Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from Astounding Stories May 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. 

 The Table of Contents is not part of the original magazine. The pages have been renumbered. 

 The Martian Cabal

 A Complete Novelette

 By R. F. Starzl

 * * * * *

 Contents

 Page I Strange Intruder 2 II Scar Balta 10 III The Price of Monarchy 18 IV Torture 23 V The Wrath of Tolto 30 VI The Fight in the Fort 37 VII The Flight of a Princess 49 VIII In the Desert 57 IX Plot and Counter-Plot 71 X One Thousand to One 79 XI Giant Against Giant 86 XII "He Must Be a Man of Earth" 96

 * * * * *

[Sidenote: Sime Hemingway, of the I. F. P. , strikes at the insidiousinterests that are lashing high the war feeling between Earth andMars. ]

CHAPTER I

_Strange Intruder_

Sime Hemingway did not sleep well his first night on Mars. There wasno tangible reason why he shouldn't. His bed was soft. He had dinedsumptuously, for this hotel's cuisine offered not only Martiandelicacies, but drew on Earth and Venus as well. 

Yet Sime did not sleep well. He tossed restlessly in the caressingsoftness of his bed. He turned a knob in the head panel of his bed, tried to yield to the soothing music that seemed to come from nowhere. He turned another knob, watched the marching, playing, whirling ofsomnolent colors on the domed ceiling of his room. 

At last he gave it up. Some sixth sense had him all jumpy. It was notusual for Sime Hemingway to be jumpy. He was one of the coolest headsin the I. F. P. , the Interplanetary Flying Police who patrolled thelonely reaches of space and brought man's law to the outermost orbitof the far-flung solar system. 

Now he jumped out of bed and examined the fastening of his door, thedoor to the hotel corridor. There was only one, and it was secure. Windows there were none, and investigation showed that the small portswere all covered with their pivoted safety plates. He extinguished thelight, swung aside one of the plates, and peered out into the Martiannight. It was moonlight--both Deimos and Phobos were racing across theblue-black sky. The waters of Crystal Canal stretched out before him, seemingly illimitable. Sime knew that the distance to the other sidewas twenty miles or more. Clear-cut through the thin atmosphere ofMars, he could see the jeweled lights of South Tarog, on the otherside. 

 * * * * *

The hotel grounds, too, were well lighted. Long, luminous tubes, partof the architecture of the buildings, aided the moons, shedding theirserene glow on the gentle slope of the red lawns and terraces, thegeometrically trimmed shrubs and trees. They were reflected warmly inthe dancing waves of the canal, though Sime knew that even in this, the height of the summer season, the outside temperature was very nearfreezing. 

Now a hotel guard came along. He carried at his belt a neuro-pistol, adeadly weapon whose beam would destroy the nervous structure of anyliving creature. He went past the port with measured stride, and Simeslid back the safety plate with a puzzled frown. 

Why was he so nervous? This wasn't the first dangerous mission onwhich he had embarked in the course of his official duty. And dangerwas the element that gave zest to his life. 

[Illustration: Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resistedthe warped gravitational drag. ]

He began a methodical examination of his room, peering under the bed, into closets, a wardrobe. Yet there was no sign of danger. Carefullyhe inspected his bed for signs of the deadly black mold from Venusthat would, once it found lodgment in the pores of a man's skin, inexorably invade his body and in the space of a few hours reduce himto a black, repulsive parody of humanity. But the sheets wereunsullied. 

Then his gaze fell on the mist-bath. Travelers who have visited Marsare, of course, familiar with this simple device, used to overcome tosome extent the exceeding dryness of the red planet's atmosphere. Resembling the steam bath of the ancients, there was just enough roomin the cylindrical case for a man to sit inside while his skin wassprayed with vivifying moisture. But his head would project, and therewas no head visible. 

Nevertheless, so strong was Sime's intuition, he leveled hisneuro-pistol at the cabinet and approached. With a sweep of hismuscular arm he swung it open--and gasped!

 * * * * *

The sight that greeted him was enough to make any man gasp, even oneless young and impressionable than Sime. In all of his twenty-fiveyears he had not seen a woman so lovely. Her complexion was thedelicate coral pink of the Martian colonials--descendants of theoriginal human settlers who had struggled with, and at last bent totheir will, this harsh and inhospitable planet. She was little overfive feet tall, although the average Martian is perhaps slightlybigger than his terrestrial cousin. Her hair was dark, like that ofmost Martians, drawn back from her forehead and fastened at the napeof her neck, from there to fall in an abundant, rippling cascade downher slim, straight back. Her figure was like those delicate andancient creations of Dresden china to be seen in museums, butelastic, and full of strength. She was dressed in the two-piecegarment universally worn by both sexes on Mars--a garment, sohistorians say, that was called "pyjamas" by our forebears. 

And she was defiant. In her hand was a stiletto with long, slim blade. Sime made a darting grasp for her wrist and wrung the weapon from her. It fell to the metal floor with a tinkling clatter. 

"And now tell me, young lady, what's the meaning of this?"

Suddenly she smiled. 

"I came to warn you, Sime Hemingway. " She spoke softly and sweetly, and with effortless dignity. 

"You came to warn me?"

"You are in grave danger. Your mission here is known, and powerfulenemies are preparing to destroy you. "

"You talk like you knew something, kid, " Sime admitted. "What is mymission here?"

"You have been sent to Mars by the I. F. P. In the guise of a miningengineer. You are to discover what you can about a suspected plot ofinterplanetary financiers to plunge the Earth and Mars into a war. "

"How so?" Sime asked enigmatically, concealing his dismay at thegirl's ready reply. Here was inside information with a vengeance!

"Several shiploads of gray industrial diamonds from Venus have beenseized by war vessels carrying the insignia of the Martian atmosphericguard. "

Sime nodded. "Go on!"

"Curiously enough, these raids were so timed that they were witnessedby the news telecasters. All of the people on Earth were thuseye-witnesses, and feeling ran high. Am I right?"

"Go on!"

"And of course you know about the raids on the Martian borium mines bypirates armed with modern weapons. In the fights, some of the pirates'weapons were captured. They bore the ordnance marks of the terrestrialgovernment. "

"I'm way ahead of you, girlie!" Sime conceded. "Certain financialinterests would like to see a war. They're cookin' up these overt actsto get the people all steamed up till they're ready to fight. I'll gofurther, since you seem to know all about it anyway, and admit thatI'm here to find out just who's back of all this. And how does allthat tie up with you hiding in my mist-bath with a long and meanlookin' knife?"

The girl dropped her dark lashes in a sidelong glance at the stilettoon the floor. There was a little smile on her lips. 

"My usual weapon. Don't you know most of us Martians go armed all thetime?"

"Yeh?" Sime grinned skeptically. "And is it a habit of yours to hidein the bedroom of visiting policemen? Come on, kid. I'm going to turnyou over to the guard. "

For a second it looked as if she would make a dash for the bladeglistening there on the floor. But she straightened up, and with alook of infinite scorn said:

"So the mighty policeman of the Sun calls a hotel guard, does he?Please! Believe me, I am myself working for the same object asyourself--the prevention of a horrible war!"

She was pleading now. 

"Believe me, you are against forces that you don't understand! I canhelp you, if you will listen. Let me tell you, the Martian governmentis itself corrupted. The planetary president, Wilcox, is in alliancewith the war party. You will have to fight the police. You will haveto fear poison. You will be set upon and killed in the first darkpassage. Yet if you help me you may accomplish your object. You musthelp me!"

"What do you want of me?"

"Help me change our government!"

Sime laughed shortly. He began to suspect that this amazing girl wasdemented. He thought of the powerfully entrenched rulers of thistheoretically republican government. For more than two hundred years, if he remembered rightly, the Martians had been ruled by a small groupof rich politicians. 

"You propose a revolution?" he asked curiously. 

"I propose the return of Princess Sira to the throne!" she declaredvehemently. "But enough! Are you going to betray me--I, who haverisked much to warn you? Or are you going to let me go?"

 * * * * *

Sime looked into her warm, earnest little face. Her lips were partedsoftly, showing perfect little teeth, and she was breathing quickly, anxiously. Sime was woman hungry, as men of the service often are onthe long, lonely trail. He seized her quickly, pressed her littlefigure to him and kissed her. 

For a thrilling instant it seemed that she relaxed. But she tore away, furious, her eyes cold with anger. 

"For that, " she panted, raging, "you must die!"

She reached the door before he could stop her, and in a trice she wasout in the gallery. He raced after her, staring stupidly. Surprisingly, when her escape was assured, she turned back. Her lookwas still hurt, angry, as she called to him in low tones:

"Look out for Scar Balta, you brute!"

"Who is Scar Balta?" Sime asked himself after locking the door again. The name was not unusual and did not bring any familiar associationsto his mind. The given name, Scar, once a nickname, had been ingeneral use for centuries. As for Balta--oh, well--

His mind reverted to the girl again. Her warm, palpitant presencedisturbed him. 

He composed himself to sleep, strapping his dispatch belt around hiswaist before crawling into bed. He did not believe that the girl hadhidden in his room with murderous intent; rather that she had hoped toinspect and perhaps to steal any papers that he carried. But his lastconscious thought of her had nothing to do with her connection withthis planet of intrigue, but the soft curve of her throat. 

CHAPTER II

_Scar Balta_

Sime breakfasted on one of the juicy Martian tropical pears, and as hedug into the luscious fruit with his spoon he looked about thespacious dining hall, filled with wide-eyed tourists on their firsttrip to Mars, blissful and oblivious honeymooners, and a sprinkling oflocal residents and officials. 

Through broad windows of thick glass (for on Mars many buildingsmaintain an atmospheric pressure somewhat higher than the normaloutside pressure) could be seen the north banks of the canal, teemingwith swift pleasure boats and heavily loaded work barges. Down thelong terraces strolled hundreds of people, dressed in garments ofvivid colors and sheer materials suitable to the hot and cloudlessdays. Brilliant insects floated on wide diaphanous wings, waiting topounce on the opening blossoms. 

But the terrestrial agent felt that in this scene of luxury there wasa menace. Out of sight, but instantly available, were frightfulengines of destruction, waiting to be mobilized against the Earthbranch of the human race. And on that distant green planet were peoplemuch like these, unconscious still of the butchery into which theywere being deftly maneuvered by calculating psychologists, expertwar-makers. 

His meal completed, Sime sauntered out into the wide, clean streets ofNorth Tarog. He purchased a desert unionall suit, proof against theheat of day and cold of night, and a wide-brimmed Martian pith helmet. Hailing a taxi, he relaxed comfortably in the cushions. 

"Nabar mine, " he told the driver. 

The driver nosed the vehicle up, over the domed roofs of the city andover the harsh desert landscape. The rounded prow cut through the thinair with a faint whistling, and the fair cultivated area along thecanal was soon lost to sight. 

 * * * * *

After half an hour the metal mine sheds grew out of the horizon. Buteven from a distance of several miles Sime could see that everythingwas not as it should be. There were no moving white specks of thelaborers' white fatigue uniforms against the brown rocks, and noclouds of dust from the borium refuse pile. 

The levitator screws of the taxi sank from their high whine to agroan, and the wheels came to the ground before the company office. Aman in the Martian army uniform came out. His beetle-browed face wastruculent, and his hand rested on the hilt of his neuro-pistol. 

"No visitors allowed!" snapped the guard. 

"I'm not exactly a visitor, " Sime objected, but making no move to getout of the taxi. "I'm an engineer sent here by the board of directorsto see why the output of this mine has dropped. Where's Mr. Murray?"

"All settled!" the guard retorted. "Murray's in jail for mismanagementof planetary resources, and the mine's been expropriated to thegovernment. Now, you--off!"

The driver needed no further order from his fare. The taxi leaped intothe air and tore back toward the city. It was clear that the militaryrules of Mars brooked no nonsense from the civilian population, andthat the latter were well aware of it. 

"Fast work!" Sime said to himself with grudging admiration. Murray wasa trusted agent of the terrestrial government. It was he who had firstuncovered the war cabal. Sime knew his face well from the stereoscopicservice record--a bald, placid man of about forty, a bonafideengineer, a spy with an unbroken record of success, until now. And afighter who asked no odds, who could manage very well on less than aneven break. Well, he was up against something now. 

They passed the line of shield-ray projectors, North Tarog's firstline of defense against an attack of space, hovered over the teemingstreets and parks, and settled on the pavement at the Hotel of theRepublic. Sime wanted to go to his room and think things over. 

 * * * * *

From the concealment of a doorway an officer with a squad of soldierscame up quickly. 

"You are under arrest!" said the officer, placing, his hand on Sime'sshoulder, while the soldiers rested their hands on theirneuro-pistols. 

"Would it be asking too much to inquire on what charge?" Sime askedpolitely. 

"Military arrests do not require the filing of charges, " the officerexplained stiffly. "Come out of there now, Mr. Hemingway. "

"I demand to see the terrestrial consul, " Sime said, getting out. 

"How about my fare?" asked the taxi-driver. 

Sime put his hand into his pocket, where he kept a roll ofinterplanetary script; but the officer restrained him. 

"Never mind now, " he said ironically. "You are a guest of thegovernment. " Then to the driver he added:

"Get on, now! Get on! File your claim at the divisional office. "

The driver departed, outwardly meek before the power of the military, and Sime was hustled into an official car. He had little hope that hisdemand to see the terrestrial consul would be complied with, and thisopinion was verified when the car rose into the air and sped over thewaters of the canal to South Tarog. It did not pause when it came overthe military camps there--the massive ordnance depots in which werestored new and improved killing tools that had long been idle in thatirksome interplanetary peace. 

They flew on, over the desert, until the Gray Mountains loomed on thehorizon. On, over the tumbled rocks, interspersed with the strange redthorny vegetation common in the Martian desert. 

Far below them, in a ravine, a cylindrical building was now visible, and toward this the car began to drop. It landed on a level spacebefore the structure. A sliding gate opened, and the car wheeled intoa sort of courtyard, protected from the cold of night by an archingroof of glass. 

Sime was hustled out and led into an office located on the lower floorof the fortification, or whatever the structure was. 

As he saw the man who sat at the desk he gave a startled explanation. 

"Colonel Barkins!"

 * * * * *

The elderly, white-haired man smiled. He brushed back his hair with acharacteristic gesture, and his twinkling blue eyes bored into thoseof the I. F. P. Special officer. The colonel wore the regular uniformof the service; his little skullcap, with the conventionalized sunsymbol denoting his rank, was on the table before him. He put out hislean, strong hand. 

"Surprised to see me, eh, Hemingway?" he inquired pleasantly. 

Sime managed an awkward salute. "I don't quite understand, sir. Yougave me my instructions at the Philadelphia space port just before Imade the _Pleadisia_. She's the fastest passenger liner in the solarsystem: I've barely landed here, and it seems you got here before me. It don't seem right!"

Sime watched the colonel narrowly, a vague suspicion in his mind, andhe thought he saw a slight flicker in the man's eye when Sime spoke. 

But the colonel answered smoothly, with a hint of reproof. 

"Never mind questioning me now, Hemingway. The mission is important. Iwant to know if you remember every detail of what I told you. " Henodded to the men, and they filed out of the room. "Repeat yourorders. "

"Nothing doing, Colonel!" Sime replied promptly and respectfully. "Infact, Colonel, you can go to hell! This is the first time that a manof the I. F. P. Has turned traitor, and if your men hadn't sothoughtfully taken my neuro I'd be pleased to finish you right now!"

"But you observe I have a neuro in my hand, " remarked the colonelpleasantly, "and so you will remain standing where you are. "

 * * * * *

So saying, he slipped off the white wig he was wearing, wiped his faceso that the brown powder came off, and sat, obviously pleased withthe success of his masquerade, useless though it was. He was a typicalMartian, dark, sleek-haired, coral-skinned. 

"I hate to send a man to his death mystified, " said the Martian aftera moment, "so I'll explain that I am Scar Balta!"

"Scar Balta!"

"You've heard of me?"

"Uh--yes and no, " Sime suddenly remembered the girl of the eveningbefore--the imperious little Martian. She had warned him of ScarBalta. 

"If I do say it, " said the Martian, "I am the best impersonator in theservice of the interests I represent. I did not expect to getinformation of great value from you, but we do not neglect even themost unpromising leads. "

He pressed a button; two Martian soldiers answered promptly. 

"Take this man to the cell, " Balta ordered. "Provide him with writingmaterials so that he can write a last message to his family. In themorning take him to the end of the ravine and finish him with yourshort sword. "

"Yes, Colonel!"

"The fellow's a colonel, anyway, " Sime thought as they led him away. 

They led him downward, along a straight corridor that evidently wentfar beyond the boundaries of the ravine fortress. In places the walls, adequately lit by the glow-wands the guards carried, were plainly cutout of the solid rock; in others they were masonry, as though thechannel were passing through pockets of earth; or--the thoughtelectrified him--through faults or natural caverns. 

At last they came to the end. One of the guards unlocked a metal door, motioned his prisoner into the prison cell. A light-wand, badly rundown and feeble, with only a few active cells left, gave the onlylight. As the door slammed behind him, Sime took in the depressingscene. 

 * * * * *

The stone walls were mildewed, leprous. The only ventilation wasthrough small holes in the door. Chains, fastened to huge staples inthe uneven stone floor, with smooth metal wrist and ankle cuffs, werespaced at regular intervals, and musty piles of canal rushes showedwhere some forgotten prisoner had dragged out his melancholy lastdays. Sime was glad they had not chained him down. Probably didn'tconsider it necessary unless there were many prisoners, who might rushthe guards. 

