Part 5

The girl opened her eyes, stared up at him blankly. "Joel! I--I did find you!" Then her features froze with horror. "But Roos! He knew I was there! He--he saw me. The ray...."

"You're safe," said Joel. "I knocked him out with a paralyzer."

"But how did he discover me?"

"That's what's troubling me. Unless...." He paused, stared thoughtfully at the frightened Ganelon girl. "Priscilla Cameron is a mutant. Her sense of smell is as keen as mine. That's how your spies have been detected. Maybe Roos is a mutant also."

Tamis sat up, glimpsed Priscilla's luxurious bedroom through the mirrors, caught her lip between her teeth.

"Joel! Where are we?"

"Priscilla Cameron's apartment." He explained about the mirrors.

Tamis sighed in relief. "Joel, what have you learned? The Unfit are impatient. That ex-surgeon, Walt Eriss, you remember him? He's insisting that we attack at once. He--he's insane Joel!"

"He's a homicidal maniac," Joel agreed dryly. "I wish I'd taken Thorp's advice and dumped him down the reconverters." He shook his head. "I haven't learned much; but it's all bad!" And he told her about Priscilla's knowledge of the slave organization.

"They can't know!" Tamis' voice was tight with horror. "They can't, Joel! After all our precautions. What are they going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Hasn't Priscilla Cameron confided in you? I thought...."

He laughed shortly. "I might as well be a piece of furniture."

"You mean she hasn't...."

"That's exactly what I do mean. I'm her bodyguard. She gave me to understand the first day that our association was to be strictly business." He made a wry grimace. "And that's what it has been!"

"But why--" Tamis looked utterly dumbfounded. "She acted like a wanton aboard ship."

"It was just an act. Don't ask me why. I don't know."

"Where is she now?"

"In conference with her father."

Tamis rose shakily. "I don't understand it, Joel. There are wheels within wheels. I must get back to the Thinkers."

Joel guided her through the walls to a tiny lift barely large enough to hold them both. They dropped swiftly to the basement, traversed a long tunnel.

"This comes out in an alley beyond the gates," Joel informed her. "Have you heard anything of Nick Thorp?"

"He escaped," Tamis said, "He's staying in my village."

"Thorp?"

"Yes. He joined the outlaws first. But he had trouble with Walt Eriss. Eriss had him thrown into a herd of nigel trees."

"Good Lord," said Joel. "How did he get away?"

Tamis began to grow red. "I--I was watching out for him."

"Sort of a Guardian Angel?"

She giggled. "You could call it that."

There was a scanner at the end of the tunnel. Joel put his eye to it. "The alley's deserted. You can go now." He touched a button, the wall slid aside. The brilliant light of Asgard's twin suns flooded the entrance. He began, "When will you--" and stopped.

Tamis was gone.

* * * * *

When Joel returned to his cell, Priscilla Cameron was sitting on the edge of his bunk, tapping a sandaled toe on the floor. "You've had a visitor!" she greeted him.

Joel concealed his astonishment. Priscilla was wearing her green hair in a roll about her face. Crisp white shorts and halter made a sharp contact against the warm sepia of her skin.

He said, "That's preposterous...."

But Priscilla stopped him with a laugh. "She left her scent all over the place. It was that Ganelon girl, wasn't it? Never mind lying; I know!"

Joel grinned crookedly. "Well?"

"Are you in love with her, Joel?"

"Love?" He looked puzzled. The word was archaic. The Eugenic Board's policy of controlled scientific breeding had pretty well obliterated that particular passion. Desire remained, but it was physical. "Oh," he said finally, "you mean the emotion that all the old poets used to rave about. That's atavistic, isn't it?"

"But we're atavisms," she said.

Joel stared at Priscilla, conscious of that strange affinity binding them together. He could feel the pulse ticking in his throat. He took a step towards her, stopped, furious with himself.

"What about those other men you bought?" he demanded hoarsely; "the ones who disappeared?"

Priscilla's green eyes were alight. "Why, Joel, you're jealous!"

"What happened to them?" he repeated.

She said: "You're going to find out now. That's why I came for you," and sprang to her feet. "Hurry. We mustn't keep them waiting any longer."

"What the devil are you talking about?" Joel demanded suspiciously. "Keep who waiting?"

"You'll see," she laughed.

