Collected fiction, p.178
Collected Fiction, page 178
“Yes. It is our first visit.”
“You come to trade?”
“No,” Ardath replied. “We are here to catch a glimpse of the woman whose fame has traveled even to the outer provinces. Men say that her beauty is blinding.”
“So?” The landlord asked, his eyebrows lifting; “What is her name?”
“That I do not know,” Ardath said. “But I can draw her features.”
He took from his garments a stylus of his own devising and hastily sketched a face on the boards of the table. The likeness was so nearly photographic that the innkeeper instantly recognized it.
“By the Mountain, you are an artist. That’s Jansaiya, the priestess. She’s beautiful enough, or so men say, only you can’t see her. The priestesses of Dagon never leave their temple, and men can worship only during the Sea Festival. Once a year, men gaze on Jansaiya as she serves the god. You have ten months to wait.”
“I see,” Ardath said, his face falling unhappily. “And where is this temple?” Having learned the directions, they left the inn.
“Why do you wish to see this wench?” Thordred grunted.
“She is the wisest in this time,” Ardath said. “I learned that before we landed here.”
Hovering high over the land in his space ship, he had located Jansaiya with his ray device, and noted her high intelligence. The unexpected death of Zana the Amazon still rankled in him. He had determined to secure a substitute, and Jansaiya was the logical one. She would accompany Ardath and Thordred into time, for he had decided not to remain in this civilization. It did not fulfill his requirements.
The two men reached the outskirts of the temple. As yet Ardath had not decided on any definite plan, knowing that first he must find the priestess.
“Wait here,” he said. “Do not move away till I return.”
The giant drew back in the shelter of a tree, watching Ardath cross the thoroughfare toward a gate where a soldier lounged on his spear.
THE guard straightened, ready to challenge the Kyrian’s entry into the city. Suddenly his eyes went blank and blind as they met Ardath’s. Ordinary hypnotism worked well on these superstitious folk.
Ardath went through the gate. The bulk of a temple rose before him. Built of porphyry and onyx and rose marble, it seemed to rest on the sward as lightly as gossamer. Despite its hugeness, it had been constructed with an eye for proportion, so that it was utterly lovely, a symphony in stone. A curving stairway rose toward bronze gates that stood ajar, with a soldier on guard at each side.
Quietly Ardath went on. The guards did not move, once they had felt the impact of his gaze.
He entered the temple, found it vast, with a high-arched dome, and smoky with incense. The floor was green as the sea. Jade-green, too, was the flat-topped altar that loomed before him.
Behind the altar the sacred trident reared, and smoke coiled lazily about its prongs. A shaven-headed, soft-faced priest turned to face Ardath.
“You have come to pay homage to Dagon,” he said, rather than asked. “Where are your tributes? Do you come empty-handed?”
Ardath decided to change his tactics. He fixed his stare upon the priest, summoning all his will. The man hesitated, spoke a few thick words, and drew back.
“You—seem strange,” he muttered. “Your form changes.”
To the hypnotized priest it seemed as though a light mist had gathered about Ardath’s body. It thickened and swirled, and suddenly where had been the figure of a man was something entirely different.
It was Dagon, the sea god, as the priest pictured him in his own imagination!
The man went chalk-white. He collapsed on the floor, so paralyzed with fright and amazement that for a moment Ardath feared he had fainted.
“You know me,” Ardath said softly.
“Great Master, forgive your servant. . . .”
The priest babbled frantic incoherent prayers that sounded like gibberish.
“Bring the priestess Jansaiya to me,” Ardath commanded.
“At once! At once!”
The man backed behind a tapestry and was gone. Ardath lifted ironic eyebrows, for this was altogether too easy. When he felt under his robe for certain weapons he had brought with him from the ship, he nodded. Hypnotism was a ticklish trick. It was undependable, whereas weapons were not.
But the priest returned, leading a veiled, slight, feminine figure. Both bowed to the floor.
