Part 5

Jennifer tripped on a thick purple creeper, muttered something under her breath which sounded like cursing. Norman grinned, plowed ahead. It took them almost half an hour to reach the edge of the bare spot.

"A landslide," he ejaculated.

The slide had gouged a deep gash in the loamy soil of the hillside. It was from this gash that the glow emanated. For yards on either side the vegetation was dead. He crossed the belt of dead plants, approached the gash. On the brink, he paused, shaded his eyes, backed off hastily.

"Stay away!" he cautioned the girl. "Don't look in there!"

"Why?" she cried, halting in her tracks.

"Radium! I'm not sure, but I think it's almost pure radium. Jennifer, do you realize? The landslide has uncovered a fortune. We're rich!"

She looked at him sadly. "What difference does it make?"

But his jubilation was not to be dampened. "We won't be here forever. Um-um!" He smacked his lips, almost danced. "Radium! We'd better get back a ways, we're too close to the stuff as it is."

They retreated to the edge of the stricken vegetation. Even here the plants were sickly, wilted. Half a dozen of them were coated with red, rust-like scales.

Jennifer suddenly grabbed his shoulder, shook him. "Come out of your daze, Midas," she laughed a little hysterically. "Look at the plants. They're dead. Don't you see. It's killed them. Wouldn't it kill the plant men, too."

But Norman shook his head. "They know as much if not more about radium than we do. It's dangerous, yes, but it's not a weapon." Suddenly he dropped to his knees beside a dwarf shrub. It was one of those covered with the red scales. "But, by Jupiter, this may be."

"What is it?" said the girl in a stifled voice.

"Blight!"

"What?" she asked in astonishment.

"Blight!" he repeated. "Don't you see? It's blight. Look." He pointed to the scabrous red scale attacking the shrub.

She shook her head in bewilderment.

"If the Dohlmites aren't blight resistant, Jennifer, this may be the weapon." His voice was hoarse with excitement, the radium forgotten. He said, "In the early days in America, blight attacked the chestnut trees. It wiped out every American chestnut from coast to coast."

"What about the other trees?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well," he admitted, "it didn't harm them."

"Maybe the plant men aren't susceptible to this disease, either."

"Maybe not, but it's a chance. It's the only chance that's presented itself, and we haven't much time left before the Dohlmites will order the attack on Ganymede." Tenderly, he dug up the infected plant, wrapped its roots in his handkerchief.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"I'm going to infect a Dohlmite with this blight!" he replied grimly.

Jennifer giggled.

"What's so funny?" he wanted to know.

"Blight! It does seem such an odd method of attack."

Once back in the apartment, Jennifer dived beneath a cold shower. Norman, though, went straight to the kitchen where he transplanted the infected plant into a saucepan and took it out on the balcony.

He heard the front door open and close with a loud bang. He started guiltily, thought who could that be? Should the Dohlmites discover the infected plant that he was nurturing on his balcony, the penalty would be swift and final. He dashed into the hall.

Jennifer's head stuck beyond her door revealing one bare wet shoulder. Her blue eyes were panicky. "Who is it?"

He shook his head, went into the living-room. With a sigh of relief, he recognized the Duchess.

"Norman, you're back!" cried the Duchess wildly. "I didn't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

The young man's reassurance evaporated. The Duchess's blond hair was disheveled. She was panting as if she'd been running.

"What's wrong?"

"We've been betrayed!" said the Duchess in a frightened voice.

X

"Betrayed!" echoed Norman.

The Duchess nodded. Her gray eyes were enormous. "I've been expecting to keel over on the street all the way home!"

"Who? How?"

"One of your precious Earth men. Hops, he's called." She paused, said, "I feel kind of dizzy! My God! You don't suppose the Dohlmites are putting the finger on me, do you?"

"No. No, of course not. It's just shock. Sit down. Jennifer," he called, "make the Duchess some tea, coffee, anything hot."

"Tea, hell," said the Duchess sinking on the couch. "Bring me a shot of whiskey."

Jennifer had hastily slipped on her tunic. She brought a glass of whiskey from the kitchen. The Duchess drank it neat.

"Now, what happened?" pressed Norman.

