by Earl
CHAPTER XXII
Divided World
HE took a deep breath of relief.
Little was actually happening. Here and there a glass window cracked, overheated. A bit of dry debris smoked in a gutter. A rag smoldered. A puddle from recent rain steamed slightly. Steel and stone and solid wood remained adamant.
Where the scorching beams touched people, their clothing steamed, protecting them. Screams arose, more in fear than harm. It was like a withering blast, but not strong enough to more than flush the skin and bring sweat.
Perry gasped in relief again, as the last of the alcohol fuel in his planes drained out and they were hurriedly trundled away. When the heat-beams swept over the airfield, the puddles of fuel burned swiftly, harmlessly. The metal of the planes withstood easily.
After a few minutes of the aerial scourging, the enemy flight droned away, out over the ocean to Europe.
Aran Deen and Perry looked at one another, appalled at this threat of the future. A promised unleashing of hell-borne forces that in the 30th century had set a world afire.
“Just a test,” Aran Deen said. “Lar Tane’s heat-ray isn’t a city-burner—yet. It’s only good against ignitable fuels, like alcohol in the planes. But give him another few months to develop it—”
His old frame shuddered.
“We won’t give him the chance—we can’t!” Perry drew himself up. “We haven’t the heat-ray, but he has only ten planes. Nartica is now turning out our armament, for attack on Europe. Also, Nartica has hundreds of planes. With those we’ll down his ten, by sheer weight of numbers. Then we’ll bomb and machine-gun his troops and blast him wide open. I should have done this from the first—cracked down on him with all I had. Still, it’s not too late. With Nartican resources, I’ve got the definite advantage—”
HE looked up, at a drone in the sky.
Attack again? But it was a single ship and it came from the south, from distant Antarctica. It landed, and six blond Narticans strode forward from the cabin.
“Lord Plaronne!” Aran Deed said, surprised, greeting the governor of Nartica and his staff.
Tall and white-bearded, Lord Plaronne bowed stiffly.
“Lord Perry,” he spoke in formal tones. “Yesterday your plane arrived in Nartica, with plans of weapons to be manufactured in quantity. Unfortunately, we cannot comply.”
“What?” Perry was puzzled. “But you have machines, factories, skilled technicians—”
The Nartican shook his head.
“It’s not that. Nartica declares neutrality!”
It was like a bomb bursting, with more shattering force than any of Lar Tane’s.
“Neutrality!” gasped Perry. His voice rose sharply. “But how can you? Nartica is not a separate nation. I’m Lord of Earth—of all Earth except the present rebel territory. You have to help me put down the rebellion.”
Lord Plaronne smiled faintly.
“Rebellion? Nartica considers them a rival state, since your defeat in Europe. Nartica declares its independence. We can have nothing to do with what is now World War.”
Perry swayed, almost as though the world was cracking apart beneath his feet. And it was. Thunderstruck at this bewildering, ominous turn of events, he was hardly aware of Aran Deen screeching, waving his arms for emphasis.
“You declare independence! How long do you think you’ll keep it? Without your help, America will fall before Lar Tane. Lar Tane will then conquer Nartica. He is seeking world rule. Twenty-five years ago, Stirnye sailed for Nartica and rescued it from decadence. Lar Tane’s legions and fleets will come only to hammer you into submission. Think well, Lord Plaronne, before you invite utter subjugation.”
Lord Plaronne’s face was flint hard.
“Nartica can take care of itself. Besides, he—”
The Nartican stopped, as if having said too much.
Aran Deen peered cannily into his face.
“He—who? Did Lar Tane promise you safety? Through whom? Whom did he send down there? Tell me!”
“Lord Stuart,” the Nartican said, reluctantly.
Aran Deen nodded.
“I thought so. Tell us one more thing, Lord Plaronne. Did Lar Tane ask for your help, perhaps at an attractive price?”
Lord Plaronne started, and flushed.
“Nartica declares strict neutrality,” he said firmly. “We have decided that neither rule under a constitutional World-State, or under Lar Tane, is desirable. Fight out your war as you wish. Nartica will pursue its own destiny.”
