He held up a hand before his face. The fingers were crusted with gems and filigreed jewels. The fingernails were painted in a variety of patterns and colors. Kane closed the fingers into a broad, hamlike fist. “Strong as we are,” he said, “we’ve been exposed to too many harmful influences. Mutation has crept into the Draconian bloodline. Poison and disease. We need your defensive antibodies, Rogers. We need to breed them into our race. That’s going to be your assignment, like it or not. So you might as well like it.”
Kane leaned back and stretched languorously. A great yawn escaped him, which he didn’t bother to cover. “Besides, if I were you, I think I’d like it a lot!”
“Tell you what, Kane,” Buck pointed his finger angrily at the gross figure, “I appreciate your thinking of me, but where I come from we choose our own partners, and the choice means something to us. So—thanks for the offer, but I’ll just pass.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Rogers!” Kane shook his massive head. “You don’t have any choice in the matter. You’re never going to leave Villus Beta alive, you see?”
“What odds would you like to put on that, Kane?” Buck smiled.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Professor Von Norbert broke in. “Can’t we all be friends? Here”—he indicated a curtained archway through which a breathtaking young woman emerged, carrying an ornate bowl filled with mouth-watering fruit of both native and imported varieties.
“Let’s sit down,” Von Norbert went on, “relax, have a bit of refreshment.”
The interruption broke the tension that had built between Buck and Kane. Buck followed Von Norbert’s suggestion and found a seat for himself, as the professor did likewise. The gorgeous young woman approached Buck and bent to offer him his selection. The filmy, almost transparent clothing that she wore did little to conceal her lush, ripe charms from the earthman as he reached to sample a piece of fruit.
“Try it,” the young woman urged him throatily, “I’m sure that you’ll really enjoy it.”
“Thanks,” Buck answered, “don’t mind if I do.” He lifted a piece of puce-colored fruit shaped like a cross between a mango and a plantain. “You did mean this, didn’t you?” Buck said.
“I suppose so,” the young woman answered. “For now, anyway.” She moved away, swaying gracefully with every step.
“There,” Von Norbert said to Buck, like a pestered parent trying to soothe a troublesome child, “isn’t that better?” He swiveled. “Kane, just let me handle this affair, will you? It’s my end of the operation anyway.”
Kane heaved his flabby bulk from the throne where he’d been slouched. “All right, Von Norbert. But you’d better have sonny boy cooperating by morning or I’ll start using some methods more persuasive than goodies and snacks.” He glared at Buck.
Buck met his gaze; as their eyes locked in menace and defiance, Buck spat a large, oval seed on a trajectory that brought it within inches of Kane’s shoe. The courtier left angrily and Von Norbert drew his seat nearer to Buck, leaned confidentially toward the earthman.
“Now,” Von Norbert said, “I want you to make yourself completely at home here in Villus Beta. We have every facility for your comfort, and I want you to feel free to make full use of those facilities.”
“I hate to say this, fella,” Buck snapped back, “but I hope you’re not counting on all my blood, ’cause I have other plans for it myself.”
Von Norbert threw back his head and raised his voice in a high, cackling laugh. “We use the term blood as a metaphor, Captain Rogers. You know, as in bloodlines, blood relations and so on. We do not really want your blood!”
Buck’s face went white. “You mean—you’re after my—ah—my precious bodily fluids?”
“You might say that,” Von Norbert grinned. “We are out to breed a generation of humans possessing your antibodies. And only you can be the father of that generation.” He turned toward the curtained doorway and smiled at the lush female still standing there, watching Buck Rogers hungrily.
“You will be the father of thousands of sons and daughters, Captain Rogers,” the professor reiterated. “Thousands. And all will inherit your immunities.”
“Oh, yeah?” Buck challenged. “And how are you going to get me to do it?”
“Perhaps you would like to visit your friend first, for a little conversation,” Von Norbert said.
Inside a securely guarded section of Villus Beta, in a row of rooms reserved for special guests, a young woman sat disconsolately before a mirror. The special rooms were furnished comfortably, perhaps even luxuriantly—but they were also as secure as the cells in the heart of a maximum-security block at the archaic prison Alcatraz.
