With a jar that shook them from head to foot, Kerry and Glenn Bodey crashed against a hard, smooth surface. Arms linking mechanically, they rolled over, tumbling away from the folds of the synthane ’chute. Training made their movements swift and sure—and in moments they sprang free of the mass of cloth. Grimly silent, they dropped prone upon the plastic runway, rocket blasters gripped in their hands. Simple weapons, these, designed for a specific job—that of getting into the tower.
With his left hand Kerry drew a small, tubular flare from a belt compartment, thrust a finger through a ring at one end and began counting slowly. A minute must pass . . .
As the seconds dragged by, Kerry’s straining senses caught faint sounds somehow penetrating through the incessant crash and rattle of gunfire—soft thuds of rubber-soled shoes, the swish of yards of synthane; then as the minute neared its end the faint sounds ceased. All the troopers should have landed now . . . Seconds . . .
With one swift movement Kerry flung the flare far from him, retaining the ring release, and watched through slitted eyelids. Searingly a brilliant white glare burst the blackness asunder to be followed instantly by deeper blackness; and upon the retina of every man’s eyes was stamped a photographic picture of their surroundings. Kerry saw black mounds dotting the plastic everywhere—saw the glistening smoothness of the blued steel that blocked the entrance into the Citadel.
With the speed of thought Kerry pointed his rocket blaster and squeezed its release, sending the single powerful charge of the weapon hissing meteorlike toward the barrier. It struck with a crackling report, that merged into a single ear-splitting blast as the weapon in the hand of every paratrooper spoke. Most of the shells struck the target—and where they struck, streamers and tongues and droplets of white hot fire bit savagely into the steel. Nothing made of metal could long withstand that concentrated inferno of heat.
As one the black-clad horde leaped erect and charged toward the door, running in a weaving crouch. Useless rocket blasters clattered to the runway to be replaced by lethal Ghormley automatics with their hundred rounds of explosive pellets. As they ran, they formed into an irregular wedge with Kerry Kord at its apex.
Through the widening slits and gaping holes in the door Kerry saw the interior of the Council Hall, and at its far end the incredible splendor of Andrev’s throne. The space within the great room was a bedlam of scurrying men and women, varicolored lights gleaming on the bare flesh and scanty attire of the decadent rulers.
As he ran, Kerry drew a grenade from his belt and held it in readiness, his fingers on the firing pin. Great gaping holes now appeared in the door, molten steel dripping from their brightly burning edges; as he drew close, Kerry paused momentarily and hurled the bomb through the opening. A breathless instant—a bursting, rending roar of flame and yellow-green smoke—and Kerry hurtled swiftly through the ragged ring of flame!
CHAPTER II
THE MINUTES that followed were a nightmare of bloody, roaring slaughter. The forces of the Overlord, their minds already befuddled with their hours of carousing, were completely demoralized, capable of only the most feeble resistance. Flight was the universal impulse. As the men of the Remnant poured through the burning doorway to spread fanwise across the hall, they swept the massed revelers before them like sheep. It was slaughter—and slaughter without quarter. They had come as executioners to wipe out Andrev and his followers, root and branch—and prisoners had no place in their plan.
As he sped through the huge chamber, firing methodically at every fleeing figure within range, Kerry’s mind wavered between satisfaction at the success of their attack thus far and a vague sense of uneasiness. It was unbelievable that the Overlord could be so completely unprepared for attack. The element of surprise had given them an unquestioned advantage, and the celebration of ‘Liberation Day’ with its attendant debauchery had helped a lot. Then too, there had been no organized resistance for so long a period that the danger of an uprising had seemed completely past. But certainly Andrev had additional automatic defense installed during the early days of his reign when the danger of revolt must have been something to cope with; to think otherwise was to underestimate the Overlord’s intelligence.
Kerry scanned the chamber with quick, keen glances, while charging ahead with unbroken stride. Two things in particular he noted. The Overlord’s throne was empty; and everyone ran as though by prearranged plan toward a narrow doorway in the far wall close to the throne—streaming through it in a steady unbroken line.
