CHAPTER TEN
George had been standing with his friends beside the pavilion, silently watching the festival reach its height. The bell tolled; the masks and cloaks were discarded. A bevy of nymphs draped in flowing gauze came dashing out. As they passed, one of them caught George by the arm, pulling him along a few steps; her eyes, half hidden by her tumbling hair, mocked him provocatively.
He jerked away. A tide of other figures flowed from the pavilion, following the nymphs to the beach. George fought his way back, seeking to rejoin his friends; in that crowd they could get lost so easily.
He was looking about, wondering just where they had been standing before, when he saw Dee. Her white cloak had fallen from her head to her shoulders. She was standing alone, apparently lost in reverie.
George hastened to her. "Where are—"
But her vehement gesture silenced him; again she seemed lost in thought. For a moment he stood wondering what was the matter with her. The music from the pavilion throbbed out into the moonlit grove; gaiety was surging all around them.
Finally George could stand it no longer. "Dee, what is it? What's the matter?"
She looked up with an anxious frown. "Something is wrong with Azeela. She's trying to tell me what's wrong."
"Oh?" George glanced hastily about. "Where is Azeela? She was here a minute ago. Where are the rest of them? Let's tell them."
What did Dee mean? The girl seemed to have forgotten him again. She was moving away, like one who walks under a spell.
"Wait. Dee—wait a minute!"
She kept on going. Figures were passing between them now. George hated to leave his place. He'd never find the others—never get back again. Even now he realized it would be difficult, if not impossible, to find them in all that crowd of masked figures. If he lost Dee, too... He had no choice; he darted after Dee.
When he had overtaken her they were some distance from the pavilion. It was more secluded here. George darted up and caught her by the arm.
"Dee! What's the matter with you?"
Her hand went over her eyes and she shook herself slightly. "It's hard at first—getting Azeela's thoughts. I have them now." She spoke swiftly, anxiously. "Toroh was here a moment ago. He seized Azeela and took her out of the grove—right near here."
Azeela's thoughts! George understood. He started forward, but she held him.
"Too late! Toroh had two dogs waiting for him—they're mounting them now. He has tied Azeela. They're starting—the dogs are running."
George stared at her blankly. "Where to? Where is he taking her? Can you ask her that? Can she tell you?"
The girl was hastening forward now, with George after her. "Yes. She says to Orleen. I have told her we are coming."
Abruptly, she stopped and faced him. "George, we have two dogs at home. Shall you and I get them and go after Azeela?"
"Yes," he exclaimed impulsively.
"And I know where father keeps his weapons."
"Good. We can't find Loto and your father in this crowd. Had we better try, Dee?"
They were hurrying forward again.
"No, we'd lose too much time. Father forbade me touching his weapons," she added as an afterthought, "but this is different, isn't it?"
"Of course," he agreed excitedly. "You know how to work them, Dee?"
"Yes, I experimented. He doesn't know it."
They left the grove.
"Dee, where's Azeela now?"
"Crossing the city. West toward Orleen. We won't be far behind them."
George was trembling with the excitement of it. "Is Toroh armed? Ask Azeela that."
"I did. She doesn't know. She thinks he is."
"Oh!"
"We'll do something. He won't know we're after him—that's our advantage. Hurry, George!"
There were a few figures in the almost deserted streets, but George and Dee did not notice them. She was telling him of this branch of science for which she and her sister were distinguished—this telepathy they had developed. Bound in a union of thought by an unusual devotion, they had perfected it until they could know, always vaguely, and, with effort, quite distinctly, what was in the other's mind.
"We mustn't waste any time getting started, Dee."
They had entered the silent garden of Fahn's home. The city behind them was humming with confusion now, but they did not hear it, did not know that a murder had just been committed at the festival.
Inside the house, Dee went at once to her father's room. George waited. When she returned she held two weapons out for his inspection. One was a crescent of transparent metal, with a tiny wire connecting its horns and a black bone handle by which to grasp it. There was a firing mechanism on the handle. It was the projector of the ray which caused muscular paralysis—the weapon Bool had used against Loto.
Dee described its operation briefly.
The other weapon was a small black globe the size of a man's fist. It also had a handle with a trigger; in the globe opposite was a tiny orifice like the muzzle of a revolver. This was one of the smallest models of the thunderbolt projectors. With it, a bolt of electrons could be thrown over a distance of some twenty feet.
The former weapon Dee kept; the little thunderbolt globe she handed to George.
Dee had discarded her white robe; a blue ribbon around her forehead held the hair from her eyes. She had another in her hand, and she tied it around George's head.
"It's hot riding, even at night," she explained. "Your hair gets moist—gets in your eyes."
They had been delayed only a moment.
"This way," she added.
They ran outside, across the patio, through a dark room and into the garden behind the house, where a small white outbuilding stood. A new misgiving overcame George.
"Oh, Dee—these dogs of yours..."
"Can you ride a dog?" she asked over her shoulder. Her expression was impish.
"I can ride anything," he said stoutly, but his tone was dubious. "If the dog is—"
She must have understood him, for she laughed.
"Wait! You will find these dogs your friends."
George said nothing more, and in a moment they were within the kennel. It was dark, very dimly lighted by the moon from outside. A gray-black shape came toward them; a shaggy dog whose shoulders stood nearly as high as his own. George's first instinct was to turn and run, but the dog padded up to Dee, and she put her arms up around it.
"Good, Rotan. Will you run fast for Dee?"
She called it toward George, and patted him to show the dog he was her friend. George impulsively put his hand up to the great shaggy neck, felt the dog's warm tongue as it turned to lick his hand. This huge brute was his friend.
The other dog, Atal was a male, larger than its mate; and standing beside it, George marveled at the power that its great body must hold. The dogs knew they were going out. They whined with eagerness, and leaping across the kennel, they came back to Dee with saddles in their mouths with which she was to harness them.
Rotan, which Dee was to ride, was saddled with a leather seat and a pommel with a small stirrup on one side. It was not unlike the sidesaddle for girls that had been in use just before George's time. On Atal she strapped a thick leather pad with a stirrup on each side; men rode astride. There were no bridles.
"You tell Atal which way to go," she explained. "Right or left, slower or faster. If you want him to run or walk or stop, he will understand. Since Loto came we have taught them your way of saying it."
