Space Lawyers: A Collaborative Collection

by Nat Schachner; Arthur Leo Zagat

  Dunton’s attention focused on the great tubes, only one of which showed by its light that it was active. They were like, yet unlike, the familiar radio tubes he had so often handled.

  The priest was speaking: “After long nights of study I wrested from Nature the Secrets which here you see made incarnate. There are only two essential discoveries which are the basis of my power. The first is this.

  “As you must know, the flashing to and fro of impulses in the nerve system of the human frame bears a marked similarity to the shuttling of power, light and sound over electric conductors. My researches revealed to me that the analogy is a true one—that from brain through nerve to muscle, from sense organ through nerve to brain, reports and commands flash as flash the impulses of electrical vibrations to and fro over the network of a modern city. The only real difference is in the character of the vibration. I found the peculiar frequency, and then it was a simple matter to construct apparatus to reproduce it. Once this was done, the next step followed—that by impinging a beam of my vibrator on any individual, or by spreading a fan of these radiations over a group or a nation, I could control to a limited extent their thoughts or nervous processes. I found that I could make them evil or good, throw them into a panic of fear, make them belligerent and warlike, or spread a flame of revolt and anarchy through a state or a nation. It was my experimentation which caused the revolution in Russia, the Civil War in China, the wave of murder and crime now sweeping your own country.

  “My next problem was one of transportation. When I was ready to grasp the mastery of the world, I needed to be able to bring here and send back to their posts, almost instantaneously, these chosen men. Many more years of study and thought, and I solved that problem. I was led to consider the nature of gravitation; the attraction of one body for another. Here too I found an analogy to a known science, that of electromagnetism. Gravity, I found, was a magnetism akin to, but not quite the same as, electromagnetism. Following out the analogy, I found that I could cause the earth to repel rather than attract an individual. I also became able to regulate the strength of the repulsion, i.e., the height to which an individual would levitate.

  “Then I evolved a method by which I could make that person fly at any speed I willed to this Tower. By a mere reversal of the process, naturally I could send my subjects to anywhere on earth I willed.

  “This second discovery of mine had minor uses. By a system of crossing and intersecting beams of gravito-magnetic force I could erect an invisible and impalpable screen of repulsion anywhere I chose, a screen through which nothing, whether bullet or being, could pass.” A grim smile appeared on the lama’s visage. “You have good reason, I believe, to appreciate the efficacy of that device. The electric energy I need is produced in a giant powerhouse operated by a thousand-foot waterfall about ten miles distant.”

  CHAPTER VI

  TRAPPED!

  Dunton thought of the battle in the gorge, and grinned. “So that’s how it was done. Pretty useful trick, I’ll say.”

  “I need not,” the lama resumed, “weary you further. You have guessed at the secrets of some of my more theatrical effects. Mass-hypnotism, stereopticon, and other childish but useful devices which have come down through the ages; utilized by the fakirs of India, and the tricksters of every land to mystify and delude the credulous.”

  He turned and led the way to the massive control board in the outer room. “Here is the brain of my network of control. I early found that each race had a slightly different range of nerve-vibration, and so I established seven Towers, six of them smaller replicas of this, in seven lands. Arabia, Manchuria, Russia, Mexico, Brazil, and Abyssinia, each have a Tower of Evil. The nerve-radiations emanating from here are slightly transformed and re-broadcast for the races dominant in the territory roundabout. These six switches, or this master switch alternatively, control this process. Tomorrow at dawn, when I swing down this switch, my dreams will at last come true. After long years I shall control the world. Rebellion and anarchy in every land will overthrow the prating womanish rulers, and set up my rule instead.

  “My chosen slaves, whom you saw today, will dominate each his land in fealty to me. Seven days will suffice to make the great change. Then will I reverse this other master switch, and my deputies will flock back to these holy precincts. Shaitan will come again, and we shall celebrate our triumph.

