Chapter 4

Mike's shoulders slumped as he tasted the bitter dregs of defeat....

* * * * *

They were led through the city streets under heavy guard, streets brightly illuminated by myriad glowing balls. The populace eyed them curiously, their importance evidently indicated by the escort of a dozen grim soldiers.

Only Mike and Nicko and M'Landa took the long walk up the avenue, Doree having been spirited away. Mike was a man in deep torment as he wondered helplessly about her fate. Was she already dead? Had she been made the plaything of some high official? Of McKee or Talbott or both? This last thought brought red rage flashing into his heart.

They were taken into a huge, gloomy building and down a long corridor. As they approached it, a sound greatened before them; a rolling muted thunder of mixed anger, pain, and terror. They entered a long, narrow corridor, one wall broken at regular intervals by small metal doors. Mike realized the sound came from beyond these doors--from the angry throats of prisoners--that this could be nothing other than the city's prison. There was no doubt of it.

The cavalcade stopped. One of the doors was unlocked and thrown open, the three pushed roughly inside. The door slammed, the lock was turned and the guards stalked away as they had come.

The interior of the cell was very dim. Mike blinked his eyes, striving to pierce the dimness. He opened them and got a surprise. This was more of a cage than a prison. The entire wall opposite the door consisted of bars.

The three went forward and stood in mute wonder at what they saw. The cells were elevated and ran in a circle around an amphitheater--a great lighted pit--so that the prisoners were spectators at the drama that went on below.

It was indeed a strange place, this pit, its purpose temporarily obscure to the three prisoners. It contained great vats of steaming, multicolored liquids, many tables, a great number and variety of frames, racks, and instruments.

There were perhaps a dozen men at work down there. They appeared to be making preparation for what was to follow. Mike wondered about their occupation, then turned sharply on Nicko.

"What's the matter with you? Why aren't you finding out about this?"

Nicko stared in amazement. "Me? How the devil can I--?"

"The H'Lorkan. He might be able to give you some information. Ask him!"

Nicko shuddered as though coming out of a daze. "Sure. I guess my wheels got kind of stopped."

M'Landa, who never seemed to speak unless spoken to, answered Nicko's questions calmly. Mike watched the two as they conversed; saw Nicko's increasing indignation and horror. "All right!" Mike snapped. "Don't keep it to yourself. What did he say?"

"Not much. Just that these are the high priests of the Ptomenties. They prepare the bodies of the dead for burial and their job is to make them look so life-like that you wouldn't even know they were dead. This is their experimental laboratory--where they keep their hands in. They experiment on the prisoners."

As the chill went through Mike, he saw four guards who had been stationed on the far side of the pit acknowledge a sign from one of the priests and start toward a staircase leading to the prisoner's balcony.

They stopped at one of the cells and unlocked a door set in the barred front. As they entered a roar of hatred went up from every cell in the dreadful circle.

* * * * *

As he watched, Mike was conscious of the fact that only he and Nicko were watching the proceedings, that M'Landa's face was not glued to the bars. The thing's too horrible for the H'Lorkan to take, Mike thought. He's crouching back there behind us--covering his face most likely. And I can't say I blame him.

The guards came forth from the cell dragging a screaming victim, a tall naked speciman who bested even the Ptomenites in physical perfection. Here, Mike realized, was truly a man.

The screams had been from rage, not from fear. As the door snapped behind him, the victim stopped screaming, evidently realizing this was the end, that escape was now impossible. He raised his head, a look of contempt lighting his handsome features. He walked proudly amidst the guards. He seemed completely indifferent to whatever fate awaited him.

Mike stared as the man was led to the center of the pit. Chains were clamped to his wrists and ankles. Then the guards lifted him, holding him horizontal. One of the priests extended his arms upward, over the prone man, and seemed to be mouthing a prayer or incantation. He appeared to Mike to be asking some deity to accept this poor offering.

This ceremony over, the guards walked with the helpless man toward a great vat of smoking purple liquid. But at this moment, Mike's attention was diverted. A door had opened far down the circle and two figures were approaching. As the guards lifted the unfortunate prisoner and threw him in the vat a great roar of fury went up from the circle of cells. And Mike recognized the approaching figures.