It all took no more than a moment or two, for Dee was hurrying, and her eagerness seemed to communicate itself to the dogs. They had barked at first—barks of such volume that George was startled. But when Dee silenced them, they stood trembling with impatience, their heads turned to follow her as she adjusted the saddles.
George mounted Atal. It was almost like mounting a horse; and yet not like a horse either, for the dog's huge body under him was springy, supple. As it moved toward the doorway, George was reminded of the lithe grace and strength of a tiger. He missed the reins, and in lieu of them, twisted up two handfuls of hair on the dog's neck and clung.
Dee was ahead of him. "All right, George?"
"Right," he said confidently. "But we might as well take it slow for a minute or two."
They moved silently through the garden. George leaned forward and down to the dog's face.
"Nice dog, Atal. You go slow till I tell you different."
In the street, Dee was drawing away, and Atal broke into a run.
George clung desperately. But it was unnecessary. The dog's strides were even and long; its padded paws made no sound as they hit the ground; its legs, all its muscles, seemed to give to the shock and absorb it.
They were running faster now; the dog's body seemed to settle closer to the ground. The wind whistled by George's ears, but he felt curiously secure. There was no question of the dog stumbling, falling; and its gait, now at a steady run, was far easier to ride than any horse he had ever mounted.
Dee was still ahead; the ends of the ribbon band about her head fluttered out behind her. The white road was a blur; the houses and gardens of the city were flying past.
An exhilaration—a feeling of triumph and power—came over George. He was perfectly at home on the dog's back now. This little Dee was a daredevil, as Loto had said. Well, that was the sort of girl he liked. They'll overtake Toroh, kill him with a flash from the thunderbolt globes and rescue Azeela.
George leaned forward over the dog's neck.
"We might as well catch up with Dee," he said into the silky ear. "Faster, Atal!"
At once the dog increased its pace, overtaking its mate. Side by side, they swept through the city.
To George the ride soon became a blur: a white moonlit road passing under him, palm trees flashing by, occasional houses, thatched shacks; the wind whistling past his ears, and that lithe, powerful body beneath him, with its rippling muscles.
Dee rode gracefully and easily, leaning slightly forward into the rush of air. Often she would draw ahead, but a whispered word from George to the brute beneath him, and again the dogs were running side by side.
Presently Dee stopped them; the dogs stood panting, with tongues lolling out.
"What is it?" George demanded. "Where are we?"
The girl's face was drawn with anxiety. "Azeela had been trying to find out from Toroh why he takes her to Orleen."
"Yes?" he prompted. "And I wondered—"
"Toroh has told her now. Loto's old plane is there. He wants the plane!"
"Oh!" George's heart sank with dismay. "But the plane is in the Orleen Cavern. How can they get to it? Isn't the cavern guarded?"
"Yes. Wait. Toroh says he can get it. He has a spy there—a man whom we trust. One of the guards."
"Good grief! Dee, where are they now?"
"A few miles west of here. I can't tell how far—Azeela does not know just where we are, either."
"Does Toroh know we're after him?"
"No."
George tried to think coherently. "Can't we overtake them, Dee? Before they reach Orleen?"
"I don't know. Azeela says not. Their dogs are very fast—perhaps faster than ours."
Suddenly George had an inspiration. The other plane—the one he and Rogers had come in! It was back in the cavern in Anglese City. He and Dee could get that, and he could operate it—he'd have to, now. Then they could fly to Orleen, and perhaps by that method get there before Toroh and Azeela.
He explained this swifty to Dee. "We're not so far from Anglese City, are we?"
"No," she agreed. "It's the best thing to do."
They turned the dogs, starting back over the road they had come.
A new thought occurred to George. "Dee, what does Toroh want with that plane? Is he going to take Azeela north in it?"
The dogs were already at a run, but he caught her answer.
"No. He will take the plane back into time! He wants to get greater weapons with which to conquer us!"
Fahn, Loto and Rogers hurried through the city streets. The faint distant cries of the mob ahead drifted back to them. There were no Arans to be seen, but the Bas men and women were everywhere, most of them moving in the direction of the palace.
As Fahn and his two companions advanced, the turmoil ahead grew louder. The palace stood on a rise of ground in the midst of a lavish garden, with its swimming pool, its trellised pergolas and its graceful palms. The building was a two story rectangular, with huge white columns from the ground to the roof. A broad balcony ran the length of the second story. The roof was flat, with palms growing upon it.
A crowd of Bas was surging up the hill toward the palace; in the gardens, the armed mob was already massed, shouting, threatening, but lacking, as yet, the courage to advance upon the building.
Fahn had turned into a side street at the foot of the hill.
"Where are we going?" Rogers demanded.
"We've got to get into the palace unseen, so we'll go through the tower," Loto explained. "There's a secret way into it that the Bas don't know."
The tower, which rose like the skeleton of a lighthouse, stood close beside the main palace building; a covered bridge connecting the two as the level of the second floor of the palace.
Swiftly Fahn led the two men to the beach that lay behind the bluff on which the palace and its tower stood. The moonlit strand was deserted. They came to a thick clump of palmettos in the heavy sand at the foot of the bluff—a green tangled clump higher than a man's head. Into this Fahn plunged unhesitatingly, forcing the fronds aside, pushing his way in with the others after him. Inside the palmetto thicket was a small tunnel mouth, leading downward.
It seemed an endless journey through a black underground passageway not much higher than their heads and so narrow that they could always touch both its walls with their outstretched arms. The air was heavy and fetid. They went down a slope, across on a level, then up. Once they arrived at an iron grating barring the way. But Fahn opened it in some fashion and it swung on a central, horizontal pivot so that they might crawl under it.
Ahead of them, up the incline, a tiny blue light shone. They reached it, found a small circular staircase and climbed upward into the tower.
The whole process had taken perhaps fifteen minutes. The mob was still in the garden; its shouts and mutterings sounded loud and ominous as the little party ascended the interior of the tower and hastily crossed the covered bridge.
Fahn was still leading the way. They pushed aside a curtained doorway and found themselves in a broad, second-floor corridor of the palace, dimly lighted. A white-bearded old man was crossing it hastily, disappearing into a room at its further end.
