Alcatraz of the Starways :: By ALBERT dePINA and HENRY HASSE

By ALBERT dePINA and HENRY HASSE

Venus was a world enslaved. And then, like
an avenging angel, fanning the flames of
raging revolt, came a warrior-princess in
whose mind lay dread knowledge—the knowledge
of a weapon so terrible it had been used
but once in the history of the universe.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

"Purple!" Mark Denning almost sobbed. "A purple Josmian!" Forgetting the sweat in his eyes and the insufferable heat about him, his clutching hand held up the mud-dripping globe the size of a baseball, iridescent in the Venusian night.

The phosphorescent glow that bathed the endless swamp in ghastly green, struck myriad shimmering rainbows from the dark sphere.

"Two more of those and you're free, lower species!" It was an ironic voice, with the resonant sweetness of a cello in its depths, that issued from the haze nearby.

Frantically Mark reached down into the tepid mud, where he had felt the swaying stems of Josmian lilies whip about his knees. Another globe met his hand. He tugged and twisted until it tore from the stem, but when he raised it to the surface, it was white.

Immediately it began to shrink. It would continue until it became the size of a small marble, when it would either rot, as the majority did, or begin to crystallize into a priceless Venusian pearl. But that happened only with one in ten thousand. It was different with the purple ones, they never failed to crystallize into a violet globe of unearthly beauty and incalculable value. Less than a hundred of the purple had ever been found. They were so rare that any prisoner who harvested three, was granted freedom.

"Pretty!" the cello voice taunted, behind Mark. "In a few hours it will be rotting and stinking to high heaven!"

"Cut it, Aladdo!" Mark growled. He tossed the white Josmian into the basket he pushed before him across the mud; the purple one he placed carefully in his trouser pocket. He pushed on, searching the pungent-smelling mud that came up to his thighs.

Suddenly the warm ooze rose to his waist and crept inexorably higher. For an instant, Mark clawed at the mud. It was surging up to his armpits now, as he floundered in the tenacious sink hole. He shook his head to get the sweat out of his eyes and the numbness from his brain. He stopped thrashing about, for he knew that was futile. He threw back his head and gave a shout in which was more than a note of sheer terror.

Mark clawed at the mud surging up to his armpits.

At least a dozen men were moving near him, waist deep in the Venusian mud. At his cry, they stopped and stared at him dully, fatalistically. They could easily have formed a chain and pulled him out, but none moved. They'd seen too many repetitions of this tragedy to care anymore. It happened every day; a new man, a little careless, caught in one of the deadly sink holes ... it happened even to the veterans of this Venusian prison camp, sometimes deliberately, as they became weary of a hopeless existence.

The mud was almost to Mark's chin now; only his forearms and his blond head were visible. Hatred came into his eyes as he glared at the men about him, most of them Earthmen like himself, who would not help him. Again he struggled, tried to hoist himself upward.

"Don't struggle, you fool!" came the resonant voice from behind him. "Be still; every movement helps to sink you!" Then, in an undertone, "No human was ever able to think clearly, anyway."

Mark smiled despite his predicament, then he urged: "Hurry Aladdo—hurry!"

Over the expanse of hellish, green-lit muck, a tiny figure inched toward Mark. Scarcely five feet in height, Aladdo's arms and legs were now outspread, to distribute his weight over as much area as possible. The rescuing figure was like an imp from hades, clad as it was in a tight-fitting garment of metallic blue, which even the clinging mud failed to dull; while membraneous wings of a lighter hue began at its wrists, joined to the entire under-arm and the sides of its body all the way to its feet, much as the wings of a bat.

Swiftly it crawled and wriggled toward the Earthman, and without a word grasped him with both tiny hands by the arms. It braced itself on its wings, and heaved. A few inches of Mark Denning emerged from the mud with a sucking sound. Again Aladdo made a prodigious effort, and again the Earthman came up from the mud a few more inches.

The winged figure held him there, while it gasped for breath. "Now, spread your arms on the mud and stiffen your neck, sub-species!" The winged one laughed.

Swiftly it cupped its seemingly fragile hands under Mark's chin, and slowly but surely began to pull him back and out. Most of an hour went by before the Earthman's superb torso had emerged and was able to help the rescuer. At last he was out of the sink hole, panting, almost exhausted and half nude.

He still found strength to feel at his trouser pocket, and was gratified to find his purple Josmian still there. It was now about half its original size, and soon would cease its shrinkage and begin to crystallize.

Mark gazed into the oval face, panting next to his. The heavily fringed eyes were closed as it breathed in labored gasps, and the slender, fragile form shook now and then with nervous spasms. Mark never ceased to wonder at the beauty of the Venusians, nor at their absolute and maddening conviction that theirs was the only true intelligence in the Universe. Now to these qualities Mark added that of indomitable courage, as he gazed at Aladdo and marvelled.

"Well, Aladdo, thanks seems sort of a stupid word in a case like this; I owe you my life. I don't know how I'll ever repay the debt...." Mark's eyes roved over the weird scene, taking in the soulless, hopeless hulks that had once been men. And it suddenly occurred to him that he'd had enough of this hellish corner of Venus; he had been here two months and already he was unable to think clearly, he was becoming identified with the living death of the Venusian Prison Swamp. His mission apparently had failed. What he had come to learn, remained a secret, and he was slowly becoming like these shells of men who prowled the ocean of mud, eventually to disappear beneath it.

"No need to thank me, middle order, I would have missed our discussions had you gone." The Venusian grinned impishly.

"What? I've been promoted! You must be ill, to call me anything above a 'lower order' or a 'sub-species'!" Mark smiled too, but seriously wondered what crime had condemned Aladdo to a prison reserved only for the most hardened and hopeless criminals, or for political prisoners whose existence was a threat to the Tri-Planetary League.

"At times, you're almost intelligent," the Venusian replied placidly. "Any one of these other men would have struggled had they been in your place, and I would have been helpless."

"Why didn't you use your brain," Mark couldn't resist prodding the other, "and by flying above me, get to me quicker, instead of crawling all that distance?"

The winged figure laughed mirthlessly, and for an answer held up its arms. The azure membranes that were its wings, hung in limp folds.

"Useless, you see," he said quietly. "The tendons have been cut. Otherwise I could fly up and out of this swamp, despite its five hundred mile width."

Mark could find no words to say. Since being assigned at his own request to this last grim haven of the damned, by the Tri-Planetary Prison Bureau, on a special mission, there had been moments when the horror of it all had made him doubt the wisdom of maintaining such a ghastly place. He knew, of course, the tremendous deterrent influence its existence exerted, besides the important revenue derived from Venusian pearls; still it all seemed too inhuman.

"You don't seem criminal, Earthman!" the cello-like voice introduced on Mark's thoughts. "I fail to catch the typical vibrations of the killers and ravagers. Your crime ... was it political?"

"Why, yes!" Mark assented hurriedly. It wouldn't do for this Venusian to suspect he was an operative. "To put it briefly, I am classified as too individualistic for the new order of 'controlled endeavor'. Also typed as irreconcilable—and you know what that means!"

"Perfectly!" The enigmatic smile hovering on the Venusian's lips faded slowly. "I, too, am a 'political'. My father was Bedrim, the Liberator. All we of Venus asked was real independence instead of the mock freedom your Earth grants us; in reality we are a vassal state with no voice but Earth's."

"Bedrim!" Mark exclaimed, aghast. For more than a decade that name had made history, engulfing three planets in a suicidal struggle that had ended in a stalemate. Bedrim was dead now, Mark knew; but in Venus and even on Mars, the name was a glorious legend. It was only with the greatest effort and vigilance that Earth was able to enforce the peace.

"So this is what became of you!" Mark said slowly, softly. "The three worlds do not know, they still wonder—" Then he caught himself and bit his lip.

"Yes," Aladdo murmured bitterly. "The worlds do not know. I was to be given amnesty, I was so young; but your inner Council decided that as long as I lived I would be a rallying point for irreconcilables of Venus, and so I was hunted from planet to planet until ... well, here I am on my own world, but as far away from my people as if I were on Betelgeuse. Here I do not live."

"But surely there must be some way of convincing the Council that you're harmless! And if that fails, well ... of getting you out of here!"

"Out of Paradim?" Aladdo's smile had all the despairing bitterness of a soul damned for all eternity; all the tears and the anguish and the wracking sorrow of the condemned since the world began seemed to be frozen for an instant in that smile. "Look about you, Earthman!"

It was true. Mark had to acknowledge the psychological genius who had devised the Venusian Prison System. For five hundred miles the swamp Paradim extended in either direction, impassable, pitted with sink holes into which a man would disappear without trace. And beyond were the impenetrable jungles, alive with lurking carnivora, lurking monsters of the night, red in tooth and claw. Only on the opposite hemisphere were the two larger and hospital continents of Venus.

Here, on this tiny continent, the prison ship came once a month, to hover over the tiny islet in the middle of the swamp, the only spot of firm ground for untold miles. Here it dropped supplies and food, and occasionally picked up the little heaps of fabulous Venusian pearls. There were no guards and none were needed, for at night when the awful humidity increased, the men worked or died. With night came the dreaded fog, lurid in the ghostly illumination of the igniis fatui, the phosphorescent radiance of this vast graveyard. And the idle died. Decomposition of the blood set in; essential salts within their bodies were dissolved, cellular activity ceased, and their bodies bloated. Not many, however, were idle.

Escape? For years it had been thought a virtual impossibility. The very thought would have brought smiles to the grim faces of that august body, the Tri-Planetary Bureau of Prisons. And yet—a notorious killer who had been sent to this swamp only a year ago, had recently been found dead—out in space!

A patrol ship had found the body floating a few thousand miles off Callisto, an atom-blast hole drilled neatly through the forehead. There was not the slightest doubt that this was the same man. How had this criminal been able to escape the swamp and travel to Callisto, millions of miles away? It was a mystery and above all, a challenge. Apparently the Venus Prison had ceased to be impregnable. And that was why Mark Denning, the Prison Bureau's leading investigator, was here.

"Guard your pearl, middle species," Aladdo's voice was ironic once more. "Escape, and with it you may buy a pardon!" Without a backward glance, the Venusian moved on with nightmare slowness through the swirling mists, pushing his basket into which the Josmian globes were loaded.

Escape, Mark thought, following the Venusian. He did not need to escape, he could signal the prison ship to pick him up the next time it arrived. He wondered if he should. He had been here two months, and they were an eternity that dwarfed any concept of hell. But he hadn't any clue to the mystery of the escaping convicts, and he could hardly return with a confession of failure.

He looked ahead through the mists, at the slender body of Aladdo in its tight-fitting sheath of metallic blue. "I would miss Aladdo," Mark whispered to himself; "and if he can stand it here, I should be able to!"

"What are you mumbling about to yourself?" Aladdo's mocking voice came back to him. "That lowers you from the middle species to the sub species again." He held up a Josmian globe against the greenish swamp glow. "White," he said contemptuously and threw it into the basket.

Pushing through the muck with his tremendous strength, Mark cut the distance that separated them. "You may have my purple one, Aladdo. I will not need it, and perhaps you ... with it you might...."

"If I were to gather a hundred purple ones, I could not buy my release." The Venusian was staring at Mark peculiarly, as if wondering why he should have made that offer. "Do you suppose, Earthman, any of the other men saw you find it? They would kill you for it—cheerfully."

"No, I think not; no one saw me bring it up but you."

"Then guard it." Aladdo eyed Mark's powerful frame critically. "Guard it with your life, for you may have to fight for it soon."

"Telepathy! You've caught someone's thought vibrations?" Mark asked in a whisper. He well knew that telepathy, although not commonly used, was an established fact among the Venusians.

But Aladdo's long lashes rested against pallid cheeks, veiling eyes that were abrim with something Mark could not understand. "No," the winged one said at last, "it wasn't a thought vibration—not that clear—perhaps a vibration of evil! Be alert, Earthman. I can say no more."

"All right, thanks, Aladdo." But inwardly Mark cursed the inherent Venusian mania for ultra-reserve, for making a mystery of even the most commonplace affairs. "Let's head for the island, it's almost dawn."

Above, the cloud-cap was prismatic with color as the sun tried feebly to penetrate the grayness and then gave up the attempt, as if it had tried many times before and failed. Slowly the vast swamp's contours came into view, with their small island a faint green line against the horizon's rim. And as the grayish dawn light increased, suffusing the grim morass, Mark and Aladdo made their slow way toward it.

"Up you go!" Mark's long muscles corded as he heaved and Aladdo's body left the mud with a sucking sound, to sprawl on the solid ground of the island. Presently the Earthman joined him, and for a few seconds they rested silently.

All around them the vegetation surged, lush and matted, inextricably tangled with parasitic vines. Whereas the expanse of swamp was bare of the myriad growths of Venus, for some unknown chemical reason, the island itself was riotous with them. It was as if every inch of terra firma were precious. The humid air was hot and stagnant, heavy with the overpowering fragrance of flowers. Even after two months of conditioning, Mark had difficulty in breathing, as the odors of this alien world increased as the temperature rose.

"Arrgh, what a world!" Mark said disgustedly, as he rose to his feet. "I'm going to bathe, before the gang arrives. You'd better come too." Together they went up the vine-entangled path toward the barracks, and, rounding a corner of the building, followed another path to where a small spring gushed from an elevation; it fell in a sparkling shower and then meandered a few feet to lose itself in the swamp.

Aladdo, as usual, merely let the water flow over the metallic suit that sheathed the slender body. By the time they had finished bathing, the rest of the convicts began to emerge from radiating paths, to dump their swamp pearls onto the growing heap by the side of their barracks. Some of the men threw themselves on the ground, exhausted in minds and bodies, and were almost instantly asleep. A few sat against the barracks wall and chewed the deadly tsith stems, their eyes vacant, their faces gray. Tsith was awful stuff, even if it did banish pain. Mark knew that these men wouldn't last long, but he wondered if perhaps they weren't the wiser ones after all!

Returning from his bath to the barracks, Mark found that Aladdo had disappeared. He entered, and donned a thin rubberoid garment from among his meager store of personal belongings. It resembled one of the ancient woolen suits that Earthmen had used against the cold many centuries before; but there was a great difference. Mark's garment was impervious to cold or heat, highly flexible, yet the interlining of allurium mesh could intercept anything short of a ray blast.