Ardath lifted the girl to her feet. He pulled aside the veil, found that no deception had been practised upon him. This was the priestess, the beautiful Jansaiya. . . .
CHAPTER VI
Unforgettable Land
WONDERFULLY lovely she was, with elfin, childlike features that somehow held a certain sophistication, and even a suggestion of inherent, latent cruelty. Her hair was bright gold, her eyes sea-green. Though she was tiny as a nereid, her delicately symmetrical figure was not in the least childlike.
She came closer to Ardath. Suddenly he felt a searing pain on his arm and drew away sharply.
“This is no god!” Jansaiya cried, her voice like tinkling silver bells. “Blood flows through his veins. He is human, and an impostor!”
She drew away, a small dagger still clenched in her hand. Ardath glanced wryly at the long scratch on his arm, yet he caught the quick stir of movement.
As though by magic, the temple was full of shaven-headed priests. From behind the tapestried walls they came swiftly, forming a ring about Ardath. Their steel swords glittered no less coldly than their eyes.
“We, too, know something of hypnotism,” one of them rasped in contempt. “There are ways of testing even gods.” Ardath thought quickly. His foes were at least two score. Hypnotism would be useless now, but he had other weapons. Under his gown was a projector that would have slain every priest in the temple, if he had cared to use it.
He did not. Ardath’s alien philosophy forbade the unnecessary taking of life.
Instead, his hand, hidden in a fold of the toga, moved almost imperceptibly. A tiny crystalline sphere dropped to the green tiles of the floor and Ardath put his sandalled foot over it.
“Do you yield?” the leader of the priests asked.
Ardath smashed the globe with his sole, at the same time holding his breath.
Instantly a colorless, odorless gas diffused through the temple. The priests no longer could move. Frozen statuelike, they stood gripping their weapons and staring blindly straight ahead. The gas had a certain anaesthetic quality which warped their time-sense and slowed down their reactions tremendously. To their slowed vision, it seemed as though Ardath vanished instantaneously when he stepped aside.
Hastily he looked around, still holding his breath. The temple was silent. No new enemy had appeared. Ardath wrenched a sword from a motionless priest and held it lightly in his right hand. He ptrode quickly to the priestess and lifted her under one arm. Ardath was no giant, but his muscles were steel-strong, and Jansaiya was tiny.
Carrying his light captive, he hurried out of the temple.
The two guards at the gate had not moved. They remained passive as Ardath descended the stairs and went through the outer portal into the street. The sentry there was also motionless and silent.
But behind Ardath rose a clamor and an outcry.
Nowhere could huge Thordred be seen. He had not waited. Perhaps he had been taken prisoner.
Ardath’s first step now was to return to the ship. After that, when the Kyrian gathered more resources, Thordred could be rescued. But at that moment there was no time for delay.
BENDING low, Ardath ran along the street. The noise of pursuit followed close behind him, abruptly swelling to a thunder of iron hoofs. Down upon the Kyrian rode a horsemen in glittering armor, sword lifted in menace. The bearded soldier shouted a searing curse. Out of the temple gates
the priests poured.
“Slay him!” they yelled as they raced after Ardath. “Slay him!”
Ardath had no time to employ any weapon but the sword that was bare in his hand. He threw Jansaiya aside, out of danger. Quickly he reversed the blade, gripping it by the point. As the horseman thundered down, he flung the steel like a club.
The street exploded into a blinding blur of action. Ardath dodged aside as ringing hoofs clashed on the pavement. The soldier’s sword screamed ominously through the air, but Ardath’s missile had found its mark. Its heavy hilt had smashed against the horseman’s bare forehead. The man was slumped in his saddle, unconscious. The weight of his sword had completed the slash.
Instantly Ardath was at the reins. He dragged the soldier down and sprang lightly into the saddle. He wheeled the mount. Reaching low over the side, he picked up Jansaiya and gently though swiftly put the limp figure across the saddle before him. The horse reared and charged down the street, scattering yelling priests before its thundering hoofs.
