And so, quickly the deed was done, and quickly he returned to his bed feigning sleep.
It was a long time after the jailer had departed before Shelby's trick bore fruit. The huge prisoner rose to a sitting posture and looked about, a trifle dazedly at first. He surveyed his wounds, felt over himself tentatively, and then glanced at Shelby. The Earthman saw that the fogginess was clearing from his big eyes. There was a questioning expression in them.
Shelby thought that there was a slight chance that the colossus might be able to read his lips even though he could not hear. "Who are you?" he questioned in Pagari.
Apparently the creature understood, for immediately he turned, and with his forefinger slowly traced out on the wall behind him in the planetary symbols: "Friend of enemies of Black Emperor and of Man from Fourth World."
Shelby was taken aback by the Space Man's startling knowledge of things of which he should know nothing. "That makes me your friend," he wrote, smiling.
The giant nodded, and for almost a minute stared fixedly at the Earthman. There was a strange appeal in his eyes. Finally he turned, and laboriously he traced a quaintly worded message on the wall: "Think hard to know what I go say," he wrote.
Shelby had heard a good deal about telepathy and thought transference, depending on etheric vibrations of some kind, supposedly originating in the mind of one individual, and capable of being detected and interpreted by the mind of another. Several savants of Earth and Mars claimed to be adept with it, but owing to the fact that to master the art required a long period of intensive practice, it had not come into general use.
Could it be that this savage of the void was claiming knowledge of it? Sensing the meaning back of the odd words, the Earthman bent every fibre of his will to the task of concentrating on the idea of communication. He gazed fixedly at the eyes of the black mystic, and presently felt a slight tingling about his temples, and then, within his brain it seemed that a tiny voice speaking with a queer wording and a peculiar accent, came to life. It was odd to look at that blank impassive face and hear those words!
"I know you to be friend of mine," the voice said. "I read it in brains. You free me from sleep. But where are we? What Fourth World Man do? What for you here?"
Briefly Shelby outlined the events of the past few days, starting with his meeting with Hekalu. However, he was careful not to make any mention of the Atomic Ray. Then, partially through curiosity, and partially in the hope that the information might be helpful, he mentally asked his companion to tell him more about the Space Men's relations with the Martian.
"Everything maybe all right," said the giant. "Maybe everybody happy at last. Who know? But I tell you. We Star People—my people Star People. For a long time, oh, for very long time, we wander out there in empty places. One million year, two million year, who know? We free. Maybe find little planet—we camp there—soon go away. We fight, we hunt. Oh, there very many of us! Like sand in sky!
"One day some of us find your sun. We land on little world. Stay long. Man from Fourth World come in ship. We frightened, but he make friends. Bring us gifts. We give jewels and things we make. He learn our sign language—talk with us—tell about his world. Go away but soon come back. Bring more gifts—want more jewels and things. He take some of us with him to empty desert where nobody live. Tell us to bring jewels there to trade, but always be careful no one see!
"He make friends with Black Emperor. They plan. Gather big army. But many not like Black Emperor and Fourth World Man. My father, big noble, not like them; I not like them. They never good to us—make our people work hard, and take away our animals.
"Civil war soon—my father lead many little tribes, but Black Emperor and Man from Fourth World win. Have many strange weapons. Make peace for big conquest war, and I am hostage on Fourth Planet.
"Mars man good to me at first. I learn languages—both Pagari and Earth language. I learn to throw thoughts. My father learned from Mars slave. Then bad things happen. Fourth World Man not like me to throw thoughts to my father so far away. He give me sleep drug. When my father lead revolt again, Mars Man torture me. Now, as you say, he take me back to place where army is, on two little worlds."
A gleam of hope came into Austin Shelby's eyes, but it passed quickly. His lips curled bitterly. It was not well to base one's hope on the assertion of an unknown savage that he could hurl his thoughts across millions of miles of space.
"By what name are you known, Man of the Void?" he asked.
