The girl lifted the transparent flask.
“There is a way of escaping, but a dangerous one. We must take this drug. It—” She hesitated. “It slows down our life-processes. We move, talk, think much slower. Mental energy is released at a very much lower rate.”
She drank from the flask, and gave it to Denham, who followed her example. Almost instantly a curious numbness crept over him, a lethargy affecting mind and body alike. As he walked on, he felt like someone moving under water.
And yet, though his slow thought puzzled, this was logical enough. The—what were they? Then he remembered.
Thought-finders were devices attuned to locate mental disturbance. The brain throws off more energy when it is under emotional stress. A torpedo leaves a visible wake. A slowly gliding cuttlefish may not. In Denham’s case, it was the wake itself that was the betraying factor. The mere act of normal thought produced energy which thought-finders were able to detect.
His mind, like Varr’s, was slowed down to such a point that the thought-finders could not detect the energy expended.
“Make your mind blank,” the girl whispered. “Do not think. Not even of danger.”
She took Denham’s hand.
But a thought had come to the physicist.
“My helmet—the size-changing device! Where is it?”
“Be still!” she said. “It is safe. I sent it ahead, with the others. Now make your mind empty. A thought may kill us both—now!”
CHAPTER V
Strange Journey
HIS mind was an electro-magnet.
As long as he kept it empty—without current—he was safe. But if magnetism entered, the fantastic compass needles of the thought-finders would swing toward him betrayingly. It was pure nightmare.
Denham walked on slowly, numb and lethargic. Each step was an effort. His senses seemed dulled. His mind would persist in swinging to the menace at hand—
No! That was the true peril! Denham was reminded of an ancient story: If you met a man riding a piebald horse, you would fall heir to a fortune, provided you did not think of the horse’s tail till you were past.
And this was quite as difficult. Denham fcoused his thoughts on trivial matters. But inexorably he found his pulses heightening.
They came to a door at last. Varr swung it aside; they stepped across a threshold into darkness. As Denham turned, his eyes accustoming themselves to the gloom, he saw the girl closing a cleverly concealed panel in a gigantic tree trunk. Her hand tightened warningly in his, warm and vibrant.
Here was Stygian gloom, silently shaking with menace. The moons of this strange world were invisible. Their light could not filter through the plateau of leaves and branches far overhead. Looking up, Denham saw the leaves in unnaturally rapid motion that slowed a little as he watched. The drug was wearing off—
Through the stillness came a high-pitched hum. It grew louder, then faded.
“Remember!” Varr whispered.
They walked forward. The girl’s eyes shone green and brilliant. She could see, apparently, as easily as a cat in this shadowy gloom.
They came to a clearing, skirted it. Something drifted past overhead, oval against the purple sky. Denham guessed it was an airship of sorts, though it carried no lights. He could not tell by its speed whether the drug in his system was still effective or not.
The airship swerved and came back. Denham felt momentary panic.
“Stop thinking!” Varr gasped.
She lifted the flask, thrust its mouth against Denham’s lips. The liquid trickled warmly down his throat. Instantly he was numb, even his thoughts congealed by the soporific drug.
Slowly, very slowly, he tilted back his head. The ovoid was still hovering above. Growing larger. Sinking down. The high-pitched drone was in his ears. And yet, strangely, it did not matter. He could not marshal his thoughts. Better to relax completely, to rest—
The ship was gone.
He heard Varr sigh with relief. Her hand tightened; she pulled him on. Stumbling, lethargic, Denham followed.
And after that—nightmare. An endless, drowsy eternity of following Varr as she led him through the unearthly forest, pausing occasionally as the ominous droning grew louder. He thought vaguely: How powerful these Listeners must be if they do not even need light to hunt down their quarry!
Varr led him on. It was hours before she gave him the antidote to the drug. It was as though a spell had snapped. He was again alive, fully conscious.
The dreamlike unreality of the scene had vanished. They were at the foot of a cliff, standing before a tree stump. Reddish moss grew in a circle all about them.
“We can move faster now,” Varr smiled. “The Listeners are far behind.”
“The Listeners—”
“Their machines,” she corrected. “They scarcely ever emerge from the Tower themselves. Their robots serve them well. What we escaped from tonight were the robots of the Listeners.”
There was laughter dancing in the cateyes.
“We have not forgotten our science, though the Listeners tried to stamp it out. For generations we have been a race of slaves, with always a few to fight against destruction. We have developed the art of hiding to a great degree. Look here.”
Her hand fumbled at the stump. Part of it slid aside, to reveal a small keyboard. Varr’s finger touched a button, and instantly Denham felt himself being lifted into the air. The circle of moss was an airship!
Varr laughed at his astonishment. “Camouflage! This is a flying platform—well concealed!”
“How is it made?”
“A disk, with a control board, as you see, and a gravity-mesh built in the disk itself.”
The platform, like a tiny moss garden, slanted up through the moonlit gloom. The cliff dropped away and was lost in the distance.
“Do you have spaceships?”