Priscilla led him straight to the governor's suite. The guard at the entrance saluted smartly, stood aside.

The governor's aide, a young, pink-cheeked cadet, was sitting behind a bank of televisors. He sprang to his feet, clicked his heels. "They're in the conference room," he said to Priscilla.

She nodded, shoved Joel down a corridor at the left. A panel opened automatically at their approach. Joel paused on the threshold startled.

The conference room was long, low-ceilinged and devoid of windows. Perhaps twenty people were sitting at a long table with Governor Cameron at the head. Fredrik Roos, Chief of the Asgardian Police, was on the governor's right.

"Sit down, Hakkyt," Cameron said and indicated a vacant chair.

Wordlessly, Joel sank into the relaxer. Priscilla pulled up a chair beside him. She clutched his hand beneath the table, squeezed it reassuringly.

"You're a mutant," the governor began abruptly. "Don't be alarmed. We're all mutations here."

Joel's jaw didn't actually drop but he felt that it had. "Mutants!" he managed to say. "All of you?"

"Precisely."

"But you're the Governor of Asgard!"

Priscilla laughed excitedly. "Let me introduce him, father. Joel, you've met General Roos. He's commander-in-chief of Asgard's police."

The lean handsome General inclined his head. There was a glitter in his gray eyes.

Joel felt suddenly cold, thought, "He knows that it was I who rayed him with the paralyzer."

Priscilla was proceeding around the table, reeling off names and titles. There were too many for Joel to remember. But one thing stood out. They were all from the Executive Class. The Chief Administrator of Eden, of Nelsville, of Nuvenice. The port officials, the security officers....

They were all there--and all mutants!

"Hakkyt," said the governor softly, "you're skeptical, but understand this. The human race has progressed from the level of apes through its mutations. Not startling ones. But millions upon millions of minor unnoticeable variations!

"When the Eugenics Board first began its experiments in controlled breeding its policy was more liberal. It recognized the value of mutations and tried to incorporate the best variations into the race.

"Gradually though, they grew more rigid. When the present type homo sapiens was produced about a thousand years ago, they quit experimenting altogether."

The governor brought his fist down with a bang on the table.

"Hakkyt," he said in a rising voice, "evolution isn't static! If a species doesn't progress, it degenerates! The human race is on the point of extinction!

"Have you ever noticed how an apple tree will bear a bumper crop just before it dies? It's the tree's blind effort to reseed itself. What do you think has brought on the present wave of mutations, of socially maladjusted individuals?"

Joel stared at him fascinated.

"I'll tell you!" the governor answered himself. "The policy of the Eugenics Board has dammed the course of human evolution! The race is dying. But before it dies, nature is making one last attempt to perpetuate the species!

"We're the only hope of mankind. You--" he stabbed a forefinger at Joel's chest--"and I and the rest of the mutations here on Asgard!"

* * * * *

Joel's brain was reeling. Governor Cameron's words had the ring of truth.

"But how did you get control of Asgard? Does the Republic know?"

It was General Roos who answered in his lazy drawl. Joel turned his head to stare at him.

"No," said Roos. "The Republic is unaware that mutants hold all the administrative posts in the colony."

"But how...."

"Briefly, Hakkyt, the mutants on Terra saw that if they didn't unite, they were doomed. Societies were formed. The mutants were taught to disguise their oddities, submerge themselves in the race."

"But the psycho-detectors," Joel protested. "They couldn't fool the machines!"

"No. But Asgard was different. Asgard is a frontier. It's four and a third light years from the Republic. The laws are not enforced so strictly."

The implications were too startling for Joel to grasp all at once. These were mutants, and he was one of them. They were his kind whether he liked it or not.

Roos was saying, "The mutants migrated--secretly. Some of them rose to minor administrative posts. And when a mutant was placed in authority, he bent every effort to install others of his class."

"We're trying to give the human race a new lease on life--a new beginning!" Priscilla broke in passionately. "This--this is a sanctuary where people won't be persecuted because they're different."

"Slavery ..." Joel began.

"It's not slavery," the governor interrupted. "We petitioned the Republic to send us the Unfit in order to rescue them from the Experimental Stations.

"Ordinarily, Hakkyt, you would have been separated immediately from the maladjusted and the criminally insane of the labor battalion. True mutants are rare, and Priscilla usually buys them...."