Another room was near at hand, with a latticed grating in its doorway that now stood open. A soft, blue-white light flooded out through it to the hall. The castle's interior was evidently in confusion; cries sounded, mingled with the threatening shouts of the mob outside.
A girl, shaking with fright, stood in the nearer doorway, the light from behind glowing through her soft draperies. Other girls crowded forward from the room—a dozen frightened young girls, no more than matured. They saw Fahn, and ran to him for protection.
"The king's wives," Loto explained to his father.
Fahn's face softened, and as the girls huddled round him, he tried to comfort them.
"The guilt within them," muttered Rogers. "They think the Bas are coming to kill them—only them."
Fahn caught the words and his eyes flashed. "There is no guilt here, my friend. They are women born to such as this."
With the girls in a clinging group around him, the scientist proceeded down the hallway, followed by Loto and his father.
The room at the end of the hall—it seemed a sort of audience room—was in confusion; most of the occupants of the palace were gathered there. The king was pacing up and down near the entrance, his frightened councilors and advisors around him.
On a low divan sat the queen, a woman of forty, regal in a paneled robe, with her hair dressed high on her head. At her knees two children were huddled—the little prince and princess of the Arans. The queen was bending down over them as the strangers entered. When she saw Fahn with the girl-wives of her king, she frowned, stood up, and with an imperious gesture ordered the girls from the room. But Fahn, with a stern command, bade them stay. The queen seemed amazed at the scientist's defiance; the king looked undecided, but he did not interfere.
With Fahn's arrival, the room quieted; its occupants gained confidence. The king seemed utterly relieved. He spoke a few placating words to the queen, but she had withdrawn haughtily to a corner, her eyes flashing at the frightened girls who were huddled across the room.
The mob outside was shouting, surging about, but still lacking the courage for a concerted attack. Fahn went to a window, with Rogers and Loto after him. The moonlight outside showed the crowd plainly. The Bas were waving their weapons.
"Look!" Loto exclaimed.
A score or more of men were gathering in a group near the center of the garden. A man mounted the rim of a fountain, inciting the group with his shouts. His words had effect. The little knot of men waved their cane-knives and came surging toward the palace entrance. The crowd made way for them, following behind with shouts of triumph. Missiles were thrown upward at the palace windows; one or two at first, then a hailstorm.
Fahn quietly stepped out on a balcony that ran along the entire front of the building. Loto and his father followed. The moonlight fell full upon them, and the crowd recognized the Scientists' leader.
A great shout went up—a cry of defiance mingled with fear. The men rushing at the building wavered and stopped; the crowd near at hand began pressing backward.
Slowly, Fahn advanced to the waist-high parapet; with his hands upon it he stood like an orator facing a friendly throng and calmly waited for silence. A stone whistled past his head, struck the building and clattered to the stone floor of the balcony, but he did not heed it.
His calmness, the confident power of his demeanor, quieted the mob. In a little open space on the terrace, a leader of the Bas sprang into prominence—a giant man who shouted a brief sentence.
"Mogruud," whispered Loto. "He tells them to listen to what Fahn has to say."
Silence came at last, and then Fahn spoke, quietly, earnestly. He seemed to be winning them over, when from the palace behind the king suddenly appeared on the balcony. At the sight of him an angry shout rolled up from the crowd. A long, thin knife, with a tail of feathers on it, flew up from below and stuck, quivering, in the window casement beside the king's head. The king retreated.
Fahn continued speaking, but now the mob would not listen to him. A woman's shrill laugh of derision floated upward.
At once Fahn's tone changed. He rasped out a stern command, but a scattering hail of stones was his answer. Then, without warning, his hand went to his robe. He flung a little ball into the air. It burst fifty feet from his hand with a shrill whistling scream, and a shower of sparks scattered downward over the garden. They were harmless, but they sent a mild electric shock through every individual member of the mob. The Bas were frightened into silence.
"He does not want to kill even one of them," Loto whispered. "Never before have the Bas been in open demonstration. It might spread to other cities—anything might happen."
Fahn was now whispering into a tiny mouthpiece, talking to his guards at the cavern a mile or so away. From the cavern-mountain across the city, a blue-white shaft of light sprang into the sky. The Bas saw it and stared. And then suddenly the air seemed to be bursting with voices—four words, repeated by the audible radio that the cavern was sending out.
"Death to disloyal Bas! Death to disloyal Bas!"
A million aerial voices were proclaiming it everywhere. And then the words changed.
"We must win against Toroh! The Bas must help us win against Toroh!"
The threat and its so swiftly following appeal were irresistible. Mogruud shouted an enthusiastic answer to Fahn, and the crowd applauded.
The voices in the air were presently stilled; the light over the cavern disappeared. And, still with his hands quietly on the parapet, Fahn again addressed the people below him.
"Mogruud says the laws should be changed," Loto whispered swiftly to his father. "The Bas women should have their children without exile."
Fahn seemed to make a sudden decision. He spoke again into his mouthpiece. Again the light sprang over the cavern. From the air came the words:
"Bas women will not be exiled! Bas children will be free!"
Surprised, awed, then frantic with joy, the crowd in the palace gardens took up the cry, and all over the island the radio voices were proclaiming it:
"Bas children will be free! The Scientists promise Bas children will be free!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Still side by side, George and Dee rode back toward Anglese City. It was further than George had thought; then he realized that the girl had turned into a different road. He shouted a question at her.
"A shorter way to the cavern," she explained.
The wind whistling past them made conversation difficult. George understood that they were skirting the city to where the cavern stood on the other side. They were still in the open country; a road of white sand, palm lined, with a forest jungle all around, and only an occasional house.
George's mind was in a turmoil. Toroh taking the other plane into time! Memory came to him of all those greater civilizations he and Rogers had seen though the centuries they had passed. Toroh was going back to those civilizations to secure weapons! The thought turned George cold all over. With the weapons from former, greater ages, Toroh and his army of Noths would be invincible.
Words in the wind sweeping by startled George into sudden alertness.
"Death to disloyal Bas!"
It seemed as though some tiny voice had whispered it to him.
Dee had checked both the dogs abruptly.
"What's that?" George demanded.
It came again:
"Death to disloyal Bas! Death to disloyal Bas!"
The air was whispering it, then calling it; a myriad voices echoed it everywhere.
"Look there!" cried Dee.
