eyes were smoldering. “I love—he my man—all my life since little girl. And I love—and for him—for him I work—always!"

"I know. I can understand.” Rowena put a hand on her arm. “Sit down, Muta. You think we can be alone here for a little while?"

"Yes. It may be."

"Then I want you to understand me.” Rowena was gauging her, wondering if she could trust this stolid gray woman.

"You do understand more English than I thought you did, Muta."

"Yes. My man Dorrek—he learn from Roc. Someday conquer Earth, Dorrek say. English—your best tongue."

"Muta, if you only would believe I wish you no wrong! You think Dorrek is—"

"Every woman love him at once."

Rowena laughed gently. “Well, it's all right for you to think that. But I do not. I—my friend Jack Dean is—” She checked herself. Did she dare tell this woman her real identity? How would Muta react to it? If she would not tell Dorrek—

Rowena added abruptly, “Jack Dean is my husband!"

"You're man-mated?"

"Yes."

The Cold Country woman stared; whatever her emotion, she repressed it.

"Muta, I tell you this so that you won't be jealous of me. He is my husband. I love him just as you love Dorrek. And we have never harmed you, Muta."

"From me, you took my Dorrek's love."

"I did not. It's absurd, I tell you. Not true. Don't you understand? I have my own man."

"I have Dorrek. But that is nothing to stop him—"

How often in life humor clings to the skirts of tragedy! Again Rowena smiled gently, and gazing, saw tears springing in the Mercurian woman's eyes.

"Won't you believe me?” said Rowena again.

"Yes.” Muta bowed her head, dashed away the tears with the flat of her hand, and raised her face again. “You say like truth. But so beautiful, you—and I, now old—too much work too long, for beauty—"

There was a brief silence. The two women—so different, and of different worlds—with a bond of sympathy and understanding come suddenly between them.

Muta said, “If you not love Dorrek—still no difference because he want you, not me. And he real man—take what he want."

"True, Muta—that is the danger of having me here."

Rowena lowered her voice. The room corner where they sat was dim, and a distance from the opened interior doorway. The nearby windows showed fading twilight. The ball was flying from the Water City, back toward the mountains of the Cold Country.

* * * *
I had recovered consciousness after the flight in which Tama, Jimmy and Roc had fallen from the doorway of the ball—come to myself still a prisoner in one of the vehicle's rooms. Bound, this time, with thick, pliable air vines.

Dorrek had visited me. “You not lolled?"

"No. It seems not."

"That little man Turk, he killed. And Roc; they fall. Tama, she fly away. I care not."

He stood grinning. Huge, burly gray fellow, with his draped gray fur—a Hun chieftain, by his aspect. A barbarian, stupid in the ways of civilization, yet clever for all that. Dorrek's bullet head, his flat face, his giant stature were barbaric.

But he was something more, this Mercurian leader. He wore a wide leather belt strapped tightly around his heavy middle. Weapons were clipped to it. Weapons, not barbaric, but strangely super-modern.

He had brought his vehicle down by the marshes of the Water City. Had been welcomed by his fellows; had given his orders. We were now in the air again, heading to what destination I had no idea. In the ball now were some twenty of Dorrek's men.

He stood over me. Evidently he was thoroughly pleased with himself and his affairs. Triumphant. He gazed down at me, his massive legs planted wide, his hands on his hips. And suddenly—save for the belt of electronic weapons—I saw him as a pirate captain of the Spanish Main, regarding a prisoner whom he soon would tire of goading and put to death.

Was that to be my allotted portion?

Dorrek said stolidly, “You are left to help me, big man of Earth. I not kill you."

"Thanks,” I said. “What are you going to do with me?"

"Roc dead.” His smile widened. “I lead the Cold Country now. They start the war too soon. I tell them that just now. We go back to the Dark Mountains, near my country. I want all my men, my brues. And all my weapons ready. You understand? We attack again. I talk the English tongue not too bad?"

He came and sat cross-legged beside me. Wild thoughts swept me. Where was Rowena? Was she unharmed?

I thought of escaping. Sitting as I was, so close to him, if I were not so securely tied I could snatch one of those weapons from his belt. Or smash his wide flabby face with a blow of my fist, or crush his thick chest with my encircling grip. I was nearly his own giant size. And no Mercurian in strength and agility could match an Earthman. Wild thoughts—

He repeated, “I speak English not too bad?"

I summoned my wits and smiled back at him. “No. You speak all right."

"I speak better soon. You will teach me, when I master of the Light Country."

That brought a measure of relief. He had use for me; and it was obvious I could play on it.

"That should not be hard, Dorrek."

"No. The Mercurian, he learn quick. The memory takes words and holds them. I want your language—master it. I have great plans. We build big race—giant people on Mercury. I kill—when I am master—the little flying virgins. No good. Rebellious, much trouble always. And little Light Country men, like the brother of Tama. He called Toh. You know him?"

"I saw him once on Earth."

"No good for breed new people. Men like you better—like me—and your women."

My heart pounded. “Women who cannot fly and be troublesome?” I ventured.

"Yes. Earthwomen. I like them much. Women like this Rowena."

I held myself expressionless. “You still have her here, Dorrek?"

"Yes. She here—I never hurt her."

"Earthwomen are not always easy to manage, Dorrek."

"This one—I manage her. Besides, she like me. I want my woman yield with love, not fear. Muta beautiful once, but old now. Too much old."

I forced a laugh, and he responded to it.

"Your ideas are reasonable,” I agreed. “Make this Earthwoman yield with love, not fear. You can't do that all at once, Dorrek."

"Not haste—my mind now only on conquest of Mercury.” He touched me. “You, Jack Dean—I make you want to teach me the English without forcing."

He was far more clever than he looked, this Dorrek. He shot me a sidewise glance.

"You want I let you loose? Then you help me?"

I fancy he liked me because I was the only man near his own giant size whom he had ever seen.

He was smiling again! “You can no escape. Roc tried that. You saw him fall? You want not death? I loose you a little, Free to walk. Do what you like—here among us. I call you friend."

Then he was unroping me. Again I had that flood of wild thoughts. I put them aside—to start fighting now would only mean death for me, and possibly, Rowena.

I rolled over to help him untie me.

"Where is this Earth girl?"

"A room above. Muta with her."

I sat up, rubbing my arms and legs to get the blood back into them. Dorrek watched me; then with a sudden thought, he selected a length of rope.

"Only a little loose.” Around my ankles he tied the rope so that I could take a short step and no more, and he tied my wrists about a foot apart. I could free myself, I knew. And Dorrek knew it, of course. But it would take some minutes, and I would be under constant observation.

He commented: “Just so. No sudden idea of flight. You understand?"

"Yes.” I smiled.

He watched me as I stood up shakily, stretching my legs until I could walk normally. With the lesser gravity pull—it was Mercurian gravity here now—I had to be careful.

Dorrek stood beside me.

"When you hungry, you tell Muta.” He laid his huge hand on my shoulder. “Too much bad, so big men like us not real friends."

"Call us that, Dorrek."

"If you real friend, sometime you talk to Rowena. Tell her Dorrek, he great man."

I met his steady gaze, and it gave me a shock. There was always a naive earnestness in this burly scoundrel's manner. I was shocked to realize now it was largely the limitations of his command of English.

"You tell her, “Dorrek he is great man."

He said it naively enough, but in his gaze I could not miss a hint of irony in the earnestness of his voice half-real, half-assumed. With a shock came the thought that this fellow was only making fun of me.

And then I thought that I was mistaken. He added, “You tell Rowena—someday I kill her and kill you if she find she cannot love me."

There was no duplicity in that speech, I was convinced. He turned and left me without waiting for my answer.

I was free now to move about the vehicle. As Dorrek passed through the interior doorway, one of his men appeared there and stood watching me. I was free to seek out Rowena. But though I longed to do it at once, caution held me. Dorrek might be listening. A surprised, incautious word from Rowena as I told her of my plan for escape—it was too dangerous a chance. I decided to wait, for a time at least. Until the vehicle landed somewhere, we could not even think of a way out.

The Mercurian in the doorway was eying me, but be did not speak. I crossed the room with my hobbled steps and stood at the window.

We were flying at an altitude of a few thousand feet. It was dark, but there was enough light for me to see the landscape beneath. It was changed from the copper uplands of the Light Country to a darker rock, sleek and glistening as though it were largely iron.

The sky was leaden. But as I gazed, with my eyes growing accustomed to it, there seemed a vague green sheen of radiance mingled with the clouds. Green, and occasionally dim shafts of a turgid yellow. The window was open with a small sill, breast-high, on which I leaned. A wind was outside; but I guessed it was only the creation of our forward flight. The night was breathless—oppressive. I thought suddenly of what Guy had told us about the black storms. Was this one of them brewing now?

I stood there perhaps an hour, watching the dim landscape slipping past: A dark metallic plain fluted with little rifts and gullies. It seemed steadily rising toward us. As the ball slowly turned on its axis, my view spread to the horizon over all its circle. A close upstanding horizon, black against the sky. The plain was gradually breaking into rougher country: deeper gullies, round black pits—unfathomable emptiness downward, and little crater holes, like pockmarks.

For a time it seemed almost a lunar landscape, as desolate, uninhabited as our frigid moon. I saw no sign of habitation down here now.

Then, in a little valley, there seemed a huddled group of mound-shaped huts. But the village was doubtless abandoned; there were no lights, nothing moving.

We flew steadily onward. Off to one side, diagonally ahead of us against the horizon, I saw a glow of red-yellow light. A crater pit, not dead like all the others, but with a fire in its depths. It came into closer view as we passed, a little glowing crater. It seemed almost welcome in the bleak dark desolation. It passed sidewise and went quickly down beneath the rising horizon as we advanced.

I was aware of the air growing constantly colder. And the night darker. Not so much because of the storm; we were advancing, I knew, into the region of perpetual night. The sun—if there had been no clouds to obscure it—would have been always at or beneath the horizon even at the Water City. And here, already it would have set, never to rise.

Presently, I saw mountains coming up ahead—black peaks—a great line of them stretching like a wall before us. The ball began rising. The mountains loomed higher, closer.

And then we were over them. I stood amazed, awe-struck. There is a terror to darkness—things almost, but not quite, visible. Shining lunar mountains are bleak and desolate, but the light on them brings a grandeur to the beholder, rather than a fear. But here beneath me now was a desolation fearsome in the extreme. Black bottomless canyons, incongruously wide for the sharply convex surface of this small planet; canyons with sheer black walls dropping into blackness; peaks rising like pointed needles; open valleys strewn with crags and boulders.

A ragged, tumbled land, rent and torn by some great cataclysm of nature. Once there may have been fire here; I saw a tremendous upsloping ramp of what might have been congealed lava; a cloven rock peak loomed at its summit.

We were skimming low, and now the mountains were around us. We swung into a deep black canyon. One of its walls, glistening black, slid past my window hardly more than a hundred feet away. Gazing up, I could see its straight edge against the sky and a towering peak still higher. There seemed a white glow upon the peak—some little light catching its mantle of snow.

The vehicle turned on its axis. Again I could see ahead up this narrow black canyon and see its floor now, broken and rock-strewn, as we steadily ascended.

The flight of the ball seemed slowing, Ahead I saw where the canyon narrowed to a mere two hundred feet, like the neck of a bottle, beyond which it opened into a wide bowl enclosed by perpendicular, thousand-foot cliffs. We sailed through the neck, out into the open valley. I saw lights. Dorrek's mountain stronghold lay spread here on the valley floor.

There was a step behind me. I heard a confusion of sound within the vehicle. Tramping feet. Orders. The hiss of the side rocket streams—preparations for landing.

Dorrek appeared. “We are here. You go above—friend Jack."

I followed him to the small ladder incline which led to the upper tier. It was the single connection between the two floors of the vehicle. He pushed me. A few steps up, I turned to gaze at him. He was smiling.

"You stay up there. I have men stand here so you not come down. Windows have bars up there."

"All right,” I said. “Are we landing now?"

"Yes. My camp in the mountains here. We stay three—four of your days. Then all of my men are here—My brues—my big weapons. We go attack the Hill City!"

He took a step upward toward me. “You find Muta up there with the girl Rowena. You send Muta away, you understand? And you tell Rowena, I not so bad man."

I saw again that gleam of irony in his eyes. He gestured and turned away, and from nearby three of his fellows appeared.

I ascended. In one of the upper rooms I located Rowena and Muta. I stood unobserved for a moment at its threshold, my heart beating tumultuously at seeing Rowena again. And with a thrill, realization swept me: this was the room in which Roc, Jimmy and I had our conference. In this room, hidden in its wall, was the secret compartment containing weapons! And no one now in the vehicle—save Rowena and myself—knew that they were here!




CHAPTER XII. HOPE 
"NO ONE COMING, Rowena"

"No."

"It must be here somewhere—a hidden spring, a lever or something. I saw Roc open it. Was it here? You saw him, Rowena."

"Yes, there—just a little higher. I think it was off to the left."

Rowena stood at the doorway, watching that no one saw us. I searched with my hands along the steel-paneled wall. And suddenly was rewarded. What I touched I do not know; some concealed mechanism. The panel slid noiselessly aside. I had a fleeting thought that Dorrek would have found this tiny arsenal and emptied it. But he had not. The cupboard shelves still held the rows of little bombs and rockets, tiny strange devices, the operation of which I had no vaguest notion.

"Got it, Rowena! Everything's here."

I put forward a hand the length of my hobbled reach to touch what seemed a fragile globe with a hooked lever on it. But I paused. If I were to clumsily set it off—this close room might suddenly be filled with a paralyzing gas or a flare of actinic light to strike me blind—

"Rowena, I'm afraid to touch the blamed things!"

But there were several hand projectors of the heat-ray; I knew how to use them. And there were knives.

"Jack! Quickly!"

I could hear the footsteps outside. I seized a small cylinder and drew the slide quickly closed. Rowena came swiftly on tiptoe to join me, and we moved away from the wall. The fastenings of the closing slide clicked faintly. I recall that I wondered if I could ever get the thing open again. The footsteps outside retreated; no one came in.

"Aren't you hungry, Rowena?"

"Yes. Shall I tell Muta?"

"If you can find her."

I had stuffed the weapon in my pocket. We were together in the center of the room. Dorrek looked in.

"Oh, Dorrek!” I called. “We're hungry—can Muta bring us food? We thought we would eat it here together."

"Yes,” he said. His gaze roved us, met mine with his slow, enigmatic smile and he turned away.

This was a full day-cycle after the ball had landed in the mountain valley. It was the first opportunity I had had to be alone with Rowena long enough to get the secret panel open. We were both prisoners in the upper tier of the ball, though free to move about its several rooms. I had found them all with windows either closed and sealed, or if open, with a stout grid of metal lattice. And there never was a moment when at least three Mercurians were not guarding the lower end of the single inclined ladder.

This upper tier was infrequently used now. Its two control rooms were unoccupied and sealed. Dorrek's men occasionally came up, but not often; most of the activity was on the lower tier, and outside. Rowena and Muta slept in the room in which the weapon cupboard was hidden, and Dorrek had assigned me a room nearby.

What was transpiring in and around the vehicle I had little opportunity to observe—such as the mobilization of the Cold Country army. The only open windows to which I had access faced a sheer black wall a hundred feet away. I could see the dark rocks upon which the vehicle was resting. And upward, a thousand feet of forbidding perpendicular cliff against the, blackness of the sky.

We were here, not only that first day-cycle, but three others. The sounds of the arriving men floated in to us, along with the clank of giant projectors laboriously being dragged over rocks. There were spots of lights outside, and dim vistas of encamped men working to assemble their mechanisms. And sometimes I had brief glimpses of dark lines of things slithering along the rocks. Giant insects—the brues—docile here with their masters.

The army, which had attacked the Water City, was here. There came others from the Cold County. I could not guess how many. By Earth standards of modern warfare, not many. Two thousand, perhaps.

Soon the whole place seemed glowing with a blue-green radiance. The weather continued with a threat of a slow-gathering storm. At times it was solid black night, then vaguely weak twilight, livid with the turgid yellow-green shafts that shot through the gathering clouds. And it was steadily colder outside.

They were tense hours for Rowena and me. We got the panel open again, but decided to take only a ray-cylinder each.

The guards at the foot of the ladder were changed at intervals, always armed and wholly alert. I could have shot them down, but I knew it would bring a hundred men upon us before we could get out of the ball's lower door.

I thought desperately I might break the metallic bars of an upper window, but I had no prolonged opportunity and no tools. The heat-ray from one of our cylinders would melt them through, but we would be discovered.

There was still Muta. Rowena's first talk with Muta was interrupted, but during the first cycle here in the mountains they spent the time of sleep together, and Rowena cautiously resumed her efforts. Muta was receptive. What Rowena now urged, the woman herself had born in mind when she told Jimmy that some time she would talk to him alone. Certainly she wanted Rowena away.

"You see, Muta—you saw my husband with me at the meal tonight? He loves me and I love him. Could you not see it?"

"That true. But what difference? Dorrek a man, take what he want and he want you."

Rowena gripped her. “That's the danger! You've got to help us escape from here, Muta!"

"No, he kill me if I try that! I frightened!"

"Talk softly! He won't kill you. He won't know anything about it. We'll plan how it can be done. You—at the time of sleep, like now—you can get the guards away from the ladder."

The plan was coming to Rowena as she talked. It was cold outside, and by another time of sleep with the approaching storm it would be still colder. She questioned Muta, found that would probably be so. And outside, Muta said, the men were beginning to wear enshrouding fur robes and hoods. Muta could get two of those. And give Rowena and me a little food and water to take with us.

It should be possible for the Mercurian woman to get the guards momentarily away from the ladder, long enough for Rowena and me, disguised, to slip past.

We would be alone in the mountainous wilds of a strange planet, but it was better than being here. I thought I had a general idea of how to get back to the Light Country. It was not far by Earth measurements.

Muta agreed to try it. She brought the hooded garments, which Rowena had concealed in a couch.

We thought we would manage the escape the next time of sleep. Muta was ready. Rowena had carefully drilled her in what she was to do.

We were ready. I was in my room, tense, waiting for Rowena's call. Outside, with a cold rising wind moaning past the rocks, the encampment was settling to sleep.

And then there was a sudden activity. A shrill distant alarm! A turmoil spreading everywhere. In a moment the lower tier of the ball was resounding with hurrying footsteps. Voices shouting.

I rushed into Rowena. She and Muta were there, standing with the hooded furs.

"Jack—what is it? Listen!"

Through the window bars the blackness outside was split with light—flares.

"Jack—Jack Dean!” I heard Dorrek's voice shouting on the ladder. Running footsteps up here in the upper tier. The ball's control rooms were being unsealed.

Dorrek burst in upon us; Rowena had barely time to hide the furs. Dorrek whirled on me.

"You stay here with Rowena. We move the ball—not safe here."

"Do what, Dorrek, wait—"

But be was gone. In the lower tier I could hear them sealing the outer door. The ball lifted, moved—not far—and again came to rest, in the middle of the encampment this time, resting on the rocky floor in the center of the valley-bowl. Outside the window we could see the confused glare of leaping, crossing ray beams.

The army of the Light Country had arrived to attack Dorrek in his mountain stronghold. The battle was bursting into an inferno around us!




CHAPTER XIII. FLIGHT TO BATTLE 
As IT LEFT the Hill City in the half-light of that noonday, the army of the Light Country consisted of two divisions: the forces on the ground and those in the air. Of the young men who marched on foot there were perhaps a thousand. It could have been more, but Grenfell decided against it.

Warfare is different in every age, and far more does it differ in one world from another. Grenfell was not officially in command—that was given to a Light Country scientist, named Arton. But the Hill City officials looked to Grenfell as actual leader. A set of conditions wholly strange was involved: electrical warfare. A battle of crossing rays, of blasting, withering heat. A single technician at a projector could do the work of a thousand soldiers.

But Grenfell knew that no warfare, however supermodern, scientific, mechanical, will ever transcend the human factor.

The young men to go on foot were not primarily fighters, but their principal mission was to transport supplies: The food and water, the housing equipment for camping in the desert, the ammunition, electronic storage battery renewers, a renewal supply of the small hand weapons used by the air force. They carried a score of giant heat-ray projectors mounted upon little wheeled carts. Fifty additional carts were used for the supplies. They were drawn by domesticated brues.

The thousand young men, commanded by Arton, were slow moving and needed supplies for their own maintenance. The number would have been unnecessarily large, save that Grenfell greatly feared Dorrek's giant insects, trained for fighting. It was likely that Dorrek, when attacked, might loose his brues over the desert with a few men guiding them to raid the vulnerable Hill City. This, the ground army was prepared to oppose.

For defense, there was a black insulating fabric—a thin flexible, cloth-like material, dead-black in color, woven of hairthin metallic thread. At a distance of thirty feet a man clothed in it could withstand the heat-rays for many seconds. Garments and hoods were made of it, and shields of various sizes. But, like all devices of war, it was only partially effective.

The Light County air forces were of three kinds. The individual flying girls, of whom there were some eight hundred. They could not fly properly in the insulated suits. Some wore them, but most chose their filmy robes and carried six-foot flexible shields, folded for long distance flying, which could be opened in a moment. They wore belts with small ray projectors, knives and a variety of hand bombs to be thrown or dropped upon the enemy.

Tama was in command of these girls. There were eight divisions of about a hundred each. They flew in eight separate squads, each with its girl commander.

The second air division was that of the flying platforms, using from eight to thirty girls. The two largest carried a single giant projector each, which had an effective range of something like half a mile. Four Light Country men rode each of these platforms. Two others, carried four men with bombs. Three bore merely a single girl each—reserve platforms.

One platform carried Jimmy and Roc. Guy had been assigned with them, but, perhaps because of his dislike for Roc, he persuaded Grenfell against it. He and Toh rode a platform together.

And there was the Flying Cube. It was loaded now with reserve armament: weapons shields, fabric suits, food, medical equipment. It had a giant heat projector mounted now at a port on the D-Face deck, and the long-range Earth gun.

Grenfell rode in the Cube with his five associates. There were ten or fifteen Light Country men also now aboard the Cube, including four of the most skillful surgeons in the Hill City.

Grenfell decided to go in advance and start the attack; the men on the ground could arrive as a reserve force later. Grenfell let the flying girls lead the way. He kept the Cube poised in the midst of them. They took it slowly, so that the girls would not be tired. Within a few minutes the queue of marching men upon the ground—the little swaying carts with harnessed insects slithering ahead of them—all were left behind, out of sight beneath the horizon.

The metal desert lay ahead. After twenty miles the girls descended to rest. The Cube sailed cautiously ahead to make sure no enemy was in sight and then returned. The girls started again. Fantastic sight! They fluttered up, giant birds with vivid blue and crimson wings, flowing draperies, braided hair fastened to their sides, white limbs gracefully poised. They formed themselves into the eight squadrons, each with its leader, and followed by the flying platforms, winged swiftly off into the gathering twilight.

Jimmy, lying with his broken leg stiff in its splints, on his platform with Roc, gazed eagerly ahead. Two or three more stops and the mountains would come up over the forward horizon where it seemed a storm was gathering. Jimmy's mind was busy with still half formed personal plans. Grenfell had the big advantage over Dorrek in this coming battle. But Dorrek had one advantage, which, to Jimmy, was likely to prove a great handicap to Grenfell's activities.

