Collected short fiction, p.187
Collected Short Fiction, page 187
“But when the station here remains silent, won’t they know something is wrong?”
“It was only for emergencies. We had never used it. The signals would have been picked up, the station located. We depended on absolute secrecy.”
“Could a man walk out?”
“Impossible! No water in the desert. This is the most isolated spot on Mars. We wanted no accidental visitors.”
“But there must be something we can——”
“We must eat,” insisted Giles Habibula. “Even if it is the same mortal day. Nothing like good food to quicken the mind. A good supper with a bottle of the old wine to wash it down, and you’ll have us away from here this blessed night.”
And, indeed, it was while John Star sipped a glass from the old man’s precious cellar that inspiration came.
“We’ve light tubes!” he cried. “We can step up the output—doesn’t matter if they soon burn out. Flash a distress signal. Against the dark background of the desert, somebody would see it from space.”
“We’ll try that,” agreed Jay Kalam. “Might not be a legion cruiser. But it would have a transmitter to call one.”
“Ah, what did I tell you? What did mortal old Giles Habibula tell you? Didn’t a drop of wine sharpen your brain like anything?”
When the cold, clear darkness of the Martian night crashed down on the red landscape, John Star was ready on the platform of the north tower, his pocket light tube in hand, its coils rewound to increase its brilliance a thousandfold.
Into the purple, star-shot night he flashed it, forming again and again the cade letters of the legion signal of distress. The overloaded electrodes fused in a few minutes, burned out. But Jay Kalam was ready with another tube, with its potential stepped up in the same way; he kept flashing the silent appeal for aid.
It was incredible to John Star, as he stood there, that Aladoree had been with him that morning on the same platform. Incredible, when now she was lost somewhere in the black gulf of space, perhaps ten million miles away. With a little ache in his heart, he remembered how she had looked—slender and straight and cleanly molded; eyes candid and cool and gray; sunlit hair working miracles in brown and red and gold.
His determination to restore her to safety could hardly be less, he knew, were she just an ordinary bit of humanity, not the keeper of the system’s most priceless treasure.
It was long after midnight when the last light tube went out.
Then, until dawn, they waited on the platform, scanning the star-pricked sky, anxious for the blue rocket-exhausts that would brake the descending ship. But they saw no moving thing, save the faint tiny sparks of the moons of Mars, the hurtling inner one crossing the sky backward, from west to east, twice during the night.
Giles Habibula was with them, not watching, but lying on his back, peacefully snoring. He woke with the dawn and went down to the kitchen. Presently he called up that breakfast was ready, and the others were about to leave the tower in despair, when they heard the roaring rockets of a ship landing.
A long silver craft, an arrow of white flame in the morning sun, it dropped across the fort, pushing ahead the blue flare of its rockets.
“A legion cruiser!” John Star exulted. “The latest, fastest type.”
His blue eyes keener than they appeared, Hal Samdu read the name on its side:
“Purple—something—she’s the Purple Dream!”
“Purple Dream?” echoed Jay Kalam. “That’s the flagship of the legion fleet; the ship of the commander himself!”
“If it’s the commander’s ship,” John Star said slowly, his high spirits falling, “I’m afraid it won’t bring us much good. Commander Adam Ulnar is Eric Ulnar’s uncle. The real leader of the Purples.
“It was Adam Ulnar who sent Eric to Yarkand; Adam Ulnar who found Aladoree was hidden here, and sent Eric to be captain of her guard. I’m afraid we can’t expect much but trouble from the commander of the legion.”
VII.
THE FOUR went out of the old gate, Giles Habibula still eating morsels he had stuffed into his pockets, and down the boulder-strewn slope to the Purple Dream, lying amid the yellow dunes of the sand desert.
Her officer, a man too old for his rank, thin, stern, with a jaw like a trap, looked down at them from the open air lock.
“You flashed a signal of distress?”
“We did,” said John Star.
“What’s your difficulty?”