McKee and Talbott.

McKee was amply bandaged about the head and shoulders. Talbott appeared to have come off better, only his right wrist and elbow tightly wrapped.

They moved past the cells until they were confronting Mike and Nicko. There they stopped. McKee, the fat one, grinned and glanced at his companion. "Dangerous looking specimens, aren't they?"

Talbott wore a sneer. "Quite. The priests will have a lot of fun with the scaly creature. I understand they're already discussing him--eager to get their hands on him."

Mike's rage tore at his own throat. He strove for control of his voice. "What have you swine done with Doree?"

A look of disappointment came on Talbott's face. "I wanted her for--for other things, but I wasn't able to handle it. So she comes in here like the rest."

"You mean they're going to throw her into that--?" the question was from Nicko as every scale on his body quivered.

Mike saw that the prisoner below had now been removed from the vat. He had been laid on a table and one of the priests was advancing upon the body with a long shining needle in his hand. He pointed the needle very carefully at a place on the man's skull.

"She's next, I understand," Talbott was saying easily. "She is in the other block. Only male prisoners on this side. They'll bring her in soon. It will be quite a show. Perhaps we'll stay to watch."

Mike could control himself no longer. He flung himself against the bars like a wild beast. Even though in no danger, McKee drew back in alarm. He said, "The sooner that one's in the Hall of the Dead, the better."

* * * * *

Mike had been conscious of a hand touching his arm but he had paid no attention. Now, as the two Terrans turned to leave, he turned also, with tears of helpless anger welling in his eyes. It was M'Landa. The H'Lorkan spoke.

"What's he saying?" Mike asked.

As M'Landa spoke, a quick change came over Nicko. He whirled and stared back in to the cell. "He says there's another man in this cell with us. He's been talking to him. He's a Baserite."

Now Mike saw the man sitting in a shadow against the wall. Two things had kept him from noticing before--the dim light and the incidents of terrible interest down in the pit. As they approached, the man got to his feet and spoke. Mike could not understand what he said, but he now knew the man thrown brutally into the vat of purple liquid had also been a Baserite. This man in the cell could have been his twin.

"Are you able to understand him?" Mike asked Nicko.

"Sure. He said he was watching us--trying to figure out whether we were spies?"

"Spies! Spying on whom?"

The questions and answers were going back and forth through Nicko. He asked the Baserite. The man said, "Upon me."

"Who are you?"

"I am Mertaan, a fighting Prince of Baser. I was taken from a Baserite ship."

"Too bad, fellow. I'm sorry."

"It was no accident. I arranged to be taken."

"That hardly makes any sense."

The man spoke through grim lips, his clear eyes blazing. "That's why I wondered about you--wondered if our plot was suspected. We can't take a chance."

"Your plot?"

"Yes. But I think you are genuine prisoners."

Nicko translated and added, "You can be damned sure about that."

"What plot are you talking about?" Mike asked.

"Baser attacks the Ptomenites in force tonight."

"I'm glad to hear that but I don't see how you can be much help in here."

"This is one facet of the plan. We corrupted a scant few of the Ptomenite guards. They are our men."

An odd thought struck Nicko. "We're glad to hear that too, but could you tell me something? With gold and jewels lying around on the ground what kind of bait lures a man on this planet."

"Our women are the most beautiful and exciting females in existence," the Baserite said grimly.

Nicko whistled and Mike snapped. "Quit taking up time with silly questions. We want to know more of this plot."

Mertaan took a key from the front of his jacket. "There is one or more Baserites in every cell of this block. Each has a key that will unlock his cell. The Baserite war fleet comes over soon. When we hear the whine of the ships, we strike. Are you with us?"

"We could hardly be with the Ptomenites."

Mertaan eyed Nicko suspiciously. "Is the strange one also with us?"

"Just wait and find out!" Nicko said.

* * * * *

The Baserite turned even grimmer of face. "I am taking no chances. This plan must work. My brother just died down there in their reeking vat--"

Mike was astounded. "You mean you had a key? You could send the whole cell block to his rescue? But you let him die?"