The voice in his brain spoke again: "Mars Man call me Ankova." Here the giant made a darting gesture with his hand. "Mean same as so in my sign language—Darting Meteor."
"I see. Can you communicate with your father now, Ankova?—get help?"
The Space Man nodded. "My brain clear now," he said. "Sleep drug not bother me any more. I talk right away."
CHAPTER VIII The Battle in Space
He lay back on the bunk and for several minutes stared fixedly up at nothing. The performance was reminiscent of the seance of an ancient spirit meeting. He sat up, and again his big eyes fastened themselves upon Shelby, and the uncanny voice spoke in the Earthman's brain:
"I get father. He on scouting expedition—very close. He bring five thousand men to rescue you and me. They get here maybe three, four hours. My father—his army same weapons as Black Emperor's. Flash, flash—all gone—everything gone."
There was the sound of movement beyond the door. Shelby waved his hand in a quick downward gesture which Ankova interpreted correctly. He slumped limply upon the bedding in a very excellent counterfeit of unconsciousness. And then Hekalu Selba entered. His face was white as chalk, and yet there was nothing in it that hinted even of a trace of fear—only icy calm. Behind him was Sega.
"Mr. Shelby," the Martian said with slow cool deliberation, "think well. Either you will reveal the secret of the Atomic Ray immediately or I shall have you immersed in the juice of the flame flowers."
Austin Shelby met Hekalu's chilly stare with a taunting smile. He sensed in the Martian's manner that his plans had met with some serious danger.
"Though I am your prisoner," he told him, "I believe that I can defy you. In the first place I do not fear the tortures that you might inflict upon me." Here he took a tiny glass capsule from his sleeve pocket and placed it in his mouth. "I do not mean by that that I am super-human, that I can endure any pain. But should the torture become unbearable I would crunch the poison vial which I have carried since I joined the Sekor fraternity back on Mars, between my teeth and bring death. That, I am not afraid of. Besides, I could give you the formulas for almost any number of unknown compounds, any one of which might be the missing crystal for all you might know. It would be several hours before you would discover that I had not given you the right one."
The Martian's face grew even whiter and harder at these words. Thoughts and plans flashed through his mind. Should he tell the Earthman what had happened—that Alkebar, the Black Emperor, had secretly slipped through the air lock into space?—that he was certainly intent upon conquering the planets alone? It would not be hard to convince the Earthman that the savage Alkebar would be an infinitely more terrible and ruthless master than any human being ever could be. Perhaps he could win Shelby to his side for as long as he needed him. He was wavering, and then, with the sudden rush of inspiration a better idea came.
"I have told you many times that you are clever, my friend," he said with some slight show of his old careless air. "Again I compliment you. But listen carefully: suppose I took the girl—put her in the gentle embrace of the juice of the flame flowers—told you to produce a formula that would work before I released her?"
The effect on the Earthman was electrical, but it was not quite what Hekalu Selba had expected. The blood red haze of murder rushed before Austin Shelby's eyes, and with movements more suggestive of a wounded panther than a human being he leaped from the bunk and tore for the Martian with flailing fists. He gave no thought to the idea that what Hekki had said might
be only a histrionic gesture.
"Oh, God!" he shrieked raspingly, "You Devil! You unutterable stinking, rotten fiend!" But it was a wild useless move. Hekalu was lightening quick and sure with the pistol. He inflicted death, or merely produced a disabling wound almost at will. And so it was that Shelby sprawled senseless on the floor with a nasty though not very dangerous bullet wound across the side of his head.
Sega and the Martian were bending over him, and then again the unexpected happened. An ebony form whose great hands and incredible muscles seemed quite equal to the task of tearing a gorilla limb from limb, arose from the other bunk and towered over the Prince of Selba and his Space Man companion.
The former, hearing a slight sound, turned, and realizing his peril fired two shots at the mountainous monster. Then he darted agilely for the door. He gave one quick backward look—saw the hand of Ankova descending with trip-hammer force upon the skull of Sega, and then slammed the stout portal behind him.