“We must leave here. We have an urgent matter to report to the Green Hall.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s confidential.”
“Confidential?” the officer repeated, looking down with frosty eyes.
“Very!”
“Come aboard, then, to my stateroom.”
They climbed the accommodation ladder, followed him through the great valves, down the narrow deck into his cabin. He closed the door and said:
“You need keep nothing back from me. I’m Madlok, Commander Ulnar’s first officer and completely in his confidence. I know that you men were stationed here to guard the most valuable possession of the human race. What account have you to make of it?”
“You mean——”
“I mean AKKA!” snapped the officer.
“It is lost,” said John Star. “A traitor was sent here——”
“Lost? You have betrayed your trust?”
“It is gone. It must be recovered. And the news of its loss must be communicated at once to the Green Hall.”
“I shall take care of any reports. The four of you were merely subordinates, I assume. I shall take you to headquarters to account for your failure.”
“The search must begin at once,” said John Star urgently.
“I’m not accepting orders from you, sir, if you please. And I shall take the four of you at once to Commander Ulnar, at his estate on the outer moon.”
“May I go back, sir, just a few minutes?” appealed Giles Habibula. “Some things I must bring——”
“What things?”
“Just a few mortal cases of old wine, sir.”
“What! Wine! We’re taking off at once.”
“If you will pardon me, sir,” gravely offered Jay Kalam, “we were not under your command.”
“Your signals were seen from Commander Ulnar’s private observatory, on Phobos,” snapped Madlok. “Inferring—quite rightly—that you had betrayed your trust and lost AKKA, he sent me to bring you to the Purple Hall. I trust that you will condescend to obey the commander of the legion. We take off in twenty seconds!”
John Star had heard of the Ulnar estate on Phobos; the magnificent splendor of the Purple Hall was famous throughout the system.
The tiny outer moon of Mars, only some ten miles in diameter, had always been held by the Ulnars, by right of reclamation. Equipping the barren, stony mass with an artificial gravity system, synthetic atmosphere, and “seas” of man-made water, planting forests and gardens in soil manufactured from chemicals and disintegrated stone, the planetary engineers had transformed it into a tiny paradise.
For his residence, Adam Ulnar had obtained the architects’ plans for the Green Hall, the system’s colossal capitol building, and duplicated it room for room, but on a scale an inch larger to the foot, and not in green glass, but in purple, the color of the empire.
The Purple Dream dropped upon the landing stage atop the square, titanic tower. Beyond the edge of the platform, when they disembarked, John Star could see the roofs of the building’s great wings, glistening expanses of purple stretching out across vividly green lawns and gardens. Farther, the surface of the tiny planet, massed with dark, luxuriant verdure, seemed to curve down with increasing abruptness against the star-pierced purple-blue of the thin air, so that he felt as if he were perched insecurely on the top of a great green ball.
They dropped in an elevator three thousand feet, escorted by Madlok and half a dozen men from the cruiser, and entered an amazing room.
Corresponding to the Green Hall’s council chamber, it was five hundred feet square, arched with a huge dome, and columned walls illuminated with colored lights to secure effects of indescribable vastness and splendor.
In the center of the floor, occupying a space relatively small, were a thousand seats, corresponding to the seats of the Council of the Green Hall—all empty. Above them, on a high dais, stood a magnificent gem-canopied throne of purple crystal—vacant. On its seat lay the old crown and scepter of the emperors.
They marched, astonished and awed, across the vast floor, under the whispering vault, around the dais. Behind the throne they entered a small room, beyond a guarded door. There Adam Ulnar, commander of the legion of space, master of all this splendor and the immense wealth and power it represented, was sitting at a simple table.
THOUGH twice Eric Ulnar’s age and almost twice his weight, Adam Ulnar was as handsome as his nephew. Square-shouldered, erect, he wore a plain military uniform. The calm strength of his face—nose prominent; mouth firm; blue eyes deep-set, wide apart, steady—contrasted with Eric’s weak and passionate countenance. His long hair, nearly white, lent him the look of distinction that Eric had from his flowing yellow locks.