The Overlord, certainly, had preceded his followers through that doorway!
Casting a glance behind him, Kerry saw that he still led the pack, though Bodey was at his heels. With a single piercing shout he sprinted toward the narrow opening, ignoring the panicstricken stragglers who scurried away at his approach. His cry seemed to have spurred the fleeing mass to new effort, for suddenly the narrow doorway became jammed with a fighting, squirming mass of humanity. Grimly Kerry hurled a grenade, a second, a third—and as the thunderous detonation rolled through the room, the doorway cleared completely.
As he reached the opening, an ominous roar swept through the hall and he glanced over his shoulder. His face blanched. A withering rain of machine gun fire was sweeping the hall from openings in both side walls! Someone, somewhere, had been waiting till the room had cleared of Andrev’s men—then had set off batteries of weapons, trained in devastating crossfire. His comrades were dropping on every hand.
A furious curse burst from him as Bodey reached his side. A trap—and they had been caught in it!
“Up to us. Glenn,” he rasped, whirling and thrusting his Ghormley into its holster. Nothing but grenades now—and Andrev their only objective.
The room they had entered was far smaller than the Council Hall, and in its far end were jammed a mass of the rulers, struggling to enter four large elevators that lined the wall. Four elevators—and all the doors were open! None had yet left ground level.
WITH COMMON consent Kerry and Bodey began throwing grenades, their advance slowed to a walk. Thunderous reverberations rocked the room, mingled with the shrieks and screams of the injured. Choking, acrid smoke billowed across the chamber—and like black robots the two men of the Remnant stalked through the shambles.
Kerry, grim-faced, narrow-eyed, kept his gaze fixed on the open elevator doors. In one of them, he was certain, was Andrev. If only he could plant a grenade within those little cubicles! He aimed carefully, but the cast fell short—and as the smoke of the explosion eddied away, he saw the door slide shut. One was gone! That last grenade had done the trick.
Kerry’s fingers groped for another grenade—found it—and he realized suddenly that it was his last one. Better keep it for an emergency. He gripped the butt of his Ghormley, turned to Bodey.
“Glenn,” he snapped, “we’ve got to get to those elevators quick. Andrev’s in one of them—and we must get him! You take the right—”
He broke off abruptly as a familiar stentorian voice rose above the bedlam. The Overlord!
“Attention! Cowards! Only two men are attacking you! The rest have been wiped out. Turn and destroy them!”
The words took instant effect upon the milling mass. Heads turned and an ominous roar surged from scores of throats. And suddenly a beam of intense brilliance flashed toward the two men from the heart of one of the elevators. From a weapon, Kerry thought, in the hands of Andrev himself.
“A grenade, Glenn,” he snapped through tight lips. If the mob turned on them, their chances were slim. Panic had been their strongest ally.
“All gone,” Bodey grunted laconically.
Kerry grasped his last bomb. “Then follow me and get to that second elevator. Fast!” He hurled the grenade into the thick of the mob; and as it roared its message of death he dashed with every ounce of strength toward the cubicle that must hold the Overlord. One hand clutched the Ghormley; with the other he drew a foot-long, razor-sharp knife.
Savagely he fought his way through the close-
packed mass of humanity, slashing, kicking, his automatic blasting. Hands that clutched at him were swept aside as, weaving, darting, leaping, he pressed furiously toward the Overlord.
He heard a chorus of agony and fear rise ahead of him—caught a glimpse of that searing beam of the Overlord cutting scythelike through the bodies of his own men! Clearing the elevator! With a furious oath Kerry leaped high and fired at the source of beam—and the door closed smoothly upon a lone figure standing erect amid sprawling bodies.
Unreasoning rage seized Kerry Kord. Afterward he had only a vague recollection of a melee of writhing torsos, clutching hands, blows, amid a clamor of screams and explosions—then somehow he had reached an elevator—had plunged within upon a squirming mound of men and women. The door slid shut, and they shot skyward. Reason returned when a terrified feminine voice shrieked almost in his ear:
“Here’s one of them!”
