Part 3

The Martian nodded. "Half goes to the Dohlmites. The remaining half is divided among the crew. That includes the cargo, whatever the captives bring on the open market and salvage value of the ships themselves."

Norman grinned. His first purchase with his share of the prize money would be Jennifer Scott.

The Martian pointed to a silver insignia, a small rocket ship of ancient design pinned to the right breast of Norman's blouse. "That," he informed the young man, "is the insignia of your clan. It is important. Never take it off. All the men aboard the _Rocket_ belong to that clan."

"Why?" asked Norman, puzzled.

The Martian sighed. "There is no law in Behrl, so long as we don't interfere with the administration of the city. In the Human Colony anarchy reigns supreme. For our own protection, we've banded together."

The Martian rose from the bunk, went to the door. "I'll leave you to get settled now. We eat at fourteen-hundred." He opened the door, paused, turned back. "One thing more. Forget about escaping. Dismiss it from your mind. Most of us joined with the same intention that you have. But it's impossible. There was a Martian, a very good friend of mine, who tried it. He stole a space tender. He got all the way to Mars before he was missed. In sight of the quarters of the imperial guard he dropped dead." He paused, said, "I'll see you at fourteen-hundred," pulled the door shut after him.

Norman Saint Clair sank down on his bunk. Somewhere, there must be a weak link in the Dohlmites armor. He wished he had specialized in botany instead of ancient history. Botany, he thought wildly, horticulture, perhaps there lay the clue.

V

During the ensuing days Norman Saint Clair became acquainted with the other members of Koal's squad. There were nine. Two were Martians, one a Venusian, the rest Earthmen. All of them had been captured by the Dohlmites and had chosen piracy to slavery.

While yet a day from Neptune, everyone began feverishly to pack their gear in anticipation of the landing. Word was circulated when they were passing through the crust. Norman and Koal hurried to the corridor before the port, found it jammed with men. The huge ship settled with a slight jar. They had landed.

"Home," said Koal.

With a jolt Norman realized that this was home for him, too. The massive entrance slid aside. The men poured out. Caught in the stream, he and Koal were carried to the runway and down to the floor of the spaceport. He looked around curiously.

The road led between two empty troughs. At least he thought they were empty, until he realized he couldn't see beyond them. Invisible ships lay in the troughs. Overhead a large pinkish sun flamed unnaturally.

"Come along," urged Koal. "You've the rest of your life for sight seeing." He led Norman outside the yards to a massive building.

"What's this?" asked the young man as they passed through the doors.

"Emigration. Here's where you'll be assigned living quarters."

A Mercurian ensconced behind a grill like a bank teller took his name and ship, handed him a slip of paper. On it was printed F12-D234. He looked at it blankly.

The Martian laughed, explained: "F12 is the building. Everyone from the _Rocket_ lodges in the same building. D is the floor, two-thirty-four your apartment number."

"Oh."

The Martian laughed again, said "Come along. You'll get the hang of things soon enough."

They returned to the street, entered a many storied garage. Here Norman saw hundreds of surface cars parked row upon row. A ramp led up to the next level.

"This is where our cars are stored while we're on a voyage. We aren't allowed flying vehicles. Only the Dohlmites can use them."

The Martian went to one of the cars, held open the door. "You'll want to buy one of these as soon as we're paid. The slaves manufacture them very cheaply."

Climbing in beside Norman, Koal pressed a button. The diminutive atomic motor burst into life. They rolled out onto the streets of Behrl.

"When will they auction off the prisoners?" asked Norman as the Martian guided the surface car through the traffic.

"Not for a day or so. You'll be notified. This is the manufacturing district."

One factory after another flowed past. Off to their left Norman observed a hill towering above the rest of the city. Its slopes were covered with balconied buildings rank with trees and flowers and shrubs like the fabled hanging gardens of Babylon.

"What's that?" He nudged the Martian.

"That's where the Dohlmites live. Whatever you do, don't go near that quarter of the city. A force wall surrounds it which is instant death if you come in contact with it. Their laboratories, the control station, the death machine, our wave length cylinders are all there."

In a few moments they had passed through the factory area and into a district of shops, restaurants, amusement centers.