Ahead of them, a mile or so away, a blue light was standing up into the sky. There was a house near at hand, a Bas shack. From it a woman and two naked children came running out into the moonlight, panic-stricken at the dread words with which the air resounded.
And then the words changed:
"Bas women will not be exiled! Bas children will be free!"
The woman in front of the shack clutched her children, listening, rejoicing—almost unbelieving.
Dee had started the dogs forward again. Swiftly she explained to George what she thought it might mean—a radio proclamation from Fahn. In a few moments the light over the cavern had vanished; the voices in the air died away.
George's mind reverted to their own situation; the incident had given him an idea.
"Dee, where are Azeela and Toroh now?"
She thought an instant; momentarily the mental bond with her sister had been broken.
"Very near Orleen, she thinks. They have heard the voices. Toroh is very angry. He had hoped much that the Bas would rebel. It would have helped him."
"Near Orleen!" George echoed. "Can't we get to the Anglese Cavern first?"
"I think so." She had started Rotan into a run, but George called her to stop. Even at the risk of losing more precious time, he questioned her.
"Dee, listen. Are the caverns of Orleen and Anglese City connected by radio?"
"Yes," she said.
"Then listen. We'll get to Anglese City first and tell them to inform the guards at Orleen. When Toroh and Azeela arrive they can seize them—if we warn them ahead."
She nodded with instant comprehension.
"All radio isn't broadcast audibly, is it?" he added.
"No," she said. The dogs were running faster. She called back over her shoulder. "We'll do that. I'll tell Azeela."
They swept forward, the dogs settling low to the ground as they ran.
A great weight seemed to have lifted from George. It would be simple enough, after all—merely notify the Orleen Cavern by radio, and Toroh would be seized when he presented himself with Azeela.
George contemplated the outcome. With Toroh in their hands, the Noth attack would collapse. There would be no war.
It was a race then; the only thing that could go wrong would be if Toroh got to the other cavern first. Rotan and Dee were ahead; the girl's slight figure clinging to the dog showed in the moonlight. George whispered to Atal, thumped the dog's flank with his hand.
As they caught up with Dee, he shouted, "Where's Azeela now? Will we make it?"
"Yes," she answered. "I think so."
The mountain that housed the cavern loomed ahead through the palms; houses lay to the right, the outskirts of Anglese City. Half a mile more and they would be there.
Atal's upflung head brought George out of another reverie. The dog, still running at full speed, was sniffing the air. George heard Rotan growl, and Dee's sharp command for silence.
Another command from the girl, and both dogs stopped; Atal slid on his haunches, checking himself so abruptly that George was flung to the sand.
He was unhurt. He picked himself up to find Dee beside him.
"Someone is coming," she said sharply. "Someone the dogs know is not a friend."
She spoke to the dog, and pulled George to the side of the road where a cluster of banana trees cast an inky shadow. Together they stood there in silence. Atal and Rotan had disappeared. The road was a white ribbon in the moonlight. George listened, but could hear nothing. He tried to question Dee, but she silenced him.
Presently there came the thud of running feet; from the direction of Anglese City two running dogs with riders swept into view. The riders were men, black cloaked and wearing masks. Arans, from the festival, George thought.
They would have passed without seeing the lurking figures under the banana trees had not Atal and Rotan, in spite of Dee's command, suddenly charged them from the shadows across the road.
The two men, shouting in anger and alarm, tumbled from their mounts. The four dogs tangled in a snarling, biting mass.
Still George and Dee were unseen in the shadows. One of the men in the road had lost his cloak and mask; the moonlight showed his face.
"One of Toroh's brothers," Dee breathed into George's ear. In the dimness he could see she was raising the small, crescent-shaped weapon. Some noise that she or George made must have alarmed the men, who were no more than ten feet away. They looked sharply across the road, and then, evidently seeing nothing, they turned back to where the dogs were still fighting with a deadly fury.
Sparks leaped suddenly from Dee's outstretched hand. The men turned. One of them cried out in terror, but they both stood stiff and motionless.
"We've got 'em!" George shouted. "Good work, Dee!"
He would have leaped forward, but her free hand gripped him.
"Quick! The globe!"
One of the men, supposedly stricken beyond the power to move, was, by some superhuman effort of will, slowly raising his hand; his fingers clutched a tiny black globe. It came up very slowly, as his almost paralyzed muscles struggled with its weight.
But George recovered his wits. He snatched his own globe from his pocket, pointed it, pulled the trigger.
The night was split by a flash, a tiny, sizzling snap of thunder; the globe recoiled in George's hand. Across the road the bodies of the two men lay motionless on the sand.
Dee was leaning against a banana trunk panting. Her face had gone white, but she smiled as George turned to her.
"They almost got us," she said.
George himself was trembling, but he would not let her see it.
"Almost, Dee. Next time I'll be ready. I didn't realize..."
Among the trees across the road the dogs were still fighting. One of the Noth dogs lay motionless, torn and bleeding. Atal and Rotan together were attacking the other—the three rolling and tumbling as they bit and tore at each other, their huge bodies trampling down the banana trees as they fought.
"Dee, could I use the thunderbolt on them?"
She shook her head. "Wait."
It lasted only a moment more; the second Noth dog was down, with Atal's fangs buried in its throat.
The two dogs came leaping back to their mistress, their bodies torn, and matted with dirt and blood.
Dee patted them affectionately as they stood licking their wounds. "But you should have minded me," she said.
George had taken one look at the two charred figures lying in the road; he drew the girl away.
"Come on. I wouldn't look over there. We must hurry, Dee."
They mounted the dogs and started forward, more slowly this time, for the animals carried them with difficulty.
Again George remembered. Toroh would be at the Orleen Cavern by this time. They had lost! This delay had been the one unexpected thing that could defeat them.
"Dee—"
But the girl had anticipated him.
"They are in the plane." She half whispered the words. "Azeela has been trying to tell me for a long time. Toroh had a spy at the cavern entrance, a man whom we trust as a Scientist. He let them in—Azeela had no chance to make an outcry. They are in the plane now. Azeela telling Toroh she cannot operate it. Wait! Now he's trying the proton switch himself."
A silence.
"Dee! What is it?" George pleaded.
She shook her head. "Nothing comes. Nothing!"
