by Don Wilcox
So that was how Brubbazein had come by Alec’s uniform. Simple direct action—bullets. A sickening shudder came over the young engineer. He glanced at the figures crowded against him. Still asleep.
Breathing heavily, trembling to the fingertips, he held back the speed. The memory of his father came upon him” sharply—
Never since the hour of that fateful tragedy had the realization been so poignant that the dreaded dictators were geniuses of crime, whose statesmanship was simply glorified murder braced, by glorified excuses that were forced down the throats of their people. Human lives were Cheap to them, and Woe unto the innocent man who happened to block their paths.
But now that they were at war, what could be fairer than to bring them face to face, let them take their venom out on each other?
Three dizzy passengers in the electric mole blinked their bleary eyes, saw that their pilot still clutched the controls, that the two lavender headlights still sent their whirling spots down—down—
Again, Arden threw pressure on the throttle. Another stretch of sickening speed. The passengers went into a heavy sleep.
At last the tunnel angled outward, straightened out Over the deepest floor man ever found, widened into a station.
CHAPTER IV
An Underground Drama
Arden unloaded his sleeping passengers. They were easily handled in the buoyant air; he clung to a cable with one hand to keep from rising.
Once within the air-tight doors of the Lava Station, the atmospheric conditions were less abnormal. This station was artificially walled, having been dug and paved by this electric mole; it was here that Arden had originally found himself at a dead end in descent, for the rock was still in a molten form. Even the thick walls of crystal could scarcely resist the terrific pressure of the expansive steamy substance.
Arden glanced hastily through the crow’s foot of passages, a series of dead ends that testified to the electric mole’s struggle. He was gratified to find that only a few minor breaks had appeared since his last visit; the inpouring lava had stiffened, clogged its own passage through the walls.
He dragged each of his companions to a separate wing, left the neon lights burning dimly, hastened to the power room to step up the refrigeration plant. The threaded crystal floors were unbearably hot. It would take a few minutes for the air to cool and the fumes to clear. Meanwhile, the oxygen helmets were needed.
He telephoned to the Lower Terminal, which was now twenty-five miles above.
“President Marbl? . . . Everything okay so far. They’re still asleep from the ride . . . No, they didn’t suspect a thing, so we’re all set. My telecaster is already switched on, so go ahead with your connections. I hope you can pull in all the networks . . .”
Arden hung up, whirled to his instruments, scanned them with a practiced eye. As always, his heart gave, an extra jump as he caught the new oscillations on the seismographic record. He noted from another instrument—a thick steel tower through which lava circulated—another slight rise in the index to the pressures that thundered constantly beneath the crusty floor. Without instruments, that ominous sound was almost inaudible, but Arden trembled to realize the direful power back of that low rumble.
Back to his victims.
Jaazel still lay against the wall, his eyes closed. Arden dug into his cooler, found a pistol, removed it, hurried on.
Brubbazein’s frame rocked slightly as Arden removed a weapon from him, but settled back to a comfortable position on the floor. A sleepy groan. No time to waste now. The husky dictator would soon come out of it.
Arden chased into a third passage, hoping the girl would be dead asleep. No such luck. She was up on one elbow. She saw him approach, got to her feet unsteadily, reached to remove her helmet. Arden did not restrain her, for the air was clearer now; moreover he was curious to see her face, to know what sort of person he had to deal with.
He stopped short, stared. “Sondra!” he said.
Lighted by the soft glow of neons reflected off the iridescent walls, the beautiful face was revealed to him—the deep colored waves of hair, the fine white skin, lustrous eyes, lips parted in a half smile.
“You—you still remember me, Arden?”
“Remember you! Of course—” He reached out for her hands. Their clasp was encumbered by the bulky gloves but they didn’t notice that. Arden hastily removed his own helmet, his face was very close to hers, his expression was one of mingled discovery, delight, and—most of all—utter bewilderment.
“Sondra, I can’t believe it! It’s been four years since—” The gladness in his countenance waned, as if he had allowed himself to be too much carried away by surprise. He glanced back into the big open room impulsively; the lines about his mouth tightened, he turned toward her sternly.
“Sondra, what are you doing here?”
Her radiant look faded. Her eyes fixed upon the two pistols jammed through his belt. Her stare was the only answer she offered. He bristled with defense.
“Sondra, I’ve got a big job on my hands. I don’t want you to misunderstand me—I’d like to tell you everything—I will if we get out of this alive—but just now—” Another sharp glance toward the big room. “Sondra, will you help me?”
There was a vibrant appeal in. his voice that shook her, magnetized her as back in her student days when she dared to be fond of him. But now—she must keep a grip on herself.
Accusation showed through her steady eyes. She shook her head slowly.
“What’s happened to you, Arden? You’ve changed since I first knew you—”
He was silent. Of course he had changed. She must have known that after his innocent father was purged—upon a pretext—
A note of sympathy came into her voice. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Arden. I know how cut up you were—and yet—I saw the change coming over you before I left—and I—I was afraid!”
“And now?”
“I’m more afraid than ever. I’ve lost touch . . . Why didn’t you ever write to me?”
