by Don Wilcox
“You hope? Why? Are you in the mood to renew old acquaintances?”
“You’re too kind, Katherine. Paul is alive, I trust?”
“You hope, I’m sure.”
They were fighting a subtle battle all their own, as everyone around them began to realize. George felt that Glasgow was deriving some deep secret pleasure from finding her here, even though she was cleverly parrying his questions. It was Mamma Mountain who broke the deadlock.
“She left her husband with the giant, Mr. Glasgow.” The big lady beamed with pleasure over her chance to be helpful to so important a man as Mr. Glasgow.
“So Paul Keller hasn’t been delivered!”
The little man’s voice scraped with annoyance. He was looking around, now, addressing his remarks to the small crowd around him. George chilled. That annoyance was meant for him, though he hadn’t been discovered as yet.
“All right, someone has failed to carry out an order,” Glasgow said. “For the sake of Mrs. Keller and all of us, I’ll have that man brought in.” His edged voice moderated as he turned to Katherine again. “You understand, don’t you, Mrs. Keller?”
George swallowed hard. Was there so much friendship between these two? It hadn’t been evident that time Glasgow had been rescued from the shelf of the giant’s boat. But it seemed that he would hardly dare say such a thing if he weren’t sure that Keller was the guilty one, and that Katherine knew it, and was willing to let him hang for it.
Katherine’s answer offered no clue to the puzzle of their relationship. “I understand everything, Mr. Glasgow,” she said coldly.
“Where are my porters? Where’s the captain? We’ll borrow the Venus Express. I’ll tend to this myself—with your permission.” Glasgow made another gracious gesture toward Katherine. From her look it must have been mockery.
“You will find that my husband is ready and willing to come before this group,” her words were measured, “as soon as it is possible for him to come.”
Glasgow cut in quickly. “I’ll get him. Someone failed me. The Venus Express—where’s the captain?”
Judge Lagnese, his face beet-red, had kept silent as long as he could. He now dropped his suitcases and pushed up from the edge of the crowd. His sharp goatee jutted forward.
“We realize the importance of this errand, Mr. Glasgow. But it’s not important enough to tie up the Venus Express. The first essential is to get more people and equipment and start building.”
“While there’s a destroyer loose in the land?”
“Yes. It’s a big land. You might send dozens of ships out and never find your man. You’ve already sent one—”
George had hung back in the silence of guilt as long as he could stand it. He pushed forward just as someone said, “If you mean that copper flivver, it’s back.”
“Then we ought to have a report. I sent George Hurley—from Venus—Well!”
George walked into the bombastic little man’s presence, awkward and tongue-tied, but terribly determined to put the record straight.
“Well!” Glasgow repeated.
“I’ll give you your report.”
“Well, yes, I rather think you will. A little slow about it, aren’t you?”
“I’ll give it to you in private,” George said. He’d do his damnedest to play it square, but he couldn’t blurt out the whole story in front of this crowd. He couldn’t tell them how Paul Keller had slipped through his fingers. Glasgow was crowding him with an arrogance that got into his flesh. He saw Anna across from him biting her lips. “Don’t tell it now,” she seemed to be saying.
“Let’s have it, Hurley!” Glasgow snapped. “What’s your alibi? What are you skulking about?”
“I’ll give it to you later.”
“Give it to me now.”
“Later.”
“Give it to me now!”
“Give it to him,” Anna said sharply.
Then George’s hand flew out accidentally and slapped Garritt Glasgow across the cheek. The little man tottered and spun, and someone caught him and set him back on his feet.
CHAPTER XXVI
“Damn it, I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened.” George looked from one to the other of the two black-uniformed porters who had seized his arms. He looked to Judge Lagnese, purple faced, moustaches twitching. All eyes were on him.
Anna drawled, “He asked for it.”
Again he thought Katherine Keller was smiling within her smooth mask.
They had picked up Garritt Glasgow’s hat and offered it to him. He was still rubbing his cheek.
“I don’t know what is back of this,” he said, his fury barely under control, “but it looks very suspicious for one Mr. Hurley—and others.” His eyes turned on Anna. Then turning back to the crowd, “Go ahead and get yourselves settled. Set up the power plant and establish some kind of quarters. I’ll get the Venus Express—”
“The Committee should have something to say about that.” Judge Lagnese was bristling.
“I’ll check with the captain,” said Glasgow. “The Committee has enough to do already. Where’s Waterfield?”
The billionaire moved out from the cave entrance, where he had been standing, taking in the show.
“Waterfield, what have you and the others done about your regulations for grading and sorting people who come in from other planets?”
“We have had some discussions,” Waterfield began.
“Discussions? What have you done? Nothing?—Just as I thought. There you are. The Committee can devote its hours to bumbling over the rules and regulations. But you can consider me appointed to handle the jobs that call for action.”
“Who appointed you?” George Hurley growled.
“Will you porters take that mad ape around the cliff and let him sit on a rock till he cools off?”
“I want to know, too,” Judge Lagnese barked. “Who appointed you?”
Glasgow flung a hand out as if his feelings had been outraged beyond endurance. He pointed a finger of dramatic scorn at the Judge.
