by Earl
CARV’ER hung up with a restless feeling. Now that events were coming to a climax, his mind seethed with vague fears. He stepped out on the balcony, looking over the city of mystery. It lay like a tinsel fairyland, in its own towerlights, incredibly beautiful, age-old, weird. He looked up. There was no moon in Shorr’s skies, only a firmament of strange, fiery stars. Perhaps the native people of this world had charted them into constellations of their own. His hand unconsciously gripped the butt of his wave-gun as he thought of the demon-people, and their eerie astral wanderings.
He heard the buzzing of his visi-phone and went to answer it. The face of Elsha, Queen of Mu, greeted him.
“Barry Carver,” she pleaded, “I want to see you. It’s important. Please come over right away.”
“No!” snapped Carver.
She argued, and all the while her eyes were on his. He tried to fight their influence but again a subtle hypnotism cast its spell. Agreeing finally, he reflected vaguely, as he went to the ship terrace, that mere man could not fight the magnetic allure that the woman had built up in twelve thousand years of practice. But he promised himself savagely that he would tell her once and for all to give up the chase. Pointed insults would repulse even her.
He stepped into the witchery of her presence, and the straight-laced words he had thought up came out haltingly. She smiled through it all, though he sensed the suppressed fury behind her lidded eyes.
“All right, Barry Carver, I understand,” she said calmly. “I drink to your happiness—with the woman you choose.”
Carver did not think of her odd use of tense in the words till he had drunk half his glass, in relieved courtesy to the toast. He set the glass down.
“What do you mean—choose? I have chosen already.”
He glared at her, but suddenly his eyes swam. His brain reeled. He staggered to the couch, almost falling. Elsha was close now, peering into his eyes—waiting. The thought hammered in Carver’s mind that the drink had been drugged.
“The woman you—chose!” repeated the Queen of Mu. “And you choose me. You love me, Barry!”
And suddenly it was all clear to Barry Carver. He loved her, the Queen of Mu. Of course! She was a glorious, desirable woman. How had he ever thought Helene Ward was the one? His head sank to her shoulder. Babbling words of devotion came from his lips. His voice seemed to come from somewhere outside of him, from a vast roaring distance.
Then hers, though in his confusion he could scarcely understand what she said. “I will be queen again! A queen needs a king beside her on the throne. You will be my king, Barry, beloved. More than any other man, in twelve thousand years, you are my choice. We will rule Shorraine, you and I, even after the Spot is opened. They have promised me that.”
Carver’s head came up, dizzily. “King? Rule?” he mumbled. “I don’t—understand.” Dim instincts of warning worked within him. He staggered to his feet.
“Yes, go now, Barry,” she said. “Go back to your room and sleep. Tomorrow, it will be clearer to you. You will come to me in the morning.”
MUTTERING, Carver stumbled to his ship. Elsha’s servant quietly piloted him back to his quarters. In bed, Carver’s thoughts were a dizzying turmoil. He was sure of only one thing—that he loved Elsha, Queen of Mu!
He awoke with a hand shaking his shoulder frantically. It was still night, with dawn about to break. Tom Tyson’s boyish face, aged now by some urgency, peered down at him.
“Get up, Barry!” His voice was hoarse. “Something’s happened. I just got the call from Proxides, and came over to take you along.”
“What happened?” demanded Carver, fully awake.
Tyson’s lips worked. “Val Marmax is gone! Taken by force! By—”
“Yes?”
“The demon-people!” Tyson’s young face looked haggard.
Carver dressed hurriedly, and in a short while their ship descended to the great gate’s parapet. Proxides came forward, nursing an arm whose bicep was a torn, bloody mass that he had hastily bandaged.
“Just touched me as they went by,” he growled. “Jove curse them—”
Carver stopped his flow of Greek invective. “The whole story, from the beginning!”
“I saw the ship slant down to Val Marmax’s laboratory. I seldom sleep at night; time enough in the day. It landed on the roof. A few minutes later I saw a flash of a guard’s beam-gun, on the roof. The ship swung up, and some blasting force from it laid the guards out like sticks. As it slanted past me, I took a pot-shot at it, and got this.” He touched his arm. “It was the demon-people. I saw their devilish eyes.”
