MARK put Jan Thomas to work making a small supply of the serum. Enough to inject a half-dozen persons. He memorized the ingredients himself, for he wanted to know that formula for future use. Later he intended to subject Thomas to hypnotic suggestion and make him forget the formula.
Mark realized that in order to keep his trust he alone must judge those who were worthy of the injection. Omega’s dream of a better world must come true. His own meddling mustn’t shatter it, which would surely happen if the blessing were spread indiscriminately.
To make sure that the formula remained a secret, he hypnotized the two old scientists who had helped Thomas develop the serum. He erased all memory of the occurrence from their brains and substituted a fabricated memory to account for the days they had spent working on it.
To assist Thomas in the making of the serum, he pressed Tolon into service. His duties as an assistant didn’t require technical knowledge, and the two worked well together. The supply of serum which Mark required was finished on the day before the great broadcast was to be made.
It was late in the afternoon when Mark sent for Tolon, Thomas, Ira and Gladys. He and Nona received them in the meeting room of the fraternity. Nona served drinks and Mark talked.
He told them of Omega and of the reason for Mark and Nona’s difference in blood chemistry. To the best of his ability he outlined the idealism of Omega’s experiment in human lives. He told them of the things which Omega didn’t like about humans: their wars, their petty jealousies, and their selfishness.
As he talked, he scanned their faces and tried to penetrate their reactions. They satisfied him. He saw the wonder in their faces as he told them of Omega’s existence and his nature. He saw their approval of his idealism.
“Now,” he finished, “what do you think his reaction would be if I made several others like myself and Nona? Remembering, of course, that it is his wish that only our descendants form the new race which will some day be the only survivors of humanity.”
They thought that over for a minute and then gave a diversity of answers. They ranged from the opinion that Omega would approve the action, to the guess that the disembodied intelligence would annihilate all such recipients of the blood, including Mark and Nona.
Mark grinned, admitting that their guess was as good as his. “Do you think that there are any humans living who would risk his anger, for the blessings which would be theirs after the injection, and for the honor of participating for the experiment?”
A clamor greeted that question. Everyone present, it seemed, would be glad to risk Omega’s displeasure. And not only for the near immortality to themselves, but that their children would number among those favored of humans.
Mark looked at Nona. She nodded, her face aglow.
THE decision made, and by the ones who were most concerned, Mark wasted no time. Looking into Gladys’ eyes, he separated her mind from all bodily sensation. A hypodermic needle injected its fluid into the veins of an arm.
He held her brain in the grip of his hypnosis wave for a full minute, giving the serum a chance to diffuse itself completely in the blood stream: The hypnosis was necessary to prevent the nerve shock which had placed him in suspended animation for six millennia. Omega had used the same nerve block when he had injected Nona.
In rapid succession he treated the others, leaving Tolon for last. When Tolon was snapped awake, he immediately gathered Gladys into his arms and tried to kiss her. She laughingly averted her face.
“After the annulment,” she promised.
“That’ll be automatic when I de-hypnotize your husband,” Mark told her.
Tolon finished his kiss while she was thinking that one over.
“I don’t feel any different,” claimed Ira.
“You are,” Mark assured him. “And don’t get married unless you see me first. That goes for you too, Jan. Choose wisely, for I can’t guarantee that I’ll use these other doses unless you do.”
Mark dismissed the four, suddenly feeling that he had crossed a fearful Rubicon. He was relieved that he had acted as he had, and that there was no turning back or changing his mind; but an obscure brain cell or two persisted in reminding him that there was almost certain to be a reckoning.
Nona, frankly jubilant that the problem was solved, had no such worries. Although Mark hadn’t known it, Nona had been worried and mentally ill at ease for quite some time. The problem of the future of her children had bothered her even more than it had him. That is why there was no room in her mind for apprehension about the possible consequences of Mark’s act.
The day of the broadcast found everybody concerned, eager to get it over. They were letter-perfect in their roles and rehearsals had been thorough; but none of them were trained entertainers and they suffered the usual stage-fright at the thought of their first performance.
Mark assured them that even the most practical entertainers would be similarly stricken at their first broadcast. Radio was something to disconcert the best of them at the first try.
Ira was to be master of ceremonies. The performers gathered in the anteroom of the improvised studio, a large soundproofed room in one of the electrical laboratories. Vargo was to have the feature spot on the program, and would witness the performances of all the others.
And though he didn’t know it, Mark had prepared his speech for him. It would be a totally different thing from the speech he was planning to make. For Mark intended that the broadcast would end all the more vicious of the suggestions which Vargo had placed in the minds of his subjects, over so many years of his reign.
The speech, as Mark prepared it, would stop all desire for war. The voice of Vargo, which the people of Detroit were conditioned to obey, would preach a new set of ideals.
By messenger came the word that all the public auditoriums rented for the occasion were jammed to capacity. Several outdoor meeting places had been equipped with receivers and amplifiers to take care of the overflow. The attendance exceeded all expectations.
Mark would have been satisfied to broadcast to a majority of the population. That would have served his purpose.