“We have not enough power for them,” Varr explained. “Before the Listeners came, we made experiments. Since then we have had no chance. But—” Her eyes narrowed. “Not thirty elads ago, two spaceships from some other world landed at the Tower of the Listeners. We will talk of that later, when we have time. This is no easy flight.”
They were very high now, moving with great speed. It was necessary to lie flat, because of wind resistance. Varr reached up and cut the controls. The disk volplaned forward and down.
“The Listeners cannot detect a flying platform when its power is off,” she told Denham. “We seldom use these. It is dangerous. But it was necessary tonight.”
After a time she turned the power on again, and the strange airship swept on. A score of times Varr glided, and meantime Denham watched the scene below. He saw rolling forests, streams, cultivated fields, sometimes a few villages. It was not an unearthly landscape, even in the light of the three moons.
At last the platform dropped down toward a little wood. It landed in a clearing. Varr leaped off, Denham at her heels, and made for a huge rock nearby. A door gaped in its side.
Then they were descending a passage, like the one on the other hideout. And, within minutes, they were on the threshold of an underground hall, hung with grayish, silken tapestries.
Overhead, a wide shaft reached up to darkness. A dozen small, pillshaped aircraft were visible here and there in the cavern. Perhaps forty men and women were assembled, all clad in garments as soft and delicate as Varr’s own.
All of feline stock, Denham realized. The men were reminiscent of tigers rather than domesticated cats, with smooth power in their quick movements, proud confidence in their triangular faces. Some were bearded. All had Varr’s feline eyes.
“Good!” the girl said, glancing around. “The laboratories are all safe?”
“All of them, Varr,” one of the men replied. “The experiments are being resumed now.”
Varr nodded.
“My flying platform is outside. Plant a different moss on it, to blend with the surroundings.” She turned to Denham.
“We experiment endlessly, seeki
ng a way to overcome the Listeners. And our laboratories must, of course, be portable. They are there.”
VARR pointed to the pill-shaped aircraft Denham had previously noticed.
“Corek!” her voice shrilled out in the dim-lit cave.
A tall figure shouldered forward—a man with an arrogant, strong face and the marks of many scars on his cheeks and broad forehead. Varr nodded toward Denham.
“The stranger is awake, you see,” she told Corek.
She turned to Denham.
“Corek is my second in command. We shall have time to talk now.” Corek nodded.
“There has been no trouble. This cave was ready—well stocked with provisions and water. The group is working already.”
“And why not?” the girl flashed spiritedly. “Does it need an elad to—”
Corek ignored her words.
“Food is ready. We can talk as we eat. Does he know—” He nodded toward Denham.
“He knows a little. Not much, as yet.”
CHAPTER VI
The Choice
COREK led the way across the cavern, his big, lithe body moving with unhurried grace. He would have made a dashing d’Artagnan, Denham thought, with wry amusement. This bizarre world!
Through a curtain they went, and into a little alcove. Surprisingly little noise came from the cavern outside. The group worked silently and efficiently, it seemed.
The table was set, and cushions heaped by it. Denham sank down, gasping with the relief of relaxation. Varr eyed him.
“There will be time to rest later. Eat, now.”
She reached for a golden, peachlike sphere and sank small white teeth into its rind.
Corek was staring at Denham. “Varr feels you can help us. I do not know. I listened, when you spoke under the truth-drug.”
“Help you?” Denham chose his words carefully. “I’m your prisoner now, isn’t that so?”
“Not—exactly.” Corek’s cat-eyes slitted. “If you chose to leave us, you would die soon, but not at our hands. The Listeners protect only their slaves.”
“Such as you and I, Corek,” Varr murmured, and Denham caught an exchange of oddly malicious amusement between the pair.
“Oh, you stand to gain by helping us,” the girl went on. “We know what you wish, and the science of the Listeners can aid you. But the Listeners themselves will not. Unless they are forced to do so.”
“What I wish—”
Denham was silent, remembering, with shocking poignancy, the peril that faced Lana in the world he had left. Maxwell’s bullet, ready to tear its deadly way into the girl’s living brain—
“You are a scientist,” Varr went on. “Your science is not ours—and so I think you can help. But first you must understand. Tell him, Corek.”
“About the Listeners? Very well. It is not a long story. Five generations ago a dozen spaceships landed on this planet. In them were the Listeners. They came from another world, we have learned since. I think they were outlaws there. They wanted power—”
“They certainly were outlaws!” Varr snapped. “Criminals—condemned to die! They were scientists who had attempted to assume control of that world. But their coup failed. Facing death, they fled to find a planet where they would be safe from vengeance. They came here—and conquered.”
Corek’s smile was impassive.
“We are inferior animals to them. They claim perfection. And certainly they are invulnerable. Nothing we have ever discovered can harm them in the least.”
Denham looked from one face to the other.
“Let’s get this straight. These Listeners conquered you? How many are they?”
“A few hundred. But their science is greater than ours, and they are unassailable. The Tower which they built is made of metal that neither acids nor rays can destroy. Oh, they are conquerors, Denham. They have power-beams that can destroy all life within an area of fifty miles. And they have airships.”
“We are animals to them,” Varr said, her eyes blazing. “Our lives are—nothing. They let us live on suffrance. A few of us are slaves, in the Tower.”
