“But let’s not discuss it any more. I have shown you that conditions are not essentially different, whatever the age. People must pay for the services their own folly requires. When they elevate themselves to the point that they no longer wish to war on each other; when they become so civilized that they no longer commit crimes against each other; then they will reap the rewards of their own virtue.
“They will no longer have to do ninety percent of their labor in support of expensive armies and police forces. So let us get the most out of our fortunate meeting, and exchange the knowledge that each of us has acquired. We are too wise not to be friends. Am I not right?”
Mark grinned at the term “fortunate meeting.” But his eyes narrowed as he remembered his first estimate of the man who now seemed so amiable and friendly.
“If I should agree,” he inquired, “just what do you want me to tell you?” Warning bells jangled a persistent alarm in his brain.
“Oh, there are many things I would like to know of your era. Our knowledge, unfortunately, has been gleaned from histories and stories. Legend. It is too general to be of much use. No technical books have ever been found. We don’t even know what caused such a loss of knowledge. There must have been thousands of libraries. We have found none.”
“War,” Mark supplied. “But just what sort of technical knowledge are you after?”
Erlayok was taken off guard by the matter-of-fact way the question was asked. “The thing we need most is a knowledge of the manufacture of guns. Another valuable thing would be the engines which were used to drive armored tanks. We have men skilled in the manufacture of machines, gears and other equipment of the sort. But we have no power to drive machinery; only man and horse power. I’ve seen a picture of the armored tank of the ancients, and a few of them would drive our enemies off the face of the earth.”
ERLAYOK had a faraway expression on his face as he pictured the destruction he could create with these weapons. But he snapped alert when he noticed the gleam in Mark’s eyes.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” he hastened to explain. “I want these things because they would relieve our people of the constant fear of invasion which threatens them. Think, man, if we had such things we could drive the Mics back to their island in the west. We could defeat the Macs in the north.
“They would never dare attack us again, and our people would be freed of the burden of taxes required to maintain our present tremendous armies. A skeleton force would be sufficient to keep our enemies at bay.”
Mark laughed a short, bitter laugh. “It would never occur to you to defeat your enemies and then use the weapons for further conquest, of course.” The irony was not subtle.
Erlayok tried hard to look like a man who has been grossly insulted. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head sadly.
“Friend,” he said, “you malign me. But I can understand. You have been here for only a few days and you have seen only one side of our life. And so you have judged harshly. But see this map.”
Lightly, for a man of his tremendous weight, Erlayok strode to one wall and ripped aside a tapestry. Beneath it was a large map of the British Isles. Mark, chains clanking, heaved himself up off the floor and examined it closely. He deduced from the accuracy of its meridians that it was a copy of some ancient map that had been found in the ruins of one of the old cities. But there was nothing ancient about its other markings. It was a modern map in every respect.
Erlayok had said something about driving the Mics back to their island in the west. This had been Mark’s first inkling that any of the land formerly known as England had been encroached upon. Now he got a new surprise from the map.
It depicted the area held by the Mics as being larger than that of the Brish. The Mics’ eastern border made a curved line through the sites of the ancient cities of Manchester and Birmingham, touching the town of Weymouth at its southern extremity. All this in addition to their native isle. And just as surprising, was the southern border of the Macs. It crossed the island diagonally from Lancaster to Stockton. Truly the land of the Brish had shrunken.
“You will note,” Erlayok pointed, “that the boundaries we must protect are long, and hard to defend. The Mics, who are naturally combative and quite numerous, have been pushing forward, a little piece at a time, for hundreds of years. And the Macs as well. It requires constant vigilance and a large army, or they would engulf us.”
“You say they are numerous,” observed Mark. “Certainly not as numerous as the Brish. I remember England as a thickly populated island. Far more people to the square mile than your enemies. In fact, that is probably the reason why the Brish were originally able to take over the rule of these peoples.”
“Today,” claimed Erlayok, “we are outnumbered three to one.” He paused, and a gleam came in his eyes. “You say the Brish once controlled these people who are now our enemies? Then their lands are rightfully ours!”
“No more than your lands belong to them,” said Mark. “If you go back far enough all three peoples were independent, each occupying separate territories.” He remembered about the Germans in East Prussia, about Alsace and the Sudeten and the Austro-Italian Tyrol, and knew that that argument was hopeless.
MARK wondered why the Brish should be so outnumbered. Then he thought of the wars which had smashed the civilized world he had known. England, with its railway centers and important industries, had probably been the scene of the most devastating battles. Its large cities, housing millions, had been the targets of far more bombings than the less important and less thickly populated centers of the Mics and the Macs. Then too, the initial attacks had very likely come suddenly, killing millions in the key cities of England. Other population centers, sufficiently warned, could have been evacuated.
“And so you want weapons,” said Mark, gravely. “Anything else?”
Erlayok looked searchingly at him. Mark’s face revealed nothing.