When Mark emerged, he found Aladdo talking in very low tones, with a tall, Martian-Venusian half-breed. This man was fantastic. He had the slenderness of the Venusians, and the finely chiseled features, but his eyes were Martian—deep purple and immense, far too large for the face. The breadth of shoulder and barrel chest was Martian too, ludicrous in comparison with the wasp waist and slender thighs.

Mark had seen this half-breed about the swamp before, and wondered who he was. Now Aladdo, glancing up, called to him. Mark walked over to them.

"This is Luhor, Earthman," the Venusian crossed both hands at the wrists in the immemorial Venusian gesture indicating that a friend was being introduced. "Luhor, the Earthman's name is Mark. He is the one I told you about. Note the muscular power of the body, the intelligence of the face, no less than middle-order. I think you shall find him most useful."

Mark felt as if he were on the auction block, as Aladdo calmly pointed out his physical attributes. He was mystified. At the back of his mind a vague memory strove to emerge; it was barely a sense of having seen this man Luhor before, moving among the torpid convicts and whispering to them briefly. Perhaps it had been an allusion of the swamp's night glow, and yet, the feeling persisted. Mark extended his hand to the Martian-Venusian, who eyed him silently, expressionless, without grasping the proffered hand. Around them, the atmosphere was electric.

At last Luhor spoke. "Only fifteen can go. They have been picked out!" His was a rumbling voice, emotionless—cold.

"Eliminate one then," Aladdo said imperiously.

"How? They'll fight like Ocelandians; they already know they've been picked, O Aladdian!"

Then Mark Denning understood. Escape was being planned. Aladdo was one of those to go, and was trying to induce Luhor to include him! Mark's heart was pounding, he knew that it was now or never; he must be among those who escaped. He would never again be so close to the solution of the mysteries he had been sent here to solve.

"I'm new here," Mark spoke hurriedly. "Look at my arms, my chest. I have tremendous strength and endurance. My vitality has not been sapped by the swamp as yet. Take me also, Luhor, I'll repay you beyond anything you can dream of!"

The half-breed's mouth twisted slowly into a cold sneer as he gazed at the Earthman, then he shrugged his shoulders. It might have meant anything, but Mark thought it meant denial. In silence Luhor bowed to Aladdo and strode off toward a group of several men. It was odd, Mark thought—a half-breed convict showing such a mark of respect to another convict. But perhaps it was because Luhor was half Venusian, and Bedrim had been Aladdo's father. Mark turned questioningly to Aladdo.

He was amazed to see sudden alarm leap into the Venusian's eyes, together with a warning cry.

Mark stepped lithely aside, but not in time to avoid a terrific blow between his shoulder-blades that left a burning point of fire in his flesh. He half fell to his knees, but whirled around to confront a bestial face, maddened now by blood-lust. In the attacker's hand was the haft and a piece of broken blade from what had evidently been a smuggled knife. It was useless now, shattered against the allurium mesh interlining of Mark's suit.

With a cry of baffled rage the attacking Earthman hurled the broken weapon into Mark's face, and launched himself close behind it. Mark rolled slightly aside, then gained his feet and whirled to face his attacker. Mark was icy calm now. He awaited the convict's next rush, then sent a straight left unerringly to the man's head, driving him off-balance. Mark kept facing him, balanced lightly on his toes as the man came boring back in tenaciously. Mark's right arm was a peg upon which he hung the convict's blow, while he used the boxer's left, long and weaving, throwing it swiftly three times like a cat sparring with a mouse.

The killer rushed, aggressive and eager. Mark let his heels touch the ground this time, refused to give way. He took a murderous hook to the stomach without flinching, countered with a quick left to the face and then a vicious right-cross. The convict's face seemed to lose contour, its features blurred as the face went gory; his feet crossed and his knees went suddenly rubbery, he fell with a crash and didn't get up.

Mark towered above him, breathing heavily, only now aware of the little group of interested men who had watched.

"You fight like a Venusian Ocelandian—as ruthless, and as methodical." It was Luhor who stepped forward and spoke; he was grinning twistedly as he surveyed Mark's handiwork.

"Now I wonder why he wanted to eliminate me?" Mark gestured puzzledly.

For an answer Aladdo, standing close by him, tapped the spot where in a hidden, inner pocket reposed the purple pearl. The gesture went unnoticed by Luhor, but Mark suddenly understood.

"What do you care?" Luhor waved a hand as if dismissing the fallen foe. "He was one of the chosen. You may take his place, Earthman, since you have so neatly disabled him." His large weird eyes took in Mark's physique with a new interest.

To Aladdo he said, "You have your wish." Again there was that odd note of deference in his voice. He bowed slightly and turned away again to the gathered little group of men.

"When do we start?" Mark whispered eagerly to Aladdo.

But the Venusian's eyes were preternaturally bright. A frail hand was held up for silence. Mark stood tense, listening. The brightness of Aladdo's eyes seemed to increase.

And then Mark heard it. They all heard it. It was unbelievable.

The low, powerful hum of a repulsion beam rent the stillness. It was faint and far away at first, but became steadily louder. This, Mark knew, was not the hornet's hum of the tiny craft the Prison Bureau sent with supplies; this was the unmistakable vibration of a Spacer hovering above them!

Soon the immense bulk of the spaceship dropped slowly from the cloud banks above, like a silvery ghost descending. It hovered fifty feet above the islet, the powerful repulsion beam humming its deafening drone. An under-hull lock opened. A long flexible ladder rushed uncoiling through the murky atmosphere until it struck the ground a dozen paces from the barracks.

"Back!" Luhor's voice crackled like an icy javelin as an avalanche of humanity scrambled toward the ladder, clawing, tearing and screaming. In his hand he held an atom-blast capable of annihilating that entire snarling group. They saw it and halted uncertainly. Luhor strode calmly toward the ladder and again shouted, "Back, you vermin!" He brought the weapon up as if to fire, and the tattered dregs who had been human beings still prized life enough to retreat sullenly.

In a cold voice Luhor called names from a list in his hand. His huge purple orbs inspected each man to step forward, then he waved them toward the ladder. Aladdo was first, and Mark's heart leaped as the Venusian scrambled up the weaving ladder, grasping the metal rungs with fragile hands. One by one, fifteen convicts were called. Mark was among the last, and he heard Luhor ordering the remaining convicts into the swamp. Two disobeyed and leaped forward desperately. Luhor's atom-blast spat, one man dropped in his tracks and the other went scrambling back. Cries, imprecations, curses and pleadings dwindled as the men retreated to the mud.

It was then that Luhor himself began to ascend the rungs, as the ladder was slowly pulled up. A rush of maddened convicts clawed at empty air as the stairway to freedom rose above their heads. Luhor laughed mockingly down at them. Mark, just above, suddenly hated Luhor for that.

Inside the Spacer, with the air-lock closed, Luhor turned to the waiting men. His rumbling voice rose commandingly. "Anyone with weapons, whatever they are, throw them on the floor before you; if you refuse, or we have to search you and find them, you'll be dropped through the air-lock into the swamp. Choose!"

The absolute cold finality of his tone left no doubt. A veritable arsenal of sharpened rocks, crude metal knives, and bent wires coated with deadly poison from Venusian plants, showered down.

"All through?" The half-breed's purple eyes ranged down the line of men, as if he could see into their minds. There was a moment of silence, then one of the men hesitantly dropped an outmoded heat-gun, old-fashioned but deadly. Luhor's eyebrows went up, and he smiled thinly. "All right," he told a member of the crew, "gather up this junk and toss it out. You new men follow me. First you'll sluice off the mud and put on some decent clothes. Afterwards you'll see the Commander; and," he added, "the Commander will see you!" A fleeting smile hovered on his lips as if he had a little joke all his own.

Mark was amazed at the spaciousness of the ship, and at the luxury of its appointments. It was apparent at once that this was no ordinary Spacer, for it was a fighting craft as well—a long, slim torpedo of death modern beyond anything he'd ever seen. He only obtained a glimpse of a few of the craft's weapons, but they looked formidable enough to tackle anything the Tri-Planetary ships could muster. He tried not to appear too curious, however; he knew that just now his best bet was to look dazed and docile.

He glanced around for Aladdo, but the little Venusian had disappeared. Mark wasn't too surprised. He was satisfied to know that Aladdo was on the ship, and that eventually he would appear.

The men scrubbed themselves with soap under needles of warm water, and achieved cleanliness for the first time in many months. Dressed in clean trousers and tunics, they were ready at last to go before the Commander. The men moved restlessly and whispered among themselves. None knew where they were going, or why. They only knew that a miracle had happened and they had been delivered from the great swamp. It didn't occur to any of them as yet that there could be a situation even remotely as bad as their living death in the swamp.

One by one, they were called, as they waited in the ship's comfortable leisure-room. At its far end was an automatic beryllium door, and as each man's name was called through an amplifier, the door would open to permit a man to go through. Already nine men had passed through, and none had emerged.

Mark could hardly restrain his impatience. Behind that door was the solution of a great mystery—a mystery which had grown in importance beyond anything the Prison Bureau officials had dreamed of, Mark realized, considering the perilous super-efficiency of this spaceship, now speeding away from Venus!

Mark's name was called last, and he tried to achieve a careless nonchalance as he walked toward the door that opened silently for him. He would not have been too surprised to find that Aladdo was the Commander of this ship; that thought had occurred to him. As he entered the huge compartment, however, he had only a confused impression of brilliant lighting and indiscriminate luxury. Magnificent, ceiling-high tapestries covered the metal walls; beneath his feet, the resilient pile of an imperial Martian rug was a splash of varicolored splendour. Ornaments from three planets were everywhere, some of them museum pieces, like the desk of extinct Martian Majagua wood, inlaid with miniature mosaics of semi-precious stones.

"Loot from the spacelanes!" Mark exclaimed inwardly. And then he was beyond all amazement as his gaze went across the bright room, and he saw the two people present.

One was Luhor, dressed resplendently now, the shadow of a smile upturning the corners of his mouth. He was standing. Seated at a desk beside him was a girl. She was clad in a close-fitting uniform of a white, gleaming material like watered silk.

Mark slowly let out his breath, and then he crossed the room. He wondered if she were really that beautiful, or if it was just the garish lights and surroundings.

She spoke first. "If you must be amazed, please do it quickly. I am weary of these interviews."

Mark looked at her eyes that were blue but unsmiling, and lips that smiled thinly but didn't mean it. Her slightly turned-up nose would have been amusing ordinarily but wasn't now. Coppery brown hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead, to fall in waves to her shoulders. Mark wished she would smile with her eyes as well as her lips.

His own smile faded, he took a deep breath and said, "I am sufficiently amazed."

"Good. Then we can proceed. Luhor, is this the last one?"

"Yes. He's the one I was telling you about."

She turned her cold blue eyes upon Mark again. Her voice was emotionless, almost a monotone. "Luhor tells me you were exceedingly anxious to leave the Venus swamp. Why?"

"Why!" Mark repeated in amazement. "Why does any man want to leave there? It's a living death—and I was slowly going crazy."

"You had only been there a few months?"

"That's right."

"Why were you sent there?"

Mark hesitated for a split second, and decided he had better stick to the same story he'd told Aladdo. "I'm a 'political'," he said.

She nodded, as though satisfied. "I have never been actually in the swamp. I understand that you worked hard there?"

"Yes, very hard. We had to, to stay alive."

"You will work very hard for me—for the same reason. Perhaps you will wish you had stayed in the swamp. What can you do?"

Mark brightened. "Around a spaceship? I can handle rocket-tubes, or controls. Also probably any weapon you care to mention. Calculations and differential equations are pretty easy. I could almost quote you the entire Advanced Principles of Space Navigation...." With a rush of nostalgia Mark was remembering all the mechanics and mathematics of his four years in Government Spacer School. He went on with cool confidence, "I could take one of your atomomotors apart, jumble the pieces and put it together again. I'm really a mechanic rather than a spaceman. Spacery's only a hobby of mine...."

She swung her eyes over to the half-breed. Luhor nodded, grinning with huge amusement. She said to Mark:

"You will work at the mines, where you are going. You can make that a hobby of yours. I do not like men with me in space who know more about a ship than I do."

Mark slowly seethed, but said nothing. She waved a slim hand in dismissal. Luhor, still grinning, showed Mark the door by which to go out.

III

Mark awakened suddenly, aware that someone was shaking him. Intense light almost blinded him as he opened his eyes, and he shut them hurriedly. He lay for a few seconds enjoying the luxury of the berth on which he had slept. It had been long since he'd felt the yielding comfort of a coil-pad beneath his body, or cool Lynon sheets against his flesh.

"Rouse yourself, sluggard!" The voice was mocking, familiar, rich with golden overtones. "Get that deficient brain of yours to working, lower order!"

"Aladdo! You Venusian demon—where have you been?" In his delight Mark grabbed Aladdo's slender hands and almost crushed them. "I was beginning to think I'd have to tear this ship apart to find you!"

"My hands!" Aladdo exclaimed in alarm and withdrew them. But there was shining joy in his smile. Perched on the edge of the berth, the tiny Venusian regarded the giant Earthman with laughing eyes, bluer even than the azure wings that hung like a cloak. But it was a subtly different Aladdo; glowing and clean until the exquisitely chiseled face was like alabaster, the curling close-cropped hair blue-black and gleaming.

Dressed in a soft gray tunic and tight white trousers, the wings were vivid in contrast, almost iridescent. The tiny feet were encased in bootlets of red Ocelandian fur, and a belt of platinum links circled the narrow waist, holding a holster with a small short-range atom-blast.

Surprised, Mark flicked a forefinger at the weapon and looked inquiringly at Aladdo. "They let you have this?"

"Yes," the Venusian nodded. "Remember, Bedrim was my father; I can be most useful to them. Although my father's dead, there are still followers on three planets, ready at a moment's notice to rally behind a leader. I could be that leader—or at least appear to be. I am a guest of honor on this cruiser—a prisoner, of course," Aladdo smiled ironically, "but shown every courtesy. I even have my own private quarters instead of sleeping here with the crew."

"But what is it all about, Aladdo?" Mark was exasperated as the mystery grew. "What's the purpose behind all this? Ruthless criminals salvaged from a Venusian Prison swamp, and now this super-cruiser built to withstand anything! And who is that girl? I—" But the Venusian interrupted him.

"No time now. You'll learn everything presently. Dress quickly and come with me."

"I'm dressed," Mark answered, springing up. He zipped on light, insulated shoes and followed Aladdo to the main cabin. The rest of the men were already there, clustered about the starboard ports in an excited group. The light in this room was blazing. Mark could feel the gentle vibration of the atomomotors somewhere deep in the spaceship, and again the question overwhelmed him: where were they going?