"Who operates these?" he asked.

"Slaves. The profits go to the Dohlmites. Everything returns to their pockets."

The streets were crowded with people: barefooted women in short gay colored tunics, men in loose coveralls.

"Slaves," explained Koal.

The vastness of the plant men's enterprise became apparent as they sped through the streets.

"Koal," said Norman a little frightened. "When is it going to stop?"

The Martian looked at him grimly, "With the fall of the Empire," he replied bitterly. "With the enslavement of Mars and Venus and Earth. The Dohlmites are only a handful, but they plan to lop off the Empire colony by colony, enslaving the inhabitants just as they have us. Their ultimate goal is to have the individual wave recording of every human in the Universe. An Empire of slaves."

"Impossible!" he ejaculated.

"Why? The element of time is of no importance with them. Every ship they capture gives them more power, more slaves. It gathers force like a snowball rolling down hill. Before long, nothing can stop them."

* * * * *

Norman slumped back in his seat. What the Martian said was true. Unless the Dohlmites were stopped soon, they would be so strong that nothing in the Universe could halt their march to Empire.

"Is there a library in Behrl?" he asked the Martian suddenly.

"Yes," replied Koal in surprise. "A very fine one in fact, but no one uses it."

Norman's next question seemed irrelevant.

"Would the humans revolt if they thought there might be a slim chance of success?"

"Who would be a slave by choice?" grunted Koal angrily. "They'd rise as one man at the faintest sort of a chance and at no chance at all." For a moment, he glared straight down the street, then relaxed, glanced at Norman seriously.

"Look," he said in a quiet voice that was somehow more impressive. "Do you realize how hungry I am for the dry chill air of Mars. How hungry all these exiles are for their home planets? You don't think we've submitted meekly to the Dohlmites, do you? There have been mutinies and rebellions a dozen times since I've been here. And everytime the rebels have dropped dead on the streets, at their guns, in their beds. All of them. I tell you its impossible."

"Nevertheless," said Norman, "you've told me what I wanted to know."

The shops were behind them, many storied apartment dwellings having taken their place. With a grunt; the Martian swung the car down an incline leading to the basement under one of the buildings.

"This is F Twelve," he said, halted the car just inside the gate while a guard inspected their papers, waved them on.

"For our own protection." Koal nodded toward the guard as he parked the car. "No one but members of our clan and their households can enter this apartment building."

They crossed the basement parking area to a lift. Koal pressed a button. The car descended; the doors opened. He motioned Norman inside.

"Hello, Alicia," Koal greeted the operator, a girl in a short green tunic gathered in at her slim waist by a belt. He chucked her under the chin. "Glad to see me back?"

She was from Earth, Norman realized. She was barefooted and around her ankle was the metal band of the slave.

She said, "Did you bring me anything?"

He snapped his fingers. "How could I have forgotten?" but his grin belied his words.

The girl cried, "What did you bring me, Koal? Where is it?"

"Not so fast," he admonished. "You haven't met Saint Clair yet. He's a new recruit."

The girl turned brown eyes on Norman, saw his crisp blond hair and likeable features, his broad shoulders and flat hips. "Um, um," she said, "I know. You've brought me him."

Norman flushed hotly. The Martian laughed, reached in his pocket, pulled out a pair of earrings set with magnificent Venusian pearls. Norman recollected seeing them grace the ears of a Terranean dowager aboard the _Jupiter_.

Alicia squealed with delight, hastened to attach the earrings. She shot the lift upward jubilantly.

At D deck they left the car. Alicia looked at Norman.

"If you're lonesome tonight, I'm off duty at Seventeen-hundred." Before he could answer the doors slid shut.

"What did you do to her?" growled Koal. "I bring the earrings and she propositions you."

Norman grinned, preened himself. Alicia, he decided, was a remarkably pretty girl, intelligent, too.

"Here's your apartment," Koal interrupted his thoughts. They had stopped before a door which bore the numeral 234 in brass. "I'm two-forty-eight. If you want anything, step down the hall and knock." He started off, paused. "Meals are served three times a day in the dining room on A deck, or you can prepare your own food in your rooms. I think you'll find everything necessary in the kitchen. If not, call the steward."