For Rowena—and I, Jack Dean—were prisoners. It seemed to Grenfell likely that we would be kept confined in the silver ball. Dorrek would reason that Grenfell, fearing to kill us, would thus hesitate to attack the ball, his greatest weapon.

It was a great handicap. Grenfell strode up and down the deck of the Cube that morning considering it, his shock of gray hair rumpled, his square-jawed face set in a frown, his shoulders hunched. Jimmy was lying in a deck chair regarding him.

"I don't know how to get them out of that sphere,” murmured Grenfell. “We'll have to watch our chance when we get there.” He was talking half to himself.

Jimmy called, “Oh, Doc, I'm thinking the same thing you are. Once we have them safe, you can feel free to blow that blamed ball to bits. I've got a plan; will you listen?"

"Of course."

"Well, we don't know yet what conditions we're liable to meet. But let us assume we take these savages by surprise. My idea is we'll have them penned in the mountains. They'll be on the defensive, won't they? And the ball will be lying inside—well, what you'd call the enemy lines. And it will be black night. Right?"

"Jimmy, I have no way of guessing what the conditions will be. But I know one condition I'm afraid of—what these girls may do when they get in contact with the enemy. Eight hundred of them—supposed to be under my control. But they won't be! How can I control them? I've no adequate means of communication with them during a battle. A few flying platforms to take my orders!"

Grenfell was vehement. “Your description of how those girls fought that giant insect—that brue thing—in the Water City. Reckless! Never let up until they had it torn to shreds, and then collapsed into hysteria when it was over. If they get wild, if I can't control them—the whole eight hundred could kill themselves in half an hour."

"Tama can control them, Doc."

"I hope so. I've spoken to her. She stared at me with that little quizzical smile. “Oh, yes, Doctor, we will be prudent. We look to you to tell us what to do."

"That sounds fine. But—” Jimmy interrupted. “What I was saying; my idea is we'll have these savages penned in the mountains. You're not going to attack at once. Make the girls take it slow; that will help control ‘em. It will be dark, won't it?"

"So I understand."

"Abnormally dark. Roc tells me this sky looks as though a black storm is coming. And a cold one, from the Night Country. Well, my idea is to watch my chance—get my platform up close to the enemy lines. Wear a black insulator suit, and creep through the lines. Get up to the ball, unseen, why not? And the doorway would probably be open—"

"But, Jimmy, you can't walk with that leg."

"I can creep, can't I? I may have no chance after the fighting starts, to consult with you. I want your permission now. It might be the lives of Rowena and Jack—and it might make all the difference between your losing or winning the battle. You want those barbarians coming to the Earth again—assaulting, abducting young girls like they did last year? If I get Rowena and Jack—you'll be free to blow that ball to bits. Chances are that Dorrek and all the leaders will be in it.

Grenfell hesitated; then he put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders and gazed into the flushed, freckled face with the tousled, brick-red hair above it.

"Do what you think best, Jimmy. Only—don't get killed.

As Grenfell stood up, Jimmy saw Roc standing a short distance down the length of dimly illumined deck. He had come from a nearby door, or perhaps he had been standing there unobserved for some time. Jimmy called, “Oh, Roc—come here."

Roc was to be his companion on the p at run. Jimmy was by nature impulsive, and he was keyed up, excited now. He gave Roc the general idea of his plan.

"Suppose we try it together, Roc. You'll be a great help if Dorrek was now trapped in the rocky bowl. As Grenfell had foreseen, be went instantly on the defensive. When the alarm came, the silver ball had been resting at the bottom of the valley near one of its side walls. Dorrek immediately moved it to the center of the bowl, three miles from the nearest enclosing cliffs.

Two hours passed, which were horribly irksome to the waiting Jimmy.

Near the top of the thousand-foot precipice at the opening to the valley, Grenfell's encampment was springing into existence on a boulder-strewn plateau. The Cube had landed on a nearby rocky eminence which dominated the scene. The men and the four hundred girls unloaded the Cube's supply of tents, lights, cables, batteries and light mechanisms; the food supplies; weapons and defensive armament.

Within an hour the tents and lights were erected—a little huddled group of dark-fabric shelters, strewn amid the rocks. Tiny hooded green lights dotted it, their dim radiance disclosing the figures of the winged girls moving busily about. The first meal was in preparation.

Jimmy called to Roc as the Mercurian laboriously hauled the base section of a projector to a spot where someone had said it should be taken.

"How far is the brink from here? I'm going there."

Roc answered his smile. “Of course, Turk.” He called a passing girl, instructed her to have the projector assembled. “Very well, Turk. Come put your arm on my shoulder."

Jimmy found that he could almost hobble. He weighed hardly sixty pounds here on Mercury. With his arm over Roc's shoulders, they made a fair speed, passing beyond the lights of the camp, heading to the nearby brink where they could see over the valley.

Fragments of information, which Roc had picked up, he now gave Jimmy. Dorrek was caught in the valley. His men and brues were down there clustered around the silver ball. In all, they occupied a space of about a mile-wide circle, out in the center of the valley. There was no projector in either camp which could reach the other.

On the heights of the lower canyon entrance, Grenfell's second camp was being established. There was no way for Dorrek's men and brues to get out of the valley without passing through one of these two narrow gorges both of which Grenfell's projectors now dominated.

Across the dark rocky distance, in the direction of the Light Country, Jimmy thought he could distinguish the tiny lights of the other camp six miles away. Overhead a small group of girls winged off in that direction.

"Look!” exclaimed Roc suddenly.

They turned. Behind them, in the darkness a mile back on this upper plateau, was turmoil. Vague blurred sounds in the heavy, motionless night air. Tiny flashes of blue-green light—little beams leaping down, crossing with others leaping up. It lasted only a moment or two. The beams were extinguished; the sounds died. Jimmy learned afterward that a small group of armed girls, flying to investigate the surrounding country, had come upon a few of Dorrek's lurking men. And a brue. The men and the brue were killed, and three of the girls.

Grenfell now established patrols for all this neighborhood. At intervals they passed overhead, flying low with their search beams sweeping the crags.

It was a painfully long hobble for Jimmy, but at last he and Roc came to the brink of the cliff. In the center of the valley Dorrek had set up a ring of giant projectors, a mile in diameter, within which his army was enclosed. They were pointed directly upward, spreading beams of blue-green. At a few hundred feet above the ground they crossed, mingled into a solid curtain of light, a circular, mile-wide upstanding funnel.

It was queerly non-radiant, this barrage; inherently bluegreen, but it did not illumine the valley. The rocky floor, even close to where the projectors were set, was solid black. Nor did it radiate much heat. Within the beams of that thin, glowing curtain, the temperature must have been several thousand degrees centigrade—forty times the boiling point of water perhaps. But twenty feet away, its heat could scarcely be felt.

The effective height of this heat barrage was two miles, or less. The Cube could sail over it, drop a bomb, blow the Mercurian ball to bits.

Jimmy's thoughts raced. At the base of the barrage curtain, where the spreading beams came from the projectors, there were triangular holes of unprotected darkness. Five hundred feet on the rocks, narrowing to the point where the beams met overhead. Into those triangular holes Grenfell could creep up to the silver ball. A vague glow of light seemed to disclose the round silver shape of the ball lying in the center of the encampment.

Jimmy had conceived that Dorrek's barrage was immovable. The holes in it so easy to penetrate. But within a minute he saw that was not so. One of the projectors swung suddenly forward. Its beam swept the empty valley floor, almost reached the base of the cliff, darted sidewise, then upward and back to its former position. It made Jimmy shudder. Nothing living could have withstood the briefest touch of that faint lurid glow.

Grenfell's projector at the canyon mouth presently sent down an answering beam. Its source was along the clifftop not far from where Roc and Jimmy were crouching. Its range was something near a mile; it swept the nearby valley floor, dominated the exit, but could not reach Dorrek's projectors. After a moment it was extinguished.

"The storm is coming,” said Roc.

"A black storm?"

"Yes."

The clouds overhead were shot with occasional turgid yellow shafts. They illumined the valley far more than did the enemy barrage beams. The air here on the cliffs was cold. A little wind had sprung up fitfully.

"We had better go back,” Roc added. “The storm may burst now, or in an hour or two."

"Soon, Roc."

Presently, as an experiment, Grenfell tried a shot from the long-range Earth gun on the deck of the Cube. But Dorrek's men were alert. The gun spat yellow; instantly one of the barrage projectors bent downward. The shell went into the beam, exploded harmlessly in mid-flight over the valley.

"I'm going down there,” Jiminy said suddenly. “Roc, you've got to help me. Get our platform—assemble our girls. We're going down.” In the darkness be could not see Roc's face.

"Yes. I will try."

"Now listen—” A sudden thought struck Jimmy. “If you see Guy and Toh, tell them what we're doing. Maybe they'd like to come—"

If only Jimmy had insisted on that!

Roc was on his feet. In the darkness Jimmy could only hear his voice. “Very well. You wait here. If I see Tama, I will ask her to come. Down there in the darkness, if trouble should arise, we could send Tama quickly up for help."

As Jimmy hesitated, Roc added vehemently: “I am not one who would want Tama placed in danger. But just to land in the darkness down there—not too dangerous."

"Okay. Hurry it."

Jimmy sat alone on the clifftop through another interval, staring down at the distant enemy barrage. The projectors could not sweep the ground since their long range would annihilate the projector next in line, he noticed.

Suddenly he saw a hand heat-beam dart sidewise from near one of the projectors. It swept the ground with a range of nearly a hundred feet. And a guard at the neighboring projector answered it with a similar horizontal beam.

Jimmy smiled grimly. That was not so good. But his fabric suit might withstand that smaller beam. He would have to chance it.

His attention was distracted by the beat of wings close over his head. Roc arriving with their platform? But it was not. Another platform, seven girls on each of its sides, went sailing past. Fifty feet over Jimmy, and twice that far beyond the brink of the clifftop. Two men were crouching on the platform.

A sudden silent burst of yellow-red radiance in the sky briefly illumined them—Guy and Toh! They did not see Jimmy. He stood up impulsively, cursed his leg, and hastily sat down again.

The platform winged away, but Jimmy did not lose sight of it, as it headed off toward Grenfell's other camp. But it rose steeply and presently came back. Then in a broad spiral, almost directly over Jimmy's head, it mounted.

Grenfell was making another test. The platform was a mere dot against the turgid sky. Great funnel-shaped clouds were slowly wheeling up there. Queer green and yellow shafts occasionally burst in them.

The platform rose steadily. A mile? Two miles? Twelve or fifteen thousand feet? Then Jimmy realized: Guy and Toh were trying to fly across the top of the barrage curtain to test the height and try to drop a bomb.

The little dot up there began moving out over the valley. Dorrek's men had seen it. There was a movement of all of the barrage beams. They turned diagonally inward, closing at the top almost together in a mingled blurred glow.

The platform crossed over them. The falling bomb was invisible to Jimmy at first. But then he saw it strike the upper reaches of the barrage funnel as a glowing point of light. Its metal shell turning luminous. The heat was weak at first. But in a second or two the falling dot of fire burst into a puff of flame. A tiny report echoed over the silent valley. The platform came sailing back, descending well behind Jimmy, lost in the darkness of the upper plateau.

A rush of wings sounded behind Jimmy. His platform, complete with its crew of fourteen girls, landed near the brink.

Jimmy saw Roc and Tama dismounting. They came toward him.

Tama greeted him: “Jimmy, you must not try this thing. Roc has told me—"

He waved away her protests.

"Don't worry, Tama—I'm no cripple. I'm sparing myself now—you wait until you see how I can make speed when I have to. You going with us, Tama?"

"Yes,” said Roc quietly. “For a little way."

They mounted the platform. Jimmy saw three knives, three small hand cylinders and a flashlight in the weapon rack. And a pile of garments—the black insulated suits.

"There is a cloak and hood for Tama,” said Roc. “But in flying it cannot protect the wings."

The little leading girl, Grazia, was beside Jimmy. The platform was raised, ready for launching.

She leaned toward him. Her face was white and earnest. There was fear in her eyes, but her jaw was set with determination. All the girls were watching her. She said, in an undertone: “You instruct us where to go, Jimmy."

"Start us off, Grazia. Down to the valley. Keep close to the cliff, right along here on this side. Understand me?"

"Yes. I take orders from you or Tama. Not Roc."

The platform lifted, swayed over the brink and swooped downward.




CHAPTER XIV. NO MAN'S LAND 
JIMMY HEADED THEM down the valley for a mile. They landed on the dark rocky floor close to the foot of the cliff. It was far darker than above. There was no wind down here. But the heavy air was dank and chill. The girls were shivering from cold and from excitement.

Jimmy and Roc had donned the black suits. Jimmy carried a knife, a cylinder and the flashlight. His suit encased him from feet to neck, and to the tips of his gloved fingers. His hood, with flexible-paneled visor, dangled now at his back.

Tama donned her cloak. It covered her wings for walking, but was slitted so that for flying her wings could come through it. The three of them stood whispering.

"Roc, did anyone know we started?” demanded Jimmy.

Roc stood apart, waiting. “No,” he answered.

"Well, we're all right so far. I want the platform to take us as near as we dare go,” Jimmy explained to Grazia. “Pick out a gully or something, where you can hide while you wait for me."

It seemed that Roc hesitated. Tama turned to him abruptly.

"We will do what he says."

The platform fluttered cautiously forward, landed in a little pit-like depression. The enemy line was near at hand. The barrage loomed up, a huge, glowing veil. They left the platform hidden. Tama stayed with it.

"We haven't been seen,” Jimmy whispered. “You wait here. We may come back in a rush, Tama.” He gripped her slim shoulders. “I hope to God we have Rowena and Jack with us!"

"Come,” whispered Roc.

He helped Jimmy for a short distance. The barrage curtain seemed almost overhead. But there was no light from it here on the rocky surface. The loose boulders were often ten or twenty feet high. Jimmy and Roc made their way cautiously forward. They were heading into the dark space between two of the projectors.

Jimmy pulled up his hood. “We'd better get lower. Crawl. I can make it."

They crept on. Jimmy, without thought of the pain, found he could drag his abnormally light weight swiftly forward. Roc crept behind him. After a time, Jimmy was winded. He paused for breath, then went on. The nearest projector was some two hundred feet to the left of him. Occasionally it was hidden by intervening crags. The other, to the right, lay obscured below a little upstanding ridge.

There was no alarm, though every moment Jimmy feared it might come. Every boulder might have a lurking guard in the blackness beside it.

Soon Jimmy figured he was within the enemy line. The barrage curtain closed in a great sweeping arc over his head. The left hand projector was a trifle behind him now; in the dim light from it he could see the dark forms of the attendants.

Ahead, the broken, ridged surface went down a gentle slope. Shapes were down there—straggling tents, the outposts of the camp. He saw a group of moving lights.

Abruptly Jimmy realized that Roc was not with him. He waited, stretched out, panting, gazing back. Roc had been following, but he was gone now. Afraid! Deserted—gone back to the girls—

A grin was on Jimmy's face. He rested a few moments, then dragged himself on. In Jimmy's mind there had been no thought of how he might get Rowena out of Dorrek's clutches. He told himself now that be would decide that when the time came. The first thing was to get to the Mercurian vehicle and into it.

There was a commotion ahead, men dragging a projector across the camp. Their small hand lights showed. Jimmy rolled into a little crevice between two boulders and rested until they had passed. He was well within the lines now.

Overhead he could see the green-yellow sky, and frequent lightning flares now. He heard a dim, queerly muffled thunderclap. And a wind was surging over the valley. The storm was at hand.

He saw too, that a distant section of the barrage was moving out from the camp, toward the valley wall. Three or four of the projectors were being rolled outward. It was a mile away, but the movement was obvious.

The camp showed distant activity. Dorrek was starting something. Jimmy lay with pounding heart, watching. The barrage was moving toward the cliff, in the direction of the canyon entrance where Grenfell had established his girls, and the Cube.

An enemy rocket mounted from a point on the valley floor less than a mile from Jimmy. The barrage parted to let it pass. It went in an arc upward. Through the brief blank hole in the barrage Jimmy saw it clearly; it fell on the cliff. Burst with a puff of light, and from it came a turgid ball of smoke. Gas fumes! They clung heavily to the cliff top—a little widening cloud. The wind which now was up there caught the fumes, and blew them back over the plateau.

Grenfell's projectors were sweeping the nearby rocks. The Cube fired a shot. It came screaming down, went into the barrage and burst in mid-air.

The battle had begun. A sudden activity everywhere. From the faraway clifftop, girls were rising, dropping bombs to dissipate the approaching gas fumes.

Jimmy came to himself to realize that whatever he could do must be done now. He crept on forward. He had forgotten Dorrek's brues, the gruesome giant insects. With a shudder that turned him cold, he saw one slithering across the camp with a man driving it.

They did not see him. Other men passed; he rolled into a tiny hollow and lay breathless as their feet and legs showed almost overhead. Legs garbed in a woolly brown fur. He waited a moment or two after they were gone, raised himself up on his hands to gaze cautiously out of the hollow.

From the nearby darkness two fur-robed figures were advancing. Jimmy ducked back, fumbling for his knife; he could not risk a ray flash which would give the alarm.

But he was too late! A giant man came with a leap upon him!

* * * *
Tama crouched in the ravine with the platform and the fourteen other girls. Ten minutes passed. Every instant she feared to hear the sound of alarm within the enemy camp. It was a mad, desperate attempt. She was sorry she had not tried harder to restrain Jimmy.

A dark form showed at the brink of the ravine. These girls were not armed, except Tama, who carried a knife and a ray cylinder. The little projector was in her hand; but before she could level it, a soft warning voice came from the arriving figure.

"Tama!"

It was Roc. He slid down into the ravine, greeting Tama in their native language.

"All is well, Tama."

His black hood dangled to his shoulders, exposing his pale face. In his hand he held his cylinder. He fronted Tama and the girls, with his back to the gully side.

"But where is Jimmy Turk?” Tama lowered her weapon. “What happened, Roc? Why did you return?"

"He goes on in.” Roc laughed, harsh as the grind of a file rasping on steel. “I let him go. Why not? They will catch him, of course. Kill him ... Look there!"

His swift gesture made Tama and most of the other girls turn around. There was nothing to see. Tama felt Roc leap upon her. His hands tore away her cylinder, jerked her knife from her belt, and flung her to the platform.

"Quiet, all of you!” His weapon swept the girls, menacing. His voice hissed at them. “If you do not want me to kill your Tama, do as I tell you. Take your places at the handles. We are going up. Lie still, you. By the god of light, I'm in no mood to fool with you, Tama.” He shoved her to the forward end of the platform. “If you try to fly off, my beam will kill you. I mean it."

"Roc! Are your senses gone?"

"No. “I've just got them ... Grazia, start us up. To any of you who dares to leave your place—it is death! I mean it!"

The white, frightened girls lifted the platform. Roc crouched in its stern, facing forward. Tama huddled tense, watching him. His weapon was leveled. It swept the girls, came back upon her.

"To the nearest clifftop, Grazia. Low at first—down, you fool! Do you want us to be seen? The barrage turned on us, shrivel us to ashes?"

They skimmed low over the valley, back toward the cliff. Tama, facing the rear, could see the enemy lines over Roc's crouching form. The barrage, on its distant side, was moving outward. Activity in the enemy camp. Was Jimmy caught? She feared so. She saw the rocket mount to the cliff. Saw Grenfell answer with a shot.

Roc chuckled. “Out of it, just in time."

The girls were flying in frightened disorder. He warned them. They flew more evenly. The platform ascended, reached the plateau at a point some two miles from Grenfell's upper camp. It passed above the cliff at an altitude of a few hundred feet; sailed back over the dark empty reaches of the upper plain. It flew swiftly; the panic-stricken girls were menaced by Roc's weapon and his grim threats.

The lights and sounds of the battle faded into the distance. Ahead lay the black desolate vastnesses of the mountains, with the bursting storm upon them. The sky was lurid now with shafts of red and yellow light splitting the cloud funnels. Rain was falling, tossed by a crazy wind.

Roc had not moved from his crouching place in the platform stern. The red lightning flares painted his livid face, the Satanic peak of hair on his forehead, his blazing dark eyes.

Tama said abruptly out of the silence, “Are you mad, Roc? Where are you taking us?"

Roc laughed again, but calmly now, and shifted his tense position. But he was still alert with his weapon.

"Back home. The Cave City, where you will be safe, in the Cold Country until this fighting is over, Tama. Dorrek will win, I hope. These fool meddling Earthmen—I wish them all to their hell. And I have you—that is all I want."

"But I thought—” Her protest sounded so futile. She checked it. And then her heart leaped into her throat. Over Roc's shoulder, in the lurid darkness behind them, it seemed that she saw a following shape. She forced herself to speak, to hold Roc's attention, to keep him from turning to gaze back.

"But, Roc, I thought—"

"You thought I was going to plunge into a battle? Get killed! Or have you tell me you love that accursed Earthman, Guy Palisse."

"I never said I loved him, Roc."

"Do you?"

"Or do I love you? Is this the way to make me love you? Trickery once more. Traitor, again."

The blob behind them was coming closer. Overtaking them. Another flying platform.

"Perhaps it is the way to make you love me,” Roc retorted. “We shall see. I do not want you to be killed. I'm taking you to safety."

"Or is it for yourself you most fear?” she demanded. “You are despicable, Roc. A traitor. A lying little coward—"

The girls at the handles showed a sudden confusion. They had seen the pursing platform; two or three of them were looking backward.

It attracted Roc's attention. He turned; and Tama would have leaped upon him but he was too quick for her.

"Back! Sit quiet! You, Grazia—a faster stroke!"

But the girls, although they pretended to do their best, were faltering. Roc did not dare turn his head again; he moved forward, almost upon Tama, with the cylinder leveled at her breast. He called to the girls: “Faster! Do you want me to kill her?"

The other platform was now barely a hundred feet behind them, and coming at far greater speed. It suddenly began ascending, to pass over them. The wind had momentarily lulled, but now it came up again as a roaring blast. The platform swayed, lurched as the girls fought to hold it.

The wind tore at his words and hurled them away. A crimson flare in the sky illumined the other platform clearly. Two men were upon it. Triumph swept Tama. It was Guy and Toh! They were close behind, rising to a fifty foot higher level. Tama could presently see only the black insulated bottom of the platform, the winged shapes of its girls around it, and a face projecting beyond its forward edge. The face of her brother Toh, staring down.

Roc was crouching on one knee.

"Faster!"

Grazia, flying close, at Tama's side, had looked up and seen Toh, and had caught a signal from his hand over the edge of the platform. Guy was leaning over the side, trying to aim down at Roc. Both platforms were lurching; he could not make sure of any aim.

Grazia suddenly left her handle and with folded wings dropped into the void. It distracted Roc, as she had intended. He leaned sideways, his weapon spat its small deadly beam. But it missed Grazia's falling body; her wings opened; she flew away and vanished.

The lower platform wavered dangerously, all its girls in a panic of confusion. And then Toh leaped over the forward edge of the upper platform. He came hurtling down the fifty-foot space with a knife in his outstretched band.

Roc forgot Tama. He turned his cylinder upward and fired.

