by Jerry
Artana assented, somewhat cast down. Truly, the Great Cavern held a secret, and the Lord of the Peaks was as eager as any to learn it. But he regained his cheerfulness as they sought out the Queen.
She was in the great chamber where Artana had first received the Earth-men. Erect and haughty, she sat on the central divan, regarding them with brooding eyes as they entered. So much Ross saw before his glance went to the slim figure beside her. He caught his breath.
A dream I A goddess! This girl—ah, yes, the Princess Illeria. But a woman now! Not the scrawny girl of five years ago. Ross tore his eyes from her with a jerk. Artana was presenting him to the Queen Widow.
“—Commander Ross, leader of the Earth-fleet, was a visitor at court five years ago,” Artana reminded the Queen.
She extended her hand, surveying him with a softening of her austere expression. As he bent over it-she said in a harsh voice that was obviously held steady with an effort, “Commander Ross, you come at an unhappy time.”
Ross murmured condolences, then plunged into the subject that was filling him with impatience. “I seek permission from you, Queen, and from the Lord Artana to fly over the Caverns and report on conditions there.”
Queen Boada darted a sharp glance at Artana, then averted her head. “I see no occasion for such a flight,” she said curtly.
Artana stepped forward. “A Rebellion, O Queen? Surely that is occasion enough?”
She met his eyes, frowning. “But these are not our people.”
“Yet,” argued Artana, “the Earth people are at peace with us.”
Ross saw the Princess regarding her mother curiously. Moore, too, was staring in frank astonishment at the Queen. As she sensed their intent regard she relaxed her rigid pose. “Oh, very well. But there shall be no fighting?”
“None, O Queen,” Ross hastened to say.
Artana nodded with satisfaction. “There remains, then, the finding of a guide for the fleet. I could send Calisto—”
The Princess spoke for the first time. “Calisto has not the gift of the Earth-tongue. Who guides the Commander Ross must speak the tongue he knows best.”
“That’s true,” muttered Artana, taken aback. “Who, then—”
THE Princess was looking at Ross.
Almost hostilely, he thought confusedly. Had she resented his long open stare? She was such a picture, clad in only a single filmy garment, caught at the waist with a gold twisted belt and cut tunic-like at the knee. Bare-armed, with softly swelling contours and a skin like peach down, she was an entrancing sight.
His confused thoughts were set at rest. The Princess had a plan. “I shall go with the Commander Ross,” she said.
The Queen turned sharply. Artana scowled. “No, no!” he cried sharply. “If there should be fighting—”
“Fighting?” echoed Boada in a whip-like tone.
“No, no, not fighting,” Artana hastened to correct himself. “But danger, perhaps.” Boada’s brooding gaze came to rest inquiringly on Ross.
“There can be no danger, I think,” he assured her. And wondered why he did so. For if Horta was on the war path, surely the Earth ships would be his targets.
He felt his heart beat faster as he considered the possibility of this amazing girl standing beside him in the control room of his flagship, then a moment of depression as he reflected that the queen would refuse her consent. But to his surprise Boada, after one dark look at the Lord of the Peaks, nodded.
They left at once. There was a moment of delay when Illeria, given an oxygen helmet, demurred at the idea of wearing it until she was convinced that it would save her life if the shell of the rocket ship were pierced in the upper air. She wore it with ease, the straps fitting snugly over the flowing golden locks and the oxygen tubes crossing her face to add to the piquant enigmatic look she wore.
The flagship took off with a rush, the six following ships keeping their distance.
Once in the air, they formed the echelon. Then Ross turned to the princess, and led her to the telescopes trained through the floor of the ship.
She studied the crater surfaces wonderingly, like a child with a strange toy. Then she remembered her duty. “Sail there,” she directed, pointing.
Amusedly, Ross gave the order. Privately Artana had given him a full description of the Great Cavern, so that once he had sighted it he could map his own course. But the girl had guided him truly. In a few minutes the yawning chasm lay on their bow.
He called Moore. “All the cameras set?”
“All set,” grunted Moore, squinting through a glass. “Going to skirt the cavern?”