Never before had Ardath ridden a horse, nor even seen one of its kind. But eons ago, in the Miocene Age, he had studied the small, fleet Neohipparion. He instantly recognized the similarity between the modern and the prehistoric desert horse. Animals had never feared nor distrusted Ardath, for he understood them too well. The steed responded to the least touch of his hands and heels. Through the city it raced.
Three times Ardath had to use his sword, but only to disarm. It was not necessary to kill. Suddenly, then, the city was behind him, and he was racing up the slope toward the forest.
It was already late afternoon. The shadows lay long and dark on the sward. Ardath cast a glance behind him, saw that a horde of horsemen were riding hard in pursuit. He shrugged indifferently and looked down at Jansaiya.
Undisturbed, she still slept. He studied her face, realizing that it was lovely beyond imagination, though the perfect lips were somewhat arrogant, a little cruel. With his knowledge to combat those traits, he could make her a fit mate for any superior man.
But what had happened to Thordred? Ardath was beginning to grow worried. He could do nothing till he reached the ship, though.
It was sunset before he did. The titanic sphere rose above the tree-tops as it lay cradled in a clearing. A port was wide open, just as he had left it, but across the gap shimmered a pallid curtain of white radiance.
Ardath reined in, sprang from the saddle. Snatching down Jansaiya in his arms, he called out sharply.
“Thordred!”
Instantly the giant came out of a thicket, his savage face inscrutable.
“Follow me,” Ardath commanded briefly, and went toward the ship.
As he neared the port, the flickering curtain died. He entered, carrying his burden, and Thordred followed.
ARDATH turned when they were all inside. The horse was quietly grazing where he had left it. When he heard the distant sound of shouting, constantly growing louder, Ardath sighed. He put Jansaiya down and closed the port. Seating himself without haste at the control panel, he sent the ship arrowing up from the forest.
The vessel hung in the air, hovering motionless. Ardath turned to Thordred.
“You tried to enter the ship,” he said quietly. “I had forbidden that. Why did you try to do so?”
Thordred flushed, trying to evade that piercing though gentle stare.
“I came as far as the temple doors. When I saw the priests capture you, I thought you were helpless. I was unarmed, so I came back to the ship to find some weapon to aid you.
For a long, tense moment, Ardath’s inscrutable gaze dwelt on the giant.
“No one can enter here save by my will,” he said. “You would do well to obey me in future.”
Thordred nodded hastily and changed the subject.
“The girl is awakening.”
Jansaiya’s green eyes slowly opened.
The instant she saw Ardath, horror and hatred sprang into her gaze.
She looked then at the crafty Thordred. Suddenly and unmistakably, the giant Earthling realized that he had found an ally against Ardath. But he said nothing.
He waited, silent and passive, while Ardath spoke to Jansaiya in her own language, explaining why she had been abducted.
She listened attentively, and the Kyrian knew she did not regard him as a god or a demon.
Not for nothing had he sought out the most intelligent human of this particular time.
The Sun was setting when Ardath finished his explanation. Through the transparent window of a port, they could see the land that stretched beneath them, green and beautiful. Smoke plumed up from the volcanic range. The city, tiny and white, lay in the distance.
“You intend to put me to sleep?” Jansaiya asked incredulously. “For a thousand years?”
“A thousand or more,” Ardath said quietly. “Your civilization does not suit my needs. Do you love it so well that you would refuse?”
“No,” she responded. “Return to be imprisoned in Dagon’s temple once more? No, I am glad to be free! But to have to leave my world forever.”
“Kingdoms die,” Ardath pointed out. “Civilizations pass like shadows. When we awake, perhaps no man will remember your land.”
Jansaiya rose and went to the port. The red Sun cast bloody light on her face.
“You are wrong” she whispered. “I am your prisoner. I have no choice but to obey. Yet if we sleep for a hundred thousand years, men will not forget my kingdom. All over Earth our ships carry wondrous goods. Our civilization is the mightiest in the world.