But Vargo had been sold completely by the idea of again exerting his influence upon people he hadn’t seen since their appearance before the Vocation Board, and had ordered every citizen who was physically able to attend the broadcast. As a result about ninety-seven per cent of the population were anxiously awaiting the broadcast.
VARGO hadn’t as yet made his appearance. The performers began to fidget, Ira himself leading the fidgeting. He was probably the most nervous of all. For upon him rested the responsibility of getting Vargo to remove his shielding helmet. Mark had concealed himself in a cabinet not far from the microphone. It was marked conspicuously, Danger — 10,000 Volts.
He didn’t dare let himself be seen by Vargo before the helmet was removed. And he was certain that the king would be adequately surrounded by a bodyguard, so that he would get no chance to snatch it off. He had thought of doing that, but realized that even if he did manage to remove the shield he would be punctured by a dozen bullets before he could break down Vargo’s not inconsiderable resistance. Ira would have to do the job.
There was a narrow slot in the cabinet, at a level with Mark’s eyes and facing the microphone. A piece of smoked glass prevented anyone from penetrating the darkness within. Mark could remove it when the proper time came. Heavily insulated wires led from the top of the cabinet to give credence to the danger sign.
He was sure nobody would investigate its contents. People were very cautious about running the risk of grabbing a handful of volts.
Vargo arrived finally, with heavy dramatic accompaniment. A platoon of soldiers, all wearing the new helmets, came first. They went through the broadcasting rooms with a fine-toothed comb.
Those of the men who carried pistols were relieved of them. Closets and lockers were investigated for hidden assassins, though all of the soldiers shied away from Mark’s cabinet.
Then the platoon arranged itsel
f along the wall of the studio, and a man blew a whistle. Vargo, surrounded by a bodyguard of ten men, answered the blast. He marched in, smiling benignly, and accepted an upholstered chair from Ira, who placed it several feet from the microphone and directly opposite Mark’s cabinet.
Nona was the first performer. She came in at Ira’s signal, and curtsied to Vargo. Then she approached the microphone, and as she did so a thin squeal was heard, gaining in volume as she came closer. Ira halted her apologetically.
“There must be some metal among your garments,” he said. “The microphone is very sensitive to metals.”
Nona removed a brooch from the neckpiece of her dress, and handed it to him. He carried it away from the microphone and the squealing ceased. Vargo and his soldiers watched the byplay, though they had no way of knowing that Mark was causing the squeal by turning a rheostat inside his cabinet.
Ira made an announcement, and Nona sang. Her throaty voice, singing a Viking folk song, enchanted all who listened. She finished, curtsied again, retrieved her brooch, and left the studio.
A comedy team was next, and a loud squeal greeted their approach. Ira explained again the peculiar effect of metals in close proximity to the microphone. They, were obliged to remove coins and belt buckles and leave them on the other side of the studio.
The two were nervous at first, but soon forgot it, and drew a big hand from the king’s soldiers. Vargo himself applauded heartily. He seemed very much pleased with the performance.
Act after act went through without a hitch. Gladys sang a popular song, and the male quartet sang a slightly bawdy marching song of the caravan guards. This drew the greatest applause from the king’s soldiers, though none of the acts failed to get some appreciation.
The last performance, a duet starring Nona and Gladys, concluded the fraternity’s part of the program. Next was to be the speech by Vargo. His bodyguard approached the microphone with him. The squeal which greeted them was deafening.
Ira was extremely apologetic as he pointed out that their guns and swords were metallic. Vargo frowned and then issued terse orders. The pianist was hustled from the room. Ira, the only remaining person who wasn’t among Vargo’s retinue, found himself covered by a dozen guns.
Vargo approached the microphone again. A thin squeal, rising in pitch and volume was the result. Vargo stepped back. He examined his clothing and removed a belt buckle. The squeal came again when he neared the microphone. He stepped back again and faced Ira.
“Make an announcement,” he directed. “Say that Vargo, Giver of Life, will speak to his people after a short pause. All listeners are to remain and wait.”
Ira did as he was ordered, suppressing his nervousness, and masking all emotion behind his inscrutable poker face.
“Now,” said Vargo. “You were about to suggest that my helmet might contain some metal, weren’t you?”
Ira paled, though his face wore an apologetic smile. “There must be some metal about the person of your majesty. The microphone only acts like that in the presence of metal.”
Vargo’s eyes gleamed. “Have you ever looked in a mirror, my traitorous friend?” he asked. “Try it some time, and notice particularly the gleaming gold inlays in your teeth.”
Mark groaned inaudibly, cursing himself for a fool. He hadn’t even thought of Ira’s teeth, which should have caused quite a squeal. Nona’s gold brooch should have been left on to explain that gold was the one metal which didn’t affect the microphone. Vargo, an intelligence of the first order, had seen the inconsistency.
But there was still a chance to win. Mark quickly removed the smoked glass from his peep-hole. No one was looking toward the cabinet, he had a few moments in which to work. Before, Vargo would order a more complete search of the studio and the surrounding rooms.
He had probably already reasoned the motive behind the attempted removal of the helmet. There was only one man who could possibly want that helmet removed.
Chapter 24: May I Cut In?