Ross nodded. “No use tipping Horta off at the outset. We may get a good look without his knowing we’re here.”
As the last word left his lips a cry from the port lookout froze the three in their places. They turned, fearfully. The lookout’s face was working. As they watched, tears began to stream down his face. He tried to speak, but he could only point.
Ross sprang to the window. The sky was clear, save for the following ships. Number Two, and Four, and Five. Six? Where was Six? And Seven? He whirled on the lookout.
The man gulped, drew a deep breath, and said huskily, “There was a flash, sir, and—and then—nothing! Nothing, where Number Seven was flying! And then Number Six—went the same way!”
Ross and Moore stared frantically at one another. Then Ross sprang to the signal post. “Jorgens! Where’s Jorgens?”
A white-faced signal-man spoke up. “He’s back at Peak Four, sir.”
“Oh, yes.” Ross in his agitation had forgotten. “Well, signal Ships Two, Three, Four and Five to sheer off the Cavern and return to Peak Four!”
The man sprang to obey. Ross turned to order the course changed. But the crashing din that followed silenced him. His body hurtled against the stanchion, and suddenly he found his arms about the Princess Illeria.
HER body was soft to his touch, her silky hair caressed his cheek, her breath sweet on his face. But he pushed her aside, and cried out to the helmsman, “How does she fly?”
The helmsman, craning his neck as he curled an arm about the wheel, shouted back, “On even keel, sir, but she won’t steer!”
Ross pushed the Princess unceremoniously from him and stood erect. He rushed to the window and saw with relief that the ship was circling away from the Crater. Gauges showed that the ship flew steady except for that odd circling. An artisan, bursting into the control room from the after gun station, explained the mystery.
“One rudder flange haywire, sir!”
“So that’s it!” Ross spoke calmly. “Shot away?”
The man’s face worked. “Burned away, sir!”
“Burned—” Ross thought fast. He nodded to the artisan, who departed with a scared look about.
Moore had heard the report. He whistled. “Burned away, huh? Sounds like a B-ray.”
“B-ray? What’s that?” snapped Ross. “B for blue,” explained Moore affably. “Horta’s draining the blue stars, or I’m no Harvard man.”
Ross eyed the navigator narrowly. “You really think that?”
“What else?” countered Moore calmly. “Horta was a washout on the R-ray—and besides, our red ray doesn’t burn like that. I think Horta’s got something.”
Ross turned to the helmsman, then studied the chart that Artana had provided. “We can circle just like this, and make Peak Four if we can cut that drag a bit. Try reducing the speed.”
It worked. At reduced speed the ship flew more truly, with less pressure on the rudder. Ross sighed in relief. “Keep her there.” He spied the Princess leaning against the stanchion, and walked over. “Quite a scare, wasn’t it?”
She regarded him steadily. “You do not like me?”
Pie gaped at her. “Why do you say that?”
“You pushed me away from you.”
“Oh, that!” Ross was nettled. “A man must fight his ship, Princess.”
“Yes.” She nodded agreement. “But I was afraid. I thought we w
ere doomed. And I wished you to be with me. It is not given to every woman to die with the man of her choice. And you are the man I wish for.”
Ross stared open-mouthed. “Say-ay!” he asked cautiously. “You didn’t get a knock on the head, did you?”
She shook her head unsmilingly. “The Earth-girls, they do not speak so to men?”
“I’ll say they don’t,” Ross assured her feelingly.
“Oh!” said the Princess Illeria in a small voice.
Ross didn’t know what to say then. “Well,” he exclaimed, “we’ll soon be back at Peak Four.”
He was right. But grim news awaited them at the peak.
IV
ARTANA met them, his face a thundercloud. He handed Ross a ray-typed message. “This came just before you landed,” he said tensely.
Before Ross could read the message, the name signed to it caught his eye. Horta! The Lord of the Caverns was coming out of his silence! And with what a greeting! “Know, O Queen,” read Horta’s message, “that I have destroyed three of the Earth-ships, as I shall destroy all who fly against the destiny of the Moon Kingdom. Know, too, that I have destroyed a second Earth city, the place called Los Angeles, as a warning to the Earth people that their destiny is not ours.” Ross read it with a sinking heart. Los Angeles! A city of two million people, destroyed! Then it was Horta who had wiped out Nagasaki!