"Marcia told me," began the Duchess. "She's the girl in the troop I told you about. The one who played the triangle with me and who's been slipping us the green suits."

"Yes, yes," he interrupted impatiently.

She said, "Vermeer and Del Solar were inspecting the factory."

"Vermeer," ejaculated Norman. "I know Vermeer. But who's Del Solar?"

"Del Solar's chief of the Venusian Export Lines. Vermeer's his assistant. They are the only two humans allowed beyond the force wall. They've charge of the factory, you know, and it isn't unusual for them to make an inspection, but Marcia was jittery. She was afraid they'd discover she'd been stealing the green suits.

"She hung around them trying to overhear what they were saying. She was listening when one of the guards approached Del Solar and told him there was a man outside to see him. 'Send him in,' says Del Solar. So the guard brought this Hops inside. When Marcia saw it was a fighting man and not an agent or a slave she sneaked behind a packing case where she could hear every word they said.

"'What do you want?' Del Solar asked. Hops told him he knew about a conspiracy. He wanted to give Del Solar the names of the leaders in exchange for a post in the Venusian Export Lines. He told a lot more too: about us stealing the insulation suits, how the Sinn Feiners have spread all over Behrl. Enough to convince Del Solar that it was a serious matter."

"But he hasn't our names yet?" Norman clutched at a straw.

The Duchess shook her head. "Not yet. Del Solar wanted them. But Hops is no fool. He wouldn't betray the names of the conspirators until he was guaranteed a post with the Export Company. No one is accepted in the company without the plant men's approval. That means Del Solar will have to see the Dohlmites first."

"Jennifer," commanded Norman, "get Koal. Tell him to bring Acpsahme."

The girl left, her blue eyes frightened.

"Go on," urged Norman. He was trying to place Hops, then he remembered. Hops had been one of the renegade Earth men present at the first meeting.

"Well, Del Solar asked him his name and where he lived. That's how Marcia knew who he was. He lives in G-seven, but she couldn't remember his apartment number. Then Del Solar said he'd meet Hops in the Earth man's apartment as soon as he'd seen the Dohlmites."

Jennifer burst into the room leading Koal and Acpsahme.

"What's this about a traitor?" cried the usually calm Martian.

"Tell them," commanded Norman.

The Duchess repeated her story.

"If we can reach Hops in time," Koal exploded, "we're not lost yet!"

"Whether we're in time or not," interposed Acpsahme in a flat voice, "we've business with Hops. Have you got your gun, Norman?"

The young man caught his breath. The meaning behind Acpsahme's words was only too clear.

"Yes," he faltered. He felt hollow inside. He wasn't frightened, just sick.

"Come on," said Acpsahme in that unemotional voice.

"Norman," said Jennifer in a frightened tone.

"Don't interfere," he heard the Duchess say. "This is man's work." Then he was outside in the corridor.

While waiting for the elevator, they met Pepperell, the ex-T.I.S. agent. Koal explained briefly what had occurred.

"Spread the word, Pepperell. If we're in time, this should discourage any ambition to sell us out among the others."

* * * * *

They went down in the lift, entered Koal's car, drove out into the blinding sunlight. We're going to kill a man, Norman thought. Little beads of sweat stood out on his temples. He saw the informer stretched lifeless on the floor, his blank eyes staring at him accusingly.

"Don't think about it," advised Koal, with that disconcerting ability to divine what was passing through Norman's mind.

They turned into the base of G7. Koal brought the car to a stop. A guard advanced to examine their papers. Norman recognized him as a Sinn Feiner. Acpsahme leaned forward, explained their errand.

The guard compressed his lips angrily. "Go ahead," he growled. "He's on H deck, apartment Four-o-eight."

They went up in the lift. On H deck they walked slowly along the hall until they came to room 408.

"Get your gun out," said Koal, and knocked.

There was a bitter taste in Norman's mouth. He felt sick at his stomach as he had when he'd seen the murdered T.I.S. agent aboard the _Jupiter_.

The door opened.

Hops was framed in the entrance. He seemed to know instantly why the three grim-faced, silent men had come. His features went stiff with terror. He backed into the room. His mouth opened.

"All right," said Koal.

"_No!_" cried Hops.

Acpsahme's dart struck the informer in the neck.

