Derek appeared, a skinny, bloodless wisp of a man, struggling with a large wooden box with handles on each side. He thumped it on the floor beside the table, and looked expectantly at Ira.
With a wave of his hand, Ira indicated Mark. Derek stepped back a pace or two and examined Mark with a calculating eye. Then he frowned and walked around and looked at him from the rear. He made measuring motions with his hands and frowned some more. Mark was beginning to fidget at the lengthy examination. But finally Derek finished and opened his wooden box.
“You will please stand over here,” he said.
Mark did as he was asked and cocked an inquiring eye toward Ira. The others grinned as Ira raised a finger to his lips.
“He’s a scientist,” Ira whispered, “but also an artist. So don’t disturb his thoughts. He might make you look like a gorilla.”
DEREK went to work with efficiency and speed. First he rigged up a peculiar lamp and turned it on Mark. It bathed him with a rose-colored glow. Then he produced a bottle and sprinkled a few drops of its contents on Mark’s hair. He rubbed it in thoroughly and held the lamp on it for a minute. He followed that by moistening the eyebrows with the same liquid. The lamp momentarily bathed them also.
Derek stepped back and surveyed his work. “Perfect,” he approved. “Now for the face.”
A jar of some peculiar plastic material next made its appearance from the box. Derek applied this sparingly, a little on the cheekbones and some on the jaws. Then he stepped back again, nodding cheerfully and regarding Mark from all angles.
He followed that with a small dab in the region of the Adam’s apple, and a few more on the ribs. The calves of the legs also received attention. Then he carried the lamp around and played it on Mark’s back, not missing an inch of his anatomy. A few minutes of this and he returned the lamp and the other accouterments to the box.
“Perfect!” exclaimed Ira. “His own mother wouldn’t know him.”
Not, Mark reflected, after six thousand years anyway.
Derek smiled appreciatively and left the room, struggling with his box. Ira went to a cabinet, fumbled for a minute, and came out with a pair of black trunks and a white leather belt. There were no places on the belt for weapons of any kind.
“Put them on,” he directed. “Then look in the mirror behind that door.”
The trunks fitted perfectly. Mark opened the door which Ira had indicated. Then he gasped in consternation.
There was a full-length mirror on the back of the door, but it wasn’t Mark who gazed back at him. The gentleman in the mirror was a dignified old fellow, light-skinned and snow-white of hair. He was tall and erect, of course, but the years had otherwise taken their toll. There were lines on the face, and the prominent cheekbones and jaw made hollows in places where Mark didn’t have them.
The cheeks appeared sunken, and the eyes burned deeply in their sockets. A prominent Adam’s apple made his neck look thinner. Furthermore the chest, which had formerly been covered with a smooth layer of muscle, now displayed prominent ribs. The calves were disfigured by varicose veins.
Mark got over his surprise and decided that at least he made a fine-looking old geezer. Something like judge Hardy, in fact.
“The man’s an artist,” said Ira. “A touch here and there and he’s added forty years.”
“That hair’s more than a touch,” said Mark. “The skin, too. The lamp did that, I suppose?”
“Derek’s own invention,” Ira said. “Its effect is the opposite of tanning. It bleaches the pigment. On the hair an acid aids the process. It’ll grow back normal, however. And the skin will tan again. The plastic can be removed with chemicals.
“I’ll give you a belt with weapons if you want, but it’ll look out of place. A man of your age is exempt from army duty. You can tuck your automatic inside the belt. There’s a thong in there to hold the barrel.”
Mark left without weapons of any kind. He had tried putting the automatic under his belt, but found that it was uncomfortable when he moved. He didn’t need one anyway.
IT WAS dark and there was no moon. He was glad of that, for his new shade of skin made him a lot more conspicuous than his former deep tan, and he had a bit of burglarizing to do. It would, however, effectively disguise him if he should run across anyone who had been furnished with an accurate description of him.