Ice glazed over the pain in the Baserite's eyes. "There is much more at stake here than one life. A nation. The time was not right. I had hoped my brother would be spared a few minutes longer but it was not to be."

Mike marveled anew. Truly--these Baserites were men of iron will. "When?" Mike asked grimly.

"Soon." Mertaan took a small, strange-looking weapon from his pocket. It resembled a pistol enough to be identified as such. "I wish I could offer you arms, but smuggling them in was very risky. What few we have are in the hands of picked warriors."

Sweat was standing out on Mike's brow. "Never mind the guns. I just hope it's soon. The next one to go into that vat is a girl who--"

The Baserite's eyes filled with quick sympathy. "One of you, my friend?"

"One of us."

"I can only hope the ships come first."

Mike licked his dry lips. "But if they don't--you say you have some guns--the keys." He was looking at the Baserite with fixed calculation, his thoughts transparent.

Mertaan had no difficulty in divining them. "We cannot move until the ships come. If you strive to change this I shall kill you swiftly and silently. I shall kill everyone in the cell to ensure silence."

Mike's look remained fixed. He knew he did not have the courage to watch Doree die horribly when there was a key and a weapon within his reach. He deliberately forced the cold look from his face but whether the Baserite's suspicion was lulled, he could not tell.

Mertaan smiled coldly and said, "There is another of your kind in the cell block."

* * * * *

Mike took a step forward, but the Baserite stepped warily back. "An old man?" Mike asked.

"A very old man. He is four cells down. We know nothing of him because no one can speak his language."

Professor Brandon! Mike sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. "He will be released when the time comes?"

"If he chooses. None will be forced to go against their wishes, but I cannot imagine anyone refusing."

Mike turned to the bars gripping them hard. Several priests were working ghoulishly over the body of the dead Baserite. Mike looked toward the various entrances to the pit. Through which of these would they bring Doree? He prayed that none of the doors would open.

But as though part of a plan to torture him, one of the doors opened suddenly. Two guards came through.

They were leading Doree.

She was very pale and seemed to Mike to have grown increasingly beautiful. She wore a simple golden robe and the guards did not treat her as roughly as they had handled the Baserite. Small consolation.

She had found a great courage and walked serenely with her head held high and Mike's pride and love almost burst his heart. Desperately he tried to keep control over himself.

* * * * *

Doree advanced under close scrutiny of the guards to the point at which the Baserite had been slain. She appeared empty of all fear.

Then a priest advanced and stood for a moment looking at her. In his hands he held two lengths of golden chain. A great silence fell over the watching prisoners in the cells, every eye glued on the priest and this beautiful girl.

Then a great roar of anger arose as the priest reached out and whipped Doree's gown from her body. She stood naked in the center of the pit.

Mike went mad. With a roar he turned and hurled himself upon Mertaan.

The latter, even though sharply alert for attack, was not quick enough to get his weapon into action against Mike's lightning rush. Mike closed with him and they went down.

The Baserite was probably the stronger of the two, but his strength was no match for Mike's demoniacal rage. His hands went around the Baserite's throat. "Must I kill you?" he snarled, "or will you give me the key?"

There was no fear in Mertaan's expression but now, under pressure of Mike's steel fingers, it changed. He appeared to be listening for his own death.

But not for his death. He tore frantically at Mike's fists and got a few words past them. "Listen--listen, man! Can't you hear them? The ships are coming over! The time is now!"

Mike could not understand the words but the meaning got through to him as a high whining sound transcended the roar of the prisoners. And Mike realized the roar had not been caused by the priest's unveiling of Doree's beautiful body, but by the whine from above. The prisoners knew that the moment had come and they were already pouring from the cells.

Mike sprang to his feet and lifted the Baserite. The latter snatched the key from his jacket and unlocked the front cell-gate. Mike went through first to find himself packed into a plunging, screaming mob.