He was soon to learn. Recklessly he gazed out into space. Instantly he pivoted away, as if a gigantic hand had spun him. He had looked almost directly into the sun!

It was a sun vast beyond imagining, tongues of flame flickering slowly out for thousands of miles. He knew it was only the thickness of the Crystyte ports that saved the men's eyes. Slowly Mark's eyes became accustomed to the fierce glare and by shading them obliquely he could discern the object of the men's excitement—a dark little speck of a planet sweeping in its orbit just beyond the sun's rim. It rapidly grew larger as the spaceship moved inward on a long tangent.

"Mercury!" Mark exclaimed, staring.

"No, we crossed the orbit of Mercury two hours ago." It was Aladdo who spoke beside him.

"Then, that must be ... but it's impossible!" Mark laughed a little wildly. "How long since we left Venus?"

"Ten hours, Earthman. It is possible. That is the planet Vulcan."

"Unbelievable," Mark almost whispered. "Why, it takes the fastest Patrol cruiser forty-eight hours to reach Mercury's orbit from Venus. Lord! What sort of speed has this Spacer?"

But Aladdo didn't answer. A door had opened and Luhor stepped in.

"Vulcan," he said tonelessly. "As we approach, even the thickness of these ports won't be enough. Put on these."

He handed the men pairs of Crystyte goggles, the lenses specially processed.

"Does this mean we're actually going to attempt a landing on Vulcan?" Mark asked the half-breed. "It's madness! It has never been done!"

"But it has been done." Luhor gazed at Mark frigidly. "You merely have never heard of it."

"Who's at the controls?" Mark struggled to subdue the excitement in his voice.

"Why, the Commander, naturally—assisted by myself." Luhor's vast chest arched with pride. "Observe closely, Earthman, and you will be treated to as masterly a feat of navigation as you're likely ever to see again!" His purple orbs roved over the men, clean-dressed, and rested, the haunted look beginning to fade from their eyes. He nodded approval, as he turned and left.

"A base at Vulcan!" Mark was repeating inwardly. And a cold fear at this growing mystery grew apace within him.

It was not only a masterly feat of navigation—it was incredible as the hurtling spaceship continued along its tangent, until Vulcan, slightly smaller than Mercury, came swinging around to bisect their trajectory.

Very neatly, their speed was manipulated to allow the planet to come between them and the sun; then the great Spacer began to pursue a direct course. Mark noticed that Vulcan kept one side eternally sunwards. Swiftly the spaceship approached the dark, outward side. Actually it was not "dark" but it could be called so in comparison with the molten sunward side.

Mark realized the almost insurmountable difficulty of keeping the Spacer on a trajectory, with the sun's tremendous gravitational pull so dangerously near; the slightest deviation now would send them hurtling past Vulcan and into that naming hecotomb. He knew, as well, that there could be no atmosphere on Vulcan to help them brake.

But even as these thoughts were racing through his mind, Vulcan came rushing up at them with the fury of a miniature hell running rampant. Its surface was lividly aglow, with the flaming curve of the sun as a backdrop blotting out the horizon. Suddenly they were leveling over its surface, at a speed that to Mark spelled disaster. He saw the fore-jets flaming over a wide terrain of what might have been lava or pumice, but that didn't seem to check their reckless speed at all. Directly ahead black mountain ranges sheered upward as if to disembowel the ship on jagged summits. Mark merely closed his eyes, awaiting the crash that seemed inevitable. No ship he knew could ever brake in time at that suicidal speed.

A terrific force jarred him to the floor. A profound nausea made him retch. Then Luhor was touching his shoulder, and Mark opened his eyes.

"All out, we're home!" the half-breed grinned. "You're lucky that the synchronized magnetic fields minimize deceleration, Earthman." Doors were opening, voices were drifting into the ship. The vibration of the atomomotors had ceased.

White-faced and shaken, the men debarked into a wide corridor hewn out of solid rock, into which the ship had berthed. Glancing back, Mark saw metal doors of titanic proportions now hermetically closed; ahead were similar doors. Then he heard the deep, far-away throbbing of generators and he knew that he was in an air-lock built on a gigantic scale. A few seconds later the inner doors slid open.

As they walked forward Luhor turned to Mark with a proud smile. "You won't find that type of navigation in the 'Advanced Principles,' eh, Earthman?"

"No, indeed not," Mark admitted. "But I still don't understand that braking process!"

Luhor pointed to colossal sets of coils, in niches along each side of the vast corridor. "Synchronized magnetic degravitation fields; they arrest mass and speed synchronously, finally stopping the spacer in a graduating net of force. Similar coils to these exist for a mile along the gorge back there, through which we came. Even so it is a very delicate and precise process."

They stepped into a grotto so vast as to dwarf anything Mark had ever imagined. It extended for miles, sheltering an entire little city! Mark saw rows of stone dwellings, stream-lined, ultra-modern. From larger buildings came the sounds of blast furnaces and an occasional flash of ruddy glow. Groups of workmen hurried past, glanced curiously at the new arrivals but didn't stop to fraternize. And then Mark saw Carston.

Ernest Carston! One of the very highest men among the Tri-Planetary Prison Bureau officials! The surprise stopped Mark Denning in his tracks, but fortunately, thanks to his training, he managed to keep his face impassive as they recognized each other simultaneously. Carston flashed him a quick look that seemed to say, "Later!"

Then the newcomers were marching in silence to a spacious building, where they were assigned rooms. The furnishings were simple, but comfortable, and Luhor led them to the rear of the building where the dining-room was located.

They ate with the famished eagerness of men who had long subsisted on compressed synthetic rations. Then they were issued cigarettes. To the men who had been doomed on Venus only a few hours previously, it was like awakening in heaven from a nightmare in hell.

Through Mark's mind ran an ancient saying: "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow...."

Standing in the doorway, the girl of the unsmiling blue eyes surveyed the new men silently. Her trim, aloof figure instantly commanded their attention, and their respect as well.

"I cannot waste words on you," she said abruptly, "for my time is limited. I know all of your names, so you shall know mine as well, although it will mean nothing to you. I am Cynthia Marnik, but you will address me always as Commander. You will obey me implicitly in all things here. Second to me, you will obey Luhor.

"All of you volunteered to come. Now that you're here, you are part of our scheme of things and you will work as hard as you did in the swamp. It is dangerous work, but you will have ample remuneration. Idlers and grumblers will be done away with, I promise you. Your lives were forfeit in the swamp, and that is not altered by your being on Vulcan." She paused as if waiting for objections, but every man was silent.

"Very well; Luhor will explain later what you're here for. Meanwhile you are free to go anywhere you like within the city, but be ready to work about eight earth-hours from now." As abruptly as she had come, Commander Cynthia Marnik turned and was gone.

The men smoked and talked among themselves, speculating what their tasks might be. The memory of the Prison Swamp was too recent for them to care much.

Mark rose quietly and stepped out of the dining-room. He'd noticed that Aladdo was absent from the meal, and he wondered if his Venusian friend was still an 'honored guest.' Deciding to inspect the city, Mark tried to retrace his steps to those buildings where he had heard the blast furnaces; but at the first cross-corridor Ernest Carston stepped out and walked beside him. He smiled at Mark Denning, but held a warning finger to his lips.

They walked in silence, while the corridors became rockier and more dimly lighted. At last, far away from the city, Carston stopped under an immense jutting rock and quietly gripped Mark's hand. There was a world of feeling in his voice as he said barely whispering:

"I'd lost hope of ever seeing any of you again!"

"How did you get here?" Mark asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "Did they pick you up at the swamp, too?"

"Yes. We're both on the same trail—and here the trail ends."

"But I had no idea you'd preceded me," Mark told him. "It must have been considered a far more important assignment than I was told, to send you to the Swamp!"

"We didn't know, we weren't certain," Carston said thoughtfully. "But we received a bit of information which, if true, was of the greatest importance. It seemed impossible, fantastic, but the hazard was so great, that even what amounted to a vague rumor warranted my going. You were to follow in a few months, without knowing I had gone ahead. Well, you already know most of the rest; but Earth's government doesn't even suspect the deadly peril it will soon have to face!"

"I'm afraid," Mark stated frankly, "that there are a lot of gaps in what I do know. I can tell, of course, that something mighty big is going on here. But what was that bit of information you received?"

"It goes back nearly a quarter of a century," Carston replied slowly, "and concerns a man named George Marnik. He, and his young wife, were among the first pioneers to venture out to Callisto. Those were the ruthless years, when the great Earth Monopolies stopped at nothing, were very often lawless, and usually got what they wanted." Carston paused to light a cigarette.

"George Marnik," he went on, "discovered one of the richest palladium veins on Callisto, and was developing it slowly. But—one of the Monopolies decided that it wanted Marnik's rich vein. In an ensuing struggle with some of the Monopoly's hired hoodlums, Marnik's wife was burned down brutally with an electro-gun. She left a daughter, about five years old, whom they had named Cynthia ... do you follow me?"

"Go on," Mark said in a cold, dry voice.

"Well, after the tragedy, George Marnik disappeared. He was never heard of again—except by the Earth Monopolies. They heard of him plenty. He terrorized the spacelanes for years, and more than one Monopoly went under, bankrupt by the incessant attacks on their ships by an enemy who had achieved a ruthlessness greater even than theirs. It was rumored that Marnik had vowed never to set foot on Earth again, and that his life was dedicated to the destruction of the Monopolies. He almost achieved his task, except that the Earth's government finally stepped in and dissolved the Monopolies." Carston paused and drew in a long breath.

"And then?" Mark urged, as if fascinated by this saga of another day.

"Why, then as you know, Emperor Bedrim of Venus achieved his famous alliance with Dar Vaajo of Mars, and together they sought to end Earth's domination and exploitation of their planets. You know about the bitter ten years' war—that's history. But when the Tri-Planetary Patrol was formed, during the truce that followed at the death of Bedrim, half the Solar System was searched for George Marnik's base and the rich plunder he was reputed to have there. It was all in vain. You can now see why! The Patrol has never been able to land on Vulcan."

"But if I remember correctly," Mark Denning said reminiscently, "George Marnik was certified as dead, as the years went by and piracy ceased. The records gave no information as to his daughter Cynthia, she was merely marked 'Missing.'"

"Precisely!" Carston assented.

"Then that vital bit of information you received must have concerned this base on Vulcan!"

"No. Worse! It concerned that George Marnik was alive and planning to end the Inter-Planetary Truce, to loose bitter war upon three worlds again!"

"Good Lord!" Mark was stunned. "But how? Venus and Mars were disarmed under Earth's dictated peace!"

"Yes, true. Mars is a small and dying race and not to be greatly feared. But Venus has never become reconciled. You know their unholy pride and their utter conviction that theirs are the greatest minds in our universe. Underneath the apparently peaceful surface, revolt's smoldering."

"Revolt fanned by Marnik?"

"Yes," Carston went on. "If George Marnik did have some fantastic plan in mind, Venus would be the likeliest place for him to find backing and followers. On the face of it, it seemed absurd, of course. But when the supply of Venusian Pearls dwindled to a mere trickle, and a criminal from the swamp was found dead millions of miles away, in the vicinity of Callisto, we knew then that there was a definite tie-up. It was time to investigate. George Marnik, the last space pirate, is alive—an ancient, embittered wreck living on hate!" Carston fell silent.

"And Commander Cynthia, his daughter," Mark whispered musingly, "is the one in charge now!"

"Yes. You wouldn't have believed it possible, eh? But remember, during those reckless years when her father was the most hunted man in the universe, Cynthia grew up with him, constantly at his side, learning all the tricks of a master at piracy. She must share her father's hatred for a world that only brought them tragedy and sorrow. Marnik's psychopathic, of course, his mind's warped; she must share his views, although at times I wonder ... sometimes when I look at her...." His voice dwindled.

"So it all boils down to one thing," Mark's analytical mind had already absorbed all the facts. "That Spacer that brought us here is a menace to civilization. Its speed alone is beyond anything we have at present; a fleet of them could wreak havoc on Earth's forces. Earth must be warned at all costs, Carston!"

Ernest Carston looked at Mark pityingly, lines of weariness and anxiety creasing his face. "Do you think," he said slowly, "if there were any way out, I would be here? Vulcan and the Venus Swamp both have a thing in common: there's no escape, except through Marnik. Commander Cynthia only carries out his orders."

"But she's a woman, Carston. If she could be made to realize what another Inter-Planetary war means—the awful carnage, the destruction—perhaps she could somehow be reached!"

"I wish that were possible!" Carston exclaimed fervently. "But she's like a being that's hypnotized. George Marnik must dominate her completely, old and decrepit as he must be. Remember, it's the only life she's ever known. He must be the only being she's ever loved."

"Have you any concrete knowledge of their plans?"

"No. Only deductions. Dar Vaajo, ruler of Mars, was here three weeks ago. Cynthia brought him. For hours he was with Marnik in the latter's palace. That can only mean one thing, of course. And then there's the new metal. That is the real problem and the real menace!"

"Metal? A new alloy?" Mark Denning was all interest.

"Nothing so simple as that," Carston explained with tragic calm. "A metal unique in the universe! A new, allotropic form of beryllium which beyond a certain temperature reacts by hardening in direct ratio to pressure and heat! Once cast, it is literally heat and blast proof, and so light that it triples efficiency in relation to fuel consumption. And George Marnik's building, has been building, a fleet of these Super-Spacers!"

"I suppose they're mining that metal here?" Mark's face was white.

"Yes, on the sunward side of Vulcan! That's what swamp convicts are brought here for."

"And I suppose either the ore, or the smelted metal's being shipped to secret bases on Mars and Venus?" Mark's voice was strained and opaque.

"Not yet, Earthman!" The alien voice was at once like a whiplash and like a fragment of music. Both men whirled about.

Out of the shadows, as if emerging from the bizarre scene of tortured rocks and twisted cavern-walls, stepped a slender figure with pendant wings.

"Aladdo!" Mark felt a curious tingling at sight of his Venusian friend, as he went forward with hands outstretched.

It was nothing compared to the shock mirrored on Carston's face. "Aladdian!" he too exclaimed, a mixture of despair and impotent rage in his voice.

"Peace, lower order!" Aladdo laughed, but hiding his hands behind his back as he addressed Mark. "I shall not trust my hands to you again. It is enough to have crippled wings!" The Venusian stared full into Carston's eyes as he uttered the last words significantly, and the latter's face turned deep red.

