Part 3
"The Absolute be praised!" Bill breathed fervently. "No known ship--not even Vulcanite could possibly withstand a radio-active bombardment of such scope!" He turned slowly to where the Martian scientists stood silent in a group. "I salute you," he telepathed gravely. "Your Multi-Energon screen is the greatest defensive weapon in our Universe." Embarrassedly, the tall, violet-eyed Martians stirred uncomfortably; they had a deep distaste for any emotions and suppressed them ruthlessly. Other findings began to trickle in. The nameless inter-stellar spacer that had emerged from the combined ingenuity of half a dozen worlds, spurred by the ultimate incentive of a brooding and catastrophic peril, all the more terrible because it was unknown, literally swarmed with specialists in every known science. It remained for the special mind of Bill Nardon to correlate all the scientific details and weld them into a final complete knowledge, behind which it was his task to find and solve the _primum mobile_--the motivating factor that they sought.
One thing emerged beyond the shadow of a doubt. Each attack had been characterized by a complete absence of a known _presence_. The individual attempt on Bill's life on earth had been carried out by a creature acting outside its own volition; the magnetic force that had drawn their ship into Saturn itself, likewise was disembodied, and now this radio-active swarm that would have consumed them but for the Energon screen--it too gave no clue as to the final, directing intelligence behind. And yet, in their very midst, a great scientific mind had gone mad.
The stalemate was clear. Thus far they had weathered the unimaginable behind their Energon Screen. But they were trapped within just as effectively as long as they were unable to emerge. The sum total of their knowledge resolved itself to a series of bizarre incidents--to which it might be added the cryptic thought-projection of Freml, the Panadur. He had mentioned "_an ocean of submerged life ... helpless_" had been his final description. Yet he had also indicated a "Mind of Power" far from helpless or submerged indeed. And great as it might be, _one single entity_ was, foe or not, worthy of challenge. The incomplete puzzle in Bill Nardon's mind revolved with all the maddening quality of a picture almost discerned, yet eluding the final composition that would give it recognizable form.
The question was, should they correlate all findings and attempt a return to Earth, and utilize their meager knowledge in preparation of some sort of a defense. Or, take the final risk and visit that silent city whence Freml had drawn vibrations of intelligent life. Bill Nardon already knew what his decision would be. He would call a conference, of course, but in his mind the determination to confront whatever that 'Mind of Power' was--_alone_, had already crystallized.
And in another mind, alien beyond belief, in comparison with his, the same idea had taken root. For Freml, the Panadur, had not told Bill Nardon all he had obtained in that last mental projection of his. A deep, inhuman horror had traveled the incredibly-faint thought waves. Something ancient beyond calculation, as if the essence of evil itself had come alive, had bridged the gap.
III
"I see no wisdom in risking your life too. For if I perish, my task falls upon your shoulders, Freml. In that emergency, you were selected to command the ship ... remember?"
Voicelessly the Panadur assented, and continued to patter softly beside Bill Nardon.
"I've brought with me the League's ultimate weapons," the red-headed Terran continued. "Electro-flash, power-rapier ... if those were to fail, what use would there be in attempting to remain? Thus, I would make a suggestion--return to the spacer in the Z-auxiliary that brought us to the city; I'll keep in touch with you through the ethero-radio," he lifted his left arm exposing the watch-like instrument on his wrist.
The Panadur lifted his great beryl eyes to the tall Terran and telepathed softly, "You don't expect me to agree to that!"
"No," Bill smiled, "it was the expression of a hope. But tell me this, if as I expect, there's strife, what can you hope to add in my favor that would be as important as your being safe in the ship, were I to die?"
Freml didn't answer right away. It was not hesitation, Bill knew that, but the Panadur had blanked his mind. There were things they didn't impart whenever they touched on secrets of his race. Then--
"A weapon _you_ do not have!" He seemed to consider the next thought before he telepathed:
"You know my race can store the accumulative power of radiant energy, and _direct_ it at will.... It's in the legends ... that's how we saved the first Earthmen who trod Europa."