“Somewhere in this land are a giant and a human traitor. If ever two more dangerous things existed, I can’t name them. Their destruction is all around us. And yet when I, out of my own sense of altruism, undertake to rid you of this deadliest menace, what happens? Our honored judge tries to bind my hands with red tape. And all the while, this menace hangs over you—”
“Pardon me, Mr. Glasgow.”
The captain of the Venus Express walked through the group. George sensed something foreboding in his manner. He stopped beside Glasgow and turned to the others.
“I have some news for all of you,” the captain said. He drew a deep breath. “This word reached me just as we were leaving Venus. I didn’t tell you at once because I feared that some of you might want to turn back. You’re as safe here as anywhere—”
“Safe?” Judge Lagnese blurted. “What are you driving at?”
“You’re here—on the earth—in your caves. And that’s a good place to be these days.”
“Out with it,” Glasgow snarled. “What’s happened?”
The captain’s lips were tight. “The planet Mercury has been blasted—the same as the earth was blasted.”
CHAPTER XXVII
George would never be able to remember exactly what happened next. A panic seized the whole group. Hardly anyone was immune. The instinct of self-preservation came to the fore in everyone.
Am I safe? Are my loved ones safe? My friends? Which of us will be struck next? Run! Run! Run to a safer cave! Get into a ship and fly! Fly anywhere! In flight we’re safe. Planets are doomed. Can’t somebody do something?
Along with such terror-stricken thoughts, the different members of the group behaved erratically. The so-called mad wingmen had nothing on them when it came to unaccountable actions. George remembered that someone climbed the half-demolished trunk of a tree and began watching the skies through binoculars. A coarse-voiced, hard-boiled girl, learning that Paul Keller’s wife was among tho
se present, and that her husband was being accused of starting the trouble, wanted to go after Katherine and tear her hair out. This might have turned into something very ugly if Mamma Mountain hadn’t suddenly had a change of heart and decided to protect Katherine with her own brawny arms.
One person cried to the crowd to run for the Venus Express. One started digging into the mountainside with an ax—George wasn’t sure why, unless it was to make a private cave for himself. Someone wandered around over the cliff road in such a dazed condition that he almost toppled off at a point where he would have fallen a hundred feet onto the rocks.
The most persistent wail was, “Venus will be next.” Since most of the newcomers had families or friends in Venus, this prospect became the terror of terrors. They remarked again and again upon the thoroughness of the earth’s destruction.
“There won’t be a living soul left on Venus,” one of the girls cried. “That worthless, no-good husband of mine will get it right along with the rest. The poor guy.”
“Stop your blubbering,” Anna said. “Venus may never be touched. It may stand safe for a million years.”
The girl stopped her crying long enough to say belligerently, “I don’t care. I’ll never go back to my no-good husband!”
George’s own emotions were, first of all, a momentary elation, then a feeling of fearful excitement, as if a new adventure was about to be forced on him.
“It looks as if Gret-O-Gret didn’t do it, and I’m glad.”
“Don’t be too optimistic, Big Boy,” Anna retorted. “Remember, Glasgow’s story was that some friend or relative of Gret-O-Gret did the dirty work. Gret and Paul Keller sailed in to take possession after it happened.”
George reached, for a wisp of an idea. “Then if this is the same deal, they’ll be planning to walk in on Mercury and take possession there, too.”
“Could be,” said Anna. “Not that they can be everywhere at once.”
“I mean, if this is Keller’s scheme, he’ll at least have some advance knowledge of the Mercury destruction.”
“It sounds reasonable. Tell me more.”
“All right. I’m going to him. Now. If he and the giant are still in the same camp, basking in the sunshine, without any knowledge of Mercury, it’s a good sign they’re innocent all around.”
Anna patted him on the shoulder. “There’s a genius among your great-grand-fathers, Big Boy. Just be sure you don’t try too hard to prove a guilty man innocent.”
“Do you think Keller’s guilty?”
“I don’t know,” said Anna. “If he is, I sure admire the smooth way he can lie. But if he is innocent—umh!”
“If he is, I’m not going to give Garritt Glasgow the satisfaction of proving him guilty. I’m not that anxious to make a Big Shot out of Glasgow.”
Anna raised an eyebrow. “You two aren’t hitting it off too well, are you? Do you think you can square yourself with him after putting your trademark on his cheek this noon?”
George shook his head. It would take time and care to cover that break.
“Not that I wasn’t right with you,” Anna added. “My brother from Venus would have done what you did, only sooner.”
They reached George’s space flivver. One of the porters saw them getting in. He called to the high-shouldered body-guard named Poppendorf, who came running down to the flat, demanding to know whether they had checked their plans with Glasgow.
They swished the airlocks closed against his voice. George touched the throttle.
“The earth’s getting crowded already,” Anna observed.
“When a man can’t fly off in his own space flivver, something’s gone wrong with old-time American independence.”
“Or new-time Banrab liberty,” Anna added.
They charged off into the stratosphere so fast that Poppendorf, trying to wave them down, might have been an overgrown butterfly riding away from them on a tornado.