"Are you still a guest? Where are they keeping you? I've missed you...." Mark turned to Carston, his face alight. "Aladdo saved my life in the swamp!"

"I'm staying with the Commander and her father. It is a small universe after all," he added, turning to Carston, "eh, Colonel?"

"You know each other?" Mark asked, surprised.

Carston's face reddened and then paled. "I'm a servant of my Government," he answered the Venusian stiffly. "My duty is to obey, not to question orders, Princess!"

"What is all this? What do you mean, 'Princess'? Will someone explain?" Mark was exasperated.

"Aladdian's the daughter of the late Emperor Bedrim of Venus," Carston said, then fell silent.

A look at the Venusian's smiling face told Mark it was true. His own face was ludicrous, his mouth partly open, for the moment speechless. Then a dark flush of anger swept up like a tide to the roots of his hair.

"A girl ... a defenseless girl that's never committed a crime in her life, condemned to that Venus Swamp! To the most ghastly, the most cruel living-death in the universe...." Words failed him as he shook with rage. "What was Earth's Government thinking of? The Council must have been mad!" Mark Denning choked.

"Careful!" Ernest Carston warned. "Remember you're an Earthman, Denning. To question the Council is treason!"

"Treason be damned, and the Council too!" Mark raged. "There are limits! There's no reason for that Prison Swamp except greed. Better atom-blast habitual criminals than to condemn them there; that is worse than any crime!" He towered above Carston, a formidable engine of destruction, his face a mask of fury.

Then a tiny, fragile hand was on his arm and the Venusian's calm voice rose in the brief silence, "It is too late to remould the past. But we can refashion the immediate future, Mark Denning."

"Can we? How? It seems that Marnik and Commander Cynthia hold all the cards!"

"Not all," Aladdian shook her exquisite head. "They have perfected their plans for the immediate future—but we can be the element of the unpredictable!"

"You mean ... you're not in sympathy with their plans? That you won't serve as a rallying point to sway the masses of Venus?" Carston looked bewildered. "I thought when I saw you, that was the reason they'd brought you here! We know that your people would revolt at a word from you, Princess! That's what our Government feared."

"I know. And I will not lead my people to an hecatomb in space. But neither will the Earth continue to exploit my planet and debauch my people. This time, there will be a peace and it will be equitable." Aladdian had drawn herself to a full four feet eleven inches, and there was an imperious note in her voice. Carston stood silent and grim.

Mark, looking at his Venusian friend anew, thought irrelevantly that, with the spike-heeled sandals of Earth, Aladdian would be only slightly under the average height of an Earth girl. He shook his head irritably. This was no time to ponder inconsequential things.

"Aladdian," he said, "do you know much of their plans and what is being done with this new metal?"

"Partly. We have discussed ways and means since my arrival here. George Marnik is very impatient; I think he fears he may die before he can see his plans carried through. First he will equip a fleet equal or superior to Earth's forces. Then he will take over Callisto, the new Gibraltar, between the inner and outer planets, after which he will complete an alliance with Venus and Mars. He does not plan to conquer Earth, he knows it would take years; but his scheme would bottle your planet, relegate it to the status of a minor power, without inter-planetary colonies, without outer revenues. Venus and Mars alone would expand in the Solar System."

"For a while," Mark said laconically. "Mars would never be content with anything short of complete rule, as long as Dar Vaajo lives! And the metal?..."

"It is smelted here under a secret process, and parts for the space cruisers and special rockets manufactured. Then they are stored in one of the asteroids where they will be assembled later into a fleet. That is all the data I have now."

"But this Luhor," Mark asked, "what is his real status? Commander Cynthia seems to trust him implicitly."

"She does," Aladdian replied. "He's an old friend of George Marnik, one of his trusted lieutenants from the pirate days. But he's a cold devil—combines the worst from both Venusian and Martian. Don't under-estimate him ... he can be deadly!"

"I've had occasion to see that," Mark said dryly.

"They're all deadly in this deadly little planet!" Carston said vehemently. He looked far older than his scant thirty years, his face was bleak and haggard.

"But this is heaven in comparison with the Prison Swamp," Aladdian told him coldly. She seemed to have a determined animosity toward the high-ranking Earth official.

"It wasn't I who sent you there!"

"No. It was only your relentless pursuit that eventually resulted in my capture," the Venusian answered, "and it was only you who cut the tendons of my wings. Oh, I know—you were only acting under orders."

Aladdian was smiling again as she turned back to Mark. "We had better all go back to our quarters now, but it would be best if we did not return together." She moved away, then added: "Watch Luhor, Mark; I am not sure, but I think he too is part of the 'unpredictable.'"

Mark watched her slim figure, with the azure wings and tight-curling, blue-black hair, melt away into the shadows.

"I will see you tomorrow," her voice floated back like a golden molten stream.

"Only twenty-two men, Luhor?" Commander Cynthia Marnik stood very straight and very slim in the center of the air-lock, surveying the new men plus a sprinkling of others, preparatory to the trip outside. "Even less than the last trip!" Annoyance creased a frown between her blue eyes.

"All we can spare, Commander. Every available man's at the furnaces; your father has ordered it so." Turning to the waiting men, Luhor began to instruct them in the operation of their metal surface suits.

"As you can see, they're two suits in one," he explained tersely, "operating on the vacuum principle. Here's the cooling device between each metal sheathing. You'll have to bear more heat than you've ever endured, but don't get panicky. Here's where you regulate the oxygen flow into the helmet." He indicated a little dial.

Each man was assigned to a wide, flat-bottomed sled which he was to pull behind him. They were also equipped with curious, spur-like picks. Mark failed to understand the reason for such primitive methods, but remained discreetly silent.

"You men who have made the trip before, help the new arrivals," Luhor ordered curtly. Mark noted that Luhor himself was not going to accompany them, but Cynthia Marnik was already encased in her suit. Ernest Carston went over to help her adjust the helmet.

"I can manage quite all right, thank you," she said. But it did not escape Mark that her voice was soft and that she smiled at Carston. Carston came over to give Mark a hand. He smiled reassuringly through his helmet's visiplate, then flicking on Mark's radio-phone, said briefly:

"Stay close to me! I'm one of the veterans."

"Bring Vulc, we're about ready," the Commander's voice sounded startlingly inside Mark's headpiece.

"Who's Vulc?" Mark asked Carston in a whisper.

Before the latter could answer, there was a sudden unearthly rumbling behind them. Mark turned, stared, then froze in his tracks. A huge, awesome apparition was lumbering in a straight line for the Commander. It was vaguely human in that it possessed a head, torso, four limbs of elephantine proportions, and it waddled upright. But the human resemblance went no further.

The creature's skin, if skin it was, gleamed silvery metallic and gave the impression of being fluid! It reminded Mark of nothing so much as an immense blob of mercury that might at any moment collapse into a puddle and spread over the floor.

But Vulc didn't collapse. He approached the Commander and stood docilely waiting. She patted the creature's arm and then handed him a package of something. Vulc rumbled his appreciation and poured the contents into a gash that appeared in his face. Then he waddled contentedly to a large sled and took up the reins.

"Wow! Where did you ever dig up that?" Mark turned white-faced to Carston.

"Vulc? He's a native of this planet, but more than that, he's our ambassador of peace!"

The Commander's crisp voice made further conversation impossible. "Single file, you men. Stay as close to each other as the sleds will permit. Carston, you stay in the middle, as usual, and watch out for the Blitzees. If you men work hard, we should be back within ten hours."

Silently the outer door of the lock slid open and the men began to file out, with the gigantic Vulc at the head. The brightness was intense, although they were on the planet's "dark side." Shimmering waves of heat danced before them over the flat terrain.

At the very end of the line Commander Cynthia kept pace with them.

"What did you mean by 'ambassador of peace,' Carston?" Mark had purposefully fallen into line next to him.

"Adjust your radio-phone to its shortest distance communication," Carston directed him, "so it will be inaudible to anyone else." As Mark did so, Carston continued, "We couldn't get out the metal we're after, without Vulc. His home is on the Neutral strip where we're going—that part of the planet where the outward and sunward side meet. All of Vulc's kin are there, and they resent us. They have attacked us before. We bring Vulc as an evidence of friendly intentions; they have a speech of sorts, and Vulc's supposed to pacify them."

"What was it the Commander gave him before we left?"

"Powdered metal, filings, and tiny scraps from the factories. That's what's in those big sacks up there on Vulc's sled—a peace offering for his people."

"They subsist on metal!" Mark Denning was aghast.

"Everything on this planet does—that is, everything native to it. And they're impervious to heat, of course. If Vulc had not been captured by George Marnik almost immediately after it was born, it would never have been conditioned to the comparatively cool atmosphere of the Base."

In silence they trudged mile after mile, following the same line of black hills that housed their Base. Mark marvelled at how comfortable the vacuum suits were, but he knew the real heat hadn't started yet.

It came presently, as they veered further outward from the hills. The heat increased steadily and became more intense than anything Mark had ever experienced. Perspiration dripped stickily within his suit. He wanted to wipe his face but couldn't; he could only shake his head to keep the sweat from his eyes.

But there was no keeping the mirages from his eyes. In every direction the terrain rocked and rolled under huge undulating hazes of heat. Horizons leaped at him in wave after wave, and fled away again. The men ahead seemed to do fantastic dances.

They no longer trod on rock. The ground beneath was soft, white and leprous looking, powdery almost as dust. Mark felt it hot around his metal-clad ankles. Now he realized the reason for the flat-bottomed sleds. He knew, too, that a spaceship could never venture over here and get back safely; compasses and magniplates and everything else would go haywire. Peering ahead, he discerned Vulc's fantastic bulk which now had turned a glowing cherry red! He shuddered at the thought of what would happen to a man suddenly bereft of the protecting vacuum suit.

Out of the silence, a vast rumbling sound rose like magnified thunder. Mark saw Carston fumble with his radio-phone then peer all about into the haze.

"Blitzees coming!" he yelled into his instrument.

Everyone stopped. Mark followed Carston's line of sight, but he couldn't see a thing.

"Swarm coming from the left!" Carston yelled again.

The Commander moved hurriedly along the line. "Lie down everyone, face to the left! Upend your sleds and if you value your lives, stay behind them!"

For a second all was confusion as the men flung themselves to the powdery soil; then a metal barrier sprang up as the sleds came end to end. Still nothing could be seen.

Suddenly then they came. The air was blue from crackling sparks as dozens of the Blitzees struck the sleds with the impact of bullets. A sound like the humming of millions of hornets was in their ears, as the greater part of the swarm passed overhead. Mark had a confused vision of electric blue streaks that writhed and zig-zagged, landed and leaped again, propelling themselves blindly. As suddenly as it had come, the danger was over.

The men arose somewhat shakily. The ground about them was strewn with the snake-like Blitzees. Mark picked one up and found it to be metallic, about five inches in length, transparent blue in color. The head was triangular, eyeless; along its back Mark felt a thin, wiry sort of filament!

"They're like living bolts of electricity," Carston told him. "They seem to short-circuit themselves when they strike the sleds." The caravan continued.

Hours later they arrived at their destination, a small rise in the terrain before them, covered with glittering crystals in huge, boulder-like lumps. The sides of the little hill was composed of the same ore, apparently in limitless amount.

But as if guarding it against them, rows of redly-glowing Vulcs stood motionless, elephantine, facing them. Mark couldn't tell whether they were friendly or hostile. To him there was no expression to be seen on those fluid heads. But Commander Cynthia's Vulc went over to his henchmen and jabbered in rumbling noises, pointing to the huge sacks on his own sled. Presently three of the Vulcs came over and snatched at the sacks, opened them and grabbed handfuls of the metallic filings. Seemingly satisfied, the trio lumbered off followed by the rest, bearing the sacks.

The men began to work then, loading the ore on the sleds and breaking it with their small hand-picks. Even to have come here was bad enough, and to breathe was an agony—but to work, in this inferno of unimaginable heat and blinding glare, was a nightmare. More than once Mark felt himself sway, and stood quite still until the dizziness passed. One of the men pitched forward and lay still.

Commander Cynthia examined the fallen man. She gestured to Vulc who grasped him and stretched him over the ore in his own sled. The Commander's face was drawn and white through the visiplate, and her eyes were tragic. Mark was seeing evidences today that she was not entirely cold and heartless, as he had at first thought.

It seemed an eternity before they were through with their task. At last the sleds were loaded to capacity, and they rested a while before starting the return journey.

They could only pull the heavy sleds slowly now, and only the knowledge that every mile brought them nearer to the Base, away from this suffocating hell, spurred them on.

After a while the Commander called a halt, and the men sank down against their sleds like puppets whose strings have been cut. There was a strange absence of curses and rebellion against the appalling experience they were undergoing; there was not enough strength left for that.

Then Mark saw Commander Cynthia suddenly stand up. Through the visiplate her eyes were wide, and they mirrored horror!

"Up on your feet, every man of you! Test your oxygen tanks—quickly!" Her voice was tense with suppressed emotion.

Something in her tone seemed to cut a path through the heat-ridden lethargy of their minds, for the men staggered to their feet, hands fumbling for the testing buttons.

Mark found his, and his eyes darted to the tiny dial inside his helmet. The pointer swung and registered one hour. Frantically he pressed the button again; once more the pointer inexorably indicated the same period of time.

"One hour!" he breathed, stunned. That was barely a third of the time it would take to return to the Base! Out of the dancing mirage before him the alabaster face of Aladdian seemed to float and smile. With infinite, pain-laden regret Mark realized that unless a miracle happened he would never see her again, and now for the first time it dawned on him how much he wanted to.

Around him the men were milling in confusion, panic-stricken. Their few hours' stay at the Base had been like a brief taste of heaven, and life had become precious once more.

"All of us can't get back," the Commander was saying. "But there's enough oxygen among us to permit seven, at most eight, to do so. I'm willing to draw lots with the rest of you. But decide quickly! Every instant is precious!"

"No!" a man screamed hysterically, near the breaking point. "I'd rather take my chances...." His voice ended in a hoarse sob.

Then a strange thing happened. Ernest Carston, white-faced and unsteady, stepped forward.

"You can take my supply, Commander Cynthia," he offered. "You need not draw lots; let the men do that."

She waved him aside and shook her head, but her eyes softened gratefully. She glanced at the teletimer at her wrist. "I will give you men just thirty seconds to make your decision; otherwise I will be forced to make it."

But from the group came no decision, only sullen argument and frantic babbling. Some of them measured the distance between them and the girl, eying hungrily the atom-blast guns at either side of her wrist.