They were in the very heart of the silent city now, and the lofty domes and exaggerated spires swam in the glaucous dusk that was Saturn's eternal day. Overhead great stars blazed like flaming roses, and the glory of the rings was a spangled ocean of glowing jewels, shimmering in patternless rhythms of color. Their sense of reality drained away as the full impact of its dissolving magic gripped their minds.
At last they stood before the portals of the great building whose lofty tower was the city's dominant note. For here the vibrations had led them, vibrations of life--dormant, helpless--and something else too.
Their senses preternaturally alert weapons ready, they exchanged one final look, then Bill Nardon pushed the great portal before him, and it swung silently inwards. And then the great stars, the wheeling moons, the glorious rings that poured down enchantment, were forgotten before the sight that gripped them as they stepped inside. For on an infinite series of tiers that filled the lofty immensity of the room lay inert beings.
Row upon endless row of creatures that to all appearances could have been highly evolved Terrans, except for an exaggerated refinement of features, an evident fragility of bodies, as if evolved almost to the very brink of decadence. Their marmoreal flesh had the cold whiteness of death, and their hair had grown until it spread in great festoons of yellow and black and silver grey. A fine, glittering film of dust overlay their tunics and flesh, and over all, the impalpable feeling of disaster, of a gigantic tragedy, hung like a pall.
"Cataleptic!" Freml flashed the thought, as he examined the nearest beings. "A living death!"
"Rather," Bill Nardon said slowly, "a deathless sleep!" It occurred to him that the entire city was thus peopled with sleepers in oblivion--the ocean of submerged life Freml had sensed.
* * * * *
Upward through the broad ramps of a now motionless conveyor they ascended floor after floor, filled to over-flowing with inert Saturnians, until at last the conveyor ceased and only the polished walls of some unknown substance of what appeared to be an ascensor, remained. Nardon examined it carefully before pressing the colored disk on the side of its closed door. Noiselessly the panel slid aside revealing a shining quadrangle. Unhesitatingly they entered and the door automatically closed. A series of vari-colored disks made a triangular pattern on the left, and Bill pressed the black one at its apex. It shot upwards swiftly without the slightest jar, its incomparable smoothness gave no hint of the extraordinary speed save for the slight, hollow feeling in the pit of their stomachs its occupants felt. After a brief interval it stopped, decelerating as smoothly as it had begun, and the sliding door swept aside. And before them opened a great, transparent alcove beyond whose translucent walls and ceiling, the colossal theatricalism of the heavens was visible.
But Bill Nardon and the Panadur had no eyes for the sidereal spectacle above, two figures in the foreground held their eyes. A girl and what was evidently a man. Two figures, no more. And just now there was not the faintest hint of a belligerent move. Somehow the sight of that girl seated immobile with her exquisite hands folded on her lap, and the startling peacefulness of the man at the towering instrument he was playing, had a curious anticlimactic effect on Bill. He had not known what to expect--but surely, not this!
"Beware!" came the Panadur's warning with unusual force, as they advanced at the ready into the center of the alcove.
The man at the instrument ceased playing, and calmly, casually almost, leaned over to the silent girl and kissed her softly upon the lips, brushing the flower-like mouth with a fleeting caress. And before their uncomprehending eyes, a spectral-blue flash lit the alcove with its ghastly glare, as their lips met! Instantly, the girl's marvelously tinted flesh, like Venusian nacre superimposed on gold, with the highlights gleaming through, _paled_ to the translucent whiteness of Jadite.
For she was golden--her eyes, her hair, the extraordinary lashes that gleamed with the age-old patina of ancient gold. Only her cold, remote serenity was as if she were enveloped in an invisible icy sheath. There was no hint of feeling, of emotional force even ... until Bill gazed into her eyes and saw the infinite depths of tragedy. As they stood transfixed, she stirred a little and said in a low, magnificent voice:
"I am Margalida, the _Aurean_, transmitting for my Lord. If you prefer, I shall telepath." Her deep contralto was glorious in itself, but she spoke as impersonally, as _neutral_, even, as if she were a mechanical instrument, nothing more. And had they known, it could not be otherwise, for her task was to serve only as an instrument of transmission for the telepathic vibrations of the creature at the instrument. Hers was a conquered race, a race sunk in cataleptic oblivion, and she no longer had a will. Her double usefulness made her life secure, for the time being. For the Cinnabarian whom she termed her "Lord" in keeping with the custom of his race, chose, to communicate only through the medium of an enslaved mind. Never, never directly, so that the telepathic vibrations of alien races had to pass through the spectrum of the captive brain and be rendered harmless. The Cinnabarians emitted directly, but received only through the subject being.