A few minutes later they landed on the top of the white box—a somewhat changed landing place, however. There was a break—in the southwest corner of the smooth half-mile surface. Paul Keller and at least a dozen winged assistants were there, doing their best to hoist something out of the mammoth container. Anna and George stepped down and crossed toward the corner cautiously.
“Come give us a hand, Hurley,” Paul sang out. “We need a big man like you.” George wasn’t too sure of his grounds. He was haunted by the thought that he might bump into the same wingman he had once tackled in the doorway.
“We want to talk with you, Keller,” he called back.
“We’re pretty busy,” Paul said, walking over to them. “We’re trying to get some medicine out for Gret-O-Gret. He told us where—”
“Any great hurry about it?”
“The giant is sick. He hasn’t been on his feet for hours. He needs a stimulant.”
“Where’s he going when he gets on his feet again?” George was creeping up on the problem.
“Where? He’ll come back to his ship, I guess. He talks a little of striking out for home.”
“Umh. He wouldn’t be stopping at any of the other planets, would he?”
“Why should he?”
Keller got it off well, George thought. Yes, he was evading. That probably meant that Keller and Gret did know. Or did they? George gave the wink to Anna and they turned and started back to the space flivver. George threw back a remark.
“We’ll see you on Mercury soon.” Keller was frowning at them. “Mercury, did you say?”
“Mercury.”
“Well, you won’t see us there.”
“You’re not passing it up, are you? After all, the deed is already done.”
“The deed? What are you talking about?” Keller growled, following them back to the airlocks. “I don’t understand.”
“Maybe it’s too hot for you on Mercury just now. Still, you got here quick enough.”
“One side of Mercury is always cool,” said Keller. He was plainly wondering whether his comment was appropriate. Evidently he was still in the dark.
“Tell him,” said Anna.
“Okay, Keller. Mercury has been bombed. It’s had the hell blasted out of it, the same as the earth.”
Keller gave a low whistle.
“How do you whistle when you’re really surprised?” Anna asked.
But Paul Keller didn’t hear her. The news rocked him.
“That’s bad . . . bad . . . Umh, that’s bad . . . Does Katherine know?”
“That does it,” Anna whispered to George. “There’s no fake about him.”
Paul Keller straightened with sudden decision.
“Help us with this medicine. We’ve got to get Gret-O-Gret up and into his boat. He’s the only one who can stop this damnable thing. It may be too much for him, but he’ll try. I know he’ll, try. Give us a hand here. We’re trying to hoist a five ton pill.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
Gret-O-Gret was taking in all of the sights and sounds, in spite of his illness. To him it was a strange pageant, indeed. Contrasts—everywhere contrasts! Good and bad qualities wrapped in the same kind of packages. Earth men who were friends. Earth men who were foes. Wingmen who hurled bombs. Wingmen who struggled to bring him a few drops of water.
If Gret had not already been treated to some language that furnished the key to understanding, he might have believed these little creatures quite devoid of any consistent purposes.
By applying the tools of language and adding a generous quantity of insight from his own well developed intelligence, Gret was able to keep pace with the passing show. One of the most remarkable things was the way these creatures could influence each other. He had watched the green-winged leader win support, little by little, to a policy of friendliness and fair play. And he had been most interested in observing the wonderful teamwork that sprang up between his loyal friend Paul and the friendly wingmen. Only by working together had they been able to break into the supply box and lift the pill which he, Gret, needed.
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br /> Wings, ropes, muscles. A truck that fought its way over broken roads, back to that part of the valley where Gret rested. Again, wings, ropes, muscles. And above all, teamwork.
Gret swallowed the five-ton pill. It began to take effect immediately. For two hours Paul stood by, saying nothing, waiting. By that time Gret was breathing more easily. He began to talk a little in his thunder-like whisper.
“Thank you . . . I have rested well . . . If I could get back to my ship—the air of Mogo—I would soon be all right.” He sensed that Paul was disturbed about something, pacing back and forth beside the sound truck.
“When you are feeling well enough,” Paul said finally, “I must give you some bad news.”
“Yes . . . Give me the news.” Then he listened to Paul’s words about new destruction that had been reported from a neighboring planet, Mercury. Paul was terribly hurt over it. Through all these countless centuries, the solar system had rolled along peacefully. And now, within the space of weeks, two of the planets had become targets for outrageous, unprovoked attacks.
“The whole solar world will be in an uproar,” Paul declared. “It looks as if every planet may be doomed. People everywhere will be frantic to move to some place of safety, and there will be no place to go. Is there anything, Gret-O-Gret, that we can do?”
Accompanying Paul were two other earth persons, a male and a female, young and wholesome and good to look upon. Gret was thinking of them and their right to live.
“I had supposed that Mox would have returned to Mogo before this,” he said slowly. “No, he has not returned. He is still playing his evil tricks, like an errant child, heedless of his destruction. I must try to find him.”
Then Gret rose from his sick bed of dust and stones and walked slowly back toward his thirteen-mile space boat. He carried his three little visitors and their car in his hand.
“The rest of us will go back to the Banrab camp on the other side of the planet,” Paul said. “We must reassure the earth’s people that you will try to help us. They are in danger of blaming you . . .”