"Ho, there, sojer!"

The voice was startling, so hearty and natural in this sad place. Simesaw something coming out of a far corner. It was a man in the blouseand trousers of civilian wear; a bald and good-natured man, with ashocking growth of beard. 

"Murray's the name, " said this apparition with mock ceremony. "Andyou?"

"I'm Hemingway, Sime Hemingway. Sergeant Sime Hemingway, to be exact. Suppose you'd like to hear my orders?"

"I don't get you, " said Murray, shaking hands. 

"I mean, " Sime explained elaborately, "that I'd like to know if you'reScar Balta, or really Murray, as you say you are. "

The other laughed. 

"I'm Murray, all right. Feel this scalp. Natural, ain't it? That's onething Balta won't do--shave off his hair. Too vain. He'd hate to havethe Princess Sira see him that way. Ever hear of her? Say, she's araving beauty. This Balta'd like to be elected planetary president, see--to succeed Wilcox, who has bigger plans. There's always been astrong sentiment for the old monarchy, anyway. The oligarchy never didgo big. Follow me?"

"Yeh; go on. "

 * * * * *

"Well, this Princess Sira has ideas. She wouldn't mind sitting on thethrone again. Her great-great-grandpa was jobbed and murdered, and thenobles who did it formed a closed corporation and called it arepublican government. So Sira started holding audiences, and gained alot of power. Among the people--even among some of the nobles. 

"Get the idea? Scar Balta is one of the electors. If he married Sirahe'd have the backing of the monarchists, and of course he's done alot for the bosses. They'd elect him to head off the monarchists, anyway. Then heigh-ho for a war with the Earth, to kill off a lot ofthe kickers--and soft pickins in a lot of ways. Neat, huh?"

"Very neat!" Sime assented drily. "But we won't live to see it. Anyway, I won't. They're going to bump me off in the morning. "

"As they have a lot of our men, " Murray agreed. "But they won't do itin the morning. Or for several days. Look here!"

He held up his hand. On the back of it was what appeared to be a boil. 

"But it isn't a boil, " Murray explained. "That was done by a stream ofwater, fine as a needle, under a thousand pounds pressure. They heldit there for a minute at a time--I don't know how many times, becauseI keeled over. Any time I was willing to give them the informationthey wanted they'd turn it off. Wasn't important info, either. Butwhat is it to them, how much they make me suffer for a trifle?"

Sime couldn't help the lump that rose in his throat. Men like Murraycertainly justified the world's faith in the service. 

"Listen, old man, " Sime said in a low voice, "out in the corridor--"

But Murray squeezed his hand warningly, pulled him to the floor. 

"Might as well get some sleep, " the old man said in ordinary tones. "Plenty cool here. Let's lie together. "

He kept his hold on Sime's wrist, and, by alternately squeezing andreleasing, began to talk in a silent telegraphic code. 

"Don't say anything of importance, " he spelled out. "They have mikesin here to pick up all we say. Probably infra-red telenses too, sothey can see what we do. "

So Sime told him, as they huddled together in simulated sleep, aboutthe walled passages, and they speculated on the possibility of fellingthe guards and breaking their way to freedom through some undergroundcavern. But at last they slept soundly to await the tortures of thenext morning. 

CHAPTER III

_The Price of Monarchy_

Had Sime been able to follow and watch the girl he had kissed undersuch unusual circumstances on the night of his arrival on Mars, hewould have been both puzzled and enlightened. After her final warningabout Scar Balta she dashed into the luxurious gloom of the passage. At an intersection a maid was awaiting her. She curtseyed as she threwa cape over the girl's shoulder, and together they hurried out intothe night. 

A magnificently uniformed hotel servant called a private car, drew thevitrine curtains, and saluted as the car lifted sharply into thechilly night air. The car sped across the canal to the jeweled cityacross the water, to a residence district whose magnificence even thepale night light revealed. 

The two women entered a mansion of glittering metal and came to aprivate apartment. 

"Everybody's gone to bed, " said the girl, addressing her maid. "That's one thing we can be thankful for. "

"Yes, Your Highness. Did you discover anything of importance in theman's room?"

"No. Draw me a bath, Mellie. He--he caught me--and kissed me!"

The maid, with flasks of perfume and aromatic oils in her hand, paused, discreetly impudent. 

"You seem not displeased, Your Highness. "

"But of that he had no inkling. " And Princess Sira laughed. "I lefthim standing, utterly at a loss. He took me for a common assassin, andyet he wanted to kiss me. That pleased me. But if he had valuableinformation he kept it. And I promised him death for his kiss. "

 * * * * *

As Princess Sira, claimant to the throne of a planet, slipped into thetepid waters of her bath, Mellie stood by, her smooth little Martian'sface disturbed. For she loved her mistress, and could not comprehendthe things she did under ambition's sway. 

"Your Highness, couldn't you let your royal friends do these dangerousthings for you?"

"For what? For fear? And how could a Martian princess who knows fearlay claim to a throne? No, Mellie, one gets used to it. The enemies ofthe house of Sira are ever alert. Didn't they murder my father and mymother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as inthe room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people--"

She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left thealcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince ofHanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room. 

"At this hour!" exclaimed the princess. "Did he say what brought himhere?"

"Something about a new plot. "

"Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait. "

Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe thatmade her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince. 

"Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night. "

The prince, a thin, elderly man of medium stature, smiled admiringly. His sharp features and bright little button eyes gave some hint of theenergy which suffused him. Here was a man both ruthless and loyal tohis royal house. He addressed her by her given name. 

"The hour seems to make no difference with you; Phobos has set, but aslong as you are awake there is loveliness enough. I have come, dearone, to tell you that success is ours at last!"

 * * * * *

Sira smiled. "I will restrain my joy, my good Joro, until I hear theprice. "

"Always the same!" Joro chuckled. "A price, 'tis true, but not tooheavy, since you are, in a manner, fond of him. "

"I've had vague promises from Wilcox, " Sira said, with a wry smile. "Iwould rather trade places with Mellie than be espoused by thatmadman. "

"Not Wilcox, but Scar Balta. He is badly smitten, for which I can notblame him. He has great political power, and the backing of themilitary. He could have dictated better terms, but for love of you hasyielded, point after point. He wants nothing now but your hand inmarriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all theadvantages he has gained--"

"Not to mention, " Sira interjected, "the royal prestige he will gainwith the common people. "

Joro laughed, a little impatiently. 

"True, true! But after all, what does the support of the people amountto? They are powerless. If you are ever to establish your royal houseyou must have other help. "

"And I suppose, " Sira continued sweetly, "that you have also arrangeda deal with the central banks and the secret war interests?"

Joro coughed uncomfortably. 

"As a matter of fact--you see, my dear princess, there are certaincommercial interests--transportation, mining, and so forth. They havedefied the power of the bankers. They are likely to upset our wholeorder of society. They need a set-back. And the military men arechafing at their inaction. The war will be ended before too much harmis done, by agreement of the interplanetary bankers. You see--"

"No!" Sira interrupted him coldly. "No! No! No! Oh, I'm sick of thewhole thing! I'm sick of the men I know! I hate Scar Balta, and youtoo. I would rather be the wife of a common interplanetary patrolmanthan queen of Mars! I withdraw, now!"

 * * * * *

Joro, struck by her vehemence, paled. The muscles of his jaw lumped. From a pocket he took a portable disk-radio, an inch in diameter, andspoke a few words. From outside there was a sudden uproar, shouts andcurses. The draperies moved, as with an outrush of air caused by thecareless handling of an airlock, and the temperature dropped suddenly. 

Sira was irresolute only a split second. With a cat-like leap sheseized a short sword from the wall, made a lunge at the prince. ButJoro, the veteran of many a battle of wits and arms, parried thestroke with the thick barrel of his neuro-pistol, caught the girl'swrist and disarmed her. The screams of the maid went unheeded. 

From the other parts of the palace came sounds of struggle, theclashing of sword on sword. 

"Sira! Sira!" Joro panted, struggling to hold the girl. "You mustgive up your impractical ideas! Take the world as it is. Do as I tellyou and you'll not be sorry. "

"I relinquish my claims!" the girl cried fiercely. "To-morrow I willpublicly announce that decision. All my life has been spent feedingthat hopeless ambition. Now I will be free!"

"I am loyal to the monarchy, " Joro grunted, pinioning her arms atlast. "I will guard your interest against yourself. "

He began to shout:

"Hendricks, Mervin, Carpender, Nassus! Here, to the princess'schamber. "

Several men, after further delay and fighting, responded. They worecivilian blouses and trousers, but there was that something in theiralert carriage that proclaimed them trained fighting men. One of themsat down with a grunt on the threshold, holding his hand to a bleedingwound under his armpit. He appeared to be mortally wounded. 

 * * * * *

Most of the others carried minor wounds, showing that the palaceguards had put up a good battle in the sword-play. Both sides hadrefrained from using the neuro-pistols for fear that the beams, whichreadily penetrated walls at short range, might injure the princess. 

"Let go!" Sira wrenched herself free. "Where is Tolto? Has Toltoturned traitor? How did you get past Tolto?"

"Do not use that ugly word against me. I implore you!" Joro protested. "What we are doing is out of loyalty to the monarchy--not treason. Themonarchy is of greater importance than individuals. Consider your dutyto the rule of your fathers! As for Tolto--"

He issued a curt command, and there was the sound of movement. Presently four men staggered in, one to each leg, each arm, of themost impressive giant Mars had ever produced--Tolto, to whom there wasno god but the one divinity: and Princess Sira was she. Slow ofperception, mighty of limb, he had come into her service from someoutlying agricultural region of the red planet. His tremendous muscleswere hers to command or destroy, as she wished. He would not haveconsented to this invasion of her home, she knew!

And he had not. Joro had been too wise to try. A dose of _marchlor_ ina glass of wine had done what fifty men could not have accomplished bymain strength. Tolto was in a drugged sleep. 

Joro said: "He isn't hurt. We will simply send him back to his valley, and you, my dear princess, will do your duty to your subjects!"

And there, though he probably did not know it, Prince Joro harked backto the youth of the human race--the compensatory, atavistic principlethat gods, rulers, kings, must hold themselves in readiness assacrifices for the good of their subjects. Joro might have been atribal high priest invoking their dread rule in the dawn of time. TheMartians were, for all their scientific advancement, still thedescendants of those prehistoric human savages. Sira knew, instinctively, that the people who loved her would neverthelessapprove of Joro's judgment. 

CHAPTER IV

_Torture_

When Sime awoke it was to the rattling of the door. Murray stirred. The light was even weaker than before. 

"If they offer you a drink, drink hearty!" Murray muttered, sittingup. "I've got an idea it's going to be a hard day. "

But they were not offered any water. Instead they were again conductedbefore Scar Balta, who looked at them morosely. At last he remarkedgruffly:

"If you tin sojers weren't so cursed stubborn, you could get yourselfa nice berth in the Martian army. Ever consider that?"

"Talk sense!" Sime said contemptously. "If I threw down the servicehow could you trust me?"

"That'd be easy, " Balta rejoined. "Once the I. F. P. Finds out youjoined us you'd have to stick with us to save your skin. "

He laughed at his prisoners' look of surprise. 

"Come, come!" he bantered. "You didn't think that I was ignorant ofyour purpose here? You, Murray; your spying was excellent, I'll admit. You were the first to give away certain plans of ours. Well, well! Wedon't hold that against you. Wheels within wheels, eh? It wouldperhaps astonish certain braided gentleman of our high command tolearn that I, a mere colonel, control their destinies. As ourancestors would say, it's dog eat dog. 

"Now, how about it? I can make a place for you in my organization. Itseems to run to secret service, oddly enough. You will be rewarded farbeyond anything you could expect in your present career of chasingpetty crooks from Mercury to Pluto and back again. "

"Is that all?" Murray asked softly, with a bearded grin. 

"Oh no. You will turn over to me all the information you can about theI. F. P. Helio code. You will name and describe to me each and everyplainclothes operative of the service--and you should have anextensive acquaintance. "

"Before you answer, " Murray said quietly at Sime's side, "let mesuggest that you consider what's in store for us--or you--if you don'ttake up this offer. "

"Why, you--" Sime whirled in astonished fury upon his companion. "Didn't you--"

 * * * * *

But he did not complete his reference to last night's surreptitiousconversation. It seemed that he saw the merest ghost of a flicker inMurray's left eye. 

"--Didn't you say you'd stick no matter what they did?" he finishedlamely. 

Murray hung his head. 

"I'm getting along, " he muttered. "Not as young as I used to be. Thislife is getting me nowhere. Why be a fool? Come along with me!"

"Why, you dirty, double-crossing hound!" Sime's exasperation knew nobounds. For an instant he had believed that Murray was enacting alittle side-play in the pursuit of a suddenly conceived plan. But helooked so obviously hangdog--so guiltily defiant. . . . 

_Crack!_ Sime's fist struck Murray's solid jaw, scraping the skin offhis knuckles, but Murray swayed to the blow, sapping its force, andcame in to clinch. They rolled on the floor. Murray twisted Sime'shead painfully, bit his ear. But in the next split second he waswhispering:

"Keep your head, Sime. Can't you see I'm stringing him? Take that!"And he planted a vicious short hook to Sime's midriff. 

Balta had squalled orders, and now Martian soldiers were bursting thebuttons off their uniforms in the scrimmage to separate the battlers. Bruised and battered, they were dragged apart. Murray's one eye wasnow authentically closed, and rapidly coloring up. Unsteadily he gotto his feet. With mock delicacy he threw a kiss to his lateantagonist. 

"Farewell, Trueheart!" He bowed ironically, and the men all laughed. 

Balta grinned too. "Still the same mind, Hemingway? All right, men, take him up to the observation post. Here, Murray, have a drink. "

 * * * * *

Sime was led up a seemingly endless circular staircase. After aninterminable climb he saw the purplish Martian sky through the glassdoors of an airlock. Then they were outside, in the rarefiedatmosphere that sorely tried Sime's lungs, still laboring after thefight and long ascent. The Sun, smaller than on Earth but intenselybright, struck down vindictively. 

"A good place to see the country, " laughed the corporal in charge. "Off with his clothes!"

It was but a matter of seconds to strip Sime's garment from him. Theydragged him to an upright post, one of several on the roof, and withhis back to the post, tied his wrists behind it with rawhide. Hisankles they also tied, and so left him. 

It was indeed an excellent point of vantage from which to see thecountry. The fortress was high enough to clear the nearby cliffs oflow elevation, and on all sides the Gray Mountains tumbled to thehorizon. To the north, beyond that sharply cut, ragged horizon, laythe big cities, the industrial heart of the planet. To the south, atSime's back, was the narrow agricultural belt, the region of smallseas, of bitter lakes, of controlled irrigation. Here the canals, natural fissures long observed by astronomers and at first believed tobe artificial, were actually put to the use specified by ancientconjecture, just as further north they had been preempted as causewaysof civilization. Sime painfully worked his way around the post so thathe could look south. But here too nothing met his eye but the orangecliffs with their patches of gray lichen. There was no comfort to behad in that desolate landscape. Nevertheless, Sime kept movingaround, to keep the post between himself and the Sun. Already it wasbeginning to scorch his skin uncomfortably. 

By the time it was directly overhead Sime had stopped sweating. Thedry atmosphere was sucking the moisture out of his body greedily, andhis skin was burned red. His suffering was acute. 

 * * * * *

The Martian day is only a little more than a day on Earth, but to Simethat afternoon seemed like an eternity. Small and vicious, with deadlydeliberation, the sun burned its way down a reluctant groove in thepurple heavens. Long before it reached the horizon, Sime was almostunconscious. He did not see its sudden dive into the saw-edge of thewestern mountains--knew only that night had come by the icy whistle ofthe sunset wind that stirred and moaned for a brief interval among therocks. The keen, thin wind that first brought relief and then newtortures, to be followed by freezing numbness. 

Above, in the blackness, the stars burned malignantly. Drug to hismisery they were, those familiar constellations, which are about theonly things that look the same on all planets of the solar system. Butthey were not friendly. They seemed to mock the motionless humanfigure, so tiny, so inconsequential, that stared at them, numeroustiny pinpricks of light, so remote. 

There was no dawn, but after aeons Sime saw the familiar green disk ofEarth coming up in the east, one of the brightest stars. Sime fanciedhe saw the tiny light flick of the moon. There would be a game ofblackjack going on somewhere there about now. He groaned. The Sunwould not be far behind now. 

But he must have slept. The Sun was up before he was aware of it. Aman with a caduceus on his blouse collar was holding his wrist, feeling his pulse. He seemed to be a medical officer of the Martianarmy. His smooth, coral face was serious as he prodded Sime'sshriveled tongue. 

"Water, quick!" he snapped, --"or he's done for. "

 * * * * *

His head was tipped back and water poured into his mouth, but Simecould not swallow. The soldier with the bucket poured dutifully, however, almost drowning the helpless man. It helped, anyway; and Simereturned to half-consciousness. A few minutes later, when Scar Baltacame to inquire if he had changed his mind, Sime was able to cursethickly. And around noon, when Murray, jauntily dressed in the uniformof a Martian captain, bid him a cheerful good-by, Sime was almostfluent. 