The connection was broken! Azeela was carried back into time. Had something stopped her message? Would her thought-bond with her sister hold across the centuries that now separated them?
George could only ask himself these questions with a sinking heart. If the bond would not hold, then Azeela was lost to them forever. Lost to Loto, who loved her. And Toroh would get his weapons and win the war—inevitably.
"Nothing yet, Dee?"
"No."
They rode slowly onward. At last Dee gave a cry of joy.
"It comes again! She is all right, George! All right!" Her voice rose in triumph and thankfulness.
George thumped Atal to urge the dog forward. "Then we must hurry, Dee. They're going back into time?"
"Yes. Azeela is looking at the dials. Twenty-five years back now. She tells us to hurry. She will watch the dials and let me know where they are. Toroh does not suspect anything. He is gloating. He thinks he has won everything."
At last they were ascending the slope to the mouth of the cavern. The yawning hole showed black in the face of the cliff. On the small platform above the mouth, a single light disclosed the figures of three guards sitting there.
In the moonlight the guards saw them coming. A bolt of lightning flashed downward across the black hole; a peal of thunder rolled out.
They stopped, and Dee called to the guards. One of them descended from the platform, down a narrow flight of steps cut in the cliff face. He came forward in the moonlight, a black robed figure.
Dee spoke with him, and, recognizing a daughter of Fahn, he saluted respectfully. There followed a brief colloquy, then the guard stood aside.
A moment later they were in the cavern. The huge tunnel was dark and dank, but blue-white lights glimmered ahead in the darkness. The place was silent, seemingly deserted.
Down the length of the main tunnel they hurried. The plane stood there in the open space, in the glare of blue-white light. They stood before it.
"Dee, shall we send for your father?"
She hesitated.
"Where is he?" George persisted. "Did you ask the guard?"
"Yes. He and Loto and Loto's father are at the palace. There has been rebellion and murder—the murder of Helene, Mme. Voluptua."
She recounted succinctly the events of the night in Anglese City as the guard had told them to her.
George whistled. "They've got their hands full. Dee, are you still in communication with Azeela?"
"Yes. They are beyond fifty years."
"Going how fast?"
"Azeela says as fast as they can—the twentieth intensity."
George made his decision.
"Dee, we mustn't wait, mustn't stop for anything. You're willing to go?"
"Yes," she declared soberly.
She reached toward the platform. George locked his hands, and she put her small foot into them. He lifted her—she seemed no heavier than a child—and she swung herself up gracefully and easily to the platform.
George followed and closed the cabin door after them. "Did you tell the guard what we were going to do?"
"Yes," she said. "I told him to tell father later tonight when things were more quiet at the palace."
"Good girl. Dee, have you ever been back into time?"
"No. Azeela has. Just a little way—with Loto. He taught her to operate the plane."
"How fast are they going, Dee? The twentieth intensity?"
"Yes."
George's hand was on the proton switch. He took a last look around.
"Sit down, Dee. Hold the arms of your chair. Don't be frightened."
The cabin was dark; through its windows the blue-white glare outside showed the jagged brown walls of the cavern. The twentieth intensity! Toroh was going as fast as he possibly could!
George pulled the switch. There was a soundless clap in his head; a plunge, headlong into some bottomless abyss, falling for hours—an eternity.
Fahn's proclamation to the Bas had far-reaching effects. All over the island that night and the next day there was rejoicing. The radio proclaimed a national holiday, which the Bas gave over to festivities.
The murder of Mme. Voluptua was forgotten; the rebellion in Anglese City was a thing of the past. The work of Toroh's spies was completely undone; everywhere they presented themselves they were seized by the Bas and delivered to the authorities, until by mid-morning none dared show himself. They remained in hiding in the mountains, and the following night fled the island.
Fahn's object had been attained. Everywhere, enthusiasm for the war soon mounted to a patriotic frenzy.
But it was not all smooth sailing for Fahn. Within an hour after the first radio proclamation—just before dawn that day—the king called the Scientist to his audience room and demanded that it be retracted. For the first time within generations, a Scientist defied his king.
Fahn gravely refused. The king, with his councilors—brave now since the mob before the palace had dispersed—clustered around him, vigorously tried to overawe the Scientist. But Fahn was obdurate; respectful to the majesty of royalty—but obdurate nevertheless.
The king was powerless, and he knew it. He raged, threatened, but to no avail.
That afternoon the king's council met. The Scientists were declared outlaws; a call was issued for the Aran police, who were scattered throughout the island, to come at once to the Anglese City to defend their sovereign.
It was a monarch struggling against all reason to defend what he considered his birthright. Royalty outraged!
But the Aran police did not come. Worse than that, those near at hand in Anglese City prudently vanished.
That same afternoon the Scientists met in Anglese City. Fahn's action was upheld, and from other cities came similar decisions. The government was taken over by the Scientists for the period of the war. Laws ratifying the new status of the Bas women and children were hurriedly passed, and made permanent.
All that day the radio audibly proclaimed events as they transpired. The Arans were not to be molested; their relations with the Bas were to proceed as always, and the royal family was to be treated with the outward respect to which its birth and position entitled it.
Three days passed—days that for those in Anglese City were full of activity and anxiety. The Arans kept sullenly to themselves; the king and his councilors shut themselves in the palace; the Bas went about their accustomed tasks feverishly, abstractedly, waiting for the call to war.
The Scientists, trusting nothing to chance, sought out all the Aran police and disarmed them. All weapons were kept in the caverns, where the manufacturing and assembling went steadily forward.
Fahn, Loto, and Rogers, during these three days, stayed at Fahn's home. Nothing had been heard from George and the two girls. They were days full of anxiety—almost despair—for the three men. The guards at the two caverns reported what had happened. Fahn cursed his inefficiency in allowing a Toroh spy to remain unsuspected in the League. The man who had given Toroh the plane was located and put to death, but that helped matters little.
In the brief interims of inactivity, the three men discussed what George and Dee might be doing—what the outcome would be. The discussions were futile; there was nothing to do but wait.
The character of the two Frazia planes, the identity of the visitors, had never been made public. Only Fahn, his two companions and a few of the Scientist leaders were aware of the momentous outcome for which they were so helplessly waiting.