John Star, to his surprise, felt an immediate instinctive admiration for this man of his own blood, about whose vast wealth and influential power he had heard so much. He understood how a man of such powerful and persuasive personality could inspire enthusiasm for the cause he represented.
“The men, commander,” Madlok reported briefly, “who lost AKKA.”
Adam Ulnar looked at them without surprise, a faint smile on his distinguished face.
“So you were the guard of Aladoree Anthar?” he said, his voice well-modulated, pleasant. “Your names?”
John Star named his companions. “And I am John Ulnar.”
The commander smiled again, stood up behind the table. “John Ulnar? A kinsman of mine, I believe?”
“So I understand.”
He stood still, coldly unsmiling.
Adam Ulnar came around the table to greet him, warmly courteous. “I’ll see you alone, John,” he said, and nodded to Madlok, who withdrew with the others.
Then he turned to John Star, urged cordially: “Sit down, John.
I wish now that we had met sooner, and in less strained circumstances.” And he added, smiling: “You made a brilliant record at the academy, John. And I’ve a career planned for you, equally brilliant.”
John Star, remaining on his feet, his face a little grim, said: “I suppose I should thank you, Commander Ulnar, for my education and my commission in the legion. A few days ago I should have done so very gratefully. But it seems that I was intended merely for a dupe and a tool.”
“I wouldn’t say that, John,” protested Adam Ulnar. “It’s true that events did not take place just as I had planned—Eric is taking affairs too much into his own hands. But I had you placed under his direct command. I was planning——”
“Under Eric!” John Star burst out hotly. “A traitor! Much as I admired him, that’s what he is! Obeying his orders, I helped betray the legion and the Green Hall.”
“Traitor is a harsh word to use, John, just because of a political difference.”
“Just a political difference! Do you admit to me openly that you are false to your own trust as an officer of the legion? You, the commander himself!”
Adam Ulnar smiled at him, warmly, kindly, a little bit amused. “Do you realize, John, that I am by far the most wealthy man in the system? That I am easily the most powerful and influential? Doesn’t it occur to you that loyalty to the Purple Hall might be more to your advantage than support of the democracy?”
“Are you trying, sir, to make a traitor out of me?”
“Please, John, don’t use that word. The form of government I stand for has a sanction far older than your silly ideas of equality and democracy. And, after all, John, you are an Ulnar. If you will consider just your own personal advantage, I can give you wealth, position, and power, that you will never attain with your present impractical attitude.”
“Then I will not consider it.”
John Star was still standing stiffly in front of the table. Adam Ulnar came around beside him, took his arm persuasively.
“John,” he said, “I like you. Even when you were very small—I suppose you don’t remember when we were ever together—you displayed qualities that I liked. Your courage, that stubborn determination that is about to keep us apart now, was one of them—something left out of my nephew’s disposition.
“I had no son of my own. And the family of Ulnar isn’t very large—just Eric, the son of my unfortunate elder brother, and you and I. Eric is twelve years older than you are, John. He was rather pampered in his youth. He was always told that one day he would be emperor of the Sun; he was given attention, waited on.
“And I don’t like the results altogether. Eric is weak, headstrong, and yet a coward. This alliance with the creatures of Yarkand was a cowardly thing—he made it against my advice, because he feared my own plans for the revolution would fail.
“Anyhow, with you I tried a different plan. I put you in the academy, left you ignorant of what your destiny might be. I wanted you to learn to depend on yourself, to develop some character and resource of your own.
“This last experience has been a sort of test, John. And it has proved, I think, that you have the courage and independence I had hoped for. I like you for those things.”
“Yes?” said John Star coldly, and waited.
“The empire is going to be restored. Nothing can halt our plans now. The Green Hall is doomed. But I don’t want to set a weakling back on the throne. Ulnar is an old name, a proud name. We don’t want it disgraced, as a weakling might disgrace it.”