“But why didn’t you sound the alarm when you first saw the ship?” groaned Carver. “And the guards—they let them get into the laboratory!”
“It was Queen Elsha’s ship!” returned Proxides.
Carver gasped, looking at Tyson. “That’s the only reason they succeeded,” said Tyson. “Queen Elsha is allowed to go anywhere she pleases, at any time, without question. She has always done so. She must have helped them!”
Confusion rose in Carver’s mind. Could she have done such a traitorous thing, leagued herself with the demonpeople? And last night—had she drugged him, perhaps to make sure he wouldn’t interfere with the abduction? It was a horrible indictment against the woman. He was unwilling to believe it.
“There’s one other thing, Barry.” Tyson spoke slowly. “Helene—was taken too!”
Carver shook. For a moment he stood stiffly, conquering a wild rage. Then he motioned to the laboratory. They descended to it. On the roof lay the bodies of the slain guards, bloodily torn as though by some internal bomb. Tyson explained, from what he had heard, that the demon-people’s weapon was a telekinetic disrupting force.
Down below, they found a group of bewildered guards conversing. The laboratory was a ruin, obviously blasted by the force-weapon. Not one scrap of Val Marmax’s scientific labors on the Spot-penetration was left. The guards’ story was the same as that of Proxides. No one had bothered to watch who or what came out of Queen Elsha’s ship, in the darkness of the roof. Suddenly they had heard noises, screams. By the time they had arrived, from their various posts, the ship was gone, the damage done.
“IT’S all plain,” muttered Tyson.
“Queen Elsha led them below. They worked fast, secretly. And now the demon-people have Val Marmax in their hands. They’ll force the Spot secret from him—invade Earth!”
“Come on!” cried Carver. “We’re going to see Queen Elsha about this.”
“If she’s there,” said Tyson. “She may have gone along with them—”
But they found her in her apartment, weeping loudly. Even her tear-strained face was incredibly beautiful. On the floor lay her servant, in a pool of blood from his own shattered skull.
“I know something terrible has happened!” she sobbed. “An hour ago the demon-people came here and took my ship. They killed my servant, tied me.” She pointed to strips of silk on the floor. “I just worked free. What did they do with my ship?” She stared at them with innocent apprehension.
The two men looked at one another. If it was acting, it was magnificent. Tyson’s lips writhed.
“Pretty thin alibi, Queen Elsha,” he snapped. “You know very well that Val Marmax and Helene Ward were abducted, guards killed. You were there!”
The woman gasped, as though the news stunned her. Then she rose with outraged dignity. “Dog! How dare you!” she spat at Tyson. “Did you see me there? Did anyone see me there? How can you make such unfounded accusations!”
Tyson growled. “Yes, some of the guards saw you!”
Carver waited to see the effect of the bluff, for any guards that might have seen her were dead. For himself, he was in a quandary. He had seen no sign as yet of guilt in her words or attitude. She might be the picture of innocence she presented.
Queen Elsha tilted her face haughtily, ignoring Tyson. She turned the full power of her glorious eyes on Carver. “Barry, this boy is insulting me. But you aren�
�t suspicious of me, are you?” She held out her arms. “You haven’t forgotten last night—kiss me, Barry!”
Carver made no move, except to shake his head. “Last night—what a fool I was!” he murmured.
For the first time, the woman’s eyes showed perturbation. “But you love me!” she declared.
“No,” denied Carver. “I don’t know what kind of drug you gave me last night, but I know that the effects have worn off. I—”
He was interrupted by a sharp cry from Queen Elsha. Her hand went to her mouth and she fell back a step. Some violent emotion worked within her—disappointment, frustration, then hysterical rage.
“They tricked me!” she raved. “They told me it would last for years—forever!” She was sobbing again—genuinely, Carver sensed—and rapidly going to pieces.
