The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Star Guardsman, by Albert dePina

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Title: The Star Guardsman

Author: Albert dePina

Release Date: July 26, 2020 [EBook #62765]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***

The Star Guardsman

By ALBERT DePINA

Europa was the only sanctuary for Earth's

doomed millions. Yet to hold it, Mark Lynn

had to fight his traitorous Overlords. And

he was destined to lose—for his weapons were

antiquated, his allies a fragile peaceful race.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Planet Stories Winter 1943.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

"Your business?"

The Martian Proctor's parchment-like face was blank as he examined Lynn's pass-card impassively.

"Since when are Internationals given explanations?" Mark Lynn's dark green eyes glowed. "I've been given none."

"In the Council Hall, humility's essential." The tall Martian drew himself erect, arrogantly.

"See that you observe it, then." Lynn barked laconically and turning entered the tube, while the violet-eyed Planetarian gasped in incredulity.

When the door of the tube in which he'd been transported opened silently, Mark Lynn found himself before a blank, polished wall of Beryloy, but as he stepped before it, the wall slid aside to reveal an austere room of dura-plon whose walls were buckled in places, as if they'd endured tremendous pressure; part of the room was marked off by beryloy cables, where a bas-relief of man's progress had crumbled to the floor and had not been removed as yet. The ceiling seemed uneven, the polished expanse of floor was asymmetrical.

Across an enormous desk, now covered by a plotting chart, a figure dressed in the purple uniform of a scientist, with the golden cord of the Psychologists, gazed at him placidly out of level hazel eyes.

The short-cropped hair that escaped the confines of the tight, silver kepis, was golden-brown, unruly, and the oval face freckle-sprinkled had the serious expression of a precocious child.

Mark regarded the girl gravely, startled at her youth, although being accustomed to female scientists her sex did not surprise him. He remained silent, as the etiquette of 2,022 demanded when before the ruling class.

"You've made a characteristic beginning, Spacer Lynn," the girl observed coldly and gestured toward a visi-screen at her side. "Was it necessary to leave the Proctor frothing?"

"At the moment, yes!" Mark replied evenly. "Martian arrogance annoys me, scientist."

The girl frowned slightly. "I'm Doctor Fortun," she stated after a pause. "The Council has decided to honor you with a mission. It is a problem particularly suited to your ... er ... talents; your record shows a rare agility of mind impossible to find among Civicans."

"That's because controls one, six and fifteen failed to affect me," Mark said smiling, unconsciously displaying magnificent teeth, dazzling against the background of his space-tanned features.

"Because you're a ..." the girl began irritably and then checked herself. "No matter, Spacer Lynn."

"Why not finish it?" Mark sat down, stretching long, sinewy legs until he sprawled relaxed and loose-jointed, so that it seemed even his magnificent muscles would never be able to lift the great body. "Atavistic, is the word." He grinned engagingly and hooded his eyes slightly as he appraised Doctor Fortun with undisguised admiration.

The young scientist reddened, but she continued in a quiet voice.

"You were selected because you evolved the expedient of taking Internationals on space exploration, in defiance of the Council Law that no International can serve more than two years in one position, by simply shifting them to different levels of work on the Spacers, where they would be unlikely to contact each other, and, incidentally, managed to keep yourself as a Spacer long after your term had expired.

"Your record shows also that you circumvented the non-voting status of Internationals by organizing Civicans into groups to vote for the interests of Internationals in exchange for confidential information on planetary resettlement, so that they could obtain choice localities...."

"There's a fundamental necessity of calling worn-out laws to the attention of the Council by evasion, when they refuse to listen," Mark explained affably.

Doctor Fortun straightened angrily, her hazel eyes gold-bright with annoyance. "You were not summoned to discuss revision of existing laws," she flashed. "That impudence of yours hardly becomes...." She was at a loss for words. Belonging as she did to the highest hereditary rank in the realm, the smiling assurance of Spacer Lynn, three ranks beneath her, and his frank insolence was a new experience to the girl.

Mark Lynn laughed joyously. The admiration in his eyes deepened.

"Thank the eternal stars!" He exclaimed.

"Have you gone mad?" The girl's voice was tight with fury. "Dare you laugh at a scientist?"

"No, not mad—merely happy! First the Council calls me because being International and beyond Civican control my individualism and my freedom of action are useful; you, of course, approve. Then when I show those very qualities, you're furious. And, I'm happy because ..." his voice dwindled.

"Yes, go on!" Her words were sheathed in velvet, but her eyes were feral, like flaming topaz.

"Because it's paradoxical and shows you're still a woman—lovelier than any I've ever seen," he finished almost in a whisper.

Doctor Fortun looked as if she were about to slap his face. Remembering the dignity of a scientist in time, she gazed at Mark Lynn with a mixture of feelings. Finally, something of his infectious good-nature, of his open admiration touched her and she laughed quietly.

"You are right, Spacer Lynn," she acknowledged. "For a moment I forgot I was a Psychologist—it's a quality about you that for an instant made me feel less a scientist and more a ... but never mind. We'll be together for the Deity knows how long, and it's futile to begin by quarrelling. Lean forward so you can see this chart, I'll explain."

"We'll be together, did you say?" Mark was delighted. "Then give me a dozen problems!"

"Yes," she replied dubiously. "As a Psychologist I'll be part of the expedition. You'll find that this one problem will be more than enough." The girl pressed a button on her desk and one of the undamaged walls began to glow until it became an astro-map, a reproduction of charted space. Each planet was indicated in relative size, and in the lower center, pulsing angrily a thin red line marked "Comet" seemed to be approaching inferior conjunction with Terra.

"Is that the problem?" Mark asked. "Simple! When it enters Terra's orbit, life on Terra ceases. Evacuation's the only possible solution. I knew that comet was approaching, but not being an Astronomer I didn't compute its trajectory. Besides, being on Io is like being in exile—news hardly ever reaches us there. Will it destroy Terra completely?"

"No, not entirely. At first, indications were that it would enter the orbit of our system at such an angle that Terra would be destroyed. However, we've checked with the observatories on Pluto since then, and it has been determined that it will merely enter the field of attraction sufficiently to shift the axis to opposition. Of course, this will render Terra unfit for habitation ... perhaps for a century or two ... therefore, as you realized, evacuation's the answer."

"I'm listening," Mark said earnestly, as the magnitude of the problem before them struck him. "However, you're aware I'm not an astronomer, and the technique of evacuation could best be handled by the Council itself. I'm afraid I still don't quite see what my role's to be.... But whatever it is, I'm ready."

"Turn your attention to this plotting chart," Doctor Fortun indicated the map on her desk. "These areas marked in red have already been affected. Tremors have increased and volcanic openings are occurring in these and these areas, never dangerous before. While you were on Io awaiting orders for another exploratory journey, we began to attempt resettlement of our Civicans and Ruralians on other Planets—even giving them their choice of occupations and of planets ... quite a concession you must agree."

"Quite!" The irony in his voice seemed to escape her.

"We have succeeded in resettling two-thirds of Terra's population on Mars and Venus, and a limited number on Mercury; this last world only offered limited space at best in its twilight zone, and it was necessary to construct subterranean cities beneath its dark side—the frigid half—but that's another problem. Now, however, Venus refuses to accept any more Terrans and Mars has also closed its doors to us. Under existing treaties they have no right to exclude Terrans, but we're hardly in a position to enforce them now."

"Hardly!" Lynn agreed sardonically.

"The problem's further complicated by the innate characteristics of this remaining third," Doctor Fortun paused, and gazed very intently into the dark green eyes of the Spacer before she resumed.

"They're for the most part internationals, ruralians who originally refused to undergo controls one and six, and were not condemned to Power Reserve because of the increasing need for Vitaminic Flora, as you no doubt know that vibroponics, due to some peculiarity of the radiations are greatly deficient in certain vitamins. The balance are Planetarians from throughout the system who flatly refuse to be repatriated. And, last but certainly not least, religious and philosophic groups—the former, fanatical believers in ancestrals and atavistic cults, who chose to regard this cosmic tragedy as a manifestation of Divine Wrath and devote their time to frenzied, masochistic meetings and revivals. The latter have turned stoic, and choose to see nothing in our civilization worth living for, claiming that all incentive has been removed, consequently, they prefer to meet their fate on Terra. In short, this last third is completely intractable."

"I'm amazed the Council's taken no measures!" Mark exclaimed.

"Oh, measures have been taken, of course. The philosophers have had rank and prerogatives—even when they had scientific honors—nullified. The religious groups have had their food allowance reduced to the starvation point and all their privileges recalled. The Internationals ..." here she paused again as she regarded Mark, "since they're free-thinkers, and the most dangerous of the lot, were ordered to report for control-treatment under penalty of death. They promptly took to the fastnesses in the mountains and deserts by the millions, and are existing on game and vegetables to be found in the now abandoned regions. They are armed for the most part."

Mark Lynn was openly grinning now, but the girl chose to ignore it and continued:

"Unfortunately, our armed forces are too busy keeping order in the new resettlements, or they would have been subdued long ago. The resettlements have been supplied with seed, tools, cattle, metallic substances, concentrated fuel, machinery ... in fact, everything necessary for a successful evacuation. This last group would have been similarly supplied, they were even given a reprieve for their insubordination and offered special terms—the Council can be munificent!" For an instant her voice rang with exaltation. "But they absolutely refuse evacuation, except...."

"Except what?" Lynn was all attention, sensing that this was the core of the problem.

"Except on their own terms!" The young scientist exclaimed with a trace of bitterness.

"But why don't you permit them to decide what manner of death they're to have? What possible interest can the Council have in what to them is an atavistic, intransigent group that detests our system of planned existence? If the prospect of a continuation of this civilization gags them, even in another planet, then obviously their choice to remain and die here should be respected." Mark's voice was very soft.

The limpid hazel eyes of the girl mirrored her shock at Mark's words.

"Impossible! It would be horribly wasteful. And, a distinct failure on the Council's part. Those lives can be useful—the Council never fails!"

"Amen!" Mark Lynn exclaimed archaically. "And where do I come in?"

The irony of his present situation didn't escape him. That he, an International, a strata of the highly complex social order considered most dangerous, should be called in to solve a problem of such magnitude, involving (of all people) Internationals and intransigents, would have been fantastic to anyone not acquainted with the subtle and at times Machiavellian methods of the Council.

Doctor Fortun handed him a rolled, tissue-thin, metallic cylinder for an answer.

"Those are your orders from the Council," she said soberly. "I'm but an agent, as you know. Just one among the scientists who will be in charge upon arrival. Do not read it now. It is final. Take this card, it's a permit to enter a scientific News-Casting Booth and scan all available data for the past year. We know that out of the remaining third, roughly three or four hundred million at best will be transportable. The balance are far too old to withstand the journey—their power potential is negligible, and in any case, they'd much rather die than leave. But it's the three or four hundred million transportables who are highly useful for the particular purpose of the Council, that we must ... or rather," she smiled faintly, "you must convince." She opened a drawer and extracted a gleaming metal disk. "These credits will be ample," she said, extending it to Mark.

Lynn's eyes widened. "Ten thousand credits? I've had to work as many years for that amount!"

Doctor Fortun smiled. "May you live to spend them, Spacer Lynn," she said cryptically. "Greetings!"

Mark Lynn wanted to speak, to ask her social name, anything that would delay his departure from her office. But he knew the interview was at an end even before she turned to the mass of figures and data on her desk.

Spacer Lynn threw a rapid glance around the room. They were still alone, but he knew that the entire interview had been minutely recorded—the august body of scientists of the first order who composed the Council took no chances, especially with Internationals, the adventurers, the pioneers who opened up new worlds for the maddeningly impersonal efficiency of the Council to take over and remold. But Mark didn't care. There was little that they didn't know about him, in detail.

Mark Lynn in common with a few million others was a product of his time and station. One of the immense legion of war orphans that the constant and increasingly destructive warfare of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries had left behind, he was automatically a ward of the Executive Council.