His torture had now reached the pitch of exquisite keenness that madeit something spiritual. Solicitously they kept him alive, and far backin his mind Sime wondered why they bothered to do that. Couldn't theybe satisfied with what they could learn from Murray?

So passed the second day, and the third. 

On the fourth day Sime was able to drink water freely, and to eat thefood they placed into his mouth, a fact which the medical officernoted. The torture was wearing itself out. Sime's body was emaciated, stringy, burnt black. But his extraordinary toughness was weatheringconditions that would kill most men. Balta shook his head inwonderment when this was reported to him. 

"Can't wait any longer for him. Must get back to Tarog. You might aswell put him out of his misery. By the way, I'm convinced that Murrayis double-timing me. But I'll attend to that personally. "

From his post of pain Sime saw the official car leave toward Tarog. Had he known of Balta's remark he would not have been puzzled so muchby what he saw. 

As the ship was about to disappear over the ragged northern horizon, Sime's bleared eyes saw, or he thought they saw, a human figuresilhouetted against the pitiless sky. It was a tiny-seeming figure atthat distance, but it was clear-cut in the rare atmosphere. Then itplunged from sight. 

"Somebody taken for a ride, " he muttered, half grateful for the briefdistraction from his own misery. 

 * * * * *

The medical officer, to whom the long climb was arduous, delayed hismission to the roof, and that was why, several hours later, Sime wasstill alive to see another ship appear to the north. It was large, sumptuous, evidently a private yacht. Its course would bring it withina mile of the fortress, and with sudden wild hope Sime realized thatif he were seen he might expect relief. He began to tug at his bonds. They were tough, but they would stretch a little. His haphazardmovements had already worn them against the rough post, and now hebegan to struggle violently. If he could only get his hands loose, hecould wave. . . . 

The thongs cut into his flesh, but his wrists were numb and swollen, and he did not mind the pain. His muscles stood out hard and sharp, and with a supreme effort, aided by the growing brittleness of therawhide in the dry atmosphere, he snapped his bonds. 

The ship was now quite near, and he waved frantically. He fancied hesaw movement back of the pilot ports. Faintly he heard the hum of thelevitators. Now it turned--no! It yawed, now toward him, now away, purposelessly, like a ship in distress. It made an abrupt downwardplunge that scraped a crag, and just missed a canyon wall. 

Again it twisted, came down with a long, twisting motion, struck arock upside down, slitting a long gash in its skin, clattered to therocks so close to the fortress that Sime could not see it. Nowdesperation gave the prisoner superhuman strength. Regardless of thepain, he burst the thongs about his ankles, tottered to the edge ofthe roof. 

There was a battle going on below. Men seemed to be running, shouting. Someone, using a massive plate of metal as a partial shield againstthe neuro-pistols, was creating havoc. Sime tried to focus his giddyeyes on the scene. It seemed always to be turning to the left, to becircling around him. With tottering steps he tried to follow it, keeping to the brink of that lofty tower--uselessly. Now it wasrocking, flying straight toward him, and, gratefully, Sime gave up thestruggle, closed his eyes. 

CHAPTER V

_The Wrath of Tolto_

Tolto awoke from his drugged sleep in the cargo room of a pleasureship. He was thoroughly trussed up, for Prince Joro's servants had awholesome respect for the giant's strength. Even in his supineposition power was evident in every line of his great torso, revealedthrough great rents in his blouse. His thighs were as big around as anordinary man's body, and the smooth pink skin of his mighty arms andshoulders rippled with every movement that brought into play thebroad, flat bands of muscle underneath. 

A chain of beryllium steel was passed around Tolto's waist, and closein front of him the smooth, shining cuffs of steel around his wristwere locked to the chain. Short lengths of chain led to cargoringbolts in the floor, holding fast Tolto's cuffed ankles. 

To anyone looking at Tolto, just then, these extreme precautions mighthave seemed absurd. Prince Joro, however, was a good judge of men. Itwould have pleased him best if Tolto had been quietly eased from hissleep into death, but he knew that such a murder would have destroyedforever his chances of winning Sira to his plans. He meant to seeTolto safely and demonstrably returned to his home valley, and inorder to accomplish this the more surely, he had him loaded aboard hisown ship, and instructed his captain to take the little used desertroute. 

Tolto lifted his hands as far as he could and looked wonderingly atthem. His child-like face, with the soft, agate eyes, expressed onlybewilderment. He lifted his voice, a powerful bass. 

"Hi, hi! Let Tolto go! The princess may call!"

There was no answer, only the rhythmic hum of the levitators. AgainTolto cried out. But there was no answering sound. The Sun poured inthrough the ports, and when presently the ship changed its course, thelight fell full in his face, almost blinding him. The giant enduredthis without complaint. 

 * * * * *

Several hours later, however, his patience snapped, and he roared andbellowed so loudly that a door opened and a frightened face appeared. Back of it was the chromium glitter of the ship's galley. 

"Be still, big one!" admonished the cook. "The captain is resting. Hewill have you chained standing if you disturb him with yourbellowing. "

"I wanted only to know where I am, " Tolto replied, subsiding meekly. "I drank overmuch and some larksters tied me up like this. Release me, so that if the princess calls I may answer. "

"The princess will have to call loudly for you to hear, " the cookanswered jocularly. 

"The princess need only whisper for Tolto to hear, " the giant boasted, "Come now, shrimp, take these things off!"

"Are you really as dumb as that?" the cook marveled. "Why, sonny boy, the princess couldn't even hear you! Don't you know where you'regoin'?"

Vague alarm began to creep over Tolto. 

"Where is she?" he asked anxiously. "Isn't she in this ship? PrincessSira never goes anywhere without Tolto. Ask her. Ask anybody. "

"The princess may never go anywhere without you, you head of bone, "remarked the cook, rather enjoying his own humor, "but _this_ timeyou're going somewhere without her. "

"You talk funny talk, but I can't laugh at it. Little bug, tell me nowwhat this is all about, or I will take you between my fingers andsquash you!"

The cook's coral face paled almost to white despite himself. 

"Listen, big one, " he said placatingly. "Have an orange?"

 * * * * *

Tolto refused the gift, although he knew this rare and lusciousimportation from the Earth and was very fond of it. 

"Once more I ask you, bug, where is she?"

"Aw, now, listen!" the cook whined. "Don't blame me! I'm only aservant around here. How can I help what they do? Don't glare at meso. Well, she's at Tarog. "

"But why--why does she send me away?"

The cook failed to recognize his opportunity to lie in time. 

"Well, the fact is--" he hesitated. "The boss--Prince Joro's sendingyou away. You see, she's going to get hitched up-big important guy. They didn't want you around, bustin' up things every time you turnaround. So they're sendin' you back home. "

"The princess would not send me home like this, " Tolto objected. Buthe held his peace, and the cook went back to his work, satisfied thathe had subdued this dangerous prisoner. 

In this he was guilty of no greater error than Prince Joro and theother monarchists. For ages there had been an unfounded opinion thatbig men are generally slow and stupid. They may often act so, fortheir great strength serves as a substitute for the quick wit ofsmaller men. But in Tolto, at all events, this prejudice was wrong. InTolto's bullet head was a healthy, active brain, and a primitivecunning. 

So instead of wasting his strength in vain struggles against the toughsteel, he rested, marshalling the facts in his mind. 

He utterly rejected the thought that Princess Sira had consented tohis removal in this manner, or in any manner. That meant that she wasbeing coerced, and Tolto's eyes grew small and hard at the thought. 

Presently he began to test the chains. They were of great hardness andtoughness, and so smooth that he could not twist them, for the linksslid over one another harmlessly. However, after much quiet effort hefound that he could shift his body several inches toward either sideof the narrow hold. Here there were a number of locked boxes. One ofthem, he reasoned, might contain tools. 

His closely confined hands were practically useless. He found that hecould not reach any of the boxes with his fingers, strain as he might. But he grinned with hope when his head struck one of the handles. Hisstrong teeth closed down on it. 

 * * * * *

That would have been something to see! The box was of thin, strongmetal, but it was heavy. With no other purchase but his teeth, Toltodragged it to him, on top of him. Now his hands could help a little. He inched it down toward his knees, fearful each moment that a lurchof the ship might precipitate it to the floor with a crash. When hishead could push no longer his knees grasped the end of the chest, andmanaged to pull it down. 

Tolto had never heard of the wrestling hold known as the scissors, buthe applied it to that box. His mighty sinews cracked under the strain, and stabbing pain tore at his hips. But he persisted, and with aprotesting rasp the lid was telescoped inward, breaking the lock. 

Breathless, he waited. After minutes he decided that the sound had notattracted attention. 

Again he brought his teeth into play, and this time, when the boxstood open, Tolto's lips were lacerated by the jagged edges of twistedmetal. Triumphantly, he looked inside. 

The box contained a set of counterweights for the hydrogen integratormotors. 

No bar, nothing that might be utilized to twist off the eyebolts!

Again he set to work. The next box was longer, heavier. It was coatedwith unpleasantly rancid oil. Tolto's broad chest was covered withblood, partly from gouges in his skin, partly from his crushed lips. But this time he found a bar. It was in the bottom, under some extravalves, but eventually his teeth closed on it, and he fell back, nearly exhausted, for a moment's rest. 

He heard a door slam beyond the galley. The words floated out:

"--better go see how he's coming along. "

 * * * * *

The horrified mate saw the wrecked boxes, the blood-covered giant witha thick steel bar in his teeth, the extra valves scattered about thefloor. He whipped out his neuro-pistol, pointed it at Tolto. 

But Tolto made no move to resist when the shaken officer gingerly tookthe bar out of his mouth. He did not move when several shipmen, calledby the officer, moved everything out of reach. After half an hour, with many awed comments, they left him alone. 

Tolto's battered lips opened in what might have been a grin. Painfullyhe rolled off the single valve that had been digging into the small ofhis back. He patiently resumed the tedious task of bringing the valvein reach of his locked hands. 

The valve stem was stout, and a foot long. It was just long enough sothat Tolto, by lying on his side, could reach one of the eyebolts. 

Inserting the stem, Tolto pulled toward him. 

The eyebolt turned without resistance. It was free to rotate, andcould not be twisted off. A groan escaped from the prisoner. 

But in a few moments he tried bending upward. The leverage was highlydisadvantageous that way. Still, straining with the last ounce of hisstrength, he was just able to do it. Pulling down was not so hard. 

It took fifty-four motions, up and down, before the tough metalcracked and one chain trailed free. 

It was not long afterward that the cook, turning from his work at theelectric grill, stared into a face that had once been innocent andpeaceful. It seemed the face of a demon. 

He would have shrieked, but Tolto took his arm between thumb andforefinger, saying gently:

"Remember, little bug, what I said!"

He was cast, dumb with fear, into the late prisoner's cell. 

 * * * * *

Tolto had not bothered to remove the chains, but only to twist themapart by means of such tools as he could find to permit free movementof his arms and legs. They dangled from him, tinkling musically. 

Now he strode into the main cabin. The ship's crew, having no guests, were playing the part of guests. A man who was shuffling cards, wasthe first to see him. The cards flew up and showered all over theroom. 

"He's loose!" this shipman croaked, diving under the table. 

"Mr. Yens! Mr. Yens!" shouted the captain, a small, bristling Martianwith graying, stiff hair. He snatched the neuro-pistol at his side, pointed it at Tolto, pressed the trigger. 

Tolto felt a numbing cold as the ray struck him. But his great bodyabsorbed the weapon's energy to such an extent that he was not killedat once. His flailing arms continued their arc, and one end of chain, whistling through the air, struck the weapon from the officer's hand. Tolto stumbled, recovered. He picked up the pistol and stuck it in hischain belt. 

His impulse was to rend, to crush with his hands. The shipmen, exceptfor the officers, were unarmed, and they went down helplessly beforethe giant fists. Some of them found riot guns, but they might as wellhave pounded a Plutonian mammoth for all the effect they had on Tolto. 

Mr. Yens, the mate, sitting at the controls in the glassed-in cabinforward, turned his head at the captain's cry, and, looking down theshort corridor into the main cabin, saw the blood-covered giant comingtoward him. Mr. Yens was a brave man; but he had been careless. Hisneuro-pistol was in his own cabin. He did the best he knew, andsnapped the lock. 

But Tolto's great bulk smashed in the door as if it were nothing. Theunbreakable glass did not splinter, but it bent like sheet metal, anda blow of the giant's fist broke the mate's neck. 

The mate had not engaged the gyroscopic control, and immediately theship began a series of eccentric maneuvers, so sharp and unexpectedthat no one on board could keep his feet. For a few seconds shestraightened, and one of the crew bethought himself of the pistol inthe mate's cabin. He sighted on Tolto, clearly visible ahead. Beforehe could release the ray the ship went into another breath-takingmaneuver. 

A mountain peak came sliding toward them ominously. They scraped by. The ship dived, throwing Tolto forward, and his instinctive grab threwthe elevator up. The levitators screamed madly as they lost theirpurchase on the air, due to the ship's unstable keel. 

"We're goners!" someone shouted. "Kill that fool!"

They bounced off a cliff, turned over and over like a tumbleweed. Acylindrical building, unexpected in this wilderness, loomed up. Theyseemed about to hit it, but floated past. The rock floor of the valleyrushed up. With a crash the ship rolled over, split wide open. 

CHAPTER VI

_The Fight in the Fort_

Its coming had been observed. Men wearing the uniforms of the Martianarmy dashed out, their pistols ready. A man dropped out of a gapinghole in the ship's skin, sat down unsteadily. Others dribbled out. 

"Crazy man in there!" one of them shouted. "Look out, he's murderous!"The pistols came up. The soldiers began to close in, showing a certainprofessional eagerness. 

They were perhaps within ten feet when a metal plate, sheared off fromthe pilot's cabin in the fall, lifted up. Barely visible under it wasa pair of large, running feet. One soldier, trying to oppose it withhis hands, was knocked senseless and bleeding. He might as well havetried to stop an oncoming rocket ship. 

Neuro-pistols, bearing from every side, spanged briskly. They partlyneutralized one another. Their charges were partly reflected by themetal and partly absorbed by Tolto's great bulk. He was thoroughlyconfused now. Every way he looked in this glaring wilderness of desertand rocks were enemies. 

 * * * * *

But there! An opening loomed, cool and dark. The fortress entrance. Tolto dashed into it. There was the sharp challenge of a guard, unanswered; the futile hiss of a weapon. 

The improvised shield wedged on a narrowing stairway. Tolto let itstick, ran up alone. The stairway went round and round, climbing everhigher. The fugitive's lungs were bursting. 

At last he came to an airlock. He did not know how to operate it, sosmashed through. There was no rush of air, because the pressure hadalready been equalized in the rush to the wreck at ground level. Panting, listening for pursuers, Tolto looked around. 

He found himself on a circular roof, bare except for the airlock and anumber of upright posts, whitened by the Sun. 

It was some moments before he saw the unconscious figure of a manlying on the very edge of the lofty tower on which he was standing--aman naked and blackened. He was lying on his face, one arm and onefoot hanging over space as though he had fallen unconscious at thevery edge of the abyss. 

Tolto collected his excited wits. This, at least was no enemy. Hisenemies were in power here. This must be a victim, a possible ally. 

The man was stirring. The overhanging arm was feebly trying to graspsomething. If he were to roll over--

He did not have time. Tolto dragged him in to the safety of theairlock opening, where he could watch. 

There were sounds of pursuit, faint and cautious. 

Tolto grinned at the naked stranger. 

"Who are you, little bug?" he asked. 

Sime Hemingway tried to tell him but his swollen tongue would notbehave. Instead, he waved in the general direction of the Sun. 

Tolto understood. "From Earth? Good guy, prob'ly. Want this dingus?"

 * * * * *

Sime was able to take the neuro-pistol. He knew what was expected ofhim, and strove to collect his faculties so he could obey orders. Hecrawled a little way into the lock, where he could be in comparativedarkness, setting the little focalizer wheel at the side of the pistolfor maximum concentration. Such a beam would require good aiming, being narrow, but if it touched a vital center would be infalliblyfatal. 

Meanwhile Tolto appraised one of the posts on the roof. It was firmlyset in masonry, but he found he could loosen it a little by shakingit. Presently he had it uprooted. It made a splendid battering ram, awar club fit for a giant such as he. 

"Here they come!" Sime croaked, and, peering around a corner, tookcareful aim at the foremost attacker. At the first whispering impactof the beam the Martian sprawled, dead. 

The soldiers were caught at a disadvantage. They were expecting clubor fist, but not the neuro-beam. Nevertheless Sime had no more easyopportunities. The Martians flung themselves down behind the bulge ofthe curved stairway, and the air became acrid under the malignantneuro-beams. 

None of them reached Sime directly, but the stone walls reflected themto some extent, and even under their greatly weakened power he becomecold and sick. 

The situation was by no means to his liking. There were other weaponsto be reckoned with, and he tried to keep consciousness from slippingaway from him. When at last his breathing became easier and hisdiaphragm moved without pain, Sime knew that danger was greatest. Forthis relief meant that the Martians had withdrawn down the stairway. 

"Good-by, boys!" he thought, as he sprinted up into the comparativesafety of the open. He motioned to Tolto, who stood hopefully waitingwith his great war club, to stand clear. 