Carver leaped forward, his own face working. He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her. “Who’s they—the demon-people? Out with it, woman, or I’ll—” He raised his hand threateningly, determined to get the truth out of her.
She didn’t wince at the gesture.
Something else forced her to speak, within herself. “Yes, the demon-people! Oh, what have I done?” Her tones were almost a shriek.
Carver forced her back on the couch and slapped her face lightly. “No hysterics,” he ground out. “Why did you do it?”
Composing herself with an effort, she looked up at him.
“For you!” she murmured unhappily. “And for my—kingdom! I wanted you from the first, Barry. No man, in twelve thousand years, has ever stirred me more. And your resistance, your scorn, drove me—mad!”
SHE swallowed and went on, in a dry defeated voice. “They came to me in astral forms. I made a bargain with them—for a love-philtre! The demonpeople have a strange science, almost a sorcery. The philtre would give me your love. And in return I would help them abduct Val Marmax. Also, I was to help them conquer—Shorraine! Among the men who man Shorraine’s defenses, I have many devoted—friends. They would do my bidding, let the demon-people’s ship past, to attack the city. In return for that, after the conquest, I would be made Queen of Shorraine. Even later, of part of Earth!”
Carver listened with incredulous amazement. Monstrous bargain! Yet dimly he could understand. It had rankled in her mind for twelve thousand years that she had once been a queen. And she had never before been balked in love, most likely. In a mad moment, she had seen the chance to attain both her desires, bargained with the enemy, sold out her people with coldblooded indifference.
“Good God, woman!” groaned Carver. “Do you realize what a horrible thing you’ve done? I don’t know much about the demon-people, but you’ve given them the chance to invade Earth. If they worm the Spot secret out of Val Marmax and then kill him, we won’t even have a chance to warn the outside world!”
The proud Queen of ancient Mu hung her head. “It was madness!” she moaned. “If I could only undo it!”
“Too late now,” growled Tyson. His eyes reviled her. He turned to Carver. “Something has to be done.”
Carver was pacing the thick rug, frowning in thought. “There’s only one thing I can see. Attack the demonpeople—now! Stop them from going on. Destroy them completely if possible !”
Tyson shook his head. “Afraid it wouldn’t be so easy, Barry. They’re well armed, the city fortified. Shorraine has had battles with them before, trying to rescue the poor souls they’ve enslaved, arriving through their Spot.”
“But surely the science of Shorraine is superior to theirs?”
“They have their own weapon and ours!” returned Tyson gloomily. “Through the centuries, they’ve managed to steal scientific secrets, with their damned astral spying. They even have robot machinery, modeled after ours. In a drawn-out war, they’d have the superiority of numbers, too. We might win, though, even against those odds.” He shrugged fatalistically. “I suppose it’s the only course left.”
“Wait!”
Carver whirled on the Queen of Mu. “When are they supposed to attack Shorraine?”
The woman looked up spiritlessly. “Tomorrow.”
“And they don’t know—” Carver suddenly jerked out his high-frequency pistol. A black, shapeless shadow had slithered into the room. It puffed away with its peculiar telepathic scream as the wave-gun hissed.
“They must be suspicious,” resumed Carver. “But they don’t know that Queen Elsha has told her story. Shorraine will meet them tomorrow with full force. Let them wear down their forces a little, attacking. Then Shorraine can attack.” He went on rapidly. “In the meantime, you and 1 will go to the demon-people’s city!”
TYSON stared. “We’ll be killed or captured. What—”
“Queen Elsha will take us,” Carver said tersely. “As converts, friends to their cause, or something. Anything, just so we get into their city safely. We have to try rescuing Val Marmax, and Helene!”
It was a wild scheme, Carver knew, but every moment that Val Marmax was in their hands counted against Shorraine—and Earth. And Helene—he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace till he saw her again, stood at her side, no matter under what circumstances. “I’m game,” Tyson said simply. “Will you do it, Queen Elsha?” queried Carver. “Get us into their city on some pretext?”
She started as though coming out of a worried dream. “Anything you say, Barry,” she agreed tonelessly. “Anything to—atone!”