"Priscilla buys them?" Joel caught the flash of amusement in the girl's green eyes.

"Yes," said the governor. "We've encouraged the rumor that she is--ah--headstrong in order to divert suspicion. Actually the mutants are brought to the palace where they can be taught to disguise themselves, given a new identity, put in posts of authority.

"That is what should have happened to you. Except your report from the Eugenics Board disappeared!

"Priscilla, though, insisted that you were a true mutant. We didn't, however, feel that we could take a chance. Not when we're in the midst of a crisis...."

"Crisis?" Joel's eyes swept the circle of faces. Their expressions had changed subtly. They were intent, nervous. He felt a coldness creep up his spine. "What has happened?"

"Nothing--yet!" General Roos drawled.

A woman with claret hair said, "It's what is about to happen!"

"The Republic?" Joel hazarded.

Governor Cameron shook his head. "We're not afraid of the Republic. They're four and a third light years off. They haven't the Star Ships necessary to transport and maintain an army across such a vast distance."

Joel's green eyes narrowed. "Then what are you afraid of?"

"The Ganelons!" Governor Cameron gave Joel a shrewd glance. "We know that you've been in contact with the natives. Frankly, Hakkyt, that's why you're here!"

"But I don't see...."

General Roos smiled grimly. "Oh, we're not afraid of the Ganelons themselves. But they've organized an underground movement to overthrow the government. That's us!"

Priscilla took Joel's hand, gripped it convulsively. "That wouldn't be so bad, Joel, even though we stand to lose everything. But they've organized the maladjusted, the criminally insane! The worst elements among the unfit!"

"But can't you put down a revolt?"

General Roos laughed savagely. "I've a handful of police with paralyzers. Paralyzers, mind you! Don't you understand? There hasn't been a war in a thousand years! There are no weapons! No factories to make them. No officers with even the most rudimentary knowledge of tactics."

"But the Unfit haven't weapons either...."

"That's where you're mistaken! Our spies have reported a ray type projector that destroys the red blood corpuscles! They've been manufacturing them in hidden laboratories in the jungle!"

Silence fell over the conference table--a breathless anxious silence. Joel could feel their eyes on him and he shifted uncomfortably.

"But what do you expect me to do?" he asked defensively.

Governor Cameron stared at Joel with his penetrating green eyes. "Hakkyt, we want to treat with the Ganelons. There's room for both our races. You're in communication with their Thinkers. You're our only contact with them."

Joel said suspiciously, "If you were anxious to treat with the Thinkers, why did you murder their spies?"

"Murder their spies?" Priscilla echoed. Half a dozen voices burst out in protest.

Joel stared pointedly at General Fredrik Roos. The dark, handsome general smiled, shrugged.

"But no one's killed any Ganelons!" the governor said. "You're mistaken, Hakkyt."

Fredrik Roos said, "I'm afraid he's quite right."

"What?" said the governor.

"This is no time for sentimentality," Roos went on dryly. "Too much is at stake. Several Ganelons have been trapped in the palace by my officers. They have some trick of invisibility. Psychological, I believe. But we could still scent them. We knocked them out with paralyzers. Since they are telepathic, it wouldn't silence them to lock them up. I ordered them destroyed."

Governor Cameron's face blackened. "Why ..." he began.

A shout interrupted him. There was a chorus of startled exclamations. Joel glanced over his shoulder.

The governor's aide had just burst into the conference room. A terrified expression convulsed his pink face.

"Governor!" he yelled. "They've risen! They're attacking Eden!"

"Who?" the Governor half rose from his chair. "Get a grip on yourself! Who, man?"

"The Unfit!"

X

Joel was stunned. The silence held a moment longer, then everyone began to shout at once.

Roos leaped to his feet. "The control hall, Governor! Join me there as soon as you can!" Before the last words were out of his mouth, he was sprinting through the door.

Governor Cameron succeeded in catching the attention of the Nuvenice and Nelsville officials, ordered them back to their posts to organize the free planters. As the last of them trooped from the room, he swung on Joel. "Well, Hakkyt, which side are you on?"

It was a decision that Joel had known for some time he must make. The realization of what it would mean to have men like Walt Eriss, the ex-surgeon, in power tipped the scales. He said, "I'm with you, I suppose, Governor." And felt like a traitor to Tamis and Nick Thorp and the rest.