As the door swung open the young woman turned away from the mirror to see who was entering. It was Professor Von Norbert—and, with him, Captain Buck Rogers.
“Buck!” the young woman exclaimed.
“Wilma!” Buck gasped.
The two of them flew to each other’s arms. The past friction that had existed between them, the tension that unavoidably occurs when commander and subordinate discover that their official relationship is only one small aspect of the bond between them, disappeared in an instant.
“Buck,” Wilma thrilled, “how did you do it? How did you get to me, past so many of them?”
“Uh, I didn’t exactly fight my way in, Wilma. In fact, I m sort of, well, a prisoner here myself.”
Wilma drew back from him, her smile fading. “Why are we here? I don’t understand. They haven’t told me anything. When I ask, they just say, wait.”
Buck ventured, “I’m afraid you fell into the trap that they set for me, Wilma. At Rushmore. The shepherds.”
Before Wilma could reply, Von Norbert said, “That is precisely so, yes. But,” he gestured airily, “it is no problem for us. We have plenty of room here in Villus Beta. And now that you have seen each other, Colonel Deering, Captain Rogers—it is time that we get you along to your, ah, special quarters, Captain.”
“Don’t go, Buck!” Wilma cried. “Watch out for them!”
“That will be enough!” Von Norbert snapped.
“Buck, we’ll break out! We have to work together!”
Von Norbert shoved Buck through the doorway, drew it shut behind them with a thump that gave evidence of the heavy security latches built into the structure. Alone inside her room, Wilma Deering slumped onto a seat, her face buried in her hands and her body racked with sobs.
Von Norbert turned Buck over to a squad of burly guardsmen, instructed them to take him to his quarters. “I’ll join you shortly,” the professor said as Buck was marched away.
As soon as the earthman was out of sight, Von Norbert reached into a pocket, drew out a key and readmitted himself to Wilma’s room. The woman shouted past him, using the brief opportunity to get a message to Buck. “Watch out for them,” she screamed. “They have drugs that will distort your perception. Be caref . . .”
Her words were cut off as Von Norbert drew an instant pressure-hypo from his pocket, flicked it at her. Its chemical freight was in her bloodstream in a fraction of a second. She stopped screaming in the middle of a word and collapsed slowly toward the floor.
Von Norbert caught her. She was not unconscious, just totally relaxed and drained of all will. Norbert carried her toward her bed. She looked up at him smilingly, trustingly, like the young woman who had served the fruit to Buck in Kane’s audience chamber.
“That’s a good girl,” Von Norbert husked into her ear as he put her down gently on the bed. “Just relax and be happy. The Draconians are your friends. I am your friend, Wilma. Remember that. And remember that Buck Rogers is your enemy.”
“You’re my friend,” Wilma repeated dutifully, “Buck Rogers is my enemy.”
“That’s right,” Von Norbert told her. He ran his hand down her cheek, toward her shoulder. “Rogers is your enemy.”
He left Wilma, made his way past burly guardsmen and entered Buck Rogers’ room. This was a far larger room than Wilm
a’s, set up with a variety of furnishings and decorations to give it a homelike, even folksy atmosphere.
“Well,” Von Norbert said, “here is where you will live. Our best accommodations, Captain Rogers.”
“Not half bad,” Buck commented.
“You must be tired after your long trip.”
“Yeah. Pretty beat.” Buck yawned. “Think I’ll hit the hay.”
“Just one more thing, then,” Von Norbert said. “A sort of gift for you—a little surprise.” He walked to the opposite side of Buck’s room, opened a closet door and pulled something from a shelf. It was the computer brain, Theopolis.
“Your compuvisor,” Von Norbert said.
Buck’s reply was sarcastic. “Super.”
“I return it to you as a token of friendship.”
“You don’t know how good this makes me feel,” Buck said.
“Yes, I think I do. Good night, Captain.” Von Norbert left, the door giving a heavy, massive thunk as he drew it shut.