With only a quick glance to see that he was unobserved, Mark rose vertically in the air. High above the rooftops, he looked down upon the city, trying to orientate himself. The winding streets, when Tolon had led him to the den of thieves, had left him with a very confused idea of the actual direction of Vargo’s palace.
After a minute he sighted it, away to the north. Not bothering to erect a shielding screen of moving air, he dashed directly toward the palace. Whipping fingers of wind combed through his white mane, and he felt a fierce exultation at its bite on his uncovered body.
The palace loomed larger as he sped toward it. A massive building, it was plainly visible at a height, though from the ground it would have been shielded almost entirely by the thick grove of trees which surrounded it. The lower floor was darkened, but its shape was clearly delineated by the rows of lighted windows of its upper stories.
Several of these winked out as Mark approached.
With a rush he halted his flight directly in the middle of a sheer granite wall which composed one side of the structure. He hovered momentarily at the edge of a lighted window, then left it to explore another. That one had showed him four uniformed guards, busy at a card game.
The next one he investigated even more briefly. It was a bedchamber, and two palace maids were preparing for a night’s rest.
Several more windows brought similar results. Either he saw palace menials or guests. Some were reading and some were preparing for bed.
Once he saw two guards fencing, and apparently very earnest about it. Twice he looked in on feminine menials entertaining palace guards. All in all Mark was very annoyed with himself, when he finally retired to the roof to think the problem out.
Eavesdropping and Peeping-Tom routines were out of his line, and they tended to upset him. Also they caused slight color to diffuse his hollow cheeks. He wasn’t looking for maids.
He wanted to find the Ancestors.
While Vargo was certain to have placed every protection about his own person, Mark didn’t think he would take the same precautions with the Ancestors. And they were, therefore, the logical place to insert the entering wedge.
Mark gazed out over the city, trying to reason out a plan for locating these gentlemen. As he watched, the city was making ready for the night. Light after light was blinking out, as the occupants of the houses went to bed. But the busy streets were still ablaze, and probably would be for several hours.
Abruptly Mark leaped from the roof and descended the face of the granite wall. He was kicking himself for not having thought of the answer sooner.
None of the Ancestors was young. They would naturally have sought their beds some time ago. He hesitated a moment before perching on a darkened window sill. There were plenty of windows without lights, by now, and the odds were against picking the right one. There were five Ancestors. And there were thirty or more darkened windows. But there seemed no way to narrow down the odds. He had to take a chance. Probably several. The Ancestors’ rooms would probably be good ones, not the simple bedchambers of the menials, but there was no way to tell which was which, when they were dark.
MARK wasted no more time. Hinged windows swung inward after a moment of fumbling, and he cautiously lowered himself to the floor, just as cautiously he made his way across the floor, moving his sandaled feet slowly and feeling for any furniture which might be in his path.
His arms were outstretched before him, groping for the opposite wall. He had observed that most of the doors were directly opposite the windows on this floor, and that was what he was making for. He had also observed that light-switches were in the same handy positions beside the doo
r-jamb as they had been in his own day. It was his plan to snap on the light and observe the identity of the person in the bed. Then, if it wasn’t an Ancestor, he would be out the window in next to no time, probably without even awakening the sleeper.
Mark was not a mouse and he was slightly more than a man, but his plans did occasionally miss fire. This one did badly.
He had feared it, having noticed that all the bedchambers were not alike, or even furnished similarly, but he couldn’t possibly have been prepared for what happened.
Each foot, as he stretched it forth, was an independent exploring agent, not even being required to bring itself to the floor to sustain his weight. For until it had reached forth for a distance equal to a full step, Mark kept his weight on the other one, ready to bring back the first if it should contact a piece of furniture.
But he couldn’t know, when one of his feet progressed to the distance of a full step, and encountered nothing, that he had placed it beneath the edge of a bed which was directly in his path.