“Yes. There is one other thing,” said the Earl, seriously. “As you can see, I am a man with a mentality far above the people around me. Now this benefactor of yours, Omega, has ambitions to populate the earth with a superior race. He has chosen you, and rightly, to carry out this purpose. Naturally then, it would further his purpose and yours, if I were also chosen to carry on my strain of genius. Am I not right?”
“I don’t think so,” Mark replied. “I wasn’t chosen because of any streak of genius, for I have none. And besides, I have no knowledge of the way my blood is made. I couldn’t give it to you if I wanted to. And I don’t particularly want to.”
Mark thought he saw the expression of unabated hardness come again to Erlayok’s piglike eyes, but again it had passed too quickly for him to be certain.
“Then of course you could prevail upon this Omega to furnish it for me,” he said, with assurance. “Such genius as mine should be allowed to survive more than the ordinary life-span. He will surely agree.”
Once, Mark had met an oil magnate, an alumnus of his college. Fat, pompous, predatory. He had talked in much the same way of his enterprise and astuteness, terms which, frankly rendered, would have meant greed and rascality. Erlayok at least had more on the ball than that.
“I doubt if Omega will think you’re quite the type,” Mark said. “You see, Omega is not much impressed by any human intellect. Nothing our race has ever produced can compare with his own intelligence. He is only interested in good character traits. And he doesn’t find many of them in humans. I don’t think you’d get a very good report card on that score.”
“But he is certain to recognize that I am superior to other humans,” protested Erlayok. “And it is a superior race he proposes to start, so I must surely qualify.”
Mark laughed. “Well, maybe. If you read my mind as thoroughly as you say, then you must know that a human with my type of blood requires no sleep. Twenty-four hours a day, his mind is active. Nor is his mind troubled by any physical disorders. The radio-active element in the blood not only heals wounds with lightnin
g speed, but kills all disease germs. Therefore, the brain operates free of distractions of that sort.
“During the long nights when everyone else is asleep, he is awake. As a result he thinks, and thinks deeply. The average human never gets time to think. He is too busy making a living, or relaxing to build strength for the next period of work.
“Therefore, you see, the man with my sort of blood becomes a mental giant in time, even though he may have been only of mediocre intelligence in the beginning. So I don’t think Omega would weigh your mental attainments very heavily. I, myself, will eventually surpass you. Right now I doubt that you could hypnotize me again. You caught me unaware the first time.”
Erlayok laughed his offensive laugh. But Mark noticed that it had an uneasy note in it.
“WHY should I hypnotize you?” Erlayok asked. “Let us leave the matter of blood to your Omega. You can suggest it to him, when he appears again. Right now let us talk of the weapons we need to free our people of the terrible yoke of taxes which oppress them. I shall provide writing materials for you. My artisans can work from your designs.”
The huge noble started to cross the room toward an elaborately carved escritoire.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Mark advised. “I couldn’t draw plans for a gun or a tank if I tried all day. In my former existence I dabbled in electricity and radio, but armament is out of my line. If you read my mind so clearly, you should know that.”
Erlayok’s face hardened. He became the man he had been when Mark was brought into the room. Inflexible, cruel and ruthless. “You lie!” he charged. “In your mind I saw all sorts of technical knowledge about guns.”
“Then why didn’t you record that knowledge in your own brain?” Mark taunted. “Or isn’t your mind as powerful as you would have me believe?”
Erlayok took a step forward. Mark poised on the balls of his feet, his hands stretched as far apart as the chains would permit. Once those hands, encircled that fat neck it would be the end of Erlayok, chains or no chains. But the Earl stopped.
“Fool. You know that this age is ignorant of technical things. I could see the knowledge in your brain, but I couldn’t translate it.” He paused and the expression of hardness left his face. Once again he was the amiable fat man.
“But what are we arguing about? We are friends. In exchange for the knowledge I wish, you have my promise that when our enemies are conquered, the people will benefit immediately. How much better is the solution of removing the necessity for our great army, than the bloody revolution that you rebels are planning. Bloodshed which will accomplish nothing, for the army will still be necessary, and consequently the taxes.”
Mark looking into the eyes of Erlayok, felt the logic of his arguments. In the friendly expression on the big man’s face there was only an earnest desire to convince Mark of the truths that would lift the intolerable burden from his people.
Mark felt suddenly ashamed of his own cheap cynicism. Erlayok was so obviously interested in the welfare of the Brish, so little caring for his own personal gain. Why had not Mark seen this before? Such a man would not use a knowledge of deadly weapons for the purpose of conquest.
Even Nona had always accused him of being too wary and too suspicious. And she was right. Mark was convinced that in the face of his new opinion of Erlayok, he should reveal his knowledge of guns and tanks. First impressions should not be trusted. The plans for the guns...
Suddenly Mark remembered that he knew little of the actual designs of guns. And nothing of the chemical formula of gunpowder. He had shot guns; he was, in fact, an expert marksman. That was why Erlayok had thought he could build one.
ABRUPTLY a new thought struck home. He had just decided to design guns for this man, who was now such a fine fellow. And yet he knew it was impossible for him to do it. That decision hadn’t originated in his own brain!