Now that wars had finally been abolished as wasteful and inefficient, the ultimate goal of the social order was "Achievement." It had become a religion. It was instilled into infantile minds with the first toddling steps; it was propagated through a thousand subtle means; it was a constant threat in the background of every living being under the government of Terra. Achievement was the inexorable law. It might mean producing so many tons of vitaminic flora during a span of so many years, or perhaps the production of metallic substances, or the exploration of so many worlds, as in Mark's case. Regardless of the task imposed, its final, successful and unequivocal completion was the "Achievement" for that particular being. And, woe unto him who failed to achieve!

In Mark Lynn's case, having been given over to the International Police for training as an astrogator and having finished his course with brilliant honors, he had been given a first-class exploration rating, and trained in outer space navigation. Years of successful interplanetary and outer space exploration and research had given him an unequaled experience as an explorer. It was his duty to give the Council implicit obedience—and to reserve his thinking for the problems of unexplored worlds and outer space. The Council, Rulers of the World State, frowned on thinking without directives, especially by those beyond control, such as the Internationals, of which Mark Lynn was a great leader.

Thinking led to individualism, and the latter to conflict of opinions, eventually to become conflict of a far more deadly sort. The recent past was an unerasable record of promiscuous thinking; it had brought too many problems, social and economic—it was wasteful, slipshod and inefficient. So it became a matter of unalterable policy to train each individual rigidly in that station in life to which he was best fitted, where he or she could function with maximum efficiency toward achievement. It became essential to apply control "one," which instilled into the mental patterns a dreadful guilt of waste—whether of energy, credits or time, much as the ancient Puritans lived in the fear of their consciences and could never be comfortable or enjoy frivolous moments or leisure. Control "six" became an obsession to achieve, subtly replacing the emotional complex of what in an earlier day was called "ambition," until nothing, literally nothing could stand before that one, all-important goal. And finally, control "fifteen" became an absolute need for guidance, a pattern that subtly replaced the instinct for security of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, so that all problems, all crises were solved by the Council. An attempt to make individual solutions, resulted in an awful sense of "aloneness," of absolute insecurity that could drive a civican or ruralian to the verge of a psychosis. There were other controls, some major and some minor, but these three, one, six and fifteen, were the three imperatives. Mark Lynn was impervious to them—he had to be to belong to the Internationals.

With the sealed cylinder in an inner pocket of his tunic, that boasted a golden sun embroidered on the chest, Mark left the building and made his way through the milling crowds in the streets. They were all hurrying to some individual task—office workers in the black gowns of their calling; artisans with wide, tooled belts. The violet-eyed Martian proctors who acted as guards, and the tiny, slender Venusians, with their vari-colored wings and melodious voices. Scientists of the various orders were hurrying to the transportation belts, while technicians in their bright blue tunics went in and out of different buildings. There was no confusion, no disorder, despite the evident haste.

Shops were closed, deserted or wrecked by earthquakes. Many buildings were in partial ruins, others had huge cracks along the sides. Yet, from the public visi-screens posted along the street came glimpses of beautiful scenes and soft, seductive music. A light powdery snow was falling, and the wind danced a sara-band unchecked.

"Weather control stations must have failed," Mark said inwardly, and breathed deeply, gratefully, the keen, icy freshness of the wind.

An old woman, a ruralian carrying a huge bundle, spied him and eagerly grasped his arm. "Greetings, International! Pray give an old woman information! I've farmed my allotment and achieved ten years ahead of my plan, and now they tell me I must move to Venus! I don't mind the moving—though I mistrust those winged creatures—but I'm old and very tired. Does my moving mean I'll have another allotment to achieve? Must I clear Venusian land? Tell me International, if I'm assigned to a freighter, will the gravs be likely to shorten what remains of my life-span?"

Mark laughed at the loud avalanche of questions. "Peace, Ruralian," he managed through his laughter. "I doubt if you'll be required to achieve another allotment. Didn't the government grant you sufficient credits for a new start?"

The ruralian woman pulled out a package of rank, Venusian cigarets and contentedly puffed on one after lighting it. "Yes, when the earth-temblors ruined my land and a mouth of fire finished it, a proctor came from the Council and gave me enough credits to last a body a life-time, then told me to make my way to transportation. But I can't bring myself to spend those credits, International—its wasteful.... I'd rather achieve another allotment. Why, I haven't bought a thing for fifty years that I could grow or make myself!

"I've been some time getting here from the Arizona sector, for the shakes disrupted the conveyor roads, and I lost a lot of things when another mouth of fire pushed up where the road was and blew my cart to the four winds—It's a miracle I'm here at all! But about the freighter, will the gravs...."

"Ask for the sleep-freeze ... it will be given you, in any event. If anything, it'll lengthen your span, and the journey will seem like an overnight trip to you. If you need directing, a proctor will assist you. Greetings Ruralian!" Mark tried to make his tones as kindly as he possibly could, but realizing the woman was eager to make conversation, he ended the incident—he was still on duty.

"Greetings, International," she replied disappointed, and heaved the bundle to her shoulder.

Mark had not walked ten paces when instant correlation between his senses, mental synthesis and muscular reaction made him swerve aside, bending over at the same time. It had been the horror-shocked expression in the eyes of a technician barely three paces before him, that had sent the Spacer hurtling to one side, half bent over, bowling pedestrians aside like ten-pins. A thin pencil of light flashed where Mark's head had been seconds before. Mark had turned without pausing and he saw a tall International whose yellow tunic bore the red whorl insignia of a conveyor-road inspector.

Mark's molecular rate was faster than any other strata, purposely, because of his calling, and to the spectators it seemed as if he'd twisted, turned and flung himself into a prodigious tackle all in one motion. The attacking International, fully as tall as Mark, went down under the terrific impact, his atomo-pistol sailing through the icy atmosphere in a falling arc. But with the agility of a Martian Hellacorium, he was up and snarling: "Traitor!" through clenched teeth. With a cry of baffled fury he launched himself at Mark unhesitatingly, one hand fumbling at his belt.

But Mark ducked, side-stepping. He was icy calm now, although the reason for this attack baffled him. Mark was in his element in a fight; the International Police trained its wards to be fighting machines, deadly in their efficiency. Explorers had to be!

II

Mark wheeled as the attacker hurtled past him and his straight left went unerringly to the man's head, jarring him. Automatically Mark's training came to the fore, as everything else faded until it was only Spacer Lynn and a murderous enemy. Mark's right was a peg upon which he hung the attacker's blasting blow, while he used the boxer's left, long and weaving, throwing it swiftly like a cat sparring with a mouse dangling by the tail from its teeth. His left bounced off the attacker's chin. It was a little high, but the man rocked on his heels.

The killer rushed. Mark let his heels touch the ground, refused to run. The attacker was too aggressive and eager for complete defense. Mark caught him with a left and right and calmly took a murderous hook to the belly without flinching, then he let his right hand ride, dropping it like a sledge-hammer. The attacker's face seemed to lose contour, its features blurred as the face went gory; his feet crossed and his knees went suddenly rubbery. The conveyor-road inspector fell with a crash and didn't get up.

Mark became suddenly aware that two Martian proctors flanked him, deadly atomo-pistols pressing at his sides.

"Silence and obedience, International! Follow!" came the crisp, laconic order from the senior proctor.

Instantly a visi-screen lighted and a cold, imperious voice directed:

"Remove the attacker, dispose as power reserve. Spacer Lynn proceed on mission!"

In unison, the two proctors saluted and the atomo-pistols disappeared. It was the voice of the Council, through some subordinate.

"The eyes and ears of the universe!" Mark Lynn exclaimed ironically in a whisper. The cometary reaction must have been psychological as well as physical to bring about crime in a social order where for centuries it had disappeared. Or had it? Mark wondered. How many secrets, how much factual data the Council kept from the people? No one would ever know. But why try to liquidate him? He'd just arrived from years in outer space; surely he couldn't possibly have enemies on Terra! Was his mission known? And come to think of it, just what was his mission actually? Meditatively, he tapped the cylinder in the inner pocket of his tunic. Could that have been the motive for the assault?

"Palanth!" Mark Lynn exclaimed delightedly as he spied a dandified Martian leaning against a column of chrysophrase, upon entering the lobby of the International Police headquarters to report.

Tall and sinewy-lean, with the exaggeratedly narrow waist characteristic of the Martians, Palanth gazed startled at his companion of many adventures, from behind a silken square of Venusian-spider silk drenched in the overpowering fragrance of Venusian Jasmines. Only the violet eyes were visible, startling against the background of his flaming hair.

In the tight-fitting yellow tunic of an International, he resembled an ancient, narrow-waisted cretan come to life, but for the flaming mane and towering height.

"Greetings! O bird of ill-omen, what malodorous wind blew you in from outer space?" He dropped the handkerchief long enough to reveal chiselled nostrils and white even teeth as he smiled heart-warmingly. He placed his left hand on Mark's shoulder, in the immemorial gesture Mars reserved for the closest friends.

"One sec, Planetarian, while I check in," Mark grinned also placing his hand on the Martian's shoulder, knowing how it annoyed the Martian to be called by a lower rank. Mark stepped into a booth that automatically recorded his status as the visi-screen panel glowed into life.

"Spacer Mark Lynn, Exploratory Astrogator First Class, reporting. Under sealed orders from the Supreme Council. Last station Io. Awaiting further orders." In a thousand departments that recorded global information and checked it in detail even psychologically, Mark's words automatically became part of the endless record. But there was no answer. The visi-screen faded to a smouldering green and went blank.

"Strange!" Mark muttered to himself, stepping out of the booth. "These orders must be final." He touched the slight bulge made by the cylinder he carried.

Curiosity was beginning to needle him, but orders from the Council could only be opened in absolute privacy, especially sealed orders.

Palanth was waiting for him, the eternal handkerchief pressed against his nose. A brilliant panagran, blood-red and flashing made a deep spot of color against his left ear-lobe. Everything about him seemed indolent, aesthetic, super-refined. And the exquisite fragrances from the known universe with which he drenched his squares of silk, thanks to his mania against human odors, added to the foppish effect.

"Have you come to twist the tail of the comet, O thou especially not wanted?"

Palanth waved his handkerchief diffusing jasmines in the rich austerity of the lobby, as he lounged back against the column with a sigh that might have meant anything. His yellow tunic—as near the color of gold as he dared, without actually being the hue reserved for the Supreme head of the Council, shimmered like watered silk. His slender hands flashed with acerines and calchuites.

"Breath-taking, as usual," Mark was grinning from ear to ear, "specially that godawful jungle fumes you're soaked in ... arrgh! I can't breathe!"

"My only defense against you creatures," Palanth said languidly. "I need replenishing, Mark, shall we go?"

"Lord, yes. I could eat an Europan." Mark checked himself as an odd tight expression came into his eyes, and his hand tightened on something hard inside a lower pocket of his tunic. He fell unaccountably silent for a moment.

Palanth strode beside him with a lithe, tigerish stride which belied his now forgotten languid pose of a few minutes ago. His deceptive exterior—which many to their final regret had found could disappear like lightning, still made him seem a Planetarian fop whom the Council permitted harmless foibles for reasons of their own.

"I never hoped to see you again after that crash on Europa." Palanth exclaimed with a relieved sigh. "You're so reckless, Mark, and death is so permanent!"

"Of course, you are not reckless," Mark taunted with obvious irony, remembering how the Martian International could explode into action like an enraged Martian Hella. "In your superior wisdom, there's no reason to take chances—everything's planned in advance, logically, coldly.... Bah. Do you recall that little incident on Venus when they served you imitation Thassalian and that little Venusian baggage tried to dope you with...."

"Cease! O chattering...." Palanth interrupted as near being embarrassed as it was possible for him to be. The rest of what he said was buried in the perfumed handkerchief which he hastily pressed against his face as they joined the crowds that filled the avenue.

"But what are you here for? It is permissible to know?" Mark asked soberly at last.

"I may as well tell you," Palanth said, his tones muffled by the handkerchief. "You'd never have the imagination to guess!"

"You probably have been appointed to regulate the last batch of outgoing freighters enroute to various space stations, in order to relieve congestion and ease pressure of transportation. There may be something else ... eh?"

"Master mind! But there's that last something else that you'd never guess."