"What a woman!" Carston murmured to himself, lost in admiration. But Mark heard him.

"Yes, she is magnificent," he agreed in a dry croak. "A pity all that courage and...." He checked himself and fell dully silent again.

It was then that Mark saw something or thought he did, far away, shimmering through the dancing heat. He wiped the sparkling dust from his visiplate and strained his eyes desperately, praying that it was not a mirage. He clutched at Carston and pointed.

"The hills ... are those the hills? Our hills?"

Carston nodded dumbly. At last he managed to croak, "Yes, but the entrance is miles away ... at the other end."

"But there may be a chance! Remember Aladdian, the corridors—a honeycomb of caverns? Commander!" Mark turned up his radio-phone, his voice drowning out the babble of the men. "How far is that range of hills, Commander?"

She followed his pointing arm. "A little less than an hour, at its closest point."

"And the system of caverns—how far does it extend? Aren't those hills practically honeycombed their entire length? We might find—"

"Wait!" The word came explosively, as her mind darted into the past, down the corridor of years. "Yes, I remember ... some of the caverns did lead out to this side, and father sealed them to make the Base airtight...." She gazed at the distant hills as if trying to recapture a forgotten scene. And a bulky shape hurtled forward, clawing for the weapons at her waist.

But Carston had been watching. He thrust out a metal-shod foot and the convict went sprawling ludicrously into the swirling white dust.

"Thank you, again!" the Commander said in a whisper. "This trip has been a revelation—in so many ways." Her face was as white as the powdery soil underfoot, and she was near collapse; but from some unknown source she still drew from enough strength reserve to maintain her authority. Hands on her atom-blast guns, she faced the men.

"Into line as before. We've got to make the hills in less than one hour. Leave the sleds. It's the hills or your lives!"

The effect was miraculous. Suddenly they were docile, grasping at the slender hope she offered them and content to have her bear the burden. Quickly they fell into line, with Vulc leading the way again. The men needed no urging; the knowledge that they only had one more hour of oxygen was enough.

If their trek up to now had been a nightmare, this latter stage surpassed even the most secret refinements of a Martian torture-chamber. In an agony of slowness the minutes lengthened and seemed to stand still. The low range of hills seemed to dance mockingly and recede into the distance beyond the horizon's endless rim. In addition now to the heat in their brains and the glare in their eyes, their lungs were tortured as they regulated the oxygen intake-valves to the barest minimum.

After an eternity in which even memory seemed to have fled, they were walking on rock and the heat began imperceptibly to abate. Directly before them, the hills rose out of the torturing blaze. Cries that were little more than miserable croakings echoed through the radio-phones as the men broke ranks; they staggered on, holding to each other for support.

Mark looked around for the Commander, and saw her clutching at Carston's shoulder for support, while his arm was about her waist, half-holding her up. The girl disengaged herself and by sheer will-power drove toward the base of the low-lying cliffs before them.

"Wait!" she ordered.

She stopped, and the men halted behind her, weaving on their feet. She stared around us as if desperately trying to recall something deeply imbedded in the matrix of the past; then she veered to the right, waving for Vulc and the men to follow.

Mark tested his oxygen tank and glanced at the dial again. It read "ten minutes." It was a race with time which now, perversely, seemed to be rushing by on flying feet.

Thirty yards further, the cliffs curved in sharply. Rounding it, the Commander gave a glad cry. In the center was a gigantic metal door, hermetically sealing what had once been the entrance to a cave. The men staggered forward, some of them clawing feebly at the barrier. Others sank wordlessly to the rocky ground. They weren't even sure that beyond that metal wall they would find life-giving air.

The Commander had drawn both atom-pistols, and stood there surveying the barrier as if paralyzed.

"What are you waiting for?" Mark pressed forward. "In minutes, the men will be dying! Blast an opening!"

For the very first time, Mark saw her hesitant, indecisive, as if unable to think. "But the air ..." she managed to gasp. "It will escape from the caves, clear back to the Base! All those men there ... and father ... their lives are more important than ours!"

In those brief seconds Mark admired her. Despite the deadly threat to the Earth she embodied, he admired her for her humanity and loyalty to the men at the Base. But there was no time to lose. He made her decision superfluous.

"We've got to chance it!" With a swift, darting movement he wrested an atom-blast gun from her hand and discharged it steadily at the metal door, at a point just above the ground. A second later she was helping him with the other gun. Instantly the metal turned fiery red, then white, and finally a circular section fell outward with a hissing rush of air.

"Dive in, men!" With the dregs of a strength he didn't know he still possessed, Mark grasped the men and pushed them toward the aperture, helped shove them through. "Throw your helmets back!" he shouted. "In you go," he told the Commander, and despite her protests he lifted her off her feet, almost handing her through the blasted entrance.

Only Vulc and Mark were left. As the Earthman crawled through, he motioned for Vulc to follow. The metallic being dropped to all fours and pushed in his arms, his head, his massive shoulders. His sides scraped the still hot edges of the aperture. And there he stuck. The men inside grasped his arms and pulled, but in vain. Vulc gazed ludicrously from side to side and heaved prodigiously, but in vain. The Vulcanian seemed molded to the hole.

"Wait! Tell him not to struggle, not to move!" Mark was exultant as he turned to the girl. "The air's no longer rushing away; if he'll only remain there until we can get back with equipment to seal that hole, the danger's over!"

Vulc seemed to be pondering; his limbs sprawled like a distorted swastika, and on his usually blank, fluid face was something like surprise. In the dim recesses of his alien mind he could find no parallel to this.

The Commander spoke to him slowly, with desperate emphasis; reaching into a pocket of her suit, she brought out another package of powdered metal which Vulc promptly stuffed into his mouth. "He understands," she said at last. "But I'll leave one of you here with him, to be certain he does."

For a while they rested, lying prone, helmets thrown back, luxuriating in the comparative coolness and the draughts of pure air. All were thirsty, their throats parched and aching. But the nightmare was over. Presently the Commander rose to her feet and gave the order to march. She was almost her usual self again, detached, impersonal. But she was white to the lips and her eyes were electric as she said:

"Luhor will pay for this!"

She barely breathed it, but Mark heard her. And he knew what she meant. It was Luhor who had prepared the units of oxygen for the suits.

VII

Under the dim illumination maintained even as far as these outlying caves, the group went grimly on. Their passage through the tortuous corridors was dotted by discarded vacuum suits. But no echoes drifted back to them from the activity of the Base.

Twice they lost their way, ending up against blank rock walls and retracing their steps. But at last the inter-connecting tunnel chain became familiar to the Commander.

"She blames Luhor for the oxygen business!" Mark murmured to Carston walking beside him.

"Should!" Carston exclaimed laconically, grimly. "Aladdian warned us against Luhor, remember? There'll be hell to pay when we get back! Any monkey-wrench thrown into the machinery of their plans, helps the Earth. I hope...."

He broke off, staring moodily ahead.

"She's far more human than you think," Mark Denning said softly.

"Yes, I noticed that today." Carston's voice sounded glad. "It's only the Spartan training she learned while cruising the spacelanes with her piratical father that keeps her up—that, and the old man's insane will, driving her on through a sense of loyalty to him."

They were so near to the Base now that Mark expected momentarily to hear the clang of metal in the factories, the voices of workmen. His heart quickened at the thought of seeing Aladdian, and he forgot his weariness in embroidering upon that thought.

But the ominous stillness remained unbroken.

They entered the final corridor leading to the vast central chamber. The Commander ran forward, with the anxious men close behind her. They entered the grotto. The subterranean Base extended into the distance before their startled, unbelieving eyes.

"What—" Cynthia began bewilderedly.

It was a dead city, soundless and inert. Under the distant cavern roof it had the air of a ghost town drained of all life.

Mark's heart leaped into his mouth. "Aladdian!" he cried involuntarily, and his hands clenched in an agony of anxiety of helpless rage.

Commander Cynthia was already running toward the palace, a deathly fear mirrored in her eyes.

The men had stopped uncertainly, too weary and exhausted to understand. Then driven by a single thought, they staggered off to their building in search of water and food.

Scarcely had the echoes of Mark's cry stopped reverberating, when from the shadows of a transverse corridor emerged the elfin figure of the Venusian.

Aladdian gazed at Mark as if he had returned from the dead. She closed her eyes, swayed a little. Mark caught her in his arms. He too was silent. No words would serve.

"To the palace!" she finally breathed, gently disengaging herself. Followed by Carston, they hurried to the imposing building where old George Marnik reigned. Aladdian led them swiftly through the panelled outer hall, through the magnificent salon where the loot from many years was a fabulous welter of wealth. Mark had no eyes for it now. They did not stop until they reached the inner chambers and finally came to George Marnik's room, where no one but Cynthia was ever permitted.

Lying grotesquely twisted on the priceless Martian tapestry that covered the bed, the ancient pirate was dead. Cynthia Marnik was kneeling beside him, weeping softly. There was no doubt as to the manner of his death. The pencil-thin opening through his temple could only have been done by an atom-blast.

"Luhor," Aladdian said, indicating the wound with a gesture.

They withdrew, leaving Cynthia alone with her grief. The two men followed the Venusian girl to the immense palace dining-room. With her own hands she served them food and drink, asking no questions, uttering no words until their vast hunger and thirst were appeased. Then she sat down.

"And so," she began without preamble, "the unpredictable has entered." At their rush of questions she held up a hand. "Let me explain," she begged. "I can do it briefly if you are silent. After you left, Luhor ordered every man here to go aboard the Spacer. He blasted down two or three who refused; you will find them in the air-lock. Previous to that, I heard him arguing with George Marnik. He atom-blasted Marnik from behind. I know, because I deliberately contacted his mind, although the effort nearly drove me mad; it is not easy for us to tune to an alien intellect, but Luhor being partly Venusian helped."

"The miracle is that he didn't take you with him," Carston ventured. "You were too valuable to leave behind!"

"When we came here yesterday," she said simply, "I studied the plans of these caverns. When I learned what was in Luhor's mind, I hid in a maze of abandoned corridors. They searched for me a while, but since he plans to return, he gave up the search for the present. He had no time to waste! The Patrol has been to the Prison Swamp; failing to find either of you, and learning of my disappearance, Earth has mobilized its fleet!"

"How—how do you know this?" Both men leaned tensely forward.

"Through the ethero-magnum George Marnik has in his laboratory here—the most powerful receiving and transmission instrument I've ever seen, greater even than the ethero-magnum we have on Venus!"

"So that's how he kept always a step ahead of the Patrol," Carston mused. "The scientists he used to kidnap from space-liners—he must have forced them to perfect scientific inventions here!"

"Yes," the Venusian girl nodded, "but I haven't told you the most important part, Luhor's plan. If he succeeds, there will be no peace. He has taken the men to the asteroid where Marnik's new fleet of space vessels are to be assembled. But worse than that—they are also to fit gigantic rockets to the asteroid itself! It is very dense, and greatly pitted, which simplifies things. With the rockets of this new metal he can guide the asteroid's course! It will be the terror of space, literally invulnerable, with banks of immense electro-cannon and atom-blasts, and cradling a swarm of the new Spacers!"

Ernest Carston could only hold his head in his hands. Earth's greatest enemy had died in Marnik, but a greater, more ruthless one had arisen in Luhor!

"Go on, Aladdian, please," Mark's tones were reassuring.

"Luhor does not suspect that I contacted his mind. He believes all of you have died in the wastes—I got that from his mind, too. Since he will return, because Vulcan's to be the seat of his empire, and he wants me, we have time to plan how we are going to receive him. He's persuaded that the only living being on Vulcan now is a defenseless girl." She smiled enigmatically.

"But that asteroid! That hellish threat to Earth!" Carston was beside himself.

"And to Venus, and Mars," Aladdian reminded him gently. "It will take months for those rockets to be installed, Earthman. He will be here long before that, I am certain of it—as only a woman can be certain." She raised her eyes and gazed at the doorway.

Framed at the entrance to the dining-room, Cynthia Marnik stood looking somberly and dry-eyed. Aladdian rose swiftly and went over to her.

"My dear ..." the Venusian said softly, a world of compassion in her voice. Cynthia smiled wanly and took the tumbler of water that Carston extended to her. She drank dazedly and then sat down with the inexpressible weariness of one whose world has come tumbling down about her head. Aladdian darted to the kitchen and upon returning made the Earth girl drink a cup of concentrate, then led her away, to her bedroom. "You must sleep," Aladdian was saying softly, monotonously, with a hypnotic cadence in her voice.

"I wonder if it will be safe to arm the men?" Carston questioned thoughtfully, his mind grappling with the problem.

"That's a chance we'll have to take," Mark Denning replied. "A few among them are not really hardened criminals, but are politicals, as you know. I think they will all fight for us, provided we can offer them freedom when, and if, we win."

"I can make them no promises not sanctioned by the Earth Council," Carston said stiffly. "Remember, their lives are forfeit!"

"And so will ours be, if you don't snap out of that single-track rut in which you've grooved your brain!" Mark exclaimed acidly. "Council or no Council, the Earth, Venus, Mars and the colonies must be saved! This is no time to quibble about ethics. A hell of a lot will be left of your Council if we don't stop Luhor!"

"You startle me sometimes, Mark Denning. You do not sound as a true servant of the Earth State!"

"Because to you," Mark said slowly, "the State is the few decrepit members calling themselves the Council, and the top-heavy Government of Earth. But to me, the 'State' are the millions and billions of human beings whose destinies are ruled by a self-appointed few, and who are now facing even a worse slavery if we don't succeed in being what Aladdian calls 'the unpredictable!'"

Carston's face flushed with anger. He drew himself to his full height as he said, "I represent the Government of Earth, which rules the Planets—and I am your superior officer!"

"You're wrong!" Mark Denning countered, rising too. "I'm a free agent as of this moment, and recognize no superior. I'll not be hamstrung by rules and regulations which can't serve us now, Carston!"

"No need to quarrel," Aladdian spoke placidly from the doorway where, unnoticed, she had been listening. "Because only I and Cynthia can make terms with Earth, if we survive."

"You and Commander Cynthia?" Carston exclaimed. "Both of your lives have been forfeit. I doubt if the Council will be willing to listen to any terms coming from you."

Mark Denning's face was stained by a dull flush, and he took a step forward; but Aladdian laid her hand lightly on his arm and stopped him.

"The Colonel belongs to the old order," she said very softly, "it is difficult for him to adjust himself to a changing universe. But this time it is beyond his control."