“You mean——” cried John Star, astounded. “By all this, you mean that I——”
“That’s it, my boy!” Adam Ulnar was smiling at him with pleasure on his face, pride, and hope. “That’s it. It is not Eric who shall be emperor of the Sun, when the Green Hall surrenders. It shall be you!”
John Star stood motionless, looking into his pleased, smiling face, and he added:
“Yes, you shall be emperor, John. Your claim is really better than Eric’s or mine. You are in the direct line of descent. I have proof.”
John Star shook off his hand, then moved back a little, laughed.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, suddenly anxious. “You don’t——”
“No!” he exclaimed. “I don’t want to be emperor. If I were emperor, I should abdicate, restore the Green Hall.”
Adam Ulnar went slowly back behind the table and sat down heavily, wearily. A long time he sat silently, watching John Star’s tense, determined figure with thoughtful eyes.
“I see,” he said at last. “You meant that. Your education has had a result I hadn’t foreseen. I suppose it’s too late to change you now.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Again Adam Ulnar mused a while, and then stood up suddenly, his face hard with decision. “I hope you understand the situation, John. Our plans are going ahead. If you won’t be emperor, Eric will. Perhaps, with my advice——Anyhow, the Green Hall is doomed. And I suppose with your attitude, you will remain against us?”
“I will!” John Star promised warmly. “I hope for nothing more than a chance to defeat your plot.”
Adam Ulnar nodded; for an instant he almost smiled. “I knew you would. And that means—I’ll be as honest with you as you are with me—that means that you must spend your life in prison. Unless it becomes necessary to kill you. I have too much confidence in your ability and your determination to set you at liberty.”
“Thank you,” said John Star, smiling grimly.
Adam Ulnar came to him again, his face a little softer. “Good-by, John. I’m sorry we must part this way.”
He laid his hand a moment on John Star’s shoulder, was suddenly concerned at his involuntary shudder of pain. “You’ve been hurt, John?”
“Some weapon from the black ship. It made a greenish burn.”
“Oh, the red gas!” He was suddenly very grave. “Open your tunic and let me see. No, it isn’t very serious—not yet. But the red gas has fearful effects—bodily decomposition, insanity. Those men, exposed to it on the planet of Yarkand. Fortunate I discovered it—I’ll have you given immediate treatment, with the formula we’ve worked out. I think we’re in time.”
“Thank you,” said John Star, less stiffly.
“I’m sorry, my boy, that I’ll never be able to do more for you. Sorry that you choose to go to prison from the hospital—not to the empty throne in the Purple Hall.”
VIII.
IN A ROOM in the hospital in the south wing of the colossal Purple Hall, a grimly capable, tightmouthed doctor washed John Star’s injury with a blue, palely luminescent solution, covered it with a thick salve, bound it and made him go to bed. Two days later the old skin began to peel off in hard, greenish flakes, and new, healthy flesh showed under it.
“Good!” said the laconic physician, bending to examine him. “Not even a scar. You’re lucky.”
John Star practiced one of the wrestling holds he had learned in the academy. He hastened out into the corridor in the doctor’s clothing, leaving him bound, gagged, unhurt.
Four men in legion uniform met him at the door, armed, unsurprised, courteous.
“This way, please, John Ulnar, if you are ready to go to the prison.”
John Star smiled grimly, nodded.
The prison was a huge, lofty square room under the north wing of the Purple Hall. Its walls were of white metal, sanitary, impregnable. It had triple doors, massive, sliding slabs of metal, with guards in the short halls between. The mechanism permitted only one door to open at a time, so two always sealed the opening.
The cell block stood in the center of the great room, a double tier of big, barred cages, reaching halfway to the ceiling, each with bunk and other facilities for one occupant, partitions of sheet metal separating them. The single guard who remained in the room paced steadily around it.