"The incredible effrontery of it!" Bill Nardon flashed to the Panadur. "Has _his_ mind protected against our thoughts, and will only communicate through this tragic being!" Bill's lips curled in a grimace of contempt, revealing a row of dazzling, even teeth. "With such a mind of power, this ... Vampire of Life Force ... elects to communicate with us indirectly only! Maybe he fears he might be contaminated ... the colossal effrontery!"
"_He's absorbing everything we're thinking_," Freml thought coldly. For some minutes now, he had been engaged in "_Brooding_," the nearest term Earth had for the Panadur process of concentrating their energy potential, raising it to its ultimate power. His exquisite, silvery fur was an angry silver-violet now, and the beryl eyes were brilliant like faceted jewels.
"I am Kleg," the telepathic vibration came winging from the man, and even before the girl transmitted, both Bill and Freml had received the message. "The divine overlords of _Danae_ have permitted your invasion.... If you and your companions would live, you must place yourselves and your vessel at our disposal." He was playing again, the music weaving an unearthly spell in muted minors; it rose and sank in a shower of notes that sped like living, winged things under his caressing touch. Only it was an instrument on which no human being could ever hope to play, for Kleg had four flexible arms, and slender, tendril-like fingers on his four narrow hands that flashed with vertiginous rapidity, as he probed deliberately with the unholy scalpel of his satanic music the emotional depths of the Terran and the Panadur.
"Rot! Permitted indeed! You dragged us here with some magnetic device. Tell your vampiric overlords, we acknowledge only One Divinity--the Absolute." Bill's eyes were barely open, mere electric-blue lines above his high cheek bones, while in his right hand he held the deadly Power-rapier, and an electronic-flash in the other.
Kleg turned slightly from the piano-like instrument, with its three separate keyboards, with a curiously fastidious motion, and on the strange thin face with its knife-like nose and chill, transparent eyes the barest semblance of a smile parted slightly the cruel curve of the faintly outlined lips. He let his four flexible arms with their slim hands and long, sensitive thumbs fall from the keyboards of the instrument, and rose to his towering height of over seven feet in one sinuous motion of faultless elegance. His exaggerated slenderness made Bill's superb physique seem primitive--barbaric.
* * * * *
Suddenly the Cinnabarian's transparent eyes went black and without warning a coruscating lance of living energy shot from his lips. But in the infinitesimal fraction of time, Freml, the Panadur, had acted. The awful energy potential he'd been generating in the involved processes of his being flashed like a thunderbolt of power and met the Cinnabarian's in mid air. A hellish flare of incandescence blinded them as the universe seemed to explode before their eyes. Reeling apart with dazzled eyes, they sensed the emergence of a new foe, and Bill's power rapier wove a vortex of electronic disintegration as he twirled it before himself and the Panadur; after a while, although their sight was ringed with a myriad rainbows and prismatic rings, they could see several ape-like _homunculi_ at bay, darting before them, seeking an opening whence they might reach the Terran and the Panadur. The Cinnabarian stood back, leaning against the immense instrument, limp and deathly white, as if drained of energy, which indeed he was. He eyed the _Aurean_ girl hungrily, but Bill was between him and the helpless slave.
In a frenzy of fury, one of the _homunculi_ made a wild leap, and impaled itself on the flashing blade. The sickening odor of disintegrating flesh and bone was a stench in their nostrils as the creature fell cloven to the floor.