"Inductive reasoning tells me that a freight coordinator would be assigned to freight problems ... let me talk ... but this seems to be the last time that old Terra is going to send freight anywhere. I feel there's one last measure to be taken against the unpredictable—something calculated to checkmate a future result. Oh I know I sound as if I were talking gibberish, Palanth, but well ... it's still sort of foggy in my mind. I'll know more when I read my orders."

"I've already read mine," Palanth said quietly. "I'm persuaded they're not very different from yours—in the last analysis. It's a gigantic game, Mark!"

"Then you know?"

"Yes!" It was almost a whisper, almost a telepathic assent. "But here's our energy center, let's go on in."

Once within the vast dining-hall, known as an Energy Center, they selected a table and from the menu the number of the meal that suited them, pressing the numerically corresponding stud on the panel above the table. The food came on a conveyor belt that passed beneath the floor and emerged from the center of the table which was hollow and had a panel that slid aside as the food arrived.

"Well, what have you learned," Palanth asked Mark as they began their meal.

Mark Lynn outlined what he knew and added a few conjectures of his own, and Palanth's face split gradually in a wide grin.

"A pretty mess.... How many of you flesh-eating mammals are there left to transport ... the irreconcilables, I mean, the dissenters."

"Roughly about five hundred million. They're an amazing mixture of Internationals, Philosophers and Ruralians—the three most individualistic strata!"

"It would be easier to ray them down, let the Comet wipe them out in due time, than to go to all this trouble of persuading them to evacuate." Palanth retorted coldly. "Still, to my Martian mind, they're far more valuable than your herds of controlled sheep—at least, they can think for themselves!"

"However, in a controlled, beneficent political economy such as the World State, any such benevolent treatment as raying them down, or abandoning them to sidereal extinction is outlawed," a quiet, mellow voice said behind them.

Both Mark and Palanth looked up with a start to see the exquisite oval face with the serious, limpid hazel eyes of Doctor Fortun, in her purple scientist tunic. Palanth rose instantly and bowed, Mark was but a fraction of a second behind him.

"It's a rare honor for Spacers to enjoy socially the company of a Scientist," Mark said gravely, but his eyes were dancing.

"Probably just as well, if you express such unorthodox opinions freely," she replied sitting between them at the table. "However, we have a long journey ahead, might as well begin to know each ... as we really are." Her smile was an adventure, and when she turned her head to survey Palanth with frank curiosity, Mark noted that her hair escaping the tight-fitting kepis was almost the color of dark honey in the sun.

"A long journey...." Palanth murmured as he picked absorbedly at something on his plate that resembled purple pop-corn. "A long journey, where ... how, and to what end?"

"What are you eating?" Doctor Fortun asked almost too casually, instead of replying.

"These? Oh, candied violets," Palanth's languid pose had returned aware that many eyes were upon him in the crowded energy center.

"Don't you have enough perfume as it is without eating it too?" Mark growled.

"Peace, O spawn of unthinkable misfortune!" Palanth said grandly and filled his mouth with the delicacy.

Doctor Fortun laughed aloud, it was like the tintinnabulation of clustered silver bells.

"Fraud!" she exclaimed amiably. "If I were not acquainted with your past record I'd think you were a fop. Does that pose ever fool anybody, Palanth?"

The tall Martian grinned shrugging his shoulders. "Who knows? It's been so long since I've had adventure for a bride!" He quoted a line from the famous Terran poet of the twenty-first century.

"He's done it so long, it's become second nature with him," Mark said inelegantly. "However, the perfume business is no pose. Wait till you see his collection of extracts!"

Palanth glared at him, but remained silent. Just then a growing tremor shook the energy center, and one of the walls split from floor to ceiling. Their table fell with a crash and the hum of the food conveyors ceased. Voices rose in startled exclamations and the crash of other tables added to the increasing noise. A convulsive heave rent the floor and the continuous series of audio-pictures on the visi-screen ceased abruptly.

After what seemed an eternity, in reality seconds, the quake subsided, leaving wreckage behind and the pale, strained faces of the guests.

"Even here in North America, the very heart of the World State, the quakes are increasing," Doctor Fortun said thoughtfully. "Our estimates gave us eight more weeks before the proximity of the comet neutralized astro-warp evacuation. It seems hardly possible, but there may be elements in the situation we have failed to calculate. I believe the sooner we complete evacuation the better it'll be." She glanced at Mark speculatively.

"I suggest you read your orders this evening, once you're registered at International House, Spacer Lynn."

"That's my plan," Mark told her. "And speaking of unknown elements, I'm still puzzled at being attacked by an International today. I was unaware that I had enemies on Terra. What could the motive have been?"

"Attacked?" Palanth was instantly alert. "Why didn't you tell me, Mark?"

The Spacer shrugged his shoulders. "It was a minor incident—only, it's mystery bothers me. I've been taught there's no crime on Terra, and I am too unimportant for political liquidation."

"You forget," Doctor Fortun said softly, "the profound dislocations brought about by this unforeseen situation. Two-thirds of Terra's population have been evacuated. Another third—the most intractable, refuses cooperation. There are many sympathizers in high places. In the inevitable confusion, the efficiency of the World State has been impaired. What would have been impossible a few months ago, can happen now. You're not only our chief explorer, but a name to conjure with among Internationals—your word has never been broken. Being suspected of having become a subservient tool of the Council is enough for certain elements to consider you too dangerous to their aims—therefore, guard your life, Spacer!"

"But I'm not a tool!" Mark exclaimed fiercely. "My allegiance to the Council only involves my life—not the lives of others—I'll not defraud them, dissenters or not!"

Doctor Fortun smiled quietly, as if contemplating some inner scene. The brilliant hazel eyes were veiled and whatever activity went on behind the smooth forehead was masked. The confusion within the Energy Center had subsided, and the guests were leaving now in orderly fashion, but as fast as possible.

"It's time to exit," the girl said casually. "Pity we were interrupted just when we were beginning to really know each other." Suddenly her manner changed as with what seemed an unconscious gesture she removed the tight-fitting cap and her hair fell about her shoulders with the gleaming patina of dark gold. Her smile had the demure sweetness of an embarrassed girl, her eyes were soft and luminous as she gazed first at Mark and then at Palanth.

"There's a strato-cruiser of the first order leaving at six for a resort on the gulf of Mexico—Havanol—it's perhaps the last time we'll have a chance to see it. Shall we ..." she hesitated, "shall we dine there?" Rose mantled her cheeks and her long lashes swept downwards as she made the suggestion.

"Havanol!" Mark was enchanted. "Martian music and food to tempt archangels ... but how can you and I enter Havanol? It's open only to special permit!"

"You're not by any remote chance forgetting me?" Palanth inquired with elaborate irony. "I've never seen Havanol, besides, I'm sure Doctor Fortun would like to use some Parnassin for the occasion."

"Parnassin! The perfume of the butterfly orchids of Venus! Why, Palanth, it's worth more than calchuites—it's the rarest, the most unattainable of extracts!" Doctor Fortun clasped her hands in ecstasy at the very thought of it. Then her rigid scientific training asserted itself. "But I couldn't wear it, it's like evaporating a fortune in credits within a few hours," she said unhappily.

"Bother, control 'one,' forget it for one memorable night!" Palanth was exasperated. "I know its antidote—and I have it!" he said savagely.

"So have I," Mark said grinning.

"Thassalian?" the girl was startled. It was the forbidden Martian liquor of the Gods. It could achieve almost miraculous cures when taken in tiny doses; it gave the sensation of ineffable happiness, and when taken to excess, it drove the addict hopelessly insane.

"We still haven't solved the problem of the special permit," Mark reminded them.

"I have one for a party of four, which I haven't used as yet," Doctor Fortun said with a hint of shyness. "You'll have time to read your orders and then I'll pick you both up at International House in my helio-plane. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Both Mark and Palanth said fervently. They watched the slight figure of the girl as she made her way through the crowds with precision, her purple tunic vivid against the white carpet of fallen snow. "Her mind was well guarded!" Palanth thought aloud.

"It is a mind of power, or I would have contacted it," Mark barely whispered without moving his lips.

"Still, there can be nothing at Havanol that we can't cope with," Palanth shot a powerful telepathetic vibration at the Earthian Spacer. "Have you had the feeling of being under spy-ray, Mark?"

"Yes, for months ... but I've guarded my mind, and as you know, the Council's spy-ray is not quite effective on those beyond controls one, six and fifteen; we're beyond conditioning for penetration by their mental synthesis. At times they're able to obtain partial ideation which they reconstruct and reform into thought-pattern trends—but hell! our thought-trends and individualistic patterns have been known to them all our lives. However, we are being used as tools—indirectly!"

"We have no proof, Earthman! In any event, within certain limits we are still free agents. Their orders may be one thing, what we do ... is another. This cataclysm has shorn the World State of most of its power, on Terra at any rate. Mars and Venus would sweep the resettlements off their planets if the Terran fleet weren't constantly on guard!"

"Havanol may give us an inkling of what the game is!" Mark observed. "The whole secret lies within the reason for evacuating the irreconcilables. The Civicans, Guildians, Technicians and Ruralians are merely the base of the pyramid; between them and the Scientists there's a gap that must be filled by the Internationals and the Philosophers—without pioneers and thinkers in the abstract, their rule's static. Their scheme, whatever it is, fails without us." Mark was telepathically communicating with Palanth his conclusions as they neared International House.

Palanth's violet eyes narrowed in amusement. "They no doubt have a surprise for us in store—how poetic that we should be the ones to surprise them!" The Martian waved his perfumed kerchief and the sparkling iciness of the breeze was scented with fresh jasmines.

III

Mark's hand tightened on the hard object he carried in a lower pocket of his tunic. It seemed to him as if an immeasurably distant vibration reached the very top of his brain where the most difficult thinking is done. It was a fleeting thought, the barest sidereal whisper, that was gone almost the instant it impinged upon his mind. Could the final answer lie there for them?

With Terra gone, or made uninhabitable, they would be homeless children of space, unless they subjected themselves to the prosaic, uninspiring existence of the planetarian settlements, limited by space, rigidly under Council control—their lives but pawns in a gigantic game that was planned for centuries to come with a cold, mathematical impersonality that reduced life to a mechanical phenomenon. Mark shuddered slightly.

"Yes, Palanth, poetic justice indeed! Come to my apartment at International House, I want to tell you a story ... the story of what happened on Europa when I was Mark the daredevil, recorded as Hugh Betancourt—the surname of my Mentor before I earned my rank and the right to use my own name. Jim Brannigan was my second in command, when he crashed our ship on Europa...." He was smiling with a distant look in his eyes.

Later, they met Doctor Fortun.

She was still sheathed in the filmy tunic of silver-violet she had worn at Havanol. The fragrance of Venusian butterfly-orchids was a faint invitation to desire. But her firm, capable hands at the controls, sent the luxurious helio-plane hurtling through the stratosphere at a dizzy speed above a continental cloud bank.

Dawn was beginning in a young flood of opalescent fire; the ship was dipping and the clouds were swirling. Doctor Fortun sat silent with an enigmatic smile on her lips. Mark Lynn didn't speak lest he break the spell, while Palanth leaned back in his mullioned seat, eyes closed, recapturing the past memorable hours.

At last the terrain became visible.

It seemed only seconds and they were hovering above the immense interplanetary field where vast spacers awaited launching. Built to accommodate hundreds of thousands, their titanic proportions dwarfed everything around them. Doctor Fortun touched the controls of her helio-plane, and instantly the ship veered and aimed straight for one of the spacers. She flicked a lever and locked the controls. Calmly, she released another lever, and the robot pilot took over. She leaned back with a sigh, her shoulders slumped, silent still.

Mark Lynn's eyes widened. "What are you doing! We'll crash against that Spacer...." He leaped to the controls but the locking mechanism had been set for arrival and could not be unlocked until the ship came to a stop. At the urgency in his voice, Palanth jerked forward wide awake, in time to glimpse the cavernous proportions of the starboard port of the interplanetary spacer yawning open to receive them.

