The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars

by William Grey Beyer

  That way the beast looked well, actually friendly. Like a household pet. And the idea of a lion romping about the house — anybody’s house — was definitely disconcerting. It didn’t make sense.

  Mark stopped his axe blow and hesitated, confused. The unorthodox behavior of the animal stunned him for a moment. But he was too intent on the work to be done to hesitate long.

  He aimed a terrific blow at the beast’s head, hoping to cleave the skull. But the lion dodged and jumped aside like a playful kitten. It then took up its ridiculous stance in a new spot, meanwhile turning loose a half-hearted roar, reproachful in tone.

  It was like a magnified meow from a loyal but much-put-upon tabby. Even the face looked hurt and reproachful — which is an interesting way for any lion’s face to be.

  But Mark was too busy to notice any of this. All he knew was that he had missed. The axe had buried itself in the ground.

  Savagely he wrenched it loose and aimed another cut. The lion repeated its antic. This time Mark saw the silliness of the beast’s maneuver, and pulled the axe from the dirt slowly.

  He now had a definite feeling that this encounter was entering a new phase: a phase in which he would find the axe of no value whatever. And he was quite right.

  The expression on the lion’s face distinctly said “Hiya, sucker.” It came happily over to lick at Mark’s hand. Mark, his eyes glinting, kicked the lion square in the stomach. Tears welled from its eyes as it sat back on its haunches and raised a paw to its belly. “Now is that nice?” Mark swore later he heard a voice say.

  The crowd roared its approval. The lion eyed them thoughtfully. Mark sneaked up and cuffed its moth-eaten ears.

  “I hope you’re feeling this,” chortled Mark, giving a final cuff. “If you’re going to be a lion, you might try to be a good one. Come on, let’s show these yokels a good fight.”

  “You asked for it, pal,” said the lion in the voice of Omega, eyeing the two beasts which had just entered the pit. He gave a tremendous roar and started toward them, Mark at his side. The two newcomers saw the impending attack and crouched, waiting to spring.

  But both Mark and Omega executed the move which would nullify the advantage of the springing attack. As if they had done this thing often, they veered away from each other and came toward the two lions from an angle. The lions sprang just the same, but the effectiveness of the leaps was gone.

  Chapter 20: Hasty Rebel

  MARK dodged the raking claws of his adversary, and dealt a blow which ended his half of the performance. His axe caught the beast in the center of the backbone, severing it. The lion thudded to the ground, thrashed for a moment and was still.

  But Omega was giving the crowd its money’s worth. These people had never seen a battle between two lions before.

  Omega bit and he clawed. He also snarled, between bites. All in all it was a sight worth seeing, and everybody present, including Mark, was enjoying it.

  The battle was foreordained to go the way it did. Omega, the larger lion, won. After about five minutes of swift and savage conflict, during which the ground became splattered with gore, the smaller beast gave up the ghost. The black-maned survivor gave a mighty roar and stepped mincingly toward Mark.

  “Pretty good for the mangy shape I’m in,” he said. “What did you want to see me about?”

  The crowd was watching them curiously, fascinated by what appeared to be a completely novel relationship between lion and man. The situation was, for the moment, just a little bit embarrassing.

  “Walk on your hind legs, or something,” Mark suggested. “I can’t take a lion back into the prisoners’ room with me. You’d scare people. And I’ve some things to talk about. Do some tricks here, while I talk to you.”

  “Just a few simple tricks, I suppose,” the lion said scathingly. “Like sawing a nitwit in half.”

  “Call your own shots, but get busy.”

  Omega obligingly treated the crowd to a series of antics which no self-respecting lion would have done, while Mark explained his inability to manufacture the hypnosis wave.

  “I thought you were a bit over-confident,” Omega remarked, between nipups. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “Keep moving,” Mark told him. “Make it faster and funnier; give ‘em their money’s worth. What’re we here for?”

  Omega reared on his hind legs and went into a bowdlerized hula, and Mark explained that he could use the plans of the machine already developed by the race of beings of which Omega had spoken. At this point the lion dropped to all fours and snarled menacingly. The stands suddenly shouted in unison. It appeared that the beast had suddenly decided to turn savage, and refuse to obey further the commands of his conqueror.

  Even Mark, surprised by the change, went instinctively on his guard for a second — then grinned. “Give,” he said.

  “Didn’t I tell you those people were destroyed when their sun exploded?” the lion growled.

  “Sure, sure,” answered Mark aiming a kick at the beast’s nose. “What of it? It happened during your lifetime. So you can travel back and take a look at the machines for me.”

  The lion crouched, dodging the kick. Then he leaped on Mark, bearing him to the ground. They tussled, rolled back and forth in mock combat. Omega growled and snarled his reply. “Ungrateful whelp! You know what trouble I’ve had with time. It isn’t fair to ask! I won’t do it!”

  “You’ve got to,” Mark told him. “You got me into all this. You should have known that I don’t have enough knowledge to invent the necessary machinery. You certainly knew that the race you spoke of was further advanced than my own. And yet you encouraged me. Told me to go ahead. Now I’ve wasted half the week, and the rebellion might fail due to the delay. It’s your moral obligation to provide these machines.”