"Search the room," commanded Koal, stepping across the informer's body.

They found a paper upon which Hops had been working. It contained the names of seventy-eight of the Sinn Feiners. Norman's name headed the list.

"A real distinction," observed the Martian dryly.

It was an honor that Norman didn't covet. They found nothing else of importance.

"Leave him lie," said Acpsahme. "I think we have been in time. The Dohlmites know there's a rebellion afoot, but they don't know who's concerned."

"This is one time," observed the Martian, "when what they don't know is going to hurt them."

They started out. At the door, Acpsahme stopped, yanked out his dart gun. Norman peering over his shoulders, saw a Dohlmite accompanied by a man in civilian clothes. They were scarcely a dozen steps down the corridor. The plant man's mask-like face gave no clue to what was passing through his mind. The Earth man, though, was plainly frightened.

"Del Solar," the Martian hissed, his voice sibilant. "He's come to get the names of the Sinn Feiners from Hops."

Del Solar spun around, began to run back down the hall. Again it was Acpsahme's dart which halted the man. Del Solar pitched forward on his face.

Koal fired three times at the plant man. Norman saw the darts strike the Dohlmite's chest, stick out like pins, but he didn't fall. The poisoned needles seemed to have no more effect on the plant man than they would have had on a tree. He, too, began to run.

"Quick," cried Acpsahme. "Don't let him escape."

Norman leaped in pursuit, tackled the fleeing plant man about the hips. They went down in a tangle. He saw a knife flash. It was withdrawn green and sticky. The Dohlmite quit struggling. Norman staggered to his feet.

"Good work," said Koal. He was wiping his blade on the plant man's harness.

A thought struck Norman. His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to say, "I want the corpse of the Dohlmite."

"Why?" ejaculated the Martian.

Briefly, he revealed his discovery of the blight-sickened plant. "I want to infect this Dohlmite with the blight. There's a chance that when his fellows carry him into their city, the blight will spread."

"It's a gamble," said Koal thoughtfully. "But it's worth it."

"Leave Del Solar lie where he is then," put in Acpsahme. "We'll take the Dohlmite."

They dragged the corpse of the plant man to the elevator, dropped swiftly to the basement. Acpsahme called the guard.

"We've had to kill a plant man," he said quietly.

A look of terror passed across the guard's features. Involuntarily, he took a backward step.

"We're taking the body," Acpsahme went on in a low voice. "Hops and an agent of the Venusian Export Lines are still above. Dispose of them as you think best."

The guard nodded. They loaded the stringy frame of the plant man into their car, shot out into the rosy sunlight.

Norman felt dazed. Although he had not actually killed any of the three, he considered himself as guilty as if it had been his finger that pulled the trigger. He began to tremble. He felt as if he were going to be violently sick.

"Brace up," said Koal with that queer intuition. "It'll pass."

Acpsahme chuckled. "The first man I killed, I ran to my house and cried like a baby. I couldn't stop. I wanted them to bleach the tattoo off my forehead."

Somehow Norman felt better.

* * * * *

When they reached the basement of F12, they left Acpsahme to guard the body, ascended in the lift to Norman's apartment.

Jennifer and the Duchess met them at the door. Jennifer had been crying, Norman saw with satisfaction.

"Norman, Norman," the girl said and flew to his arms.

He patted her shoulder, disengaged himself gently. "We've still got work to do."

"We had to kill Del Solar and a plant man," Koal explained briefly. "The Dohlmites are going to be furious, but I don't think they will suspect us. Norman has an experiment he wants to try with the body of the Dohlmite."

The Duchess turned to him, astonished.

"The blight," he explained. "I'm going to try to infect the plant man with the blight. When the Dohlmites find his body and carry it into their city, I'm gambling on it spreading."

He retrieved the infected plant from the balcony. Even in that short time the shrub had visibly wilted. The blight had spread over twice its former area.

"It seems to be a virulent disease," observed the Martian.

They carried the infected plant to the basement. Norman dusted the corpse from head to foot with the rust-like scales. Anything touching the body would be bound to come in contact with them.

"All right," said Acpsahme, "let's take him out and get this over with."

A broad yellow line marked the zone beyond which it was death to stray. It was the first time Norman had been close to the force wall. He looked at it curiously.

