by Henry Hasse
"Just routine," Ketrik told them. "I'll travel along with you for a while." Determined to play his role to the hilt, he added, "We can't be too careful in these times. There may be S'Relah among these damned Rajecs, but we'll find them out before we get to Turibek. Dar Vaajo has gone too far in his plans to have them thwarted now."
By tactful conversation he sought to learn something of what was going on at Turibek. It soon became apparent that these bedraggled men didn't know, and cared less. One of them had heard of Dar Vaajo coming to Turibek with a complete staff of scientists, but that's as far as his knowledge went. Another of the men had heard of the treaty, and wasn't surprised.
"I've seen it coming," he said gruffly. "Many years I've lived in these deserts, and I tell you the Rajecs aren't the same. Especially the last few years. Something just seems to have gone out of them."
Something indeed had gone out of the Rajecs, if they made treaty! Ketrik wondered what kind of magic Dar Vaajo had used to bring that about. More particularly, why! There was some sort of link here, between the Rajecs and whatever was going on at Turibek. And that, in turn, was a pivot in Vaajo's larger plan, the plan that would deal with Earth. Ketrik just couldn't piece it together as yet; he'd have to get to Turibek. He thought fleetingly of those electronic walls....
The sun climbed higher, hot and dry, sapping the strength. Ketrik marvelled at the long line of marching Rajecs—there were perhaps two hundred. Long years in these deserts had inured them to discomfort. Again he wondered why they were going to Turibek. Almost he was tempted to go up and speak again with the Rajec leader—the man's name was Aarnto, he learned—but he thought better of it.
At high noon they stopped for rations, and a few hours later the Martian 'copters came over. They came from the direction of the city, circled once, and flew leisurely back. Ketrik wondered what that meant. He was soon to know.
Presently Aarnto dropped back, fell into step beside him and drew him away from the others. "You saw the 'copters?"
"Yes," Ketrik replied. "Trouble ahead?"
"For you, perhaps, O mysterious one from out of the desert! Those 'copters mean there is a surveying station ahead, and the Specials will be there. Apparently they are still searching for the spy."
"These surveying stations—what do they do there?"
"Oh, they are diabolic, these Specials of Vaajo's! They have machines which tear a man's mind apart, probe into his inner thoughts. No spy could ever get past them."
"Then how do you propose to get by, O grinning one?"
The black continued to grin. "True," he said frankly, "I am S'Relah. And there are several others among us. We shall get by the Specials all right, and into Turibek by the main gate. For the past year we have prepared for this, through systematic thought-control. We can submerge our true thoughts so that all the machines will read will be obeisance and loyalty."
"Seems ticklish," Ketrik said. "But I guess I'll try that too." He had no intention of trying it. He was watching Aarnto's reaction.
"Listen to me." Aarnto was serious, gripping Ketrik's arm. "You could never manage it. It takes months to perfect such mind control, and you have only hours. I do not know why you wish to get to Turibek, but you quoted the oath to me. I know of another way into the city for you—it will be perilous but not so perilous as trying to run the gauntlet of Specials!"
"I am listening, O helpful one."
"We will reach this station before sundown. If you should leave the caravan now, and cut across desert to the foothills, you would be safe. Once over there...."
Now it was Ketrik who grinned. "I know. Once over there, I might find the entrance to the ancient South Canal."
Aarnto was amazed. "You know of that too?"
"I've heard of it, but don't know the exact location."
Aarnto pointed to the K'Mari Range, indicating twin peaks that curled up like devil's horns. "Guide your course directly between those. The Canal ends somewhere in the foothills below."
"Thanks, Aarnto." Ketrik placed his hand on the man's shoulder, in the Rajec custom. "May I repay you some day!"
"That day may come soon," the other said calmly. "I can almost promise it."
Ketrik wondered what he meant by that, but wasted no more time on words. Turning abruptly, he set out across the desert. The six Martians watched him go. One of them, who had been silent and surly, frowned thoughtfully now as he stared after Ketrik's retreating figure.
Ketrik judged the hills to be fifteen miles away at this point. He'd be lucky if he reached them before nightfall. After that, well, there were tales about those abandoned Canals....