As it entered the stupendous spacer, the helio-plane decelerated suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop that pressed them back against their ultra-padded seats as if a gigantic hand had pushed them back. Instantly the spacer's port closed automatically without a sound and vari-colored lights flashed within the ship. A bell rang shrilly, insistently somewhere.

"Strap yourselves immediately and push that small lever on the side of your seats, it'll convert them into couches," Doctor Fortun directed hurriedly. "Prepare for launching!" She herself was already busy converting her own seat and then strapping herself. From a pocket of her tunic she took a tiny box and opening it took two pellets which she swallowed; within seconds she was unconscious. Mark reached over and took the box from her nerveless fingers. "Vanadol! For those who do not wish the sleep-freeze, Palanth! Do you want any? Or will you withstand the gravs?"

"Neither, I'll submerge my conscious mind and thus preserve everything that occurs in my subconscious without suffering the effects of acceleration."

"So will I," Mark agreed. His dark green eyes were lambent with fury. "We've been tricked very neatly, old Spacer. We're going somewhere, willy-nilly. The first trick's theirs!" He gazed at the unconscious form of the girl with a mixture of sorrow and anger. "The same old story on a higher plane," he whispered to himself. "A memorable night—and the next day shanghaied into space! I wonder if the ancients staffed their crude water vessels in this manner?"

As they submerged their conscious minds, a buzzer vibrated throughout the interplanetary spacer, a tremor went through the beryllium alloy monster and suddenly it catapulted into space on the astro-warp, robot-controlled until beyond the gravitational pull of Terra. The tiny Helio-Plane, tiny in comparison with the titanic spacer, hung suspended in a special craddle to minimize still further the effects of 2g's acceleration. Doctor Fortun and the two Internationals were too valuable to take chances. But the incongruous three were beyond inductive thinking as the "Stellar-Virgin" leaped away from Earth.

They didn't hear a mechanical voice order: "Free fall into orbit three." Presently the ship settled into the warp. After a while, the same mechanical voice ordering: "Free fall into orbit nine." Presently the Space Drive took hold as the interplanetary cruiser warped out into free space. The normal gravity plates began to function and instantly the pressure ceased.

Color returned to Mark Lynn's face, he was the first to awaken. From where he lay, he could see the still form of Palanth, a fallen dishevelled giant, and the fragile figure of Doctor Fortun, pale as death and as still. A pang of pity shot through him, then remembering, a surge of anger made his eyes grow cold.

Leisurely he unstrapped himself and stretched, then went over and unstrapped his two companions. "Well, we're together, for better or for worse," he sighed. Just then Palanth shuddered and opened his violet eyes; at sight of Mark he sat up abruptly, passing a dazed hand over his eyes. Then he saw the still unconscious form of Doctor Fortun and recollection came to him.

"She's still asleep," Mark said softly. "Let her rest, we'll have ample time for explanations."

Suddenly Palanth laughed. "Shanghaied, by Jupiter's Red Spot!" He searched assiduously for his eternal kerchief. "Ah, here it is ..." then remembering, "My extracts! All my fragrances that have taken years to collect, left on Terra!" He cursed venomously in five interplanetary dialects until he was out of breath.

"Magnificent!" Mark commented admiringly.

Palanth subsided into smoldering fury, his great eyes almost black, the chiselled nostrils quivering. To him it was an appalling loss.

"Go on, don't stop now," Mark urged him grinning. "Later, when she wakes up, you won't be able to mourn your perfumes; now's your chance, besides I'd like some of those remarks for my own collection, Planetarian!"

"You'll find them in your private quarters awaiting you in the Spacer," a wan voice said wearily. "I feel as if I'd been mangled," Doctor Fortun sighed tremulously. Both men turned toward the girl, but her slender body had not stirred, the eyes were closed, only a tiny, tired smile hovered on the curving lips.

"Didn't know you were awake!" Mark reddened at the recollection of the lurid language.

"Praise be to Antares. My extracts ... where are they, where are my quarters ... let's get out of here!" Palanth could think of nothing but his priceless collection. "Without them I'd have to condition myself to pollution!"

"You're not very complimentary, Martian!" Doctor Fortun chided, her hazel eyes flickered open and she sat up. The girl surveyed Mark Lynn with calm, clear eyes. "What, no violence, not even recriminations? What an utterly erroneous conception the Council has about you Internationals," she observed, and waited for Mark to speak.

"We don't indulge in futilities, Doctor Fortun," Mark replied. "But perhaps you can give us an inkling of what all this is about; I think we deserve at least that much, Scientist!"

The girl seemed to meditate in silence. An odd, half fearful, half ashamed expression flitted across her features. "Yes, you deserve a great deal more than I can offer you, Spacer Lynn. But I'm afraid I can only give you another unpleasant experience to chalk up against me. It's all part of a pattern agreed upon even before you and your companion arrived on Terra. It was thought that only your influence on Internationals and Philosophers could persuade them to evacuate—they'd believe you, where they would never trust the Council. It was necessary that you be seen on Terra—when you entered the Council building, it was visi-screened in detail throughout the World State; your encounter with the attacker on the street, was seen by countless millions. It had to be established that you were on Terra, and in touch with the Council, so that your audio-visi-screen broadcast should be considered authentic."

"But I didn't broadcast, my orders from the Council were to promise all Internationals, Philosophers and the Ruralians—in fact, all dissenters—a habitable planet to which they would be transported in sleep-freeze, together with all metallic substances, seeds, plasms, drugs, food, in fact everything required for their normal existence for a five-year cycle—free from interference by the Government of the World State—provided they agreed to furnish the World State with an equal amount of materials within one hundred years. I never believed for an instant that the Council would relinquish control, the absolute lack of weapons, or of machinery to fashion them, was in itself a proof of intentions beyond the letter of the offer. I meant to refuse to broadcast to the irreconcilables my personal guarantee as demanded by the Council. Besides, I know of no such planet."

"That was why I took you to Havanol," Doctor Fortun nodded sadly. "The Council anticipated your refusal—your psychological data easily told them that—and since at Havanol only those with special permit could enter, the guests were specially chosen, so that none without the scientific circle knew you were there, thus your broadcast became authentic in the minds of the dissenters. You noticed there were no visi-screens at Havanol, under the excuse that nothing that did not contribute to pleasure could be permitted."

"But I tell you, I didn't broadcast!" Mark was becoming exasperated. "You keep on harping on that!"

"No, but your double did," the girl's voice was opaque. "Turn on the visi-screen in the Spacer, and you'll learn the truth. Everything that has been visi-screened on Terra since your arrival, was recorded in the Spacer's telecast—simply select the broadcasts of the date and hour when we went to Havanol, and it will be shown on the visi-screen panel in the Commander's quarters. Your double—part resemblance, part surgico-synthesis even imitates your voice within one-tenth of a microgram of its tonal quality. Detection was beyond human power, Spacer Lynn."

"If I ever get my hands on him...!" Mark's fingers clenched spasmodically as his face went dark with passion.

"You never will," the girl said sadly, "nor on the double who took the place of Palanth ... even that detail was taken care of, perfumes and all," her smile was bitter. "By now, both have been converted to power reserve, their usefulness having ended." There was an uncomfortable pause, the silence becoming oppressive in the luxurious helio-plane of the girl.

"Who's the Commander of the Interplanetary Spacer?" Mark asked at last, his agile mind already seeking means to circumvent the snare.

"You!" was the laconic reply.

"I? Has the Council gone mad? Do they think that after what's happened they can place a spacer in my power, and still command my allegiance? I can lose their damned Patrol in uncharted space ... and I will!"

"No, Spacer Lynn, you'll have to find a better, a more definitive solution than that. You see, you promised millions a planet of freedom, where they could build a new civilization patterned after the old American Constitution, but on an even greater, a wider plane of being. You promised them freedom from the Council, and a chance to develop untrammelled not only their minds but their emotions as well; you do not know it, but your double was trained as a great actor, years of conditioning and training taught him to ring the changes of emotion on human souls not deadened by the controls. Reports showed that millions wept, that a tidal wave of joy coursed through their ranks sending them pouring like a human cataract into the awaiting spacers, and sleep-freeze, Mark!"

IV

"Have you the figures on how many agreed to evacuate?" Mark's face was white and tense. Palanth was silent, immobile, in the hieratic attitude of Martians in deep thought.

"Roughly, three hundred million. I received the secret report just before we left Havanol."

"Where are they now?" Mark forced himself to ask.

"Travelling in space under robot control. When they arrive within the orbit of Europa, they will remain in an orbit calculated to parallel the trajectory of our Universe in space, in relation to the orbit of Europa, so that they will be like satellites of that planet. You will find an instrument in your quarters, which when operated activates a vibrational beam of such potency that it will contact the robot control of those spacers, causing them to land on the planet at various places and intervals. The major task will be to administer the antidote to sleep-freeze, but as each dissenter's awakened, he or she can join in awakening the rest. Your task is to build a civilization of Europa, a civilization with all the technical science of Terra, and to thoroughly develop that planet."

"But why Europa? It's a bleak world of cold and bare rocks, lit by a hellish crimson radiation from Jupiter's red spot, deserted, inhospitable...."

"But habitable, and rich in minerals, a large world with which to replenish a ravaged earth. The moon, our Luna, will go, Mark. The Council plans to eventually move Europa from its orbit to take the place of our Moon! What happened to you when you crashed there, is known to the Council; they inspected your ship and found it had been expertly repaired with rare metals and superb skill. By spy-ray they obtained enough out of your mind to obtain a pattern. You didn't have reserve oxides with you on that trip, yet oxides had been used in repairing your ship; an assortment of special tools were needed to make the repairs—tools you didn't have with you, yet the work had been done with a skill that surpassed that of our best technicians. And, finally, it was established that your skull had been crushed from behind, yet, you arrived in perfect health, the bone fracture entirely healed and with thrice the energy reserve of a normal man! as a psychologist, I worked on the report. It was startling!"

"I see. And if I refuse to be part of their plan?" Mark's voice had the flat tones of a man condemned to death.

"You will be sentenced to power reserve, and Europa taken by force. A scientist will be placed in charge and armed proctors brought to preserve obedience. The Council hopes such measures will not be necessary—it will mean a constant struggle with the dissenters, and Venus and Mars might take advantage of the situation to begin the ancient wars all over again. That is why they are willing to give you a free rein. Ultimately of course, they envision the planet as a satellite of the Earth, its population under complete Council control."

"I'll not live to see that tragic day!" Mark's voice held infinite conviction.

"Neither will I," seconded Palanth.

"I suppose you're the direct representative of the Council?" Mark asked the girl. "You'll keep them informed of everything we do!" There was contempt in his deep, bitter voice.

"Don't spare my feelings!" Doctor Fortun smiled with a quiet sadness. "I've told everything but what the Supreme Council instructed me to say. I was to tell you another story ... to play enchantress and keep you lulled, if necessary, in a fool's paradise. But controls one, six and fifteen never quite worked with me. I've had to feign a lot and mask my mind lest I be condemned to power control. We Psychologists are very few—it's our only defense. Those we instruct in the techniques of the mind, must join our guild and swear allegiance to us! Why do you think I arranged to come on this trip? For love of the Council?

"I'm a woman, Mark! I want a home instead of a clinic and a husband instead of an order for fertilization. I want to experience the rapture that is love and have children. I came because I thought the very qualities in you the Council means to utilize might be the means of circumventing their purpose and ... and make us free!"

An incredulous look of surprise spread over Mark's face. For an instant he wondered if the Machiavellian tactics of the Council could extend even this far. But with a determined mental effort he probed the girl's mind and found it was unguarded. There was no trickery, no deception in her mind, even as the tears that blurred the lovely hazel eyes were genuine.

"Venus be praised!" He exclaimed fervently, and it was all he could do to refrain from taking her in his arms and kissing away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.

"She speaks the truth," Palanth said telepathically, there was a trace of embarrassment in his thoughts. "She will be a most valuable ally in our fight."

Mark smiled, his face had lighted as if a profound grief had been removed. "You already know we'll fight, eh, Palanth?"