Arden turned his eyes away, spoke impassionedly. “I couldn’t after what happened—after, what I did. You must have heard. I ran away from Terrany the week I was to have gone into compulsory military service.” His eyes turned back upon her; his voice went defiant. “I couldn’t go into it! Everything within me revolted! I couldn’t! Don’t you see! It was all a farce to me—and it still is, even though my native country is at war! War for what? The amusement of our great dictator! How could I fight for a criminal like Jaazel? I tell you my own principles wouldn’t let me!”
“I wish you had written me, Arden.”
His tall taut frame drew closer to her. He looked into her lovely face, seemed to breathe in an inspiration of human tenderness long forgotten. “Sondra,” he said softly, “I often dreamed of you after I came here to the mines—dreamed that some day I’d see you again—maybe meet you by chance, like this, and we’d have a chance to talk about—lots of things . . .”
Sondra’s face lighted to know he felt that way. She smiled, not knowing what to say.
The far-off mystical look returned to his face.
“After you left—after my father was murdered—I began to see what was happening to everyone in Terrany. I saw Jaazel waving his high sounding ideals at us with one hand and branding us into inhumane beasts with the other. I knew for the first time that his system was rotten to the core, and we were, all the goats. But I wanted to prove it. I wanted to know whether he himself believes in the things he makes my people die for,” He turned to Sondra sharply. “Bo you think he does, down deep in his heart?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Or is he just pulling the wool over his own eyes with all this talk about saving civilization—doing it to mask the fiend that’s down inside, himself feasting on murder?”
“I can’t answer that, Arden. I—”
“It’s a question that ought to be answered!” The depth of feeling in his voice shook Sondra. What a dramatic figure he was, a gi
ant of courage, his nerves sharpened to a fighting edge. “And maybe it can be answered—this hour—for the whole world!”
“What do you mean?” Sondra’s lips trembled. “Jaazel came down here at President Marbl’s request, to inspect a war device. It’s-my-duty to see that he gets back—”
“He won’t get back. Not the way he came. I can promise you that!”
Terror came into Sondra’s white face. She glanced at the gleaming weapons. “Not in cold blood, Arden!”
“No. I won’t lay a hand on Jaazel if I can help it—but our other passenger might.”
Sondra’s trembling hand touched her shocked mouth. “Then you’ve—you’ve brought a thug along to do the deed for you!”
“Exactly. One of the most skillful thugs in Europe. He ought to be a perfect match for Jaazel His name’s Brubbazein.”
“Brub—” the girl gasped. “You mean that man in the red who came down with us was—”
“Brubbazein. He’s here for the same purpose as Jaazel. His visit was arranged by your honored President. The same thing goes for Brubbazein. They’re both here and if they’re awake by this time they’re each in a stew to blow up the other’s capital. That’s why I—” He felt Sondra’s fearful stare grow cold upon him.
“I can’t let you do this, Arden. I can’t betray President Marbl. I’m bound, to see that Jaazel gets a square deal.”
“He’ll get whatever deal Brubbazein gives him!” Sondra shrank backward. “Then this is all a trick to avenge your father’s murder!”
“No, Sondra, you don’t understand. It’s something far bigger than that.” Arden took another step toward her, his brow twisted painfully as he strove to make himself clear. He couldn’t find words for it. Her sensitive face—how could he make her understand that this was not simply madness? “Sondra, you shouldn’t be here. The very sight of you makes me go soft. It was always that way with you and me. I needed to be bitter and hard—that was the only way to satisfy the fire inside me—and you wouldn’t let me—you couldn’t stand the cruelty. But I’ve got to go through with it now. I’ve got them here . . . I’ve got the television receiver . . . It’s on—now—in the big room—so the world can judge for itself.”
“The world—?” Sondra’s eyes fluttered. At last the meaning began to dawn upon her.
“The world will see them come together—two war gods—pitted against, each Other. They won’t know they’re being watched by anyone except you and me. They’ll reveal themselves—they’ll give us the answers that are at the heart of the world’s trouble! You’ll not interfere with this, Sondra—you’ll let it go through?”
“I’ll not interfere,” said the girl weakly. There was no other answer, even though the fears that shot through her were sharpened by the knowledge that Jaazel had brought her here as a shield in case of personal danger.
The trudge of heavy footsteps sounded. Shadows criss-crossed through the large cavernous room. The husky figure in the red cooler strode into view.
Arden slipped the guns out Of his belt, hid: them iii his oxygen helmet which he carried like a basket, and went forward with a stow; easy stride. Sondra followed.
CHAPTER V
Volcano for Sale
One by one my guests are coming to life,” said Arden casually, turning bright lights on throughout the crow’s foot of passages as he passed a switchboard. “How are you feeling?”
He got only a muffled grunt for an answer, which was as much as he expected from a dictator concealing his identity.
“The spin usually affects passengers that way, and the heavy atmosphere down here makes some very sleepy. But I’ve got the pumps working, it’s getting copier, you’ll be all right now. It won’t take us long to look around.”
Brubbazein grunted again.
Soon the other helmeted figure came to life, came rushing out; of his corridor with considerable agitation but hastily regained his poise when he caught sight of the waiting party.