He directed his course between the curving peaks. In a few hours the ground began to rise slightly, became firmer underfoot. Still later, deep little gullies began crossing the terrain. He followed these, changing from one to the other, searching for some sign of the Canal.
After an interminable search, he was rewarded. He began to notice peculiarities of the gully in which he trod. It seemed to level out, and the walls seemed smoother and higher. He scraped away layers of sand, saw ancient stone.
By this time the sun had dropped below his vision. He knew that any minute the Martian night would come with awful suddenness. And with it, would come ... other things.
But Ketrik was unprepared for what came in that moment. He heard a sudden sharp whirr of blades, and a 'copter appeared above him! It swept so low he could almost see the pilot. There was no doubt the pilot had seen him, for a heat-beam sliced downward, swept along the Canal floor. Ketrik leaped aside, hugged the sandy wall.
Then the 'copter was gone, but Ketrik knew it would circle and return. That could only mean one thing. The caravan had reached the Station, and one of those Martians had spoken of him to the Specials.
Ahead, through the gloom, the Canal seemed to dip into a sort of culvert. He raced for it as he heard the whirring blades again, entered the dark tunnel just as the heat-beam sprayed downward, sending the sand into molten froth. Ketrik groped forward in darkness. The tunnel leveled and continued. Ketrik's heart leaped as he realized where he was. This was one of the abandoned Canals which had been filled with slag from the Martian mines. But years ago pirates had conceived the unique idea of burrowing through it, making a perfect retreat from Turibek to the mountains!
Suddenly he started. Far behind he heard a scuffle of steps. That could only be the Martian Special! There was no doubt, now, that word had gone to Dar Vaajo; they really wanted to stop him! Ketrik grinned and went on, hurrying his steps a little. Rajecs could see in the dark, but Martians couldn't. If it came to a showdown....
His grin soon vanished. All about him now he heard vicious little animal squeals, the scuffing of tiny feet. Scavengers! There must be thousands of them. He saw their baleful red eyes. They gradually grew bolder, began nipping at him. Soon his trousers were in shreds from the knees down, and he felt the flow of blood.
There was one satisfaction. The Martian coming behind must be suffering the same treatment! But the man kept coming. The footsteps were dogged and Ketrik knew he had a real antagonist here.
Now the scavengers were becoming more than annoying. He knew that before he ever reached the city, he would weaken from loss of blood and they'd pull him down. He could use the electro to clear a path through the vicious beasts—but he knew the one coming behind was waiting for that, waiting for any sign of light that would give him a clear target. Ketrik gritted his teeth and went on, occasionally kicking out at the beasts in the dark. It didn't do much good.
Then, far ahead, he saw the faintest glow of light. It seemed to come from around a bend in the tunnel. If he could only get up there in time—and beyond that light, before his pursuer came into view....
He sprinted ahead now, noiselessly. The scavengers squealed in renewed fury, racing along beside him. Once he stumbled, felt a horrid mass of the things swarming. But he fought his way up. By the time he reached the light, he was sure he had gained a considerable dista
nce on his pursuer.
He hurried around the bend, saw that the faint light came from a radium lamp in the ceiling. It had probably been there for years. But what held his attention, and brought him to a standstill, was the figure huddling against the wall.
It was an Earthman and he was still alive. His clothes were in shreds and the rats had been at him—before he reached this light where the rats did not come. He struggled up weakly, gazed at Ketrik out of idiotic eyes. Ketrik hurried forward, pulled the man erect.
One look into his gibbering face, and Ketrik felt his stomach turn over in a prodigious yawn.
It had taken more than the rats and darkness to do this! The Earthman's mind had been literally and deliberately blasted!
Ketrik suddenly remembered what Mark had said of Dr. Ransome, whom they'd found drifting near the moon ... his mind that of a week-old infant....
He hurriedly searched the man's clothes, but found nothing. He knew this must be one of the operatives whom Mark had sent a month before—E-39 or EV-5. The other must be dead, somewhere in this tunnel or back at their communications base in the mountains.