Kerry thought swiftly. He couldn’t hope to overcome a score of people, though they were unarmed, in such close quarters if they really resisted. His Ghormley was practically useless here since he couldn’t fire it without endangering himself. There was only one way out—bluff.
“Quiet!” he roared bitingly, his voice cold and incisive. “You have one chance to live. I’m after the Overlord, not you.” He thrust up a clenched fist in which was gripped one of the tubular flares. “You’ve seen the effects of these grenades—and if you resist I’ll release this one right now. We’ll die, every one of us. If you tell me where Andrev went you may go. Your answer—quick!”
A dozen voices clamored: “The top of the tower—he’s got a plane there! that’s where he is!”
SCOWLING threateningly Kerry surveyed the faces turned toward him. What he saw on the bruised and perspiring countenances convinced him they were telling the truth. One dark-eyed girl said boldly, “I hope you get him. He blasted us with that pistol of his to save his own skin.”
Inspired by the example of bolder spirits, others in the crowd began cursing Andrev. Kerry listened without comment, revulsion faintly curling his lips. They could be courageous—now.
The elevator came to rest of its own volition and someone slid back the door. Eagerly they pushed aside to clear a path for Kerry. With his fist held high above him for all to see, Kerry stalked into the open, glimpsing the black sky overhead. He saw something else—a gleaming metal dome in the center of the six-pointed star that was the top of the Star Tower.
And the hangar was ablaze with light, the muffled roar of rocket jets rising from within!
Kerry spun toward the elevator. Already the door was closing upon Andrev’s satellites, all too eager to escape unharmed. It slid shut and Kerry turned to sprint toward the glittering dome.
As he ran, he thought of the plane and the hangar. This was something unforeseen in the plans of the Ten, something which Remnant Intelligence had overlooked. From the sky this hanger could not be seen, concealed, perhaps, by supercamouflage, or more logically, hidden in the floor below, and raised to roof level mechanically when needed. Once in the plane, escape might readily be accomplished by the Overlord.
Kerry had had ideas of his own concerning Andrev’s possible manner of escape if attacked . . . About ten years before, Kerry’s father had been a scientist of world prominence. Working in the laboratories of the State, his sympathies had nonetheless been with the Remnant, of which he had been an important though secret member. Then one day he had been summoned by the Overlord—and that was the last he had ever been seen by the Remnant. Rumor had said that he had successfully completed a series of experiments upon something in which Andrev had been interested and had died so his knowledge might be the Overlord’s alone. Kerry’s jaws clenched at the thought. He had a personal score to settle . . . But of greater importance was the fact that he knew the subject of his father’s experimentation. It was mastery of the Fourth Dimension—travel through time!
Conceding that it could be done, what could be more logical than the thought that this man who had come out of the past would flee into a future age if flight became necessary, where he might again gain a world empire?
As the polished walls of the hangar loomed above him, Kerry looked for a doorway, and found one just as a wide section of the wall moved aside to permit the exit of a plane. Darting into the hangar, he hesitated briefly while his eyes raced over the strangely designed rocket ship that half-filled the open space before him.
In that momentary glimpse he saw it was a rocket plane as large as many commercial stratosphere transports, equipped with nose and tail vents, transparent plastic control cabin and possessing wings of extraordinary length. The strangest feature of the machine, however, was the series of enormous hoops of inch-thick, crystalline tubing which circled its tapering fuselage and that formed a border around the rim of the long, streamlined wings. Definitely, it was unlike any plane Kerry had ever seen—and suddenly he believed he knew why. The time traveling equipment had been installed in the plane!
He wasted no more time in examination, for the rear rockets were roaring a warning that in moments Andrev would be on his way. A glance at the transparent nose of the plane revealed that the Overlord was not at the controls; but he must be somewhere in the ship. With his Ghormley held in readiness, Kerry sprang to the nearest door and turned the catch. It moved easily under his hand and the door opened inward.