Toh's body crashed upon Roc. Toh's knife stabbed in one convulsive blow.

On the swaying platform under Tama's horrified gaze, the bodies of the two men lay writhing in last agonies, and then were still.




CHAPTER XV. TRAPPED 
ROWENA AND I might have escaped from the silver ball that time when Muta smuggled the brown-furred garments to us. She was ready to distract the attention of the guards. But the alarm came. Grenfell's Cube was sighted, sailing high over the valley. Dorrek's encampment sprang into confusion.

He rushed in to us.

"You stay here with Rowena. We move the ball—not safe here."

Rowena had barely time to hide our robes in her bed covering. Muta stood against the wall. Dorrek whirled around and was gone.

Our futile plans! Escape was impossible now. Men were clattering everywhere in the small vehicle's interior. The guards still held their position at the foot of the ladder. And other men were constantly upon it. The upper-tier rooms near us were occupied—men in the control rooms, which had hastily been unsealed. The lower door was closed. The ball lifted; the thrum of its rocket-stream ejectors sounded amid the turmoil of footsteps and voices.

I had thought that the battle was bursting around us, but almost at once I saw that it was not. Rowena and I stood at the small window oval. She had loosened the ropes which hampered her. But Dorrek had not noticed or had not cared.

Muta came like a shadow and stood behind us. The ball had been resting within a hundred feet of the valley's precipitous wall. Our window had faced that way; and all the main encampment was behind us, out in the open valley. As we lifted now, we had a wider vista. The ball sailed outward from the cliff, then backed into the center of the valley some three miles from the nearest cliff and came to rest again on the rocks.

We were now in the center of the encampment. I saw its turmoil of alarm. Men were dragging projectors with cables slithering after them like giant snakes. Brues were being harnessed to small carts loaded with storage batteries.

Mound-shaped tents were set up in straggling array on the rocky floor, and illumined by tiny lights, strung from metal poles. And houses which had been built of gathered loose stones crudely piled in tiers, with skins and fabric cloth stretched for a roof, dotted the valley floor.

Many of the giant projectors were ready. Dorrek had at least half expected this alarm. Within ten minutes after be had sighted the Cube, his great circular barrage was springing up around him. The flare of their upstanding beams, the hiss of them, was what I had mistaken for an attack.

The camp occupied a mile-wide circle, and within half an hour the barrage was complete around it. From our second-tier window we presently saw tiny distant lights which marked the coming of Grenfell's force.

Dorrek's barrage was constantly being strengthened—reserve protectors dragged to the circular line, reserve batteries for renewal. There seemed hordes of fur-clad men. Hand weapons were being distributed. A hundred brues went past, lashed by their drivers, slithering off toward a section of the barrage. Still no attack came from Grenfell.

Here in the ball I stood alert, waiting for an opportunity to get away with Rowena. But always there seemed too many men moving around this upper tier and the incline. But once out into the confusion of the camp, clad like these other furred men, our chances might be better now than before.

"Soon, Rowena,” I whispered. “If this upper corridor is cleared, even for a moment—"

Muta held stolidly to her decision to help us.

"I watch at the door.” She stood there, motionless.

At last she signaled, “Now!"

But a dozen men came trampling up from below, rummaging in the room adjoining us. I saw the flare and heard the scream of Grenfell's test shot, and then the bursting of a bomb overhead. The conflict was beginning. We must escape, now if ever.

There seemed renewed activity in a distant section of the camp. Men marching in that direction. Groups of the giant insects—and all the reserve projectors, and mechanisms for the launching of rockets and bombs—were being taken now to one segment of the barrage line. Was Dorrek preparing an offensive move off there? It seemed so.

The little upper corridor was momentarily vacant. I joined Muta.

"We will try it now?"

She nodded. “Yes. I go down."

There were only two guards at the foot of the incline. Muta started down to them. I hastened back to Rowena.

"The robes—hurry, dear."

We donned the robes, pulled the hoods over our heads, close against our faces. Our stature, if closely remarked, was a danger. Rowena was taller than most of these men. And I had no counterpart save Dorrek.

We crept to the ladder. Muta had drawn the guards aside. My heart was pounding with the sudden fear that now, at the last, the inscrutable Mercurian woman would betray us. But she did not. She was talking with low, passionate words to the two guards. What she said, we never knew. They saw us, perhaps, as we slipped past but she held their attention.

We reached the lower doorway. Men were nearby, working at some apparatus. We walked, stooping. The doorway was open.

A six-foot ladder descended into the dim activity of the camp. I was upon it, with Rowena behind me. The dark forms of men were outside. They would see us; but men had been passing in and out of the vehicle constantly—in our brown fur robes we would not attract particular notice.

A cylinder weapon was in my band. But I realized that a shot would bring the camp upon us. I stuffed the cylinder back into the pocket of the robe and unclasped a long knife blade.

"Jack! Hurry! Someone's coming behind us!"

I had paused in the doorway, making sure of what was below. I tensed to jump down, but the dark moving form of a brue was disclosed. I could not chance passing near it, to have it sense me as an enemy.

"Rowena—this way!"

I pushed her back through the doorway. The room inside was dim. Footsteps were upon us! We shrank against the wall, but we could be seen,

"Stoop down low,” I whispered.

A pile of apparatus lay by the doorway. We bent over it, pretending to be working. The voices of men in the adjoining room were audible.

"Jack, can't we get out?” Rowena whispered.

"A brue outside. I didn't dare—just a minute!"

"Someone is coming!"

I saw Rowena's white hand, and gripped it. I felt then, with horrible premonition, that in another moment we would be challenged. We could not answer—neither of us could speak Mercurian. For a brief instant I held Rowena's hand. With freedom ahead of us, all my thoughts had gone to the future. The world—our blessed Earth—so wonderful a place, with Rowena. Was this to be the end of our life together, trapped here in this dark room, in the depths of the mountains of a strange planet?

The footsteps were upon us. The brue had stopped almost at the foot of the entrance ladder.

"Rowena—leap over it! We'll have to chance it!"

Run openly, with our great earth strides through the camp? Or stay here ten seconds longer and be discovered. It flashed upon me that the choice I must make held all the difference between life and death.

I suddenly drew Rowena back from the doorway.

What destiny held me? In that second of decision, what benign fate made me choose rightly? What vagary of that mysterious thing we call the mind guided my uncertain muscles? Life is a queer business!

The brue reared itself on the ladder. Half a dozen men appeared behind the startled giant insect. It sensed us, no doubt. The men lashed at it; one jabbed with a pronged pole, and sullenly it slithered back to the ground, and the men drove it away.

In the room, the approaching footsteps brought a heavy shape directly toward us. It was Muta!

She touched me. “You go now! I want never see you again!"

I could well subscribe to that. Rowena bent down.

"Muta,” she whispered, “thank you for this. I wish you happiness."

No one was near the ladder. We descended it. I caught a glimpse of the face of the Cold Country woman as she stood watching us go.

We moved slowly into the dim activity of the camp. I had carefully decided which way to head. We half circled the outside of the vehicle, threaded our way between two dark tent shelters and made off over the rocks toward the distant barrage line.

"Carefully, Rowena.” I walked beside her, whispering. “Hold your balance.” For the slight gravity and our tense impatience made it difficult to keep from running. “If we're challenged, stand perfectly still. I'll do what I can."

The barrage line seemed horribly far ahead of us across a dark, rocky expanse. But this was the least occupied, least active section of the encampment. All the movement was the other way.

Soon we were past the thickest cluster of the tents. We came to an almost unoccupied spread of boulder—strewn floor.

"Now, faster!"

We took longer, freer steps. Soon we were returning, pausing momentarily to look around. A line of brues showed in advance of us. We waited to let it go by. Overhead the storm was bursting into greater violence. Whirlpools of a crazy wind plucked at us. And the rain was beginning. The barrage line came nearer. I headed toward the space between two of the giant projectors. The attendants at them showed clearly, dark shapes of three or four men at each.

"Jack, look!"

Behind us, far across the camp, the opposite segment of the barrage was moving outward. Dorrek was beginning an offensive. We saw the gas bomb mount and break upon the clifftop. A shot from the Cube came screaming down and burst against the barrage. Girls over the cliffs were dropping bombs to neutralize and dissipate the gas fumes.

We ran. A man driving a brue crossed in front of us. We waited, crouching in the crevice of an overhanging rock. Started again. We were not far from the barrage line—soon we would have the two projectors behind us. The rocky surface here was broken with numerous little gullies land hollows. We jumped most of them, sailing in huge fantastic leaps,

"Wait!"

I drew Rowena down barely in time to avoid discovery. Four men passed close to us. Again we started. A small hollow lay immediately before us. And as we approached, a black figure rose from it. He saw us! It was too late to drop out of sight. I expected a shot. With a leap I was over the brink of the little pit.

The black figure struck at me with a knife, but I avoided the blow and saw a white face.

"Jimmy!"

He was lying here with his broken leg, trying desperately to crawl across the enemy camp to rescue us. There was moisture in Rowena's eyes, a catch in her voice as she joined us in the pit. We rested a moment, whispered to each other. We were triumphant. We would soon be out of this. Tama was nearby, with a flying platform.

"All right, now,” Jimmy murmured. “How glad I am you're not in the sphere! It's been holding up this fight.” He was trembling with eagerness and triumph. “Fearful handicap for Grenfell—come on—we've got to get out—get back to Grenfell. Things are starting off there already."

We crawled forward, but we did not get far. The camp, in advance of us and to the sides, burst into a sudden chaos.

Bombs were dropping from overhead. One of them exploded within the camp. Outside the barrage, girls were attacking.

"Heck!” muttered Jimmy. “We can't get out now."

I gathered him in my arms. He was incredibly light, as though I were holding a child. I ran, with Rowena beside me. But it was useless. A light flare came down from overhead and struck the ground near us. For a second or two the rocks were painted white with the dazzling glare. I stumbled and fell. Jimmy kept his wits; he reached and drew Rowena down with us.

We lay in a cluster of boulders against which we huddled for shelter. And over us, with amazing suddenness, the battle raged in full fury.

We were trapped. The storm and the conflict were both at their height. How long we three lay there I have no idea. I could not guess the progress of the battle; I only knew that every moment a more lurid inferno showed around us.

Rowena suddenly whispered, “Where is Jimmy?"

I realized that she and I were alone! Jimmy had crawled away from us!




CHAPTER XVI. BATTLE FURY 
GRENFELL, during all this time, found himself in an increasing dilemma. He knew that once he ordered these flying virgins to the attack, the conflict would be sharp and brief.

But Grenfell had no intention of precipitating such a crisis. Dorrek's forces were bottled; by exhaustion of his food supplies he could be overcome. And there was the question of electronic power. It seemed probable that Dorrek could not maintain this huge barrage for many hours. Inevitably his batteries would be exhausted.

In a day-cycle Commander Arton would be coming up the canyon with the reinforcements, a thousand young men, upon whom Grenfell preferred the brunt of the conflict to fall. An attack now by the flying girls would be too deadly—the losses too great.

But Grenfell finally sent the two largest platforms to an altitude of fifteen thousand feet. Each carried a giant projector. The rays spat down, and crossed the barrage curtain with a hissing turmoil of sparks.

Coming back, one of the platforms abruptly disobeyed orders. Four men manned its long-range ray; thirty girls flew it. Instead of returning to Grenfell's camp on the cliff, it dropped low into the valley and hurled itself at one of the base projectors of the barrage. The projector bent its ray down, but missed. The platform went like a speeding projectile. Its beam darting before it. Then Dorrek's ray caught it and clung. From the deck of the Cube the shuddering Grenfell saw the bodies of the thirty girls wither and fall. For an instant the insulated platform held together. It was barely a hundred feet from the barrage base. Its ray spluttered and vanished. The platform tilted, and crashed to the rocks, the black figures of its men little falling dots against the barrage light.

A group of girls made a similar attack. From the darkness of the valley floor they hurled themselves at an opening between the barrage projectors.

Flying in a group, they skimmed the surface. They safely passed the barrage line, rose inside over the enemy camp. For a minute perhaps they dropped their bombs. The flares were visible to Grenfell through the curtain. How many of Dorrek's men and insects were killed was never known.

The beams from the hand weapons of the girls were flashing down. They flew holding their shields to protect their bodies and wings as well as they could. Mounting, they crossed perhaps a third of the camp, leaving a trail of destruction beneath them. But one by one the enemy rays caught them and brought them down.

That was enough for Grenfell. Three hundred of the girls were still in the cliff camp near the Cube. He ordered them to keep out of the air, and sent two of the emergency platforms to fly to the lower camp and order the four hundred girls, the projectors and flying platforms there to come up here and join him. Dorrek's activities were at this upper end, and if he tried to escape through the lower canyon he would encounter Arton's army.

Grenfell sought Tama, but she was missing. He could not locate Jimmy Turk, Guy, Toh, or Roc.

The storm was increasing in fury. Grenfell moved the Cube forward and began firing directly down. But the shots were always intercepted. The Cube was unwieldy when flying for short distances close to the ground. But twice Grenfell manipulated it around the valley; and once it fired down from four miles overhead.

He wanted to hit the base projectors, but be could not. One or two of the shots entered the camp. This he did not altogether want. It was a horrible handicap, for Grenfell did not want a shot of his to strike the Mercurian ball in which Rowena and I had been imprisoned.

Rain was presently falling. The crazy wind had steadied. The red lightning flares and thunder cracks were almost continuous. Dorrek's mounting bombs fell upon the cliff. The wind brought the gas fumes. Grenfell closed up the Cube, firing down into the turmoil through its deck port.

He ordered the girls farther back and a hundred of them into the air to dissipate the fumes with neutralizing bombs.

It was then, with Tama and Guy missing, that events got beyond Grenfell's control. Dorrek's barrage advanced again until it reached the base of the cliff. Grenfell thought Dorrek's move was to command the canyon—to enable his men to escape back toward the Cold Country. He planned to let them go; the deep, narrow gorge was twenty miles long in this direction; the escaping men and brues could easily be assailed later. Grenfell was watching the silver ball where it still lay in the center of the valley. He was convinced that Dorrek and his leaders were aboard it; if he should ascend to get away, the Cube was ready for the chase.

But the enemy did not escape. Brues began crawling up the perpendicular cliff in the segment which the barrage now commanded. A hundred of the giant insects were on top of the cliff before Grenfell was aware of it. And to each of them three or four men had clung. They spread out over the upper plateau.

Lurking men among the rocks, dark, slithering insects spreading out, advancing upon Grenfell's camp. The fume bombs and rockets stopped coming. But the insects with their human burden mounted the cliff wall steadily.

Grenfell ordered his girls and platforms into the air. They flew low, seeking out the crawling enemy. The upper plateau in all that vicinity was dotted with the tiny lights of the girls, flashing down upon the gruesome insects. Brief combats—always with the brue left writhing in death agony.

Dorrek's men were harder to find. Once upon the clifftop, they had ordered the insects forward, left them, and vanished. Presently no more came up. The move puzzled Grenfell.

Then abruptly they attacked the Cube! Grenfell was standing with his men on D-Face deck. The lower door was open. There was a flurry of girls flying nearby. Grenfell saw, in a red lightning puff, fifty or more furred figures of men running forward among the crags near at hand. With short band rays darting before them, they rushed at the Cube's doorway.

The infuriated, reckless girls hurled themselves down like frenzied birds. Doubtless none of the men would have lived to reach the doorway. But it startled Grenfell, as Dorrek probably intended. The Cube hastily rose; and as it lifted, a projector, of longer range than any of Dorrek's others, shot at it from the barrage line.

The beam caught the mounting Cube. There was a horrible moment when Grenfell thought that the hull plates would melt. The interior heated, stifling; choking fumes of fusing metal; a rain of smoke and fire and snapping, sizzling sparks outside.

Then it was over. The Cube's hull, protected to resist the cold of interplanetary space and the friction heat of atmospheric passage, withstood the brief, intense blast. The Cube rose beyond range, and came again into the lurid, storm-filled night.

Grenfell had flung on all power. He checked it now. Baker, Gibbons and the others—and the Hill City officials who were here—gathered in a startled, frightened group on the deck. The Cube seemed not greatly harmed, but it had been a close call.

From a height of some twenty thousand feet Grenfell gazed down and saw that all the girls had flung themselves into the conflict! Darting at the barrage in a score of places, they dropped down into it like plummets.

Two platforms with men and bombs came from the plateau in a long dive toward a triangular opening between the projectors. Both got through, into the camp, raking it for an instant before they fell in little bursts of flame. Those horrible little bursts of flame! They were everywhere. Tiny puffs. Each of them a human life gone. And the barrage line held.

To Grenfell, cold with horror, it seemed an eternity; yet he had no more than time to order Rance to lower the Cube. Another minute—or five at the most—those reckless frenzied girls would all have sacrificed themselves.

Grenfell stood breathless. And suddenly he saw a distant segment of the barrage go down. A single projector went dark, leaving a great hole above it. But why? The girls had not done it; there had been no attack there.

Abruptly the dark projector flashed on again. Grenfell gasped at an incredible sight.

* * * *
When she could find no trace of Jimmy, Rowena was alarmed.

"He's gone, Jack! Jimmy Turk has gone!"

"But he was with us a moment ago. Rowena, he—"

I leaped to my feet, standing in the bottom of the little hollow within the enemy camp, with the battle raging around us. Then I saw him; he was crawling on the ground a hundred feet away, his broken leg dragging after him. In three or four leaps I was with him.

"What are you doing?” I flung myself down with him. “What in—"

"Let me alone! Lie near the ground. You'll be safe in that hollow."

He tried to pull away from me; but when I held him he told me his plan. Possible, at least.

"Look, Jack, we're near it. Only three men there. We can end this war at once."

The area here was comparatively quiet.

"Look, Jack—how close—"

I had not realized how near we were to one of the barrage projectors. Jimmy had crawled to a little rise of ground. Ahead, not over a hundred feet from us, the projector stood on the rocks with its vertical spreading beam above it—a three-foot metallic cone, mounted on a low wheeled carriage. Three men stood on the small low platform; their figures showed dark against the radiance. There was momentarily nothing between us and those men. And their attention was outward, not back toward us, behind them in the camp.

It was black bore save for the lightning flares. I bounded back to Rowena. She flattened herself down in the hollow against the rocks, as I directed, but turned her white face up to me. A lightning flash painted it with a flush of red.

I was again with Jimmy. The men at the projector still had not seen us. A hundred feet to go...

"I'll carry you,” I whispered, “until we get within range."

"No! Might see us. Takes a little longer, but I can make good speed."

In a lull of all the screaming sounds of the turmoil, we could hear the steady hum and hiss of this projector as we got closer to it.

"Jack, I'll give the word and we'll fire together."

Our hand cylinders had a short range; we did not know how far, but certainly twenty feet. We got almost that close, still undiscovered. I was aware of an increased turmoil outside the barrage. But not at this particular segment.

The men on the projector platform turned to look back across the camp. But their gaze was in the air toward the rising Cube with the high-powered ray leaping up and striking it,

We crawled a little farther. One of the men was looking our way. Then his attention seemed diverted, we went on again. We were doubtless plainly visible now.

A rush for it, Jimmy went like a maimed crab on hands and one leg.

"Jack—now!"

Our little blue-green beams flashed. Two of the men went down. The other leaped over the platform edge. His shot went wide of us. He vanished. I ran for the projector, with Jimmy scuttling after me. From behind the platform the figure appeared. My shot exploded his weapon, but his insulated suit withstood it. My leap carried me into him. We fell, and rolled under the platform. He was a thickset man but frail. He lay inert under my blows.

I rose from under the projector carriage. Jimmy had reached it, and pulled himself to the platform; he fumbled with the mechanism. By chance he turned it off. He was cursing, panting, as I jumped up beside him.

"Blamed thing—can't—” He pushed me away and tilted the projector down. “Got it! Now, Jack!"

He flashed on the giant beam to horizontal. Not outward—inward!

A single slow, sideways oscillation, swept in one brief instant the full width of the camp with a swath of destruction and death! For an instant—there was the gruesome sizzle and crackle of withering, blasting heat. The whole barrage, as the central controlling mechanism must have, been struck, went black. Jimmy's beam vanished with it. Darkness everywhere.

Then only the mounting yellow flames of the burning camp was left, the wrecked, half-fused silver ball lying broken in its center; and over the chaos the flying girls darted with harmless little search-beams now to see what might be left alive.

We found Rowena safe in the little gully over which the blast had swept. Tama and Guy returned with the bodies of Toh and Roc on their flying platform, only in time to see the strangely abrupt, terrible end to the conflict.

It was hours before the storm had passed and we were ready to return to Hill City. A few prisoners were taken, not many. They found Dorrek's body lying in the wreckage of his vehicle. And Muta's body, with her hands clasped about his neck.

With the wounded crowding the Cube, we started back. The return of the victorious army! There is no greater misnomer than to call any returning army victorious. The Cube was jammed with a gruesome burden: The maimed; the living who, most of them, would rather have died. The platforms were heavy with wingless girls. Every cart in Arton's army was laden for the return; the young men tenderly carried stretchers.

* * * *
Tama and Guy were married in the Hill City. New laws were proposed regarding the clipping and mutilation of the virgins’ wings. They had saved their nation, these fearless, reckless—once rebellious—virgins. They had put aside their grievance against the men for the greater cause.

There was, as yet, no enactment of the law to say that Tama could be married with wings unclipped, yet she was. And every man who saw the strange little ceremony raised his voice to cheer. Jimmy stood there beside them. And Tama turned and kissed him in Earth fashion before them all.

Rowena, Jimmy and I are back on Earth now. Guy and Tama came with us for a brief visit. As Grenfell foresaw, a new era is at hand: the era of interplanetary travel. New worlds, but not to conquer.

A few moments ago, Rowena, Jimmy and I witnessed what, to us at least, was the most emotion-stirring sight of our lives. The first broadcast televised scene of Tama flying. It was why she made this second visit to the Earth—to show herself—to cement the friendship of the two worlds.

Here in my study we gathered before my mirror-grid. It showed the narrow vista of a woodland scene. From over the distant green trees, with the fleecy sky behind her, Tama came flying. Waving black hair and blue-white draperies; white limbs poised; vivid crimson wings outstretched. Guy was standing in the foreground. She came soaring like a graceful bird and landed upon tiptoe with back-draping wings. She stood smiling, bowing, and kissing her hands to her vast unseen audience. And then turning, she ran and flung herself into Guy's waiting arms.

THE END 




AERITA OF THE LIGHT COUNTRY 



CHAPTER ONE 
THE WINGED WOMAN 
"A hundred-thousandth part of a decimar, friends. Think of it—one-tenth of a miserable little gold-dollar to see the wonder Freak Show of the ages. Come up and get your tickets, friends. See the faceless boy from Borneo. See the beautiful girl with wings. Little flying virgin in all her breath-taking beauty. Who is she? Where is she from? What weird language does she speak? Twelve foot spread of feathered wings, my friends. Human girl of glorious beauty. Flying virgin—the world's greatest mystery ... Get in line there—one at a time, please. A tenth part of a gold-dollar, to see the girl with wings—"

The barker's voice droned on. Young Alan Grant stood among the little crowd which milled here at the entrance of “Wilkins’ Wonder Freak Show of the Ages.” A girl with wings? He smiled to himself as he dropped his arrant-cylinder, ground it out with his heel and shoved toward the ticket booth. A fake, of course, like the “Faceless Boy from Borneo” and the “Living Mummy from the Valley of the Nile."