"But of course, O Terran of dubious intellect!" The Martian said grandly and waved the sadly crumpled kerchief now almost devoid of its overpowering perfume. He was himself again, eager for the intellectual struggle against overwhelming odds.

"What sort of intelligence is there on Europa?" Doctor Fortun asked, once more in control of herself.

"Exquisite beings with a mental power beyond our own, but resembling nothing human," Mark replied.

"Let's leave this helio. I'm anxious to inspect the Spacer; I've never commanded a ship of this size."

"How many are aboard and what are they?" Palanth inquired. "I hope they're Internationals!"

"I don't know the figures, Palanth, but I'm certain at least ninety percent are Internationals. I do know at least five hundred scientists of various categories are aboard. They'll be the first to be awakened from sleep-freeze, for at journey's end, they take charge."

"And who's going to give them the antidote?" Mark asked silkily.

"Robots, timed to administer it the moment we land on Europa. They have orders to direct resettlement without interfering too much—and of course, they are the eyes and ears of the Council; they are the only ones who have the necessary equipment for interplanetary communication, as you'll find out!"

"I think they need a long, long rest, don't you Palanth?" Mark was smiling.

"Indeed, O protector of the martyred!" Palanth exclaimed grandiloquently. "They must be tired, very tired ... of anything but sleep!"

"I've never seen these robots," Mark Lynn thought aloud. "Are there many, Doctor Fortun?"

"Approximately fifty—more than necessary, but they're to be used on landing by the scientists. These robots, Mark, are humanoid in their mental processes, able to perform tasks too difficult for human beings, especially in the mathematical field. They are created secretly, for the peoples of the World State must not know of their invention—there would be no need for labor if they were to be produced in sufficient numbers; production of necessities and luxuries could be increased a thousand fold, and ... it would destroy the present social philosophy of the World State. It would remove the credo of achievement, it would abolish the standards of rigid thrift and conservation in a world of undreamed plenty, and finally, with robots able to solve the most intricate problems the absolute need for guidance would be neutralized.

"The Supreme Council had these robots built for their exclusive use. Only one thousand exist, we've been allotted fifty because Europa's been acknowledged as a major achievement."

"Can they be neutralized—the robots, I mean?" Mark was thinking at a furious pace.

"These robots are impressionless, blank, so to speak. Their only motivation is to administer the sleep-freeze antidote to the scientists aboard. After that, the scientists can direct them to required tasks, and each problem as it is solved by the robot, remains in its mechanical nero-pattern for repetition if necessary. They're wholly metallic, almost indestructible. Whoever uses them first, is their master!"

It was then that Mark unable to restrain himself, bent down and kissed her. "It occurs to me," he said very gently, "that I've never known your social name."

"Lucero," the girl whispered. "It's an ancient, almost forgotten name of the romance languages now lost."

"The evening star!" Mark breathed. "No wonder you're golden...." Forgetting Palanth he was about to take her in his arms, when the latter coughed with the dry, hacking sound of the Martians.

"Are we going into the Spacer, or have we changed our minds?" he inquired of the universe in general. "Terra's being wrecked, we're shanghaied aboard a sleep-freeze coffin polluted with half a thousand scientists and fifty inimical robots; we are headed for an unexplored moon of Jupiter, in the mesh of a gigantic plot, and three hundred million victims are dependent on our wits ... yet two highly specialized humans on whom the fate of a universe depends, are oblivious of it all like two Phobos-struck kaladonis! Arrgh ... what a race, O Mind of ultimate understanding!" He bowed at the mention of the Martian all highest—the nameless God.

Both Lucero and Mark came to, faces crimson, smiling sheepishly. Together they left the helio-plane and went down an emergency ladder into the interior of the vast interplanetary Spacer.

Within the Stellar Virgin the silence was intense—the silence of a dead city. In the luxurious quarters provided for the scientists, the latter lay soundless and inert in the almost ultimate oblivion of sleep-freeze. They were ten in number to each mammoth, cavernous stateroom, and in the very center, upon a throne-like dais, motionless and life-like, a gigantic robot sat immobile, awaiting the end of the trip, when for the first time since they were fashioned, they would perform the only task impressed upon their virgin brains.

Mark Lynn went silently from cabin to cabin, to all outward appearances inspecting the ship, but inwardly, his mental processes geared to the apex of their wide-awakedness, grappled endlessly with the problem of the robots. If the scientists awakened from the sleep-freeze thanks to the antidotes, they'd instantly command the robots for their initial tasks and thereafter they'd be masters of that incalculable source of power. With the robots under their command, the scientists would be masters indeed, able to dispose of the machinery within the Spacer at their will, to manufacture more machinery, build weapons and in short, control Europa.

He thought of the thousands of Internationals in the Spacer's hold, and his head ached with the sustained effort. It was a little thing that gave him the clue, the intense pain at the base of his brain was like a constant hammering, and Mark considered an infinitesimal dose of Vanadol. It would banish the pain as if by magic.

"Vanadol!" He exclaimed electrified. "By Io, Vanadol is the answer! How much Vanadol have we got aboard? Palanth, search the medical stores and find how much of the stuff we've brought along ... hurry!" Mark's eyes were sparkling, green as emeralds.

Lucero regarded him curiously. "What's so important about Vanadol, Mark?"

"The scientists must not awaken until we have the robots under our command. By giving each scientist a heavy dose of Vanadol, enough for weeks of sleep, we circumvent the antidote for sleep-freeze. It's this way: when we land, the mechanism within each robot timed for release on arrival, activates them for their one and only task, the administration of anti-sleep freeze, but since each scientist will have been thoroughly drugged with Vanadol, they'll be released from sleep-freeze, but will continue to sleep under the powerful narcotic. The robots then will be given such commands as we decide on, and will be entirely answerable to us three only. They will facilitate immensely the task of making Europa truly habitable, and since they are almost indestructible, will be the most valuable of all weapons. Let's get busy, if there's enough Vanadol, we've won the first round after all!"

Presently the Martian returned, "There's tons of the stuff," he announced. Mark had to explain all over again.

VI

"Panadur!" Mark Lynn breathed softly as he glanced at the stark grandeur of Europa from one of the glassite ports. It was night. The macabre glow of Jupiter's Red Spot enveloped the satellite in a red opaline haze that made the vari-colored cliffs gleam with twisted flames in deep crimson and orange and purple. Over all, an eternal mantle of snow lay like frozen spume. Mark opened his hand and looked at the jewel he held. It was pulsing now with a fiery radiance.

The great spacer was lying in the cup-shaped hollow of the immense valley, resting on the blanketing snow, just as once before, a tiny cruiser had rested crippled in the fantastic Europan night. But it was different then. Mark remembered his chilling awe at the Dantesque panorama, and his shock when Jim Brannigan had found life on Europa, the strange, exquisitely furred bipeds with slender arms and six-fingered hands. He had thought them animals then, despite the bright intelligence shining in the beryl-eyes of the creatures. But he'd learned differently in time, when Jim had crushed his skull from behind, and the Panadurs had saved him by absorbing Jim's life-energy and transferring it to him while he lay unconscious. That was the miracle, that the metabolism of the Panadurs could absorb energy from any source and transfer it at will. They were telepathic, and their leader had given him the jewel to facilitate communication if Mark ever returned.

It was like the remembrance of a dream, to have the past pass in review through his mind as he methodically donned his allurium suit, and turned on the heating unit.

"I'm going out ... alone," he said firmly to Palanth and Lucero. "I owe the inhabitants of this world a debt, and whether we remain or not, is for them to decide. You see this star-like jewel? That's the Star of Panadur; by concentrating my thoughts, it acts as a sort of transmitting crystal and will make it possible for me to reach the leader of the Panadurs. I will return." He smiled reassuringly into Lucero's distraught face, and Palanth's scowling one.

"Why can't I accompany you?" The Martian growled. "Since when must I be left behind in the face of danger? Am I an old woman, Mark?"

"But there's no danger, Palanth! It's a promise I gave that never, never would I bring any intelligent creature to Panadur without their approval. This world's a treasure house, and the Panadurs are a treasure in themselves, for their fur is finer than anything in the Universe, including Neptune's moons. I know of a vast cavern floored with oxide, and cliffs of pure metal. Europa, or rather, Panadur, is an inexhaustible source of power! It remains with them—the Panadurs, whether we remain or not." He smiled at them again, almost pleadingly, for them to understand, and without another word, stepped through the air-locks and was gone. They could see his tall figure in its gleaming sheath outlined in the unearthly glow until it disappeared in the distance.

Mark Lynn let his mind be passive. Contact with the alien intelligence had been made; the jewel in his hand was now a burst of radiance, as he traversed the valley in the direction of the cavern country, and at last he was before the gigantic mass of cliffs he sought. He entered a low, gallery-like cave that wound downwards into the bowels of the cliff, following the twisting turns as the gallery widened and the luminescent walls became even more luminous, until at the end of a turn a burst of radiance met his eyes and he was once more in the grotto of titanic proportions lighted by the glaucous radiance, like the green light beneath the waters of a shallow sea. At his feet, crystalline and powdery, the entire floor of the grotto was covered by oxide as far as his eyes could see. Mark had the odd sensation of living a part of his life over again. He waited in silence.

Mark knew that thousands of burning beryl eyes were peering at him from concealed openings in the walls; he felt the mental rapport with their leader that was rapidly absorbing from his mind all that could be obtained. The wait was interminable. At last, a silvery-grey, furred being, was before Mark, seemingly having come from nowhere. Its exquisite triangular face, with the wide-set beryl eyes and broad forehead, was startlingly human.

"Greetings, twice come!" the faint shadow of a smile seemed to cross its features as it telepathed the thought. "When your space machine landed, we feared the worst—but we are reassured. Your mind tells me that countless of your kind hover asleep over our world. What would you have us do?"

"Your permission to remain," Mark sent the telepathic reply. And then, in a welling flood of thought, poured out the story of what had happened on Terra, the resettlement of two-thirds of the population on other planets, and finally, their abhorrence of their Terran Government and its methods.

"Allow us, O Panadur, to build a new civilization on your world, a civilization where we may achieve happiness in freedom. We bring over two thousand Space machines laden with everything we can possibly need, and millions of eager beings. We will transform your world into a Paradise such as you have never known. Weather control stations will give Panadur freedom from cold and darkness; cities will be reared in beauty, and to you, we guarantee forever, freedom from attack; for if we do not remain on Panadur, whom the Terrans call Europa, the Council of Terra will never rest until it has been subjugated by its interstellar fleet. Your mines will be ravaged, your people will be enslaved, blood redder than the angry spot of the greater world will flow in rivers."

"And how can you prevent them from doing so, in any event?" the Panadur asked.

"We will make your world impregnable. Each one of the Spacers that brings our people here, will be turned into a fighting cruiser; the minds of the greatest scientists of Terra will be utilized for our advancement ... and, these scientists, five-hundred of them, now asleep, will be delivered into your care as hostages, together with fifteen robots, placed under your command. We will ensure your safety, in return for your scientific aid. We know you have no tools; even to repair a small rent on my cruiser when I crashed here before, took hundreds and hundreds of your people and the tools I had, plus weeks of work! The result was magnificent, but I know how handicapped you were. My robots will build you machines of power, and we will give you that which you may choose from our ships. In insuring your safety, we ensure ours. One for all, and all for one, O Panadur. Fate has decreed that your world is in danger—shall we join forces?"

"It is true, Terran. We have achieved mental mastery, but we've never conquered our environment. Our hands," he extended fragile, six-fingered hands without thumbs, "are hardly suited to fashion tools. But with machines that create other machines ... and metal beings such as I saw in your mind...." A far away look came into beryl eyes as the Panadur leader paused.

"Let your mind be passive that I may contact and transmit to my people, they must know the entire story."

Mark complied, and instantly, as if a tremendous force had struck him, he reeled in darkness, consciousness fled. He never knew that not far behind him another being fell unconscious also. It was Palanth. The Martian had followed unseen, unwilling to let Mark risk the unknown by himself.

The hours slid in silence under the unchanging luminescence of the primordial cavern, now filled with countless Panadurs in hieratic attitudes.