With every nerve wire-taut, Kerry eased himself through an opening he made barely wide enough to admit his powerful form—and with the suddenness of a lightning bolt, a blinding, coruscating flare of light knifed his brain and utter blackness engulfed him.
CHAPTER III
WHEN consciousness returned to Kerry Kord he first became aware of the steady cruising blast of rockets, aggravating the throbbing in his head. His second impression was one of some burdensome pressure weighing him down, pressing him painfully against a hard, smooth surface, This sensation ended, and he heard the dry, sardonic chuckle of the Overlord.
“You may as well open your eyes,” a deep voice said coldly. “I know you are conscious and you can’t possibly overpower me with a surprise attack.”
Still slightly dazed, Kerry opened his eyes and forced himself into a sitting position. He was on the floor of the control room of Andrev’s plane. The massive form of the World Dictator stood at the controls, directing the flight of the craft, his eyes for the moment fixed in cold appraisal upon Kerry. Surprisingly, Kerry discovered, his arms and legs were free.
Divining his thoughts the Overlord said dispassionately, “You aren’t bound because some of your impetuous friends arrived at the hangar in time to hurry my take-off a bit—but then, I don’t consider you of too great importance. You are unarmed, and I am very well armed. And even in direct physical attack, I consider myself quite able to defend myself without weapons. You are here and alive, frankly, because I like company.”
Kerry rose slowly to his feet, feigning weakness. He was himself again; and through narrowed lids he surveyed Andrev, weighing his chances of overpowering him. It was the first time he had been this close to the Dictator and he had to admit that the man was a formidable figure. Well over six feet tall, he was tremendously broad-shouldered, yet despite his bulk, he gave the impression of litheness. And his face, angular and strong-jawed, crowned by a high, broad forehead, was one of tremendous power. The wide mouth and deep-set glittering eyes, especially, bore an expression of arrogance and self-assurance. Certainly an antagonist not to be taken lightly.
Andrev spoke again in a casual voice, his keen eyes sweeping the instrument panel. “Now that your inspection has convinced you that precipitate action would be unwise, let us dispense with sham and relax. You’ll find a seat behind you. You may as well enjoy a journey which I believe you will find unique.”
Quite a showman, Kerry thought as he dropped into a deeply upholstered chair. He raised an eyebrow in studied boredom as he spoke for the first time.
“Thanks!” Then after a brief pause, “I don’t suppose there�
��s much sense in my asking where we’re going.”
Andrev frowned as though giving the matter thought. “I see no reason for withholding information which you cannot possibly use—though ‘when’ might be more accurate than ‘where’.” He glanced at the altimeter. “At the moment we are approximately twelve thousand feet above the Himalayas. We are moving in a wide circle above the general vicinity of my. headquarters. Since we have, I believe, risen to sufficient height, in a few moments we will be a thousand years in the future, completely beyond the reach of your—Remnant. For our journey lies through the Fourth Dimension, Time!”
Andrev fixed his eyes on Kerry’s and they began to blaze wrathfully. The casual, studied superciliousness fell from him, and all the venomous hatred and fury within the man’s being seemed to find expression on his face.
“When I return, I’ll bring with me the knowledge and might—the weapons—of another civilization—and I’ll use that knowledge to destroy utterly the upstarts who dared to resist their master! They’ll not die easily—they’ll die slowly, cursing the Remnant!”
IN SPITE OF himself, Kerry Kord JSL felt a momentary thrill of dread. A madman Andrev certainly was—but a madman who had enslaved a world.
Andrev’s words continued as the fingers of one hand darted over the control panel and the other hand drew a rocket pistol from his belt. “Do not move until I give you permission. In seconds we’ll be traveling through the time warp. I have never made this trip—but another has, and the machine does work—and if anything seems amiss you’ll die instantly.” Dropping into the pilot’s seat, he fixed his gaze on the tele-viewer which now revealed only empty blackness below the plane, and he depressed a button at the top of the panel.
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