  The lion sat back on his haunches and panted dejectedly. “How could I know you would fall down on the job?” he wailed. “You were so cocky about it.”

  “You should have known,” said Mark uncompromisingly.

  “Why should I? I don’t know anything about machinery. All I’ve ever done is copy things already invented. I’ve got no use for it myself.”

  “But you realize your responsibility, don’t you? Think of the endless wars which the machines will prevent. You’ve always said you’re against wars. Here’s your chance to do something about it.”

  “I know,” Omega admitted. “I might have known I’d have no peace of mind once I dabbled in human affairs. It’s easy to start, but then you can’t stop. All right, I’ll do it. So long!”

  Mark grinned. “Phooey!” he said. “You’re enjoying yourself.”

  THEN abruptly he realized that Omega had already left. The lion remained, to be sure, but then Omega had only usurped the body of a lion already in existence. He hadn’t created this beast. Mark had been fooled, expecting the lion to vanish when Omega left. He realized his mistake when the beast suddenly crouched and prepared to leap.

  Frantically Mark snatched out his axe.

  The crowd came to its feet and roared as the lion unleashed the spring-steel muscles in its long body. Mark dodged sideways and lashed out with the axe. It landed, but not fatally.

  The lion wheeled and returned to the attack. Its mouth was open, revealing sharp, yellow fangs. There followed a series of rushes, Mark dodging agilely and getting in a number of axe-cuts. Once he slipped in a puddle of gore, and almost went down. That time he only escaped the slashing talons by a hair’s-breadth.

  After a few minutes of this game of cat and mouse, the lion showed signs of tiring. It had lost quite a bit of blood, and its rushes weren’t as swift as at first. Mark noticed this and set himself for the kill.

  Remembering the ease with which one blow had dispatched the other lion, he waited for the beast to make another attack. Then he dodged aside and brought the axe down in the center of the animal’s spine.

  The battle ended.

  BACK in the room with the other prisoners Mark listened, embarrass
ed, to the praise which invariably came after one of his performances. This time even the guards were voluble.

  One of them suggested that, inasmuch as it was certain he would survive the games, he should join up with the army of his master, one of the lesser nobles. The idea immediately took hold. There were members of several of these forces, and they all presented arguments why he should associate himself with them. Among the guards were a few of Erlayok’s men. They kept a strict silence, knowing the Earl’s enmity for Mark.

  But to all this, the prisoners had only amused smiles. Mark was aware that they, to a man, knew that he was the rebel leader, and would have nothing to do with the armies of the nobles. Several, in fact, were members of his own gang of patriots, condemned to the games for that and other reasons.

  Some of these had been subjected to torture, and bore the scars, but none of them had revealed any but the vaguest information. They had been sentenced to the games because they had convinced their captors that they knew nothing of value.

  An unexpected commotion at the street entrance put a stop to all discussion.

  A man, it seemed, was trying to get in. The guards at the gate were pushing him away, probably thinking him demented, but each time he insisted on coming back.

  He succeeded in gaining admittance finally, when he reached through the bars and tweaked the nose of one of Erlayok’s men. The one, in fact, who was assigned to keep a watch on Mark, and who didn’t like the job a bit. He opened the gate and yanked the offender inside.

  Then he knocked him to the floor with his fist.

  Mark looked at the wizened figure of the man and gave a start. It was Smid, but an almost unrecognizable Smid. He was covered with dried blood from a wound on the scalp, and his hands, clothes and face were caked with filth. Seeing Mark, he scurried over to him.

  The guards laughed and made no move to interfere. It struck them funny that anyone would try to break into such a place.

  “He’s done it!” Smid gasped, almost falling again.

  Mark reached out a hand and steadied him, “Calm yourself,” he said. “Who did what?”

  “Murf!” said Smid. “He sent off the dispatch riders!”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. “You mean with the mobilization orders? Or the new orders?”

  Smid shook his head, impatiently; grabbed Mark’s arm and talked fast.

  “The original orders. Our men to converge within the city inside of an hour! He fought a duel with Sandy after you left, and killed him. The riders knew nothing of the new orders from you, and Murf killed Sandy before he could tell them. When I tried to stop him, he hit me over the head and left me for dead.”

  Mark felt his plans crashing about his ears. The premature attack might well ruin everything. Doog, of course, would never deliver his message to Govern, but that made little difference, now.

  The big thing was to see that the initial steps in the rebellion were carried through, now that it was started.

  If the Mics saw their opportunity and crossed the border while the Brish were at odds, there would be a better chance to repel them if he had the reigns firmly in his hands, here in Scarbor. If only this could have been delayed until Omega returned with the machines...

  Chapter 21: The Sentimental Autocrat

  MARK fixed his eyes on the nearest of the guards. The man stiffened. Mark repeated the process rapidly — giving none a chance to realize what was happening — until all the soldiers in the room were under his control. All but one. Chumly, sensing immediately that something was wrong, looked expectantly toward Mark. He displayed his good sense by making no attempt to interfere.

  “Chumly,” said Mark. “Go at once to Jon, your master, and tell him to get his family to a safe place. Don’t delay.”