Before the Five, a short time later, Carver gave the full details in brief phrases. The alarm had rung through the city, over the abduction, but none had known the full story. The Five looked with terrible scorn at Queen Elsha and she shrank visibly.
“Elsha,” said the spokesman, “you have done an incalculable harm. Five hundred years ago you fomented a minor revolution among your—friends. You gave a promise afterward never to again raise trouble, which you’ve broken now. Your punishment—”
“Never mind that!” snapped Carver. “Now that it’s done, the important thing is stopping the enemy. She has to take us into their city. We’ll do what we can to rescue Val Marmax. In the meantime, protect Shorraine from their attack tomorrow. And then attack them—whether we come back or not!”
The Atlantide nodded. “We will have the Council place us on an immediate wartime footing.” He glanced at Carver. “You are a brave man, Barry Carver. We wish you luck, for your own sake as well as for the good of Shorraine—and Earth!”
A few minutes later the craft bearing the three soared up and darted over the spires of Shorraine. Wild looking land, unearthlike in aspect, flew beneath them. Strange slinking monsters crept in the shadows of mushrooming vegetation. Far in the distance, once, they saw the hulking shape of some earthly dinosaur. Carver shuddered. Shorr was a forbidding, depressing world. Small wonder that the immortals of Shorraine would eagerly leave it, at the price of death.
Phoryx, the city of the demon-people, climbed over the horizon like a black, cubistic monster. Copied partly from Shorraine’s slim grace, it was a twisted parody, as though insane minds had been the architects. The building material was all of blacks and hideous blues and purples. The demon-people likely saw lighter colors only as greys.
When they had approached within a mile, Tyson brought the ship to a halt, hovering on its anti-gravity plane.
“We’re liable to get shot down if we go any closer without being expected,” he explained.
Carver saw a black astral shape materialize over their heads. Queen Elsha shook her head as he was about to draw his wave-gun. She was more composed now, and waited calmly as the mysterious thing settled about her head, like an intangible vampire.
She seemed to listen for a moment and then spoke aloud. “I wish to see Sha-tahn. It is important.” Again a pause. “They are friends of mine—and of Phoryx. I have a plan, relating to them, for Sha-tahn to hear.”
THE astral body hovered for another moment and then darted up from her head. It floated to the prow of the ship and moved forward, as though guiding the way.
�
�Follow it,” the Queen of Mu said to Tyson. “It is well so far. We will have an audience with Sha-tahn, ruler of all the demon-people. I’ll contrive to find out from him where Val Marmax is kept prisoner.”
“And Helene,” added Carver. He looked at her grimly. “We’re taking a big chance with you, Queen Elsha. If you try to betray us—” He patted the heat-gun in his belt suggestively.
Tyson took a breath and moved his levers to follow the astral guide. It led them slanting down to an immense building facing a great gate of dull metal. The other Spot! Through it, if they had the chance, the denizens of Shorr would swarm, toward Earth.
They landed on the roof. Carver noticed with a wry grin that the building’s several towers all leaned. Poor structural engineers. Their ghostly guide led them into the gloomy interior. The halls were so dimly lit that they could barely see their way. The demon-people hated light, Carver conjectured. He saw several dark forms, solid ones, but couldn’t make out their shape. He hadn’t as yet seen one of the enemy and wondered what they’d be like.
They finally brought up against a corrosion-stained metal door. The astral being went through but the visitors had to wait till it opened. The chamber beyond was more lighted and Carver strode in, with the feeling of walking into a lion’s den.
He stopped short after a few steps, his lower jaw dropping. He stared at the creatures gathered in a little semicircle. They were satyrs! The satyrs of mythology, with furred bestial bodies, hind hooves, arched tails. From the waist up they were faintly human, with manlike arms, hands and shoulders. The faces were satanic—pointed ears, flaring noses, protruding jaws and lips, and tiny horns at the temples. Repulsive, alien, inimical.
Carver would have been less surprised to see creatures with five legs or two heads. But satyrs, out of the pages of mythology—coincidence or not? He felt himself at the verge of a blinding revelation.