He realized his mistake when he placed his weight on the foot and brought himself forward. The side-board of the bed caught him on the shin. With a grunt, he toppled forward. Instantly a pair of arms wrapped themselves about him and held him.
Mark checked the chopping swing of a balled fist when he heard little delighted cooings, in the region of his left ear. A pair of soft lips found his own, and kissed him most thoroughly. Being a gentleman, Mark obligingly kissed back.
“Sugar,” cooed the voice. “I never thought you’d get up the nerve!”
With a vagrant thought concerning the cowardice of a certain “Sugar,” Mark placed the lady in a restful hypnotic trance, and left by way of the window. She would awaken in the morning with no memory of the fact that she had been rudely awakened. And disappointingly abandoned.
THE next darkened room was on an upper floor, and as a result of his recent experience, Mark changed his tactics. As soon as he was inside, he slowly rose to the ceiling and groped toward the far wall. In some respects this was a more successful procedure, for there were no beds on the ceiling. There was, however, a chandelier. It jangled musically when he struck it.
“Wash at noise?” said a voice, both sleepy and alcoholic. “Who’s hanging around?”
“Just a mild earthquake,” Mark reassured him.
“Oh,” said the voice, mollified. “Par’ me.”
A lusty snore sounded as Mark eased out of the window.
The next room should be the one, Mark mused. Three being a lucky number. Experimentally, he tried one on the extreme top floor. It had occurred to him that the Ancestors might seek the greatest distance from the sounds of the street. This time he reached the light switch without encountering either beds or chandeliers. He snapped it on — and didn’t bother to turn it off. His guess was right.
One of the Ancestors lay on the bed, and a quick glance told him that no one shared the room, and that the door was securely closed.
The Ancestor was the youngest of the five, probably only in his early fifties. He awakened and shielded his eyes from the glare of the light. Mark was ready to prevent an outcry, but saw immediately that it wouldn’t be necessary.
“Who are you, old man?” asked the Ancestor, conversationally. “And what do you want in here?
Mark grinned. “I’m the man who got Vargo so mad this afternoon.”
The Ancestor peered at him in wonderment, recognizing him after a close scrutiny. “You’ve certainly aged since then,” he said. “Have a seat. Tell me about yourself, and this power of flight. It’s telekinesis, isn’t it?”
Mark explained, as well as he could, the manipulation of nature’s unlimited supply of penetrating energy waves.
“A sixth sense,” diagnosed the Ancestor, “It is probably controlled by both sensory and motor nerves, partially automatic and partially voluntary, and entirely within the brain. Don’t suppose you’d care to let me dissect?”
“Not just now, if you don’t mind.”
The Ancestor’s eyes twinkled. “Unreasonable, I call it,” he pronounced. “You came here for some reason. What is it?”
“I want to hear all about you Ancestors,” Mark said. “How you regard Vargo, what your aims might be, and just why you cooperate in making slaves of two million people.”
The Ancestor frowned. He did it thoroughly, as if from long practice. His eyebrows were bushy, incongruously so, and separated, precisely in the center, a delicate, aristocratic face and a high forehead surmounted by a thick thatch of iron-gray hair. His body was slight, Mark noticed, as the man swung his legs from the bed and began pacing the floor, blissfully oblivious to his ridiculous appearance in a short pink nightshirt.
Chapter 14: Discussion with a Condor
“I’D BETTER start at the beginning,” he said. “You’ll need the whole story, and even then you’ll find it hard to believe.
“My name is Thomas, Jan Thomas. I was only twenty when the war broke out, but I’d already achieved some success in my line — bio-chemistry. The first draft hit me and I was put to work in a laboratory. New and deadlier micro-organisms were wanted. It was a rotten job, but we didn’t ask questions in those days.
“Fortunately, it didn’t last long. I never did get to the point of developing anything new. None of the millions who must have died in that war can blame me.