 * * * * *

There it was! Sime saw the faint phosphorescent reflection against thestone where the stairway curved. He did not wait to see the tinypellet of the atomic bomb floating up, but threw himself flat on theroof, tugging at Tolto, who understood and followed suit. 

Even lying prone, and below the edge of the explosion cone, they werenearly blown off the roof. Though no larger than a pinhead, the bombhad the power of a thousand times its weight in fulminate of mercury. When the rain of small stones and dust had subsided, they rubbed theireyes and saw that the airlock was no more. In its place was a shallowpit, ending with the top of the battered stairway. 

"Down after 'em!" Sime husked out of a raw throat. "Before they thinkit's safe to come after us!"

He led the way, the giant after him, carrying his club and a huge rockfragment. Sime saw a cautious peering head, and that Martian diedinstantly. Then they were around the bend and in the middle of afight. Sime deflected a hand that held a pistol, and its beam killedanother Martian who was about to let Tolto have it at close range. 

There was a light-wand affixed to the wall a trifle further down. Tolto waded through the ruck of smaller men, tore it from its socketand hurled it up the stairs. A short sword bit into Sime's shoulder, but there was no force in the stroke, for in that instant Simeparalyzed his enemy's heart with the beam. 

An officer barked a command, and the spang of neuro-beams ceased, tobe followed by the lethal rustling of swords. The passage was toocrowded for the neuro-pistols, giving the outnumbered prisoners theadvantage. 

 * * * * *

Tolto could not swing his club, but he hurled it, like a batteringram, into the middle of twenty or twenty-five of the garrison who werestill below him on the steps, trying to get closer. The heavy timbercleared a lane and the two stumbled down over crushed bodies. Sime wasnow the only one to use his pistol, for he had no friends there tokill accidentally. 

The Martians, were putting up a game battle. They were heirs to thetraditions and the spirit of Earth's best fighting men. Science hadgiven them deadly and powerful weapons that could kill over longdistances, but they preferred to get close to their adversaries. 

But Tolto was a Martian too. He had seized a sword from a dying handand was wielding it with aptitude and power. No formal thrust andparry for him, but merely a savage sweep that sent swords, arms andheads flying indiscriminately. 

Sime, following him, his neuro hissing death from side to side, marveled at his ferocity. He saw a bare-bodied, bleeding fighter leapto Tolto's back, his sword poised for a downward stab for the jugular. Kicking viciously at the man who was just then coming at him, Simetried to bring Tolto's would-be killer down. But Tolto himselfattended to him, dashing him to his death with the elbow of his swordarm. 

That diversion nearly cost Sime his life. Fortunately for him hetripped, and the sword-thrust that was to disembowel him merely gashedhis side. Sime was beginning to enjoy the fight. The exercise wasloosening up his cramped muscles, and the shaky feeling due to thereflected beams of the neuro-pistols was leaving him. 

 * * * * *

Tolto had smashed down the light-wands as they fought their way downthe steps, so that now they were in almost complete darkness. Onecould still see the occasional rise and fall of a glinting sword andthe dark shadow of an arm or head. They were almost clear when Toltoreceived his first serious wound, a stab in the abdomen that let out asticky stream of blood. 

There was an interval of silence, broken only by the groans of thewounded. The air was thick with the odor of raw blood and pungent withozone. They had fought their way down perhaps two hundred feet of thestairway, and due to its curve they could see neither top nor bottom. 

"I'm stuck!" Tolto muttered. 

"Bad?" Sime edged to his side, stepping, in the darkness, on the bodyof the man who had succeeded in delivering that sword-stroke beforeTolto's own blade had cleft him. He felt the edges of the wound, butin the darkness could not tell how serious it was. 

"Feel sick? Any retching?" he croaked anxiously. 

"Tolto's all right, " the giant assured him. "I just said I was stuck. "

Sime managed to make a hurried bandage out of the slashed fragment ofTolto's blouse, and again they resumed their descent. Strangely, theirenemies further up made no move to attack, although there were manyleft alive. 

Sime laid his hand on Tolto's arm. 

"Something wrong here. There's somebody at the bottom of the steps, and the fellows above want to give him elbow room. Well, we'll soonsee!"

 * * * * *

They crawled up a short distance, began to haul inert bodies down, dragging them as far as the last curve, until they had formed abarricade of nineteen or twenty of their late enemies. It wasunpleasant work, but justified by following events. 

"Can you just see the loom of it?" Sime asked. 

"Yes. "

"Watch!"

Sime felt about until he found a small fragment broken from the stonesteps. Keeping well within the shelter of the convex wall, he crepttoward the bend. 

"Dig your fingers into a joint and hold on, " he instructed Tolto, locating a crack for himself. Then he tossed the fragment gently overthe barricade of bodies. 

There was the click of its fall, and a moment later things seemed toturn around. Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resistedthe warped gravitational drag that would have flung them down upontheir waiting enemies below. They seemed to be hanging in a well. Sime had a confused impression of piled-up bodies hurtling down--down. 

Thereafter everything was normal again, and they were running down thenormal steps. Both had swords in their hands now, and within a hundredfeet they were upon the "gravitorser" gun. It was a rather cumbersomeweapon, comprising a great deal of electrical apparatus, with aD-solenoid surmounting, whose object was to twist the normal lines ofgravitation. It was intended for large-scale operations in the open;the few men remaining below had tried a rather risky experiment, forthey might have brought the whole fortress down upon them. Now theywere untangling themselves from the corpses that had flown at them asiron flies to a magnet. 

 * * * * *

Sime and Tolto struck them like a tempest. The light was good and thebattle short and sweet. Tolto was slowed up a little, but wasirresistible, nevertheless. There is nothing surprising about theseeming immunity of a reckless man in battle. He fights by instinct, taking short-cuts that are not as dangerous as they look because theenemy is not expecting them. So Sime and Tolto fought their way down, until there was no one able to oppose them. 

Sime pressed a neuro-pistol into Tolto's hand, warned him to sweep thestairs with it, while he coursed around for some of the pellet bombs. He found them, and two of them closed that avenue of attack with amass of jumbled ruins. 

Now they had a breathing spell. A combination of blind luck andfoolhardiness had given them temporary possession of this desertoutpost. That was their pawn in the game of life and death--the chanceto get back and hide among the millions in the cities of theindustrial belt. Certain routine precautions had to be taken. Theydestroyed the radio apparatus, picked a few days supply of food, threwa couple more bombs and made a search for means of transportation: forthere was a desert wilderness of four or five hundred miles to betraversed. 

They discovered the egg-shaped hull of an enclosed levitator car inthe covered courtyard. It was distinguished by the orange and greenstripes which are the Martian army standard. Like all army equipment, it was in excellent condition. The hydrogen gages showed a full supplyof fuel. 

"We're getting the breaks, " Sime crowed to Tolto at they surfeitedthemselves with water before starting. He had covered his nakednesswith an ill-fitting fatigue suit. 

"Yeh, " Tolto agreed, referring to their numerous wounds with slyhumor: "lots of 'em. "

 * * * * *

Nevertheless, they felt pretty happy when the levitator screws took uptheir melancholy whine. The rocky valley floor dropped away, and thewindowless stone walls of the fortress slid down past them. Now theywere even with the top. 

Through the ports they could see a group of their late adversaries onthe roof, standing in strained attitudes. Their immobility wasexplained a moment later by an electric blue spark from something inthe shadow of their bodies. 

Instantly Sime, who was at the controls, threw her hard-a-port, dived, looped up. The first explosion of the tiny projectile tossed them uplike a monstrous wave, allowed them to drop sickeningly. The exhausttubes poured out a dense haze as Sime sought for distance. But theywere following him. He was five miles away when they finally got therange. The vessel was jarred as if it had hit a rock. One of theatomic pellets had exploded within a few feet of it. There was adismaying lurch. Sime picked himself up from the floor and dashed tothe controls. 

"Everything's all right!" he shouted excitedly. 

Tolto, however, was listening anxiously. There was a sharp cracklingat the stern, where, in a narrow space, the reaction motors providedthe forward motive power. In moments of excitement he referred tohimself in the third person. He did so now. 

"Tolto's afraid that something's wrong! Smells hot, too!"

"Here, take the wheel!" Sime ordered. The explosions of the shellswere becoming less dangerous; they were getting too far away. 

 * * * * *

Sime burned his hand opening the narrow door. The paint was alreadyblistering off it. The trouble was immediately apparent. One of theintegrator chambers, in which atomic hydrogen was integrated to formatomic iron and calcium (sometimes called the Michelson effect), hadsprung a leak. The heat escaping into the little room was not thecomparatively negligible heat of burning hydrogen, but the cosmicenergy of matter in creation. Sime slammed the door. The radiatedlight was so intense that it stung even his hardened skin. 

Looking through the rear range-finding periscope, he saw that theywere about twenty miles from the fort. They had ceased firing. 

"Won't be long, Tolto, " he said, taking over the controls himselfagain, "before our tail's going to drop off. Got to make time. "

It was, in fact, about ten minutes when, without warning, their nosedropped. 

"Tail's gone!" Sime announced. 

Their momentum, under the destructive rate of speed they had beenmaking, was great, and as the levitators, with independent powersupply, still held them up, Sime continued to steer a course for thetwin cities of Tarog. He was aided by a light breeze, and the Sun wasnearing the western horizon by the time their rate of motion hadbecome negligible. 

"Might at well land, " Sime decided. "Conserve fuel. If we get afavorable wind to-morrow we can go up and drift with it. "

But Tolto, who had been narrowly scanning the terrain, advisedcontinuing a little longer. 

"I thought I saw a little smoke, a few miles ahead. Seems to be gonenow. But we're still drifting slow. "

 * * * * *

Sime searched the indicated spot in the ground glass of the forwardmagnifying periscope. After a few minutes he discovered a blackenedspot which might be the remains of a fire. It was surrounded by hugeblocks of orange rock, the igneous rock which is the outstandingfeature of the Martian desert landscape. 

"Looks like he built the fire around there so nobody on the same levelwould see him, " he hazarded. He set the altitude control to fiftyfeet. There was part of the globular skeleton of a desert hog in thefire; whoever had built it had dined most satisfyingly not longbefore, and as the fugitives looked their stomachs contractedpainfully. 

"I could eat a whole one of them myself, " Tolto said wistfully. 

The urge to descend here was strong upon Sime too. He realized thatthe fire might have been made by some dangerous criminal--a fugitivefrom justice; but dangerous men are no novelty to the I. F. P. On theother hand, there was a possibility that it was just some politicaloffender, driven into the desert by persecution. Or a prospector. Atany rate, he would have food, or would know where it could beprocured. 

They had drifted some hundreds of yards farther and the ground wasgetting constantly more broken, so the best time to land was as soonas possible. Slowly the little ship settled, scraped on a rock andarrested its slight forward motion, crunching solidly in the stonysoil. 

"Take a neuro, Tolto, " Sime advised. "Whoever's here, if he or theyare dangerous, we won't get close enough to touch 'em with a sword. "

Tolto took the weapon without a word. They locked the door of theship. Men have been marooned for neglecting that little precaution. 

They walked in a spiral course, making an ever-widening circle, looking sharply from left to right. Presently they came to the remainsof the fire. The ashes were hotter than the ground, proving that theyhad been recently made. 

But nowhere was there any sign of men. They shouted, but only weirdechoes answered. 

The ship was now out of sight, and solitude pressed upon them. Theyfelt an uneasy desire to get within comfortable constricting walls. 

They found the ship without difficulty. 

"Well, whoever it was has lammed, " Sime concluded. "Tolto, you climbon top of that rock. Watch me. If you see anybody after me, let 'emhave it. I'm going to see if I can scare up a desert hog somewhere. "

Neither had stirred from his place, however, before they were suddenlystricken to the ground. They felt the familiar sensation of cold andsuffocation--the paralysis caused by a diffused beam from aneuro-pistol. Tolto was a little slower to fall, but he only lasted asecond longer. They knew that someone was taking the weapons out oftheir helpless hands. Then life returned. 

"Get up, " said a languid voice back of them, "and let's have a look atthe looks of ye. "

CHAPTER VII

_The Flight of a Princess_

The province of Hanlon, Prince Joro's hereditary domain, began aboutfifty miles west of South Tarog. It was a region of thorn forests, yielding a wood highly valued for ship-building, and the canal waslined with shipyards, most of which belonged to the prince. Theso-called republic had been established before Joro was born, but thereigning family of Hanlon had always been richly endowed withastuteness. Deprived of their feudal holdings by a coup of state, theyhad won back nearly all they had lost in the fields of finance andtrade. Joro was a monarchist for sentimental reasons, not for theprofits that might accrue to him. 

It was the purity of Joro's devotion to his ideal that made him sodangerous to all who might oppose him. Lesser men might be bribed, frightened, distracted. Not Joro: he believed that the monarchy wouldsoothe the rumblings of internal dissension that continually disturbedthe peace and tranquillity of Mars. He drove forward to thatconsummation with a steadfastness and singleness of purpose such ashave carried other fanatics to glory or to the grave. And in additionto his zeal he carried into the struggle his exceptional ability, aknowledge of government and of people. 

 * * * * *

He had need for all of his rare skill now. It had been an easy matterto carry forcibly the Princess Sira to his palace in Hanlon. Tolto wassafely out of the way; Mellie had been dismissed. As for the otherpalace servants, they had been silenced with bribery or the stiletto. 

But Sira had remained adamant, and Joro, abstractedly toying with hislaboratory apparatus in the basement of his palace, tried to find thekey to her change of heart. 

"Can't understand it!" he mused. "She always seemed to have all theroyal instincts: cold to suitors, with that delicacy and reserve onefinds ideal in a princess. She does all things well, handles a swordnearly as well as I do. Her mind is as keen and limpid as a diamond. She swims like an eel. . . . "

He sighed. "I thought she and I saw eye to eye in this matter. Notmore than a week ago she seemed eager for news of the accord I wasarranging. She had no great aversion to Scar Balta. Now she says shewill die before she espouses him. "

He paused, thought a moment, added, with that absolute fairness andimpartiality that was characteristic of him:

"True, Balta is not the ideal prince consort. He would not add kinglyqualities to the royal line. But he would confer cunning upon hisoffspring; and energy--neither to be despised in a royal family thatmust forever resist intrigue. " He sighed again. "The responsibility ofking-making is a hard one!"

A sudden thought struck him. "She spoke warmly about the proposed war;could that be at the root of her strange change of heart? After all, she is a woman, and with all her fine, true temper she has a gentleheart. To her the death of a few thousands of her subjects may notoutweigh the unhappiness that millions are now experiencing. But thefinanciers demand the war to consolidate their position, and Wilcox issolidly with them. "

With new hope he set down the beaker he was toying with. "Perhaps wecan outwit them. "

 * * * * *

He left the laboratory, climbed a flight of stairs, entered thespacious reception hall. This, like most Martian buildings, was domed. It was richly furnished. The walls were hung with burnished, metallicdraperies of gorgeous colors, the floor a lustrous black, thefurniture of glittering metal. As the prince entered a servant steppedforward. 

"Go at once to the Princess Sira's chamber!" Joro commanded sharply. "Request her to come here. Tell her I have thought of the solution toour difficulty. "

Impatiently he paced up and down, stopping at a window for a momentand looking out into the night. 

"Your Highness! Your Highness!" The servant was sobbing withexcitement. "Your Highness, Princess Sira has escaped!"

Joro left the man babbling, dashed up the broad stairs, unheeding theservants who scattered before him. Their punishment could wait. Justinside the princess's chamber, still unconscious from a blow on thehead, lay the guard whose duty it had been to stand before that door. How long ago had she gone? Probably not more than a few minutes. 

Joro saw to it that her start would not be much longer. In a fewseconds men and women were scouring the palace grounds, and radioorders to the provincial police of Hanlon were crowding the ether. 

 * * * * *

Sira had contrived her escape without any particular plan in mind. Infact, it had been initiated on impulse. The fellow on guard at herdoor had excited intense dislike in her. High-strung, and excited byher kidnaping, she had been further annoyed by his officiousness, hisfawning, which thinly disguised impudence. The third or fourth timethat he intruded on her privacy to ask if she wanted anything she wasready, with the heavy leg, unscrewed from a chair. She felled him inthe middle of a smirk, and seized the opportunity created. 

It happened that there was a service corridor close at hand. Down thisshe sped, into the darkness of a boat-house. The doors were barred andlocked, of course, but the depths of the water showed a faint greenishglimmer of light. Sira dived in, unhesitatingly, and after an easyunderwater swim she emerged in the open canal. There was aconsiderable swell, for there was a slight breeze blowing from thenorth across twenty miles of water, but this did not distress Sira atall. She undulated through the waves with perfect comfort. Phobos wasjust rising in the west, and orientating herself by this tiny moon shestruck out in a north-easterly direction, seeking a favorable currentto carry her toward Tarog. 

Early explorers on Mars were astonished to find that the canals werenot stagnant bodies of water, but possessed currents, induced by wind, by evaporation, and the influx of fresh water from the polar ice caps. 

This was near the equator, however, and the water was not unreasonablycold, although the night air was, as usual, chilly. After a fewminutes Sira discarded her clothing, and so settled down to a longswim. 

 * * * * *

Ten miles out she struck a brisk easterly current, flowing towardTarog, and she gave herself up to it. Floating on her back she saw thelights of the prince's ships flying back and forth over the water insearch of her--or her body. But none came near her, and she wascontent. 