And then he was inside a dim smoky room, staring at a small dais which was illumined by a spot of blue tubelight. An announcer appeared.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, I take great pleasure in presenting the world's greatest mystery. The girl with wings! Watch her closely, friends. Thrill to her breath-taking beauty. Who is she? What weird language does she speak? You will hear her talk—perhaps one of you can tell us where she is from ... Now, here she comes!"

The announcer stepped aside. From the semi-darkness soft weird music was welling through the smoky little room. And then from behind a curtain the girl with wings glided forward into the blue sheen of the overhead tubelight. Young Alan Grant sucked in his breath with a gasp. What he saw was a small girl, hardly more than five feet tall. She was dressed in a long, flowing, gauze-like robe of drapery—pale-blue robe which shimmered in the sheen of the tubelight. [?]

A breath-taking beauty? She was all that—a fragile-looking, ethereal little face framed by long silver hair that hung in two thick braids forward over her shoulders. Girl with wings! Two huge blue-feathered wings arched out from behind her shoulders, folded across her back with their feathered tips almost sweeping the ground.

For a moment she stood staring out from the dais at the smoke-filled room with its circle of curious faces gazing up at her. A girl no more than sixteen, or seventeen perhaps. Yet Grant could see that her queerly frail-looking body was rounded almost into the maturity of young womanhood. A face of ethereal, delicate beauty, but of what nationality? Strangely he could not tell.

For that moment she stood gazing at her audience as though in confusion, with a little half-smile trembling on her coral lips. Grant felt his heart pounding. The wings were a fake, of course. But somehow that faint trembling smile seemed pathetic. As though she were frightened?

"Her name is Aerita,” the announcer's voice was murmuring from the dimness. “First she will dance for us ... NOW! Aerita—you understand me?"

At his question she turned and nodded. And now to the slow exotic rhythm of the music she was swaying her hips, then gracefully waving her slim, pink-white arms. And still her tremulous smile persisted.

From the dimness of the audience a raucous voice suddenly protested: “Jess! What about her wings?"

A fake of course. Grant's heart unaccountably was pounding; but he told himself that now he would see where the wings were attached to her shoulders; and if she moved them he would try and see how the thing was worked. Through the standing group of onlookers he had quietly shoved himself forward until now he was at the edge of the dais, within three feet of the girl.

"Her wings?” the announcer responded quickly. “But first, I want you to hear her talk. Who is she? Where is she from? What weird language does she speak? She's the mystery of the ages, my friends."

There was a rippling murmur of derision from the audience on what seemed his stalling; but he ignored it. “Now Aerita, you may stop dancing."

The music died. The girl stood motionless; drooping. Her head was half turned toward the announcer's voice.

"Now,” he said, “you understand me, Aerita?"

"Yes. I understan’ you."

Weird, breathless little voice. It had a queer soft intonation; and she spoke the words so slowly, so measured that they seemed automatic. As though she were a huge mechanical doll. Gruesome. Or was it very clever acting?

"Now, Aerita, tell us something in your own language—anything you like."

For a second there was a hushed silence; then the girl spoke a soft, rippling flow of weird glib syllables. She gestured with them; and suddenly an animation had come to her face. Her eyes, luminous dark pools under long dark lashes, swept the nearer circle of her audience. Then her gaze seemed to land upon Grant as he stood breathlessly staring. For a moment it clung to his face. Was that fear in her eyes? A desperation? ‘Whatever it was, in a second it was gone as her glance turned away.

Then she had finished speaking. “Well, you heard her?” the announcer said triumphantly. “What did she say? What language did she speak?"

Had it been only clever, rehearsed gibberish? Assuredly Grant did not think so.

"Her wings—” Several voices from the audience were calling it now. “Hey, Mister, what about them wings?"

Suavely the announcer accepted challenge. “Her wings—why of course. Show us your wings, Aerita."

It was an amazing thing. Grant craned forward as abruptly now the great blue-feathered wings spread out. For a moment they spread at right angles to her little body—ten or twelve feet across them. And then they were slowly flapping. The rush of air from them fanned Grant's hot face. Slowly flapping wings, so that now, under them, the girl's slim, frail little body was poised on tiptoe. Seemingly almost weightless as gracefully she balanced herself.

A fake? Her draped gauze-robe had fallen away a little at the back of her shoulders where the wings seemed to join her body. Grant thought that he would see the weaving muscles there, pink-white where the feathers ended at the base of the wings. Weightless little thing now. Only the toe-tips of one bare foot touched the floor. It was as though in another second she would have risen into the air. Then she dropped her wings, came flatfooted to the floor; and with a little bow, turned and ran behind the side curtain...

A ripple of awed applause floated out from the audience. At the front edge of the platform-dais, Grant stood silent, numbed by his pounding emotions ... Aerita. Like a premonition it seemed to him then as though, having seen this strange girl, he had glimpsed something of a destiny which was his. A destiny of what? Love? Terror? There had been terror in her eyes, unmistakable...

Thoughts are instant things. For that moment Grant's mind was a turmoil of weird conjectures ... He was an extraordinarily big fellow. Among the pressing group of onlookers around him he towered nearly a head over them all—blond, handsome with a sun-bronzed face and crisp curly brown hair. Silent, he stared; and as the applause still held, the weird little girl came from behind the curtain to acknowledge it.

And now it seemed that all her gaze was for Grant, there where he loomed in the dimness above the others who crowded him ... his gaze and hers, for that instant meeting. Who shall say what can be carried in the crossing gaze of a man and a woman? A tingling surge swept Grant. It was only an instant; then Aerita had turned and again was gone. But in that instant Grant had interpreted her look—a mute, pathetic, terrified appeal!




CHAPTER TWO. DEPARTURE FROM EARTH 
THE tawdry show went on. For a while longer, Grant stood watching as the “Living Mummy from the Valley of the Nile,” was displayed; and then, with a stream of others leaving, he went outside. Aerita. Queer that she had affected him so strangely. He tried to tell himself that she was merely some theatrical little waif who had gotten into this cheap show, and by trickery was pretending to be a girl with wings...

Grant was twenty-four, that summer of 2093. His home was in one of the big Northern suburbs of New York City, where he lived with his younger brother, Philip. They were orphans. Philip, now only eighteen, had graduated from the Government-school and was employed in a research laboratory of experimental physics. Alan, less of scientific bent, was a salesman of the new Government power batteries for private aircraft. He was traveling now, and had stopped for the night in this curiously secluded little upState town...

He had no plans, that evening as he stood lingering near the front entrance of the Wilkins’ Museum of Nature's Freaks. The outside barker was still pattering about the “Flying Virgin—mystery of the Ages.” Grant hardly heard him; there was only in his mind the vision of that pathetic little face, exquisite with ethereal, fragile beauty. Slim, pointed chin; eyes which had seemed aslant. Oriental? She did not seem so. Again weird conjectures flooded him...

Upon impulse, abruptly Grant went to a side entrance and demanded to see the manager of the show.

"You wait here,” he was told. “I'll see."

Then Wilkins came into the dingy little back office. He was a burly, bald-headed fellow of about sixty.

"Want to see me?” he demanded with sour impatience.

"Yes,” Grant said. “I'm a stranger here—traveling salesman. I saw your show. I was interested in that girl with wings—"

"What about her?"

"Nothing at all,” Grant said. “But I just got the idea that her wings are real. Weird sort of thing—"

Wilkins’ beady little eyes narrowed with his chuckle. “Yes, ain't it? That's what I specialize, in—mystery of the ages, Wilkins’ Wonders—"

"So I just thought you might not mind, telling me where you found her,” Grant cut in. He drew a gold-coin from his pocket for a bribe. “I don't mind paying—just curious, you know. And just between us, of course—"

Wilkins took the coin with alacrity. The smell of alcoholite wafted from his breath. “Well, thanks,” he said. “You're a real gentle'm. Where did I get her?” He leaned forward and his voice fell to a confidential murmur. “Funny damn thing—I found her, only about twenty miles from here. Over by Twin Peaks. This is between us? By God, if you—"

"Of course,” Grant said. He sat tense. Was Wilkins lying? He did not seem to be. He was telling now how three months ago, in a bad storm, he had been driving by night through a nearby valley and had seen the girl, drenched, terrified, crouching by the roadside.

"An’ there you are,” Wilkins finished. “So I took her in. Been takin’ care of her ever since. Funny thing. I don't know no more about her than you do. Every damn word of English she knows, I've taught her, an’ she knows plenty. Pretty quick, she is. Sops it up like a sponge does water. She's a good asset, but she's causin’ me a lot of trouble now. By the Gods, if she thinks she can get away from me after what I've done for her—"

He suddenly realized that he had said too much. He sat up with an unsteady jerk. “Say,” he added, “what in the devil you interested in her for? If you think—"

"And you've never reported her to the authorities?” Grant murmured. “Naturally it's just assumed she's a fake—like your mummy—"

"And where would I wind up?” Wilkins demanded. “Some science society takin’ her. Where's my profit?” He was suddenly alarmed. He climbed to his feet; his heavy-joweled face was red-purple. “Hey listen, you get the hell out of here. My living mummy a fake? Well it ain't. But the girl with wings is.” He grinned with a foxy look. “You're the fine nit-wit thought her wings was real? An’ you didn't see how she was workin’ them wings with wires? Come aroun’ some other night, I'll show you. Now go on, get out of here—"

Wordlessly Grant retreated. The side door of the Museum slammed in his face. The little metal street here was dark. He crossed it; lost himself in the shadows of an inclined ramp. And then he crouched in the darkness. What weird mystery was this?

An hour passed. From where Grant lurked he could see the front of the museum. There were no people going in now, and a steady stream came out. Then the show obviously was over. Still Grant had no plans, except that vaguely he was contemplating notifying the authorities, or some scientific society, in the morning. Would they take him seriously when he demanded an investigation? Would Wilkins be frightened now so that he would try and spirit the girl away? Weird little captive. She was no more than that, Grant realized. Wilkins had intimated that she was trying to escape from him.

A shaft of dim tubelight from the opening side door of the museum brought Grant from his roving thoughts. Two cloaked figures came out; a big one—the light for a second was on it so that Grant saw it was Wilkins. He was gripping a much smaller figure—a little upright dark blob. As they crossed the street Grant could see the bulge of the dark cloak over the girl's folded wings. Then he saw a small black air-roller parked here under the ramp. Wilkins and the girl headed for it.

And suddenly there was a scuffle. “Damn you—stop that—” It was Willkins’ muttering voice. The girl had tried to twitch from his grasp. He cuffed her; slammed her into the little car; and as he climbed in after her Grant saw that he was holding a flashgun in his hand. Grant was unarmed. He was still twenty feet away when the little black roller backed out and headed for the ramp entrance. In the darkness Grant made a run. He leaped as the car rolled onto the incline. There was a thump as he landed upon the car's rear fin; but the thump was lost in the rattle of the metal planking as they went up the incline. Then the car's wings slid out. On the ramp, it gathered speed, came to a take-off jump and slid smoothly up into the air.

From his precarious perch there was only starlight above the clinging Grant, a vision of the town sliding away beneath him and a rush of air past his ears. A rear window of the small tonneau of the air-roller showed him its dim interior—Wilkins at the controls and the girl huddled beside him. For another five minutes or so Grant clung to the fin. The car was mounting; Grant was calculating that he would need altitude if it went out of control. Then presently he hitched himself to the side running board. One of the back windows was open; he drew himself up, slid through it...

Wilkins’ voice was audible now. “Guess I'll have to hide you for a while, Aerita—a little trouble tonight—"

"You let me go—"

"Guess you'd like to jump out one of these windows, eh?” He chuckled. “An’ then you'd fly away? Well, I guess you could do that, for a fact.” His arm went around her as he drew her to him. “Listen, my wife ain't gonna take care of you any more. I'm tellin’ her you escaped, get the idea? So you an’ me—I got a little place up here in the hills, so we'll get better acquainted. I ain't such a bad feller—get the idea?"

Wilkins did not see the blob of Grant as he slowly shifted forward and pounced. The girl screamed as locked together the two men fell over the controls. But it was a brief struggle. Wilkins’ gun was on the seat beside him. He snatched at it; tried to level it. But Grant's fist caught him under the jaw. The gun hissed with a bolt that sizzled into the roof of the metal cabin and sent down a shower of sparks. Then Grant had the gun; crashed it down on Wilkins’ head.

In the dim little tonneau of the airroller, Grant sat staring at the terrified girl. Wilkins lay on the floor; dead or unconscious. The car had fallen about a thousand feet, but Grant had righted it now.

"You came?” Aerita suddenly murmured. The starlight was on her face, the terror there fading so that now she was staring at Grant with awe, and with what other emotions he could only imagine by the response within himself. What would he do now? Land the car? Take her to the police? And then lose her in the turmoil of scientific investigation which would engulf her. A freak of nature? Somehow the term was suddenly abhorrent to him...

"Well,” he murmured. “Look here, you seem to speak English pretty well. Who are you?"

"I Aerita—"

"He said he found you wandering out here somewhere. Where did you come from? You're the only girl on Earth with wings. How did—"

They were futile questions. He checked himself. Quite obviously she did not understand him. His vehemence terrified her; she twitched away as his hand went to her arm. She was gazing down out of the window now, at the mountainous wooded terrain some three thousand feet below them. And abruptly she gave a little cry.

"There is where I came from. See down there."

She was pointing. The Twin Peaks which Wilkins had mentioned. They loomed off to the north a few miles away. A broad meadowed valley was here to one side, with a ribbon of lonely road threading it.

"There—” Aerita insisted. “See?"

She was excited now, her face flushed; and as she gazed again intently at Grant, her eyes were glowing as though with a sudden determination. “You come,” she reiterated. “I will show you."

Was her place—her home—down here in this valley? Impossible ... He landed the car on the little road and brought it to a stop.

"What do you mean, Aerita? That this is where Wilkins found you? How did you get here?"

It was a side road, with no traffic at this hour of the night. “All right,” he said. “I hope you're not trying to fool me. Come on out and show me."

She smiled; and as he opened the door she threw off her cloak and leaped from the car, a little blue-draped figure in the moonlight. And suddenly she spread her great blue-feathered wings. He gasped, stood amazed. Here suddenly was the reality he had pictured. And yet he had never quite believed it ... Like a great graceful bird slowly she rose into the air, her little body tilted diagonal from the rush of wind, her drapes and her long silver hair fluttering. Numbly he stared, as with great, flapping, blue-feathered wings she sped over the trees and was gone...

Grant stood numbed. What a fool he had been to have lost her ... His chagrin-mingled with a stab within him ... his sense of loss ... It was as though she had meant to him, not just something of interest to science; not just a mystery to be solved ... Something momentous...

Then he heard again the flap of giant wings and out of the dimness beyond the trees she came soaring, fluttering down with back-flapping wings until, in another moment, she landed poised on tiptoe almost beside him. She was panting; breathless.

"So bad the flying here—it is very hard for me.” Then at his expression, she laughed, a little liquid ripple of soft laughter. “You come,” she added. “I will show to you—"

She seemed wholly to have lost her fear of him now. An eagerness was on her as she gripped his hand, leading him. They went off the road, down into the wooded meadow. Queer ... He had vaguely fancied that if she walked, or ran, she would be like a little elf, with fairy lightness. But now as she walked along the path under the trees a sluggishness seemed on her. As though she weighed too much...

Then Grant suddenly saw the thing to which she was leading him. It lay in a wooded dell, some distance off the path and by chance wholly hidden by brush and foliage until they were quite close to it. A long, dull-black, narrow cylinder. It seemed some twenty feet high at its central bulge, and perhaps fifty feet from tip to tip. It lay sprawled in the brush like a great weird fish, with side fins, and pointed head and tail.

A space ship? Grant stared in startled astonishment. He had heard of course, that nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, here on Earth, a flying cube had been invented. Vaguely he remembered that he had read somewhere of a Dr. Norton Grenfell, and a Bolton Flying Cube. It had gone to Mercury, and later had been destroyed so that the science of Interplanetary navigation was lost to Earth.

Was this girl from Mercury? Young Alan Grant was a practical fellow. He had never more than half believed the things he had heard of those weird incidents so long ago. He recalled now, that they had concerned strange girls with wings. That part of the tales which his great-grandfather had been fond of telling him when he was a little boy, he had wholly disbelieved. Yet here was the reality before him!

Aerita was urging him forward. They reached the little cylinder. A small side doorway stood open. Grant's heart was racing; suddenly it seemed that an eagerness was on him; a lust for adventure ... His life, and this girl's, destined to be so strangely interwoven...

"Come, I will show you,” Aerita was murmuring. “You will go with me? Oh, never did I want to come here to your Earth—"

He followed her through the doorway. The blackness sprang into a luminous gloom as she touched a lever on the metal side wall. A tiny incline with a few steps led up into a small circular turret. Grant saw a table with a little bench before it—rows of strange-looking controls, levers, little switches, lines of triangular buttons and a score of indicator dials.

Aerita was staring at him, her face eagerly smiling. Her eyes were luminous with the mist of her emotion.

"You could help me—help us—so much,” she said softly. “And I would not be so afraid of the trip. Oh, you will come?"

"Yes,” he murmured. Still startled, he stood watching as she shifted one of the levers. From down the incline a click sounded as the entrance door slid closed. Then she was on the bench at the controls. Certainly she seemed to know what she was doing. Her deft fingers were pulling levers, pressing some of the little triangular buttons. The pallid interior was humming now, a slow, rhythmic hum, and Grant could feel a draft of moving interior air as the ventilating system began operating.

And through a vizor-pane, like a thick transparent bullseye here in the side of the circular turret, he could see the outside ground dropping away. Soon it was gone as the little cylinder, with a luminous rocket-stream like a comet-tail behind it, slanted up toward the stars that lay strewn, a myriad glittering gems on the blue-black velvet of the sky.




CHAPTER THREE. THE ATTACK ON THE PALACE 
FROM the control turret of the space-cylinder, where he sat with Aerita, Grant gazed down upon the tumbled landscape of the little planet, Mercury. He knew now that Mercury presents always the same face to the Sun—one hemisphere eternally in darkness, and the other fiery with heat and glaring light. Aerita had guided her small vehicle now into a twilit zone, where to one side the horizon sky was faintly red-yellow with reflected glow, and to the other there was only pallid starlight.

It was a weird and tumbled landscape upon which Grant now, from a height of some ten thousand feet, gazed silently down: a barren waste of metallic, coppery hills with peaks of towering jagged spires; canons like gashes slashed by some monstrous metalworker in mountains of the red metal.

It was a bleak landscape indeed. From here there seemed no life, just bleak glistening hills, in places gleaming with starlight, and in others, black and ominous with the shadow of low-scudding, turgid red and green clouds. No blade of vegetation was visible. There was no soil, save a glittering red-brown metallic dust, worn by the rain and wind from the metal mountains.

"This is your Light Country?” Grant murmured.

"Yes. The Fire Country is off there.” She gestured toward the dull, red-yellow horizon. And then in the opposite direction: “And that way, the Dark Country."

It had been a long trip from Earth. Grant almost had lost track of the passing time with no day nor night here, just the great black abyss of Interplanetary space with its myriad blazing, distant worlds. Two weeks of Earth-time had passed. It had been an amazing journey, with this strange girl of another world. But with his startled astonishment past, a spirit of grim romantic adventure had come upon him so that he had settled into his life here in these little cubby rooms, impatient for the arrival.

To Grant, never before interested greatly in science save as it applied to the mechanics of Earth's modern aircraft, Aerita's little spaceship was at once a wonder and a fascination. Its rocket streams of electroidal gases, escaping under pressure, were like a comet's tail behind it. Then, leaving Earth's stratosphere, the rocket mechanisms had been shut off, and the intricate system of shifting gravity plates went into operation—attraction and repulsion so that the great masses of the distant stars acted upon the tiny mass of the ship; a flight toward the sun; cutting the orbit of Venus; and then at last they had come within Mercury's attraction....

To Grant the voyage was an amazement, far beyond the wonders of interplanetary space which now were spread around him. There was Aerita, and the amazing things she had to tell him. They were incredible things, yet some of them fitted with what his great-grandfather had told him...

Aerita had not learned English from Wilkins! She had been frightened; had wanted only to tell nothing of herself and escape from him. Her grandfather, an aged scientist, had built this space-cylinder—the only one of its kind now on Mercury. Her grandfather had taught her English; part of her education, as his father and grandfather had taught him.

"You see,” Aerita explained, “many years ago Earth people came to Mercury. One of our girls—her name I think was Tama—the legends say that she married an Earthman. We had terrible weapons then on Mercury. I do not know much of what things were like so long ago—it is forbidden now to study it."

"Why?” Grant demanded.

"Because much evil came from those weapons and things of science. Many people were killed. And so, I do not know how all that was destroyed by our rulers. Our little world and your great Earth—better that they should remain separate. At least, so our rulers have thought for more than a hundred years."

And Aerita was descended through six or seven generations, from that girl of Mercury and that Earthman. Mercury wanted no connection with Earth. Grant, thinking of Earth's great wars—Earth's horrible instruments of diabolic science for the killing of humans—could well understand that attitude of Mercury's rulers!

But the ability to speak English had come down through Aerita's family. Her grandfather spoke it quite well, she said. So did Alto Jeenoh, the present Great Ruler of her people; and a few other leading men of the government spoke it also. To them it was a sign of culture, as a savant on Earth is proud of his knowledge of the dead languages.

It was a strange situation existing now on Mercury, a situation which a hundred and fifty Earth-years before had existed, and seemed to have been solved. But it had not, for now it was smoldering, threatening the little civilization of Aerita's people with disaster. They were the people of the Light Country; their capital was known as the Hill City.

To each world, perhaps over all the Universe, it would seem that the Creator has sown its own allotted portion of the causes of strife! On Mercury, only the females of the Light Country race had wings. And for generations up to now, it had been the law that upon marriage the wings of the young virgins must be clipped, and with a horrible mutilation the muscles cut so that never again could they be used. It was like a badge of submission to the husband. The young girls had been brought up to consider it that, so that they submitted.

Grant could so easily understand how the custom had grown. The physical superiority of the male to every normal male human, surely that must be an instinct. And these young girls of Mercury, free as fluttering birds in the air, inevitably in contact with them, the Mercutian young men, chained to the ground, felt inferior, humiliated, resentful. Grant's mind went back to that night with Aerita just before they left Earth. Out on the dark little road, she had suddenly escaped from him, fluttered up into the air and like a bird, was gone. He recalled his chagrin; his sense of futility.

And so here on Mercury, no wife could have wings. Then at last, just a year ago, the young virgins had rebelled. A thousand of them in the Hill City, led by Aerita, had vowed that never would they marry until the law was changed and they could keep their wings. Many of them had fled the city; established a wild little eyrie far up in the metal mountains which no man could reach; and much of their time was spent there.

"But my grandfather,” Aerita explained, “he really thinks now that the girls are right. He is trying to persuade Alto Jeenoh, our ruler, to change the law. But that has angered our young men, especially those among the workers. They want to use force upon us virgins—those of us that they can catch.” She was smiling whimsically. “That is their trouble—they cannot catch us."