  “With you it rests, whether you will celebrate that triumph with me, or die in dreadful agony. Stand now again on the audience platform while I ascend my throne. Ponder well your answer, then I shall receive it. The night grows late and I am a-weary. I must need rest for tomorrow’s work.”

  Dunton stepped again on the platform that ceased its swaying, and faced the throne, to which the aged lama had again ascended. The explorer’s head was in a whirl. He knew now that a very real, a very terrible danger menaced the unsuspecting world. He knew too, that only he could save civilization from a holocaust of evil. This mad priest would keep his word to the very letter. Open defiance could only be a futile gesture. What then? He had better pretend to comply, pretend to be convinced. Then tomorrow, as trusted aide of this madman, he would watch his chance.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he thought, “Go slow. Lull him into unwariness, then I’ll get my two hands around that skinny throat, and—”

  “Great Priest,” he raised his hand in salutation, “I am convinced. Your power is greater far than any man has yet attained. I shall be glad to join and work with you. From now on I am yours to command!”

  The old priest’s reception of this speech, which seemed to be so complete a victory for him, was astounding. His face grew livid, his claw-hands were extended in trembling rage. “Liar!” he shouted, “Fool! Do you dare to mock me? Do you dream to deceive me? Look behind you, fool!”

  Dunton, in consternation, whirled about. On the screen behind him he saw—himself, with his hands clasped about the throat of the lama. Dumbfounded, he stepped back—as he left the platform the screen went blank.

  “Fool!” the old man was still shrieking, “Did you think I would bare to you all my secrets? That platform, that screen, form my thought reading device. Every secret thought of him who stands there is pictured in vivid pantomime on that screen. And you thought to deceive me!”

  Laughter filled the great hemisphere. The lama clapped his hands. Two maroon guards rushed in and seized the American. “Take him away, he dies tomorrow.

  “No!—wait, John Dunton, I have changed my mind. You shall die the slow Death of a Thousand Needles. To the lowest dungeon with him, to await his end.”

  Struggling vainly, the American was unceremoniously pushed to the well, and floated down to the main hall. There, one of the guards pressed another button, and a black, seemingly bottomless pit yawned in front of him. Into this he was pushed. As he staggered over the verge, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the girl just entering the hall. A glimpse of horror depicted on her beautiful face—and he was precipitated into the yawning pit. Down—down into emptiness…

  For what seemed an interminable distance he fell, and just as his nerves were snapping from the imminent crash, his flight was suddenly checked and cushioned, and he was deposited slowly on the ground.

  “Well, this looks like the old man means business,” Dunton muttered, as he looked about the cell in which he found himself. A dim phosphorescence came from the decaying filth about, and revealed a noisome chamber, whose rough stone walls were black with shiny moisture, and whose floor was covered with rotting debris. Walls and floors were alive with pale crawling creatures of decay.

  “God, I’d like to have that mad apostle of evil at my pistol’s end!” What a hell the world will be when he is master of it!”

  Back and forth, back and forth he paced, tramping a path through the foul ordure. One wild scheme for escape after another passed through his tortured brain, only to be despairingly rejected as their utter futility was quickly revealed. Black despair oppressed him. But all his planning, all
his despair, could not keep his thoughts from returning always to the girl, the beautiful jewel in this foul setting.

  And so, the long night through, the prisoner paced back and forth in his narrow cell. Sleep was an impossibility, what with the filth of the dungeon and the torturings of his reeling brain. The silence was broken only by the squidge, squidge of Dunton’s steps through the slime.

  What seemed many hours dragged slowly past. Then, startlingly, the American heard a sharp grating as of stone on stone behind him. Fists clenched, the American whirled. But no human antagonist met his startled eye. Instead from the walls now protruded long needles, gleaming sinister. “The Death of a Thousand Needles.” The mad lama’s phrase flashed into his mind. A thousand needles indeed, aye, more than a thousand surrounded him on every hand!

  But wait. No need for panic. As long as he remained away from the bristling walls he was safe. Did the old man expect him to rush headlong on the point? He laughed aloud in relief.