Moore pounced on that thought. “Nagasaki, then Los Angeles!” he muttered.
Ross turned to Artana. “Any other news?”
Artana shook his head. “No. But I have a plan. You know that when the rains come we store them in the great reservoirs, so that our under-world may not be flooded. Then why not loose the waters in the reservoirs, and flood the caverns?”
Ross stared in admiration. But he slowly shook his head. “You’d have to kill half your people, Artana, just to dispose of Horta.”
“But,” argued Artana desperately, “Horta will destroy half our people himself, to seize the Kingdom. And he will destroy the Earth folk, too!”
Moore spoke up. “The reservoirs are full?”
“No,” admitted Artana. “The rains have not been heavy. The reservoirs are but half full.” He sighed. “Horta might escape the flood.”
“That’s no good, then,” Ross said emphatically. “Tell you what, Moore and I will go and scout the Cavern on foot. We may be able to get near enough to the ray works to smash ’em.”
“You would die,” Artana said somberly. “Horta guards his Cavern well.”
Ross nodded. “Maybe. But there’s no other chance. Horta can knock us down out of the air, and he’s knocking Earth cities to dust. He must be stopped. If we die, you can hold out on the Peaks, and flood him out when the rains come.”
“That’s right, Artana,” Moore agreed. “But let me go, Chief. I’ll take a couple of good men. You stay here.”
“No dice, Harry,” Ross assured him firmly, “I’m the head man and it’s my job. I’d like to have you along, though.”
“Sure,” said Moore mildly.
Artana regarded them with admiration. “You are brave men! But what can I do?”
“Just sit tight, Artana, and wait for the rain to fall,” grinned Moore. “And when it comes, avenge us.”
“That will I!” swore Artana.
THEY set out in the dark, Moore and Ross and the guide whom Artana had indicated with a gesture. They had covered only half a mile when Ross turned sharply, suspiciously, to the guide. “Sure you speak the Earth tongue?” he demanded. “If you do, why can’t you say something?”
The guide threw back the cowl-like head covering and Ross caught his breath. “IIleria! What are you doing on this tour?”
“I go to die with you, my lord,” said the princess simply.
“My lord!” squawked Moore. “Excuse me!” He walked forward hurriedly.
Ross, his face burning in the gloom, took Illeria’s arm roughly. “This is no job for you, Princess! There will be danger!”
“Even death,” agreed the slim princess equably. “No matter. And the Lord Artana is agreed that I go.”
“Artana agreed?” Ross was taken aback. He looked ahead to where Moore waited, looked back over the way they had come, then shrugged. “Oh, well! Here we go!” Happily Illeria caught his arm, and they strode forward. Moore chuckled in the dark. “Everything settled?”
“Yes, dammit,” grated Ross. “Did you ever see such a mess?”
Moore’s reply was sober. “We couldn’t have a better guide,” he pointed out. “And we know the princess is loyal. How could we be sure of some other guide? A jigger who might sell us out to the first Horta sentry?”
ROSS grunted agreement, and they trudged on. They saw no one, heard no one, until the first of the craters lay behind, and the Moon terrain sloped down and down into the caverns. They came upon the first two sentries suddenly. Both swung their ray-guns up, but Moore was quicker. His gas-pistol spat twice, and the sentries crumpled.
“Are they dead?” asked the princess, amazed.
“Dead to the world—er, I should say, dead to the Moon,” Ross assured her. “They’ll stay that way twelve hours, which ought to be long enough for us.”
Moore chuckled. “Before then we’ll be on top of the world—I mean on top of the Moon—or dead heroes.”
The way was easy, a steady down slope, for a while. Then the rock formations began. They slipped and crawled. The princess suffered a cut on her knee, but shrugged at the suggestion of a bandage. The second set of sentries were easily overpowered. They lolled at ease against a ridge, and Ross shot twice to gas them to sleep. Here the light was better, and Ross paused to look them over. They were darker than the Peak men, with less color, and their veins stood out against their blue-white skin. They bore the ray-rifle of all the Moon soldiers, and another curious weapon besides, a jagged-edged sword with a hooked point.