He spoke softly to the man, but the other only cringed in terror. Then, with unexpected strength, he tore himself from Ketrik's grasp and was scuttling away, back around the bend of the corridor. Ketrik followed, called a warning. He reached the bend too late. He heard the hiss of a heat-gun and saw the vivid blue streak of it from out of the darkness—a streak that touched the Earthman's chest and sent him crumpling.
Ketrik fired at the spot where the ray had appeared, fired instinctively but unerringly. He heard a soft moan that ended abruptly, then a clatter of sound.
He moved slowly forward, hugging the wall. He feared a trick. Past the little radius of light where the Earthman's body lay, he stumbled upon the Martian Special. He flashed his electro again and saw that the man was unmistakably dead. He went back to the Earthman, stared down for a moment. There was no doubt that he had unwittingly saved Ketrik's life.
"Guess you served your purpose here, after all," Ketrik murmured, but his thoughts at that moment were not as calloused as the words.
With a few strokes of his electro, he removed the crystyte globe of radium from the ceiling; and carrying this light, he was no longer bothered by the scavengers. For hours he proceeded along the tunnel. At last, infinitely weary and wracked with pain, he reached a blank wall.
Searching around it, he at last found a loose stone which he pulled away. A tiny metal lever was revealed. After tugging interminably at it and pounding the rust away, Ketrik managed to pull it slowly back.
The entire wall swung around on pivots. A blast of foul air struck him. Ketrik stepped into a small passage. He recognized it as one of the underground sewers of Turibek. He followed it and came to a short flight of stone stairs leading up to a hinged door. Slowly he shoved it open.
He was in Turibek! This was one of the narrow, winding streets in the warehouse district. He glanced at the sky. It was night. Deimos was gone below the horizon, but Phobos rode high on liquid sapphire.
Ketrik rested there for a few hours until Phobos descended. Then, in the utterly dark hour that precedes dawn on Mars, he crept forth and sought the shop of one Jal Thurlo in the Street of the Double Moon.
IV
He found the shop, in a twisting little street that seemed to cringe from the rest of the city. The insignia of Jal Thurlo was still upon the door, and Ketrik breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally, after his persistent knocking, the door opened a trifle and Ketrik saw the wizened little face of Jal Thurlo. The shop-keeper's eyes were dark with suspicion.
"I was told I would find one Jal Thurlo here," Ketrik said glibly. "I come with news of a secret shipment. Rare kaladonis furs from the plains of Io."
"At this ungodly hour?" Thurlo grumbled sleepily.
"It is the proper hour for such matters, thou sulky one! Permit me to enter now or I take my news elsewhere!"
Thurlo opened the door, and Ketrik slipped into a dark room that smelled of spices, perfumes, and a miscellany of objects from the far planets. He followed the little Martian through the shop and along a dim corridor, until they arrived at the living quarters. There, under brilliant light, Thurlo faced him. "Who sent you?"
Ketrik answered carefully. He knew this little man carried a needle-gun in his sleeve and had used it on occasion. "No one. I merely seek haven here. I once saved your life on Deimos—you remember it?"
Thurlo started visibly. "Ketrik! Is it really you? But no, it cannot be!"
"It's Ketrik, all right. But 'Khosan' for the time being. Remember this?" He bared one arm and revealed a long jagged scar from shoulder to elbow. He further proved his identity by recounting the adventure on Deimos many years ago, in which he'd received this scar while saving Thurlo's life. "I must remind you of the Martian blood debt," he ended. "I saved your life and it is forfeit to me until you repay."
"I have not forgotten!" He looked at the other's torn and bleeding legs. "Come, man, let me dress those wounds! Then you can tell me why you are here."
Ketrik recounted part but not all. When he had finished, impressing upon Thurlo the urgent need to get inside Dar Vaajo's laboratories, the little Martian shook his head.
"I fear it cannot be done. That part of the city is strictly forbidden. Vaajo's palace is there, and the homes of his scientists, all surrounded by the wall. Even the few servants who are permitted to pass in and out occasionally are painstakingly examined."
"I've got to get in there," Ketrik reiterated. "And I intend to!"
"Wish I could help you. It might be for the best! Dar Vaajo is becoming as hated as he is feared, yes even by his own people! Something monstrous and mad is going on in those laboratories!"