"Then for Heaven's sake, contact the Thinkers. Tell them we'll arbitrate!"

"But I can't!"

"What?"

"You should have let me know about this sooner. I don't know how to contact the Thinkers."

Governor Cameron stared at him with blazing green eyes. Then he swung abruptly on his heel, tramped from the room.

A rumble of sound like the mutter of surf vibrated against the soles of Joel's feet. He felt Priscilla tug at his sleeve.

"The control room," she was saying. "Hurry!"

Pandemonium burst on Joel's ears as they entered the control hall. The uproar of battle was emanating from banks of televisors. They were being operated by a score of young officers--General Roos' staff. The general himself strode back and forth in front of the screens.

Scenes of the bitter house-to-house fighting, the stampeding mobs of civilians flashed across the screens with terrifying reality. Joel was appalled. He felt his throat tighten, his heart hammer against his ribs.

A young field officer appeared briefly in one of the screens. "_We can't hold them, sir_," he panted. "_It's those damn rays!_"

"Fall back to L Street," Roos ordered, "We're making a stand along the monorail."

"Look!" Priscilla said, clutching Joel's arm and pointing at another screen.

It mirrored a broad empty street down which rays were probing like searching fingers. They were pale green, scarcely visible in the blinding light of Asgard's twin suns.

Serfs in white ketons were carrying the deadly projectors at their hips. There was a Ganelon with them, Joel saw. One lone naked man walking in their midst.

"There's a Ganelon with every squad!" Roos said at Joel's elbow. "They're directing the attack."

Just then Governor Cameron stood up. He'd been in communication with Nuvenice. "They can't spare any troops." His voice was stricken. "The serfs have risen there, too."

Roos began to curse.

Joel felt numb. The Unfit, he realized, were being led by a master strategist. The slave rebellions at Nelsville and Nuvenice had been instigated in order that troops could not be diverted to Eden against which the main assault was being directed.

A voice from one of the audios blared suddenly. "_Spaceport calling. The rebels are_...." A faint hissing noise burst from the instrument.

At that instant every screen in the televisor bank flickered and went dead!

Joel's ears rang with the silence. It was like the dead spot following an explosion.

Roos turned a blanched face toward them. "They've cut the power!"

In the unnatural silence, Joel could hear that muttering roar again. It was louder. He could even distinguish shouts and screams.

A guard burst suddenly into the disorganized control hall. His features were pale as chalk. "Slaves!" he gasped unsteadily. "Palace slaves--fighting! Ray projectors!"

He sank on a bench. Joel stared at him in horror. The guard was slipping sideways. Then he rolled to the floor. He was dead.

"The ray!" Priscilla said in a faint voice. "It destroys the red blood corpuscles!"

Joel clenched his fist. "If I could reach any of those Ganelons with the Unfit, I could establish contact with the Thinkers. They're telepathic!"

"But can you get out of the palace?" Roos demanded.

Joel said, "Yes." He was surprised that Roos didn't seem to know about the secret passages.

The chief of the Asgardian police unpinned the gold and azure shield, the insignia of his office. "Take this. It'll get you through our lines." He made a wry grimace. "I've been at fault about the Ganelons. I hope it doesn't queer your mission."

It had cost Roos an effort to make that admission, Joel realized. He said, "I feel as if I were deserting...."

"Nonsense, man," the governor interrupted. "You're the one who's taking the risk. We can barricade ourselves in these rooms. We're safer here than anywhere else on Asgard."

Priscilla took Joel's face between her cool palms, kissed him passionately. "I--I love you, Joel. Please take care of yourself."

Joel was startled. Then his arms closed about her hungrily.

The governor cleared his throat. "There's a proper time and place for everything."

Joel tore himself away. "I'll be back," he said. "And to hell with what's proper!"

* * * * *

Terra Parkway was jammed with refugees streaming toward the palace. To the south, Joel could see a black pall of smoke overhanging the streets.

A worried frown creased his forehead. He had slipped from the palace by the tunnel along which he had escorted Tamis earlier. He should be devoting his whole attention to his immediate danger. But he couldn't dismiss the green-haired Priscilla Cameron from his thoughts.

He was worried about her there in the palace. Was this love? It was a disturbing sensation.

He began to breast the flood of refugees streaming from the battle area. White faces taut with fear. The faces of children and women. It was like a nightmare.