Bill Nardon was mercilessly using the electro-flash on the taloned creatures now, as they redoubled their efforts to reach them. As several died, others rushed in, debouching from the ascensor, slithering from under the instrument, until the carnage was appalling. At last, Bill's electro-flash went dead. He had no time to recharge, but drew the less efficient and thunderous atomo-pistol from his belt, and aiming it at the foremost _homunculi_ pulled the trigger. A starkly curious thing instantly happened even before the last roaring echoes of the discharge had dwindled.
The tall Cinnabarian with an involuntary shriek of mortal pain doubled over, much like warriors on Terra had doubled up and died when a dreadful Radite bomb fell too near and the devastating concussion snuffed out their lives. The vibrations of the atomo-pistol had killed him, although the tall being from outer-space was untouched. And over the embattled _homunculi's_ faces a curious change came, as their eyes seemed to go blank, and they stood uncertain, bewildered, making no effort to attack. With one swift motion of his powerful arm, Bill gathered the unconscious form of the _Aurean_ girl and retreated to the ascensor followed by the Panadur. Unheeded, the ethero-radio on his wrist flashed red and blue, as the others back in the spacer tried to communicate with them. They had heard what had happened in an incoherent fashion, but had no way of knowing the story in full.
"We've got them now!" Bill exulted, as he raced down the ramps once they'd left the ascensor. "We've got them, Freml!"
"Beware!" the Panadur flashed again. "They never suspected we of Europa possessed _their_ power. I sensed from the moment I saw that kiss, that Kleg would strike in that fashion--only, he drained himself in his eagerness to blast us. The next time _they_ will be more careful!"
"The next time I'll do my communicating with electro-cannon!" Bill exclaimed. "Although just where are the rest of those hellions? What Kleg was doing alone in the tower's a mystery to me."
They got into the swift Z-Auxiliary and started the return journey to the spacer, under the lambent fires of the titanic rings. And now the _Aurean_ girl trembled and became convulsed on the seat of the auxiliary where Bill had placed her. "They're trying to reach her, no doubt--from wherever they are ... damn them!" Bill flamed. He took off his own transparent Energon helmet and fastened it on the unconscious girl. He was gratified as the convulsions ceased.
* * * * *
A measure of color had returned to her wan features and her heart was beating with greater strength. Bill thought of administering the restorative _Sulfalixir_, but he dared not risk removing the Energon screen headpiece. Freml, the Panadur, caught his urgent thoughts, drained of life energy to the point of exhaustion, Margalida might not survive. And she must live, _she must_! Was Bill's intense thought. Behind that alabastrine brow lay the knowledge of a thousand mysteries that must be cleared up.
"I will aid her," Freml telepathed with a tired sigh. He went close to the girl, and his fragile hand stroked her throat, then quietly he placed his face close to the faltering heart and transmitted some of the precious energy that still remained to him. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the exquisite bosom beneath the tunic of a material sheer as dim blue fog, began to rise and fall with regularity. Into the exquisite face, the delicate nacre hue with gold highlights crept slowly. Not until then did Freml rise. "Danger's past," he telepathed laconically. "Hurry, Bill! I shall need to borrow energy from my people ... soon!"
And indeed there was a need for haste, for at last the hidden enemy had decided to strike in person. All else had failed despite machiavellian plans. This time they meant to stamp out of existence these presumptuous creatures that had blasted one of their kind--an overlord. Besides in the unconscious mind of the _Aurean_ girl, their hellish secrets lay.
Out of the foamless waves of the strangely shining sea, immense iridescent globes floated upwards swiftly, gaining altitude and then deploying into a triangular formation like an inverted pyramid.
It was an awesome sight. In a frenzy for foreboding, Bill gave the Z-Auxiliary its maximum acceleration. He knew it was a race with time, and time was on the wing. Ahead of them the super-spacer loomed glistening in the fantastic light, and short as the distance was, it seemed as if they would never make it in the face of that swooping formation of menacing globes. Out of the foremost sphere, a lengthening finger of livid fire pointed directly at their tiny, hurtling craft.