Here and there he spotted a Baserite frantically trying to establish some sort of order in the ranks of the prisoners. But they remained a snarling, bloodthirsty wave of disorganized vengeance. Mike tore his way savagely through the pack with Nicko and M'Landa close behind him.

"We've got to get down first!" he yelled. "She'll be killed in the rush!" Even now, below them, the panicked priests were knocking each other down in their rush for the exits.

Nicko pushed forward. "Let me go first! I'll make way!"

And he did. He flexed his scales until each one stood out from his ugly body like a razor-edged knife. Then he charged the mob. Blood splashed until Nicko was a great red smear. Those he hit screamed in pain and fell back, leaving an avenue down which the three raced.

They came to a stairway and as they tumbled into the pit, Mike looked swiftly over his shoulder. He was thinking of Mertaan's weapon. But it was not available. Mertaan had been lost in the mob of screaming prisoners.

Mike snatched up an odd-looking instrument from a table he passed. He knew nothing of its original use but it would make an excellent club. He baptized it by catching a fleeing, terrified priest and splitting his skull with one blow. This brought him within a few steps of where Doree lay. She had been knocked to the floor as the desperate priests sought to escape the wrath of their prisoners.

* * * * *

Mike's eyes were only for her. He did not see a guard nearby who turned suddenly and charged him with the flat ugly sword gripped tight in his fist. Mike knelt down to lift Doree. The sword plunged down. But instead of going into Mike's back, it was driven deep into the breast of M'Landa who had hurled himself forward.

Nicko, with a curse bellowed in some obscure dialect, leaped forward and took the guard into his hands. He lifted the guard and held him aloft with one hand. With the other he tore the man's throat out and hurled him dying and bloody across the pit.

The whole building trembled at that moment, obviously from a bomb hurled off a Baserite ship. But Mike and Nicko were scarcely aware of this new thunder. Mike had set Doree on her feet and was now holding the fallen H'Lorkan warrior in his arms. Gently he withdrew the sword. There was a lump in his throat. He said, "Thanks, friend. You'll never be forgotten. I will always remember."

M'Landa smiled. He spoke and Nicko interpreted. "This is a fine worthy death. I could ask for no more. I die pleasantly, in the hope that the Ptomenites are brought down forever."

Then he was dead and there was no time to mourn him. "Back upstairs," Mike said. "Your father is in a cell there. We've got to get him and then find a way out of here and to the ship--if we aren't too late. I've got a hunch McKee and Talbott will be heading in the same direction."

Nicko had picked up Doree's robe. He threw it over her shoulders and he and Mike formed a cordon in front and in back of the girl, Nicko going first. They headed for a stairway while all about them bloody slaughter was taking place.

The priests had found the exit doors mysteriously locked and what few guards were in the pit proved to be helpless against the outraged horde from above. The priests and the guards were being torn to pieces as though by the fangs of maddened dogs. The screams of terror and agony were a crescendo drowning the whine of the ships overhead.

* * * * *

Professor Brandon was crouching in the far corner of the cell. A man of peace, this place of blood and confusion was beyond his conception. He was in a daze, his mind having thrown up a buffer against horror.

Doree's arms went around him but Mike pushed her back almost roughly. "There is no time," he said. "We've got to get out of here." He picked the frail Brandon up in his arms. "You take the lead, Nicko. Take my club. It's up to you to cut a path through."

They left the cell and went out onto the balcony and discovered that the frantic priests had at last broken through the locked doors of their prison-pit. The ones remaining alive had fled the place with the prisoners on their heels.

Sounds from beyond indicated that some of the frenzied prisoners had abandoned the chase and were now stalking through the building, killing and looting.

"Out this way," Mike directed, indicating an open doorway. "This is the side toward the blast field."

"The passage is empty," Nicko said. "Come on."

"Watch yourself!" Mike snapped.

And it was well that Nicko did because halfway down the passage, three of the blood-crazed prisoners leaped on him from a side passage. One brought a club down viciously, aimed by sheer chance at the base of Nicko's skull, the one vulnerable spot on his body. Nicko avoided the blow and smashed the prisoner's head.