It cannot die or pass. It will go on, through the ages, growing mightier. Not even the gods can destroy this land. Not even Dagon, Lord of the Sea, can destroy Atlantis!”
CHAPTER VII
Doom
ON the 2nd of January, 1941, Stephen Court left for Canada. His cabin plane contained two passengers and a good deal of equipment. Marion Barton went with him, and he had allowed Sammy to go along. The old man had been reformed in every other respect, but wanderlust can be removed from a man only by the surgery of death.
“I won’t be no trouble, Stevie,” he had argued. “I get itchy feet this time of year, and, besides, I never rode in an airplane. Anyhow—his watery eyes narrowed cunning—“you’ll need a handyman to do odd jobs. I can help you unpack and other things.”
To save argument that would waste time, Court had agreed. It was a clear, bitingly cold day when the plane took off from the Wisconsin flying field. Luckily the weather reports were good. Though there was no danger of snow, Court flew at low altitude, fearing that ice would form on the wings.
The excitement of hurtling the plane at high speed made him uncharacteristically talkative. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, and he chatted with the others with unusual animation and warmth. Sammy did not talk much, but he listened and occasionally asked a question.
“Plague, eh?” he said once. “I was in the South once when a plague hit. It was pretty awful. Kids and women—we couldn’t bury ’em fast enough. I sure hope it ain’t like that.”
“We’ll see,” Court said. “I can’t do much till I examine this fellow Locicault. For that matter—” He frowned, pondering. “I really haven’t enough equipment with me. I’ve got to bring Locicault back to my lab.”
“But you say it’s contagious,” Marion protested. “How can he travel?”
“I’ve arranged that. I’m having an ambulance made ready. “It’ll be plated with several thicknesses of lead, which ought to be safe enough. They’re sending the car after me as soon as it’s ready.”
“Oh,” Marion said.
She fell silent, watching the mountains and lakes glide past below.
“You know,” Court observed after a time, “I came across an interesting angle, a completely unexpected one. I’ve been getting photographs from most of the observatories. While I found no trace of my X in space, I did notice something else—a satellite of some kind circling the Earth. No one’s noticed it before, it’s so small and travels so fast. But it seems to be made of homogeneous metal.”
“Iron?”
“Smooth metal, Marion. Not pitted and rough, as an asteroid would be. It’s made of pure gold, or some yellow metal that resembles gold.”
The girl looked sharply at Court.
“A space ship?”
“Possibly. But why wouldn’t it come down, if it is a ship? Has it been circling the Earth for ages?”
“But where could it have come from?”
“Some ancient civilization might have mastered space travel, though I doubt that. If it is a space ship, it probably came from some other planet.”
“There’s nothing in history about it,” Marion said. “If one space ship could come here, probably so would a lot more.”
“Nothing in history? No, but there’s a lot in mythology and folklore. I’m just guessing, of course. I’m anxious to find out more about that highly unnatural satellite.”
SHE was silent, fascinated by the thought.
“How can you reach it?” she asked. “It looks impossible,” he admitted. “Space travel is impossible to us today. That’s one reason—You see, Marion, if it really is a space ship, it may mean Earth’s salvation. To be completely rational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can’t be conquered. If it is a space ship, we may be able to leave the Earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the System.
“We couldn’t do that with modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely
colored satellite is a genuine space ship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one.”
“It’s worth trying,” Marion breathed hopefully.
“I may fail. That’s why I want to find out more about X. The space ship’s a dangerously long chance, and I don’t want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Locicault—”
Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the Border and into Canada.
It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, another following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Doctor Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull.
“You come to trade?”
“No,” Ardath replied. “We are here to catch a glimpse of the woman whose fame has traveled even to the outer provinces. Men say that her beauty is blinding.”
“So?” The landlord asked, his eyebrows lifting; “What is her name?”