On the afternoon of the third day, Fahn took Loto and his father through the cavern. Loto was pale and tight-lipped, but he seldom mentioned Azeela, and never once had he given vent to his feelings. Rogers was curious to see the cavern; older, more philosophical than Loto, he could better withstand his anxiety over George and the girls. Yet he, too, was more worried than he would have cared to admit, even to himself. The war—the fate of the Anglese—was one thing; but that plane was all that could take him back to Lylda, his wife. He could probably never manufacture another plane in this time world; the materials were not available. He realized now how wrong he had been not to bring Lylda with him.
It was late afternoon when they started. Work in the cavern now proceeded day and night.
To Rogers the place was one of romantic mystery, with a sinister air to it that he could not shake off.
The darkness of the cavern walls, the shadows, the flickering blue lights, and the yawning holes with which the interior of the mountain seemed honeycombed, awed and perturbed him.
Far ahead, down a sharp slope, two blue lights shone. To the left a passageway glowed dull red.
Fahn turned toward it. They went into the passageway, and from it emerged upon a narrow ledge with a metal railing. Before them spread a huge pit, a great pool of lava a thousand feet down—lava that boiled sluggishly, with tiny flames of burning gases licking upward from its surface. To one side, overhead, a rift through the mountain showed a patch of starlit sky.
Visitors to an inferno, they stood clinging to the iron rail. The lurid red light cast monstrous shadows of their figures upward to the rocky ceiling. The sulphurous air was intolerably hot; it choked their breathing. After a moment they all stumbled back into the passageway, coughing, breathing deep of the purer air.
"Fires of the earth so close!" murmured Rogers.
Fahn was leading them forward again. "Yes, almost every mountain on the island is like that. The fires are even closer to the surface at Orleen; we use them in the cavern there."
"And here is a room of medicine and surgery," he added. He had turned unexpectedly into a side cave, a room furnished and draped, and dimly lighted by braziers hanging from its low roof. Rows of bottles, cases of instruments, a long, low table, littered with a variety of strange objects; the room held a confusion of things, most of which were incomprehensible.
Something made Rogers shudder. "What is that?" he demanded.
"To create human life," said Fahn. "For thousands of years, science has tried to do that. We can make a man's body—but his soul and mind still elude us."
Rogers was staring at a metal framework, where the organs of a man were hanging, joined together and with a network of blood vessels around them; the fundamental, simplified mechanism of man, without the body. And there was movement to the organs; the heart was beating, the lungs breathing.
It was gruesome; it made Rogers' gorge rise.
"They will function for a little time," Fahn explained. "But our surgeons have done better than that. They have made the living body—all but the mind and the soul."
A small case was standing on a pedestal, illuminated by a dim blue light above it. A lump of living human flesh lay within, roughly fashioned into human form, with arms and legs that kicked.
Rogers backed away.
It seemed like a dream, this trip through the Scientists' cavern. From one room to another they wandered. Most of the caves were unoccupied; occasionally a lone worker or a group would stop their tasks momentarily to meet their leader and his visitors.
From far away recesses, where the main work was going on, the hum of dynamos sounded.
"We will not go into the workrooms tonight," Fahn said. "I'll show them to you later."
They entered another inner cave, which was high-arched and unusually large. It held relics of bygone ages. Broken mechanisms, that inhabitants of other planets might have left on earth, had been dug up and stored here as in a museum. They meant nothing to Rogers, nor did Fahn offer to explain them. But this room more than any other in the cavern seemed to carry with it the power of science, the greater science that to Fahn's time world was in the prehistoric past. It showed Fahn and his contemporaries in their true light; they were archaeologists—imitators, reconstructors, not real creators.
At last they reached a circular room equipped with the apparatus for taking voices and images from the air. Its side walls were paneled with huge crystals that mirrored distant scenes; and it was filled with millions of tiny voices.
Fahn stood before one of the crystals: his hand was on a lever; the fingers of his other hand rested on a tiny row of buttons. Rogers noticed that there were scores of similar mechanisms dispersed about the room.
"Let us look and listen, a mile away to the west," Fahn said.
The crystal before them was some six feet square. It was gray and cloudy. Fahn pressed one of the small black buttons, and moved the lever over a notch; the crystal flooded with color. It was like looking through a huge window.
"The viewpoint of our station a mile north of here," Fahn pointed out.
"A thirty foot tower," Loto explained. "The lens on it swings in a circle. We are looking westward now toward Orleen."
The scene in the crystal showed the red western sky; a white road in the foreground, disappearing seemingly at Rogers' feet; the green, palm-dotted island, with twilight shadows creeping upon it, and to the left, the island mountain range, its peaks rising in serrated ranks, with giant, snow-clad summits.
"It was near here that day before yesterday they found the charred bodies of Toroh's brother and his Noth companion," Loto added. "A Bas woman—see that shack there by the road—she saw a girl and a man passing the night before. It may have been George and Dee."
The shack at the roadside showed plainly. A Bas woman was sitting at its doorway, crooning to her infant. Her voice sounded almost as clearly as though the watchers had been sitting on the small tower where the lens and radio mechanism were perched.
"We will turn," Fahn said.
A panorama unfolding, the scene moved slowly sidewise: the sea to the north, with the mountain range beyond it, dim in the gathering darkness; east, back toward Anglese City, where the cavern-mountain itself showed behind the palms; to the south past a distant vista of city houses; and still swinging, it came back to the road and the house and stopped, again facing the west.
"Another station," Fahn added.
The crystal-face went dark, and then relighted. It was a viewpoint of a hundred feet in the air this time. Again it swung the points of the compass.
For half an hour Fahn continued his demonstration. There might have been a hundred or more towers scattered over the island, and the scene from any one of them sprang at Fahn's will into the crystal window.
"What are the other crystal mirrors for?" Rogers asked Loto.
"The island can be searched by several operators simultaneously. Any viewpoint may be thrown into any crystal, and there are receivers for your ears, so that the sounds you hear will not confuse others in the room."
The island was growing dark. The crystal showed a viewpoint from the channel coast halfway to Orleen. It must have been from a very high tower; the sea stretched several hundred feet beneath.
"Those mountains across the water," Rogers remarked, "can't be over twenty or thirty miles from our shores. Is that where Toroh's army will gather?"