At last one of the beings stood erect and made a silent motion; waves of pure energy began to course through Mark Lynn and Palanth. But when they awoke, all the Panadurs were gone save their leader. Mark dazedly stretched his long limbs and looked at the Martian uncomprehendingly, then slowly remembrance came.

"So, you did follow me after all? Disobedience of orders in an uncharted world—do you know the penalty imposed by the Council?"

"May the Council swelter in Venus' deepest swamp!" Palanth spat irreverently. "Didn't intend to take chances ... your life's too valuable, O scourge of the Planets!" Under a grandiloquent manner he tried to hide the mixture of bewilderment and awe with which he gazed at the placid Panadur Leader. He still had not quite decided what had happened to him.

The Panadur in turn, gazed inscrutably at the being from Mars, its delicate nose wrinkled slightly at Palanth's mingled fragrances. What went on in the Panadur's prodigious mind was unknown to the two men, for the three-foot tall Leader's mind was not in contact with theirs. The faintest hint of a smile hovered over his placid features. At last he began to send:

"The tragedy of your world, 'twice come' is only less startling than that of your Government—your leaders are a paradox! With a philosophy of achievement they conceal the greatest achievement of all—men of metal to enrich your lives; with the goal of conservation and economy, they waste the most precious of all things—Life! From such a Government, we can expect but destruction.

"Yet, your people reared without controls are dissenters.... I fear they might not accept our guidance, that at some future time their will to power might create an even greater problem to be solved. However, there's no alternative now. We accept the fifteen men of metal, O Terran, but above all we must have the 'Sleeping Ones' whose minds we will study. We Panadurs must guard against a future paradox. Your people," he paused and gazed from Mark to Palanth, "may remain."

The mental rapport was broken, and the furred leader disappeared into the depths of the cavern, leaving Mark and Palanth to retrace their steps to the Stellar Virgin.

For the first time in her highly-trained life, Lucero felt the full impact of loneliness as the Europan night swallowed Mark and Palanth. At last she chose action rather than endure the atavistic emotions that had begun to grip her. And methodically she flitted silently from compartment to luxurious compartment where the scientists dreamt their drugged sleep. Carefully she scanned their faces and was struck by one overwhelming fact—this was no collection of second rate scientists for the solution of routine problems, but an assemblage of the first order, now inert and helpless in the coma of Vanadol, presided over by a sphinx-like robot.

The last compartment was much larger than the preceding ones, and by far more luxurious; during the previous inspection, Mark, Palanth and herself had had no time to come this far, and the girl was startled at its complex magnificence. Equipped for research work, it was a miracle of scientific devices, from energizing cabinets to a bewildering array of surgical apparatus and tools.

Only one man occupied it, and on the raised dais an immobile robot. But the face that Lucero bent over made her gasp with involuntary fear. It was the face of Verdugo, the infamous cerebral surgeon whose gifted fingers could change an entire ego with a few movements of the atomic scalpel.

The sight of the dreaded scientist in their midst was startling enough, but what made the girl turn ashen was the sudden flutter of the surgeon's lids. A painful groan came from his lips, as he trembled and opened his eyes. The sight of Lucero bending over him seemed to reassure him, for he smiled faintly.

Behind Lucero the towering robot glided noiselessly to peer at his awakening master. The girl was unaware it had moved.

"Shall I bring a measure of Thassalian, Master?" The metal man's richly modulated voice rose without the slightest mechanical inflection.

For one shattering instant, the girl felt as if her reason was taking wings. She remained utterly still as if in the grip of paralyzing hysteria. But her training saved her. Slowly she turned and gazed into the strangely human features of the metal giant. At close quarters she noted the smooth beryloid construction of the superb outer shell; the indestructible optics of non-abradable, chemically inert crystal with microscopic adjustments. But most important of all, she sensed that here was a brain which had attained full growth—powerful, experienced and ... organic!

"Yes, bring me some Thassalian, Alcoran," the surgeon assented wearily and half-rose from his couch with a sigh. "The sleep-freeze reaction is far worse than I'd anticipated!"

"The antidotes have been given—two antidotes Master!" The super-robot answered instantly.

"Two! For the love of Terra! If it took a double antidote I must have been given a dose big enough for a Hellacorium...."

"Doctor Verdugo," Lucero interrupted purposely, now entirely calm. "There's life ... intelligent life on Europa." She didn't intend that Alcoran should have a chance to disclose what he must have known.

"Yes?" Doctor Verdugo was all attention. "Bring the Thassalian!" He waved an imperious hand at Alcoran, "and don't stand there like an effigy! Must your orders be given twice?" He glared at the robot. "Proceed, Doctor Fortun. Intelligent life ... what's it like?"

"Humanoid, but furred against Europa's eternal cold. They seem to be telepathic!"

"Telepathic.... Remarkable! I must have a specimen without delay. Have my scientists been awakened?"

"We've just arrived, Doctor, they're being given the antidote now," Lucero was once again her coldly efficient self.

"Your Thassalian, Master." Alcoran extended the small glass and waited while the scientist drank, closing his eyes against the ecstasy imparted by the liquor.

"Help me up!" The girl complied stifling a grimace of distaste as his arm encircled her waist. Verdugo stood on his feet with the girl's help, weaving a little, and finally recovered his balance.

"Telepathic ..." he murmured, the light of some fiendish purpose gleaming in the coal black eyes. "Order some of my scientists to secure a specimen immediately, Doctor Fortun!" The girl bowed.

"Master ..." Alcoran's voice was insistent. "You must...."

"Silence! Never use the word 'must' to me, never!" Verdugo had drawn himself to his full height. "Ever since I synthetized his brain, he's got the idea that he owns me! I had to order him not to stir from his seat during the entire voyage ... I wouldn't have had any peace otherwise," he smiled at the girl and waved toward the super-robot. "I synthetized his brain from three of the finest intelligences on Terra!"

"You mean you transferred three brains to Alcoran's helmet?" She asked aghast. "But didn't they retain their memories ... their personalities...?"

"Of course not, my dear. I never do things by halves. And now I must inform the Council we have arrived, and the discovery of life on Europa." He walked toward the immense metal wall and his slender hand reached out to touch a spot. Silently, the huge metal partition rose upwards revealing a hidden alcove in the very center of which, taking up about two-thirds of the available space stood a gigantic machine.

"A Tele-Magnum!" Lucero breathed.

"Alcoran, contact Venus ... the Council Hall," Doctor Verdugo ordered his super-robot. The latter came noiselessly forward. Once seated at the console of the incredibly complex mechanism, his agile finger ran without hesitation over the banked keys, after pressing a master switch that lighted serried ranks of powerful tubes, with an eerie violet light.

"Give my orders to my scientists, Doctor Fortun—it is imperative I have an Europan specimen immediately." Doctor Verdugo made a curious grimace that accentuated the evil expression stamped on his features, then he nodded in dismissal.

With a great effort Lucero quieted her swirling thoughts. She had no doubt but that the super-robot knew about the administration of Vanadol. If Verdugo learned of it, he would instantly report it to the Council, and at least part of the fleet would come to investigate. Against the fleet of Terra they were powerless.

"I'll not deserve this world and freedom if I fail now!" She told herself. White-faced and grim she began to carry out a plan that was slowly growing in her mind out of sheer desperation. Once again she retraced her steps from compartment to compartment, and began motivating each robot, commanding them to administer the sleep-freeze to the men and women in the lower tiers. One robot she left, the one in the compartment next to that of Doctor Verdugo—she had a task for that one.

When all the robots save one had been sent below, she went back and entered the next to the last compartment.

"Arise and come with me," she ordered the robot. "I'm your master, you will obey my orders implicitly." The metal monster stirred, as if some hidden mechanism had come to life at the vibration of her words. It arose on frictionless bearings and stood glittering before her; she opened its breast and inspected the masterly work that had been done on the control panel; its eyes, lit now by the glow of intelligence seemed uncannily human. Lucero knew this specimen didn't possess the Machiavellian intelligence of Alcoran—only Verdugo could accomplish such a satanic piece of work—but it was larger and more powerful than Alcoran, the latter being a specialized product for intricate mental work.

Resolutely Lucero marched to Doctor Verdugo's compartment, followed by the fearful metal servant. The scientist had already completed preparations for a vivisection when the girl entered, and was bending over a multitude of helixes of finest wire of sensitized silver.

An array of electric and atomic-powered instruments from tiny, silver-like scalpels, to razor-sharp saws gleamed on tables at his sides; fulgurants cast ultra-visibility light upon the white-swathed couch where the victim was to be strapped alive. Verdugo did not hear them enter, but Alcoran did! Instantly the super-robot gave a warning cry at the sight of his metal counterpart and stood before the girl and robot like an impassable wall.

"Attack!" Lucero did not waste words. "Destroy it!" She pointed to the slightly crouching Alcoran.

VII

With a blasting roar the girl's robot lunged, and Alcoran sprang forward to meet the attack. It was a nerve shattering impact, like that of two armored pre-historic monsters engaged in a death-struggle.

Behind the metal men, both Lucero and Verdugo maneuvered for position, their atomo-pistols blazing a path through scientific instruments and furnishings as they fired over and around the struggling robots. The awesome din of the gigantic battle was deafening, as the compartment was slowly converted into shambles.

Once Alcoran managed to grip the leg of Lucero's robot and the latter went crashing against the vivisection table, instantly pulverizing it. But with a leap that carried it half across the vast alcove, the robot charged Alcoran like a battering-ram and driving him into the Tele-Magnum room with the impetus of his leap. The explosion of shattered tubes and crashing metal, the singing hum of ripped berlyloy and pulverized plastuco, was drowned by the clang and thud of the gigantic bodies as they strove to wrench each other apart.

And now, only the litter-strewn floor was between Lucero and Verdugo, the latter oozing blood from a seared shoulder where an atomoblast had touched. Deliberately she aimed her atomo-pistol, even as the surgeon simultaneously raised his, but her blast only disintegrated a fulgurant on the ceiling, while Verdugo's fatal pencil of violet light speared an empty spot, for at that instant the hurtling form of Alcoran spewed from the alcove, barely grazing the girl, but such was the terrific force of his passage that it knocked her spinning against the wall where she collapsed.

Behind Alcoran, hurtling like an avenging angel, Lucero's robot came charging with but one thought—destruction.

"Alcoran!" It was Verdugo shouting hoarsely at his creation, now spread-eagled on the floor. "Run, follow me!" He dived for the passageway as Alcoran, damaged as he was, his brain shaken by the terrific concussion arose and sped after him.

At the sight of the fallen girl, Lucero's robot checked his rush, hesitated and finally bent over her. He raised the still form as if it were a feather and stood for a moment as if trying to cerebrate. Finally it deposited her with infinite care on the couch where Verdugo had slept. Then it began to search what cabinets had not been destroyed, for a stimulant.

It found the decanter of Thassalian, that miraculously had escaped destruction; gently opening the girl's mouth the robot poured a few drops down her throat. Just then Mark Lynn and Palanth burst into the room. Shamble was before their eyes. Mark went white with apprehension and leaped to Lucero's side, but the robot placed a formidable metal hand against the earthman's chest and growled:

"Back, Terran! Come no nearer!"

Palanth slid toward them atomo-pistol in hand, just as Mark drew his. But at that moment Lucero opened her eyes and groaned softly.

"Mark!" There was a universe of gladness in her cry. She waved a limp hand toward the robot. "This is Mark Lynn and the other's Palanth—your masters also, obey them."

The robot stepped back and Mark kneeled at her side. "Are you hurt, my darling?" Lucero shook her head and tried to smile.

Palanth turned to the robot. "Tell us what occurred in detail," he commanded. Thus it was that from the metal lips they heard the entire story with photographic accuracy, as far as he had seen.

"I might have known they'd have one last counter-check," Mark reproached himself. "I should never have left you!"

"Who could have foreseen this?" Lucero raised herself on an elbow. "Even I had no idea that Verdugo was with us, not to speak of his bringing one of the only two ultra-specialized super-robots in existence. We'll have to work very fast, Mark! There's nothing, literally nothing, that Alcoran cannot accomplish in a scientific way, provided he has the materials—Verdugo may even have him build a Tele-Magnum and communicate with the Council!"