Sega had been unfortunate, but now all his troubles were over for his neck was broken. Ankova transferred to his own belt the weapons of the corpse—his heavy pistol—his case of atomic grenades—his bejeweled war club. Then he devoted his attention to Shelby.
Gently he carried him to the bunk and made awkward attempts to bandage his head with strips torn from the bedding. Satisfied at last with the crude but effective results of his efforts, he strode to the window.
For a long time he stood there, staring. But he saw nothing that interested him. The ether all about was crowded with Space Men coursing with the Selba. Except for a gentle swaying shifting movement they seemed to hang perfectly motionless in the void, and yet their speed was many miles a second.
The fantastic cavalcade aroused no wonder in the mind of Ankova, for to him they were as prosaic and commonplace as the grass under the feet of any Earthian. He cocked his head on one side as though listening. Perhaps at that moment something was coming to him from across the endless regions of the etheric desert—something which only his incredibly refined telepathic sense could detect.
His unshod feet sensed the faint vibration in the metal floor. Someone was approaching the room. First taking the precaution of tearing Shelby's chain from the wall, he turned and waited before the door with ready war club. He did not wait long for it banged open almost immediately. A Space Man appeared. Behind him were others.
Ankova did not ask their mission for he saw that they wore the insignia that meant loyalty to the man from the Fourth World. Instead he leaped in to close quarters. His whirring war club, toothed with sharp spikes, ripped and tore at the head and shoulders of the unfortunate warrior. Falteringly, the creature tried to parry the blows with his own weapon; but it was useless. Before he was able to attain his fighting stride he was down, the purple radio-active liquid that flowed in his veins in lieu of blood, dyeing the threshold. His lips curled in a grimace of agony, but he made no sound—mute he had lived and he died in the same manner.
Ankova stepped over the prostrate form and engaged the one who had stood behind him. The second Space Man fared little better. He made but a brief and unsuccessful defense and then he too went down. And so Ankova, who before his capture had won fame among the tribes of the Star People as one of the mightiest fighters that their race had ever produced, battled on in the narrow passage until the seven Space Men whom Hekalu had sent to put him and Austin Shelby under restraint were either dying or dead.
The victor glanced down the corridor—saw at the farther end a small portion of the control room's interior. Koo Faya, the Martian, was there, working with demoniac haste over switches and dials.
Ankova drew his pistol, started to aim at the slave, and then thought better of it. There was a tenseness within the hull of the Selba—something which made a deep impression on Ankova's keen intuition. His muscles tautened and a tingling sensation rippled over his ebony hide. The vibrations of the rocket motors were more noticeable than usual. Evidently the ship was tearing along at the greatest speed it could attain. And it swayed unnaturally.
Ankova knew the layout of the Selba well, for he had traveled in it often. And now he sensed quite clearly what was happening. He hurried to a supply room and selected a space armor from a rack. His Earthman friend might need it. Then he dashed back to the room In which he and Shelby had been imprisoned.
A glance out of the window confirmed his suspicions as to what was going on. The force of Space Men which was acting as an escort for the Selba had arranged itself in a sort of spherical protecting network around the craft. Another and superior force was attempting savagely to pierce this formation. The foes of Hekalu's henchmen would draw themselves into cone-shaped groups and rush the defenders, and the latter would swarm over the cones like angry and determined hornets. A hot fight was in progress out there. The ether was lit with green flashes of light, and fragments of the bodies of Space Men and their vehicles already strewed the void. In this running battle the Selba was not idle. Her torpedoes were exploding among the attackers with blinding glares of light.
Ankova wondered who the would-be destroyers of the Selba were. Clearly they were not the forces of his father, for they had not yet had time to arrive. Some stray tribe perhaps. He wished that he might see their insignia, but owing to their distance from the ship and their eccentric movements, this was impossible. He did not know that they were the minions of Alkebar who had turned enemy to Hekalu but a few hours before.