The other two landed astride Nicko. It was like jumping into a nest of sharp knives. Ripped, bloody, screaming, they staggered away and fled.

No one else challenged the right of way and Nicko led the party out into the night. Overhead, the sky was bright with battle and here and there about the area, there were sharp skirmishes, evidently between Baserite and Ptomenite troops. There was no way to tell which way the battle swayed.

"Straight ahead," Mike ordered. "Skirt the wall of that building."

They reached the field, ran across the last open area and faded in among the ships. Mike smiled grimly as he saw the dark, unlighted outline of the Terran space craft. They had beaten McKee and Talbott! Perhaps the two scoundrels had been slain. "Up the ramp, quick!" Mike directed.

* * * * *

But McKee and Talbott had not been killed. Nor had Mike beaten them to the ship. He had preceded Nicko up the ramp and as he came to the hatch, the lights of the ship flashed on and Talbott stepped forth holding a Terran pistol. Beyond him, inside, stood McKee and the Princess Katal'halee.

"I told you all we had to do was wait here--that they would show up," Talbott said.

McKee pushed forward, a somewhat mystified expression on his face. "Sure, but I still can't figure how you convinced this Katal babe they're responsible for the uprising."

Talbott's smile was one of grim satisfaction. "I have persuasive ways," he said. "I'll back them down the ramp and she can pronounce sentence and I'll execute them."

"Why stall?" McKee asked. "Kill all five of them and let's get out of here. About time we started thinking of our own skins."

"I'm taking the Princess with us, you idiot!"

"You're the idiot!" McKee snapped. "Not letting well enough alone!"

* * * * *

The proud Ptomenite Princess pushed forward, her cold eyes on Mike and he realized of course, why the two Terran schemers could talk so freely. Katal'halee could not understand a word they said.

Talbott motioned with the gun and Mike backed slowly down the ramp. He was still holding Professor Brandon in his arms, the old man's eyes blank and uncomprehending.

"That'll do," Talbott said. He stepped aside and the Princess pointed a contemptuous finger at the group. She spoke sharply and Mike looked swiftly at Nicko.

"It's a death sentence," Nicko said. "She's accusing us of everything but stopping up the royal sink."

The Princess now stepped aside and motioned imperiously to Talbott. He raised his gun.

But a new voice barked sharply. A fine needle of crystalline ray shot out of the darkness and melted the gun in Talbott's hand. Talbott jerked his seared member back with a squall of pain.

Mertaan stepped into the circle of light. He looked at Mike. "I had reason to follow you," he said and Nicko quickly interpreted.

"But it can wait a few moments." He turned to the Princess Katal'halee and a hatred built up over generations flashed between them. Yet, their eyes seemed also to mirror a mutual respect. Mertaan said, "You are wrong about your betrayers. It was these two who made the arrangements--contacted our allies within your city. The tall one is very good at getting his points over with gestures and pictures."

Evidently, on this planet, even enemies did not lie to each other. Katal'halee's eyes turned on the pair with a venom that sent every drop of blood from their faces. "What did they ask in return?"

"Only seats of power in the city after we conquered it."

* * * * *

Nicko was translating for Mike and the latter whistled softly. "So that was the idea. The jewels in the ship were only an ace in the hole."

"But they must figure the battle goes bad for the Baserites," Nicko said. "They planned to take off."

"The last minute," Mertaan told Katal'halee, "your fine friends turned milk-white. They had no stomach for the battle they helped arrange."

"A truce between us, Baserite," the Princess said. "Give me these two and a gun with which to march them off into the darkness. You and I can settle accounts later."

Mike was astounded when, without hesitation, Mertaan took another weapon from his person and handed it to the Princess. Mike's flesh crawled as he stood rigid, expecting a blast from the royal Ptomenite that would wipe them all out. He wondered at Mertaan's gullibility.

But evidently the word of these fierce people could be taken at face value. The Princess ignored all but McKee and Talbott. She pointed the gun at them and motioned. Now they understood what had transpired. Sweat streamed from their faces.

"No!--please, no!" Talbott screamed. "He lies! He tells you lies!" They both fell to their knees.