"What can you tell me about it?"
Thurlo's eyes became dark, and his voice lowered. "Only this: Frequently, in the dark of night, a faint greenish glow comes over the city. It only lasts a few seconds, then withdraws into a pillar of concentrated fire directly over the laboratories! Then it seems to extend itself, lashing outward into space."
"Greenish fire!" Ketrik exclaimed. "Do you mean electronic power, Thurlo?"
"No, not that at all. I'm no scientist, but I know this is cold light. It's different—devilish! You may laugh at me, Ketrik, but I will say it. These radiations seem alien to this world, to this universe; they seem almost—alive!"
But Ketrik did not laugh. He was remembering the mad survivor of a missing Earth spacer. He was remembering the poor gibbering devil he had seen but recently in the tunnel. He thought of these and other things, and felt the hair at the back of his neck begin to rise.
"Why," Thurlo was grumbling, "did Vaajo have to come here to conduct his devilish experiments? Why could he not have stayed in the northern capital?"
"Because here he is in close contact with the Rajecs," Ketrik said experimentally, and watched for the little Martian's reaction.
"Yes!" Thurlo nodded. "I can tell you something about that, too. Under the treaty, the Rajecs are allowed access to Turibek or, if they wish, other cities to the north. Vaajo has even built a magnificent temple here, where they can carry on their own ritualistic worship. Well—I've seen those black caravans come into the city, quite a number of them in the past weeks. But one sees little of them afterwards! Of course they may be shunted further north...."
"No!" Ketrik smacked a fist into his palm. "No, Thurlo, for some reason they are needed here! It's all a part of Vaajo's plan—I knew it!"
"I care little about the Rajecs," Thurlo shrugged. "It is well that they disappear."
Ketrik thought differently. He lay awake in the little cubicle to which Thurlo assigned him, his mind too turbulent for sleep. The pattern, though still vague, was beginning to take shape. At least he had gained entrance to Turibek! Tomorrow he would make a short tour about the city, try to formulate a plan. At last his tired muscles relaxed, and he dropped into an untroubled sleep.
It was high noon when Jal Thurlo wakened him. The little Martian seemed strangely perturbed. "My friend, there is one at the alley entrance who asks for you!"
"For me?" Ketrik was up instantly and began dressing with deft, precise fingers. Who else would know that he had arrived in Turibek? But his mind was put at ease when he reached the rear entrance. Standing before him was the somewhat bedraggled but still grinning figure of Aarnto, the caravan leader.
"Did I not say, Khosan, that the day would soon come when you could repay me? I remembered well your mention of this shop!" And when Ketrik hesitated, he went on, "Well, O fugitive of the dark tunnels—am I not permitted entrance?"
"Come in—quickly!"
Aarnto waved a hand cheerily. "There is no need for alarm. I entered through the city gates as I said I would. The others have gone to the temple, but not I. I will need a place...."
Thurlo frowned. Ketrik said, "It's all right, Thurlo. Aarnto's a friend of mine. Please allow him to stay. I owe a debt too." He turned to Aarnto. "But listen! Don't draw the Specials here. I can't afford that!"
"I am caution itself, my friend! I too have a mission here. Perhaps one night's sanctuary is all I shall ask, and your debt is paid." The black still smiled—with all but his eyes. Behind them Ketrik detected a hardness and cunning, together with a warning not to ask questions.
Ketrik had no intention of doing that, but he made a resolution to watch this one. If their paths here should ever chance to cross, Aarnto would be a tough one indeed! Ketrik left him in Thurlo's capable but somewhat reluctant hands, while he prepared himself for his tour of the city.
From the Street of the Double Moon, he emerged into the broader thoroughfare. Turibek was the metropolis of the south, boasting of theatres, cafés and shopping centers, as well as a magnificent spaceport.
Ketrik gave but a glance to the overhead mono-cars, preferring to stroll leisurely. He found the people, the streets, and the queer facaded buildings much the same as he'd know them years ago.
There was one startling difference. At the end of this main thoroughfare a forbidding wall reared up, to extend out of sight in either direction. That was the wall around the laboratories. Ketrik could not possibly see what lay beyond.