"From behind them," said Loto. "To the east, nearer the Atlantic Coast, we think. We—"
Fahn had given a slight cry. The room was dark, but the reflected light from the crystal showed the Scientist pointing into the mirrored scene.
"Loto, what is that?"
Above the mountains across the channel, the sky was rose-colored with the fading daylight. A tiny gray shape showed there, silhouetted against the clouds. It was moving. They watched it, breathlessly.
"A Frazia plane!" Rogers murmured.
It circled like a giant bird. A patch of lighter sky behind showed it more plainly after a moment. It was a Frazia plane! It was closer than they had thought, but it seemed to be flying north, away from them.
"Which one is it?" Loto whispered. "Father, which one is it?"
But that they could not tell. George, or Toroh? One of them had returned. The plane was flying lower, circling again. The dimness absorbed it; then it reappeared. It seemed now to be flying crazily.
"Out of control!" Loto whispered in horror. "It's falling!"
The plane turned over, fluttered down, was swallowed by the shadows of the distant mountains.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The interior of the plane was glowing. The familiar humming sounded. George and Dee had started back into time.
"Dee! Dee! You all right?"
Her wan smile reassured him. "Where are we?"
"Going back into time," he said cheerfully. The dials were beside him. "Nearly forty years from where we started already. You'll feel all right soon."
"I am all right," she persisted. "I mean, George, are we still in the cavern?"
The question brought an idea to George that made his heart race. They were still in the cavern, at a time forty years previous. What was the cavern like then? Suppose its entrance was closed? How could they get out?
Through the windows nothing could be seen but blackness. George hesitated.
"Dee, can your thoughts still reach Azeela?"
"Yes," she said. "She was frightened for me. She knows now we are coming after her. She and Toroh are past one hundred years."
"Still going?"
"Yes."
"Where are they in space?"
"She says in the air, over the Orleen Cavern. She thought it best to show Toroh how to fly the plane; she was afraid to remain underground."
"So am I," said George. "We'd better get out."
There were headlights on the plane; their glare showed the tunnel. George started up the Frazia motors, slowly; they rolled forward, faster as they left the tunnel-mouth and took to the air.
The scene was that familiar grayness, new to Dee. Beneath them lay the island with the blurred, gray city to one side.
"Over Orleen," George mused. "We must get there quickly. Further back in time the city will not be there—we might get lost in space."
At an altitude of perhaps a thousand feet they flew swiftly westward. Orleen was there when they reached its space; the dials were beyond two hundred years.
"Azeela is here," Dee announced. "She says the city is dwindling."
"What do her dials say? Will Toroh let her look at them?"
"Yes. She is very careful. He suspects nothing. She says the dials are nearly two hundred and thirty years."
"We're catching up with them," George exclaimed triumphantly. "We've got the faster plane. Where are they exactly? In space I mean."
A brief pause.
"Azeela says almost directly over the peak near the east edge of the city—the cavern peak."
There were twin peaks, not over six hundred feet apart. The cavern peak was the northern one; through the floor window, George could see the summit of the other, directly beneath his plane.
"How high is Toroh? They're using the 'copters?"
"Yes."
"How high up?"
"She says about five hundred feet."
It was the altitude at which George and Dee were hovering. George gazed through the side window. The other peak showed plainly. Above it was the exact space Toroh and Azeela were occupying. Their plane was invisible, of course—twenty-five years into the past.
"They've passed three hundred years, George," the girl's voice informed him. "Three hundred years just now."
"Two hundred and ninety," he read from their own dials. "Only ten years away! We'll overtake them shortly now."
In the stress through which they had passed, and their excitement, neither of them had considered what they would do when they overtook Toroh. Indeed, it was Azeela who brought it to their minds with her anxious questions to Dee.
They stared at each other in dismay.
"How about my thunderbolt glove?" George suggested.
"We can't use it," she reminded him. "If we destroy the other plane, Azeela would be killed."
It was obvious. They could not attack the other plane under any circumstances. But Toroh was going to stop for weapons. They would have to stay near him, both in space and time, and when he stopped, and perhaps left the plane, they would rush up and rescue Azeela.
It was all either of them could plan.
"Keep as near them as we can," George decided. "That's the idea. And watch our chance. Tell Azeela to keep you posted on everything."
They slowed their time-flight a trifle; it would have been foolish to let Toroh see them—merely put him on his guard. At a distance of about ten years they followed.
At eight hundred years before the time they had left, the city of Orleen had disappeared. The island looked almost the same; the peaks were still there. But now among the palms there were only a few rude shacks—the earliest Bas settlers.
The time-velocity of both planes was steadily increasing. Azeela's messages told them that the other plane was still hovering motionless. There was nothing to do. They waited, anxiously at first, and then, after an interval, fell into earnest conversation.
"Suppose we can't rescue Azeela," George suggested once. "Toroh will use her as a hostage against your father, won't he? Offer her life, perhaps, if your father will help him in the war?"
She nodded soberly.
"That's why he abducted her before, Loto said. Did he make the offer then?"
"No. But he was going to."
"Why didn't you go after her?" he suggested. "Didn't she send back messages to you, Dee?"
"Yes. But he took her north into the snow. She did not know where she was. Father sent out an expedition, but they couldn't find her. The Noths attacked them and they came back. They were going to start out again when Loto returned her to us."
"Oh," said George. He thought a moment. "I wonder what your father would have done—what he would do now if Toroh holds Azeela and offers her life against the war. Would your father let Toroh kill her?"
She hesitated. "I think he would," she said at last. "It would be a nation against one life. He would sacrifice himself, I know. And I think he would even sacrifice Azeela."
George met her earnest dark eyes, so sparkling, usually, but now so sombre.
"Would you, Dee?"
"No," she said impulsively.
"Neither would I," he declared. "I wouldn't let harm come to Azeela for all the Anglese,—or harm to—to you, either."
She did not answer. Presently he said:
"I was thinking about that Aran Festival, Dee. You know you oughtn't to go to affairs like that. Do you know it?"
Her gaze met his again, questioningly. "It is part of life," she said. "My father thinks Azeela and I should know what life is. In your time-world was it wrong?"
George felt himself flushing. "Wrong? What, the festival?"
"No. I mean my going there—a girl of the Scientists, who is not like the Aran women?"