Norman went inside, glanced around curiously. An entrance hall led him into a sumptuous living-room. A compact kitchen, which did everything mechanically but digest your food, opened from a dinette. Behind the front rooms lay three spacious bedrooms, which gave onto a balcony. He opened the glass doors, passed out into the sunshine.

Building number F12 was on the outskirts of Behrl, and a jungle of riotous vegetation met his eye. The horizon curved up like a bowl before disappearing in rosy mists.

Here on the inside of Neptune the sun always hung straight overhead. A land of high noon, he thought. The sun beat down on his head. He wondered what kind of phenomenon it was, possibly a ball of liquid fire slowly burning itself out. The resultant high percentage of carbon dioxide in the air might account for the evolution of plants into reasoning creatures rather than mammals.

He returned to the kitchen. The cabinets were stocked with food and he prepared a cold lunch, ate it hungrily. A feeling of contentment stole over him.

He returned to the bedrooms, chose the largest one, stripped and showered and flung himself into the bed. He was immediately asleep.

VI

Sometime later Norman was awakened by a rude hand shaking his shoulder.

Koal was grinning down at him.

"Wake up," said Koal. "You've been dead to the world for thirty-six hours, and the paymaster's here."

Norman sat up, reached for his trousers, which, to his surprise, were neatly hung over the back of a chair. Drawing on his clothes, he went into the kitchen. It had been cleaned, put to rights. Further exploration revealed that his things from the _Jupiter_ had been delivered and stowed away in the closet and built-in bureau. Hordes of people must have trailed in and out of his apartment while he slept. He decided to prop a chair against the knob the next time he went to bed.

The Martian was watching him, an amused glint in his black eyes. "There is a bolt on your door, you know," he assured the young man.

A subdued buzzing announced a visitor.

"That's probably the paymaster now," said Koal. He opened the door, revealing a Mercurian with a black satchel in his hand.

The Mercurian said, "Norman Saint Clair?"

The young man nodded.

"First," said the Mercurian, opening the satchel, "here are your papers." He handed him a yellow envelope which contained a book similar to the one the T.I.S. had issued when he left Earth.

"The individual shares from the _Jupiter's_ cargo," the Mercurian droned on, "plus the Terrestial warship amount to twenty thousand notes." He handed Norman a sheaf of yellow bills.

"Roughly," Koal interposed, "that is equal in value to twenty-five thousand Earth notes."

"Twenty-five thousand Earth notes!" gasped Norman. "It's a fortune."

"Sign here, please," said the Mercurian, handing him a ledger.

Norman affixed his name in a daze.

"That doesn't, of course," added the Mercurian, "include your share from the sale of the slaves. They are to be auctioned off at fourteen hundred." He snapped shut his satchel, bowed himself out.

"What time is it now?" asked Norman.

"We've time for something to eat before going twelve-hundred."

The slave market resembled an open-air theatre minus the seats. The same cosmopolitan crowd which Norman had observed on the streets eddied about the block. He caught sight of a figure clad in civilian clothes. It was Vermeer, the black-headed Outlander whom he had been sure was instrumental in the _Jupiter's_ capture.

"Who's that?" he asked the Martian pointing to Vermeer.

"A Venusian Export Lines man. The Dohlmites needed an outlet for much of the material they captured. They established their own line of trading ships under a Venusian register because they are so much less strict on Venus. By the way, keep away from anyone connected with that company. Never talk sedition in front of them. Those men belong to the Dohlmites body and soul."

Just then the auctioneer, a lean, yellow-skinned Venusian, moved to the block. Two men led Dr. Pequod from the wings. The flaming shorts were gone. He was clad in exactly nothing. The doctor stalked to the block, glared at the buccaneers who had clustered around him.

"What am I offered?" began the auctioneer. "A little scrawny but sound and with a heart of gold."

The free booters cackled.

"A hundred notes," said the representative of the Dohlmites dryly. He was seated on the platform with the auctioneer.

"A hundred notes. I'm offered a hundred notes. Who'll say a hundred and ten--A hundred and five? Going for a hundred notes. Going. Going. Gone!" He cracked his gavel down. Dr. Pequod was led back into the wings.