"Why?" Carston uttered the word grimly.

"Because through the ethero-magnum I have already warned Venus and Mars. My planet is being mobilized. Mars will soon take the necessary steps. But the most important reason of all, is that Earth has no means of landing a fleet on Vulcan, does not know the location of Luhor's asteroid, and does not even suspect the existence of the new allotropic metal."

Carston looked baffled as the Venusian girl spoke, then turned to Mark Denning with the expression of a man who for once felt hopelessly lost.

"I can promise the men who aid us a fortune to each," Aladdian continued, "and the leisure to spend it—on Venus. As for the Earth," she said thoughtfully—"only Commander Cynthia and I know the formula for the new metal, and the location of the asteroid!"

"I will talk to the men!" Mark said with a finality that left no doubt. "Let them rest for a few hours, then I'll see to it that they're on our side. I know how to rouse them. Wait until they learn that Luhor short-changed them on oxygen! How much backing can you expect from Venus, Aladdian?"

"To the last man," she said quietly. "They have already seen me through the ethero-magnum, and heard my story. I intercepted the Tri-Planetary Beam as the Earth broadcast, and transmitted our beam along their channel. By the time Earth's Government set out their interceptor to neutralize my beam, it was already too late; the three planets are seething!"

"And Luhor? Wouldn't he have picked up your beam on the Spacer and heard you?"

Aladdian shrugged. "He knows I'm here. The confusion created by my broadcast only served to aid his plans for the moment. He has nothing to fear, as far as he knows. A war between the planets would only make his conquest simpler."

"And knowing that," Carston spoke bitterly, "you still broadcast your story and let your image be seen! Do you suppose Venus will ever be content now with anything short of war?"

"Yes, I do. We are intelligent beings, not Martian atavisms, nor do we have your Earth's insane will to Power. We only want peace and with it freedom. But the game is ruthless, Carston, the universe is the stake!" Aladdian turned to leave.

"Mark," she said gently from the doorway, "Cynthia can show you where the arsenal is located; you'll find every imaginable weapon. Also, you had better study the combination that opens the air-locks, and the synchronized degravitators. I suspect that Luhor will be back here soon—very soon."

Suddenly the terrific reaction of that day hit Mark with sickening impact. He was hardly able to rise to his feet. Carston was slumped over the table; Mark went over and shook him gently, and somehow aided the older man to his feet. Together they went into the fabulously furnished salon, and unable to go any further, threw themselves on couches piled with priceless rugs and embroidered scarves from the various planets. Carston instantly was asleep.

Despite his utter weariness, Mark slept fitfully, awakening and dropping back to sleep as the hours passed in their eternal caravan. Something clamored at the back of his brain, something he had forgotten because of the major crisis they'd had to confront on their return to the Base.

And suddenly he sat upright. The overhead lights had automatically dimmed, no one was stirring. With a shock, Mark had remembered Vulc and the man they had left to watch him! He leaped to his feet, aching in every bone, and ran to the building where the men were quartered.

"If Vulc gets tired of waiting and wriggles through that hole!..." He tried not to think of the rest.

He burst into the building and roused the men. "Up, on your feet, there's no time to waste!" His terrible urgency instilled them with a nameless fear, prodding them as nothing else would have done.

"Your lives are at stake," he told them bluntly, and reminded them of Vulc. "At any moment he might decide he's waited long enough. Who among you knows how to repair that breach?"

Three of the men came forward. "All right," Mark told them, "hurry to the shops and get what instruments and materials you need—but hurry!"

The men could not return to sleep now, knowing that at any moment the Base's life-giving air might go rushing away. This emergency, following so close upon the other hardships of the day, seemed too much. Mark saw that they were all very near the breaking point. Now was the psychological moment to speak to them, and by giving them the entire picture, lift them above the present crisis as well as inspire them with hope for the future.

Calmly he told of Luhor's treachery in giving them a short oxygen supply, with the intention of murdering them all. Deliberately, with calculated phrases, he aroused their hatred and thirst for revenge.

Mark paused, letting it sink in, giving time for their dark passions to reach a peak. Then he told of Luhor's asteroid, and the threat to the planets. He dangled before their eyes the promise of untold wealth, and freedom on Venus for the rest of their lives. To give his promises authority and weight, he made no bones about the fact that he was a high operative of the Tri-Planetary Bureau of Prisons—but he climaxed it with the guarantee of a blanket pardon from the Earth Council itself.

"You will see and hear the Council on the ethero-magnum, but we shall be making the terms," Mark Denning said forcefully. "There's no trick in this, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose! In the Swamp, your lives were forfeit; they were forfeit here on Vulcan too. I promise you wealth on Venus, and the freedom you'll never have any other way! Who's with me?"

He need not have asked, for the clamor that answered him was affirmative and unanimous. Gone for the moment was their fatigue, as they embroidered upon the possibilities of the days to come.

Not until the trio returned from repairing the breach, bringing Vulc with them, did the men return to their sleep with the first and only hope they had had in years. Only Mark Denning realized the trials to come. These few men had been won over easily. Not so easy would be the negotiated terms with Earth. The Earth Government had won its dominance over the System the hard way, only after a bitter ten-years' inter-planetary war, and it would not easily relinquish its position.

VIII

The days that followed were eternities to the little group left stranded on Vulcan Base. Nerves were taut and tempers were short. Every man there, as well as the two women, realized that their very lives as well as the fate of the System depended on the day of Luhor's return from the asteroid.

Mark had aroused the men too well. They were impatient and restless. They didn't want their freedom handed to them on a silver platter, they wanted to fight for it. Aladdian had said Luhor would be back soon—very soon. Mark questioned her about it.

"Even with that fast Spacer," Aladdian replied, "it will take him several days to get out to that asteroid and back again. Cynthia tells me her father sent a crew of men there a month ago, to assemble the new Spacers. Luhor will undoubtedly win them all to his side, and bring half of them back to continue the work here. Cynthia says—"

"Cynthia seems to have confided a lot in you!" Mark exclaimed with a sudden, unexplainable suspicion.

Aladdian smiled wearily, and slowly shook her head. "You are demoted back to the lower order, Mark Denning," she said with a hint of the same mockery Mark had known in the Swamp. "Cynthia Marnik needs our help now. She only carried out her father's orders, but now that the dynasty is crumbling about her ears, she's bewildered and a little frightened. Something else has happened to her too, for the first time in her life."

"What's that?"

"Never mind," Aladdian said enigmatically. "Ernest Carston knows. It will turn out all right. Meanwhile you had better put the men here to work, it will help pass the time. Goodbye ... Mark." Like an azure-winged elf she hurried back to the laboratory where she spent most of her time.

That was the first instance Mark could remember when Aladdian had called him by his first name, and he liked it.

He called the men together and assigned them to posts at the furnaces, where they continued to turn out the metal that would be fashioned into the super rocket-tubes. Earth was massing its fleet and Venus was mobilizing. Mark realized that if a truce could not be called, they would need every one of the outlaw Spacers on the asteroid, and others as well. He took a few of the men with him to the arsenal, where they began to get every available weapon in readiness for the Tri-Planetary showdown that was sure to come.

"Tell the men to stop work," Aladdian said to Mark two days later, "then bring them to the laboratory. They have as much right as we to know what is happening. I have been working on the ethero-magnum sender, and I shall try to contact both Venus and Earth."

They gathered in the magnificent laboratory George Marnik had erected. Here, various machines were arranged in preponderant array, but all were dwarfed by the imposing ethero-magnum in the center of the room. Hidden atomomotors hummed a smooth and powerful threnody. The control panel, as tall as Aladdian herself, connected to huge coils of radical design which themselves led to the televise, a huge sensitized sheet of metal reaching clear up to the ceiling.

Carston, an Earth patriot to the end, watched these activities with misgivings. But he was silent, curiously so, and Mark wondered at it.

Mark was soon to know the reason for Carston's silence, and to realize that the Earth official did not give up so easily....

"I want you all to stand back against the walls," Aladdian said, "out of range of the televise. Luhor may pick this up, and he must not know there is anyone here but me."

She operated the dials quickly, surely, with tendril-like fingers. A faint, far away voice was heard droning monotonously. "Earth is sending to Venus now," Aladdian said, never once removing her gaze from the dancing dials before her. "If I can intercept the Earth beam, I can get my message to Venus through that channel, by drowning them out. I did it once before."

The sound of the voice increased, and words became distinguishable. They were haranguing, dictatorial—undoubtedly one of the Earth Council speaking to Venus. At the same time the huge metallic sheet above Aladdian's head took on a silvery glow, and a wavering scene began to appear. The scene was a crowded city square, with thousands of faces upturned to a televise screen atop one of the buildings.

"That is N'Vaarl, Capitol City of Venus," Aladdian murmured. "They are listening to the Earth broadcast. Now I will let them see me." Automatically her hand reached out, and grasped a lever which she threw downward. The atomomotors shrieked as they absorbed the increased power, and soon the sound rose above the audible. At the same time the Earth voice was drowned out, and the scene at N'Vaarl became very clear to the watchers in the room.

On the huge public televise screen at N'Vaarl, the image of Aladdian, Princess of Venus and daughter of Bedrim the Liberator, became visible. The crowd did not cheer, but awaited her message, knowing that at any moment the Earth would throw off the beam when it realized what was happening.

"Greetings, my people!" Aladdian spoke quickly. "As I told you before, Earth is mobilizing its fleet and I know that you are preparing for any contingency. That is well, but I entreat you not to act in any manner until you have heard further from me! There is a greater danger than that of Earth! I am safe and well, I cannot come to you now, but soon—"

In that moment the Earth beam ceased, and the scene on the televise blanked out. Aladdian turned with a satisfied smile to Mark and Cynthia and the others. "It is enough that they saw me. My people will not act now without word from me. I hope I shall never have to give that word."

"Aladdian," Mark spoke worriedly, "isn't it a risk for you to broadcast at all? The Earth Government doesn't know your present whereabouts, but if they were to send out tracer beams and learn you were operating from Vulcan ... well, it's true that no Patrol ship is equipped to land on Vulcan, but they could bottle us up here—"

Ernest Carston, who had been silent but eternally watchful, became suddenly tense at Mark's words.

"They have sent out tracer beams," Aladdian replied, "but with this instrument I can neutralize them all." Fondly she touched the ethero-magnum by her side. "Anyway, the immediate danger is not from Earth, but from Luhor. Let us not forget that! And I must warn Earth, must make them understand."

She turned to the dialed panel again, and even as her fingers made swift connections, she continued to speak. "It may not be easy to establish a direct channel from here to Earth, but I think I have completed a new trans-telector beam on which George Marnik was working. It should do away with the magnetic disturbance caused by our close proximity to the sun. We shall see."

Again the atomomotors whined and ascended the scale. This time, there was a new exultant note. Minutes passed, then the overhead screen began to take on a hazy, shifting blur. Aladdian's fingers moved unerringly on the dials. The blur came suddenly, sharply into focus.

Carston, standing against the far wall next to Mark Denning, leaned tensely forward, his eyes aglow. The scene on the televise was the Earth Council. Carston almost leaped forward in his excitement, but Mark gripped his arm tightly.

Aladdian was speaking to the Council. In slow, matter-of-fact tones she told of George Marnik, of the new metal, of Luhor and Luhor's plans. She told of the asteroid and the fleet being assembled there, without revealing the asteroid's position. She described the properties of the new metal but was careful not to hint of its source.

"I seek to warn you," Aladdian's voice came fervent and clear. "You are plunging into disaster. It is not my people I think of now, but the Tri-Planet Federation! If you continue to mobilize your fleet I am not sure I can control the Irreconcilables among my people—I certainly cannot control Dar Vaajo of Mars, who is headstrong beyond reason. It will mean an hecatomb in space, with Luhor holding his asteroid in readiness for the final blow!"

"This Luhor and the formidable asteroid of which you speak," came the cold, sneering voice of the Earth Coordinator. "Tell us more of them. Give us the location of the asteroid."

Aladdian hesitated for an instant. "No. That I cannot do."

"You cannot, because no such asteroid and no such metal exists! You would try to frighten us with this story of a demon asteroid and a super space fleet! It would not be that you seek to gain time for your people to rally to you, now that they know you have escaped the Prison Swamp? Or perhaps you need time in which to coordinate your resources with those of Dar Vaajo of Mars! Let us advise you, Aladdian, that within a week the main body of our fleet will be at Venus, and it will not go well with your Irreconcilables. We shall know how to handle them this time, we shall not be so lenient as before! Perhaps, in order to spare them, you will wish to give yourself up to us, daughter of Bedrim!"

Aladdian's slender body grew taut as though struck by a whip lash. With a single sweep of the control lever she cut off the beam. Dazedly she crossed the room, oblivious to the murmurs of the others; her usually alabaster face was now chalk white beneath her curling blue-black hair, her lips were pressed tight but they trembled nevertheless.

At the laboratory door Mark caught her arm, walked beside her. "Aladdian," he choked. "I—"

She became aware of him then, smiled up at him through her bitterness.

"Aladdian, I am—I just wanted to say—I'm sorry I'm an Earthman!"

She stopped suddenly, faced him, took one of his hands in both of hers. "No, Mark! Do not say that, do not ever say it. For you are more than that ... much more...."

It was night, and the overhead lights in the corridors were dimmed. Ernest Carston tossed restlessly in his bed. He could not sleep, he had been unable to sleep since seeing and hearing the Earth Council on the ethero-magnum.

Carston arose, and dressed quickly. Silently he crossed the room to the outer door, and stepped out into the corridor. He paced slowly, aimlessly, his brow knit in deep thought. Finally he made a decision, and turned his footsteps in the direction of the palace and the laboratory. He was still an Earth official; he had known all the time that he would have to take matters here into his own hands.

Before he reached the corridor leading to the laboratory, however, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Carston leaped back into the shadows just as a lone figure emerged from one of the transverse corridors. It passed very close to him, and he saw that it was Cynthia Marnik; her face seemed very white, and her steps were hurried.

Carston's heart quickened a pace, as he followed her at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows. She continued along the main corridor, past the men's quarters and past the furnaces. With a shock, Carston realized she was heading for the outer air-lock.

He reached there in time to see the huge door slide open, then Cynthia stepped through, and the door closed. Carston waited, giving her time to leave the tunnel, before he followed. Finally he entered the tunnel himself, having long since learned how to operate the mechanism of these doors. Cynthia was gone; the outer doors were closed.