"Yes," George said stoutly. "I didn't want you to be there." His hand impulsively touched hers. "I didn't like it, Dee. You're too nice a girl. And I don't think Loto liked Azeela being there, either."
Instead of answering, she gave a sudden cry.
"What is it?" George demanded in alarm.
She had no opportunity to reply. Through the side window the other plane showed less than a thousand feet away; a shimmering ghost that was gone as soon as they had seen it!
George leaped to the proton switch, but Dee checked him.
"Wait! Wait till Azeela tells me what happened."
In the absorption of their conversation, Azeela's messages had been ignored. Toroh had slackened his time-flight; he was preparing to land. It was an unfortunate occurrence, for Toroh had seen the other plane. He still did not guess that Azeela herself was guiding the pursuit.
Again, without warning, the other plane appeared. This time it was flying, coming directly toward them. George held his breath. Toroh's plane was so close he had no opportunity even to move from his seat. It was running level with them in time; it was charging them! Had Toroh gone mad? He would kill them all!
It was no more than a second or two. Through the window George caught a brief glimpse of the shimmering thing rushing at them. Then it swerved upward.
"He's going to fire a thunderbolt!" Dee gasped.
George was aware of a flash; but he had not seen it, only imagined it.
The attacking plane swept overhead and vanished-dissolved into nothingness!
Toroh had fired a thunderbolt. The rush of electrons traveling at the speed of light from Toroh's plane to George's had been too slow. The mark was gone into a different time before the thunderbolt could reach it!
The incident left George and Dee shuddering; but confident now that, so long as they kept moving through time, Toroh could not harm them.
George's dials now registered the passage of some sixty-eight hundred years. He was amazed. Then he realized how long he and his companion had been talking, and the time-velocity at the twentieth intensity had been accelerating tremendously. He had forgotten to look beneath him; he did so now, and the island was not there. The channel was gone; the mountain range had disappeared. The cataclysm that had formed the island had been passed.
Azeela's messages told that her plane was now nearly a hundred years nearer the Anglese time-world. Toroh, finding his attack ineffective, had given it up. He had started a horizontal flight; he was looking for a city in which he could land.
George and Dee sat helpless, for Azeela could not describe which way she was flying.
"Lost!" George exclaimed. "We've lost them! Of course, she can't tell us which way they're going when there's nothing down there but gray forests—and blurred gray sky overhead."
It seemed probable that they would never see Toroh's plane again. Already it was many miles away from them in space, though in what direction they could not guess.
The two planes swept back through time, invisible to each other, yet no more than a few hundred years apart. The rescue of Azeela—for the present at least—was certainly impossible. Toroh was looking for a civilization, some gigantic city where he might secure weapons. George decided he must do the same. He discussed it earnestly with Dee, and again, temporarily, Azeela's thought messages were ignored.
At fifteen thousand years—more than halfway back to the time-world of the New York City of George's birth—structures began rising out of the forests. By retrograded changes made visible, at first they seemed moldering ruins; then, broken, neglected areas of deserted cities; then the inhabited cities themselves.
At eighteen thousand years George and Dee were poised no more than a few miles from where Orleen stood so many centuries later. A huge river with a delta emptied into the open gulf; a broad expanse of lake was near by. And on both sides of the river and around the lake a gigantic city rose in terraced buildings of masonry and steel. Dee stared in awe at its towers, bridges, aerial streets with the monorail structures stretching above.
"We might land here," George suggested. "Shall we, Dee? You'd think they'd have something to help your father in the Anglese war."
She nodded, and he prepared to land on an open space a few miles north of the city outskirts. They came to the ground at the third intensity of proton current. Everything was gray, soundless.
"All ready, Dee?"
"Yes."
He flung over the switch. When the shock had passed, George stood up; Dee was already on her feet beside him. It was night outside; lights were flashing. They rushed to the window. The sky was lurid with bursting colored bombs; an inferno of noise sounded, an intermittent pounding that seemed to shake the earth.
From-almost directly overhead a red rocket exploded. Its light persisted, illuminating the scene for miles around with a vivid red glare. The giant city buildings were visible. As George stared, a great flame seemed to leap from the sky. One of the buildings fell.
Nearer at hand a cloud of swarming mechanisms burst out of the air, swooping down, circling. Beams of light from them and from the city crossed like swords in the sky. The earth under the plane was rocking. Beside it, a green flash struck and sent rocks, boulders, and dirt flying up like a waterspout.
"George! George!"
Dee's terrified cry in his ear was almost drowned by the scream of dynamos; the whistling, bursting, and pounding.
George's trembling fingers found the proton switch; he pulled it. The inferno of the night melted, slipped away into a gray, soundless blur.
War! They had fallen into the midst of a battle—that giant Earth city defending itself, perhaps against invaders from another planet.
"We won't try that again," George murmured.
"Azeela," said the girl suddenly. "She tells me that Toroh has secured weapons! He is returning to our time-world!"
Toroh had landed at another city, in another time, but still in that same greater civilization. He had chosen a night, bound Azeela, left her in the plane and stolen weapons.
George listened blankly. "What sort of weapons?"
"Azeela does not know. One large piece of apparatus. He has it in the plane covered by a black bag. He will not let her touch it. And there are other things—a pile of disks or something. White—like steel. She can't see them well—he has covered them also. He is filled with triumph. His plane is speeding toward Anglese City."
"In space or time?"
"In time. They are hovering in space. Azeela does not know where they are. Toroh says he will wait, and when the time-world of the island is reached they will recognize the land. Then Toroh will take Azeela to the Noths. He says if our father does not yield, he will kill her. And then he and the Noths will conquer the Anglese."
George had lost. But still there seemed nothing that they could do but try and keep as close to the other plane in time as they could.
Toroh's plane was sweeping forward. He had released Azeela, commanding her to instruct him in more detail in the handling of the Frazia motors. Azeela's dials now read some fifty-five hundred years behind the Anglese time-world. George's read about six thousand.
They came to the cataclysm that formed the island. George had forgotten it, but he chanced to be gazing down. The gray forests suddenly blurred; vague chaos passed over the earth, the air, and the sky; then there were the familiar mountains, the channel, the island! The myriad details of those hours of upheaval had been compressed, blended into a fraction of a second. The eye and the mind could not grasp it. The thing was past, done and away, with only its effect left as evidence that it had occurred.