  Chumly obeyed at once, without question. He left by the street gate. The guards, still in the hypnotic trance, Mark sent into the arena to do pitched battle for the edification of the crowd. He figured that this unexpected addition to the program, would keep the nobles puzzled for a while.

  The attack would have already started before they would realize that the prisoners had been released, and that they had a rebellion on their hands.

  One of the soldiers was in charge of Mark’s stainless-steel axe, and Mark relieved him of it before he sent him out. Then, hastily giving orders to the other prisoners, he sent them forth to obtain weapons. He took a last look across the arena, and had the satisfaction of seeing Jon hurriedly leave his box.

  Erlayok was still seated, apparently unperturbed at the unusual battle going on in the pit.

  Across the street several horses were tethered outside a drinking house. Mark untied two of them, and he and Smid rode off. In a few minutes, they pulled up in front of the haberdashery shop.

  Leaving hasty instructions for the men who remained there, they immediately departed for Mark’s prison. Some time ago Mark had decided to make the prison his headquarters during the attack. He half suspected that Erlayok knew that Smid’s house was a meeting place of the rebels. The man had too many spies not to know it. He had probably left it alone for the reason that as long as there were rebels it was best to know where he could lay his hands on them, whereas if he raided the place they would only find a new headquarters he might not be able to discover.

  But that reason wouldn’t stop him once the rebellion was under way. It would be the first place he would think to crush in a belated attempt to stop the rebels. And Mark, for a while at least, wanted lines of communication kept open.

  Even with the swiftness with which his forces would strike, there was always the possibility that certain bands would be repulsed and require reinforcements. It was imperative that all the strategic points be taken, and it must be known immediately if any of the scattered forces needed help.

  THE men who remained at Smid’s would inform all contact riders of the change of headquarters. In the event of an attack on the old headquarters, they would leave safely by means of a passage into the adjoining houses.

  By passing word at the last moment, Mark made certain that the information wouldn’t be carried by spies to any of the nobles.

  Already the streets were filled with groups of armed men. These were the vanguard of the rebel forces which would shortly take the city. They were carefully nonchalant in their movements, talking quietly as they walked. No two groups seemed to be traveling in the same direction, and no group paid any attention to any of the others.

  In a matter of minutes these scattered groups would converge in a dozen places at the same time. The strongholds of the various nobles would be simultaneously attacked, and each would be too busy to help the other.

  Mark hoped fervently that his men would find the going easy. He hoped that the palaces would fall without too much bloodshed.

  On the way to the prison Mark commandeered the services of several rebels. These were to be Smid’s bodyguard, for Mark had no intention of remaining at the prison headquarters. He had a job to do himself, and it would take him elsewhere. Smid would issue the necessary orders should any of his compatriots need reinforcements.

  When he got to the prison Mark summoned the four guards and the captain, who had his office on the street side of the building. Briefly he told them of the sudden turn of affairs.

  “The point is this,” he concluded. “Are you going to help us — or do I tuck you all in a cell?”

  The four guards were converted immediately, but, the captain blustered and refused to understand that there would shortly be a change of authority. Mark wasted no time in ordering him into a cell.

  “You can put these men to work, Smid,” Mark said. “Send them out to commandeer fresh horses for the riders as they come in. And keep riders coming and going between here and every point of attack you can. The more reports you have, the more certain will be our success. I’m leaving now. See you later.”

  Mark remounted and left the courtyard at a gallop. Already the din of a dozen battles could be heard from all quarters of the city. Mark rode
furiously toward the palace of Erlaken, a lesser noble. Mark was relieved that modern feudal England was different from the England of ancient feudal times, when the lords had maintained their castles on their own lands, scattered all over the country. Such a condition would have made the present rebellion impossible.

  Today, with all the nobles banded together, their strongholds situated in only four key cities of the whole nation, it was far simpler to strike them all at once. And yet the nobles had no doubt banded together originally for their own protection. Any attack by foreigners was easier defended against this way.

  The nobles could surround themselves with their combined armies instead of scattering their forces all over the countryside. With the present system it was impossible for an enemy to defeat them, one by one. They had probably never considered the weakness in case of an attack from within.

  THE palace of Erlaken was already in the rebels’ hands when Mark arrived. Several hundred had forced the gates by storm before the handful of defenders could make out what was going on. A cheer went up as Mark rode through the gates to congratulate the captain of the rebels. Nothing had been destroyed, and the rebels were locking all the earl’s men in the dungeons.

  Everything had been done on schedule, and the rebels were ready to repel any attempts to retake the palace. The earl himself, it was planned, would be taken prisoner by those assigned to attack the soldiers and nobles at the arena.

  Mark rode forth to visit the next nearest castle. He hoped the rebels had done as well there. As he galloped through the streets, his mind returned to Murf. Almost all of this had been planned by the redhead. Even to the course Mark was now taking to lend his moral support to the attackers.

  All the elaborate timetable of the rebel forces, that their attacks would be simultaneous and unexpected, had been of his devising. He had worked for days on the timing, studying the distances to be covered and figuring the speeds which could be expected over the various available routes.