With the realization he looked searchingly into the eyes of Erlayok. In them he sensed a bafflement, a sort of frustration. Erlayok was finding his subtle form of hypnotism running against a stone wall.
Mark felt a probing force beat against his brain, and the expression of the fat man changed to sudden bestial anger, mingled with a fierce determination.
The Earl was marshaling all his mental force to break down Mark’s stubborn will. The waves of mental energy hammered and surged against Mark’s brain. But he didn’t lose consciousness as he had before. This time he was warned and prepared. He got angry and steeled himself.
The nerve of that pudgy ape tinkering around with the inside of his mind! Why, it was outright indecent. Mark was furious.
The mental suggestion of friendliness and virtuous intention was the sort of thing that could sneak up on him before he knew he was being hypnotized. But now that he was warned and alert, he was safe from the most powerful mental force. His brain, as well as his body, was automatically feeding itself upon the radiations of his peculiar blood, and was tireless.
He could maintain his resistance indefinitely, while Erlayok was tiring fast. Serve him right. Mark hoped he’d break a blood vessel. The hammering grew weaker and, finally stopped abruptly. The big man slumped in his chair, his eyes glazed.
“Satisfied?” Mark grinned. “I can’t design guns because I haven’t the knowledge. Even if you could break me down you couldn’t get the answer.”
Mark’s voice served to revive the Earl. Life came into his eyes and he sat erect. Suddenly he picked up the decanter of wine and threw it directly at Mark. Speedy reflexes bobbed Mark’s head out of its path and the glass decanter shattered against the door.
“There are more ways than one of breaking a man down,” snarled Erlayok.
His face, twisted into a savage grimace, warned Mark of what might be in store for him. He strained to pull the chains apart. The decanter hadn’t been tossed at him after all. Erlayok had known that he would duck and it would strike the door. The guards, who had retired no further than the other side of that door, would be summoned by the crash. And the Earl, gloating, could be planning only one thing. Torture.
The frantic tugging was useless. Before he could do more than stretch the tough links, the guards rushed in and pinned him.
“Now, my sanctimonious friend,” Erlayok gloated, “we shall see whether or not you will speak. My torturers have something of genius in them, too. They have never failed. And if it will make you feel any better, I’ll teach you this:
“When I equip my men with guns, I shall do more than drive the Mics and the Macs out of our land. I shall enslave them! And your people — your Vikes who consider themselves the world’s greatest warriors; who refuse to dignify the might of the Brish by waging war, but merely raid us when they so desire — they shall pay for their arrogance. I’ll descend upon them with every fighting man our ships will hold! I’ll wipe them off the face of the earth!”
Mark glared defiantly. He knew the Earl would do none of these things. And his steady gaze did little to pacify the rage of Erlayok. The man was seething, his face working with the madness that gripped him, as he herded the party down the marble stairs toward the dungeons.
Chapter 9: The Frightened Tailor
THE guards kept the razor-edged swords poised menacingly at Mark. If he was to have an opportunity to turn the tables on his captors, the time was certainly not now. The slightest move would find several of the swords sheathed in his body. And while he now knew of the miraculous healing powers of his blood, he certainly wasn’t going to risk injury to vital organs.
The party didn’t stop at the level of the dungeons, as he had expected. A stone door revealed a flight of steps going even lower.
A smelly oil lamp, carried by one of the guards, revealed a sight that caused Mark to feel a crawling horror. Here was a place that might have been transported bodily from an era, thousands of years past, when the good church fathers of Spain used terrible methods to extract confessions of heresy from unfortunates who were so foolish as to have incurred their enmity.
A charnel odo
r assailed his nostrils competing with the effluvium of the smoking oil lamp. Mark was oppressed by a feeling of unreality as he surveyed a conglomeration of the crudest instruments of torture ever conceived by twisted human minds.
Some of these contraptions were familiar, the sort which might be found in any age of any land where torture was a usual practice. Such things as thumb-screws, foot-crushers and racks were universal, evidently requiring little imagination to devise. But there were other instruments, some of them designed for unguessable purposes, that were obviously the products of some modern genius of this brutal age. Mark shuddered again.
THE secret cellar of Smid’s haberdashery housed a serious conference. The night had passed, interminably long for the rebels gathered here. Murf had insisted that Mark would return, for he was confident that his superior strength and cunning would enable him to escape from his awkward position at the prison door. But Mark had not put in an appearance.
As the hours progressed and hope that he would return grew dimmer, Murf organized the men into an information gathering crew. Each man was given a separate line to follow in an effort to trace the disappearance of their leader. One of them was sure to uncover a lead.
Immediately after the ringing of curfew they sallied forth.
In a surprisingly short time two of the men returned, each with information. One of them, with a brother-in-law in the service of Erlayok, told of the terrible fight Mark had given the Earl’s soldiers. He guessed that Mark was being held prisoner in Erlayok’s palace.
The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars Page 7