GATHERING all his mental perception of the energy waves about him, Mark concentrated on the helmet. Lead was the metal: 207.10 to 207.22 in atomic weight. Exerting every ounce of energy, he concentrated on the helmet.
Silver might also be present, in minute quantity; for lead extracted from galena — the usual source — always contains it. To be certain of success, he must provide for it.
Silver had an atomic weight of 107.880 though he had never tried such a combination, Mark attempted it now. To fail would mean the failure of his entire plan. There might never be another chance. If he failed, another minute would probably find him so full of bullets they’d have to bury him with a crane.
Ira’s face took on an ashy hue, as he realized that he was trapped. There was no explanation to account for the gold’s failure to cause a squeal. He also remembered Nona’s brooch. And having nothing to say, Ira wisely said nothing.
Vargo looked leisurely about the room. His eyes roved over the faces of those beyond the glass which separated the studio from the anteroom. He motioned to two of his men. They placed themselves, guns drawn, at the door which led into the factory proper.
All the performers were now trapped in the two rooms. Not even a window offered any means of escape.
Vargo frowned momentarily as he raised hand to his helmet. The thing was becoming uncomfortably warm. But he lowered the hand without touching it. He studied intently the faces of those in the other room.
He raised the hand again, and scratched his scalp through the helmet, apparently musing and turning over a course of action in his mind.
“Of course,” he said slowly, “I can just shoot all of you. That would be easier than penetrating a disguise, and it would be certain to get the right one.”
He paused and frowned again. “But I’d much rather get my hands on this Mark, self-styled Protector of the Planet. I’ve a few tortures in mind for him. Suppose one of you tell me which is he. I’ll let that one go free.”
A number of emotions showed on the faces of the performers, but none offered to speak. Vargo frowned and moved the helmet about on his head, without loosening the collar. The thing was getting infernally hot.
Abruptly Vargo’s face showed fear. He strode to the nearest of the soldiers.
“Loosen your helmet,” he ordered. “When I take mine off, place yours instantly on my head. Ready now — don’t leave my head uncovered an instant!”
The man did as ordered. He loosened the collar to his helmet and paused, both hands grasping his helmet, waiting for Vargo to remove his. Vargo did, with a lightning move which was made even speedier by reason of the fact that his fingers were being scorched.
The man instantly slammed his own helmet on Vargo’s head. A tendril of smoke rose from the cloth of the one Vargo was forced to drop on the floor.
BUT the great Vargo had let panic dim the processes of his brilliant brain. He forgot something. And forgetting it was fatal. For the instant the soldier removed his helmet, he fell under the spell of Mark’s hypnotic wave.
With almost the same move that he had slammed the helmet on Vargo’s head, he snatched it off again, casting it to the floor besides the other.
Five shots rang out. Vargo’s other soldiers had been trained to instantaneous action when anything threatened their ruler. The soldier dropped to the floor, bleeding profusely.
Vargo made no attempt to retrieve the helmet. Instead he turned slowly to face the cabinet, his eyes becoming glassy as he did so. For a minute he stood silently, while his soldiers wondered but feared to open their mouths.
Then he turned away from the cabinet and told them all to remove their helmets. They did, and immediately became motionless, rigidly staring at nothing.
The door of the cabinet opened and Mark stepped forth, his face haggard with the effort of his concentration. In his hand was a sheaf of paper which he gave to Vargo.
“You may announce Vargo, King of Detroit,” he said wearily.
Ira, weak with the reaction of being sn
atched from a sentence of death, smiled sickishly and approached the microphone. But his voice was strong and assured as he announced the benevolent ruler, Vargo.
BACK at headquarters was a scene of jubilant triumph. Plans for the future were being made, and for the first time carrying a degree of certainty with them. Fear of the Vocation Board was gone. Each man could go back to his work without being forced to face that body and account for his time while he had been gone.
Many of them didn’t intend to return to their original jobs. There were other forms of endeavor more attractive.
The two men who had appeared as a comedy team had decided that they possessed talent as radio broadcasters. And Ira, temporarily, intended to head a company engaged in the manufacture of receivers.
Tolon and Gladys refused to make any plans. They had placed themselves at Mark’s disposal, to help in the solving of the many problems incident to the reorganization of Detroit’s industrial life. Beyond that they wouldn’t go. There were too many years to plan for.
“But I can’t understand,” said Ira, “why you intend to leave Vargo as King of Detroit. Why not elect a new king?”
Mark shook his head. “As long as Vargo lives, he will rule Detroit,” he said. “It lies within his power to direct the thoughts of those he has hypnotized. And he’ll now devote himself to undoing the wrongs he has committed. The task would be impossible for a new ruler. I’d have to do it myself, and that would be too confining.
“By the time he dies, the younger generation will be grown up and there will be no need of him. As time goes on there will be fewer and fewer people who have been under his influence. They will all die eventually.
“But before they die, and before Vargo dies, their thoughts and ideals must be governed so that they will be happy without spending all their time and energy working in factories. Even though still slightly under the influence of hypnosis, they can be directed in such a way that their lives will be normal.”
The Best of Argosy #7 - Minions of Mercury Page 18