The abrupt tropical dawn found her in mid-canal, half-way to Tarog. She had no intention of swimming all the way to the capital city, tobe fished ignominiously out of the canal by the police. She was inneed, not only of clothing, but of clothing that would disguise her. Her coral pink body near the surface of the water would attractattention for considerable distance, and would lead to unwelcomeinquiries. 

She was glad when she saw a fishing scow anchored in the current aheadof her. The man who owned it had his back to her, fishingdown-current. She approached the boat silently and worked her wayaround it by holding to the gunwale. 

Sira now saw that the fisherman was old, gnarled and sunburned so darkthat he was almost black, despite the dilapidated and dirty pithhelmet he was wearing. His lumpish face was deeply seamed andwrinkled. His sunken mouth told of missing teeth, and his long, unkempt hair was bleached to a dirty gray. 

"Have you an old coat you can lend me?" Sira asked, swimming intoview. 

The rheumy eyes rolled, settled on the water nymph. The old man showedno surprise, but pious disgust. His eyes rolled up, and in a crackedvoice intoned:

"Wicked, wicked! O great Pantheus, thy temptations are great--thyvisions tormenting. In my old age must I ever and ever live over--"

"Foolish old man!" Sira snapped. "I'm not a vision!" She dragged downan old sack that hung over the gunwale, washed it, and tearing holesin the rotten fabric for her arms and head, slipped it on. It was alarge sack, coming to her knees; satisfied, she climbed aboard, whereshe spread her black hair to dry. 

"Not a vision?" the old man quavered. "Then thou art reality, come togladden my old age--nay--to return youth to me! In my hut there is anold hag. She shall go--"

 * * * * *

Sira did not answer. She was neither disgusted nor amused by the darktorrent that stirred in this decrepit old fisherman. She saw only thathe had pulled in his nets and was bowing his long arms to the oars, pulling for shore. 

It took about two hours before they reached the fisherman's hut, anondescript, low-ceilinged shelter of logs, driftwood and untarnishedmetal plates off some wreck. Several times they were hailed by otherfishermen, who addressed the old man as "Deacon" and asked jocularlyabout what kind of a fish he had there. 

The deacon's wife awaited them. The old man's description of her as ahag had not been far wrong. She, was as diminutive and weakened as hewas ponderous and heavy. She was acid. Her skin was like a pickledapple's; her expression sour, her voice sharp. 

"Hoy there, you old hypocrite!" she hailed when they came in earshot. "So this is the way you lose a day! Who's the hussy with you?"

The deacon nosed the old and evil-smelling scow into the bank. Hiseyes rolled piously. 

"The great Pantheus sent her. He said--"

 * * * * *

The old woman came closer and inspected Sira, who endured her gazecalmly. That look was like the bite of acid that reveals the structureof crystal in metals. 

"Why, she's a lady!" she exclaimed then. "Not fittin' to be on thesame canal with you! Come in, my dear. You must be nearly dead!"

She conducted Sira into the hut, which was far neater and cleaner thanits exterior suggested. 

"A lady!" she repeated. "In that heat! Young woman, what made you doit? Look at those arms--near burnt! Let me take off that old sack. Butwait!"

She tip-toed to the door, threw back the faded curtain sharply. Thedeacon, too surprised to move, was standing there in the attitude ofone who seeks to see and hear at the same time. He lingered longenough to receive two resounding slaps before fleeing to his boat, followed by a string of curdling remarks. 

Back inside, she proceeded to anoint Sira's body, exclaiming herpleasure at its perfection. The oil smelled fishy, but it wassoothing, and it was not long before the claimant to the throne ofMars was deep in restful slumber. 

Late that afternoon the deacon returned and hung his nets up to dry. He was dour, his fever having left him. But he had a strange story toimpart. 

"I think that girl I picked up is the Princess Sira, " he told the oldwoman. "On the fish buyer's barge, in the teletabloid machine, I sawthe forecast of her wedding to Scar Balta. And I'll swear it's thesame girl!"

"And why, " queried his wife, "would she be swimming in the middle ofthe canal if she was getting ready to marry Scar Balta?"

"That's just it!" the deacon exclaimed, and his eyes began to rollagain. "They say it's not a love match! Oh, not in the teletabloid!They wouldn't dare hint such a thing. But the men on the barge. Theysay there's a rumor that she ran away. And she looks like the girl Ipicked up, though I thought--"

"Never mind what you thought!" she snapped. "It may be, I served theoligarchy and the noble houses--before I was fool enough to run awaywith a no-good fisherman--and I can see she is a lady. Well, she cantrust in me. "

"They say, " the deacon hinted, "that if one went to Tarog, andinquired at the proper place, there would be a reward. "

The little old woman chilled him, she looked so deadly. 

"Deacon Homms!" she hissed. "If you sell this poor little girl to ScarBalta, your hypocritical white eyes will never roll again, becauseI'll tear them out and feed them to the fish. Understand?"

Considerably shaken, the deacon said he understood. 

 * * * * *

But the next morning, on the placid bosom of the canal, he forgot herwarning. The fleshpots of Tarog called him. Tarog, where he had spentyouth and money with a lavish hand. Tarog, where a reward awaited him. 

He hauled in his anchor, gave the unwieldy boat to the current andbent to the oars. 

Back in the hut, unsuspecting of treachery, Mrs. Homms and Sira wererapidly striking up a friendship. A shrewd judge, of characterherself, Sira did not hesitate to admit her identity, and without anyprying questioning the old woman soon had the whole story. It thrilledher, this review of the life she had once seen as a servant. 

"I wonder if I will ever see Tarog again!" she sighed wistfully. 

"You shall!" Sira promised, "if you help me. "

"I will do what I can gladly. "

"I need a workingman's trousers and blouse, and a sun-hat that willshade my face. I have a plan, but I must get to Tarog. Can you get methese things?"

"I have no money, but wait!" She rummaged with gnarled fingers in achink in the wall, withdrew a small brooch-pin of gold, with a pinkterrestrial pearl in its center. 

"My last mistress gave me this, " she said smiling sadly. "I will rowto the trading boat and buy what you need. There will be a littlemoney left to buy your passage on a freight barge. "

And that was why, when the deacon arrived at the head of a squad ofsoldiers that evening, there was no girl of any description to befound. Ignoring the cowering and unhappy reward seeker, the old womandelivered her dictum to the sergeant in charge. 

"Princess? Ha! The deacon, sees princesses and mermaids in every mudbank. His imagination grew too and crowded out his conscience. No, mister, there ain't any princess here. "

CHAPTER VIII

_In the Desert_

Mellie, Sira's personal maid, was too disturbed by her mistress'skidnaping to seek other employment. She saw the teletabloid forecastsof the wedding, made life-like by clever technical faking, but rumorsof the princess' escape were circulating freely despite a rigidcensorship. She imagined that lovely body down in the muck of thecanal, crawled over by slimy things, and she was sick with horror. 

Mellie lived with her brother, Wasil Hopspur, and her aged mother. Wasil was an accomplished technician in the service of theInterplanetary Radio and Television Co. , and his income was ample toprovide a better than average home on the desert margin of SouthTarog. Here Mellie sat in the glass-roofed garden, staring moodily atthe luxuriant vegetation. 

She looked abstractedly at the young man coming down the garden walk, annoyed by the disturbance. There was something familiar in the swayof his hips as he walked. 

And then she flew up the path. Her arms went around the visitor, andMellie, the maid, and Princess Sira kissed. 

Mellie was immediately confused. A terrible breach of etiquette, this. But Sira laughed. 

"Never mind, Mellie. It is good for me, a fugitive, to find a home. Will you keep me here?"

"Will I?" Mellie poured into these words all her adoration. 

"Mellie, the time has come for action. Not for the monarchy. I am sickof my claims. I would give it all--You remember the young officer ofthe I. F. P. ? The one who kissed me?"

"Yes. "

"Well, that comes later. First I must consider the war conspiracy. Have you heard of it?"

"There are rumors. "

"They are true. Will Wasil help me?"

"He has worshiped you, my princess, ever since the time I let him helpme serve you at the games. "

"One more question. " Sira's eyes were soft and misty. "My dear Mellie, you realize that I may be trailed here? What may happen to you?"

"Yes, my princess. And I don't care!"

 * * * * *

As Murray parted from his brother-in-arms, Sime Hemingway, on the roofof the cylindrical fortress in the Gray Mountains, he felt thelatter's look of bitter contempt keenly. He longed bitterly to giveSime some hint, some assurance, but dared not, for Scar Balta'scynical smile somehow suggested that he could look through men andread what was in their hearts. So Murray played out his renegade partto the last detail, even forcing his thoughts into the role that hehad assumed in order that some unregarded detail should not give himaway. He convinced the other I. F. P. Man, anyway. 

But Murray had an uneasy feeling that Balta was laughing at him, andwhen the shifty soldier politician invited him into his ship for theride back to Tarog, Murray had a compelling intuition that he wouldnot be in a position to step out of the ship when it landed on theparkway of Scar Balta's hotel. 

Having infinite trust in his intuitions, Murray thereupon made certainplans of his own. 

He noted that the ship, which was far more luxurious than one wouldexpect a mere army colonel to own, had a trap-door in the floor of themain salon. Murray pondered over the purpose of this trap. He couldnot assign any practical use for it, in the ordinary use of the ship. 

But he could not escape the conviction that it would be a splendid wayto get rid of an undesirable passenger. Dropped through that trap-doora man's body would have an uninterrupted fall until it smashed on therocks below. 

Murray then examined the neuro-pistol that had been given him. Itlooked all right. But when he broke the seal and unscrewed the littleglass tube in the butt, he discovered that it was empty. The gray, synthetic radio-active material from which it drew its power had beenremoved. 

Murray grinned at this discovery, without mirth. It was conclusive. 

 * * * * *

At the first opportunity he jostled one of the soldiers, knocking hisneuro-pistol to the floor--his own, too. And when he apologeticallystooped and retrieved them the mollified soldier had the one with theempty magazine. 

So far, so good. Murray noted that the wall receptacles were allprovided with parachutes. It would be simple to take one of these, make a long count, and be on the ground before he was missed. Providedthat he could leave unobserved. 

The ship was now well in the air, and beginning to move away from thefort. But they were only ten miles away, and Murray had hardlyexpected that Balta would be in such a hurry. 

"You get off here!" Balta said, and Murray felt the muzzle of theneuro-pistol on his spinal column. 

A grinning soldier seized a countersunk ring and raised the trap-door. 

"So you're going to murder me, " Murray said, speaking calmly. 

"I take no chances, " was Balta's short answer. "Step!"

Murray stepped, swaying like a man in deadly fear. He lowered his feetthrough the hole. Looking down, he saw that they were about to passover a bitter salt lake, occasionally found in the Martian desert. Helooked up into the muzzle of the menacing neuro-pistol. 

"Balta, you're a dog!" he stated coldly. 

"A live dog, anyway, " the other remarked with a twisted grin. "Youknow the saying about dead lions. "

Murray's fingers clenched on the edge of the rug. It was thin andstrong, woven of fine metal threads. They were just over the edge ofthe salt lake. 

Murray dropped through, but retained his death-like grip on the rug. It followed jerkily, as the men above tripped, fell, and rolleddesperately clear. 

 * * * * *

Murray's heart nearly stopped as he fell the first thousand feet. Therug, sheer as the finest silk, failed to catch the wind. It ran outlike a thin rivulet of metal, following Murray in his unchecked drop. 

But he had a number of seconds more to fall, and he occupied the timeleft to him. He fumbled for corners, found two, lost precious timelooking for the others. He had three corners wrapped around one handwhen the wind finally caught the sheer fabric, bellied it out with asharp crack. The sudden deceleration nearly jerked his arm out. 

Even so, he was still falling at a fearful rate. The free corner wastrailing and snapping spitefully, and the greasy white waters of thelake were rushing up!

At any rate, the rug held him upright, so that he did not strike thewater flat. His toes clove the water like an arrow, and the rug wastorn from his grasp. The water crashed together over his head withstunning force. After that it seemed to Murray that he didn't care. Itdidn't matter that his eyes stung--that his throat was filled withbitter alkali. All of his sensations merged in an all-pervading, comfortable warmth. There was a feeling of flowing blackness, of timestanding still. 

Murray's return to consciousness was far less pleasant. His entirebody was a crying pain: every internal organ that he knew of harboredan ache of its own. He groaned, and by that token knew that he wasbreathing. 

As unwillingly he struggled back to consciousness he realized that hewas inside a rock cave, lying on a thin, folded fabric that might wellbe the rug that had served as an emergency parachute. He could see theirregular arch of the cave opening, could catch hints of rough stoneon the interior. 

 * * * * *

He sat up with an effort. There was a vile taste in his mouth, and helooked around for something to drink. There was a desert water bottlestanding on the floor beside him. That meant he had been found andrescued by some Martian desert rat who had probably witnessed hisfall. He rinsed out his mouth with clean, sweet spring water from thebottle, drank freely. His stomach promptly took advantage of theopportunity to clear itself of the alkali, and Murray, controlling hisdesire to vomit, crawled outside into the blinding light of theMartian afternoon. He saw that the cave was high up on the side of oneof the more prominent cliffs. There were many such hollowed places, indicating that the sloping shelf on which he now lay had once beenthe beach of a vast sea which at some time must have covered all butthe higher peaks of the Gray Mountains. It was, of course, the seathat had deposited the scanty soil which here and there covered therocks. During geologic ages it shrunk until it all but disappeared, leaving only a few small and bitter lakes in unexpected pockets. 

There was a succession of prehistoric beaches below Murray's vantagepoint, marking each temporary sea level, giving the mountain aterraced appearance. A thousand feet below was the white lake, sluggish and dead. 

Murray was looking for the man who had saved him. He was able todiscern him, after a little effort, toiling up the steep slopes. Hewas still nearly all the way down. He could see only that he seemed tobe dressed in white desert trousers and blouse, and that he wore abroad-brimmed sun helmet. He was carrying something in a bag over hisshoulder. He was making the difficult ascent with practiced ease, hisbody thrown well forward, making fast time for such an apparentlydeliberate gait. 

 * * * * *

The desert glare hurt Murray's eyes. He closed them and fell asleep. He awoke to the shaking of his shoulder, looked up into ablack-bearded face, a beard as fierce and luxuriant as his own. Butwhere Murray was bald, this man's hair was as thick and black as hisbeard. He had thrown off his helmet, so that his massive head wasoutlined against the sky. His torso was thick, his shoulders broad. Large, intelligent eyes and brilliant coral skin proclaimed the man tobe a native of Mars. 

The man's white teeth flashed brilliantly when he spoke. 

"Feeling better? Man, you can feel good to be here at all! Time andagain have I seen Scar Balta drop 'em into that lake, but you're thefirst one ever to break the surface again. He gave you a break, though. First time he ever gave anybody as much as a pockethandkerchief to ease his fall. That lake is useful to Scar. It keepsthe bodies he gives it, and none ever turn up for evidence. "

Murray was still struggling with nausea. "Want to thank you, " hemanaged. "I got it bad enough. Ow! I feel sick!"

The Martian bestirred himself. He scraped up the ancient shingle, making a little pillow of sand for Murray's head. The Sun was alreadynearing the western horizon, and its heat was no longer excessive. Murray watched through half-closed lids as the big man descended ashort distance, returning with an armful of short, greasy shrubs. Hebroke the shrub into bits, made a neat stack; stacked a larger ring offuel around this, until he had a flat conical pile about eight incheshigh and two feet in diameter. 

 * * * * *

From a pocket safe he procured a tiny fire pellet. This he moistenedwith saliva and quickly dropped into the center of his fuel stack. Thepellet began to glow fiercely, throwing off an intense heat. In a fewseconds the fuel caught, burning briskly and without smoke. 

"Wouldn't dare do this in the open, " the Martian explained, "if thisstuff gave off any smoke at all. The pulpwood mounds down in theflats make a nice fire, but they smoke and leave black ashes, easy tosee from the sky. Now you just rest easy. You'll feel better soon asyou get some skitties under your belt. "

The skitties proved to be a species of quasi-shellfish, possessinghemispherical houses. In lieu of the other half of their shell theyattached themselves to sedimentary rocks. They were the only form oflife that had been able to adapt themselves to the chemicalization ofthe ancient sea-remnant. The Martian had left them thin flakes ofrock. Now he placed the shells in the red-hot coals, and in a veryshort time the skitties were turning out, crisp and appetizing. Following his host's example, Murray speared one with the point of hisstiletto, blew on it to cool it. It proved to be delicious, althoughjust a trifle salty. 

"Drink plenty water with it, " the Martian advised him. "Plenty moreabout five hundred feet down. Artesian spring there. Fact is, that'sall that keeps that lake from drying up. You ought to see the mistrise at night. "

Murray ate four of the skitties. Then, because the sun was gettingready to plop down, they carefully extinguished the fire, scatteringthe ashes. The I. F. P. Agent felt greatly strengthened by his mealand assisted his host with the evening chores. Nightfall found them intheir darkened cave, ready for an evening's yarning. 