The next three passengers were purchased by the agent of the Dohlmites for the standard one hundred notes. There was some lively bidding for the ex-chef of the _Jupiter_, who was finally knocked down to a big-bellied pirate. He hauled his prize off with triumph.

Then Norman's heart jumped. The sixth passenger to be led to the block was Jennifer. She was barefooted, the metal band gleaming about her naked ankle. A cape had been thrown about her erect shoulders.

The auctioneer lifted it off. There was nothing but girl underneath.

"Two hundred notes," a voice shouted from Norman's elbow.

* * * * *

Norman swung about, recognized Vermeer, the Venusian Export Lines agent.

"Hello," said Vermeer, "I see you've joined us."

Norman nodded shortly. "So it was you who killed the T.I.S. agent. I suspected it all along."

Vermeer merely smiled. The auctioneer cried, "Two hundred notes. Two hundred and ten," as another man bid. "Twenty. Twenty. Thirty." The bidding was growing lively.

"Three hundred," said Vermeer.

"Three hundred and five," Norman echoed.

"Five hundred," said Vermeer without blinking an eye.

Realizing that the two men were bidding against each other the rest dropped out. The audience seemed to settle back in expectancy. Men had been known to pay the complete prize money of a venture for a girl.

"Five hundred and five," Norman said in a determined voice.

"Really," said Vermeer; "you're wasting your time. I intend to have that girl. From one venture you can't possibly have enough money to outbid me. One thousand notes," he addressed the auctioneer.

"A thousand notes, I'm offered," chanted the auctioneer.

"A thousand notes. Do I hear more?"

Norman bit his lip. It was only too true that Vermeer could outbid him. With a sudden grim determination he balled his fist, walloped Vermeer in the temple. All his indignation was behind that blow, all the bone and gristle of six-foot-two of lecturer on Ancient History. Vermeer went down and out like a pole axed steer.

"One thousand and one," shouted Norman triumphantly.

For a moment a hush gripped the audience, then the men roared with laughter. No one liked the Venusian Export Lines men, the pet of the Dohlmites.

"Going," chanted the auctioneer, "going. Gone! To the impetuous gentleman with the good right fist!"

For the life of him, Norman couldn't help swaggering a little as he went up to claim the girl.

The auctioneer tossed Jennifer her cape. She snatched it closely about herself, leaped down from the platform.

Norman counted out the bills. Jennifer, without glancing at her purchaser, walked swiftly ahead of him through the throng.

A pirate reached out, clapped him on the shoulder. "She's worth it," he chortled. "She's worth it." But Norman was being beset by doubts. He hadn't liked the steely glint in the girl's blue eyes. It foreboded trouble. Koal joined them chuckling, as they left the market place.

Once outside Jennifer stopped, swung on Norman. "All right," she said in a suppressed voice. "You've bought me. But you'll regret it as long as you live, you, you--renegade!"

Her tone brought him up short. "Of all the ungrateful wenches," he flared; "you are the prize. I joined the Dohlmites with the express purpose of rescuing you. I plank down one thousand notes cash to save you from what in the old days was considered a fate worse than death."

The girl's features registered surprise, incredulity, contrition. She started to say, "I didn't know," but Norman was thoroughly wound up.

"Of course, I realize that view is no longer entertained by the best informed people, but if you are so anxious for Vermeer to buy you, I'll go throw a bucket of water in his face and present you to him with my compliments."

Indignation swept away all other emotions from the girl's features. "I think you're horrible," she said and turned her back on him.

Koal suddenly shouted, "Look out, Norman!"

The young man swung around, saw Vermeer boring down on him. The agent had a poisoned needle gun in his hand. His temple was swollen, his eyes furious. Scarcely three steps away he swung the needle gun up.

Norman heard the weapon _plop_ softly. At the same instant something swished between him and the murderous dart gun. Jennifer, he realized, had pulled the cloak from her bare shoulders, flung it between them.

He snatched the cloak, flipped it over Vermeer's head and shoulders. His rush bowled the man over backwards. The dart gun dropped to the pavement. Norman snatched it up just as Vermeer flung the cloak off his head, sprang to his feet.