  Again the grating of stone upon stone smote his ears. What was this? A moment ago there had been an irregular smear at the base of the wall before him. It was gone! From wall to wall his glance darted. The space seemed smaller. Or did his eyes deceive him. Swiftly he paced the distance. A long moment he waited, while the ominous rasping continued. Again he measured the distance between the imprisoning walls. An icy hand closed about his heart. They were closer together! Slowly, imperceptibly, the bristling ranks of needles were approaching each other. Inexorably a horrible death was closing in on him.

  Then indeed, Dunton gave up all hope! “The devil, the inhuman monster! Even the Inquisition had no horror such as this. Well, I’ll not stand here quiet to be slowly impaled. When those needles begin to sting me I’ll thrust myself upon them and make a quick end of it. I’ll not give him the satisfaction of witnessing my lingering agonies.”

  Grimly the American took his stand, arms folded, in the centre of the cell. Slowly, oh so slowly, the needle points approached. Long minutes passed.

  At last the end was at hand. Already some of the fatal points were entering the doomed man’s clothing. He closed his eyes and began a last prayer to the God of his fathers. He was resigned. Suddenly the pressure relaxed—a breath of moving air fanned him. He opened his eyes. Miracle of miracles, the walls were swiftly retreating. The needles had disappeared. In a moment all was as before.

  Again he heard stone grating on stone. “What, again. Was the release merely a trick to make the torture more lingering?” A black oblong showed in the wall. “Hush,” a soft voice came to his ears.

  Dunton relaxed. Dimly he descried in the black rectangle the form of the beautiful girl who had so haunted his thoughts.

  “Here, quickly, take this,” and to his astonishment he found in his hand his beloved automatic.

  “Now I feel like a man again! But how in the name of all that’s good were you able to make those damnable walls recede? And why have you done this for me? Who are you?”—a thousand questions tumbled from his lips.

  “Hush! softly! or we both die the Death. Should he find us here he will condemn us both to eternity in Hell.

  “I am called Leila,” the soft voice went on in low voiced murmuring. “I am the foster daughter of the great lama, and I serve him in his noble work. Who my own people are, I know not. Sometimes I dream—but this is not the time for that. I have lived here many years, and he has taught me many things—the motions of the moon and the stars, and the greater knowledge that great Shaitan has vouchsafed only to him. He has taught me the languages of all the earth so that when the great day comes I might aid him, the Vicar of Shaitan on earth, to rule wisely—that the greatest evil might come to His people.

  “Always have I prayed to Shaitan that the day might come soon. Never have I doubted the true faith. Till—woe is me!—till you came, fair skinned as I. When I first beheld you something within me drew towards you, somehow I felt a kinship with you. Somehow, then, doubt crept into my mind, doubt of Shaitan and of His teachings. I fought against it, I had nigh won the fight, till I saw them drag you straggling to this foul dungeon. Then I knew, John Dunton, that he was wrong, that Evil was not the great principle, I knew that God was the greater. All this I knew, John Dunton, because—” A flush made more beautiful that flowerlike cheek— “Because—”

  “Because you love me,” Dunton burst forth, “And I love you, my dearest!” And in that cell the two were enfolded in each other’s arms.

  A long minute they remained thus; their horrible surroundings forgotten. Then, lingeringly they parted, and Leila spoke again.

  “It was the best of luck, my dear one, that you were put in this, the cell of a Thousand Needles. Many years ago I found a secret passage in the walls, a passage which was unknown even to him, and I traced it to this cell. There is a spring that causes the walls to withdraw. There is another spring which moves aside one of the great rocks that form the wall.

  “I waited till the small hours of the morning, then I stole to where they had placed the clothes in which you were brought. I found your weapon, then I made my way to the entrance of the secret passage, just below the great hall, within the station of the outer guard, and came here, to you!”

  “My brave, my dear Leila! Thanks only to you am I still alive. But enough of this, we have work to do—my God, the opening has shut itself.”