 * * * * *

"I took the liberty of examining your effects, " the Martian began. "Sort of introduced you to myself. The fact that you wore the Martianarmy uniform was no fine recommendation to me, though I once wore itmyself. Your weapons I hid, except for the knife you needed to eat. But you'll find them in that little hollow right over your head. Thefact that you're an enemy of Scar Balta is enough for the present. That alone is repayment for the labor of carrying you up all thisway. "

Murray then told him of work on Mars. There was no use concealinganything from one who was obviously a fellow fugitive, and who mightbe persuaded to do away with his guest, should he have strong enoughsuspicions. He told of the war cabal, of the financial-politicaloligarchy and its opposing monarchists. He related his own discoveryand arrest; the pretended enlistment in Scar Balta's forces whichterminated in Scar's prompt and ruthless action. When he finished hesensed that he had made a deep impression on his host. The latterspoke. 

"What you have told me, Murray, relieves me very much, " he said. "Iknow that we can work together. You might as well know how I came tobe here. Perhaps I look forty or fifty years old. Well, I'm thirty. Iwas news director for the televisor corporations. I didn't have to bevery smart to realize that a lot of the stuff we were ordered to sendout was propaganda, pure and simple. Propaganda for the war interests, propaganda for the financiers. Commercial propaganda too. 

"Why, the stuff we put out was a crime! The service to theteletabloids was the worst. You know how they outstrip the news; hiredactors take the part of personages in the news. Ever watch 'em? Theway they enact a murder is good, isn't it?"

 * * * * *

"We got orders to bear down on your service too, the I. F. P. Yourcrew has too many points of contact, hiking from planet to planet. Thehigh command couldn't see things the bankers liked, I guess. 

"So whenever a man of the I. F. P. Figured in the news we always gavehim the worst of it. We hired bums to play his part, criminals, vicious degenerates. People believe what they see--that's the idea. Ihad seen very few of your men but I knew we were giving them a dirtydeal. Orders were orders, though. We got lots of orders we didn'tunderstand. Then secret deals were made, and those orderscountermanded. 

"But the order against the I. F. P. Remained standing, and wecertainly did effective work against 'em. The people had no way ofknowing the difference, either, for the company controls all means ofcommunication, and the I. F. P. Does most of its work in out of theway places. Why just to show you how effective our work was--thepeople, in a special plebiscite, voted to withdraw their support fromthe Plutonian campaign! But that was going too far; the financiersquietly reversed that. 

"At the same time, we got orders to glorify Wilcox, the planetarypresident. It was Wilcox signing a bill to feed the hungry--aftertheir property had been stripped by the taxes. It was Wilcox thebenevolent; Wilcox the superman. Wilcox, in carefully rehearseddramatic situations, reproduced on the stereo-screens in every home. You know who put over the slogan, 'Wilcox, the Solar Savior?' We didit. It was easy!" He laughed shortly. 

"The only time we failed was, when they wanted to end, once and forall, the prestige of the royal house. That was after they had boughtthe assassination of the claimant, his wife and their son. Didn't daretake Princess Sira too, because she has always been a popular darling. It would have been too raw, wiping out the whole family. They left oneclaimant, see? And then put it up to us to discredit her!

"Man! That fell down! The first attempt was very smooth, at that. Butit brought in such a storm of condemnation they had to drop that. 

"You can guess how we boys at the central office felt about it. Nowonder we got cynical and lost all self-respect. We couldn't havestood it at all, but sometimes we'd put on a special party, just tolet off steam. Did we rip 'em up high and handsome? The moreoutrageous the flattery we sent out, disguised as news, the morebaldly truthful we were in those early morning rehearsals, with themikes and telegs dead. Wilcox was our special meat. 

"Of course, it was foolhardy. One night a mixer in the room below usgot his numbers mixed, killing a banquet program on a trunk channeland sending our outrageous burlesque out instead. When the poor fellowdiscovered his mistake he made for the bottom of the canal. As for me, I made for the desert. I never heard what became of the others, andthat was six years ago. I wonder if I've changed much. "

"What's your name?" Murray asked suddenly. 

"Tuman. Nay Tuman. "

"The others must have been caught. As for yourself, orders have beensent all over the solar system to kill you on sight. They hung thekilling of that electrician on you. "

"That's their way!" Nay Tuman absented gloomily. "A price on my head. They thought I'd stow away on some rocket liner, I suppose. "

"Weren't you afraid some desert rat would give you away?"

"No danger. They're just about all fugitives themselves. They hid metill I grew this foliage. They showed me how to find food and waterwhere seemingly there was none. The desert isn't sterile. Why, I knowof three or four men within fifty miles of here! Sometimes they stopat my spring for water. As for the harness frames at the fort, thosesojers might as well be blind, considering all they miss. "

"You asked a while ago if you've changed much. You have. I rememberyour picture. All of us studied it, because there's a 100, 000 I. P. Dollar reward out. You were a slim lad then, not the fuzzy bear youare now. How would you like to go in to Tarog with me? They seem tohave us licked now--but did you ever hear that the I. F. P. Is mostdangerous when it's been thoroughly licked?"

"I don't know--I'm used to the solitude, " Tuman demurred. "In the cityI'd be lost. "

But Murray won him over. He had a persuasive way with him. 

 * * * * *

The next morning they started, guiding their course by the Sun. Theymade no attempt to travel fast, but the going was easy. Although theyrested during the heat of the day, and buried themselves for thenights in the sun-warmed sand, they made about fifteen miles a day. They saw no other human being. These desert dwellers did not meet formere sociability. 

They left the mountains on the second day, descending to the lowerlevel of a broad, sterile plain which was studded by the low, greenishpulp-mounds, that resembled mossy rocks more than vegetation. Aftertwo days more they came to a region where huge blocks of stone, of theprevailing orange or brick color, lay scattered around on the plain. 

"They look good to me, " Tuman said. "If some patrol comes along nowwe'll have plenty of cover, at least. This belt is a hundred mileswide, maybe a little more. Good hunting there. Plenty of desert hogs, as fat and as round as a ball of bovine butter. I can knock 'em overwith a rock, and you can use your neuro, in a pinch. "

They did, in fact, succeed in capturing one of the little creaturessoon afterward, and, dropping a moistened fire pellet on top of apulp-mound, soon were roasting their meat. 

Not once, however, did either one relax his vigilance. Almostsimultaneously they discovered the little black dot that seemed to popout of the irregular southern horizon. They leaped to their feet, kicked out the fire. They would have covered the ashes with sand butfor hundreds of feet in either direction there was nothing but barerock. 

"Never mind!" Murray said. "Let's make for cover. They may think it'san old fireplace. With rains only about once in three years that spotwill look like that indefinitely. "

"Yes, " Tuman agreed, running along, "if they didn't see the smoke!"

 * * * * *

As the craft neared they could make out the orange and green of theMartian army. 

"From the fort, " Murray guessed. "Scar Balta must have had his doubtsabout me. He ordered them out to finish the job, if necessary. "

"It's drifting, " Tuman observed. "The driving tail seems to bemissing. "

"Well, anyway, it's coming down, and where an army ship comes down isno place for us. "

They heard the scrape of her keel as she settled down. Murray gave agasp of surprise. 

"Tuman, " he muttered, "that fellow wearing the Martian uniform is anI. F. P. Agent named Hemingway. The uniform doesn't fit and I bet theman he took it from is no longer alive. Do you know the giant withhim?"

"Under that dirt and blood, I'd say he's Tolto, Princess Sira'sspecial pet. No other man of Mars could be that big! Seven or eightyears ago--she was just a kid, you know--she picked him up in somerural province. Kids just naturally do run to pets, don't they? Andthe princess was no exception. But he looks like nobody's pet now. I'drather have him peg me with his neuro, though, than to take me in hishands!"

They watched as Sime and Tolto slowly walked about in wideningcircles, and when they were sufficiently far away Murray and Tumanclosed in. They had no expectation of finding the ship unlocked, andwasted no time trying to get it. Instead they climbed a flat-toppedblock of stone about ten feet high. From this position they couldcommand, with Murray's neuro, anyone who might seek to enter the ship. 

"These fellows are our best hope, " Murray told Tuman. "But we have toconvince 'em that we're friends first. Otherwise we're liable to becold meat, and cold meat can't convince anybody. Keep your head down. "

The necessity of lying flat, in order to keep from silhouettingthemselves against the sky, deprived them of the opportunity to see. Nevertheless, they could tell, by the sound of their voices, when Simeand Tolto returned. When it seemed that they were directly beneath, Murray risked a look. There they were. 

Murray carefully set the little focalizer wheel for maximum diffusion. He felt sure that it would not be fatal, considering the distance andthe physical vigor of the men he meant to hold. He pressed thetrigger. 

"Get down quick!" he snapped. "I'll let up for a second; you grabtheir neuros. "

Tuman executed the order with dispatch. Stepping back, he trained thepistols on their late owners, while Sime and Tolto, a little dazed, stumbled to their feet. A man may argue, or take chances, when menacedby a needle-ray, but mere bravery does not count with the neuros. Allmen's nervous systems are similar, and when nerves are stricken, courage is of no avail. 

CHAPTER IX

_Plot and Counter-Plot_

As these four men faced one another in the slanting rays of thesetting Sun far out on the desert, the planetary president, Wilcox, sat in his office in the executive palace in South Tarog, situated, aswere so many of the public buildings, on the banks of the canal. 

Wilcox was in his sixties. A gray man, pedantic in his speech, hisfeatures were strong: his nose, short and straight, somehow, expressedhis intense intolerance of opposition. His long, straight lower jawprotruded slightly, symbolizing his tenacity, his lust for power. Hiseyes, large, gray, intolerant, looked before him coldly. Wilcox wasthe result of the union of two root-stocks of the human race, of aterrestrial father, a Martian mother. He had inherited theintelligence of both--the conscience of neither. 

Now he sat in a straight, severe chair, before a severe, heavy table. Even the room seemed to frown. Wilcox's face was free of wrinkles, yetit frowned too. He seemed not to see the flaming path the setting Sundrew across the broad expanse of the canal, for he was thinking ofbigger things. Wilcox was a little mad, but he was a madman ofimagination and resource, and he was not the first one to control thedestinies of a world. 

"Waffins!" His voice rang out sharp and querulous. A servant, resplendent in the palace livery of green and orange, was instantlybefore him bowing low. 

"Who awaits our pleasure?"

"Scar Balta, sire, " answered Waffins, bowing low again. 

"We will see him. "

Waffins disappeared. Scar Balta came in alone, sleek as usual showingno trace of his irritation over his long wait. He did not even glanceat the somber hangings that concealed a number of recesses in thewall. Scar knew that guards stood back of those hangings, armed withneuro-pistols or needle-rays as a precaution against the ever-presentmenace of assassination. And of the loopholes back of these recesses, with still other armed men, as a constant warning to any of the innerguards whose thoughts might turn to treachery. 

 * * * * *

Scar Balta bowed respectfully. 

"Your Excellency desired to see me?"

"I wished to see you, or I should not have had you called, " Wilcoxreplied irritably. "I wish to have an explicit understanding with youas to our proceeding next week at our conference with the financialdelegates. Sit here, close to me. It is not necessary for us to shoutour business to the world. "

Balta took the chair beside Wilcox, and they conversed in low tones. 

"First of all, " Wilcox wanted to know, "how is your affair with thePrincess Sira progressing?"

"Your Excellency knows. " Balta began cautiously, "that the newsagencies have been sending out pictorial forecasts--"

"Save your equivocation for others!" Wilcox interrupted sharply. "I amaware of the propaganda work. It was by my order that the facilitieswere extended to you. I am also aware that the princess escaped fromJoro's palace. An amazing piece of bungling! Did she really escape oris Joro forwarding some plot of his own?"

"He seems genuinely disturbed. He has spent a fortune having the canalsearched by divers, flying ships and surface craft. If Sira fails tomarry me Joro's life ambition will fail, for the hopes of themonarchists will then be forever lost. "

"True; but his Joro some larger plan? His is a mind I do notunderstand, and therefore I must always fear. A man with no ambitionfor himself, but only for an abstract. It is impossible!"

"Not impossible!" Balta insisted. "Joro is a strange man. He believesthat the monarchy would improve conditions for the people. And, YourExcellency, wouldn't I be a good king?"

 * * * * *

Wilcox looked at him morosely. His low voice carried a chill. 

"Do not anticipate events, my friend! There are certain arrangementsto be made with the bankers regarding the election of a solargovernor!" His large gray eyes burned. "Solar governor! Never inhistory has there been a governor of the entire solar system. Destinyshapes all things to her end, and then produces a man to fill herneeds!"

"And that man sits here beside me, Balta added adroitly. Wilcox didnot sense the irony of the quick take-up. He had been about tocomplete the sentence himself. But his mind was practical. 

"The bankers must be satisfied. The terrestrial war must be assuredbefore they will lend their support. "

"It is practically assured now, " Balta insisted. "Our propagandabureau has been at work incessantly, and public feeling is beingworked up to a satisfactory pitch. Only last night two terrestrialcommercial travelers were torn to pieces by a mob on suspicion thatthey were spies. "

"Good!" Wilcox approved. "Let there be no interruption in the work. Our terrestrial agents report excellent results on Earth. Theysucceeded in poisoning the water supply of the city of Philadelphia. Thousands killed, and the blame placed on Martian spies. Our agentsfound it necessary to inspire a peace bloc in the pan-terrestrialsenate in order to keep them from declaring war forthwith. But thesethings are of no concern to you. Have you made the necessaryarrangements with the key men of the army?"

"I have, Your Excellency. They are chafing for action. The overt actwill be committed at the appointed time, and the terrestrial linerwill be disintegrated without trace. "

"And have you made arrangements for the disposal of the ship'srecords?"

 * * * * *

"Our own ship? I thought it best to have a time bomb concealed aboard. That way not only the records will be destroyed but there will be nomen left to talk when the post-war investigating commission comesaround. "

"Well managed!" Wilcox approved shortly. "See that there is nofailure!" He dismissed the young man by withdrawing to his inner self, where he rioted among stupendous thoughts. 

Scar Balta emerged into the streets, brightly illuminated with thecoming of night, and his thoughts were far from easy. The absence ofthe princess was a serious handicap--might very easily be disastrous. With her consent and help it would have been so simple! The people, entirely unrealizing that their emotions were being directed into justthe channels desired, could most easily be reached through theprincess. 

First the war, of course, and then, when the threatened businessuprising against financial control had been crushed, a planet-widesentimental spree over the revival of the monarchy and the marriage ofthe beautiful and popular princess. As prince consort, Scar would thenfind it a simple matter to maneuver himself into position as authenticking. 

But without the princess! Ah, that was something else again! For thefirst time in his devious and successful career, Scar Balta feltdistinctly unhappy. He had schemed, suffered and murdered to puthimself in reach of this glittering opportunity, and he wouldinevitably lose it unless he could find Sira. 

In the midst of his unhappy reflections he thought of Mellie. 

 * * * * *

Sira knew well that Wasil adored her. He had for her the same dog-likedevotion that Mellie had. She knew she could ask for his life and hewould give it. And what she had planned for him was almost equivalentto asking for his life. 

She told him as much, sitting beside him on a bench in the garden. Hissmooth coral face was alight, his large eyes inspired. 

"I will do just as you have commanded me!" he declared solemnly, andwould have kissed her hand. 

"You must not only do it; you must keep every detail to yourself. Youmust not even tell Mellie. Do you promise?"

"I promise!"

She kissed him on the forehead. "Farewell, Wasil. I have been here twodays already--far longer than prudence allows. They will be herelooking for me. Have you any money?"

Wasil produced a roll of I. P. Scrip; handed it to her. 

"Kiss Mellie for me, " she called, as she slipped out of the garden. She was still dressed in the coarse laborer's attire that she hadbought on the trading boat, and mingled readily with the crowds in thestreets. She hoped she would not meet Mellie, for the girl's devotionmight outweigh her judgment. 

The rest of that day Sira prowled about the city. Mingling with thecommon people, she came to have a new insight in their struggles, their sorrows. Passing the walls of her own palace, now locked andsealed, she felt, strangely, resentment that there should be suchpiled-up wealth while people all around lacked almost the necessitiesof life. 

 * * * * *

She surprised herself, also, by a changing attitude toward the lifeambition of Prince Joro. The old man's discussions of socialconditions that could be corrected by a benevolent monarch had alwaysbefore seemed to her merely academic and without great interest. Suchco-operation as she had given him was motivated entirely by personalambition. Now she recalled some of Joro's theories, reviewed them inher mind, half consenting. 

Always she would strike a barrier when she came to Scar Balta. Themore she thought of him the more he repelled her. She puzzled overthat. Scar was quite personable. 

Tarog, every industrial city along the equatorial belt, and even theremotest provinces, were seething with war talk. The teletabloids atthe street corners always had intent audiences. Sira watched one ofthem. Disease germs had been found in a shipment of fruit juices fromthe Earth. The teletabloids showed, in detail, diabolical lookingterrestrials in laboratory aprons infecting the juices. Then cameshocking clinical views of the diseases produced. Men, on turningaway, growled deep in their throats and women chattered shrilly. Theparks were milling with crowds who came to hear the patrioticspeakers. 

There was hardly anyone at the stereo-screens, where the news of realimportance was given. 

"President Wilcox announced to-day that an interplanetary conferenceof financiers will be held in his office three days from to-day, beginning at the third hour after sunrise. President Wilcox, whoseefforts have been unremitting to prevent the war which daily seemsmore inevitable, declared that the situation may yet be saved unlesssome overt act occurs. " At the same time the device showed athree-dimensional picture of the planetary president, impressive, dominating, stern with a sternness that could mean almost anything. 