With that the delegation turned and left. Their plane droned off to the south.
“MY own people!” Aran Deen groaned. “My own people shirking their duty. Perry, this is serious. Lar Tane has opened a diplomatic front. And introduced his deadliest weapon—Machiavellian treatymaking. If Nartica swings toward him—”
Perry could already picture the great air fleet of Nartica, equipped with heat-rays, sweeping across helpless America. Her humming machines churning out armament for Lar Tane. It was starkly clear and simple now. Around Nartica—remnant of the science age—pivoted the outcome of this war of budding science.
“I’m going to Nartica,” Perry said bleakly. “The war will be won or lost down there.”
Aran Deen nodded soberly.
“I’m coming along. I have some influence yet, though I’ve lived in America for twenty-five years.”
An hour later, leaving all affairs in the hands of trusted officers, they stepped to their plane. Perry was startled to find Leela following Aran Deen.
“Stuart is down there,” the old seer said cryptically. “Lar Tane uses all weapons—including womanhood. We will, too.”
It was not startling to Perry, as to his 20th century father, to find Antarctica as a bare, brown continent, with only a ring of ice around the actual South Pole.
By the 50th century, Earth had shaken itself entirely free of the last great Ice-Age. The Antarctic and Arctic both were not the forbidding, bitter wastes of snow and eternal ice of 3000 years before. Their average climate was no worse than Alaska had been.
Snugly underground were the ten great cities of Nartica, and its ten million blonde inhabitants. Feudal lords of Stone Age Earth they had been, foraging for slaves and food among the Tribers.
Stirnye had changed that. So decadent was Nartica that it offered no resistance, beyond one brief battle, to Stirnye’s small force of “invasion.” He had then preached world-wide brotherhood, true civilization. Now Nartica was shrinking back from that task, like a turtle ducking into its shell.
Their plane landed on the metal cap of Limerka—language relic of long-gone Little America. Home-city of Aran Deen, and Silva, Perry’s mother. She had been queen here, once.
Perry drew a long breath, as an elevator took them below the metal roof into the warmed city. He had been here before. But each time he came, he felt the whispers of hoary history in his ears. Little America, holding of Stirnye’s ancient United States. Limerka, city Silva, his mother, had ruled.
He, Perry, son of Stirnye and Silva, had by birth the right of rule here, a right stretching back across an age.
He shrugged these fancies out of his mind. More practically, he breathed the tangy air of bustle and activity. Machines hummed below. Coal and metals spun the things of civilization. So could all the outer world be, in time.
And greater. For Nartican industry and science were restricted, bound by their four walls. They had no railroads, radio, or even electricity. It was Persia, sunk into slothful indolence. Only the younger generation, helping in the Triber world, had the new spirit of progress.
Queer interlude, in history. Civilization ready to spring forth, all over Earth, under the aegis of a central ruling power. Nartican youth and knowledge ready to spread. 20th century re-invention ready to add full momentum. The Magna Charta ready to pave the way sanely, peacefully.
And now, instead—war!
AS THEY stepped away from the elevator, a second cage came down from the landing roof
. Perry started violently.
Elda Tane stepped out!
She started, too. They stared at each other. Involuntarily, Perry tensed, as though expecting a sword or gun to leap into her hand. She smiled mockingly, then.
“This is not the battle-field, Perry,” she said easily. “This is neutral territory.”
She had stressed the “neutral” maliciously.
“Yes—” Lord Plaronne’s voice sounded behind them, as he hurried up. He seemed flustered, at this meeting of the two belligerent commanders. “While here in Nartica, please observe all ethics of neutrality. You are both unarmed?” He turned to the girl. “What is it you wish, Lady Elda?”
“I want to see Lord Stuart.”
“We want to see him too,” Aran Deen said quickly.
Elda flashed them a guarded look. She seemed to notice Leela for the first time, and the slumbrous green eyes narrowed.