"I can well understand that,” Grant retorted.

Then she went on to tell him that on Mercury there were only two races, the Light Country people, and savages who lived in the Dark Country. Among the savages, there were now some four hundred criminals, Hill City men who in the past generation had been banished for crimes. One of them, their leader now, was named Rahgg. He was a man of scientific learning who once had worked for her grandfather. He had committed a crime against a young girl and had been exiled to live among the Dark Country savages.

"Your grandfather doesn't believe in the idea of keeping Earth from contact with Mercury” Grant asked. “If he built this ship—"

"Oh, but yes, he does,” Aerita exclaimed. “He built this little vessel only with the idea of transportation around Mercury. Or perhaps an adventure to some nearby asteroid."

The cylinder had been built, but not yet tested; and one night Rahgg had come furtively to the Hill City, seizing it and Aerita, carrying her off in it to the Dark Country.

"But I escaped from him,” she was saying. “And I got the cylinder—” She gazed at Grant slantwise in a way that made his heart pound. “A woman may think she knows much of science—my grandfather was trying to teach me—and so I escaped in the cylinder."

A little knowledge is such a dangerous thing. She had thought she understood the workings of the complicated mechanisms so that she could pilot the cylinder from Rahgg's stronghold in the Dark Country, back to the Hill City. And suddenly she had found herself hurtling out through the Mercutian stratosphere, into the abyss of interplanetary space ... It had been a terrifying voyage. But she had survived it; had been only able to understand the intricate workings of the rocket streams and the little gravity plates, when she found herself near the great globe of Earth ... And she had landed and wandered, terrified, confused by the drag of Earth's gravity; not knowing where to go or what to do until in the violence of that summer electrical storm Wilkins had found her...

To Grant, as he sat now staring down at the naked coppery hills of Mercury with the destination of her home so near at hand, it was as though nature had woven a monstrous, intricate pattern of weird events—all the pattern of his life and hers—weaving the separate threads until now so strangely they were being intertwined...

Swiftly, silently the cylinder slanted downward. The Mercutian twilight of the Light Country had been deepened by heavy, luridly colored clouds which now were close overhead. A rainstorm obviously had passed here. Rivulets of water were cascading down the naked copper hills. Pools of it lay glistening in the hollows. And then Grant saw little patches of soil and trees—oases where rock which was not too metallic had been worn into a soil. And with the heavy, humid heat, a luxurious vegetation had sprung. The cylinder presently passed directly over a little patch of forest. Grant saw great spiney shafts of blue-red trees. They glistened in the dimness with in infra-red glow of the chemistry within them. Vegetation picking carbon dioxide from the swirling air after the storm so that the leaves were palpitating with red luminosity. It was a weird little patch of jungle. The trees seemed flimsy, porous; they were heavy with hanging air-vines of spreading leaves and vivid, exotic flowers.

"My home,” Aerita suddenly murmured. “Off there, see it?"

The patch of jungle was past; the naked copper hills had come again. Then there was a valley, of trees and fields. And now it seemed to Grant that he could see figures working in the fields where things were growing.

The Hill City lay on the bottom and to the inner sides of a great bowl-like depression in the monster upper plateau of copper wastes, which surrounded it. It was a strange little five mile spread of houses, squat metal dwellings of gleaming burnished copper. On the level cauldron floor the houses were set in crescent rows, with streets curving between them. They were sparsely set houses, each with its garden and its little field.

The outskirts of the city went up the inner slopes of the bowl. There were wider streets, like boulevards in concentric rings each a level higher on the slope. And there were other little streets that ascended, running like spokes of a wheel from the center of the valley floor to the thousand foot height of the upper circular rim.

Near to the top, on a great broad coppery ledge with a giant flight of terraced metal steps down from it, a larger dwelling seemed like a government palace perhaps.

A profusion of flowers banked it, and adorned its broad flat roof.

Aerita gestured. “That is my home. My grandfather, he lives there with the Great Counsellor and his men who rule us.

The cylinder was dropping close now. In the semi-darkness with the lurid clouds still overhead, spots of light flared in the weird little city. They were flickering glows, as though from the light of braziers or burning little torches. Aerita was heading for the upper rim where near the palace there was a dark, seemingly level field where she could safely land. The scene outside the sealed cylinder still was soundless. But as they dropped lower, it seemed suddenly to Grant as though there must be undue activity down there. In the lower streets, down at the bottom of the valley, torch lights now were swiftly moving. Then Grant saw a group of milling human figures. And nearer at hand, on the flowered roof of the palace a man was running, plunging down into an opening that led below. Then from the lower palace doorway, other men came out. One was holding a great blazing torch. Its redyellow light painted their robed figures. For a moment they stood staring down at the city as though with apprehension; and then they retreated back into the building, slamming its huge metal door after them.

"What the devil—” Grant murmured.

Beside him, Aerita was suddenly grim, almost terrified. “The workers, attacking the palace! Oh, they have been threatening to do that."

"But why?"

"Because our girls have been refusing marriage unless the law is changed so that we can keep our wings. The people want us to be forced into marriage! They've threatened to kill Alto Jeenoh, our ruler, unless he will do that!"

A revolt of the workers, storming the palace now to kill the men of government so that they could have their own laws! Aerita shook off Grant's hold as she gasped it. And all her attention was needed now at the cylinder's controls. She had changed her landing place, heading them now for the broad roof garden of the palace. Grant held his breath with perturbation as slowly, with a slight side-drift, the cylinder sank down. They crashed through a spindly tree of the roof garden. There was a thump that shook him and Aerita; but they safely landed.

"Good enough,” he exclaimed. She was on her feet with him; triumphant, but frightened. Trembling with haste, she slid open the little pressure door at the bottom of the turret. Grant followed her out; heavy humid air rushed at him—air that, for a moment, choked him; made his senses reel. He was conscious, as he leaped down into the roof garden of an unfamiliar lightness—the gravity here so much less than that of Earth.

In the luminous heavy haze of the stormy night air, the torchlight down in the little city, to Grant, was at first only a blur. Sounds were audible now—the blended murmur of voices floating up, voices of angry menace. And now, far down at the bottom of the giant staircase, he could see where an angry milling crowd was gathering. Torchlit figures waving crude weapons. Then they were starting to mount the terraced steps...

"Oh come—” In agitation, Aerita was pulling at him. “You be careful—not try to jump—you have so much strength—"

It was weird. He felt as though with a leap he could sail twenty feet or more. Aerita was drawing him toward stairs where a winding flight went down into the palace. The interior sounds were floating up—running footsteps, men's excited, frightened voices in the strange Mercutian language.

Grant was clad in long tight trousers of grey-black pin-stripes, with broad leather belt and white silkite shirt. He was bareheaded, his curly brown hair tousled. In the heat, his face was flushed—and flushed, too, with the excitement of this weird crisis into which he was plunging. He was a young Viking Earthman; six feet four; obviously a strange sight here to these little Mercutians ... In one of the upper halls he and Aerita encountered three or four little men. They were perhaps five and a half feet tall; some of them shorter, grey-skinned men with black and silver streaked hair, bushy to the base of the neck. Flowing, glistening fabric-robes of gaudy colors enveloped them.

"Aerita-Aerita—” They gasped as they saw and recognized her. And then they saw Grant, stared mute, stricken with sudden awe and terror. In another moment they scattered, fled into a dark door oval near at hand.

Grant still had the small flash-gun which he had taken from Wilkins. It was jammed in his belt; he drew it out now. Aerita saw it and gripped him. Her flushed face was grim.

"That—maybe—” she murmured. “But I hope not to have bloodshed."

He followed her as they went down another big staircase. Near the bottom, instinctively Aerita spread her great wings and fluttered down. Grant took a leap, sailed a dozen feet and landed sprawling. He heard a cry of awe and fear. Another group of the palace inmates was down here—two or three older men; and an older woman. Her white hair was braided and piled on her head. Her folded wings arched behind her shoulders—wings scrawny with feathers moulted in places from them, and shriveled from lack of use. A gaudy tasseled drape hanging down her back partially covered them.

"You come—” Aerita again was dragging at him. She slid the big metal doorslide of the front entrance, and he rushed out with her to the terrace at the top of the great staircase.

It was a tumultuous sight. The milling crowd on the steps was more than a way up now. There were a thousand people at least, men, and a few women. The women carried blazing torches. The men brandished crude weapons, implements of the fields; knives like swords; huge sticks for bludgeons.

As Aerita and Grant appeared, a great cry went up. And then a shower of copper stones came hurtling. Most of them fell short, rattling like hail on the burnished copper of the steps. But one or two whizzed by, barely missing Aerita.

Grant seized her. “You come inside, you'll get hurt—killed—"

She flung him off. “I will do this. I will stop them—"

At the edge of the great flight she stood poised, an imperious little figure facing her angry, frenzied people with her blue-feathered wings spread wide and her arms lifted in a gesture commanding silence.




CHAPTER FOUR. FROM THE CRIMSON STORM 
FOR a moment the angry throng on the steps was awed into silence. They were grey-skinned men, garbed in what seemed leather garments, jacket and knee-length trousers. The torchlight painted them; and illumined the figures of the women; short, squat, muscular-looking females with folded, atrophied wings. In milling, shoving ranks on the huge staircase they stood staring up at Aerita.

And now she was talking, a liquid flow of syllables, soft, persuasive at first, then rising into an imperious note of command as with an upflung Hand she evidently ordered them back down the steps.

Grant, in a shadow of a copper column of the big building, stood watching, holding his breath. From the doorway behind him he was aware that an old man had come. The man had white flowing hair; a seamed, patrician grey face. Aerita's grandfather? And with him was a man perhaps Grant's age, a tall fellow, almost six feet, with bushy coal black hair, long to the base of his neck; a handsome face; high-bridged, hawk-like nose, wide mouth and queerly pointed chin. He stood for a moment gazing out at the scene; and momentarily the light from within the palace disclosed his face clearly. He was smiling; queer smile, Grant thought ... a smile that was half a leer. Then he started forward as though to move to Aerita's side; but the old man called him.

"Talone—Talone” And with a gesture summoned him back.

A stone suddenly whizzed up from down the staircase. It brought Grant's attention back to Aerita. At her command, for a time the crowd had wavered. Then some leader down there rallied them. The stone came hurtling; and as though it were a spark flung into gunpowder, a murmur of angry muttering went up. There were imprecations; then a roar of threats. Another stone came ... Another; then a hail of them as, again, the menacing crowd began surging upward.

Aerita had lost. A stone struck one of her outstretched wings so that it quivered, flapped with the pain. But still she held her ground, her little voice calling with imperious command ... With a leap, Grant was beside her.

"Aerita, Aerita dear—” He waved his flashgun at her. There was no way of recharging it here on Mercury, but he knew that it had two or three brief bolts left in it. “Aerita, I'll show them—"

"Oh, Oh Alan, my people—"

But surely it was necessary. Grant could see now one of the leaders down there—a big grey fellow with a gaudy rag around his forehead. Brandishing a glittering, spearlike implement, he was mounting the steps, urging the others after him. Grant leveled his little weapon. The crowd had not noticed him before, but it saw him now and a great shout went up—the gasping of a few voices, then others, until a thousand throats were crying out with astonishment and awe.

Grant's flashgun in that same second spat its little bolt, a hissing, sizzling pencilray of electroidal charge, violet-red in the twilight dimness. It caught the big man full in the chest. His scream was lost in the roar of the crowd as he tumbled forward. In a heap, his body hit the copper stairs, wavered and then fell backward, gathering momentum as it went down, end over end, then rolling with limp flailing arms and legs, down the steps until it crashed into the terrified crowd behind it.

It was just one shot of the little Earthgun. To the Mercutians it was miraculous. For that moment the throng, awed into terrified silence, stood mutely staring. Some, far in the rear, were still shouting in anger, but those in front began wavering until in another moment they all fled in terror. The giant staircase was empty, with just the huddled form of the dead man lying there alone.

"Well, we did it,” Grant murmured. “But if they come back—” He stared ruefully at his little weapon.

"Oh they will,” Aerita gasped. “Not tonight maybe. But they have dared once, and they have been threatening it so long. We will have to see, with my grandfather, what is to be done."

She was staring out over the horizon. Storm clouds seemed again gathering out there, weird clouds with a lurid red sheen to them. And now there was a puff of wind.

"A crimson storm coming,” Aerita murmured. “They will not attack the palace again, not now if a storm comes. You come inside, Alan. You will meet my grandfather and Alto Jeenob."

Those first hours on Mercury, to Grant, were strange indeed. He and Aerita were given supper in one of the big palace rooms while the girl breathlessly explained what had happened to her. The old man, whom Grant had seen behind them on the terrace, was Polter, her grandfather. With Alto Jeenoh, grey-bearded ruler in a long brocaded robe, they sat talking of Aerita's adventures; and then Grant was telling them of Earth. The young Mercutian who had been called Talone had vanished. He was, Grant understood now, one of Jeenoh's young lieutenants in the administration of government affairs. They all spoke in English, seeming proud to be able to speak it.

Outside the palace, Grant could hear that the weird Mercutian storm was coming closer. The puffs of wind were more frequent and more violent. The twilight gloom was deepening into night-an outer darkness lurid with a red sheen. Here in the palace room, with its low vaulted metal ceiling, metal furniture and luxurious fabric-drapes, the brazier cast a yellow flickering glow. But at the oval windows the blood light of the darkness outside was like a red stain in the night. And now it began raining, a rattle against the palace walls and on its metal roof..

Old Polter had been questioning Grant with a keen, grave intelligence on the recent history of Earth. He had seen Grant's flashgun; smiling gravely, he had made Grant fire the tiny bolt through the window until the gun's charge was exhausted. He had heard Grant tell of Earth's horrible lethal weapons, so huge in size that a thousand men might be killed in one flash from them ... And then he said gravely.

"When your visit here is over, Earthman, should you take my little space-car to go back to Earth, then you will promise me to smash it when you arrive. Here on Mercury we have no science like that. Perhaps we are better for it."

Then young Talone silently appeared and came and joined them. Aerita, with Grant, had withdrawn to a side of the room, where they sat together, silently listening as the two older men, and Talone, excitedly discussed the rebellion of the workers.

"I do not understand our people,” the grey-bearded Jeenoh was saying. “I have promised them that I will do my best to persuade the young virgins—"

"But they do not believe you,” Talone put in. He was standing a little apart from the others; tall, graceful figure in blue-grey trousers and shirt, with a swaggering cloak hanging from his shoulders. Light from the room's burning brazier illumined his handsome, hawk-nosed face; and on it Grant saw that same half-smile, almost like a leer. It made him tense. Somehow he sensed that he wasn't going to like this young Talone. He tried to shrug it off, wondering if it was because Talone had seemed affectionate with Aerita.

"And now,” old Polter was saying, “the workers even seem to be having new complaints. Their conditions of work, their houses..."

Could it be that the people were being incited into discontent? The thought leaped into Grant's mind.

"I do not know what we should do,” Jeenoh went on. He turned momentarily toward Aerita and Grant. “You, Aerita, I have let you influence me. And now we have another danger. Those accursed savages of the Dark Country—never have they dared attack us for half my lifetime. But now I have had rumors that they are planning something. That damnable fellow Rahgg whom we banished, if he would dare organize them..."

Was Rahgg and his murderous little band of Hill City criminals, out there among the savages of the Dark Country, planning now an invasion? A conquest so that he and his men would rule here, and force the flying girls to their will? If that were so, this discontent of the workers here would be exactly what he wanted.

"If you would try and build us some weapons of science, Polter,” Jeenoh was saying. “Or send young Grant to Earth, to get some—"

"Never!” Polter exclaimed. “When man arms to kill, always will he find reasons to kill. The example of Earth is not for us."

The talk went on. After a time, young Talone withdrew. Outside the palace, Grant now could hear that it was raining, with a torrential downpour; and through the crescent windows the green-yellow and crimson glow of the storm clouds was even more lurid. The rain was now a clatter against the metal building; and there was the roar of the irrigation flumes, wide metal chutes which carried the water down from the metal hills beyond the city, carrying it far out to some of the distant fields which, between storms, were parched by the heat, and by the fire storms which came at intervals from the Fire Country...

Then Aerita withdrew upon some household duty. In a corner of the room, Grant was left alone. An uneasiness was on him; a: sense of something evil which might be impending now. Old Polter and Jeenoh were still arguing. But Grant hardly listened to them. And suddenly, out in the roar of the weird Mercutian storm, it seemed that he heard a faint cry. Then there was a fluttering of wings; and through an open window on the lee side of the room a young girl came fluttering.

Her name was Arma. Grant had heard of her from Aerita. She was one of Aerita's closest friends, an ardent worker in the cause of the virgins. Drenched so that her pallid robe clung to her little body, her long pale hair stringy with the rain, she fluttered to the floor. She was panting, gasping out in her own language. Then she saw Grant.

"Oh,” she gasped, “An Earthman? You see, I speak the English—Aerita, she taught me. I have just come from our mountain nest, to see you and Aerita."

These Mercutian girls were like birds, able to wing so swiftly from one place to another! One of the Hill City girls had flown with the news that Aerita and a strange man from another world were in the palace.

"And one of our girls was flying today high over the Dark Country,” Arma added breathlessly. “There is something that they are doing there—strange lights, and men are assembling. Where is Aerita?"

The threatened invasion of the savages, and Raligg's criminals? Was that coming now?

"Where is Aerita?” Arma insisted. Grant was on his feet. And suddenly he was stricken with a stab of horror. Through the palace a distant scream sounded. A girl's scream of terror! Aerita! Her scream welled out; and then abruptly it was smothered, choked with a ghastly abruptness so that it died away into shuddering, horrible silence!




CHAPTER FIVE. THE FLIGHT ON THE FLYING PLATFORM 
IN THAT breathless second, Arma, the young flying girl, stood with old Polter and Jeenoh—all three of them numbed, transfixed. Grant got his wits. Instantly he turned, dashed from the room. The scream had seemed to come from a nearby corridor. He plunged into it; saw a distant opened doorway with the light of a brazier streaming out from it. Then a bounding leap took him almost to the corridor ceiling, and landed him at the door.

On the floor of the room Aerita was lying, apparently unconscious. Her wings were bound behind her; and over her a man was bending, with fabric rope tying her ankles and wrists. From his gigantic leap, Grant had landed in a heap in the doorway. The man saw him; straightened from Aerita. It was Talone. His face was grim in the brazier light; his dark eyes were flashing.

Grant was scrambling to his feet, but Talone was quicker. A table was near him, with a heavy copper ornament upon it. He seized the missile; hurled it. Grant had no time to duck. He was aware of the crash of the metal blob on his head. And the room seemed to burst into roaring light as he fell. Dimly he was aware that Talone contemptuously had kicked him. And that Talone was lifting Aerita; carrying her through a nearby window, out into the roar of the storm. Then, for Grant, everything faded into the blank abyss of unconsciousness.

Then he was aware that within a minute or two he was recovering. He found himself sitting up, with blood matting his hair and his senses still reeling. Arma, Polter and Jeenoh were just entering the room.

Grant staggered to his feet. “Talone!” he gasped. “He took her—"

They crowded after him as, with returning strength, he staggered to the window. The rain and lurid storm-murk made the scene outside a turgid blur. Then a vivid flash of crimson lightning split the sky. For a second or two the rainswept copper hills were illuminated. Far away to one side at the edge of one of the giant flumes, Talone was visible, carrying Aerita. And then with her he leaped into the flume. The darkness closed in, but in a moment there was another flash. Far down the roaring flume, Grant had an instant glimpse of what seemed a tiny raft with Talone and Aerita upon it, riding it down the ten mile long chute of roaring water...

For an instant Grant stood numbed. No man could follow that plunging little craft. Then he thought of Polter's space-cylinder, up on the palace roof. He seized Arma. “You come with me. We'll go after her—"

"Oh yes, I can fly. But you—"

"In the space-cylinder. It's here on the roof."

Polter was standing confused. Jeenoh was at the doorway, shouting futile orders at the other palace attendants who came running. Grant ignored them all; with Arma after him they hurried out of the room; up the palace stairs, out onto the rain-swept roof.

The space-cylinder was gone! There was no sign of it here, save the small tree which it had crushed in landing. Into Grant's mind leaped the memory that Talone had been missing for an hour or more earlier in the evening. He and perhaps some confederate had doubtless stolen the ship then; and with the storm, no one had happened to come up here and discover its loss.

Grant stared numbly at the winged girl beside him. A searching party of men on foot would hardly be able to overtake and locate Talone now in a storm like this.

"I can fly to find them,” Arma timidly offered.

Grant shook his head. “You couldn't do anything if you did. He'll make for the Dark Country—join some of his men out there somewhere, very probably.” He gripped her. “Arma listen. If you could fly now and get some of your girls, just seven, here in the city—"

"For the platform? And on it, we carry you."

'Yes.

Aerita had told him how she had built a little platform on which the flying girls could carry her grandfather. They had practiced with it, but old Polter had disdained it—being carried by girls was beneath his dignity. The platform, Grant knew, was stored here on the palace roof, under a shed at one end. The dark outlines of the shed were visible now, blurred by the storm murk.

"If it's here, Arma—"

"Oh yes, I do hope so."

They rushed across the roof. The platform was here, under the protecting shed—a six foot, oblong raft-like affair made of light porous wood. It was built so that eight of the girls, four on each side, could carry it through the air.

"I will go now,” Arma said. “I can get the girls. You wait here. I be not long.” A gust of wind carried her fluttering body sidewise as she rose into the air; then she steadied herself, and with great flapping wings, sped off into the murk. It seemed an eternity to the apprehensive Grant as he waited on the roof. He could picture the villainous Talone now out there somewhere in the storm with Aerita, beyond the distant end of the flume, heading up into the mountains for the Dark Country ... It was Talone, of course, a spy of Rahgg's here, who had been inciting the workers into revolt. If only Grant had known that. How easy it would have been to wring the fellow's neck!

The wind of the storm seemed easing a little, but the rain still was torrential. Then at last a flash of the weird crimson lightning showed him blobs in the nearby air. They were a cluster of girls. They came fluttering down with back-flapping wings; Arma and seven of her little companions. Flushed, panting and eager, they ran at Grant with jabbering little voices in their own language. Then Arma shoved them to the platform. Four long rods were fastened under it, projecting out at each side so as to give the girls room to fly. In a moment Grant was lying prone on it, gripping its hand-holds.

It was a weird flight. Carried by the eight girls, the platform rose from the garden roof. The storm-wind caught it, tossed it crazily. For a moment Grant feared that it would turn over, or be wrenched from the girls’ hands. Beside him, four on each side, they struggled with frantic flapping wings. Then the gust eased a little; the platform came into control, leveled as the girls, settling into a rhythmic beat of wings, flew swiftly onward.

For a time Grant could see very little.

The great sheets of rain, crimson in the storm light, pelted him. The wind and the rain thudded past his ears. There was only a blur of drenched naked coppery ground far down, the turgid, red-green and crimson cloud-masses overhead; and the reality of the flying girls here beside him.