Buck looked at Theopolis. “All right,” he said, “I’m sorry.” There was no response. “It was a rotten thing for me to do, trading you away like that.” Theopolis still did not reply. “I apologize,” Buck said. He waited in vain. “Not talking, huh?”
Despairing of any response from the computer, Buck laid it down and climbed onto the bed. To every outward sign, he was sound asleep within a matter of seconds. As Buck’s heavy, steady breathing filled the room, the previously inactive computer flickered once, again, then an array of lights glowed tentatively.
Buck opened one eye, saw the computer blinking on and off. “Caught you,” Buck exclaimed. “Now let’s see if you’ll talk!”
But Theopolis doused his lights and returned to dormancy.
“I hope you can talk,” Buck said, “because I’ve got a plan. And it won’t work unless you can talk.” He waited vainly for Theopolis to respond. When the computer still refused, Buck resumed. “All right. Don’t talk until it’s time. But I’m counting on you to be able to do a good imitation of me. So you listen carefully, Theopolis!”
Buck whispered his plan to the computer brain. There was still no reaction. “Okay,” he said, “if it works, it works. If not, Theopolis, I’m going to make mashed transistors out of you.” He crossed to a high shelf, removed some furnishings from it and climbed carefully onto its surface. “Okay now,” Buck whispered across the room to Theopolis.
Suddenly Theopolis lit up in full array. He activated his voder circuits and called out in a perfect imitation of Buck’s tones: “Guard! Guard! Come in here, will ya? How do you work this thing?”
There was a momentary pause, then the door swung open and a burly guard strode into the room. He peered around, looking for Buck Rogers. “Hey,” he demanded, “what’s going on in—”
The guard made a single startled grunt as he took the full weight of Buck’s body on his back and shoulders, as Buck launched himself from the shelf above the doorway. The guard’s laser-pistol clattered to the floor and skidded halfway across the room. The guard lunged for it but Buck pulled him back, landed a punch on the side of the guardsman’s head.
The guard, a huge man who must have weighed at least half again as much as Buck, hurled his attacker off himself with a snarl. As Buck lunged again, the guard threw himself onto the floor, trying desperately to get hold of his pistol once again. Buck wrestled the guard’s hands away from the laser, grappled frantically with the bigger man. The guard landed a piledriver blow to Bucks temple, momentarily stunning Buck while the angry man reached successfully toward the laser.
Before he could bring the pistol into play, his grip on the weapon was challenged by Buck. The two of them grappled on the floor, each striving to point the weapon at the other.
All the while Theopolis lay helplessly watching, blinking his lights on and off frantically, calling words of desperate encouragement to Buck. In the excitement, Theopolis still used Rogers’ own voice to give him advice.
The two struggling men staggered to their feet, still locked together in their desperate efforts to control the pistol. It disappeared between their bodies as they clinched. Then there was a flash of blinding light from between them, a small puff of black smoke and a sickening stench of burned cloth and flesh.
The guard fell to the floor and lay unmoving.
Buck Rogers held the laser-pistol in one hand. With the other he lifted Dr. Theopolis, lowered the computer’s carrying strap around his neck, and painfully made his way into the hall.
E L E V E N
Wilma Deering lay semi-conscious on the soft bed in her locked room. Her eyes were closed and images flitted through her brain. Recollections of her girlhood in the Inner City of Earth. School days, school friends, girlhood romances, her sensitivity testing and the gasps of admiration and envy from her companions when she was invited to apply for defense squadron flight training.
Her early career, combat missions, training duty, the startling speed of her rise through the ranks.
Her first encounter with Captain Buck Rogers, her overwhelming feelings for him, and—now she had learned of her strange rivalry with the Draconian crown princess Ardala.
Everything, everything. Faces floating before her in mists. Buck. Kane. Dr. Huer. Professor Von Norbert. Draco himself. Ardala. And a voice, a voice whispering in her ear. I am your friend. The Draconians are your friends. Buck Rogers is your . . . enemy.
Suddenly someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes. A man was looming above her, his face peering deeply into her own. And, strangely, a flickering, glowing parody of a second face hanging from his neck.