“I see,” she breathed. “This is to be a battle of wits.”
Suddenly she laughed and took Leela’s arm.
“Come, my dear! We’ll see him together.”
Pale and trembling, Leela drew back from the green-eyed goddess who had invaded her universe. Aran Deen seemed to make some secret sign to Leela. Stiffening, bringing a brave smile to her lips, she let Elda take her arm.
“You will all see him together,” Lord Plaronne said diplomatically, leading the way to his first-level palace. He was a bit nervous over the delicate situation.
In an ornate chamber, they were ushered into the presence of Stuart. His eyes widened as he saw the four figures approaching.
Perry wondered what drama was about to be played at this pole of Earth. Battle of wits, yes, as Elda had said. And battle of human wills, emotions, souls. For somehow, Perry sensed, the threads of their lives and of a larger destiny were inextricably tangled together.
Out in the world cannon might roar, bombs burst. Down here, human wills would clash, tongues cut sharply, with results more far-reaching.
Elda pulled Leela directly before Stuart. He stared from the satanic beauty of Elda to the simple loveliness of the girl he had left a year before. For a moment naked remorse leaped into his eyes. Then his eyes turned, as to a magnet, back to the patrician features of Elda. He composed himself and greeted them all formally.
Elda smiled, as though having won an intangible victory. Then, like a general marshalling her attack with military precision, she pointed to Perry.
“I think your brother is here to give his usual plea—that you return to the fold.”
Stuart avoided Perry’s eyes.
“I don’t think we have anything to discuss,” Stuart said coldly.
NO, THEY hadn’t. Perry could see that. Stuart was here as Lar Tane’s representative, to solicit Nartican aid. Or at least to keep her neutral. For Stuart wanted his empire, with which to buy Elda. She still had him duped in that naive belief.
Perry said nothing.
Elda turned to Aran Deen.
“And you, old man. What have you to say to Stuart?”
One against three. Elda was flaunting her power over Stuart. Stuart could see it himself, and winced. But he had long ago given up fighting it.
Aran Deen’s rheumy old eyes fastened on the sultry beauty speculatively.
“Nothing, nothing,” he mumbled. “Except to ask him, and Lord Paronne, one thing. Do they know of the armed fleet of sailing vessels now approaching Nartica, ready to force her to aid Lar Tane, if she chooses otherwise?”
Everyone gasped.
Elda shot the old seer a startled glance, then turned to Lord Plaronne’s stunned face.
“Of course, it isn’t true! Ask Aran Deen if he has proof of such a wild conjecture.”
“No, it was just a shot in the dark,” Aran Deen admitted, guilelessly. “I thought you might try 30th century tactics.”
Elda shot him another measured, almost worried glance, then spoke again to the Nartican governor.
“Now, to business. I’m here to make another offer, from my father, Lar Tane. If Lord Perry is here for similar reasons, I challenge him to make his offer openly.”
Lord Plaronne made a shocked gesture.
“Nartica remains strictly neutral. I will listen to no so-called offers—”
Elda broke in blandly.
“Nonsense. Why hide behind a screen of false virtue? Our offer is this. Give us your aid to defeat America. Then, when my father forms his World Cabinet, and World Parliament, five members out of ten will be Narticans! Now ask Perry what his offer is.”
“I have no offer,” Perry said quietly. “Except as before. In my World-State, under the Magna Charta, Nartica will have just and proportional representation in the World Congress. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“And freedom of thought,” Aran Deen added pointedly, glancing at Elda. “In 2904, Lar Tane forbade the printing of books in the province of Scandia, a hotbed of liberalism.”
Elda waved an airy hand.
“The masses must be held in hand by responsible leaders. You, Lord Plaronne, realize that. You’re a levelheaded man. Your Nartica held sway over the Tribers for centuries, before Stirnye interfered. Nartica, with my father, will rule again. It reduces to that.”
Perry gasped.
It was sheer appeal to power-lust. No camouflage, no pulling of punches. He gasped again, at the expression in Lord Plaronne’s face. Cupidity, avarice, and a haughty belief in Nartican superiority, and right to rule. She had spoken his language.