  Aghast, the two sprang to the wall where Leila had appeared. It was true. While they had forgotten the world in their rapture, something had moved the great stone and barred the exit. Frantically they pulled and pushed at the great rock, but it was immovable. Then Dunton’s usual calmness returned.

  “Think a moment, dearest. This device must be planned along the lines of the other secret panels in the tower. How do they work?”

  “You are right, there must be some marks which indicate the proper places to press the hidden springs. But it is too dark to see them.”

  “Then let us wait for the morning. There seems to be a window way up on that wall. See there, where that dark circle breaks the phosphorescent glow. Perhaps, when the sun rises there will be light enough to see the marks.”

  “The waiting will not be too long, together.”

  Dunton slipped off the jeweled robe which he still wore and spread it in a corner. “Come, dear, sit here with me and tell me of the dreams of which you referred. Since first I set eyes on your dear face I have been haunted by some strange familiarity in your features. Perhaps your dreams will give some clue as to who you are.”

  Leila nestled close against her stalwart lover, and began:

  “These dreams of mine are not at all vivid. They are confused and shadowy, but they come back again and again. I seem to be living in a small white house. I have many toys, and I am very happy. There are yellow skinned people about; they sweep and clean. One, a woman, does not sweep and clean, but she is always near me.

  “There is another woman, not yellow but white. She seems very dear to me. When I see her in my dreams my heart aches, and an unbearable yearning comes over me.

  “There are white men too, sometimes many of them tramp about. They are dressed in beautiful red clothes. Sometimes they give me shiny buttons to play with. At other times there is just one white man in a red coat. He too seems very dear to me. I kiss him, and he throws me up in the air, and laughs.

  “But the dream I have oftenest is not pleasant. Time and again I have waked up screaming from its terrors. It is night, and I seem to be awakened by a terrible scream. There are muffled thumpings as of many men rushing about softly. Then my door opens and two dark men run in. One of them holds a cloth in his hand which he throws over my head. There is a sweetish smell—then I wake up.”

  “By the seven stars, I’ve got it!” Dunton sat up straight in his excitement. “I know who you are. Great guns, what a coincidence! I know whom you remind me of, now. Major Blakely! You’re his daughter, stolen fifteen years ago!

  Swiftly he told her of the tale he had heard in
the Shanghai Club. Wide-eyed Leila drank in the tale. “Then I’m an Englishwoman. And that old man is planning to ruin my own people. John, we must save them. Oh, if it were only light so that I could see how to get out of here. But tell me all about my father, and my country.”

  For a long time Dunton talked to the girl in his arms, till he saw her pretty head droop and her blue eyes veiled in sleep. Gently he held her, until he too dozed off, exhausted by the stirring emotions of that fateful day.

  His adventurous years had habituated Dunton to awakening at any prearranged time, and so, just as a faint paling of the black aperture in the wall told of the near approach of dawn, his eyes opened. He waited yet a moment, till the blackness of the cell had a little lightened; then awakened his new found sweetheart with a kiss.

  “Come dear, wake up! We must work quickly. The old man set sunrise as the hour when he will throw the switch. We must get to him before that.”

  Leila sprang up, and the two ran to the wall through which she had entered. “It should be just about here,” the girl murmured. “You see this depression is too regular in shape to be accidental. Here is another, there should be a third so that the three make a triangle—here it is. Now to find the right combination!”

  A moment of tentative pressings—then the great rock swung aside. Beyond Dunton glimpsed the beginning of a steep staircase of stone, shiny with the moist drippings of ages. Swiftly Leila closed it.

  “There’s some of the old devil’s magic for him to ponder over,” Dunton laughed grimly. “Now, keep behind me and direct me by touching my back—left, right, and the small of my back for stop. Don’t talk!”

  Guided thus, the explorer and the long-lost English girl hastened silently upward. The staircase seemed interminable as the pressing need for haste goaded them. At last Dunton felt the signal to halt.