A ribbon of some unfamiliar silver metal wound like the track of a mono rail around the base of the hill where the Dohlmites had their houses. There were no visible rays arising from the ribbon, no distortion of the atmosphere, nothing. It looked utterly harmless.

"I wonder what would happen if you broke the circuit," speculated Norman.

"It's impossible," replied Koal. "The zone of force protects the ribbon. Look." He threw a pebble toward the silver track of metal. While still a yard from the ribbon, the stone exploded like a hand grenade. It was as if the force radiating from the track had touched off the atoms of the pebble. Norman blinked his eyes involuntarily.

"How do the Dohlmites pass through?"

"There's a gate only a short distance from here where they can shut off a segment of the wall."

The buildings of the human colony, Norman noticed, were set well back from the yellow warning line, leaving a broad road which paralleled the silver track. There was no one in sight. It seemed to be a very unpopular neighborhood.

"Get him out," grunted Acpsahme. They tossed the body of the disease-infected Dohlmite to the road.

"The Trojan horse," thought Norman, remembering a tale from the dawn of history. He glanced back once as they sped away.

XI

Preparations for the invasion of Ganymede went forward during the next six sleeping periods. The Dohlmites had been unsuccessful in their investigation, and had withdrawn behind their force wall, transmitting their orders through the agents of the Venusian Export Lines.

Then the date of sailing was set. Norman received his orders to report aboard the _Rocket_ within twenty-four hours.

He paced back and forth across the living-room of his apartment. Even if the blight did sweep the Dohlmites, he thought, with the Sinn Feiners away on Ganymede they wouldn't be able to take advantage of their opportunity.

Jennifer entered from the bedroom, glanced at him worriedly, said, "Norman, relax or you'll have a nervous breakdown."

He flung himself on the couch. "If only we knew what's happening behind the force wall. The Dohlmites are taking this so queerly. I haven't seen one on the streets for days."

The buzzer announced someone at the door. He leaped to his feet, answered it anxiously. Koal came inside. There was a flicker of triumph in the Martian's eyes.

"The sailing," he announced, "has been indefinitely postponed!"

Norman sank on the couch, only to spring up again.

"Something's happened on the hill!"

Koal nodded his head. "That's what I think."

"We've got to know what it is," cried Norman. "If it's the blight, and it leaves only one plant man alive, he's still master of every one of us." He paused, bit his lip, said, "Koal, issue the green suits to a select force. Have them ready to storm the hill. I'm going to reconnoitre the force wall."

"Watch your step," the Martian cautioned. "This may be a trap." He turned on his heel, left the apartment.

"Norman," said Jennifer looking utterly miserable, "do be careful."

He kissed her, said, "I will," and started for the door. A heady excitement was pounding in his blood.

From the apartment he drove to the gate in the force wall.

Two parallel lines of yellow intersected the silver track at right angles and indicated the segment which could be shut off. Just within the wall he saw a small cage like a switchman's shack on a railroad. But the plant man who operated the gate was not there.

He frowned, swept the hill above with his eyes. Not a figure stirred on any of the airy balconies. Nothing moved in the streets. The city of the Dohlmites was a ghost town.

A feeling that he was being watched made his heart beat faster.

He caught his breath. For a moment he thought he had detected a faint movement in one of the doorways. Was this a trap after all? Minutes slipped past but the movement was not repeated. The high noon sun beat down on the empty street.

He got out of the car, walked cautiously toward the force wall, halted at the yellow stripe. It was maddening to be stopped by that intangible emanation from the silver track.

He started to turn away, paused, staring rigidly at the hill. A man was running blindly away down the curving road which led between the plant men's houses. Even at that distance, Norman could detect something peculiar about the man's flight. He would run several hundred yards, stumble, fall, drag himself to his feet and go on.

As he drew closer, Norman identified him as a plant man. He seemed to be making for the gate in the force wall. He reached the glassite shack, staggered inside. Norman could see him fumble weakly with the switch. The Dohlmite was shutting down the current at the gate.