The man was speaking. “Wilma! Wilma! You’ve got to wake up!”
Wilma raised a hand, brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Who—what—wait, I can’t . . . who is it?”
“It’s me,” the man said, “Buck.”
Suddenly Wilma was wide awake—alarmed and angry. This was the enemy! She leaped to her feet, snarled at him. “Get away from me!”
“Wilma! It’s me. Buck.”
“I’ll kill you if you come any closer,” she growled.
“Hey,” Buck exclaimed, “snap out of it, I’m your friend.”
“You’re my enemy,” Wilma spat.
“Hey, come on, we gotta get out of here!” He grabbed her to hustle her out of the room—if need be, to carry her. She resisted, and for the second time in as many minutes Buck found himself engaged in a desperate wrestling match.
As they struggled and rolled around the room, Buck managed to gasp at Wilma, “Come on, cut it out, we don’t have time to play games. The professor’s gonna find us.”
“I’ll kill you,” Wilma reiterated, “the professor is my friend.”
Buck broke Wilma’s hold on him, tried once more to drag her to her feet and hustle her out of the room. Instead she planted her teeth deep in the muscle of his shoulder. He yelled, jerked away, shot a desperate request to Theopolis: “Hey, what’s the matter with Wilma, Theo? Can you take a quick scan on her and figure it out?”
Wilma tried again to get her teeth into Buck. This time he was faced with the need of trying to keep her from escaping and at the same time prevent her from getting her teeth anywhere near his flesh. Dr. Theopolis was pinned between their bodies; his arrays of lights blinked on and off as his scanners analyzed Wilma’s condition.
“She seems to be infected with a mind-distorting drug,” he gritted. “She must have been brainwashed with the aid of the drug, Buck, so she really believes you’re her enemy!”
“Oh, no! You mean she doesn’t even want to be rescued, Theo!”
“Precisely. You’d better give her a stun-blast from the laser-gun.”
Again Wilma broke loose from Buck’s grasp. Instead of returning to the attack she sprinted for the door. He dived after her, caught and dragged her back into the center of the room. “And then what?” he asked the computer, “carry her all the way to spaceport on my back, steal a ship and haul her away in it?”
&
nbsp; “I think the laser-gun is the only way, Buck.”
“There must be something else!”
“There isn’t.”
“Wait, Theo! I’ve got it! I’ll give Wilma the pistol.”
“Buck, that does not compute.”
“Oh, no?”
Wilma had continued to struggle with Buck all during his dialogue with Theopolis. She had a hand free now, and used it to grab the laser-pistol that Buck had previously taken from the guardsman. She leveled the pistol at Buck’s chest and commanded him to raise his hands.
Buck complied.
“Now I’m in charge,” Wilma asserted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Buck answered. “Earth has captured Villus Beta, didn’t you know that, Wilma? The whole planetoid is in our hands. That pistol can’t help you, you might as well surrender.”
“I’ll never give up,” Wilma sneered with an almost Kane-like sound in her voice. “I’ll fight to the death.”
“Let me go and I’ll help you escape to the spaceport,” Buck appealed. “I don’t know why you’ve sold out to the Draconians, Wilma, but I’ll help you get away if that’s what you want.”
“You must think I’m stupid, Rogers,” Wilma mocked him. “I’m going to Draconia, all right. But I’m taking you with me to stand trial!”
“You’ll never make it,” Buck told her.
“Just watch me! Now get going. You first, Rogers. I’ll be right behind you, with this laser in my hand. One false move and you’re zapped—and I won’t set it on stun, you can be sure.”
Buck meekly exited from Wilma’s room, hands in the air, Theopolis hanging around his neck. In the hallway they passed other doors, other crosscorridors. When they reached a major intersection Wilma gestured Buck to halt. She poked her head around the corner, saw a guardsman in full Draconian uniform.
“You earthlings think you can fool me by dressing up your troopers in Draconian uniforms? Hah!” She stepped around the corner boldly, raised her pistol and zapped the guard.
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