Bill Nardon maneuvered in a wide zig-zag then aimed for the yawning auxiliary lock of the Spacer, and hurtled within to a jarring, crashing stop in the mesh of synchronized magnetic fields that achieved degravitation, arresting mass and speed synchronously. The huge lock clanged shut instantly, and with what breath remained in his battered body, Bill Nardon managed to shout into the communication system:
"Inner and outer Energon screens ..." he gasped. "Man all emergency and battle stations.... Prepare to launch, we're going up!" Blood was seeping a scarlet thread out of his ears and nose. Freml, the Panadur, was a limp heap on the auxiliary's floor, as energy drained, the sudden acceleration had blanked out even his stupendous mind.
Bill pressed the exit lever of the Auxiliary and got up stiff and weary, his body a living ache. And even before he got to the exit, Nydron was there, inscrutable as usual, product of several races from the wild days of the last inter-planetary war, until it was doubtful if he himself knew his antecedents, or his age, for that matter. But Terra counted only on achievement--not racial purity. They had at last learned that much, and Nydron's military genius was ... well, Nydron's. He was bowing slightly now, and behind him Bill discerned the _Juvenals_, who under the direction of a Juvenal Surgeon, repaired bodies through a rejuvenating therapy that involved an extremely delicate sub-glandular technique.
Bill waved to them to take charge of Freml and the _Aurean_ girl, and wished he himself could afford the luxury of sinking into the ineffably peaceful, dreamless sleep which was the first step in the process; but no time for that now. He glanced at the light-copper features of Nydron, that might be a modified-Martian, with a dash of Mercury thrown in.
"I see our military expert is ready for all contingencies!" He strove to be light, casual almost. "Have your forces been instructed, Nydron? I mean ... to meet this unexpected attack?"
"All screens are on, Commander. As per your orders we're blasting off in seconds. I shall modify strategy and technique according to what information you may give me." The long, lambent green eyes of the man widened briefly illumining the smooth, narrow face which though unlined gave the feeling of incredible age. "As you doubtlessly know, _any_ enemy has a weak link in the chain--an ... an ..."
"Achilles heel?" Bill's eyes flicked with humor.
Nydron assented with the barest flicker. Everything about him seemed outwardly static, thanks to his amazing economy of movement.
"Any luck with the Astro-radio during my absence?" Bill asked as they hurried from the Auxiliary into the control room of the Spacer. If they could only contact even one of the inhabited outer planets!
"We've been sending steadily. No response!" Nydron replied laconically. A convulsive tremor shook the titanic spacer, and the shrill ascending whine of the warning signal rose to inaudibility.
Overhead the inverted pyramid of scintillating globes seemed about to engulf the throbbing ship.
* * * * *
"Peace, gentlemen!" Antaran's voice floated cool and sardonic beneath the lofty transepts of the Hall of Planets in the Universarium.
"Your charges are ... well, ancient history--almost....
"Of course Terra sent part of its fleet following the departure of the _Expedition_. But would _you_ have had it otherwise? It was not only a measure of protection for our most unique mind--Nardon's--but you must admit, protection also for the other occupants of the spacer." It was exasperating, maddening, that admirable self-possession with a hint of laughter.
"How do we know _that_ was the sole purpose of your fleet?" Flushed, his magnificent tunic dishevelled, the Martian Ambassador asked furiously.
"You invite reprisals!" A Neptunian was saying. "War Fleets are banned from space except by unanimous consent--you've broken the law! Or is it that you're scrapping the Treaty already?" He glared at the Head of the Terran Council belligerently, and with the complete approval of half a dozen races.
"No laws have been broken ... _Gentlemen_." He emphasized the term. "You see, we're all party to the deed. Really now, don't tell me you were not aware that Mars, Venus, Neptune ... Mercury even, in fact, every signatory to the Inter-Planetary League made instant preparations the moment the 'Suicide' Spacer blasted off. Why, there wasn't a planet but had its fleet in readiness to follow!"
Antaran smiled sweetly into their embarrassed faces.
"Admitted," the Martian said stiffly, "but those were merely pardonable precautions!"
"Precautions that became immediate action as soon as our fleet segment was discovered in space!" Antaran's voice went cold. "Like a comet dragging a lengthening tail, each planet we passed sent out part of its fleet, until _all of us_ were represented. Haven't your Governments advised you ... Gentlemen?"