Denham nodded.
“I think I see. A few of you remained ‘outlaws,’ hoping to be able to drive out the Listeners. Is that the right idea?”
Corek’s eyes glinted.
“For generations we have been outlaws, desperately experimenting for a weapon that would destroy the Listeners. And I repeat—they are invulnerable!”
DENHAM blinked.
“No. No, that’s impossible. No living organism is invulnerable. You haven’t used the right weapon.”
Varr’s smile was mocking.
“We shall show you, presently, what we have tried. Even that device of yours is worthless. You could grow gigantic with it, yes, and attack the Tower. But the rays of the Listeners would turn you to ash, drifting with the wind.”
Corek tapped impatiently on the table.
“Our time grows short, Denham. Lately we learned that the Listeners intend to wipe out all human life on this planet, save for a few slaves. They do not fear us. But they are coldly logical, and they know we may find a weapon against them, eventually. They are perfecting a vibration that will destroy us completely, without harming any other life on this planet.”
“They like to play safe, eh?” Denham murmured. “Well, there’s an answer to your argument, Corek. If the Listeners were invulnerable, they wouldn’t be afraid of you, or anything you could do. Even Achilles had a heel.”
He didn’t trouble to explain the reference, but went on.
“It may be my kind of science can help you. I don’t know.”
“We will repay you,” Varr said urgently. “Nothing is beyond the power of the Listeners. If we can conquer them, their knowledge will be yours. And then you could solve your own problem.”
Denham scowled. There was science in this sub-atomic world, yes. But was it the kind that could help him? A shield to stop a bullet? Or—he shrugged.
“We ourselves have nothing that could aid you,” Varr emphasized. “You must aid us.”
The physicist hesitated. Corek’s eyes hooded.
“Varr,” Corek murmured, “I did not tell you before, but Zelon’s airship was captured by the Listeners. Zelon and the others, of course, killed themselves immediately, so that they could not be drugged into betraying our secrets.”
“Zelon! Oh—”
Corek went on, looking at Denham.
“We lost several experimental models, of course. But we also lost the device by which this man came to our world. Zelon was bringing it here.”
Denham felt his middle turn cold. Was Corek lying? The other shook his head, reading the thought.
“I tell the truth. The Listeners have your device, Denham. They took it, with the rest of the equipment, to the Tower.”
“I can build another!” Denham exclaimed.
The realization was like brandy down his throat. Relief flooded through him.
“Yes,” Corek said, “we know that. But we also know that the theory of your device is new to the Listeners. Their science never explored that channel. Destruction and power are their aims, not creative research. You can build another projector and return to your world, Denham. But so can the Listeners!”
“Why should they do that?” Denham gasped, and sweat broke out on his face.
“There are few habitable worlds,” Corek explained. “This is one; yours is another. The Listeners may be satisfied here for a while, but eventually they will need to expand. Instead of searching through all space for another planet, why should they not duplicate your machine? Why should they not grow larger, till they emerge in your world and conquer it?”
Denham’s face drained of color. He knew Corek spoke the truth. History proved it. Nations needed room to expand, new worlds to conquer. And such a ruthless, power-mad race as the Listeners—they would test his device eventually, Denham knew. Some experimenter among them would use the ray, grow incredibly big and vanish into largeness unbelieva
ble. And others would guess the truth and follow.
Not for centuries, though—perhaps not for thousands of years. Thousands of years in the sub-atomic universe—a decade of Earth time!
Time moved incredibly swift here. And if the Listeners sought a new world to conquer, Earth might be doomed within ten years!
“I’ll help you,” Denham said. “I don’t know how, but—I’m on your side now, Varr. We’ll face this thing together.”
CHAPTER VII
The Conspirators
HAVING made his decision, Denham was no longer worried. He was, as far as he knew, among friends. In time, he would understand many of the mysteries of this alien world. At the moment, no action was possible.
He must learn, cram his brain with knowledge of this strange sub-atomic world.
Perhaps the most amazing part was the fact that this was a civilization based purely on ever-present danger. In the history of Earth, Denham knew, nomadic tribes had seldom achieved any great cultural level. Transience was a fatal handicap. Yet this group of super-felines had achieved both culture and the ability to change its habitat frequently. New hideouts were constantly being built, as the Listeners inevitably discovered the old ones.
The band of outlaws, was, necessarily, a secret one, even among its own people. When one of the Free People—as the outlaws were called—was captured, suicide was the logical step, to avoid questioning under truth-serum or lie detectors.
The organization was a smoothly functioning one, queerly impersonal, dedicated not to individualism but to the hope of ultimate freedom. There were scientists among the cat-people and artisans as well, though not many of the latter.
“We have no place for them here, as yet,” Varr said. “Later there will be more time.”
Yet even the average technician had in him, Denham discovered, a touch of estheticism. The ray-proof plastic walls were invariably draped with gossamer curtains. Ugliness, to this neo-feline race, was unnecessary and evil.
Camouflage and trickery came naturally to them. They had developed ways of outwitting the Listeners. Denham examined their Cloaks of Invisibility, which had the power of bending light rays about a solid body.
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