Sira, hurrying home to an inexpensive lodging house, thought:

"Three days from to-day! I have done what I could. The hopes of thesolar system now rest with Wasil. I am only a helpless spectator. "

 * * * * *

Tarog awaited the conference on the morrow bedecked like a bride. TheMartian flag, orange and green, fluttered everywhere. On both sides ofthe canal the brilliantly lighted thoroughfares were restless withpedestrians, and the air was swarming with taxicabs. Excitement wasuniversal, and business was good. 

The glare of the twin cities could be seen far out in the cold desert. Four men, stumbling along wearily, occasionally estimated the distancewith wearied eyes and plodded onward. 

After a long silence Murray remarked:

"It's just as well that the levitators gave out when they did. We weredrifting mighty slow--making practically no time at all. Probably we'dhave been spotted if we'd gone much further. "

"Yeh?" Sime Hemingway conceded doubtfully. "But they may spot usanyway. We have no passes, and none of us looks very pretty. As forTolto, we could hide a house as easy as him. "

"But we must go on, " said Tuman, the Martian. "Yonder lights seem toobright, too numerous for an ordinary day. There's some kind ofcelebration. "

They trudged on for several hours more. Although weariness made theirfeet leaden and pressed on their eyelids, they dared not halt. Eachone nursed some secret dread. Tolto thought of his princess, his childgoddess, and mentally fought battle with whomever stood between himand her. Sime and Murray saw in those lights only war, swift andhorrible. Tuman imagined a city full of enemies, ruthless andpowerful. 

Gradually, as they came closer, the lights began to go out one by one. The city was going to bed. 

 * * * * *

An hour later they came to an illuminated post marking the end of astreet. A teletabloid was affixed to this post, buzzing, but itsstereo-screen blank. Murray found a coin, inserted it in the slot. 

"Marriage of the Princess Sira and Scar Balta will be held immediatelyafter the financial congress, " the machine intoned briskly, and intime with its running comments it began to display pictures. 

Sime, watching indifferently, caught his breath. It seemed to him thathe knew this girl, who appeared to be walking toward him up a statelygarden alley. She came steadily forward with a queenly, effortlessstride. And now it seemed as if she had seen him, for she turned andlooked straight into his eyes. It seemed that her expression changedfrom laughing to pleading. And he recognized the girl with thestiletto whom he had caught in his hotel room. 

He said nothing, however. He could hardly explain the feeling ofsadness that came over him. He stood silent, while the otherscommented excitedly over the overshadowing war news. 

"It's all in the box, " Tuman said gloomily. "Many times I've helpedcook up something like this. The boys in the central offices arelaughing, or swearing, as the cast may be. The poor devils don't owntheir own souls, if they're equipped with any. I'd rather be here, expecting to be thrown into a cell by daylight!" He shivered in thenight chill. 

They ran into a little luck when they needed it most. A roving taxiswooped down upon them, hailed them for fares. They flew the rest ofthe way in. Their luck held. A city policeman, noting their stumblingwalk as they lurched into a cheap hotel, did not trouble them fortheir passes. He had seen many such men that night, soldier andcivilian, with clothes bloody and torn. The excitement of the day, coupled with the fact that nearly everyone carried arms, had led tonumerous fights, not a few of which ended fatally. 

"Merclite!" grinned the policeman, suppressing a hiccup of his own. "And besides, that big 'un would make two of me. "

CHAPTER X

_One Thousand to One_

The scheme that Sira had imparted to Wasil was simple--simple anddirect. Moreover, it was sure, provided it succeeded. Its executionwas something else again. Its chances were, mathematically expressed, about as follows:

If every single detail worked as expected, a great and smashingsuccess. Ratio: 1:1, 000. 

If one single detail failed, immediate and certain death for Wasil. Ratio: 1, 000:1. 

The princess knew that the power of Wilcox, his supporting oligarchyand the interplanetary bankers, was all based on the skilful use ofpropaganda. If the people of Mars and of Earth knew the forces thatwere influencing them, their revulsion would be swift and terrible. There would be no war. There would be events painful and disastrous totheir present rulers, but a great betterment of humanity's condition. 

The key to the situation was the news monopoly, the complete controlof all broadcasting--of the stereo-screens, the teletabloids--thatcolored all events to suit the ends of the ruling group. The people ofMars as well as of Earth were capable of intelligent decision, ofstraight thinking, but they rarely had an opportunity to learn thetruth. 

They had now, by a knowing play on their emotions, directed bypsychologists, been wrought to a point of frenzy where they demandedwar. Their motives were of the highest in many individuals--purepatriotism, the desire to make the solar system safe for civilization. The bright, flaming spirit of self-sacrifice burned clear above thehaze and smoke of passion. 

What would happen if all these eager millions of two neighboringplanets were to learn the true state of affairs? Sira knew whattranspired in those secret conventions, when double guards stood atall doors and at the infrequent windows; when all communication wascut off and the twin lenses of the telestereos and the microphoneswere dead. Prince Joro had told her, with weary cynicism. But Joro hadalso told her that the oligarchs guarded this vital and vulnerablepoint with painstaking care. 

 * * * * *

Sira had reached inside their first defense, however. Wasil was loyalto his salt, but he had both loyalty and affection for Princess Sira. As the day of the interplanetary financial conference leaped intobeing, he was on his way to the executive hall that lay resplendentlyon the south canal bank, ready to lay down his life. 

The hall proper was really only the west wing of the magnificent, high-arched building. Its brilliant, polished metal facade reflectedthe light of the rising Sun redly. The east wing, besides housingvarious minor executive offices, also contained the complicatedapparatus for handling the propaganda broadcastings. On the roof, towering high into the air, was a huge, globular structure, dividedinto numerous zones, from which were sent various wave bands to thenews screens both on Mars and on Earth. The planetary rulers had takenno chances of tampering with their propaganda. The central offices, where news and propaganda were dramatized, were in another building, but as everything from that source had to pass the reviewing officer, a trusted member of the oligarchy himself, in his locked and guardedoffice, this did not introduce any danger of the wrong informationgoing out to the public. 

When Wasil reached the broadcasting plant, he was admitted by fourarmed guards. He locked the door behind him, to find his associatesalready busy, testing circuits and apparatus. Stimson, the chiefengineer, was sitting at his desk studying orders. 

 * * * * *

A few minutes later he called the men to him. There were three othersbesides Wasil: young Martians, keen, efficient, and, like mosttechnies, loyal to the government that employed them. 

"Sure are careful to-day, " Stimson grunted, scratching his snow-whitehair, which was stiffly upstanding and showed a coral tinge from hisscalp. "Must be mighty important to get this out right. Wilcoxpersonally wrote the order. If any man fumbles to-day, it's the polarpenal colony for him!" The Sun-loving old Martian shivered. 

"And here's another bright idea. Only one man's to be allowed in theplant after the circuits are all tested! How'n the name of Pluto willhe handle things if a fuse blows? But what do they care about that!We're technies! We're supposed to know everything, and never haveanything go wrong!"

"But why only one man?" cried Scarba, one of the associate engineers. "It's asking too much! I'll not take it on, far as I'm concerned. Myresignation will be ready soon's I can get a blank!"

"I too! I'm with you, Scarba!" "We work like dogs to get everything infirst-line condition, and then--" The hard-working and uncomplainingtechnies were outspoken in their resentment. 

"Oh, I see your point, " Stimson agreed. "I could stand Balta, butWilcox is just one too many for me. But do you boys think for oneminute we could get away with a strike?" He laughed angrily. "I canremember when the technies were able to demand their guild rights. Butyou boys weren't even born then. Now, let's get this straight:

"We are going to do just as we are told. Wilcox, of course, neverexplains an order, but the reason for having only one operator on thejob is simply to concentrate responsibility on that one man. Therewill be no excuse if he fails. Before the convention starts, and afterit is over, there will be a message to send out. The convention itselfwill be secret, as usual. During the convention, there will be somekind of filler stuff from the central office. "

"Yeh!" snorted one of the men. "That's the dope, all right. One of usis stuck, but if it's me I'll walk out and head for the desert. "

 * * * * *

Stimson looked at him with a sardonic smile. "I forgot to mention: thedoors will be locked and barred, and of course there's no such thingas windows. "

Wasil whistled. "They're sure careful. Well, Stimson. I haven't athing to do all day. I'll take it on. "

They all looked at him, not sure that they had heard him right. 

"What's the matter, sonny?" Stimson said slowly. "Too much Merclitelast night? You're shaking!"

"It's an opening!" Wasil insisted. 

"An opening to tramp ice at the pole for the rest of your life!"

"All right. I'll chance it!"

They consented, without very much argument, to let Wasil have thedangerous responsibility. At 2:30, two and a half hours after sunriseby the Martian reckoning, he signed a release acknowledging allcircuits to be in proper order, and was locked behind the heavy doors, alone with a maze of complicated apparatus and cables that filled thelarge room from floor to ceiling. 

Now it was done! Chance had thrown Wasil into a position where hecould, without great danger of failure, carry out his plan. But at thesame time things had so fallen that he, Wasil, must now die, regardless of the outcome!

If he succeeded in broadcasting the proceedings of the convention, andif they had the effect of arousing the public against Wilcox, therewould still be no escape for Wasil. Wilcox, or Scar Balta, would comestraight for this prison, neuro-pistol or needle-ray in hand!

Even if he should fail, death would be his portion for the attempt. 

 * * * * *

So thinking, Wasil sat down and carefully re-checked the circuits. Thefiller broadcast from central office must be sent to the twin citiesof Tarog. Otherwise the convention would learn too soon what washappening, and would interrupt its business. The thousands who waitedoutside on the broad terraces must be regaled with entertainment, ashad been originally planned. 

But as for the rest of Mars, and Earth, they would get the truth foronce. Those bankers would speak frankly, in the snug isolation of thehall. No supervision here. Conventions, empty politeness, would beforgotten. Sharp tirades, biting facts, threats, veiled and open, would pass across the table between these masters of money and men. 

But this time they would be pitilessly bared to the worlds!

Feverishly, Wasil inspected the repeater. It was a little-used devicethat would, an hour or two later, as desired, give out the words andpictures fed into it. Although Tarog would not learn the convention'ssecrets as quickly as the rest of Mars, or Earth, Tarog would learn. Wasil threw over the links and clamped down the bolts with a grunt ofsatisfaction. When a man is about to die, he wants to do his last jobwell. 

Suddenly a red light glowed, and a voice spoke. 

"Special broadcast. Tarog circuit only!"

"Mornin', Lennings, " Wasil remarked to the face in the screen. "Allset? Go ahead. "

The central office man held up a thick bundle of I. P. Scrip, smiledpleasantly, saying:

"Somebody in North or South Tarog, or in the surrounding territory, isgoing to be 100, 000 I. P. Dollars richer by to-morrow. How would youlike to have 100, 000 dollars? You all would like this reward. Itrepresents the price of a snug little space cruiser for your family; anew home on the canal; maybe an island of your own. It would take youon a trip to the baths of Venus and leave you some money over. Ofcourse you all want this reward!

"Now, if you'll excuse me a moment--"

 * * * * *

The man's picture faded, and the screen glowed with the life andbeauty of Princess Sira--Sira, smiling and alluring. 

"You all know this young lady, " the announcer's voice went on. "Thebeloved and lovable Sweetheart of Mars, the bride of Scar Balta--"

The Martian's sleek and well-groomed head appeared beside that of thegirl. 

"--Scar Balta, whose services to Mars have been great beyond hisyears; who, in the threatening war with Earth, would be one of ourgreatest bulwarks of security. "

The announcer's face appeared again, stern and sorrowful. 

"A great disaster has befallen these lovers--and all the world loves alover, you know. Some thugs, believed by the police to be terrestrialspies, have kidnapped the princess from the palace of her uncle, Prince Joro of Hanlon. It is believed that they had drugged her andhypnotized her, so that she has forgotten her duty to her lover andher country. "

The green light flashed, and Wasil broke the circuit. The central manlingered a moment, favoring Wasil with a long wink. 

"What a liar you're getting to be!" Wasil remarked coldly. But thecentral man, not offended, laughed. 

So they were offering a reward! And urging further treachery as an actof patriotism! Wasil was not too much excited, however. The disguisethe princess had chosen would probably serve her well. Besides, shehad promised to keep in retirement as much as possible. 

_Clack! Clack!_ The electrically controlled lock of the door wasopening. Only Wilcox knew the wave combination. Wasil felt a chill ofapprehension as the door opened and Scar Balta strode in. He was fullyarmed, dressed in the military uniform; but the former colonel was nowwearing on his shoulder straps the concentric rings denoting ageneral's rank. 

CHAPTER XI

_Giant Against Giant_

Although Princess Sira had promised to keep out of the way, she couldnot resist the powerful attraction of the executive hall, in which, onthis day, the fate of two planets was to be decided. As the crowds ofpeople began to drift toward the hall, she joined them, still dressedin her laboring man's shapeless garments, the broad sun-helmet hidingher face effectively. Her long, black hair was concealed under theclothing. Having nearly been drawn into a brawl the day before, shenow carried a stained but still very serviceable short sword that shehad purloined from a merclite-drunken reveler in a gutter. 

Thousands were already on the terraces surrounding the governmentbuildings. They were milling about, for it was still too soon afterthe night's chill to sit down or lie on the rubbery red sward. Taxiswere bringing swarms over the canal from North Tarog, and watervehicles were crossing over in almost unbroken lines. 

Already the merclite vendors were busy, making their surreptitious wayfrom group to group, selling the highly intoxicating and legallyproscribed gum that would lift the users from the sordid, miserableplane of their daily existence to exalted, reckless heights. 

War vessels now began to course overhead, their solid, heavily platedhulls glinting dully in the sun. Their levitator helices moaneddismally, and as their long, slanting shadows slid over the assembledthousands, it seemed that they cast a prophetic pall; that there was ahush of foreboding. 

But the psychological expert high in a nearby tower immediately notedthe slump in the psycho-radiation meter whose trumpet-shaped antennapointed downward. At the turn of the dial the air was filled withthrobbing martial music, and the expert noted with contemptuoussatisfaction that the needle now stood even higher than before. 

Sira, caught like all the rest of the people in that stirring flood ofmusic, felt her own pulse leap. But she thought:

"This is the day! Wasil, could I only be with you!"

She thought sadly of Joro, whose shrewd observations and counsel shemissed more than she had ever thought possible. 

"Poor, dear Joro! You would be a better king than any man you couldever find! I wish I could have done as you wished me to. "

 * * * * *

There was a stir near the main entrance of the hall. A large privateyacht was slowly descending. She was bedecked with the green and goldbunting of the terrestrial government, the green and orange of Mars. Her hull glittered goldenly. 

"Back!" shouted the captain of a Martian guard detail, the soldiersrunning with pennant-decked ropes looping after them. The crowd surgedagainst the barrier, but more guards were sent out as reinforcements, until they had cleared a space for the ship and a lane to the hallentrance. 

"Mars greets the distinguished guests from our sister planet!" boomedthe giant loudspeaker in the tower. Immediately afterward came thestrains of the song--"Terrestria--Fair Green Terrestria"--in a rushingtorrent of sound. But the frank and fluent melody was strangelydistorted, with unpleasant minor turns and harsh whisperings ofmenace, and the tower psychologist noted a further rise of the needle. 

There was a diversion of interest now. The mob of first arrivals, aswell as the ever-freshening stream of newcomers, was moving toward theteletabloids and the more conservative stereo-screens. On thisoccasion they were both carrying the same message, however. Sira heardthe propaganda division's latest fabrication about her allegedkidnaping by terrestrial agents. She needed no radiation meter to tellher of the intense wave of hatred for the Earth that swept over thedensely packed area. And this was followed by another emotion--a waveof cupidity--set up by the offer of 100, 000 I. P. Dollars reward forher return. She saw about her faces greedy, faces wistful, evencompassionate faces. But outnumbering them by far were faces set intruculent mold. 

 * * * * *

Sira moved restlessly from place to place, feeling more deeplydepressed with every moment. She felt as if she had been left entirelyout of life, friendless, alone. Among all these thousands she had nofriend. It seemed to her that never before had there been such apaucity of monarchists. Sharp-featured, with a wire-drawn manner ofefficiency and resolution about them, they had constituted almostanother race among this practically enslaved people, maintaining forthemselves a tolerable position despite the opposition of theoligarchy. Now, however, they seemed to have vanished. All thatmorning Sira had not seen one. She would not have disclosed heridentity, but it would have been comforting to see one of thosefriends of old. 

She was stopped by a jam. Looking between the bodies of two large andsweaty men, she realized that someone was standing on a surveyor'smarking block, delivering a speech. 

"The great Pantheus has so decreed it, " the speaker was shouting in acracked voice that at times dribbled into a whine. "We must shake offforever this menace from the green planet--this planet dominated bywicked women. 

"Oh, my friends, last night they came to me in dreams, these palewomen of the green star. They tempted me and they mocked me. They laidtheir cold hands on my throbbing brow, and their cold hands burned me!

"Oh great Pantheus! How I have suffered! The creatress who in hermalice created this wicked world beyond the gulf--"

The Martians were entertained by the quavering denunciation. Somegrinned broadly at one another; others placed their thumbs in theirears and wiggled their fingers. But the old man continued. Finally, two of the foremost spectators, sensing the tiny body crowded betweenthem, stepped aside. 