"Kill him!" shouted Koal. "Quick!"

Vermeer's face blanched. He turned, began to run back toward the slave market, bent over, zig-zagging wildly.

Norman brought the dart gun up, then let it fall helplessly at his side.

"I can't do it," he said.

He picked up the cloak, started to return it to Jennifer. His eye lit on a slender, three-cornered needle stuck halfway through the heavy material. He pulled the poisoned dart out. One scratch from that deadly missile would have killed him. The girl's instinctive action had saved his life. He felt weak.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Jennifer."

"For heaven's sake," she cried; "apologize later, if you must, but give me back my cloak now."

VII

Once back in his apartment, Norman flung himself down in a chair. They had stopped on the way home in an establishment which sold the short tunics proscribed by law for all female slaves and Norman purchased the girl a complete outfit. She had chosen one of the smaller bedrooms and was putting her things away now. Koal was lounging on the couch.

"Koal," began Norman, "I've an idea and I'd like your opinion."

"Go ahead," replied the Martian with a chuckle. "You really want me to agree with you. But if it has to do with escaping, I warn you, I shall be disagreeable."

Norman grinned, said, "Koal, twentieth century Eire was under the British crown, but for a long time an underground army had fought the English Black and Tans. Around Nineteen-twenty they threw off the English yoke. That party of liberation was known as the Sinn Feiners."

Jennifer wandered back in the room in time to hear the last of Norman's words. She sat down, listened.

"So?" said Koal.

"So," said Norman. "I think that if a little group of patriots like the Sinn Feiners could throw off the yoke of the British Empire, we should be able to turn the tables on the Dohlmites."

"I've seen rebellions before," began Koal stonily.

"I know. But Koal, I'm not proposing any premature mutiny. I do believe, though, we should band together secretly. If any opportunity for escape presents itself, we'll be ready for it; not just a disunited group of clans snapping at each other's throats."

The Martian appeared to waver.

"Koal," Norman went on urgently. "Only one thing stands between us and freedom. The death broadcasting machine."

"Yes, just that--and a force wall impossible to penetrate."

"What maintains the force wall?" asked Norman.

The Martian shook his head.

"Suppose we succeed in neutralizing it. We'd have a picked body of men to rush the Dohlmite station, destroy the cylinders."

Koal scratched his head speculatively. He said, "The men would have to be carefully chosen. It would be suicide should any word of the society leak to the Dohlmites." He rose, frowned. "Wait a moment," he said and hurried from the apartment.

"Norman," breathed Jennifer. "Do you think there's any chance?"

"I don't know," he replied, a worried expression on his gaunt features; "but if I can persuade the men to unite there's hope." He ran his fingers through his crisp blond hair. "It's more than that, too. We'll be the only force standing between the Dohlmites and the Empire. Somehow we've got to destroy them before they destroy us."

The door opened, readmitting Koal attended by a tall, lean, yellow Venusian. The blue star of the killer cast was tattooed on his forehead. A Fozoql! Norman was only vaguely familiar with the caste of mercenaries and assassins. They had the reputation of being loyal and ferocious and were in high demand by the constantly warring factions on Venus.

"Norman," said Koal, "this is Acpsahme. He and his brother with their wives were migrating to Ganymede when they were captured. His brother was killed by the broadcast machine while trying to escape. His wife was sold in the slave market to a renegade Earthman. I think I can vouch for his silence. Explain what you just told me."

Norman shook hands, launched into a passionate appeal for union among the men. Acpsahme's green eyes glowed.

"Good," he said from time to time, "good. But there must not be too many, and those must be carefully chosen. The success of the enterprise depends on secrecy."

Koal leaped to his feet, his broad pale brow furrowed. He strode back and forth across the thick carpet. "At nineteen-hundred," he said, "I am going to give a party in my quarters. A small, select party. Only the men I know best will be invited. Gentlemen, we'll bring the Sinn Fein Society back to life."

When they had gone, Jennifer looked across at Norman mistily. "You know," she said in a tender voice, "you really are rather wonderful."

* * * * *