He called to Arma. The wind tore at his words and hurled them away. “Out past that flume-end, Arma. A few miles and then circle, flying low, we ought to be able to see them—"

She nodded. The girls were swooping lower now; the glistening rainswept hills seemed only a few hundred feet down. They passed the flume-end where it divided into a ramified network at a huge cultivated field, beside which the water was dammed into a system of small canals to be used when needed. There was no sign of any fleeing figures down there.

The frail, wind-tossed platform swept on. Beneath it, Grant saw only naked, undulating copper plains now. The storm light gleamed on them with a crimson sheen. Somehow it made Grant shudder with a new stab of apprehension. It was a blood-red little landscape. Even the wet clinging drapes, the hair and the beating wings of the girls flying beside him—all were tainted with the blood-glare. It was as though this were an omen of things to come.

Abruptly Grant was aware that Arma, was gesturing; then he heard her excited words: “See? Down there ahead—"

Far ahead, down on a ragged little plateau, a cluster of dark blobs was visible. They grew in a moment to be revealed as hurrying men. Talone, with Aerita beside him. And they had been joined now by a party of a dozen or more. They were not the coppery, almost naked savages which Aerita had described, but men in the fashion of the Light Country people. With dark cloaks shrouding them, they were hurrying forward. They were criminals of Rahgg's murderous band of outlaws, Grant realized.

"Arma, wait—” he called. Could he hope successfully to attack these men? Grant's little flashgun had been exhausted. He had only a long, thin-bladed knife here now.

He was suddenly aware that the platform was swooping down; and beside him, with one hand free the flying Arma gestured.

"We have knives—all of us—you will see."

Her hand waved the little knife. The storm-glare glinted blood-red on its naked copper blade. Before Grant had time to give any commands or to plan anything, the platform had swooped ahead of the dark little band of men down on the rocks. They saw it, and a shout floated up. They stopped; gathered in a group with Aerita in their midst.

Then, two or three hundred feet beyond them, in the crimson haze of rain and semidarkness the platform landed with a thump. Grant, knife in hand, leaped to his feet.

"Arma, look here, you girls—"

But they had dropped the platform handles; heedless of him, they were flapping up into the air; gathering into a fluttering group. For a second Grant stared up at them, transfixed with astonishment. Off in the gloom he could see the figures of Talone and his men. On a run, he started toward them, and close over his head the girls were fluttering. They went past him like a little flock of birds; luffed up into the wind until they were over Talone's men. And then with great wings poised motionless, they swooped down to the attack!

It was a blur of chaos to Grant, as with huge bounding leaps he went forward through the rain. He was still nearly two hundred feet away when the girls swooped down, like an amazing little covey of giant birds. The grouped men, with the weird attack taking them by surprise, for an instant were confused. Armed with knives and swords, they tried to stab upward at the fluttering figures above them. It was an instant of melee. Grant could dimly see the men standing on the rocks, wildly flailing their arms. confused by the bird-like attack of the girls who came fluttering, stabbed down and instantly darted up again. One of the men fell, then another. A girl who had darted down and up again, seemed wounded. For a second she flapped, and then plummeted down, crashing on the rocks where she lay motionless with only her wings quivering as she died.

Grant realized that he was shouting now, shouting defiance to draw attention to himself. He could see that Aerita was on her feet; her wings were still bound, and the figure of Talone was beside her, gripping her. The fluttering girls, in a menacing little group were hovering ten feet above the clustered men; and then again they dove.

Grant was within thirty feet of the melee when suddenly he checked his advance. Beneath the frenzied, darting attack of the winged girls, several of the men now had fallen. Two or three others were making away in the lurid, stormswept darkness. And Grant saw that Talone had swept Aerita off her feet into his arms, carrying her, running with her. A girl pounced from the murk above him, but Talone beat her off. He was heading for a great cluster of metal rocks which lay against the side of a nearby ascending slope. Grant turned, made after him.

Clouds of crimson storm-vapor were here now, wisps of fog, red as blood, trailing close above the ground. Through them, Grant just barely could see the figure of Talone as he climbed the rocks, Then like a bounding antelope with fifteen foot leaps Grant was upon him, so that Talone dropped Aerita and turned. His sword-knife was in his hand; the blood light of the crimson fog illumined his contorted face, stamped with his murderous fury.

Grant's sailing body catapulted into him. A stab like a thrust of hot steel went through Grant's shoulder as Talone's knife sank deep. They fell together as Talone went backward from the impact, locked together, rolling, plunging. Grant's knife had clattered from his hand. The long thin blade of Talone's knife broke off in Grant's shoulder as they fell. Grant's senses for an instant swooped with the pain of his wound. He was aware that the agile Talone had twitched loose and leaped to his feet. With his head reeling, Grant staggered up, stood for a second staring dizzily into the murk of the storm. Then he saw Talone running over the rocks, making away, and in another instant he had vanished.

Aerita was here on the ground, seeming dazed. Grant bent over her. “You're all right, Aerita? Not hurt—"

"All right—” she murmured. “But, oh Alan, you-your shoulder—"

"Damn him—he got away—” He turned to run after Talone, but Aerita seized him.

"No, Alan—your shoulder—the blood there ... Let him go. He can do us no harm now."

Her wings still were bound. She held Grant as he staggered; he almost fell; and she made him sit on the ground until the girls came and gathered around them.

* * * *
On the flying platform, the wounded Grant lay with Aerita beside him as the girls sped back through the dying storm. It was a triumphant return. But out there on the rocks, two of the girls were lying. Aerita was still dazed from the drug Talone had forced upon her, but she was recovering now.

She clung to Grant, holding him with one of her little hands caressing his rain-drenched hair. “You are all right now?” she murmured. “Alan, you not hurt too badly?"

"No, it's nothing, Aerita. Just a flesh wound. I'm all right. And you are too? Thank God."

Beside them the six flying girls labored on through the red rain and wind which now were abating. Grant was pondering. Would ‘Rahgg dare now, or some time soon, to attack the Hill City?

"He has the space-cylinder now,” Grant told Aerita. “Heaven knows what he'll try and do with it. Aerita, your grandfather said that he had built a tiny affair with which we might send a message to Earth. If Earth only knew that we needed electroidal weapons here—"

"Maybe we can send it, Alan. I think even that, grandfather would have sent it himself, if we had not returned tonight. He is very stubborn about not wanting any connection with Earth. But he would want Earth weapons very quickly, if he knew that any terrible danger threatened me. He is very worried about us by now, Alan."

Then she lay with his arm around her, for a moment silent as the crimson murk swirled past them, and Grant was conscious that she was regarding him with her quaint whimsical smile.

"I was thinking,” she murmured, “I am still eager for our cause, not to have our wings mutilated.” Her great wings, unbound now, spread a little. She was gazing at Grant slantwise, and she added shyly.

"But I know now, I could love a man so much he ... he could cut my wings when I was his wife, if ... if that is what he wanted."

"But it isn't,” Grant responded. His heart was pounding. His arm tightened around her. “My wife will have her wings, to fly free, glorious. That's what I want."

She had no answer; there was just the trembling pressure of her hand on his. Then suddenly a cry from one of the girls sounded. Following her gesture, Grant and Aerita stared into the crimson storm murk. Far ahead and to one side, a blob showed in the gloom-cylindrical finned blob with a luminous stream of gas like a tail behind it.

It was the space-ship! It carried Rahgg's men! They had seen the struggling little platform, undoubtedly. In a great crescent, the ship was swooping down. All the flying girls had seen it now. For an instant they fluttered in a panic. Then Arma steadied them with vehement words of command.

The harried little platform was buffeted by the wind as the girls struggled through the storm. There were only six of them. Carrying both Aerita and Grant, from the start it had been too heavy; and the girls were tired now. Vainly they tried to sweep sidewise, to escape the oncoming ship; but it saw them, turned its swift-sailing course again to cut them off. Then it was close; hardly more than a hundred feet. Grant could see that its lower doorway was open; men were standing there.

And then a light sprang from the doorway—a little blue-white search beam that caught the platform, bathed it in a glare. In the silence of a wind-lull a voice shouted with a triumphant jibe.

"Turn us!” Grant murmured tensely. “They can't turn as quickly."

The platform darted sidewise. But the light clung; the little cylinder-ship, agile with its rocket streams, made another swooping arc. It was behind them now, five hundred feet, but with its greater speed, it was overhauling them. Then it turned a little; again came almost abreast.

"Aerita listen—” Grant murmured. He seized her by the shoulders. “Tell your girls to land us—quickly now. They can scatter and fly away—"

"No! No, Alan—"

The light still clung to them. In the illumined doorway, Grant saw one of the men raise his arm as though hurling a sling-shot. A coppery knife blade glinted—a little foot-long naked blade of copper with a finned fan-tail. It glistened as it came speeding like an arrow in the shaft of light. And it struck one of the girls. She screamed with a horrible, suppressed little cry; wavered against the platform handle she was gripping. The blade was in her breast. For a second, like a great mortally wounded bird she flopped. The platform handle broke off as her body hung on it; and then she was flopping down and backward in the darkness.

"Good God—” Grant gasped. “Aerita, land us, I tell you!"

"Oh Alan, you ... you'll be killed,"

Another little blade came flying; then another. Two more of the girls were hit; one of them dropped. Grant was shouting that they must land. The platform was wavering, lurching. Beneath him Grant could see, some two hundred feet down, the dark, backward-sliding spread of crimsoned copper rocks. Only five frightened girls to struggle with it now, and one of them was hanging almost a dead weight on her handle with her wings quivering where a copper blade had buried itself in her shoulders between them.

It was a chaos to Grant. He was aware that he was trying to lurch to his feet, to jump from the swaying platform so that the girls would drop it and wing away.

"No!” Aerita screamed. “Alan, no! You will be killed—"

They were a hundred feet over the rocks now. Grant half fell, half jumped from the platform into the air; and in that same second Aerita had leaped and seized him; clung to him, her arms around him, her wings wildly flopping, trying to break the fall...

"Oh, Alan dear—"

They wavered down ... Grant saw uprushing, gleaming red-brown rocks ... He was conscious only of Aerita clinging to him, her wings wildly flapping...

"Aerita, let me go—” He was trying to push her away.

"Oh, Alan dear—"

The uprushing, jagged rocks were close. He was vaguely conscious of the crash. All his body seeming stabbed with pain for just a second as his senses were hurled off into the blank dark abyss of unconsciousness. It was a blankness lasting only a moment. He came out of it with Aerita still clinging to him. Bruised and battered he tried dizzily to stand up; tried to force her away from him so that she might save herself.

The space-ship had landed nearby. Then Rahgg's men came rushing; seized Aerita and Grant. In a moment more they were carried triumphantly and slammed into the ship; and it rose, sailed swiftly away for Rahgg's stronghold, far up in the black metal mountains of the Dark Country!




CHAPTER SIX. RAIDERS FROM SPACE 
IN THE living room of his home, in one of the Northern distant suburbs of the great New York City, Philip Grant sat staring at a sheaf of charred fragments of paper-like sheets which lay on the table before him. He was a handsome young fellow, this brother of Alan Grant, tall, slim with a tousled mop of black curly hair. He looked older than his eighteen years, perhaps especially old tonight as with grim face and puzzled dark eyes he gazed moodily at the cryptic charred sheets. This fragmentary message, seemingly from another world, why in the devil had it been addressed to him? Why indeed, unless it had something to do with Alan's disappearance.

It was mid-August, 2093, a month and five days since so mysteriously, Alan Grant had vanished-when on a beach of one of the Hawaiian islands, a small, bullet-like contrivance of shining copper was found. A projectile which seemingly had fallen from the sky; its outer copper casing was fused and pitted with the heat of falling through Earth's atmosphere. And it had crashed, so that most of its weird mechanisms were broken.

The native who found it had notified the local authorities. And then they discovered that there was a message—or at least it seemed like something of the sort—upon a strange form of paper within the projectile's interior. They were words scrawled in English. But the heat had charred the paper, parchment or whatever it was, so that most of the words were unintelligible. Its address was legible—to Philip Grant—his address in the suburb of New York City.

And the signature was the single word—"Polter."

The weird little copper mechanism was examined by several scientists; but its mechanisms were so smashed that they could make almost nothing of it. The cryptic, fragmentary little message was studied; and then by aircar it was forwarded to Philip Grant.

Philip, all this day, had been studying it with the authorities of his district; and with his employers in the Government Laboratories of Research Physics, where he worked. Now, baffled, he had taken it home, carefully placing it on his table under the blue-white glare of a tubelight, staring as though by sheer will power he could draw from its charred ashes the secret hidden there.

They were tantalizing fragments. He studied them over and over, pondering them with wild conjectures ... "Need the help from you of weapons-;" That phrase was fairly clear. Someone needed help. And then there seemed a more sinister hint: "And so you ... beware if Rahgg comes..."

The burned scroll gave nothing else which could be construed to have any meaning at all ... Except the words: "Please, you hurry-"

Young Phil Grant, with a hand rumpling his wavy black hair, sat sprawled before his table. It was now nearly midnight. This home, where for several years he had been living with Alan, was a small metal cottage in a lonely neighborhood of the little hills which stretched back from the shining Hudson River. His housekeeper had gone for the night. He was alone here. The living room was dim, with just its spot of tubelight on the table where the charred fragments of the message were lying.

"And so you .. beware if Rahgg comes ... ” The scrawled words in quaintly formed letters stared up at Phil as though mutely trying to add something else ... "And so you-" Did that mean him personally? Probably it did, since “Polter” whoever he was, had addressed the message to Phil Grant. "Beware if Rahgg comes-" Who in the devil was Rahgg?

In the silence of his living room, Phil shifted uneasily in his chair. Somehow he felt as though, even now, there was a menace here, something weird, gruesome perhaps, which might be stalking him. The room was on the ground floor of the little cottage. The opened windows were dark triangles with a splash of blackness from the trees which were outside.

Then the silence abruptly was broken by a buzz, so unexpected that it jangled with Phil's taut nerves and brought him to his feet. But it was only the warning signal from his news-service audiphone—the signal to its subscribers that something of unusual interest was about to be broadcast.

He turned on the instrument, and in a moment the newscaster's voice began droning:

"Dobb's Ferry, Hudson River Arsenal Raided! Government Storehouse of the New Errentine High-power Short-Range Hand-flash Projectors Attacked by Mysterious Raiders...'

Tense, breathless, Phil sat listening. The raid had just been discovered; there were as yet, few details. Three of the watchmen at the government storehouse had been found dead—slashed throats, and one had a strange copper knife-blade, with a finned tip like an arrow, buried in his heart. How many of the small, hand projectors were gone was not as yet known. A thousand perhaps...

The Dobb's Ferry Arsenal was hardly more than three miles down the river from Phil's home here. He stared around his dim little living room; and again that phrase of the cryptic burned message leaped into his mind. "Need the help from you of weapons-" Polter needed Earth weapons. Was it this Polter who now had raided the arsenal? But there was that other phrase: "Beware if Rahgg comes-"

The newscaster's voice droned on. Then there was another announcement:

"Mackay Projector Plant Raided! Murderous Dobb's Ferry Raiders Also Assail the Big Mackay Munitions Plant and Research Laboratories! Eight Workmen on Night-shift found Dead!" 

The Mackay Plant! It was in the Dobb's Ferry Neighborhood—a factory where the modern giant-flash, long-range projectors were being built! Five of them were found to be missing. The Mackay Research Laboratories recently had been taken over by the Anglo-American government, and it was there that Phil worked. He reached for his public-wave audiphone to try and call his employer. But another even more startling announcement from the newscaster checked him.

"Mysterious Clue Found Near Raided Mackay Plant!" 

In a small level field where evidently something had landed, crushing the grass and a few saplings, a small white oblong of what might be a strange form of paper had been found. Words in English were scribbled on it, in brown-red—what perhaps might prove to be blood. It was a weird inexplicable message, the newscaster was saying. The words were:

"Phil, watch out after XL-Z2-" It was evidently a hastily written little message. The signature was only an illegible scrawl...

* * * *
But Phil understood it! He sat breathless, tense, staring numbly at the grid of his newsphone. That little message in blood was addressed to him. XL-Z2 was a formula for a new-type electroid flash of greater duration and higher voltage—research work which he had been doing here at home in his own private little laboratory here which adjoined the living room. He had hoped to perfect it and then present it to the government. No one knew of it, except Alan!

Then Alan must be here among these raiders! Alan was trying to warn him!

The newscaster's voice was still droning, but Phil hardly heard it. From a desk drawer near at hand he seized his small flash gun; and then the newscaster was saying something additionally startling, so that he dropped back into his seat, with the gun on his lap.

"Mt. Killington Observatory Reports Strange Object Detected This Afternoon close beyond Earth's Stratosphere. Tiny flying Meteorite Perhaps. 

It could not be the little projectile which had brought the message from “Polter"; that had dropped from the sky over the Pacific yesterday. This was this afternoon ... These raiders—

Abruptly Phil's weird thoughts were stricken away. Mingled with the soft drone of the newscaster's voice there seemed a sound over by one of his windows. He stared, but the window, twenty feet away from him, was only an empty dark triangle. Phil's flashgun was alert in his hand. Then his gaze drifted to the little sheaf of charred paper which lay on his table.

The charred papers were moving! Trembling; quivering! And then all in that second the charred sheaf was sliding on the table toward the window. Air was sucking it! The sheets broke apart, scattering as with a rush they went out of the window!

Phil was on his feet now; and weirdly he could feel the suction—all the air in the room, suddenly rushing at the window so that there was a breeze from behind him, of air coming in the door from the house corridor. He braced himself in the blast, but the rug on which he was standing was sliding with his body toward the window. The door behind him banged as it swung wide open.

It all happened in a few seconds. Something—some mechanism—was at the window, sucking out the room's air; pulling Phil forward! Then it seemed that he saw a dark moving blur there. His flash sizzled through the opening, spat its blue-white bolt; evidently missed, for he heard a low startled oath, and then a guttural laugh.

The thump of Phil's body against the window casement all but knocked the breath from him. But the suction was gone now. He shoved himself back into the room, with his weapon leveled, spitting again out into the darkness. Then he was aware that something had been thrown at him through the window. It seemed to be a tiny globe. It struck his forehead; shattered like thin, splintering glass. Something wet ran down his face. He dashed it away with his coat-sleeve; and then, with a leap, snapped out the room-light and crouched behind a chair, with the flash-gun up on its seat, again leveled at the empty window.

They'd have a pretty hard time getting in here at him. If they tried a rush, he'd kill as many as he could. His public-wave audiphone was here on the table; cautiously lie reached for it. The wet stuff on his face was pungent with an acrid smell. Was that what was making his head roar?

Phil's groping hand never reached his audiphone. The roaring in his head was suddenly like a Niagara torrent. The dim outlines of the silent room were blurring, fading into a black abyss with luminous spots like pin-points of tiny stars. Vaguely he knew now that he was drugged, that damnable little drug-bomb breaking on his forehead...

Dimly he heard the clatter of his gun as it fell from his numbed hand. And it seemed that outside the dark window there was another low guttural laugh. Then he knew that his body had crumpled and fallen onto the polished metal floor. Dark weird figures seemed to be coming through the window; bending over him.

He was powerless to move, drugged, but still dimly conscious. Low gutteral voices in a strange language sounded as the men lifted him; carried him through the window. Then like a limp sack he felt himself thrown over the shoulder of one of them. The dark tree-branches of the woods here were over him. He was aware of the swaying, rhythmic tread of the man carrying him, with the others, weird dark forms, crowding around him. Then the outlines of a low, cylindrical thing of metal loomed ahead. A little space-ship. Its doorway was open, and Phil was carried into it.

His head was roaring. He felt himself dropped onto a soft padded floor; and then his consciousness completely faded.




CHAPTER SEVEN. LOST IN THE COPPER DESERT 
PHIL came to himself with the feeling that a long time must have elapsed. He felt that he was still lying on something soft; and that his body was bathed in cold sweat. But he seemed uninjured; and as he opened his eyes he could feel his strength swiftly coming back to him. Dim room walls were faintly visible-walls of a narrow little cubby here. It glowed with a weird sheen and throbbed with a low rhythmic distant hum...

"Oh Phil, speak to me—” It was a familiar, anxious voice. Then he realized that Alan was here beside him, bending anxiously over him.

His older brother Alan, like himself was a prisoner here in the small space-cylinder, on its way now to Mercury. Phil, still dazed by the drug which only now after many hours was wearing off, lay listening to his brother, trying to understand these weird things.

Alan and Aerita had been captured by Rahgg and his band of criminals, that night in the crimson storm when the flying platform had fallen. And now Rahgg had come to Earth in the stolen little ship which Aerita's grandfather, old Polter, had built.

"They brought Aerita and me with them,” Alan was saying. His voice turned grim. “They've threatened her with torture to make me tell what I knew of Earth. Where weapons could be found, and about you ... your formula XL-Z2. Did they get it, Phil?"

"No, I guess not,” Phil murmured. “I had it locked in my desk in the lab. I don't know—that damn drug-bomb knocked me out—” He gripped Alan. “I heard a newscaster tell about that message from you—"

Alan's handsome, rugged face bore a faint wry smile. “I stuck my finger, used the blood. just a chance that it would get to you."

In the darkness of the cubby, for a time Phil lay quiet, trying to understand what Alan was telling him of Mercury: of this Rahgg who was planning an invasion of the Light Country, and its capital, the Hill City. And Rahgg had the weapons now, that he needed.

"Did you hear what was taken?” Alan was asking. “They kept me confined here on the ship, after they'd forced me to tell them where to land."

"A thousand or so of the Errentine short-range hand-guns,” Phil said. “And at the Mackay plant—I guess—only five of the big projectors."

"And flare-bombs probably,” Alan muttered. He seemed shuddering. “Phil, good Lord, if you could realize what weapons like that will do to the little Hill City—with not much more than flying girls—maybe a thousand of them to protect it."

Phil had no answer. He was still weak and dazed; his head was roaring. But every moment now he could feel his senses clearing and his strength coming back. The rhythmic distant hum was a faint throb. It seemed to lull him, as though it would put him back to sleep. He roused himself, shook off his lethargy and sat up beside Alan.

"Where are we?” he demanded.

"On the way back to Mercury."

"Far out?"

"Well beyond the Earth's stratosphere,” Alan said. “You were—"

He checked himself. Phil heard a door slide open; a shaft of faint pallid light came in from what seemed a small vaulted corridor; and a dark figure was there. It was a woman. Phil stared blankly as she came forward with a tray of food and drink for Alan in her hands.

"Oh, thank you, Zara,” Alan said.

"He—that your brother—” she murmured in soft, broken English. “He better now?"

"Yes, thanks, he's all right."

"I tell to Rahgg."

She put down her tray and then she lingered, staring at Phil and then at Alan. The corridor light disclosed her now to be young, a girl hardly more than twenty perhaps. A strange, barbaric young girl. She was short, no more than five feet tall, clad in a brief scarf-like red robe. The skin of her limbs, neck and face gleamed in the pallid light-bronze skin, glistening like burnished copper. Her face, flat-nosed, with a wide mouth faintly smiling now, was queerly sensuous. One could have imagined that among her own savage people she was beautiful, exotic. She had no wings. The copper skin of her bare back was smooth as burnished metal. On her head, her sleek black hair was piled high, with glittering baubles for ornaments stuck in it.