"Don't miss this, my little man. Listen, and maybe you will laughyourself a little bigger. " He gave Sira a gentle shove, so that shealmost stumbled over the block on which the speaker was standing. 

 * * * * *

And that old man suddenly stopped talking, so that his toothless mouthsucked in, then stood agape. The rheumy eyes rolled, and a wisp ofdirty gray hair strayed across his gnarled face. He lifted a shakinghand, pointed a knotty finger. 

"There she is!" he croaked. "There she is! I claim--"

"There she is!" guffawed a tipsy merclite chewer. "The creatress, cometo punish you! Cut off his nose, O creatress, and stuff it into hismouth!"

There were shouts of laughter, a surge to see better. 

"No! No! I, Deacon Homms, claim the reward!" the old man screamed. "She is the princess; I know her. She came out of the canal to temptme! She is the Princess Sira. Now shall I at last enter the Palace ofJoys! I claim the 100, 000 dollars!"

But he still had to catch Sira. The crowd, suddenly sensing that thisold fanatic might be telling the truth, rushed in savagely, each eagerto seize the prize, or at least to establish some claim to a share ofthe award. Men and women went down, to be trampled mercilessly. Inevitably they got in one another's way, and soon swords were risingredly, falling again. 

"Guards! Guards! A riot!" Some were fleeing the scene; others rushingin, grateful for the opportunity to expend excess pugnacity. A freshplatoon of soldiers tumbled out of a kiosk leading to an undergroundbarracks like ants out of a disturbed nest. They deployed, holdingtheir neuro-pistols before them, focalizers set for maximumdispersion, therefore non-fatal--merely of paralyzing intensity. Someof the rioters now turned to run, but others persisted, willing to berendered unconscious, just so it would be near the valuable princess. 

A few moments later the captain of the guard surveyed the mass ofparalysed bodies and the sword-slashed corpses, all intermingled. 

"What's this all about?" he demanded of a scarred, evil-looking fellowwho was the first to rise to his elbow. 

"The Princess Sira! I claim the reward. In there! She stood rightthere!"

"Get out, you galoon!" the captain growled, knocking the fellowunconscious with the heavy barrel of his neuro. "Sort 'em out there. Moggins, Schkamitch. On the double. You will share, according torank. "

But eagerly as they searched, they did not find Sira. Creeping betweenthe legs of the maddened reward seekers, she had fought clear, hadgained the shelter of a tall, red conical tree whose closely lacedbranches pressed her to the ground, clinging to the greasy trunk. 

 * * * * *

She realized that her sanctuary was none too secure. There wouldsurely be a methodical search after the first excitement, and shewould be discovered. She had lost her sun-helmet, but nevertheless shemust risk making a break. A large proportion of the people werewearing such helmets. Perhaps she could snatch one. 

But before such an opportunity came, she saw a chance to dash to anearby clump of shrubbery. On the other side was a long hedge, leadingto an alley back of a group of warehouses. If she could gain thisalley, she felt sure she would be safe for the time being. 

All over the park, which was thirty or forty acres in extent, therewere minor riots, as some unfortunate was mistaken for the princessand blindly struggled for. 

Sira lost no time. She scuttered along the hedge like a frightenedkangrat. But as she crossed a small open space, a stentorian voiceshouted:

"There she is! That's her! The princess!"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him, running toward herlumberingly, his great arms outspread. Tuman had been wrong in sayingthat on all of Mars there was no man as big as Tolto. This one was, and he looked more formidable. Instead of Tolto's normallygood-natured face, this one looked like an enraged terrestrialgorilla, although at the moment it was really expressing joy andeagerness. 

Several other men joined the chase, and then scores. They were fleeterof foot than the ape-man, but as they passed him in the narrow alleyhe smashed them to the pavement with casual blows of his terrifyinghands. Thereafter he was undisputedly in the lead; the others contentto follow in his rear, although many were armed, and the giant wasnot. 

 * * * * *

This was an advantage to Sira. The whole mob was slowed by thelumbering pace of the ape-man, and she was able to keep in the leadwithout difficulty. Several times some of her pursuers ran ahead byother routes, intent on snatching her into some doorway. But each timeshe slashed at them with her sword, springing past. 

She had not run very far when her fear of another danger was realized. There was a high, keen whistle overhead, and a scouting police carflashed near. Under the neuro-pistols both hounds and hare would beparalyzed, and she would be easily taken. Sira longed for one of thesehandy weapons herself, but they were too expensive: she had beenunable to secure one. 

Now the police car was coming back. The sliding forward door wasdrawn back, and a man was leaning out, neuro alert. Judging thedistance expertly, he pulled the trigger, and a hundred men fellunconscious. 

"Got 'em!" he snapped over his shoulder. "The princess as well. Downquick!"

Sira, spared because of the officer's unwillingness to take a chanceon injuring her, leaped through a gap in a wall and sprinted through agarden smothered with thick, leathery-leaved weeds, some of themhigher than her head. She almost laughed with relief, but as sheflitted around the corner of a house toward the street she saw thegorilla faced giant again in pursuit, and beyond the garden wall thepolice ship was just settling to the ground. 

It just seemed to be raining giants that day. Sira ran out of a narrowgate at the front of the house into the street, to be stopped by atremendous human framework as solid and unyielding as a mountain. Shestepped back, drew her sword--

"Softly! Softly!" a rumbling bass implored. "Doesn't the Princess Sirarecognize her servant, Tolto?"

"Tolto!" All at once the tautness went out of her, and Sira leanedagainst the wall, divided between laughing and crying. 

"Tolto and his good friends were looking for you, " the big man rumbledanxiously. "The teletabloids said there was a riot coming--"

 * * * * *

He got no further. The gorilla-faced pursuer catapulted himselfsideways through the portal, being too wide to go through in theregular way. He emitted a raucous shout of triumph:

"I got her! It's her, all right! I claim--"

As he reached out his enormous sun-blackened arm there was a thudthat seemed to shake the ground. Instantly enraged, the man's littlered-rimmed eyes jerked quietly to the dealer of that shocking blow. Then the conical little head sank between the bulging shoulders, thelong, thick arms bowed outward, and the ape-man launched himself atTolto. 

That was a battle! On the one side devotion, simple-minded loyalty anda fighting heart in a body of such mechanical perfection as Mars hadnever seen before or since. On the other side a primal beast, just ashuge, rage-driven, atavistic, savage. 

Fists as large as an average man's head, or larger, crashed againstunprotected face and body. Gigantic muscles rippled and crackled. Blows echoed from wall to house and seemed to thud against the heartsof the spectators. 

It was as if time and memory had come to a standstill. The present wasnot, nor present ambitions and duties. The soldiers came plunging outinto the street, swords in their hands, but they stopped to watch. Sime, Murray and Tuman, used to instant and automatic battle, watched. A struggle so titanic, by tacit, by unconsidered consent, must be leftto decide its own course. 

 * * * * *

Tolto seemed to be slowly gaining an advantage. During his novitiateas a palace guard the other men had instructed him in the science oftheir pastime-fighting. Although he scorned to guard against the blowsof his savage antagonist, he placed his own punches more shrewdly, more effectively. The ape-faced one, through a red film, sensed thathe was being beaten, and that this fight would end in death. 

Suddenly he changed his tactics. Rushing in, he threw his arms aroundTolto's great torso. He opened his jaws, and his long yellow fangsbit into the flesh of Tolto's shoulder. 

Tolto, taken slightly by surprise, met this new menace promptly. Placing his powerful forearm against the battered, hairy face, heattempted to bend the head back. But it was so small, in proportion, and so slippery with blood, that he was unable to dislodge it. 

So Tolto matched brute strength against brute strength. His armsencircled his enemy's body, and the tremendous muscles of hisshoulders and body began to arch. 

So they stood poised for a few seconds, as if on the brink ofeternity. 

"Go-o-o-wie!" exclaimed one of the soldiers, awed. 

Slowly, like the agonizingly slow plastic creep of metal under greatpressure, the gorilla-faced giant was yielding. His dark skin becamemottled. His breath came gaspingly. His rope-knotted arms slipped alittle. 

But it was not in him to surrender, which might still have saved hislife. With a vicious twisting motion of his head he tried to drag hisfangs through the thick muscles of Tolto's shoulder. The wound beganto bleed more freely, choking the savage at each labored breath. 

Now Tolto began to walk forward. Always his antagonist had to yield alittle, unwillingly, grudgingly, just enough to keep the paralyzingpressure on his spine from becoming unbearable. And slowly, inexorably, Tolto followed. His arms tightened. His leg slippedsuddenly between the ape-faced man's supports. Tolto grunted. Thesound seemed to labor upward from his innermost being, his body'sprotest as he called upon it for its last reserve of strength. 

Like an echo, there was a dull crack, a brief, agonized moan from theape-faced one; and the savage, unknown giant slumped to the pavement, dead with a broken back. Tolto staggered to the wall, breathingdeeply. 

"Man, what a fight! What a _fight_!" The young Martian captain passeda shaking hand over his face. The battle had stirred him more deeplythan he wanted to admit. But in a few seconds he came out of hismental maze. 

"Attention! All right, men, you're under arrest. As for the girl--"

"As for the girl, " came a clear feminine voice, as Sira stepped outfrom the shelter of a buttress some dozen feet away, "--the girl tookadvantage of your preoccupation to relieve you of your neuros. As yousee I have two of them in my hand. The rest of them are over by thatwall. No! Don't try to rush! You are welcome to your swords, but theyare useless here. "

CHAPTER XII

"_He Must Be a Man of Earth_"

Friend and foe looked stupefied. But they were used to the give andtake of battle. That this girl should disarm a detachment of soldierswhile they and their own men were absorbed in such a common thing as afight struck them as humorous. They laughed. 

"This is a better break then we deserve, " Sime said, grinning with atrace of sheepishness. "Captain, you take your men across the streetand hold 'em there. We're going to borrow your car. No funny stuff!"Civilians were flooding into the streets. There would soon be a mob. 

"We will not, " replied the captain, "try any funny stuff. Some day, myfriend, I hope to open you up with my sword, " he added. 

"By all means, " Sime agreed pleasantly. "My time is pretty welloccupied, but there's no telling when I may meet you again, in mybusiness. Good day, Captain!"

Tuman stayed at the front gate with his neuro while the othersstruggled through the weedy garden to the police ship in the alley, rejoining them as they were ready to rise. 

 * * * * *

A crowd had gathered. If they wondered at the appearance of theseragged, scarred and bewhiskered men; at sweat and blood-covered giantTolto; the obviously high-bred girl in the laboring man's garments, they wisely refrained from comment or action, in deference to theneuros with which the party was bristling. 

Once inside and safely in the air, they had time to breathe. Murray, with a gallantry that sat ill on the scarecrow figure he was, clearedmatters up a trifle. 

"Princess Sira? As I thought. Princess, or Your Highness, to beformal, I am your humble and disreputable servant, Lige Murray, of theInterplanetary Flying Police. Likewise this gentleman behind thebrush--Sime Hemingway. You know Tuman? You've missed something, YourHighness! And Tolto! Lucky man!"

Sira recovered quickly from her reaction following the fight. Shefound a first-aid kit, bandaged Tolto's wounded shoulder skilfully andquickly. She had given no sign of recognition as Sime awkwardly bowed, during Murray's introduction, but now, as Sime held a roll of bandagefor her, she gave him a sidewise look, agleam with mischief. 

"But I have decided to remit the punishment--the sentence I passed onyou, Mr. Hemingway, " she said, her sweet, child-like face innocent. 

"What punishment?" Sime gasped. 

"Why, the punishment of death! For kissing me that night!" shelaughed, turning her back. 

Murray was heading back for the government park. It was a shortdistance with the police car. Soon the broad grounds, with theirscattered, magnificent buildings, lay below them. But the parks werestrangely bare of living creatures. Here and there lay the bodies ofmen or women. 

"Something's happened!" Murray shouted excitedly. "Look out!"

 * * * * *

He swerved the ship sharply. They escaped damage as an atomic bomb, unskilfully aimed, exploded far to one side. 

"Funny thing, firing on a police car, " Sime puzzled. "They might havegot news from that detachment we grounded, but how do they know thisisn't some other police or military car?"

"Those aren't soldiers, " Murray decided. "There's been a riot, andsome civilian's got hold of an ato-projector. "

"I know what's happened!" Sira exclaimed suddenly. "Wasil--atechnie--has managed to broadcast the secret session! That upset theirpsychology. Oh!" Her face was alight, and she threw up her arms inecstasy. As quickly she subsided, and tears came to her eyes. 

"Wasil!" she cried. "If he is dead, Mellie will never forgive me!"

"Where is this technie?" Sime asked bruskly. 

"In the broadcast room. But they have probably killed him. "

"Never can be sure. Head her smack for the main entrance, Murray!"

Murray threw the car into a steep dive, and the hall portal rushed upto meet them. A soldier came partially out of concealment, waved asignal. Murray paid him no heed. 

They struck with a crash. The stout car crushed through the glitteringdoors of metal and glass, and before the fragments fell the four menwere in the thick of short, sharp and decisive battle. Their neuroshissed venomously, spanged as they met opposing beams. And theprincess, struggling through the wreckage, wept tears of rage as thecoarse fabric of her clothing caught, entangled hopelessly, and heldher. 

"Something queer!" Murray said, as they halted for breath afterrouting what little opposition they had encountered. "Maybe it's atrap. But what an expensive trap for somebody! Where's thisbroadcasting plant?"

"This way!" Tuman called eagerly. "Maybe we can still save the poorfellow who turned the trick. Broadcast the secret sessions! Don't tellme that little girl isn't fit to rule!"

The heavy metal doors were open, and they hurried in. But Tolto, noting that the princess had not followed, hurried out in search forher. 

 * * * * *

Sime stumbled over a body. It had been a dark, sleek, youngish man. Ajagged burn on his throat told of the needle-ray. "Who's this fellow, Murray?"

Murray glanced at the body. He smiled a brief smile of satisfaction. 

"That's Scar Balta. Got what's coming to him at last. Help me withthis bird: he's still alive. Cold, though!"

"Got a shot of neuro. Could this be the technie?"

Sime found a fountain of water. He filled a cup, dashed it over thestill face. The shock made the man's lips move. 

"Mellie, I did it!" he whispered. 

"Who's Mellie?" Sime asked. 

"Mellie? Seems to me the princess mentioned her name, This is herbrother. He's the right guy! Take it easy, brother!"

But Wasil was able to sit up. 

"I sure fooled him!" he gasped. "Mixed up the circuits. Scar Baltasat right here while I broadcast the secret sessions, and he waswatching a lot o' haywah in the control screen. 

"When Wilcox got word from outside he knew he was done. He thoughtScar'd double-exed him, so came here in person and gave him theneedle-ray. "

Despite his nausea, Wasil looked happy. 

"Wilcox tried for me, but I dodged back of those frames. So he triedfor me with the neuro. The mob was getting wild outside; there was--"

He could not finish. There was an explosion that shook the building toits foundations. Tolto came running in. Sira close after him:

"Joro is coming. Joro has detonated the warships. The hall guards havesurrendered. The council is locked up. It can't escape!"

 * * * * *

Events were transpiring too fast for comprehension. It was severaldays later, on a bench in Prince Joro's palace grounds, that Sirasummed it up for Sime Hemingway. 

"I'm going to accept the throne!" she said. "I'm going to be a realqueen. Joro has convinced me that it will be a real service to Mars. The dear old man has schemed and worked so long, so unselfishly. "

"Yeh, and he wasn't afraid to fight!" Sime added admiringly. "When hecame charging out of those ships with his gang of monarchists, swordsflashing, it was a pretty sight to see. And when they closed in onthat gang of cheap politicians! Talk about rats in a corner!"

"The prince can fight with his brains as well as with his sword. " Sirasubmitted. "The whole thing would have been hopeless, if he hadn'tinvented the detonating ray that disposed of the warships. Youremember those heavy explosions, shortly after we dropped in thehall, as one might say? Those were the last of them. "

A silence fell between them, and Sime was now conscious of thefragile-seeming, so deceiving beauty of this Martian girl. Somethinghad come between them, stripped away the masculine frankness that hadexisted during their short and dangerous time together. Perhaps it wasthe softly revealing drape of the thread-of-gold robe she waswearing--true queenly garb, donned by her for the first time. 

"There is one requirement that Joro insists on, " Sira said in a lowvoice. 

"What's that?" asked Sime, marveling that such transparently pinkfingers should handle a sword so well. 

"He says that I must choose a mate, to insure the stability of theroyal house. "

 * * * * *

It seemed to Sime that this announcement gave him a pang out of allproportion. 

"That should be easy, " he managed. "Every Martian is crazy about you. "

"He may not be a Martian. He must be a man of Earth, " Sira statedfirmly. 

"Is that so?" Sime asked, genuinely surprised. "Why does Joro insiston that?"

"It is not Joro who insists. It is myself. "

Sime found himself looking into eyes filled with shy pleading. Hecould not, would not, for all of the solar system, have committed theunpardonable affront of rejecting the love so frankly offered. And yethe did not know how to accept this miracle. He did it clumsily, haltingly disclosing the secret recesses of his own heart and what hadtranspired there since the night he had taken the knife away from herand kissed her. 

 * * * * *