“That I do not know,” Ardath said. “But I can draw her features.”
He took from his garments a stylus of his own devising and hastily sketched a face on the boards of the table. The likeness was so nearly photographic that the innkeeper instantly recognized it.
“By the Mountain, you are an artist. That’s Jansaiya, the priestess. She’s beautiful enough, or so men say, only you can’t see her. The priestesses of Dagon never leave their temple, and men can worship only during the Sea Festival. Once a year, men gaze on Jansaiya as she serves the god. You have ten months to wait.”
“I see,” Ardath said, his face falling unhappily. “And where is this temple?” Having learned the directions, they left the inn.
“Why do you wish to see this wench?” Thordred grunted.
“She is the wisest in this time,” Ardath said. “I learned that before we landed here.”
Hovering high over the land in his space ship, he had located Jansaiya with his ray device, and noted her high intelligence. The unexpected death of Zana the Amazon still rankled in him. He had determined to secure a substitute, and Jansaiya was the logical one. She would accompany Ardath and Thordred into time, for he had decided not to remain in this civilization. It did not fulfill his requirements.
The two men reached the outskirts of the temple. As yet Ardath had not decided on any definite plan, knowing that first he must find the priestess.
“Wait here,” he said. “Do not move away till I return.”
The giant drew back in the shelter of a tree, watching Ardath cross the thoroughfare toward a gate where a soldier lounged on his spear.
THE guard straightened, ready to challenge the Kyrian’s entry into the city. Suddenly his eyes went blank and blind as they met Ardath’s. Ordinary hypnotism worked well on these superstitious folk.
Ardath went through the gate. The bulk of a temple rose before him. Built of porphyry and onyx and rose marble, it seemed to rest on the sward as lightly as gossamer. Despite its hugeness, it had been constructed with an eye for proportion, so that it was utterly lovely, a symphony in stone. A curving stairway rose toward bronze gates that stood ajar, with a soldier on guard at each side.
Quietly Ardath went on. The guards did not move, once they had felt the impact of his gaze.
He entered the temple, found it vast, with a high-arched dome, and smoky with incense. The floor was green as the sea. Jade-green, too, was the flat-topped altar that loomed before him.
Behind the altar the sacred trident reared, and smoke coiled lazily about its prongs. A shaven-headed, soft-faced priest turned to face Ardath.
“You have come to pay homage to Dagon,” he said, rather than asked. “Where are your tributes? Do you come empty-handed?”
Ardath decided to change his tactics. He fixed his stare upon the priest, summoning all his will. The man hesitated, spoke a few thick words, and drew back.
“You—seem strange,” he muttered. “Your form changes.”
To the hypnotized priest it seemed as though a light mist had gathered about Ardath’s body. It thickened and swirled, and suddenly where had been the figure of a man was something entirely different.
It was Dagon, the sea god, as the priest pictured him in his own imagination!
The man went chalk-white. He collapsed on the floor, so paralyzed with fright and amazement that for a moment Ardath feared he had fainted.
“You know me,” Ardath said softly.
“Great Master, forgive your servant. . . .”
The priest babbled frantic incoherent prayers that sounded like gibberish.
“Bring the priestess Jansaiya to me,” Ardath commanded.
“At once! At once!”
The man backed behind a tapestry and was gone. Ardath lifted ironic eyebrows, for this was altogether too easy. When he felt under his robe for certain weapons he had brought with him from the ship, he nodded. Hypnotism was a ticklish trick. It was undependable, whereas weapons were not.
But the priest returned, leading a veiled, slight, feminine figure. Both bowed to the floor.
Ardath lifted the girl to her feet. He pulled aside the veil, found that no deception had been practised upon him. This was the priestess, the beautiful Jansaiya. . . .
CHAPTER VI
Unforgettable Land
WONDERFULLY lovely she was, with elfin, childlike features that somehow held a certain sophistication, and even a suggestion of inherent, latent cruelty. Her hair was bright gold, her eyes sea-green. Though she was tiny as a nereid, her delicately symmetrical figure was not in the least childlike.