“It’s the old Moon sword,” said Illeria. “Horta worships the old customs, and swears by the beliefs of the astrologers. It’s the astrologers who direct his actions, my mother had said.”
“It’s a dirty weapon,” shuddered Moore. “I’ll take a ray-gun any time.”
He came within an ace of regretting his choice a moment later, when a whole squad of soldiers rounded an outcrop of rock. Ross whispered a warning, and shot fast. Moore went into action then, but not before one of the Horta men had fired. The ray blasted past them and sheared off a half-ton of rock behind them.
“Whew, that was close,” gasped Moore as the last of the soldiers fell.
“How about ray-guns now?” gibed Ross. “Do you know, I think we’re in luck. This party is evidently supposed to relieve the sentries we met—so there’ll be no alarm over their condition.”
“You’re right!” exclaimed Moore. “Now all we have to do is to get to that ray machine!”
They stood within sight of it when the heavy hand of Horta fell.
IN the shadows of the cavern they had crept from arsenal to foundry, until they had inspected from far or near every establishment in this dim and fearsome chasm. And finally they saw it, a great cylinder nestling deep in the ground and looming high in the cavern, supported by guy beams of gleaming metal.
“A ray-gun!” cried Moore. His incautious exclamation was their undoing. A half-clad foundry worker, looking like a gnome in his eye-shade helmet and drooping gauntlets, gaped at them. Ross shot a split second too late to stop the shout of alarm. The foundryman dropped, but a dozen soldiers came on the run. Moore and Ross fired and fired again, but they went down in a charge of scores of Horta soldiers. The flat of a sword struck Ross a stunning blow on the side of his head.
He came to his senses to find himself in a strange room, bound hand and foot and prone on a stone floor. Beside him was Moore.
“Where are we?” muttered Ross.
“In Horta’s headquarters,” whispered Moore. “Here’s Horta.”
Ross twisted his head. He blinked. For Horta was an eyeful.
The
Lord of the Caverns was a giant. Fully seven feet tall, he must have weighed four hundred pounds. But he bore his great bulk with ease and a certain dignity. He strode over to the two prisoners, looked them over with curiosity but without visible rancor, and spoke sharply to a guard in the Moon tongue. The guard hastened to free the two flyers.
They exchanged glances of surprise. “You don’t suppose he’s a pal in disguise?” asked Moore blandly. He looked up with a start when he heard a rumbling chuckle.
Horta was amused. “No, Earthman. You are prisoners. But I have no need to bind you, for you cannot escape. Yet you need not fear death, for if you will stay and serve me you shall have life and all the blessings that wall be showered upon a new Kingdom.”
“New Kingdom?” Moore blinked. “It’s a Regency, isn’t it?”
Horta’s great laugh boomed out “Nay! I am the King! And for my queen—well, you have delivered her to me!”
Ross sat up and stared. “You mean—Illeria?”
Horta chuckled as he nodded.
“Illeria!” Ross stifled a curse. His mind raced. The girl was a prisoner, too. He spoke aloud, easily. “Well, I guess we can give Your Royal Highness a hand.”
“Hey, Bruce!” Moore expostulated. “You don’t mean—”
“Why not?” drawled Ross. Turning to face Moore, he winked. “We know a lot that will pay our way with the new Kingdom.”
Moore blinked. “Of course!” he assented hastily. “Sure!”
Horta stared suspiciously at the two flyers. “Make sure, then, that you have no secret longings to return to Earth.” he warned heavily. “For henceforth there shall be no intercourse between Moon and Earth. The truce is ended.”
Ross ventured a question. “What’ll you do with the men of the Peaks?”
Horta smiled grimly. “They will submit, or die.” He gestured imperiously, and the guards pushed the flyers forward as Horta strode from the room.
As they trailed behind, Moore whispered, “He doesn’t look like a killer.”
“Probably a fanatic,” Ross muttered.
“What’s the play?”