The Space Man realized that for the time being he was safe enough, but he took the precaution of planning for escape from the ship should it become necessary. He eyed the heavily glazed porthole. A few deft blows with his war club would shatter that. Beyond, there were a few discs without Space Men circling about. With luck it would be possible to capture one. First he barricaded the door with metal bars torn from the bunks, and then put the space armor on the still senseless Earthman. Then there was nothing to do but wait.
The battle was going against the defenders. Shattering concussions of atomic projectiles banging against the Selba's hull made the hurtling vessel pitch and roll frightfully. The thunder of shells waxed and waned.
It must have been over two hours later that a huge torpedo set in motion by the forces of the Black Emperor, struck the ship. The explosion rolled her completely over, and tore a jagged though not disabling hole in her side. The air puffed out from the control room compartment, but the men who labored so feverishly there, were clad in heavy space armor, and aside from being badly bruised they were unhurt.
The torpedo was the last gesture of the Alkebarians. Ankova saw a cloud of luminous specks approaching from the void at terrific velocity. They grew rapidly brighter. A blue and an orange star shot up from their midst—the identification signal of Telaba, Ankova's father. That signal was quite enough for the Black Emperor's men. Without waiting to argue they turned and fled. So quickly did they go that Telaba's warriors were unable to identify them.
The rebel tribesmen were checking their speed now, preparing to fight. But still they came on apparently like hurtling comets. They swept the remnants of Hekalu Selba's loyalists before them in one terrific charge, and then they were swarming over the Selba and through the rent in her side. There was a brief flurry of pistol shots from the crew before they were captured and bound.
In a prison compartment aft, Austin Shelby had regained his senses sufficiently to have a vague idea of what was going on around him. Ankova was supporting him, and he was staggering toward the door. His mind took up a train of thought from where it had left off. He was calling for Jan and cursing Hekalu. Cased as his head was, in an oxygen helmet, his shrieking voice was magnified a dozen times, and assumed a weird vaulted quality that startled him back to sensibility.
Ankova read his thoughts, and by telepathy replied to him: "Your lady? I forget. But we find her. She all right—sure!"
The Space Man removed the barricade and opened the door. The sudden outrush of air from the room almost toppled Shelby from his feet. And then the
Earthman heard a familiar voice in the head-phones of the radio with which his helmet was equipped: "I'm in X7, Austin. Let me out if you can."
"Janice!" he cried, and with new vigor hurried to the door of the room she had mentioned.
Ankova smashed the lock with his war club and the portal flew open. Jan was standing there encased in space armor. She was trying hard to smile.
"You're safe, darling!" Shelby cried, "And I thought that that fiend was going to hurt you!"
"My luck," she said. "Koo Faya was thoughtful enough to bring this space armor, otherwise, I wouldn't have been fit to look at any more." She pointed to a shattered window. "And you—heaven's how you can yell—and swear! I am ashamed of you!"
Her eyes widened when she looked at Ankova, but Shelby reassured her. "This is Ankova, and he is our friend—big shot, too," he said. "And Jan, I guess we're free now—really free."
Ugly Space Men, some of them gashed and wounded, crowded about as though bent on destroying the two feeble Earthians. But with imperious gestures Ankova waved them back. He conversed by signs with these warriors of his father, and then took Janice Darell and Austin each by the arm.
"Big surprise," he told them. "Come."
He led them to the control room. And there, in the grip of a black colossus was Hekalu Selba—captive. The Martian nodded perfunctorily to the girl and then turned his level gaze toward the man. His face showed no hint of anger, and it seemed that a shadow of a smile twinkled about his lips.
"Here we have a contrast, Mr. Shelby," he said quietly, "triumph and disaster staring at each other!"
Shelby told him that he should be wreaking vengeance on the noble for the numerous wrongs he had done him, but the calm unflinching attitude of the Prince of Selba made him almost like the captive.
Shelby waved the Martian's captors back and he stood free. "There is no contrast now, Akar Hekalu, for an outsider could not tell which was which!"
Godson of Almarlu: A Collection of Science Fiction Novellas Page 7