She came closer to Ardath. Suddenly he felt a searing pain on his arm and drew away sharply.
“This is no god!” Jansaiya cried, her voice like tinkling silver bells. “Blood flows through his veins. He is human, and an impostor!”
She drew away, a small dagger still clenched in her hand. Ardath glanced wryly at the long scratch on his arm, yet he caught the quick stir of movement.
As though by magic, the temple was full of shaven-headed priests. From behind the tapestried walls they came swiftly, forming a ring about Ardath. Their steel swords glittered no less coldly than their eyes.
“We, too, know something of hypnotism,” one of them rasped in contempt. “There are ways of testing even gods.” Ardath thought quickly. His foes were at least two score. Hypnotism would be useless now, but he had other weapons. Under his gown was a projector that would have slain every priest in the temple, if he had cared to use it.
He did not. Ardath’s alien philosophy forbade the unnecessary taking of life.
Instead, his hand, hidden in a fold of the toga, moved almost imperceptibly. A tiny crystalline sphere dropped to the green tiles of the floor and Ardath put his sandalled foot over it.
“Do you yield?” the leader of the priests asked.
Ardath smashed the globe with his sole, at the same time holding his breath.
Instantly a colorless, odorless gas diffused through the temple. The priests no longer could move. Frozen statuelike, they stood gripping their weapons and staring blindly straight ahead. The gas had a certain anaesthetic quality which warped their time-sense and slowed down their reactions tremendously. To their slowed vision, it seemed as though Ardath vanished instantaneously when he stepped aside.
Hastily he looked around, still holding his breath. The temple was silent. No new enemy had appeared. Ardath wrenched a sword from a motionless priest and held it lightly in his right hand. He ptrode quickly to the priestess and lifted her under one arm. Ardath was no giant, but his muscles were steel-strong, and Jansaiya was tiny.
Carrying his light captive, he hurried out of the temple.
The two guards at the gate had not moved. They remained passive as Ardath descended the stairs and went through the outer portal into the street. The sentry there was also motionless and silent.
But behind Ardath rose a clamor and an outcry.
Nowhere could huge Thordred be seen. He had not waited. Perhaps he had been taken prisoner.
Ardath’s first step now was to return to the ship. After that, when the Kyrian gathered more resources, Thordred could be rescued. But at that moment there was no time for delay.
BENDING low, Ardath ran along the street. The noise of pursuit followed close behind him, abruptly swelling to a thunder of iron hoofs. Down upon the Kyrian rode a horsemen in glittering armor, sword lifted in menace. The bearded soldier shouted a searing curse. Out of the temple gates
the priests poured.
“Slay him!” they yelled as they raced after Ardath. “Slay him!”
Ardath had no time to employ any weapon but the sword that was bare in his hand. He threw Jansaiya aside, out of danger. Quickly he reversed the blade, gripping it by the point. As the horseman thundered down, he flung the steel like a club.
The street exploded into a blinding blur of action. Ardath dodged aside as ringing hoofs clashed on the pavement. The soldier’s sword screamed ominously through the air, but Ardath’s missile had found its mark. Its heavy hilt had smashed against the horseman’s bare forehead. The man was slumped in his saddle, unconscious. The weight of his sword had completed the slash.
Instantly Ardath was at the reins. He dragged the soldier down and sprang lightly into the saddle. He wheeled the mount. Reaching low over the side, he picked up Jansaiya and gently though swiftly put the limp figure across the saddle before him. The horse reared and charged down the street, scattering yelling priests before its thundering hoofs.
Never before had Ardath ridden a horse, nor even seen one of its kind. But eons ago, in the Miocene Age, he had studied the small, fleet Neohipparion. He instantly recognized the similarity between the modern and the prehistoric desert horse. Animals had never feared nor distrusted Ardath, for he understood them too well. The steed responded to the least touch of his hands and heels. Through the city it raced.