“A bomb hit the laboratory, very early in the war. I know it was early, for the war must have lasted years, and the bomb landed just two months after I was drafted. It was a gas-bomb, something new, and killed everybody in the place, including myself.
“I remember it hitting the roof and tearing a big hole in it. I was just thanking heaven that none of the wreckage had struck me, when I began to experience trouble in breathing. There was no odor, and I don’t think there was any poison present. It just seemed that the air was becoming denuded of oxygen.
“I felt the same way once when the oxygen began to get low during a stratosphere flight. But I forget, you aren’t familiar with such things.”
“Go ahead,” Mark said. “I understand you.”
“I just wanted to bring out the fact that my body wasn’t damaged in any way. I merely died of suffocation. Otherwise I might have stayed dead, which would have been a good thing. As it was, I woke up. That was about thirty years ago.
“Vargo’d reassembled the atoms of my body. If I had been killed in a manner which had ruined my body, the atoms would have been reassembled in their last setup and I would have died again — perhaps never even lived. So that explains how I got here.
“THE rest, why I cooperate with Vargo, is entirely out of my hands. At first it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He was a splendid fellow, with high ideals and a brilliant mind — a visionary of the most benevolent sort. He pictured a world lifted from barbarism and restored to its former high state of civilization.
“He talked of educating benighted peoples and fostering the spread of culture. He wanted to give to the entire world the fruits of his genius.
“As you may know, you can’t start an argument with a true scientist by such methods. The scientist seldom plans anything else. He doesn’t lust for power or wealth. He is interested only in learning new facts. While he may not have any great desire to advance mankind, he certainly has nothing against the idea. It seems all to the good.
“I worked, and so did the others, in the fine laboratories furnished by Vargo. We worked under his direction. He would suggest a line of endeavor and we’d follow it. Most of the work was merely duplicating from our memories, the things already known to twentieth-century science.”
“How about Vargo?” asked Mark. “You changed your mind, eh?”
“Yes. Though several years went by before we did. I, for one, came to my senses when I realized that certain phases of my work were entirely alien to my nature. I had hated the idea of developing deadly germs, when I had been drafted in the war. Yet I realized that Vargo had talked me into thinking that it was all righ
t to do so for him. He had broached the subject one day, about twenty years after he brought me to life.
“He said the advancement of civilization might be balked at by certain self-centered feudal lords. He suggested that our cause was worth fighting for. The others were developing weapons in case this became necessary. Machine guns and rifles were being made.
“It was only fit that I do my part and supply our army with cultures of germs to be placed in the water supply of any city which opposed us.
“I went to work, satisfied, and it took me a long time to realize that mine was a horrible task. Something I loathed. I told the others. We went to Vargo immediately and declared ourselves, refusing to have any more part in his plans. He hypnotized us more thoroughly than ever, and we went right back to work again! But from that moment on we knew what a rotten beast Vargo really is. He’d had the five of us hypnotized ever since he woke us, and we didn’t even know it!”
“You’re all opposed to him, and yet go on anyhow?”
“All of us,” echoed Thomas, his eyes dropping wearily. “Try as we might, it is impossible to disobey his hypnotic commands. I’ll go right back to work tomorrow preparing endless vials of deadly bacteria.”
“No, you won’t,” said Mark.
Jan Thomas looked up, startled. His eyes met Mark’s and froze. Their gaze was locked for a long minute, then Thomas relaxed.
“Your mind is free now,” Mark told him. “I’ve erased all former hypnotic suggestion. Tomorrow you go to work for me. We’ll smash Vargo and his little war!”
A light shone in Jan Thomas’ eyes which hadn’t been there before. He felt release from the slavery which had held him for so many years. Tomorrow he wouldn’t fill little vials full of deadly cultures, and feel that every time he prepared one of them he was dooming hundreds of innocents to a loathsome disease-racked death. Tomorrow he would...
The Best of Argosy #7 - Minions of Mercury Page 10