“And now that we are all ready,” said Arden suavely, “we’ll review these geological curiosities systematically. But first, would you gentlemen care to remove your helmets? I’m, sure you’d find it more comfortable and congenial.” Neither man acted upon the suggestion. “Very well, we’ll proceed.”
There were numerous gadgets to explain and demonstrate. Here and there Arden pressed levers and jets of live steam shot across the floor or whistled overhead. One faucet released a blast of black smoke; another, with a heavily insulated hose and nozzle attached, produced a fine spurt of lava that spattered the arched ceiling like molten lead. The round stones that lay loose on the floor, Arden explained, were simply globules of lava that had stiffened.
Farther on was an instrument that enabled them to hear the thundering torrent of lava bounding up like a million geysers of hot metal against a ceiling somewhere beneath them. None of the party, regardless of hidden anxieties, could fail to feel the thrill of dynamic power that lay hidden here. Pity the man that chanced to be on this spot when the subterranean hell broke loose.
But the one object that stuck in their eyes from the first was the large hand lever conspicuously rising from a small platform in the center of the main room.
Each time the party moved from one dead end corridor to another they passed it. They saw the printed directions it bore in bold yellow letters.
The lever stood at dead center. One arrow pointed outward to the word Terrany at the right; the opposite arrow pointed leftward to the word Belligia.
“And now we come to the most interesting feature,” Arden’s monolog continued in tourist-guide fashion. “This lever—”
The dictators drew too close to the object for comfort.
“Keep back off the platform steps, please,” Arden warned. They backed away. “This lever is a delicate trigger connected with two vast stores of explosives, buried back in two of the corridors we have just visited.”
“Two!”
Arden was uncertain whether it was Brubbazein or Jaazel who spoke, or whether both in unison. Each visor was turned toward him.
“These two stores of explosives were planted originally to blast openings from the volcano beneath us, to relieve the pressure if it became dangerous; perhaps eventually to clear the path for further descent. However, it was necessary first to drill outlets, hence two angling tunnels were cut toward the surface as lava lead-offs.”
“Two?”
This time Arden was certain both men spoke.
“Two,” he answered. “I find that visitors are always interested to know where these tunnels go. Well, one of them follows a seam between underground mountains and rises toward a city in Belligia. The other, by chance, leads to Terrany. Hence the marks on this lever.”
“Just where in Terrany?” came the voice of Jaazel, badly disguised.
“By a strange circumstance, to a conduit subway beneath the national capital of Terrany.”
Through the electric speaker in Jaazel’s helmet a hard gulp sounded.
“And the other?” the husky figure in red demanded in a hoarse voice.
“To the Belligian government buildings. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Arden was the only one who laughed, and his effort was distinctly strained. “Some of our visitors have remarked, now that the war is on, that one false move from this lever might wind up the trouble in a hurry. What do you folks think?”
Dead silence. Arden could feel the wrath gathering.
“It does seem,” he continued, “that it would be an easy way of accomplishing exactly what each of the dictators Wants to accomplish. Don’t you think so?”
Another silence, heavy with tension.
“Some folks say to me, why don’t you go ahead and shove the lever one way or the other and stop the damned war?” Arden chuckled as if he were talking to himself. “Gosh, it does sound tempting.” He placed a foot on the first step, gazed at the object of his discourse. “But I always tell them I can’t make up my mind which way it ought to go, and then ask them if t
hey want to make me an offer to thrust it in the right direction. Well, nobody’s made me a decent offer—so far.”
Arden moved up the three steps, stood on the little platform. In one hand he still held his helmet, its contents concealed. The other hand he placed on the lever.
“Perhaps,” he said with an ironical smile, “some of you visitors would like to make a bid . . . Here we are, open for business.”
Number 39’s shoulders drew up tightly. His angry; breathing was audible.
The husky figure in the red cooler stood stiffly, passed his glare from one to the other of his companions; his visor came to rest on the one person, other than himself, whose face was hidden.
Arden monologued on in his quiet voice. Gradually his words grew crisper. “I assume you’re all wide awake by this time. Surely you’re not going to let a good opportunity slip by. All joking aside, I’m in the mood for action. It wouldn’t take much to make me blow up the Belligian capital. Today the great dictator Brubbazein shot and killed one of my best friends.”
The three persons stood paralyzed for a moment. Up to now the two hidden dictators had thought perhaps the young engineer was simply chattering to hear himself talk. But the gleam in his distended eyes arrested them. Was that gleam a fighting challenge or something insane?
Brubbazein, closest to the platform, moved backward; a step. Jaazel reached his hand out as if to catch Sondra’s arm. She was a few steps out of reach. He gave her a swift glance as if to remind her she was his protection, returned his eyes to the bold speaker.
“And now that I think of it,” the young man’s lips drew down, “I could blast the capital of Terrany off the map without blinking an eye—for a certain dictator named Jaazel murdered my father:”
With these words the; speaker let a glove drop from his right hand. He dipped into his helmet, brought up a pistol.
“Take off your helmets, you cowards!” he demanded.
CHAPTER VI
The Challenge to Fight