"But where's he going to get materials, my dear? A Tele-Magnum is a tall order!"

"I don't know.... But I do know that Verdugo has the mind of a fiend and the skill of a genius, and Alcoran's a triple-synthetized brain, and under Verdugo's control!"

"We'll deal with the surgeon," Palanth's voice was deadly.

"And we shall deal with Verdugo and his scientists," came the quiet telepathic thought.

Both Mark Lynn and the Martian turned seeking its source, and saw framed in the doorway to the alcove, the silver-furred figure of the Panadur leader.

"That was the agreement," the Panadur added after a pause. "Thousands of my people await without to carry him away."

Lucero's robot took a step forward tentatively and then gazed questioningly at its mistress, and suddenly a wave of energy from the Panadur stopped it dead in its tracks.

"The agreement will be honored," Mark acquiesced, "but one has escaped, O Panadur, and Klonos knows where in that maze of rocks and caverns he's now hiding with his super-robot."

"That's our problem, Terran. The agreement was five-hundred, and five-hundred scientists shall we have."

"You will need the fifteen robots immediately," Mark said thoughtfully. "Lucero, my dear, only you can command the robots, so place fifteen under the Panadur's command ... are you able to walk?"

"Of course, I was only stunned." She rose from the couch and left the compartment followed by her ever-watchful metal man. The Panadur seemed to melt away as it glided into the hall.

"And now," Mark addressed Palanth, "we must begin to land the spacers, I have the radio beam. The sooner everyone has been given the sleep-freeze antidote, the better. Internationals first, they are our best fighters, just in case the Council has another trick up its sleeve. Then we must find some way of increasing the spacers' resistance to the disintegrating beam—the alloy used on robots' case shell is the clue—they're impervious to atom-blast. Weather stations next—robots to be detailed on that and machinery stations to turn out mechanical robots and more machinery ... tools, weapons for defense ... we're really fighting for time."

"I know. But even then, I can think of nothing that can stop Terra's fleet if it ever comes to Europa. It's practically invulnerable, or Venus and my own Mars would have shaken off the Council's domination long ago!"

"I have an idea Palanth! It's far from clear, but if it works.... It has to do with radiant energy—even the Fleet couldn't withstand that."

"Radiant energy! Have you lost your mind? Who can control a radiant energy vortex? Besides, we have no means of releasing it. Stop dreaming Mark!"

"It isn't a dream," Mark shrugged wide shoulders. "But come, let's take a look at the scientific exodus—I'm certainly glad to be rid of them, hope the Panadurs can cope with that tribe."

"What do you suppose the Panadurs really want with them, Mark?"

"Probe their minds of course. Panadurs have surpassing intellects, but they have neither tools nor scientific techniques. I suppose they want to learn all they can from our 'sleeping beauties,' in order to achieve their own inventions. Panadurs are thumbless, unable to make tools, thus their development has been purely along mental lines. Since their metabolism requires no food, as they are able to absorb energy directly, they have by-passed all domestic arts and sciences."

The steadily increasing noise from the tiers below, had now become a cacophonous din, as more and more Internationals came to life.

The Panadur Leader bending over a scientist for the nth time, probed, delved and searched the innermost recesses of the quiescent brain under the scalpel, but at last he straightened with a baffled expression.

The Europan cavern was a vast catacomb under the glaucous radiance of the radio-active walls that spread a green stela on the faces of the sleeping scientists, flanking the walls in lengthening rows.

The Panadur knew what had been done, he had even tried the delicate process, but the secret of transferring a living brain, minus its personality and the seat of entity, remained unsolved.

Not one of the scientists brought from the Stellar Virgin possessed the secret technique, and many Panadurs had sacrificed themselves in vain as their brains died under the atomo-knife.

Presently the Panadur Leader raised his delicate face, the brilliance of his eyes increased as he turned to face the tunnel that led to the cavern's entrance, then the single thought flashed out: "Enter!"

It wasn't long until the silence was broken by the tread of heavy-shod feet crunching the glittering oxide crystals, and Mark entered followed by Palanth. The awful responsibility for three-hundred million lives and the transfiguration of a world, had left its mark on the faces of the two men.

"We bring bad news, Panadur!" Mark said bluntly, in his preoccupation he unconsciously resorted to speech. "One of the space vessels has been looted of vital supplies that can be used for the construction of an interplanetary radio. Verdugo took the opportunity to steal its radio installations with the aid of his robot, while the passengers celebrated their arrival on Europa. If Verdugo builds a Tele-Magnum and contacts the Council, it means War!"

"And war," Palanth seconded, "means the Terran Fleet, against which we are not prepared!"

"When were the supplies stolen?"

"Three revolutions of Panadur on its axis ago—we learned of it today. Enough time for Alcoran to have built an instrument powerful enough to contact the Council on Venus."

"The blame is partly ours," the Panadur telepathed sadly. "We should have captured Verdugo long ago. But it meant wasting lives to imprison that madman ... but now, we have no recourse, the scientist and his metal servant will be brought in. It will solve another problem," he added thoughtfully. "This!" He indicated the trepanned cranium of the scientist on the operating table.

"If you need them, Panadur, you may have every robot in our possession," Mark offered.

For an instant the nearest thing to a smile the two men had ever seen, crossed the features of the strange being of Europa.

"Panadur thanks you, Terran. But we already have built over a thousand robots, half of them have mechanical brains and can be radio-controlled, but the other half, the important one requires a knowledge of Verdugo's technique for transplanting organic brains to metal men. He shall provide that ... personally!"

"Once long ago," Mark spoke meditatively, "you slew an enemy of mine with a volume of energy like a bolt of lightning, then you somehow transferred the latent energy of that being to me. Could that have been radiant energy?" He paused. "Could it, O Panadur?"

But the Europan had abruptly interposed an impenetrable barrier between his mind and that of the two men. With an imperious gesture he pointed to the exit of the cavern. Mark and Palanth gazed at each other in bewilderment, finally they left in silence.

As soon as they were lost to view, the cavern began to be filled by a steady stream of thousands upon thousands of silvery Panadurs silently filing in from the inner caverns.

"What in Phobos happened to him?" Mark thought aloud, trying to understand the incomprehensible conduct of the Panadur Leader.

"Don't ask me riddles about this fantastic race of beings!" Palanth exclaimed irritably, waving his handkerchief. "What has radiant energy got to do with them anyway?"

"Just a hunch of mine, Palanth. If the energy they absorb from minerals is radiant energy ... well, we might be able to defy the Terran Fleet itself ... if!"

"You still speak in riddles, O Thou specially not wanted!" Palanth lapsed into his usual grandiloquent manner. "At any rate, your idea of fighting the Terran Fleet with radiant energy certainly had a startling effect on that mysterious biped of yours." He pressed still another offensively perfumed handkerchief to his face and eyed the changing landscape of Europa with distaste. It was a raw panorama of great tracts of vivid red soil, exposed by the melting snows; outcrops of glittering rocks rich in minerals flashed in rainbow hues under the powerful ultra-visibility reflectors that were substituting for Terra's Sol. In the near distance, gigantic skeletal structures were a babel of sound, and beyond, the mile-high weather control towers fought steadily the numbing cold.

"Must I explain in words of one syllable so that dubious intellect of yours can absorb it?" Mark asked mockingly. "Well, while asking the Panadur about radiant energy, I had in mind building thousands of tiny spacers out of some of the Spacer Transports that brought us here. These tiny swarms are to be filled with radiant energy and aimed by mechanical robot control directly at the Terran Fleet so that they will explode on contact, annihilating everything in their path. Thus lives will be conserved.... But the radiant energy must come from the Panadurs!"

"Too many ifs," Palanth replied unconvinced. "However, we can have a fleet of miniature spacers ready before the Council's butchers get within a million parsecs of Europa.

"But without either your damned radiant energy or some explosive that will do what no explosive has ever done before, or ray either, for that matter, the ships will be as useless as ... as a Panadur in a fight!"

"Build the fleet!" came the startling telepathic command from the direction of the cavern country.

"He ... It was in contact!" Palanth gazed at Mark Lynn startled.

"He always is," Mark held up the gleaming blue, star-like gem he carried in his pocket. "Probably appreciated your complimentary remark about the fighting qualities of Panadurs. But that's what I wanted to hear him say!" He exulted. "Hold up everything Palanth, and throw all our resources into the building of the miniature fleet."

"Yeah! But let's not forget to get the remaining spacers into shape just in case.... I'd much rather die exploding on a Terran spacer, than trapped like a Martian desert rat on Europa."

"Patience, O Spawn of unfortunate begetting!" Mark taunted his friend with one of the latter's favorite insults. "Everything in good time."

As their Spacer came into view in the distance, Mark increased his speed unconsciously as he thought of Lucero.

VIII

His eyes were expressionless, his ego inert, but with the incredible dexterity of genius and long practice, Doctor Verdugo transferred the brains of drugged scientists to the waiting rows of perfected robots.

The bolt of living energy that had dropped the infamous Terran surgeon in the recesses of an Europan cavern, had neutralized his will, and his egocentric and sadistic personality no longer dominated his brain.

Now his flying fingers manipulated atomic scalpels without hesitation, and one by one scientific brains were short of certain areas, without impairing them. Silently he coupled the organic demi-brains with the mechanical motor organs of the robots, by means of nerve tendrils that led out of the brains themselves, and were curled into coils about which he placed helixes of sensitized silver wire, that made them virtually transformers—nervous impulses into electrical and vice versa.

The miracle that was Alcoran, the super-robot, was being multiplied five-hundred fold, as each scientific hostage provided a brain to activate the new super-robots of the Panadurs.

Alcoran itself had been operated upon to remove certain allegiances and memories and now, under the direct control of the Panadur leader, assisted the doctor in the operations.

The Panadur leader watched expressionless as the work went on ceaselessly, inexorably until every scientific brain was housed in a metal man.

Finally, at a telepathic command from their leader, the Panadurs began to carry the cadavers of the scientists away—their energy potential must not be wasted—the need for energy would be great. And then, an uncanny, a hair-raising scene took place.

As if felled by a blow, Doctor Verdugo collapsed prone upon the now empty operation table, and Alcoran detaching himself from among the newly activated robots, grasped instruments and began to operate.

Stranger still, a Panadur silently lay down by the side of the scientist and relaxed as if in death.

Doctor Verdugo's cranium was trepanned and opened, Alcoran deftly extracted the brain operating with the mastery that had been Verdugo's. Then he opened the brain pan of the Panadur and removed certain parts from its alien brain, including the pituitary at the apex, which seemed enormous in comparison with the size of the Panadur's brain, and grafted it to what had been the brain of Doctor Verdugo. Then as a swarm of Panadurs dragged a robot forward, he inserted the organic brain in the super-robot's helmet, made the necessary connections, completed the task and sealed the incision. Verdugo's body was carried away. The same swarm of Panadurs circled the super-robot, and began to generate energy potential which they transmitted to the quiescent brain in its metal head.

Slowly, the superb metal man rose from the table and with slender, delicate hands grasped its head. Its brilliant beryl eyes of purest indestructible crystal, glowed in the chiseled semi-triangular face. Suddenly it raised its head and gazed straight at the Panadur leader, and as if it had received a command, it bowed silently. Then, with the lithe, cat-like stride of the Panadurs it headed for the exit of the Cavern and was gone.

An expression of triumph exalted the Leader's features. "Hereafter," he thought, "the energy output to control robots' brains telepathically, will not be necessary. They could be rendered telepathic!"

It was then the Leader turned majestically toward the cavern's depths and issued his final command to the waiting legions of his people. The robots with the mechanical brains, nearly a thousand strong, marched forward, and, behind them, rank upon rank of the countless furry Panadurs.

Once outside in the artificial sunlight of Europa, only the myriad bullet-shaped, miniature spacers flashing in the golden light, drew their eyes. The distant rows of tiny, waiting ships drew robots and Panadurs alike like a magnet and the immense army of silver-gray beings with a vanguard of metal men swept forward, eerily silent.