Still with that strange intentness, the plant man lurched out again, stumbled, fell. He tried to rise, fell back. No flicker of emotion betrayed the terrible fear which must be driving him onward. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, began to crawl through the gate. He reached the silver ribbon, keeping in the center of the yellow lines. His eyes stared straight ahead. He wobbled across the force wall, kept on. Crawling on hands and knees, he passed within ten feet of Norman and didn't seem to see him.

Twenty yards beyond Norman his wobble became more pronounced, like a toy running down. Then he seemed to hesitate. His arms and legs suddenly gave way. He collapsed. This time he didn't try to rise, but lay still, lay still as death. Norman shuddered and looked away.

From head to heels the plant man was covered with the red, rust-like scales.

* * * * *

With a start Norman realized that the way into the city lay open before him. He drew his breath sharply, walked slowly between the parallel yellow lines. His nerves quivered as he stepped across the silver track. He was inside at last. He set out up the hill.

As Norman reached the first houses, the toll exacted by the scabrous red blight became apparent. It had swept the population on the hill like a plague. Plant men lay in the streets, on the balconies, in the houses, their bodies scaly with rust. It had even begun to spread to the festooned hanging gardens.

Crowning the apex of the hill was a tremendous structure pillared like the incredibly ancient Grecian temples of which a few pictures still survived. A feeling of elation seized him. This surely was the building which housed the death broadcasting machine. This was the end of his journey.

A voice behind him shouted, "Stop, Saint Clair!"

He spun around.

Vermeer was toiling up the hill behind him. The agent of the Venusian Export Lines had his dart gun drawn and levelled. He halted half a dozen steps from Norman. He said, "There's always a reckoning, Saint Clair."

Wildly, Norman speculated on his chance should he hurl himself at Vermeer in the face of the poisoned needles. He knew there was none.

"You've had a remarkable run of luck," Vermeer smiled. "But by the laws of chance, it was bound to turn."

Norman didn't reply. The explosion of a rocket shell suddenly rent the air, followed by the crackle of dum-dum fire. It ascended faintly unreal from the human colony below them.

"My men," Vermeer explained, "are attacking yours. But it doesn't matter who wins. The real contest is being decided up here between us two. It's rather like ancient times, with which you're so familiar, Saint Clair, when battles were decided between two champions. You see, I took the precaution to close the gate before I followed you."

Norman could feel the drag of his own dart gun at his waist, considered throwing himself to one side, snatching for his gun. Vermeer, he realized bitterly, had only to pull his trigger.

"I wonder," Vermeer went on, "if you realize the stakes we're playing for? The man who remains alive within the force wall can control the solar system." He laughed exultantly, drew a careful bead on Norman's chest.

He's going to fire, thought Norman. Even at that distance, he could see the knuckles of the agent's hand whiten as they contracted about the pommel of the dart gun.

A fantastic hope crystallized in his mind. Conception and action was simultaneous.

"Now!" Norman breathed, and fell as if dead.

He fell just a fraction of a second before Vermeer pulled the trigger. He heard the poisoned dart whistle over his shoulder, then he hit the street with a jarring thud and lay still. He daren't breathe, daren't flicker an eyelash.

It would never occur to Vermeer that he could have missed at twenty short paces. The very deadliness of the darts precluded any necessity of administering a _coup de grace_. Norman could hear the shuffle of Vermeer's approaching steps. Had the trick worked?

Vermeer's foot nudged him in the ribs.

Like the recoil of a spring, Norman grabbed the agent's ankles, threw his weight against Vermeer's knees. The man toppled backward. Norman swarmed on top of him.

Vermeer had been suspicious. He still retained the dart gun in his hand. Norman seized his wrist. They struggled fiercely, silently in the empty streets, their only audience the plant men covered with blight, full of the indifference of death.

With a surge of exultation Norman felt Vermeer's wrist weaken. He threw his weight on the weapon, bent it downward. His finger covered the trigger. He squeezed.

Vermeer shuttered and lay still.

Norman crouched backward off the dead agent to his feet. The sound of firing in the human colony was silent. Whatever the outcome of the battle had been, he realized, it was over.

* * * * *

What was it Vermeer had said? "The man who remains alive within the force wall can control the Solar System." He, Norman Saint Clair, who had set out from Earth to lecture on Ancient History in distant Ganymede, was as much master of the System at this moment as if the battle had already been fought.