Carston hurried down the long tunnel. The magnetic degravitizing coils along each side were silent now, would remain so until the Spacer's return. Carston reached the racks of vacuum suits near the outer door, quickly donned one and was soon outside the Base.

Against the sun-swept horizon, a hundred yards away, he could easily discern Cynthia's metal-encased figure. She kept close to the shadows at the foot of the low lying cliffs. Not once did she look back. A quarter of a mile further, she turned sharply, entered a narrow, steep-walled canyon.

Puzzled, Carston hurried forward. He reached the canyon and entered it, realizing that this must be one of the few places on Vulcan's surface where there was anything simulating night; it wasn't really dark, but sort of a twilight gloom between the rock cliffs sheering upward.

And he saw Cynthia. She hadn't gone far. Her vacuum-suited figure stood very still, and she seemed to be staring up at the immensity of space. Carston crept closer, came very near indeed, until he could see the profiled whiteness of her face beneath the helmet.

Carston stared too, following her gaze. At first he didn't see a thing. Then, high on the horizon, out of the sun's glare, right between the canyon walls ... he caught the bright blue glint of a star. He suddenly realized what it was, and with a sharp intake of breath he whispered: "Earth!"

She must have had her helmet phones on. She turned slowly to face him, and Carston was startled at the clear-cut radiance of her face.

"It's the Earth, yes ... it's beautiful. There's no other place on this planet where you can see it like that, and then only when the position is right. Sometimes not for months...."

Carston stepped quickly to her side. Cynthia averted her face, but not before he saw the glint of tears in her eyes, and the lengthening glimmer of one that rolled down her cheek beneath the transparent helmet.

For an instant, Carston was dumbfounded. Then a vast exultation surged within him. "I knew it!" he whispered fiercely. "Almost from the first moment I saw you, I sensed there was something artificial beneath your mask of hardness. This is it! You don't hate Earth at all, Cynthia, you've never hated it!"

"Yes," she spoke softly, her voice deepening. "I've never hated Earth. It was only father—" Abruptly she stopped, and her gaze strayed to where the blue star shone like an aquamarine ablaze. "I can't remember clearly; it's like a vague dream—but I have a dim vision of green fields and golden light, and clouds in an unreal blue sky; and trees beside a wide lake, with a crisp tang of air, different from the air here. To me, that's Earth. I was born there." Her voice faded, and as if from a great distance Carston heard her say, "Oh perhaps it's just a dream."

"No, it's not a dream," Carston whispered, standing very close to her now. "It's part of you, it belongs to you! All Earthians feel that out here, a yearning to get back. Cynthia, I've loved you from the very first ... didn't you know? Let me take you back with me, out of this madness that can only mean death for us all!" He stopped, at the sight of her upturned face, white and wan.

"I guessed. Yes, I know. I've been waiting a long time to hear you say this. And I'd go with you, Carston, but how is it possible now? My life's forfeit, you yourself said so!"

Now Carston was very sure of himself. "No, my dear," he said softly, trying to filter the triumph from his voice. "Your life's not forfeit if you help prevent the carnage and destruction that Aladdian's mad dream will bring about. She doesn't know, she can't know the awful power of Earth's fleet. Luhor's vaunted super-cruisers will be so many leaves scattered in the void. This allotropic metal on which his hope of invincibility is based, can be neutralized and destroyed!"

"But how? What can we do?" Cynthia's voice held a note of despair, as her hand unconsciously went out to his.

"We can give Earth the location of Luhor's asteroid, and the secret of Vulcan!" He said it so softly, so insinuatingly that it was little more than a thought. "I can promise you an absolute pardon, my dear—more! I can promise you honor for aiding Earth. The Council knows how to reward, as it knows how to punish."

"But Aladdian and Mark? Would it not mean death, or worse, for them both?" She shuddered, as a vision of the Swamp came before her eyes. "I could never condemn them to that," she thought aloud.

"With my influence, I can get amnesty for them—leniency at least," Carston said with the glibness of one to whom nothing mattered but the ultimate task that must be accomplished at all costs. "All Earth wants is to avoid another war. If we make it possible for Earth's fleet to capture Luhor and neutralize the asteroid, I'm certain the Council will pardon Aladdian and Mark." He pressed her hand confidently in both of his.

She seemed to hesitate, but Carston knew she had already made up her mind. "If you're sure you can obtain the pardon—and stop this senseless war—yes—yes, my dear, I'll give the Earth Council any information you wish—"

Her voice dwindled and stopped as Carston took her into his arms. He, himself, was white and trembling with the reaction of having accomplished his task. Over her shoulder he could see the twinkling blue dot of Earth. He smiled, and it was a very smug smile. His breath was long and trembling, but his intense emotion at the moment was not akin to love.

"Soon, now."

Carston's murmur echoed eerily against the shrill hum of the atomomotors in the upper scales. The phantasmal glow of the selector screens suffused the chamber. Selenic cells poured additional power into the trans-telector beam as Cynthia's fingers trembled over the shining dials. Carston, standing beside her, was white-faced and tense.

Slowly a shifting blur materialized on the huge televise of the ethero-magnum. It focused, and the thin-lipped, ascetic features of the Earth Coordinator materialized in the immense Council room of Earth. The Council in full session surrounded him. All were intent on their receiving screens, on which Carston and Cynthia were reflected.

Cynthia stepped nervously aside, and Carston came forward. He bowed low. Then his voice, hoarse with uncontrollable elation, rose in greeting.

"Your Beneficence, and Elders of the Council! I am speaking from Vulcan, the long-sought base of Captain George Marnik, where I have been a prisoner for many months! But no longer. This," he gestured hesitantly, "is Cynthia, George Marnik's daughter, for whom I beseech the Coordinator's and the Council's clemency for the service she is about to do."

Then in slow and measured words Carston told in detail all that had happened, beginning with his own release from the Swamp by Cynthia, relating Luhor's murder of Marnik, and finally telling of the asteroid where Luhor's space cruisers were being assembled, and of the new allotropic metal being mined on Vulcan. Then he motioned for Cynthia to come forward.

The Coordinator had listened in silence, his grim face impassive. Every eye in the Council room was unwaveringly on the screen, and the silence lay heavy between two distant worlds. Slowly, Cynthia walked toward the ethero-magnum sender, a sheaf of note paper in her hand. She smiled wanly, but confidently at Carston. Then in a colorless voice she read her mathematical figures giving the position of the asteroid in space, and the formula for the shortest approach from Vulcan, as the key for computation of the trajectory from Earth. Without animation, she gave the formula for the allotropic metal process, and the secret of the entrance to Vulcan.

Then she fell silent. As if she didn't know what to do, she turned to Carston and caught for a fleeting instant the smug smile of triumph on his lips; but before she could comprehend its meaning, it was gone.

"Will ... will I be pardoned?" Cynthia questioned aloud, more to Carston than to the Coordinator on the screen.

But the silence in the Council room of Earth persisted, as busy mathematicians already were furiously computing the mathematical formulae. A thin, contemptuous smile had parted the Coordinator's lips. It was the first time Carston had ever seen him smile, and the room where he and Cynthia stood, although millions of miles distant, seemed colder suddenly as that glacial glimmer came through the screen.

Carston opened his lips to speak. "Your Beneficence," he began—

But suddenly, catapulted from the deepening darkness of the corridors, an azure-winged figure with curved hands outstretched fell like an avenging fury upon Carston's back! Dainty hands, suddenly transformed into claws, dug like spikes of steel; a supple body too ethereal for strength, now seemed made of metal as the Venusian girl attacked him with a savagery that brought every man of Earth's distant Council room to his feet!

Close on her heels Mark Denning had barely time to separate the tangled figures. Carston's face dripped blood where Aladdian's fingernails had furrowed deep. Cynthia seemed rooted to the spot. So incredibly swift had it been, that the battle was over in seconds. Aladdian's eyes were pools of fire as she faced the Council. Her streaming hair seemed to shimmer as she spat her venom into the screen.

"Very well, send your space fleet, you clumsy fools! Let your madness condemn the planets to a bath of blood! Yes, you have the formula for the allotropic metal—but what good is it to you without a source of supply? You have the location of the asteroid—but do you suppose your fleet can stand against such a mobile fortress as Luhor will make it? But it's a waste of words, I know I can never convince you. Only death and destruction can. But this I do tell you! Never, never again will you enslave Venus! Never again will you imprison me in that inhuman Swamp, and never will you land on Vulcan! For I have one weapon left, one which only we of Venus possess. We have used it once on Mars, once in our history only, for we are not warlike. But before Luhor and the Martian hordes overrun my planet and yours as he certainly can, I will use this weapon, Earthian!"

On the screen, the Coordinator's face was livid. "Arrest her," he said across the immense distance to Carston. "In the name of the Supreme Council of the Tri-Planetary Federation, arrest her! Her life's forfeit!"

But Carston stood motionless, pale as death, suddenly confronted by the grim figure of Mark who gripped an electro-pistol in his hand.

At this veritable moment, out of the void, cutting in on the beam like the disembodied cachination of some strange creature, wave upon wave of gigantic mirth poured on two worlds! And as every participant of this drama stood tense, watching their screens, there slowly emerged the half-breed figure of Luhor, his gargantuan laughter still roaring in uncontrollable paroxysms.

"So that's it!" Luhor managed to choke between spasms. "What entertainment you have provided me with—and what information! And to think, Aladdian, that I'd planned to make you my empress. Why, my little dove has claws!" he exclaimed admiringly. His immense, ugly bulk dominated the entire screen, as his bellowing laughter began again.

The Earth Coordinator, almost beside himself, threw a master switch; the televise screens of two worlds flickered and went blank, the pulsing whine of the atomomotors was like a dirge.

Cynthia passed a trembling hand across her eyes, and her gaze wavered before Aladdian's accusing stare. She glanced briefly at Carston with a slowly dawning wonderment, as if an awareness of his aims had begun to awaken within her.

"I—I'm afraid I've made a mess of things," she said in a slow, deep voice. "Ever since father's death, I seem to have lost my grip. I'm so sorry, Aladdian, I thought it was for the best; Carston assured me we'd be pardoned...." Her voice trailed off as she turned her face away from them all.

"I should burn you!" Mark Denning said to Carston in a cold, tight voice, and Carston went white. "You've managed to wreck our plans about as completely as possible. If the Earth blasts Luhor out of space, we face surrender or slow starvation. If Luhor wins, he can starve us out or blast his way in here with his allotropic cruisers, now that he's forewarned by you. Either way we lose—but I guarantee you, Carston, you won't come out of this easily!" Each word was like ice, and Aladdian nodded slowly at Mark's words, a strange light in her brilliant eyes.

"We haven't lost yet, Mark." With a swift motion she crossed to the ethero-magnum again, and turned it on. "Remember, I have still a weapon. My people are behind me."

"But Venus doesn't have a fleet! Earth has seen to that."

"Wait." Her unerring precision brought the screen to life in a burst of light. A scene took place, alien, exotic—the imperial palace on Venus. A great crowd stood before it in silence, extending into the distance, as if the park-like expanse had become a place of pilgrimage. In eternal vigil all faced the televise screen that rose from the floor level to the top of the palace. Fantastic blue-green mountains filled the background, dwarfing the small fragile figure that materialized on the receiving screen.

"My people, I speak to you for the third, perhaps for the last time—" There was a world of yearning in the cello-like voice as Aladdian opened her arms toward them. A cyclonic roar burst forth in tribute and greeting, but quickly died down as they awaited her message.

"When I last spoke, I told you not to act without word from me. I hoped I would never have to give that word, but now I fear I must. The hour is almost here. What I will ask of you, is the supreme sacrifice. You know what that means. I, too, am prepared to make it. There is no other way. Many will die, but only that the others may avoid an even worse slavery than they now endure, and that we may attain our rightful inheritance, an equal place in the Planetary Federation." The voice rose like a stream of music, and tears were in Aladdian's eyes. "The choice is yours, my people!"

When the thunderous response had died down in waves of overpowering sound, Aladdian stood in silence for several moments; in silence, too, the Venusian multitude remained with upturned faces. Mark had an eerie feeling that a Planet was in tune with the fragile, winged figure.

When the connection had been broken, and once more the laboratory had reverted to semi-gloom, Mark turned to Carston and removed his weapons from him. "I can't take any chances with you now," he said coldly, "after what you've done. You wanted to become a hero in the eyes of the Earth Council. Well, from now on you'll dance to my tune."

"But not for long!" Carston sneered openly, recovering his poise and confidence. "The game's up, Denning; you're a renegade to Earth and shall be treated as such. It'll be child's play for Earth's fleet to burn Luhor and his asteroid to a crisp. After that—" He stopped and grinned contemptuously.

"After that, we'll be taken care of?" It was Aladdian who spoke, and her voice was soft like dark molten gold. "Careful, Mark," she interposed quickly, placing her hand on Mark's arm as his grip tightened on the electro.

"I don't deserve any lenience," Cynthia said dully. "I've been a fool."

Aladdian gazed at the Earth-girl with a universe of pity in her eyes, and a great understanding. "No, my dear," she said softly, "not a fool. Only a girl in love."

"But you!" she lashed at Carston. "You shall reap the whirlwind; and I assure you, a Venusian whirlwind is beyond your ken!"

"No sign of the asteroid!" Mark Denning's voice was harsh as he addressed the restless group of men milling in front of the laboratory. "We've picked up Earth's fleet, that is all; it's now proceeding beyond the orbit of Mars. Come in and watch if you wish, but it may be hours yet."

The clang and clamor of the furnaces had long ago ceased, as Vulcan awaited the outcome of the space struggle that would mean so much to them all. Since Carston's betrayal had become known, the men had discussed the situation from every angle. Paradoxically they hoped for Luhor's victory, so that they could deal with the Martian half-breed. At the very worst, death was better than Paradim, which surely awaited them again if Earth won in this crisis.

As Earth's fleet in awesome array, advanced toward the asteroid's position which Cynthia had given, Aladdian kept a ceaseless vigil at the televise. In far off N'Vaarl, the palace grounds were a sea of upturned Venusian faces intent upon their screen. Dar Vaajo sat brooding on his barbaric throne on Mars, his craggy face dark with passion, thinking of the upstart Luhor who had wrecked his plans. Within the austere Council chamber of Earth, the Coordinator paced to and fro before the screen, while the awed Council didn't dare to stir. It hadn't been hard for the ethero-screens of each world to pick out the flaming majesty of Earth's fleet, and they had followed its progress for hours. The meteoric speed seemed a snail's pace, across the respective televise panels.