The Nartican governor glanced around guiltily, then stiffened. He spoke slowly.
“Our High Council will be in session for three days. We have not yet passed finally on Nartica’s position. You will be my guests, for that time. You have the freedom of the city, but please refrain from trying to contact anyone in authority. We will make our own decision, as seems best to serve the interests of the world, and Nartica.”
He signified dismissal.
Attendants came to lead them to separate quarters. In the hall, Elda’s parting smile to Perry was taunting, self-assured.
CHAPTER XXIII
Battle Within
ARAN DEEN’S room adjoined Perry’s. They ate together, in the former, from trays of food brought by silent servants.
The food choked Perry.
“It looks bad, old man. Nartica enjoyed world hegemony, and oligarchy, for a thousand years. My father broke it up. But now, after a brief twenty-five years, Nartica is ready to jump to its old position. Or at least co-rule with Lar Tane. Half a loaf is better than none.”
“My own people,” the old scholar muttered. “If only Lord Plaronne would send out scouting planes. I think my stab in the dark struck something. Lar Tane may have sent such a fleet. The green-eyed witch looked guilty, for an instant.”
Perry hardly heard. Searching for a needle in a haystack, if the fleet existed, somewhere out in the broad oceans that lapped the shores of Antarctica from every direction. It was a hopeless hope.
Perry groaned, mentally oppressed. He had the feeling of a rat in a trap. Elda weaving a spell of evil, driving him into a corner.
“A stab in the dark!” Aran Deen suddenly hissed. “I have friends here. If the green-eyed witch were out of the way—”
Perry blinked. “What—”
“Assassination,” the old seer said calmly.
“No!” Horror leaped into Perry’s eyes. “Not that. Good God, not that.
Old man, if you try it—”
He had clutched Aran Deen’s bony arm fiercely. He relaxed, flushing.
The old eyes looked into his, accusingly.
“It has come to that, Perry! I merely tested you. But I can’t blame you. Once, when I was young—” He shook his head. “You war on two fronts, poor lad.”
“Yes, but she’ll never win on that one,” Perry snapped. “Old man, don’t ever think she’ll win that way.”
Something else leaped into Aran Deen’s eyes.
“War on two fronts! If she lost—”
He flogged his mind to think—think some way out of the trap. See Stuart? Tell him how Elda was ready to cast him aside, for any other man with an “empire” ? No, what good would that do? Stuart knew. He wanted to be the man. He was carrying on his fight solely for her, not for power or any belief in Lar Tane’s ruthless principles.
Perry was suddenly aghast.
And what was he himself fighting for? Could he point a finger at Stuart—now? War on two fronts, yes. And on how many fronts could a man fight a battle? Could he fight within as well as without? Could he fight the battle for the world without first winning the one raging within him?
And yet—how could he win the one within? How, in the name of the universe! The roots of his inner war stretched back to mighty forces from the dawn of time. A man could as easily shoulder aside a world as steel himself against what Elda represented—as a woman.
The third knock penetrated his laboring mind. He opened the door, staring dumbly.
Elda Tane stood there.
“It is boring to sit, waiting, doing nothing,” she smiled. “Will you join me, Herr Perry? Perhaps we can tour the city together. I am interested. You know more of it than I.”
Her casual tone broke into a trilling laugh.
“Or would you consider it treason to your cause, to give me your company? I might win military secrets from you.”
Perry glared at the challenge in her eyes.
“Come or.,” he said gruffly.
He could not let her think he quailed before her. He could not win the inner fight by hiding in the dark.
THE underground city was built around a huge central well that dropped sheerly. An elevator took them down a giddy mile, to the bedrock foundation. Level by level, they toured upward, through the beehive city and all its intricate ramifications.
An admiring wonder came over Elda’s face, as though blown there by a breath from the past.
“This is almost like civilization of my time,” she murmured. “Activity, industry, science in the service of man. Ah, Perry, you would have liked my times—”