She was a savage woman of the Dark Country people. Phil realized it by what Alan already had told him. Baubles dangled from her wrists and knees; they tinkled as she moved. Then she lingered, with hands on her hips, her dark eyes staring at Alan with a smoldering gleam.

"Your brother, not so big—like you,” she murmured.

"No, that's right, Zara,” Alan said. He spoke to her as though she were a child. “You tell Rahgg my brother is all right now."

"Yes.” But still she lingered. “You like food there? It good?"

"Oh yes. Thanks, Zara."

She turned; the door-slide clicked closed and locked after her.

"Well, I'll be damned,” Phil murmured. “She likes the look of you, doesn't she? What's the idea?"

Alan laughed; but it was a grim laugh. “Seems to have taken a fancy to me. Because I'm so big, she says. She's been waiting on me ever since we left Mercury.

"You taught her English in that little time?"

"She knew some of it, learned it from Rahgg. She's been his serving maid.” Alan's smile faded. He lowered his voice, leaning closer to Phil over the tray as they ate the food. “If we're ever to escape, Phil, it will be through Zara,” he murmured. “She'll do anything for me if it gets me away from Aerita—"

"I get you."

"Well, if you do,” Alan retorted. “you keep your mouth shut about it. Not a word, where there would be any chance we'd be overheard."

"All right."

They finished the meal. Then footsteps sounded. The slide opened again.

"Oh, you Talone,” Alan greeted, “What do you want?"

Phil stared as the handsome Light Country villain came into the cubby and stood gazing down at them. Talone's dark cloak was slung over one of his shoulders with his accustomed swagger; his grey, hawk-nosed face bore a faint leering smile.

"The Master wants to see your brother,” he said. “You come with me."

The tiny cubby was in the stern of the cylinder. Silently Phil followed Alan and Talone to the small central control turret. And Phil had his first sight of Aerita, strange little flying virgin of the Light Country. She was on her feet near the turret doorway—ethereal little creature in brief, pale-blue drape, with her silver hair braided falling forward over her shoulders. And behind her, the folded blue-feathered wings stretched down with their soft tips almost brushing the floor.

"You are Phil?” she murmured.

Mutely Phil nodded; and then as Talone shoved at him, he stumbled past her into the pallid turret where Rahgg stood at the bench by the ship's banks of controls.

* * * *
The Master! Murderous criminal, planning now the conquest of his little world! He stood up to face his newest captive. He was a six foot burly fellow, wide-shouldered, powerful, clad in coppery gleaming garments of spun and woven metal-sheath-like tunic and short trousers out of which his legs came like great, grayish pillars of hairy strength.

Phil, for that moment stood numbed, fascinated. There was a radiance of power about this fellow Rahgg. The aura of genius—murderous, perverted genius—without doubt. A shining coppery cloak hung from his shoulders down his back. He flung it around him as he stood up. His heavy, grey, smooth and hairless face was arresting in the power of its ugliness—a wide forehead, surmounted by a bullet head of close-clipped black hair; nose, high-bridged, with wide nostrils; and a queerly pointed chin. The mouth, smiling faintly now, was cruel, thin-lipped. His eyes, deep-sunk under heavy black brows, stared at Phil with an ironic gleam.

"So?” he murmured with a slow, gutteral drawl. “You are recovered now? Your name, Philip Grant?"

"Yes,” Phil murmured.

"I am Rahgg, the Master. Has your brother told you that you must cause me no trouble?” He swung and gaped at Alan and his smile broadened. “Young Alan and I—we have had trouble. But that is over now. His directions were good. We got what we wanted."

He stared at Phil through another silence. “And now what?” Phil demanded abruptly.

Raligg's gesture—his powerful grey hand heavy with ornaments—was deprecating. “You are young. Heedless. Already you should know not to question the Master.” His fingers were toying with his belt. Phil saw a strange-looking little sling-shot device hanging there; and a thin copper blade with finned tip like an arrow. And already Rahgg had hung there one of his stolen flash-guns.

"There was a formula we could not find,” Rahgg said abruptly. “I will not need it for this conquest of the little Hill City. But later—you have it in your mind, young Grant? You will be able to help me, when the time comes that on Mercury we build more of your Earth weapons?"

Phil hesitated. Beside him, he heard Alan murmuring, “Of course—"

"Yes,” Phil said. “You won't have any trouble with me."

"That is good.” Then Raligg's dark ironic gaze swept to Aerita. “Come here by me, little Aerita,” he added. “You and I—we must plan the ruling of the Light Country. There are many things I have not yet talked with you. I have the weapons now. Our invasion will be ready very quickly."

He was ignoring Phil and Alan as he sat Aerita beside him on the control bench. It was as though he were amusing himself with these captives, toying with them. “I am worried over the flying virgins of the Hill City,” he was saying. His ironic smile broadened. “They seem to be fighters. You remember those eight who carried the little flying platform, they were all killed. I did not like that. My men are too interested in your thousand young girls to have them killed now in the great battle I am planning. They must live."

"They will fight,” Aerita murmured.

"Yes. I know they will. I was wondering. Perhaps if when we reach Mercury I would set you loose, you would fly and tell them not to fight?"

"Yes, you turn me loose—” Aerita agreed.

It made him laugh. “Ho! You see? I know how to please my little Aerita. Like a bird she would fly away from me if I gave her the chance. But I won't. I like you too well, Aerita. For ever since I worked for your grandfather and you were only a child then, always was I dreaming of this coming day.” His voice was low, intense now. To Phil the gleam in his eyes was like a smoldering madness. But he was only mad with his dreams of conquest, mad with his lust for power.

"Rahgg, the Master,” he was saying softly. “Rahgg, Emperor of Mercury. And then, perhaps Master of the great Earth—of all the Universe—who knows? And you, my little Aerita, you would like to share that with me?"

His arm went around her. Across the pallid turret Phil suddenly saw young Talone, standing staring at Aerita. And then staring at his Master Rahgg, staring with a slow secretive smile. A smile of treachery!

The days passed. Days? To Phil they were a succession of weird, seemingly endless intervals of living routine, here in the tiny cubbies of the space-cylinder as it plunged so silently forward through the great black, star-strewn abyss. He and Alan spent much of their time in the cubby near the stern of the cylinder. Zara brought their meals. She was an alluring, copper-skinned little savage, with voluptuous gestures and smoldering eyes, always she lingered, gazing at Alan, talking to him in her quaint broken English.

Gradually Phil found that he and Alan, more and more, were permitted to move about the ship. Apparently, sometimes, almost free to do what they liked. But always, it seemed, one of Rahgg's villainous, grey-skinned Light Country criminals lurked near them. Alan was planning something with Zara. Phil was aware of it.

The small space-cylinder plunged on, heading for the Sun, crossing the orbit of Venus; and then at last approaching Mercury. It was a tiny world of itself, those endless hours—this cylinder plunging with immense velocity on its trajectory through interplanetary space. With what truth one can say that wherever humans exist, smoldering strife will be with them! Often Phil pondered on this motley little group of humans cooped up here. Rahgg with his dreams of conquest, Alan and Zara, each with their own secret plans out of which violence could come.

Then at last, with what to them was night of their living routine, the spaceship was through the stratosphere of Mercury; it dropped down through weird banks of gathering storm-clouds, lurid with crimson and yellow sheen; and through the bull's-eye of their dark cubby, Phil had his first view of the naked copper plains of the little planet. All he could see was a gleaming, tumbled desolation of copper rocks, wet with rain, glistening with a sodden crimson sheen as though they had been drenched with blood.

Phil stared in awe. “It looks empty of everything. Are we near the Hill City?"

"Yes. I think so. Aerita told me it would be in an hour now, perhaps less when we pass at our closest to it. We're heading for the Dark Country.” He lowered his voice until it was barely a whisper. “I think no one can hear us. Listen, I've got everything ready."

Phil knew now what Alan so carefully had been planning with Zara. With the little savage girl to watch that he was not seen, he had been able to load most of the small Errentine hand weapons upon an emergency glider which was stored in a hull pressure port.

"You think we can make it without getting caught?” Phil tensely whispered. Now that the time had come be found his heart racing. If they got caught, it would be death.

"Yes. And there's a storm gathering. We ought to try it in half an hour from now. In the storm they won't see us dropping down."

Then Alan whispered the full details. Zara thought that only Aerita would escape in the little winged glider. Zara was glad to be rid of the Light Country girl, jealous of her with a smoldering jealousy which sometimes had made Alan shudder inwardly for Aerita's safety here.

"You get down into the port, Phil,” Alan was whispering. “I'll watch my chance and bring Aerita down there. Zara will be preparing a meal for Rahgg. She thinks she's going to help me get Aerita away a little later."

Talone would be in the turret with Rahgg. Most of the other men would be forward, a dining cubby there where Zara was serving them food. It seemed a good opportunity now.

"I'll go up to the turret,” Alan whispered, “and get Aerita."

Tensely, Phil nodded. “You'll find me in the port. Make it soon, Alan. And watch yourself. We won't live long if Rahgg gets onto this."

Alan opened the door slide, and closed it after him. For a few minutes Phil sat waiting in the dark silence. The distant rhythm of the cylinder's mechanisms seemed to blend with the thumping of his heart. Then he decided that he had waited long enough. Cautiously he drew the slide. The small vaulted corridor was empty. He moved like a shadow back along the corridor where it narrowed like the finned peak of the stern. The rocket-tail mechanisms were thrumming and hissing here. Phil went down a short incline, into the pressure port which was a downward bulge in the stern-hull.

The little glider was here by the closed outer pressure emergency door-slide. The glider was a twelve foot oblong affair, with its wings folded now. Phil was skilled in the operation of somewhat similar gliders of Earth. He examined the controls here; they looked simple enough. In the hooded central cockpit the Errentine flash-weapons were piled; lashed down and with a square of fabric over them.

Then at the inner doorway of the dark pressure chamber, Phil crouched and waited. Why didn't Alan and Aerita come? The minutes passed. There was nothing but the hum and hiss of the rocket-stream mechanisms. Had something gone wrong with Alan?

Abruptly Phil heard a faint footstep, and a dark blob rose up beside him. It was Alan.

"All right, Phil,” he whispered. “So far, so good."

"Where's Aerita?"

"Coming. Rahgg called her back into the turret. She'll get away in a minute, and then—"

His whisper died. He gripped Phil as they stood tense in the darkness of the little pressure-chamber. A low murmur of voices sounded from up the small incline.

"Talone—” It was Aerita's voice! Her sharp cry of protest, with words in her own language. And then Phil heard Talone's voice; and the sound of him and Aerita in a scuffle.

Alan tensed, with a low muttered oath. He started for the incline, but Phil gripped him. “Wait. I'll go with you. We can catch that fellow Talone up there, kill him—"

Could that be done without an alarm that would bring half a dozen of the men down here?

"Listen,” Alan was swiftly murmuring, “we're heading for the Dark Country now. Too late to glide for the Hill City, if we don't get started. You go, Phil, you can make it. Remember what Aerita told you of the landmarks?” Phil felt Alan shoving at him. Then Alan, in the little space at the foot of the incline, was closing the pressure-chamber door-slide. Aerita had screamed, up the incline where quite evidently Talone was forcing his embraces on her. There were other, more distant voices up there now, men of the crew coming to investigate.

"You go,” Alan was insisting, with swift vehemence. “I'll stay with her. Give the weapons to old Polter. Tell him, when the invasion comes, do the best he can."

The slide banged between them; Alan was gone. In the darkness of the emergency escape room, Phil opened the outer slide. In a moment he had the glider wings partly spread. The little glider lurched wildly up into the wind as Phil launched himself; spreading the wings full, throwing the weight of his body against the lurches until he had his frail craft steadied. For a second or two he was engulfed in the luminous gases of the cylinder's rocket streams. Then the space-ship glided on. And like a bird with motionless wings, Phil soared downward and outward, until in a few moments more the ship was gone; just the streams of its tails were merging with the luminous gloom until they too, had vanished.

On the swaying little glider Phil lay prone, manipulating its controls. There was a steady breeze, with which he knew he could guide his soaring craft for a very considerable distance. But which way should he go? He gazed down, awed by the bleak copper wastes. They were still far down; six or eight thousand feet, it seemed. Overhead, the crimson cloud masses were breaking so that little patches of starry sky were visible. The crimson storm apparently was not coming. But far off to one side, the yellow-red radiance that streamed up from the horizon seemed in places getting brighter. The Fire Country was off there, Alan had told him.

Which way was the Hill City? Like a puzzled, lost bird he circled, flying lower now. There seemed nothing here that Aerita had described—nothing here but a barren, tumbled desolation of copper hills and sleek metal plains. That yellow glare from the distant Fire Country most certainly was intensifying. He could see a dark cloud rising from the horizon off there. A cloud? It looked more like a puff of upward-rising turgid smoke, than cloud-vapor. And suddenly on the breeze it seemed that there was a new smell to the air—acrid, chemical smell like sulphur. Was a fire storm coming?

Phil was really perturbed now. Surely he would have to locate the Hill City quickly. To be lost out here—caught in a weird horrible storm would probably be the end of him.

Suddenly in the distant darkness, away from the rising fiery glare, he thought that he could see little dots in the air. He headed for them and presently saw that they were tiny fluttering figures above a wild, tumbled rocky peak.

It was the mountain fastness of the rebelling flying virgins who had fled from the Hill City. Like great birds they came circling around Phil's glider as he soared down into their eyrie and landed.




CHAPTER EIGHT. MONSTER OF THE FIRE STORM 
"WE CAN do it, Zara. And now is our time."

"Yes, Alan. Now our time, so I be with you, for always."

In a dim grotto room of Rahgg's encampment in the Dark Country, Alan sat with the little savage girl, Zara, planning with her how now his chance to escape had come.

Her dark eyes were smoldering, her breast heaving with her emotions as she gripped him, staring at him with fierce barbaric passion.

"I do this,” she murmured, “I love you. Rahgg, he kill you maybe, if you stay here."

"I wouldn't wonder,” Alan agreed. But there was no humor in his voice.

The space-cylinder had landed at Rahgg's stronghold, far up in the ragged black mountains of the Dark Country. It was a tumbled, wild region, of dark, fearsome desolation, with wide, black deep canyons of sheer black walls and peaks rising like pointed needles—a ragged, tumbled land, rent and torn as though by some giant cataclysm of nature, ages gone by.

At the head of one of the broad, valley-like canyons, where the cliffs were honeycombed with tunnels, caves and grottos, Rahgg and his men had established their encampment, with one of the primitive, squalid little villages of the Dark Country savages located nearby.

There had been a chaotic, tense time on the spaceship, just before it landed, when Rahgg had discovered that Phil had escaped, taking most of the smaller weapons with him. Rahgg's fury then was satanic. He had lashed half a dozen of his men; but Alan had escaped his wrath. It had turned also on Talone, who had been found with Aerita in the ship's corridor, with Alan protecting her from Talone's unwelcome attentions. Rahgg had seemed pleased.

"You do well to serve your Master's interests,” Rahgg had told Alan. “You would let no harm come to my little Aerita. That is good.” But there had been a sardonic gleam in his dark eyes as he had said it. And when contemptuously he ordered Talone away from him where they were gathered in the control turret, he turned again to Alan. “You think you fool me,” he added. “But you do not.” Little lightnings were darting from his dark eyes. “With you, I will deal later."

And now Alan, with Zara, saw his chance to escape. The series of grotto rooms here were half artificial-broken subterranean walls of copper rock which were boarded in places with planking. This one, to which Alan had been assigned, had a wall of boards, dividing it from others like itself. It was crudely furnished; draped with dark fabrics; and dimly, eerily illumined by a little brazier. On a low couch in its corner, now an hour or two after the cylinder had landed, Alan sat planning with the amorous Zara. A rift in the broken rock ceiling admitted the night air of the deep broad canyon. A little patch of the black sky was visible, a growing red-yellow sheen was up there. Occasionally a puff of wind came down, bringing an ominous sulphurous smell. Fire storm weather? Alan murmured it to Zara, and she nodded, shuddering.

"Yes, maybe. We go quick now—fire storm, she is bad—"

Their plan was simple; Alan could only pray that it would succeed. Aerita, Alan knew, was in a little grotto room, only thirty feet along a small tunnel passage. The exits to the grottos were guarded now by Rahgg's men. Two of them were standing at a nearby corridor mouth, beyond which was the broad dark floor of the canyon. It was Zara's plan to engage the guards’ attention, distracting them so that Alan could slip past them. Then out among the rocks of the canyon floor he would wait until she had joined him.

"In the Hill City,” he was earnestly whispering to her now, “I will make sure that they appreciate you, Zara. You're a good girl. You'll be rewarded for this—treated well always, among the Light Country people.” He meant it sincerely; but what he did not tell her, was that Aerita would escape with them. It was fifty miles from here to the Hill City. Once they were safely on their way, Aerita would fly ahead, and come back with one of the platforms carried by flying girls which would take them swiftly for the remainder of the journey.

Zara's arm was pressing him against her. “In the Hill City, always I be with you—"

He nodded. “Yes. Get going now. Get those guards as far away from the entrance as you can."

The ornaments hanging upon her copper-colored knees and wrists tinkled as she moved into the little exit passage. Alan sat tense. If only now Aerita was alone in that other cave. He could get her in here, and in five or ten minutes they would try slipping past the guards.

In the silence of the subterranean rooms, sounds from outside were dimly audible. For an hour now the outer canyon had been a bustle of activity. Rahgg's invasion of the Light Country was in swift preparation; the big projectors, which had been brought from Earth, were being assembled; mounted on huge wheeled carts, and an army of savages was assembling. Their jabbering, guttural voices were faintly audible; and the voices of Rahgg's men ... Within an hour or two the motley army would be starting down the canyon.

The listening Alan abruptly tensed, went cold. From the small interior tunnel passage between his grotto and Aerita's, her voice, sharply raised came floating. Someone was in there with her! But she knew that Alan, about now, would be coming for her, and she had expected to be alone. Rahgg had gone outside, busy with the assembling of his men and had left Zara to wait upon her.

Swiftly Alan crept into the small dark tunnel. A curtain draped its further end. In a moment he was crouching there, cautiously moving an edge of the dark drape. Within the other little grotto, Aerita was sitting on a couch with Rahgg standing behind her. A blue plaited rope of vines was in his hand.

"No! No—” she protested.

He answered with soft ironic words in his own language as he smilingly lashed her wings together. He was planning to take her with his expedition to the Hill City, no doubt, and did not want to chance her escaping from him.

Then as he stared, Alan was suddenly stricken by sight of one of the dark wall-drapes behind Rahgg. It hung apparently over a recess in the rocky wall and now it was moving silently aside. Talone was standing there, wrapped in his dark cloak! The brazier light gleamed on his contorted, leering face, his eyes, smoldering now with murderous fury as silently he shifted forward. And the light glinted on the naked copper blade in his hand, as he poised it to stab Rahgg.

For that second, the crouching Alan breathlessly stared. Then Talone must have made some slight noise; Rahgg whirled, saw the blade stabbing at his back. His voice like an infuriated animal, rose with a roar as he struck at Talone's wrist. The knife clattered away; and then the burly Rahgg was upon Talone with a blow that knocked him backward. It was a swift, weird combat, grisly with its sheer brutality. Before Talone could recover his balance, Rahgg had leaped away and drawn a long bronze sword. But he did not stab. Instead, he slashed with the blunt edge of the sword, with a skillful blow that struck Talone on the cheek. He wavered on his feet, tried to gather himself for a leap. But the sword swished through the air again, cuffing Talone's other cheek; and then the side of his throat; and his forehead. They were swishing, slashing blows as though the flexible sword were a whip.

"No ... no—” Aerita screamed.

Talone had crumpled to his knees now. His face was swelling with bruises and pulpy red with oozing blood. His eyes were closing, and blinded by blood. And still Rahgg slashed, silent with his grim fury. Talone fell; but with a thick powerful hand Rahgg lifted him up, pounding his face now with the sword-hilt. Through an interior doorway men had come running; but Rahgg scattered them, and silently they followed him as he carried Talone out, with the sound of the blows still gruesomely reverberating.

In the grotto, momentarily, Aerita was alone, crouching on the floor, her face covered by her hands. It was Alan's chance. He dashed in. “Aerita dear—our chance now—come on—"

He did not stop to unlash her wings. With his arm around her, they hurried back through the other grotto, then out through the other hundred foot long little tunnel. The sounds of Rahgg and Talone evidently had not carried out here. The exit mouth was empty. Crouching there with Aerita for a moment, Alan could see the dark figures of the two guards, fifty feet or so away. Zara was between them; one of them was embracing her. They were too occupied to notice the dark silent figure of Aerita and Alan slipping past them.

"Far enough,” Alan whispered presently. “We'll wait here for Zara. I promised her—and if we left her now, Rahgg would punish her for our escape."

They crouched in the dark shadows of a rock cluster. The honey-combed cliff which was the end of the canyon was here close beside them. Five hundred feet away the rocky canyon was dotted with lights and groups of moving figures—Rahgg's men and the assembling savages. Every moment as they waited, Alan feared that their escape would be discovered. Then at last an approaching dark figure was visible—Zara coming to join them. Softly Alan called to her.

"Here, Zara—"

She came with a little cry of triumph. “So good! Now we go. I show to you, a tunnel here to another valley—"

And then she saw Aerita. The storm clouds overhead were yellow-red, with little dots of flame licking through them, smoldering gases carried by an abnormal wind from the Fire Country, bursting now into tongues of flame. The light gleamed on Zara's bronze face. Her jaw dropped with her amazement. Then disillusionment, rage, jealousy contorted her features. And suddenly she sprang at Aerita.

"You!” she blazed. “So, you try take him from me?"

Alan seized her. “Don't be silly, Zara. We're going to the Hill City. Come on now—"

The scuffle, and Zara's raised voice, floated out over the rocks. From overhead, there was a shout. Staring up, Alan had a brief glimpse of figures up there on the canyon rim, of men gazing down. Then something came whizzing down, clattering on the rocks within a few feet of Zara and Aerita. It was a fin-tipped knife-blade. And then another came hurtling. Zara gave a low moan; staggered and fell. The blade quivered in her breast, where a red stain was spreading.

"Oh Zara—Zara dear—” Aerita gasped. She bent down. Zara's feeble hand was trying to push her away, clutching for Alan.

"You ... my man ... so big and strong—” Zara faintly gasped.

Alan bent to her. “Oh Zara, I'm so sorry—"

"No. Run now. Men coming—"

A paroxysm shook her; then she stiffened with a last gasping breath as the light went out of her eyes, and she was gone. Alan jumped to his feet. Another flying blade came hurtling down. He gripped Aerita's hand as together they plunged into the nearest tunnel opening, running in the darkness.

"Will this lead us into that other valley, Aerita?"

"Yes, I think so."

There seemed no pursuit. In the darkness Alan stopped, fumbled until he had cast the ropes loose from Aerita's wings. Ahead of them a yellow-red sheen showed where the tunnel emerged; and in a moment more they were out. It was a scene of wild desolation here, a spread of dark rocks and little ravines with masses of black, naked cliffs rising in tiers, with the great metal mountains of the Dark Country behind them.