Three times Ardath had to use his sword, but only to disarm. It was not necessary to kill. Suddenly, then, the city was behind him, and he was racing up the slope toward the forest.
It was already late afternoon. The shadows lay long and dark on the sward. Ardath cast a glance behind him, saw that a horde of horsemen were riding hard in pursuit. He shrugged indifferently and looked down at Jansaiya.
Undisturbed, she still slept. He studied her face, realizing that it was lovely beyond imagination, though the perfect lips were somewhat arrogant, a little cruel. With his knowledge to combat those traits, he could make her a fit mate for any superior man.
But what had happened to Thordred? Ardath was beginning to grow worried. He could do nothing till he reached the ship, though.
It was sunset before he did. The titanic sphere rose above the tree-tops as it lay cradled in a clearing. A port was wide open, just as he had left it, but across the gap shimmered a pallid curtain of white radiance.
Ardath reined in, sprang from the saddle. Snatching down Jansaiya in his arms, he called out sharply.
“Thordred!”
Instantly the giant came out of a thicket, his savage face inscrutable.
“Follow me,” Ardath commanded briefly, and went toward the ship.
As he neared the port, the flickering curtain died. He entered, carrying his burden, and Thordred followed.
ARDATH turned when they were all inside. The horse was quietly grazing where he had left it. When he heard the distant sound of shouting, constantly growing louder, Ardath sighed. He put Jansaiya down and closed the port. Seating himself without haste at the control panel, he sent the ship arrowing up from the forest.
The vessel hung in the air, hovering motionless. Ardath turned to Thordred.
“You tried to enter the ship,” he said quietly. “I had forbidden that. Why did you try to do so?”
Thordred flushed, trying to evade that piercing though gentle stare.
“I came as far as the temple doors. When I saw the priests capture you, I thought you were helpless. I was unarmed, so I came back to the ship to find some weapon to aid you.
For a long, tense moment, Ardath’s inscrutable gaze dwelt on the giant.
“No one can enter here save by my will,” he said. “You would do well to obey me in future.”
Thordred nodded hastily and changed the subject.
“The girl is awakening.”
Jansaiya’s green eyes slowly opened.
The instant she saw Ardath, horror and hatred sprang into her gaze.
She looked then at the crafty Thordred. Suddenly and unmistakably, the giant Earthling realized that he had found an ally against Ardath. But he said nothing.
He waited, silent and passive, while Ardath spoke to Jansaiya in her own language, explaining why she had been abducted.
She listened attentively, and the Kyrian knew she did not regard him as a god or a demon.
Not for nothing had he sought out the most intelligent human of this particular time.
The Sun was setting when Ardath finished his explanation. Through the transparent window of a port, they could see the land that stretched beneath them, green and beautiful. Smoke plumed up from the volcanic range. The city, tiny and white, lay in the distance.
“You intend to put me to sleep?” Jansaiya asked incredulously. “For a thousand years?”
“A thousand or more,” Ardath said quietly. “Your civilization does not suit my needs. Do you love it so well that you would refuse?”
“No,” she responded. “Return to be imprisoned in Dagon’s temple once more? No, I am glad to be free! But to have to leave my world forever.”
“Kingdoms die,” Ardath pointed out. “Civilizations pass like shadows. When we awake, perhaps no man will remember your land.”
Jansaiya rose and went to the port. The red Sun cast bloody light on her face.
“You are wrong” she whispered. “I am your prisoner. I have no choice but to obey. Yet if we sleep for a hundred thousand years, men will not forget my kingdom. All over Earth our ships carry wondrous goods. Our civilization is the mightiest in the world.
It cannot die or pass. It will go on, through the ages, growing mightier. Not even the gods can destroy this land. Not even Dagon, Lord of the Sea, can destroy Atlantis!”