After a while the faces began to thin out. And then there weren't any left at all. The street lay empty before him.

"Hey!" a voice called. "Where do you think you're going?"

Joel caught sight of a guard crouched in a doorway.

"Get in here!" the guard growled. "What d'you want to do? Get killed? The rebels are up ahead."

Joel slid into the doorway. The smoke clouds were spreading. Alpha Centauri A was a blood red ball just above the house tops.

"What's happening?" Joel demanded. The strange quiet felt unnatural.

The guard said, "Our officers are having a talk with the rebels."

"Talk? What for?"

"We're tired of being rayed down. And nothing but paralyzers to fight back with. We're going over to the rebels. Hey! Come back here!"

But Joel was gone, running down the empty street.

Other men shouted at him from doorways, from windows. Suddenly an officer jumped in his path, raised a paralyzer.

"Hold up there!"

Joel skidded to a halt. If the troops were deserting to the Unfit, General Roos' badge would be of no help to him now.

"Where--", the officer began.

Joel hit him in the temple with a sledge-hammer fist. He didn't wait to see the effect of his blow, but darted into an open doorway.

There was an entrance hall and it was crowded with men. Joel put his head down, charged straight through them.

He hit the steps four at a time. Yellow flame lapped at his heels. Then he was around a curve. A whistle blew someplace below, shrill, threatening. He leaped up two more flights of steps, came out on the roof.

More guards were lying on their bellies behind a coping. They stared at him curiously.

"Ray that damn fool down!" a voice roared from the street.

Joel plunged straight for the recumbent soldiers. They clawed at their paralyzers, trying to twist around.

He leaped to the coping, hung there a second silhouetted against the murky sky. Then he jumped spasmodically for the adjoining roof.

He didn't look at the ground three stories below, but he was aware of it. His feet struck the edge of the next roof and he sprawled forward, gasping for breath.

Two roofs in front of him, he could see a row of shaggy heads raised above another coping. They were watching him curiously.

Then they began to yell and beckon, lifting projectors into sight. Pale green fingers probed all around him, but none of the deadly blood-destroying rays touched him.

They were covering his retreat, Joel realized. He scrambled to his feet. He leaped the next gap easily and the next.

The grinning serfs pulled him down behind the wall, clapping him on the back. Joel was too winded to talk.

One of the rebels was crawling across the roof towards him. He had a black arm-band. Something dangled from his belt--like hair. It was hair! Long black woman's hair--and it was bloody!

Joel bit his lip, feeling sick at his stomach. He remembered suddenly what Priscilla had said, "The Ganelon's have organized the worst elements among the Unfit--the criminally insane!"

The man reached him, said, "Who are you?"

"I'm from the palace," said Joel. He was careful not to look at the scalp. "I've news!"

"Palace!" echoed the serf. "Has it fallen?"

"No. Quick, man, where's a Ganelon. I have to make my report."

The rebel gave Joel a sharp suspicious glance. Then he lowered his eyes. "There's one below stairs. Come on." He began to crawl across the roof, hitching his projector after him. Joel followed on hands and knees.

A stairwell gaped ahead. As soon as the walls shielded them, the serf stood up. "Hurry it up," he growled. "I'm in charge. I'm not supposed to leave the roof."

Joel rose.

"You go first," said the serf. "You may be all right, but I don't want you breathing down the back of my neck."

Joel started down the steps in the lead. He heard a whisper. Then the roof caved in!

Something seemed to burst inside his skull. He pitched forward, rolled down the stair, brought up in a limp unconscious heap at the foot.

Above him, the serf frowned at the shattered barrel of his projector. "Must have a skull like a meteor shield," he muttered. He threw the projector over the railing.

* * * * *

Joel opened his eyes. Pain wrenched at his skull. There was noise and dust.

At first he thought he was back on Terra in the cattle sheds. Then the scene jarred into focus. He remembered the serf with the woman's scalp at his belt.

He was lying on the ground, he realized, in the midst of a hideous tangle of shouting men and half-tracks. Dust sifted into his nostrils. The furious orange rays of Alpha Centauri B cast an ominous glow over the endless line of vehicles moving into the gutted city.

He sat up. It was a clearing in the jungle. It must have covered hundreds of acres. Prisoners were being held in herds like cattle. Loot was stacked everywhere.

Someone prodded him roughly with a toe, said, "Get up!"