"Look!" Aladdian cried, spilling the cup of hot concentrate Cynthia had brought to her.

With electrifying suddenness, the scene in the panel had leaped to vivid life. Concentric whorls of green, disintegrating light flashed from all units of Earth's fleet simultaneously, merging into a single appalling cloud that preceded the fleet itself. To the watchers, the spread of the light seemed slow, but it must have encompassed thousands of miles.

"But why?" Aladdian breathed, even as she twisted the dials trying to center the scene more perfectly. "They're not within hours of the asteroid belt, and they will only give their position away to Luhor!"

Carston, Mark and the others had come crowding into the room to watch the scene. Carston whispered, exultantly, "That green light is radio-active disintegrating energy! It merges with whatever it touches, unbalancing the atomic structure of metal. Wait'll they envelop Luhor's asteroid in that!"

"Yes, I know it well," Aladdian murmured. "They used it in the long war against Venus. But there is a neutralizing force now, which even Earth does not know. George Marnik developed it, right here on Vulcan Base."

Carston's lips curled, but he said nothing. The sight of Earth's mighty armada sweeping forward on its mission had instilled him with a swaggering confidence. They continued to watch the scene in silence, even as the Earth Council and the people of Venus and Dar Vaajo on Mars were watching.

Still the Fleet swept forward. Minutes passed. The greenish half-circle of light preceded it, beating back the darkness, expanding unimaginable distances as though reaching out greedy hands.

Then suddenly Aladdian's words came true.

From a point in space far in advance of the Fleet, a tiny white beam of light became visible. It reached out like a slashing saber, swiftly expanding and closing the gap of darkness. It came from the asteroid itself, now revealed to the watchers for the first time—merely a tiny dark mass that seemed to move forward with infinite caution against the Fleet.

"There it is!" Mark breathed. "Luhor's carried his plan through! He's made a rogue asteroid of it, moved it clear out of the belt—"

Words ceased, as they watched the preliminary maneuvers. The asteroid's slashing saber of white touched the disintegrating power of the green. But it was the green that disintegrated! Slowly, almost carressingly, the pale beam moved across the advancing blanket of light. Where it touched, the green dissolved magically as though it had never been.

"That's what I meant. The etheric inertia ray!" Aladdian's murmur was tinged with exultation, as she sensed Carston standing beside her taut with surprise.

Still the Earth Fleet moved forward in battle formation, in staggered horizontal tiers. Impelled by the terrific momentum, it depended upon maneuverability to escape the impending danger. But, inexorably, the asteroid moved forward also, as if hungry to meet its enemy. Limned behind its own ghastly light, it was revealed as a leisurely rotating mass of rock and mineral, with jagged pinnacles reaching out and deep black gullies agape.

A blinding lance of electric blue lashed from Earth's Flagship, like a probing finger searching for a weak point. It stabbed Luhor's white ray and ended in a corruscating upheaval of incandescent light. The asteroid was very close now; it seemed as if nothing could prevent that sidereal mass, some ten miles in diameter, from plowing through the tiers of Earth Spacers.

But in that veritable moment when disaster seemed certain, Earth's massed fleet executed one of the most spectacular feats of navigation the Universe had ever witnessed. The units literally broke apart and moved outward into a perfect cone-like formation, with the base, or open end, toward the asteroid. Again the green radiance, from all sides now, went out to envelop the asteroid in a glaucous sheath, as the dark mass drifted into the trap.

"This is it!" Carston gloated hoarsely. "Now watch your asteroid crumble!" The others said nothing. All were tense, as the tiny ten-mile world entered the open end of the cone to what seemed certain destruction. Now the white etheric inertia ray lashed out savagely again, sweeping in swift arcs, but failed to dispel the concentrated waves of green fire.

Then from the surface of the dark world, Luhor's own space fleet arose—six cruisers only, dwarfed in size by some of Earth's larger ships. With blinding speed, the six allotropic cruisers headed for the closing jaws of the trap.

The Earth Commander was not prepared for such acceleration. It was unbelievable. He had little time to think, as Luhor's cruisers blasted with the raking fire of electro-cannon at close range. Three Earth ships went hurtling end over end through the void, ripped from stern to bow. Impervious to the wild fire of Earth's Fleet, the allotropic cruisers plowed on. Two Earth cruisers at the jaws of the trap were unable to maneuver in time. Luhor's ships in a straight line hit them head-on, plowed through them and out again, leaving behind a tangled wreck of twisted girders and scattered debris.

Luhor's six ships were out of the trap now, and they wheeled in a mighty arc, hung chain-poised as though to watch.

Behind, the now glowing asteroid erupted the real destruction. This had been Luhor's plan from the first. The balance of men taken from Paradim Swamp, left on the bleak little world to fight for their lives, now released hidden rocket tubes that blasted in perfectly spaced rotation. The rocky world began to spin, as it plunged ponderously forward. Bank upon bank of electro-cannon lashed out like uncurled blue lightning. Atomite bombs burst among Earth's fleet which surrounded this deadly pinwheel. In less than a minute Earth's vast armada was completely disorganized, space became a shambles of ripped metal plates, twisted rocket tubes and blasted hulls.

Like a livid, craggy corner of hell running rampant, the rogue asteroid spun faster and faster, spewing annihilation. But this was its death throes. The concentrated disintegrating glow had taken effect, and could not now be stopped. The craggy world began to crumble in great masses of rock and metal like a leprous organism. The few remaining units of the Earthian fleet tried desperately to escape the disintegrating lethal mass—but behind them now, at a safe distance from it all, Luhor's ships barred the way. Pitilessly his electro-cannon raked them, impervious to their erratic salvos. His Flagship with its impossible speed darted among them like a cosmic scimitar, until barely half a dozen of Earth's former armada were able to flee in scattered disarray.

Half a dozen, out of more than a hundred. Contemptuously, Luhor did not even deign to pursue.

Where an immense battle fleet and a dwarf world had battled for supremacy in space, now only shattered metal fragments and a disintegrated rain of mineral and rock remained veiled by cosmic darkness.

XII

It had been too much and too sudden for speech. Aladdian was on her feet now, even she was still gripped by the awe of the vast debacle. Mark watched Ernest Carston stumble dazedly from the Laboratory room, the appalling horror in his eyes betraying how intimately Earth's tragedy was his. He'd sent them out there to conquer, and they had remained to die. No one spoke. The crowding men who'd hoped for a victory by Luhor, even turned away before the magnitude of his power.

The laboratory on Vulcan reflected in miniature the shocked silence of four worlds. They'd seen the mightiest armada of all time reduced to nothing in a space of minutes.

Aladdian was the first to act. With the same beam, through which they'd watched the holocaust, she contacted Earth. She tuned the Council chamber where gray faces looked to the Coordinator in bewilderment and fear. But the Coordinator, stricken to the depths of his narrow soul, was incapable of speech. In the oppressive silence Aladdian's winged figure materialized on the screen.

"I greet you, Earthians, for the last time." Her molten voice had overtones of sadness. "You have seen your mighty fleet destroyed. Earth is defenseless. Luhor is on his way to Earth."

"How—how do you know?" The Coordinator was moved to speech now, galvanized into life by a more immediate fear!

"How? Because I am right now in telepathic contact with Luhor's mind."

"We shall fight to the end!"

"Yes, I expected that of you. You would condemn Earth to the same fate as your Fleet. Awaken, Earthmen! No weapon that you have can destroy allotropic metal. You have seen Luhor's ships slice through your vessels as if they were paper. You're at his mercy now."

Aladdian allowed her words to sink while she widened the beam to include Mars and Venus as well as Earth, that her voice might carry to the entire Federation.

"I am not speaking to you only, now, but to three worlds whose fate depends on your decision. Agree to what I ask, and the danger from Luhor will be eliminated."

"What do you ask?" The Coordinator's voice came through as a mere whisper.

"Three things only. Absolute liberation of Venus and Mars, which means equal representation at the Tri-Planetary Federation Council. Complete abolishment of the inhuman Swamp of Paradim. And Venus to retain Vulcan with its allotropic metal as a measure of final safety. Agree to these points before the assembled peoples of the inhabited planets who are listening now, and Luhor shall never reach Earth."

On Mars and Earth and Venus her winged figures were reflected, while her voice cadenced in the ears of untold millions.

"First," came the Coordinator's voice, "how are you to prevent that fiend Luhor from pursuing his course? And second, what guarantees will we have that Venus will not build more of the allotropic cruisers to attack?" Although white and shaken, the Coordinator could still snarl.

"I will answer your second question first. As you well know, Venus has never in all her history resorted to war. Rather than kill," her voice became bitter, "we submitted to Earth's cruel domination. We saw the inhuman Prison Swamp spring into being, for greed of the Josmian pearls; death and persecution for the sake of power. I even personally suffered this!" She held up her wings whose tendons had been cut. "Yet despite it all, history does not record murder by Venusians. That, Earthian, is your guarantee that we shall keep the peace. As to Luhor, I and I alone can stop him now. This is an offered chance you may take or leave. Remember, Luhor's fleet has ten times the speed of Earth's fastest vessel, and will be there sooner than you suppose. Think fast, Earthian!"

"Think also," Mark interposed in a voice of steel, "that here on Vulcan we have the allotropic metal, the means to work it, and the men to build our own cruisers if we so desire!"

"I accept," the Coordinator said sullenly. Despite his fear and helpless rage, he could only envisage defeat and destruction should Luhor arrive at Earth. As for Aladdian on Vulcan stopping the mad half-breed, he did not see how it was possible; but he had nothing further to lose by agreeing. With a gesture, he ordered the Council to draw up a pact.

Four worlds watched the signatures grow one by one. Then, and not until then, did Aladdian play her last card as she brought Venus into focus.

"NOW!"

The single word was the last she uttered as she opened her arms. Her people were ready. They knew the sacrifice.

Millions of miles away an entire Planet, as if it had been a single cosmic mind, concentrated on Luhor's fleet. A mighty stream of thought flowed out, vast but intangible. Wave upon wave, directed by Aladdian, the accumulated thought-vibrations beat ceaselessly upon the minds of Luhor and his men. And on Venus, slowly, here and there a winged figure fell and lay still, its mind sapped by the prodigious effort that knew no bounds. But the knowledge that Aladdian, their Princess, who directed the combined flow, was under an infinitely greater mental strain than any of them individually, gave them added inspiration.

Aladdian had long since made all the others, even Mark, leave the Laboratory. She maintained her vigil and efforts alone. On her magnum screen, which had shifted to cosmic space, the six invulnerable vessels continued their purposeful route toward Earth. Serenely they sped.

But suddenly, with an odd twist, one of the Spacers plunged headlong without warning into a sister ship. Both exploded into a cataract of flame. Another wavered, wheeled, then plunged toward outer space at vertiginous speed, to disappear in a dwindling dot of silver. Of the remaining three, one began to fire broadsides against the others, then rotated over and over out of control, while air-locks opened and figures leaped out to instantaneous death in the frigidity of space. It was a scene of silent horror.

But while scores died in space, hundreds died on Venus at the magnitude of the effort. Still the Venusian populace of millions concentrated in purposeful silence.

A sense of madness unleashed stole into the laboratory room where Aladdian stood alone, motionless and white-faced. She scarcely breathed. Her blue eyes were dilated. On the screen now only one cruiser remained. Not until then did Aladdian move, her hand reaching out automatically to the dials. A second later the interior of Luhor's cruiser lay revealed.

The huge half-breed had held out to the last. He'd realized what was happening, knew that the thought-power of an entire telepathic nation was reaching out across vast distances of space, the ghastly vibration of madness battering against the brains of his men. Now even Luhor began to succumb, his brutal face contorted by spasms of demoniac evil. His crew of men around him were already insane. A few sobbed monotonously on their knees, rocking from side to side. Others were already dead. One crewman was absorbed in daintily flaying another with a bright, keen penknife, while the rest were systematically destroying the ship and each other.

In the midst of the scene, Luhor's face went suddenly grey and blank. He drew his electro-pistol and like a man possessed, used it methodically about him until only he remained alive. It was then that Aladdian used her last remaining strength, directing Luhor like an automaton to the controls, where he remained frozen. The vessel heeled in space and changed course, heading away from Earth now, speeding directly sunward toward Vulcan Base.

Within the laboratory room, Aladdian swayed, her face whiter than death; she grasped at the instrument panel for support, but her fingers closed on air, as she crumpled to the floor.

XIII

She was barely conscious of Mark and Cynthia and Carston seconds later, bursting into the room. And of Mark's face mirroring his anxiety as he hurried to her.

In the same instant she knew that her people's accumulative vibration had reached an apex of power, and like an avenging fury was turning their way—centering on one person in that laboratory room! Desperately Aladdian tried to stop it, but she was too near exhaustion and too late.

Like a concentrated, cosmic javelin of death, that stream of madness reached Carston alone. He shrieked but once, and leaped wildly, hands clutching at his temples; then he crumpled to the floor. He had been blasted to death as suddenly as if a gigantic atom-blast had drilled him between the eyes.

Not until then, could Aladdian rise wearily to her feet, assisted by Mark. Sorrowfully she looked at the figure of Carston. Already on Venus, she knew, thousands lay dead, and perhaps hundreds more had died in this final vengeful effort.

"They could not forget," she said sadly, "that it was Carston who hounded me throughout the System to result in my imprisonment at Paradim; and that it was he who cut the tendons of my wings."

She still clung to Mark's arm, half-supported by him. But despite her utter weariness and all she had gone through, Aladdian still had eyes for Cynthia, who stood there, a forlorn, shattered figure, staring down at the body of Carston.

"Do not mind too much, my dear." Aladdian's voice and heart went out in pity to the Earth girl. "In a short time you will forget all that has happened here. Come with us to Venus, I know you will find happiness there."

"With us?" It was Mark who spoke, his voice a bare whisper of hope.

"Yes, Mark." Aladdian smiled at him, the impish smile he had known in Paradim. Then from the recesses of her tunic she drew forth a gleaming, iridescent pearl.

"The purple Josmian!" Mark gasped. "The one I found in the Swamp. I'd forgotten about it!"

"I kept it for you, Mark, knowing I would need it for this moment. From lower species to middle order," her smile was impish again, "is not bad for an Earthman. Take the Josmian now, it's yours; with it I elevate you to the highest order and—"

But she said no more, for within Mark's arms she was deciding he wasn't much taller than the average Venusian; no, not a great deal taller, at all.

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