Within the Stellar Virgin, Mark Lynn paced the confines of what had been Verdugo's chamber. The Tele-Magnum, repaired and rebuilt could be seen in the small alcove. Mark's face was gray and haggard as he faced Lucero and Palanth, seated on a couch against the wall.

"No word from the Panadur Leader, and we cannot wait much longer! If my calculations are right, the Terran Fleet should be nearing Europa's orbit. We cannot afford to be caught on the ground."

"Do you suppose the Council would listen?" It was Palanth hoping against hope. "Try them, Mark; we can spar for time." Then in sheer desperation: "I told you, Terran, those bipeds would never come through with that infernal radiant energy!" His features also showed the strain he'd gone through, even the ubiquitous handkerchief was missing.

"I will!" Mark had reached a decision. "But no mercy can be expected from them, I'll have to handle it my way...." He broke off and walked to the Tele-Magnum, followed by Lucero and Palanth. Outside, an immense multitude of Terrans awaited orders.

Mark Lynn sat down at the console and manipulated the controls, his fingers danced over the console keys until the eerie glow of swirling colors and the ascending whine of the instrument told him he had the required power. Scene after scene rushed on and off the tele-panel until finally Venus City flashed into view. Mark made minute adjustments and increased the potential—at last the inner Council Chamber was revealed.

It was filled to overflowing with scientists of the highest order. An atmosphere of excitement pervaded it as experts of various categories rushed in and out with their calculations and reports. They were electrified as the scene within the Spacer was flashed on their gigantic tele-panel. Mark waited an instant before he spoke, as the holy of holies subsided into utter silence.

"Europa," he said with complete aplomb, "greets the Council. A free Europa offers peace. Soon the Terran Fleet will have reached our new world, and that Fleet will not return to Venus! Before it is too late, before the interplanetary void becomes the scene of a gigantic hecatomb, we ask you, turn your fleet back before it is too late!"

There was an interval of stunned, disbelieving silence. Within the memory of all present such a speech had never been heard. Such insolence was so utterly unthinkable, that the scientists stood grotesquely open-mouthed. Then in a rising tide of fury pandemonium broke loose.

"Traitor!" Was the universal cry. "Apostate, blasphemer!" From among the scientific swarm that had completely forgotten their dignity, a tall, white-bearded scientist detached himself and raising both arms roared: "Silence! The Master will speak!" The pandemonium ceased like a receding storm. Mark Lynn waited. Contemptuously he eyed the sleek bodies clothed in costly raiment, the bejeweled fingers and cruel faces. A wave of revulsion swept over him as he remembered what countless millions had suffered at their hands. And as he waited, a deep, magnificently modulated voice broke the stillness:

"You offer peace!" Low, sardonic laughter slashed like a scimitar. "Peace I shall grant you earthling... in the power reserve! You and that addled female who has betrayed her scientist's oath, and that foppish Martian who even dares to ape my robes. To the rest of the dissenters, conditioning by the controls and rigid supervision for fifteen years. Those who are immune to controls, shall be condemned to power reserve."

He paused as if relishing the effect of words that sealed a planet's doom. Then: "As for those humanoid creatures with silver furs Doctor Verdugo mentioned in his message, we have already planned their orbit of achievement ... that is," the satanic chuckle rose again, "for the ones we spare to serve, the rest shall be disposed of properly."

The unseen speaker's voice ceased, as if there were nothing more to be said.

In the momentary silence the voice of a robot boomed behind him:

"Master, a messenger from Panadur!"

Mark Lynn whirled and saw a new type of robot, whose delicate features resembled uncannily those of the beings of Europa. Its beryl eyes regarded him steadily as it stood motionless flanked by two robot guards. Then Mark received the telepathic message flashing from the super-robot's brain:

"I, Leader of Panadur, have attended to represent my People."

For an instant Mark wondered if the Leader had somehow transferred his own brain to the metal man, for some obscure purpose of his own, but telepathically, he was reassured.

"The metal man's brain relays my thoughts only. It is a vehicle, nothing more, and can convey speech when the need shall arise."

"War is imminent, Panadur," he telepathed, knowing that the Council could not receive his thoughts. "Without radiant energy we're doomed to failure." But from the super-robot came no answer. Mark Lynn whirled to face the Tele-Magnum again, and his voice rang true with contemptuous assurance.

"You're dreaming, Benevolence! My offer was merely to prevent needless slaughter. Your hour of domination has passed. When your Terran Fleet reaches the orbit of Europa, it will disintegrate, leaving you and your cruel henchmen helpless to enforce your vandal rule on Mars and Venus; a tidal wave of retribution will sweep you out of the planetary colonies. Europa is and will remain free. Your despotic rule has come to an end. This is your last chance for peace!"

"You are mad!" There was a terrible anger in the voice of the Supreme Ruler. "Mad.... Do you think for an instant that I would send the entire Terran Fleet to your puny satellite? A mere section of a thousand ships will be enough to blast your blaspheming minions off its frozen wastes. But enough of this, in less than an hour our ships will be above you and death shall be swift!" The Tele-Screen went blank.

"I can stay no longer, my men await me." Palanth rose abruptly and left the chamber. He hurried to his flagship that led a section of what remained of the great Spacers that had brought them to Europa.

"My bluff has failed," Mark said quietly to Lucero, and his face was drained of all color. "Go to the Panadur caverns, my dear, they may be able to provide safety for you. I have only one course of action left."

Lucero shook her lovely head. "We began together, we shall end that way." There was unshakable determination in her quiet, husky voice. "Go and give the necessary orders ... it ... it ..." her voice broke slightly, "has been a glorious adventure, Mark!" He kissed her with infinite tenderness and tore himself away.

Once in the control room, his tones were hard as beryloy as he issued command after command, and the gigantic spacers rose in a crescendo of sound toward the trackless void. He knew the ships had been rendered as formidable as was within their power, but even that was not enough, and the knowledge that countless millions faced certain death became a terrible anger and desperation within him.

The Europan Fleet in battle formation, assumed a staggered triangle, in tiers of ships that rendered it a three-dimensional wedge. Powerful super-armored spacers formed the frontal line, while the spacers they had been able to equip with atomic projectors guarded the sides, ready to meet encirclement. At the very apex rode the Stellar Virgin, with Palanth's sectional flagship the Hellacorium one tier beneath. It was a magnificent sight, and viewing it through the Tele-Magnum, Mark had a momentary lift of pride.

"Connect three-dimensional telecast," Mark ordered the robot, and instantly the tele-panel showed a scene as if it were an open window on the heavens. In the distance racing at unimaginable speed, the Terran Fleet flashed on majestically.

Breathlessly, the watchers on two worlds eyed its inexorable approach. Suddenly, from the vanguard of the Terran Fleet a pencil of livid light speared an Europan Spacer, and the great transport seemed to disintegrate in space. Mark's knuckles were white as they tightened.

"Maneuver and blast!" He roared into the radio, and in unison, but with vertiginous speed the Europa fleet became a single perpendicular line that spewed atom-blast in an awesome holocaust. But the Terran Fleet came on unscathed. Simultaneously converging beams of livid light shot out from its foremost cruisers and a score of Europan Spacers crumbled into dust. In desperation a flight of them hurled themselves suicidally against the driving Terran Fleet, and whorls of incandescence illumined the ghastly scene, and it was then that Mark saw several shattered Terran Spacers spinning down.

"We have no chance!" Mark gritted as he saw the Europan Spacers disintegrated in the awful struggle. "Murderers!... We'll hurl all our remaining spacers against the Terran Fleet; if that's the only way to shatter them, that's the way it'll be!" As he was about to give the fateful command, the Panadur super-robot, who had accompanied them, lay a restraining metal hand on Mark Lynn's arm:

"Wait!" He exclaimed laconically, and pointed to the three-dimensional Tele-cast. He flicked a tiny lever and made delicate adjustments. As if seen through an ultra-powerful telescope, a vast swarm of silver specks were rising from Europa itself. With dazzling speed many times greater than that of the Spacers, the darting miniatures grew in size. Presently they reached the battle scene, and like metal hornets were darting among the intermingled fleets, as if seeking their prey.

From thousands of projectors of the Terran Fleet, a myriad scintillating beams crossed and criss-crossed the void like cosmic fingers, but the tiny ships in an unexpected maneuver, executed with dazzling speed, had scattered, skimming, darting, swooping like silver hawks, spreading like an immense net over and beneath the Terran ships. Now, they aimed themselves with unerring accuracy at the battle-giants of the Council.

Dozens disappeared into puffs of brilliant light as the Terran beams found their mark, but as the flagship of the Terran Fleet maneuvered into position to annihilate the on-coming swarm, a single silver miniature crashed squarely against its nose. As if a meteor had exploded in space, there was a burst of intolerable light blinding the watchers, and just as they were able to see again, a salvo of crashes became a flaming incandescence that human eyes could never record.

Space was a raving hell of raw energy.

When at last the awesome scene had ceased, and they were able to open their tortured eyes, the void was empty but for a pitiful remnant fleeing pell-mell from an enemy that became a living projectile and crashed suicidally against their ships with immediate annihilation to both. A few silver bullets pursued them relentlessly until distance swallowed them.

In their Europan ships, now being tossed like leaves in a storm, no one spoke. There were no words in human throats that could shatter the brooding silence in two worlds.

Even the sight of a thin, towering old man, whose despotic face was blanched as he gazed from the balcony above the Council Chamber, was not enough to bring back their speech. The head of the Council, the Supreme Ruler had shown himself for the first time in history!

"Fiends!" He croaked in a voice that trembled with shocked unbelief. "Demons! What manner of beings have you on Europa that their bodies can shatter the Council's fleet? For this your world shall be destroyed—utterly destroyed!"

"With what?" It was the Panadur Leader speaking through his robot. "Listen, O Man of evil! The five-hundred scientists you sent to our world, no longer exist. Their minds activate such robots as you have never even imagined. Verdugo is a robot himself—the robot whose voice you are listening to, as my telepathic commands reach its brain. You saw my people hurling themselves against your might and dissolving into radiant energy, which we absorb directly from matter as you absorb energy from food. We can store it in our bodies, increasing it into a potential which can be directed at will and released with cumulative force. Nothing in our universe can withstand that—and we're willing to die by the millions that Panadur may be free!"

"We shall make treaties with Mars and Venus, to permit the millions of Terrans to dwell on their Planets until we can provide habitation for them elsewhere. In the meantime, take your choice, old man! Your terror-reign is ended. We give you the choice of the radiant death, or a space ship to take you and your vermin beyond the inner planets. You will be provided with whatever you need—but the Council must go forever!"

The Supreme Ruler realized defeat. He had never granted mercy—he expected none. His arms hung limp at his sides, and his head with its smoldering, hatred-filled eyes hung on his aged chest. He gazed at the stunned assembly of scientists below him and knew there was no escape.

If he defied Mark Lynn and the Panadurs, the Terran Fleet would be utterly destroyed and without that safeguard, Mars and Venus would sweep them off their planets. Everywhere his thoughts turned he only saw death. And, as the power he had held for years slipped from his grasp, he became a gray, broken old man who knew fear.

"We will go, International!" He flung with one final sneer, as the hatred of a trapped beast flamed in his eyes.

As Mark Lynn manipulated the keys and cut the connection, he found a warm body being pressed against his, and a tear-wet face that burrowed beneath his chin. His arms went about Lucero.

"Crying, indeed! Where is the dignity of a scientist, Doctor Fortun?" He smiled with a vast tenderness.

"Damn scientists," she exclaimed inelegantly, and burrowed deeper. "All I want is to be a woman, Mark!"

At that moment the tele-panel lighted signaling and Mark connected again. It was Palanth.

"Mark! Mark!" His face was alight with triumph. But Mark did not answer, for a new dawn was rising in his heart, and Lucero's lips were pressed to his.

The Martian went silent, scowled for a moment and shrugged his shoulders, then pressed a square of Venusian silk to his supercilious nose in order to hide a spreading grin.

[Transcriber's Note: No Section V heading in original.]

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Star Guardsman, by Albert dePina

The Star Guardsman

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