CHAPTER VII
Doom
ON the 2nd of January, 1941, Stephen Court left for Canada. His cabin plane contained two passengers and a good deal of equipment. Marion Barton went with him, and he had allowed Sammy to go along. The old man had been reformed in every other respect, but wanderlust can be removed from a man only by the surgery of death.
“I won’t be no trouble, Stevie,” he had argued. “I get itchy feet this time of year, and, besides, I never rode in an airplane. Anyhow—his watery eyes narrowed cunning—“you’ll need a handyman to do odd jobs. I can help you unpack and other things.”
To save argument that would waste time, Court had agreed. It was a clear, bitingly cold day when the plane took off from the Wisconsin flying field. Luckily the weather reports were good. Though there was no danger of snow, Court flew at low altitude, fearing that ice would form on the wings.
The excitement of hurtling the plane at high speed made him uncharacteristically talkative. His gaunt cheeks were flushed, and he chatted with the others with unusual animation and warmth. Sammy did not talk much, but he listened and occasionally asked a question.
“Plague, eh?” he said once. “I was in the South once when a plague hit. It was pretty awful. Kids and women—we couldn’t bury ’em fast enough. I sure hope it ain’t like that.”
“We’ll see,” Court said. “I can’t do much till I examine this fellow Locicault. For that matter—” He frowned, pondering. “I really haven’t enough equipment with me. I’ve got to bring Locicault back to my lab.”
“But you say it’s contagious,” Marion protested. “How can he travel?”
“I’ve arranged that. I’m having an ambulance made ready. “It’ll be plated with several thicknesses of lead, which ought to be safe enough. They’re sending the car after me as soon as it’s ready.”
“Oh,” Marion said.
She fell silent, watching the mountains and lakes glide past below.
“You know,” Court observed after a time, “I came across an interesting angle, a completely unexpected one. I’ve been getting photographs from most of the observatories. While I found no trace of my X in space, I did notice something else—a satellite of some kind circling the Earth. No one’s noticed it before, it’s so small and travels so fast. But it seems to be made of homogeneous metal.”
“Iron?”
“Smooth metal, Marion. Not pitted and rough, as an asteroid would be. It’s made of pure gold, or some yellow metal that resembles gold.”
The girl looked sharply at Court.
“A space ship?”
“Possibly. But why wouldn’t it come down, if it is a ship? Has it been circling the Earth for ages?”
“But where could it have come from?”
“Some ancient civilization might have mastered space travel, though I doubt that. If it is a space ship, it probably came from some other planet.”
“There’s nothing in history about it,” Marion said. “If one space ship could come here, probably so would a lot more.”
“Nothing in history? No, but there’s a lot in mythology and folklore. I’m just guessing, of course. I’m anxious to find out more about that highly unnatural satellite.”
SHE was silent, fascinated by the thought.
“How can you reach it?” she asked. “It looks impossible,” he admitted. “Space travel is impossible to us today. That’s one reason—You see, Marion, if it really is a space ship, it may mean Earth’s salvation. To be completely rational, we must consider that perhaps the plague can’t be conquered. If it is a space ship, we may be able to leave the Earth and go to another planet. If those worlds are also in danger, we could leave the System.
“We couldn’t do that with modern rocket fuels. Suppose that strangely
colored satellite is a genuine space ship, one that has already traveled across the interstellar void. Repairing it would be less work than inventing one.”
“It’s worth trying,” Marion breathed hopefully.
“I may fail. That’s why I want to find out more about X. The space ship’s a dangerously long chance, and I don’t want to gamble everything on one throw of the dice. When I see Locicault—”
Time wore on. Sammy asked innumerable questions about the plague, but when he exhausted his curiosity, he went to sleep. The plane sped over the Border and into Canada.
It was afternoon before they reached the landing field. An automobile met them and took them into town, another following with Sammy and the equipment. At the hospital they were greeted by Doctor Granger, a shriveled gnome of a man with one tuft of white hair standing straight up from his bald skull.