A descending narrow ravine seemed to lead down into open country in the other direction. Its rocky floor was piled with strewn boulders and crags. The light from the flaming clouds painted them with its lurid glare and cast monstrous inky shadows in the hollows. Clinging together Alan and Aerita stumbled forward. They could feel the storm-wind now, little puffs, acrid with the smell of sulphur. And suddenly from a wheeling black cloud close overhead, a tongue of flame licked down like a living thing, trying to seize them. It lasted just a second, and then the smoldering gases of it burned out and it was gone.

"Aerita, dear, you fly ahead—"

"And leave you here? No—"

He tried to shove her away from him, but she clung. “Aerita, don't be foolish. These storms don't last long, you said. I'll be all right. When it's over you can come back with some of the girls and a platform to carry me—"

He checked himself suddenly. Close ahead of them, two dark figures suddenly rose up!

Alan knocked Aerita behind him; tensed himself for a leap.

"Alan!” One of the figures suddenly called out. “You, Alan!"

It was Phil's voice! And over him, little Arma was fluttering. She came with back-flapping wings, landed beside Aerita and Alan.

"You escaped?” Arma gasped. “We were hoping to help you—"

Then Phil was here, eagerly gripping Alan. “Good enough, Alan! Arma wanted to leave me, but I came—"

Phil had landed with his weapons in the girls’ eyrie; had told Arma what had happened on the space-cylinder.

"We've got a platform near here,” Phil was saying. “Only about a mile down the ravine. A dozen flying girls—we told them to wait there. Come on—"

"I will fly and bring them,” Aerita injected, “This storm. Perhaps we had better stay underground until—"

Her words ended with a gasp as she sucked in her breath. All four of them, stricken with horror, stood staring. Close ahead of them, down the dark narrow ravine, a blob of yellow glare had appeared on the ground. It was a weird living thing! It seemed to enlarge as it came from a smothering hole in the ground, expanding until it was a ten foot round ‘blob.

"A fire monster!” Aerita gasped.

They could see now that it was a weird, palpitating blob of living tissue. Tongues of yellow-red light-fire radiance streamed from it like an aura. Monster of the Fire Country, it was wandering here as it followed the sulphurous wind, a huge, headless, palpitating thing, but it had a cluster of weaving legs supporting it; and a belt of eyes at its middle. The eyes like glaring fire-dots.

Then it saw the four human figures. Its voice hissed like water poured on hot coals; its eyes brightened with triumph as it came lunging forward!




CHAPTER NINE. THE BATTLE IN THE COPPER DESERT 
THE weird glowing monster was in an instant no more than fifteen feet from them. Alan shoved at his companions. “Can't fight it. Scatter—get out of here!” He shoved at the girls. “You fly—"

With beating wings they fluttered vertically up. Phil made a leap; his body, here with the slight gravity of Mercury, sailed in an arc directly over the quivering, oncoming monster. Alan, delayed by urging the girls, had no time to jump; and in that second, with a weird lunging pounce, the monstrous jelly-like, fire-thing was upon him.

Alan had tried to leap sidewise; but from the monster a great weaving tentacle-arm like a tongue of red-yellow flame licked out and wrapped itself around him. It was jelly-like, hissing ooze; hot and sticky; flimsy, ghastly stuff, luminous with a radiant glow. It closed around Alan, pulling him. And then the thing's quivering luminous body engulfed him. He fought to keep his feet. With flailing arms and legs he wrenched the flimsy, weird ooze apart. The heat of it burned his flesh. It hissed in the air as he flung gobs of it away. He knew he mustn't fall. That would be the end. The damnable thing, as he broke it apart, like viscous hot rubber flowed together, healing its wounds. Its horrible little voice was gibbering now; the cluster of its eyes, deep in its glowing middle, was like a mass of shining red-white coals.

A slap of the sticky stuff hit his face. He wiped it away. Then he was aware that Phil had come back with another leap; Phil frantically pulling at him. And now the two girls were flapping in the air close over the monster, reaching down, plucking at it.

"You keep away!” Alan shouted. “Keep back!"

The glutinous ooze of the damnable thing, as Phil and he tore at it, occasionally burst into flame, combustible gases within it, released as it wrenched apart, igniting with the oxygen of the air. Alan felt his clothes burning. He beat at them with seared hands.

At last Phil tore him loose. Together they staggered away, as the monster, distracted by the fluttering girls, was bouncing heavily into the air, trying to reach them. Baffled, suddenly it was lurching off along the rocks, until in a moment it plunged into a hole, crouching sullen with the yellow-red light-glare from it streaming out into the darkness.

Alan and Phil, with Arma and Aerita leading them, plunged on down the ravine. Then Arma, fled ahead; and presently through the lurid yellow-red storm-murk, the platform carried by twelve of the girls came fluttering. Alan and Phil climbed on it; lying prone as the girls gripped its handles and with rhythmic beating wing strokes lifted it into the air.

Heading for the mountain eyrie of the rebelling virgins of the Hill City, the platform sailed swiftly forward through the smoky glare of the gathering fire storm.

"It is reaching its worst now,” Aerita murmured. “In a little while it will be past."

With Alan she crouched in the shelter of a rock cluster on the mountain top of the girl's eyrie. Arma and Phil were nearby, and among the crags and small cave crevices groups of girls were huddled. The weird fire storm seemed now to have reached its height.

It was a wild, eerie flaming scene.

Great wheeling cloud masses were circling overhead, smoky black vapor with little tongues of red-yellow flame licking through it. The wind was circular now, a hot sulphurous breath heavy with choking gas fumes. Occasionally the circling cloud seemed exploding, rent as though by yellow-red lightning with a thunderclap as some pocket of pent-up gas was ignited.

It was a demoniac cataclysm of nature. The flame-lightning spit through the clouds so that the rent vapors rolled apart and upward like great masses of lurid smoke, hurled skyward in massive columns, then clapping together and coming down again. Sometimes the huge tongues of flame licked toward the ground, swirling for a second or two as they seared the copper desert and then puffed into nothingness.

It lasted half an hour. Then Alan could see that the storm center was past; over the black, naked peaks of the distant Dark Country mountains, the blazing, snapping turmoil seemed now at its worst. And then the rain came—slanting sheets on dying wind; rain that hissed out of overhead murk, sizzling like water on fire. The glare now rapidly was fading from the clouds; darkness again was falling upon the naked tumbled wastes of the copper plains.

"It is over,” Aerita murmured. “Now our girls can start."

The little hand projectors of the Errentine flash, which Phil had taken from the spaceship, had been distributed among the flying girls. It was thought that Rahgg's expedition must already have started from his Dark Country lair. Traveling on foot, they ought still be in the descending canyon-valley.

"The storm must have stopped them,” Aerita was saying. “But they will be starting again. We must hurry, Alan."

The flying girls were fluttering with excitement among the crags of the little mountaintop, with Arma among them, making sure that each had her weapons; organizing them, with directions of what they should try to do. Their jabbering, excited little voices mingled with the flapping of their great wings. It was a weird little army, preparing now for battle. About a thousand of them were here.

"But listen,” Alan protested, as he had several times before. “You can't let your girls do this. So many of them will be killed—you know it—"

Aerita's little face was grim, solemn, but her eyes flashed. “It is our only chance. And that you know—"

He did indeed. Earlier in the night, girls had flown with the news to the Hill City. An army of young men was organizing there, making ready to march out and meet Raligg's men and his horde of savages—to meet them out on the copper desert, try and turn them back before they could get within range and devastate the Hill City. But men on foot, armed only with flash-projectors of thirty foot range—what chance would they have against those giant machines Rahgg was bringing? Rahgg had five huge projectors of the Mackay high-voltage flash which would bring death at three hundred feet or more. The young men would be slaughtered.

"We girls, from the air, will have a better chance,” Aerita was saying. “You must see it, Alan. And think too, we have been in rebellion against those young men, so that by law our wings may not be cut. But many of those men we love. They will be our husbands, when this terrible time is over. How can we let them now go out, to be killed in a battle where they have no chance?"

Alan, and Phil who now had joined them, had to yield. They could see it was hopeless to dissuade these excited, crusading girls. And there was, indeed, no argument against Aerita's logic.

* * * *
Then presently the girls were ready; each of them belted with the thirty foot Errentine flash; and with little slingshots and finned copper knife-arrows. In small groups they began fluttering upward; wheeling, like birds gathering in coveys. They were amazingly, fantastically beautiful with pink-white limbs, fluttering drapes and hair; and the giant blue and white feathered wings flapping as they poised, with excited little voices calling down to their comrades to hurry.

Alan and Phil, silent and grim, finally took their places on the oblong platform, with twelve girls gripping its handles as with beating wings they lifted it into the air. Aerita and Arma were flying free, with the girls in small groups strung out behind them. Like a great migration of flying birds, swiftly they winged forward to the battle.

"You and Arma, stay close by us,” Alan called to Aerita who was flying nearby. “What we say to do, you can tell the girls."

"Yes. All right.” But in his heart, Alan knew that these reckless girls would quickly be beyond command. At an altitude of five hundred feet, gazing down as he lay prone on the platform floor, Alan could see the glistening copper spread of desert. The entrance to the broad valley lay ahead. And from it now, in the dim half light the winding cortege of the enemy was visible, little lines of dots down there—Rahgg's three hundred men, on foot; and gathered around them, an unorganized horde of two thousand or more of the Dark Country savages. They saw the oncoming girls. There was a flurry down among them, the men in front stopping; and those in the rear pressing forward. Within a minute they seemed in confusion, a milling throng, suddenly startled by this enemy in the air above them.

In the center of the throng Alan could see nearly a dozen huge wheeled carts. Then as the platform swooped lower, he was able to make out that five of the carts each carried one of the giant Mackay projectors, raised a few feet above it on a metal chassis. The other carts doubtless were loaded with bombs and miscellaneous equipment.

At five hundred feet, Alan shouted, “Keep away for a moment; and when you attack, head for the carts. No closer than twenty feet, fire, and then come up."

Aerita and Arma, flying overhead, called back agreement. In the dull, red-yellow night-glare, Alan had a glimpse of their set white faces. Then from below, a sudden bolt stabbed up—a little violet pencilray of electronic voltage. For a second of duration it sizzled and then died.

"Three hundred foot range is right,” Phil muttered.

It fell short of the hovering girls, so that they jibed with a murmuring defiance. A little less grim dismay was within Alan as he saw that tentative bolt from the enemy. This was the Mackay pencilray-narrow beam hardly more than a few inches in breadth. It would not be easy to strike a fluttering, swiftly moving girl with it and hold it upon her for that second or two. At least they had a chance.

"There they go!” Phil suddenly ejaculated, “Start us down, Alan!"

At Alan's command to his leading girl, the platform swooped in a long curving downward spiral. To Alan, lying prone beside his brother, weapon in hand, it was a chaos of shifting, fluttering figures and crazily swaying vision of the dim copper desert and the sky; and the girls were swooping even more swiftly. In little fluttering groups they passed close over the carts, fired their thirty foot bolt and mounted again into the air.

To Alan it was a moment of wild chaos. Flashes were hissing up from the carts as the girls swooped down. Alan caught his breath with a stab of horror as he saw the first girl struck, swooping blue-draped little creature with the pencilray of the giant flash striking her full. For an instant she fluttered with one of her great wings melted away, then her little body flopped, turning end over end until like a wounded bird she crashed into the horde of savages, tumbling coppery figures engulfing her like vultures.

The platform, in another few seconds, was sailing close above one of the carts. Alan and Phil fired their little bolts down over the platform edge. A hit! One of Rahgg's cloaked men, manipulating the huge projector, fell upon it. An upward stabbing flash caught a corner of the platform, melting it away, leprous. And then they were past, and rose, with one of the forward girls hanging upon the handle, her legs melted away where the flash had struck her.

Alan reached for her. “You come tip and lie here with us."

She was one who spoke a little English. “No,” she gasped. “Still can fly."

Arma was passing, and took her place at the handle. And in a moment she had persuaded the wounded girl to leave. Grimly Alan stared as the girl wavered through the turgid darkness, winging for the Hill City.

Again at some five hundred feet of altitude, the platform hovered, with the girls circling around it. But there was so many less of them now! Some were flopping away in straggling groups toward the Hill City; and others were slowly fluttering to the ground, where still others were strewn.

"But we gained something,” Phil was muttering. There were dead figures of men strewn down there, and one of the carts now seemed on fire. Then suddenly its projector exploded—a puff of flame and resounding report, with flying fragments of wood, metal and human bodies. It started a little panic among Rahgg's crowding savages; that section of them, hurled back by the explosion, suddenly was wildly milling and then stampeding off into the darkness.

Flare-bombs were mounting now from others of the carts, hissing flares of electronic light that came up and burst with a vivid orange glare. One of them struck a wheeling girl at the edge of the formation. As it burst there was just a horrible little charred blob, and then nothingness, where the girl had been.

Then again the girls swooped, with the platform among them. It was a sustained attack this time, each girl for herself so that now the glaring scene was a wild, fantastic chaos. Ten minutes? Half an hour? Alan and Phil, crouching there on the swaying little platform as it swooped, mounted, and swooped, again and again, lost all track of time. They were aware only of the horrible chaos of flaring lights, spitting, hissing flashes, with strewn bodies on the ground; wildly milling, frightened savages trying now to escape; and fluttering, frenzied girls.

Alan saw presently that Phil beside him, was wounded—Phil, with his left arm gone at the elbow, and in his right hand his last little projector was empty of its charge. His face was pallid, strained. He sank back, prone.

"Can't ... keep at it, Alan,” he gasped. “But we're getting them?"

"Yes. We're getting them."

Down through the glare on the copper ground, fires were flaming. All but one of the huge projectors had exploded now, or were out of action. Only one was left, so that now the girls were attacking more freely. And the dark horde of savages and some of Rahgg's remaining men were scattering in rout, with the girls fluttering singly after them, stabbing at them with the little bolts, or dropping upon them to stab with their flying arrows used as swords.

"Just one projector left,” Alan muttered. “That looks like Rahgg, standing there manning it. We're going down—"

Aerita fluttered past, still unhurt, thank God. Throughout it all, Alan had been in an agony of apprehension for her.

"You stay up here,” he shouted. “Almost over, Aerita."

Little Arma was hanging on the handle, exhausted. Alan drew her up; put her beside Phil. There were only eight girls left at the handles now; the platform wavered, then steadied and swooped.

It was Rahgg, standing there on his last cart amid the burning wreckage of the strewn ground. He saw the platform coming as it aimed to sail close over his head. He was trying to twist his broken projector to train it on Alan, then he gave it up, and shouted to try and rally his fleeing men.

In a swooping arc, the platform dove and straightened. From its forward end, for that breathless instant Alan stared down. His little flash-weapon was aimed. Then from no more than ten feet, he saw Rahgg's face with the fire-glare lighting it. It was a grim, white, heavy face; and on it was stamped his disillusionment—this, the final wreckage of his mad dream of conquest disillusionment of a madman-genius’ wild despair.

The staring Alan, for some reason which he could not have named, withheld his shot. The platform sailed past, rising again. And Alan turned; gazed behind him. Rahgg was still standing there, clinging to his broken projector. For a second, he swung around, staring up at Alan; and on his face there was a defiant, ironic smile. Then he gripped the big projector, wrenched it loose from its raised chassis; and bugging it, toppled sidewise with it, down into the flames of an adjacent burning cart. There was a second of silence, then a puff of red-yellow glare and the roar of the explosion—flying dark fragments of the cart and the projector, and the body of the man who had thought to make himself the Great Master of Mercury.

High overhead, the pitiful remnants of the flying girls gathered with the platform in their midst. Far down, the copper desert was lighted by the dying yellow fires. Huddled, broken dead forms were strewn everywhere. And then a heavy black pall of smoke was settling like a shroud to hide the mute, tragic scene of death.

* * * *
Alan and Phil were married in the Hill City, to Aerita and Arma—a huge wedding at which two hundred or more of the girls were joined to the young men of their choice. There was no talk of the mutilation of the wings of the young wives.

No further connection with Earth was established. Old Polter stood firm against that. But Alan and Phil secretly felt that they would like to go, of course. Perhaps, some day, they would go back.

THE END



SF/F/H FROM PAGETURNER EDITIONS 
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Revolution from Rosinante

Long Shot for Rosinante

Pirates of Rosinante

THE CLASSIC SCIENCE FICTION OF STUART J. BYRNE

Music of the Spheres & Other Classic SF Stories

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The Alpha Trap (1976)

The Land Beyond the Lens: The Michael Flannigan Trilogy (writing as John Bloodstone)

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In the Shadow of Death

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JANRAE FRANK'S #1 BESTSELLING FANTASY SAGAS

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In the Darkness, Hunting: Tales of Chimquar the Lionhawk

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JACK JARDINE'S HUMOROUS SF AND MYSTERY

The Agent of T.E.R.R.A. #1 The Flying Saucer Gambit

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The Mind Monsters

Unaccustomed As I Am To Public Dying & Other Humorous and Ironic Mystery Stories

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ARDATH MAYHAR'S AWARD-WINNING SF & F

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The Black Tower: A Novel of Dark Fantasy

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HAL ANNAS’ COSMIC RECKONING TRILOGY

I. The Woman from Eternity

II. Daughter of Doom

III. Witch of the Dark Star

THE HILARIOUS ADVENTURES OF TOFFEE

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OTHER AWARD WINNING & NOMINEE STORIES AND AUTHORS

Moonworm's Dance & Other SF Classics—Stanley Mullen (includes The Day the Earth Stood Still & Other SF Classics—Harry Bates (Balrog Award winning story)

Hugo nominee story Space to Swing a Cat)

People of the Darkness-Ross Rocklynne (Nebulas nominee author)

When They Come From Space-Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

What Thin Partitions-Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

Star Bright & Other SF Classics—Mark Clifton

Eight Keys to Eden-Mark Clifton (Hugo winning author)

Rat in the Skull & Other Off-Trail Science Fiction-Rog Phillips (Hugo nominee author)

The Involuntary Immortals-Rog Phillips (Hugo nominee author)

Inside Man & Other Science Fictions-H. L. Gold (Hugo winner, Nebula nominee)

Women of the Wood and Other Stories-A. Merritt (Science Fiction and Fantasy Hall of Fame award)

A Martian Odyssey & Other SF Classics—Stanley G. Weinbaum (SFWA Hall of Fame author)

Dawn of Flame & Other Stories—Stanley G. Weinbaum (SFWA Hall of Fame author)

The Black Flame—Stanley G. Weinbaum

Scout-Octavio Ramos, Jr. (Best Original Fiction)

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The City at World's End-Edmond Hamilton

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THE BESTSELLING SF/F/H OF J. D. CRAYNE

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PLANETS OF ADVENTURE

Colorful Space Opera from the Legendary Pulp Planet Stories

#1. “The Sword of Fire"—A Novel of an Enslaved World". & “The Rocketeers Have Shaggy Ears"—A Novel of Peril on Alien Worlds.

#2. “The Seven Jewels of Chamar"—A Novel of Future Centuries. & “Flame Jewel of the Ancients"—A Novel of Outlaw Worlds .

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NEMESIS: THE NEW MAGAZINE OF PULP THRILLS

#1. Featuring Gun Moll, the 1920s Undercover Nemesis of Crime in “Tentacles of Evil,” an all-new, complete book-length novel; plus a Nick Bancroft mystery by Bob Liter, “The Greensox Murders” by Jean Marie Stine, and a classic mystery short reprinted from the heyday of the pulps.

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OTHER FINE CONTEMPORARY & CLASSIC SF/F/H

A Million Years to Conquer-Henry Kuttner

After the Polothas—Stephen Brown

Arcadia—Tabitha Bradley

Backdoor to Heaven—Vicki McElfresh

Buck Rogers #1: Armageddon 2419 A.D.-Philip Francis Nowlan

Buck Rogers #2. The Airlords of Han—Philip Francis Nowlan

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Claimed!-Francis Stevens

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Diranda: Tales of the Fifth Quadrant—Tabitha Bradley

Dracula's Daughters-Ed. Jean Marie Stine

Dwellers in the Mirage-A. Merritt

From Beyond & 16 Other Macabre Masterpieces-H. P. Lovecraft

Future Eves: Classic Science Fiction about Women by Women-(ed) Jean Marie Stine

Ghost Hunters and Psychic Detectives: 8 Classic Tales of Sleuthing and the Supernatural-(ed.) J. M. Stine

Horrors!: Rarely Reprinted Classic Terror Tales-(ed.) J. M. Stine. J.L. Hill

House on the Borderland-William Hope Hodgson

House of Many Worlds [Elspeth Marriner #1]—Sam Merwin Jr.

Invisible Encounter and Other SF Stories—J. D. Crayne

Murcheson Inc., Space Salvage—Cleve Cartmill

Ki-Gor, Lord of the Jungle-John Peter Drummond

Lost Stars: Forgotten SF from the “Best of Anthologies"-(ed.) J. M. Stine

Metropolis-Thea von Harbou

Mission to Misenum [Elspeth Marriner #2]—Sam Merwin Jr.

Mistress of the Djinn-Geoff St. Reynard

Chronicles of the Sorceress Morgaine I-V—Joe Vadalma

Nightmare!-Francis Stevens

Pete Manx, Time Troubler—Arthur K. Barnes

Possessed!-Francis Stevens

Ralph 124C 41+—Hugo Gernsback

Seven Out of Time—Arthur Leo Zagut

Star Tower—Joe Vadalma

The Cosmic Wheel-J. D. Crayne

The Forbidden Garden-John Taine

The City at World's End-Edmond Hamilton

The Ghost Pirates-W. H. Hodgson

The Girl in the Golden Atom—Ray Cummings

The Heads of Cerberus—Francis Stevens

The House on the Borderland-William Hope Hodgson

The Insidious Fu Manchu-Sax Rohmer

The Interplanetary Huntress-Arthur K. Barnes

The Interplanetary Huntress Returns-Arthur K. Barnes

The Interplanetary Huntress Last Case-Arthur K. Barnes

The Lightning Witch, or The Metal Monster-A. Merritt

The Price He Paid: A Novel of the Stellar Republic—Matt Kirkby

The Thief of Bagdad-Achmed Abdullah

Women of the Wood and Other Stories-A. Merritt

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The Pellucidar Omnibus: At the Earth's Core; Pellucidar-Burroughs

The Caspak Omnibus: The Land that Time Forgot; The People that Time Forgot; Out of Time's Abyss-Burroughs

The First H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Invisible Man: War of the Worlds; The Island of Dr. Moreau

The Second H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Time Machine; The First Men in the Moon; When the Sleeper Wakes

The Third H. G. Wells Omnibus: The Food of the Gods; Shape of Things to Come; In the Days of the Comet

The First Jules Verne Omnibus: Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea; The Mysterious Island; From the Earth to the Moon

The Homer Eon Flint: All 4 of the Clasic “Dr. Kenney” Novels: The Lord of Death; The Queen of Life; The Devolutionist; The Emancipatrix

The Second Jules Verne Omnibus: Around the World in 80 Days; A Journey to the Center of the Earth; Off on a Comet

Three Great Horror Novels: Dracula; Frankenstein; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The Darkness and Dawn Omnibus: The Classic Science Fiction Trilogy-George Allan England

The Garrett P. Serviss Omnibus: The Second Deluge; The Moon Metal; A Columbus of Space

ADDITIONAL TITLES IN PREPARATION

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