CHAPTER V
_Outlawed Flight_
Dr. Brende was dead. We knew it in the moment that followed our suddenassault and capture. Elza knelt there sobbing. Then she stood up, hertears checked; and on her face a look of pathetic determination torepress her grief. Now that we had yielded, the Venus men, searching usfor our weapons, cast us loose. We bent over Dr. Brende, Georg and I.Dead. No power in this universe could bring him back to us.
Georg pressed his lips tightly together. His face, red from the exertionof his fight, went pale. But he showed no other emotion. And, as heleaned toward me, he whispered:
"Got us, Jac! Say nothing. Don't put up any show of fight."
Elza now was standing against the wall, a hand before her eyes. I wentto her.
"Elza, dear----"
Her hand pressed mine.
Our captors stood curiously watching us. There seemed to be at least tenof them--men as tall as myself, though not so tall as Georg. Swarthy,gray-skinned fellows--one or two of them squat, ape-like with theirheavy shoulders and dangling arms. Men of the Venus Cold Country. Theywere talking together in their queer, soft language. One of them I tookto be the leader. Argo was his name, I afterward learned. He wassomewhat taller than the rest, and slim. A man perhaps thirty. Paler ofskin than most of his companions--gray skin with a bronze cast. Dressedlike the others in fur. But his heavy jacket was open, disclosing aruffled white shirt, with a low black stock about his throat.
A shifty-eyed fellow, this Argo. Smooth-shaven, with a mouthslack-lipped, and small black eyes. But his features were finelychiseled; and with that bronze cast to his skin, I guessed that he wasfrom the Venus Central State. He seemed much perturbed that Dr. Brendewas dead. Occasionally he burst into English as he rebuked one of theothers for the killing.
No more than a moment had passed. Georg joined Elza and me. We stoodwaiting. Georg whispered: "They killed Robins and his helpers. Inthere----" He gestured. "I saw them lying in there. If only I had--"
Argo was standing before us. "This is a very pleasant surprise--" Hespoke the careful English of the educated foreigner. His tone wasironical. "Very pleasant--"
Abruptly he turned away again. But in that instant, his eyes had rovedElza in a way that turned me cold.
They led us away, down a padded hallway into the instrument room. It wasin full operation; our Inter-Allied news-tape was clicking; the lowvoice of the announcer droned through the silence. I started toward thetape, but Argo waved me away. He had volunteered us nothing, and againGeorg advised silence.
Argo had given his orders. Through a window I saw men carrying apparatusfrom the house. A small metal frame of sun-mirrors, prisms and vacuumtubes. Georg whispered: "Father's model."
The man with it passed beyond my sight. Others came along, carrying thecylinders of books--Dr. Brende's notes--and a variety of otherparaphernalia. Carrying it back from the shore toward the headlands ofthe Cape, where I realized now they had an aero secreted.
Argo was at a mirror; he had a head-piece on; he was talking into adisc--talking in a private code. I could see the surface of the smallmirror. A room, with windows. Through one of the windows, by daylight,palms and huge banana leaves were visible. A room seemingly in thetropics of our own hemisphere.
Argo was triumphant--explaining, doubtless, that he had captured us.Mingled with his voice, the Inter-Allied announcer was saying:
_"Greater-New York 10.32 Martian Helio, via Tokyohama: Little PeopleProclamation----"_
A man standing near the tape switched off the droning voice. At thereceiving table, every few seconds came the buzz of the laboratory'scall. Wrangel Island again calling Robins; but no one paid any heed.Argo finished at the mirror. He glanced over the tape, smilingsardonically. Then, methodically, deliberately, he swept the instrumentsto the floor, jerked out the connections, turned out thecurrent--wrecked it all with a few strokes. A moment later we were takenaway.
Outside, from back by the low reaches of the Cape, we saw an aerorising. They had loaded it with Dr. Brende's effects, and in it half ofthe men were departing. It rose vertically until we could see it only asa speck in the blue of the morning sky--a speck vanishing to the northover the Pole.
With four or five of the men--all those remaining--Argo took us three tothe Brende car. We did not pass Dr. Brende's body, lying there in theouter room. Elza and Georg gazed that way involuntarily; but they saidnothing. The greatest grief is that which is hidden, and never onceafterward did either of them show it by more than an affectionate wordfor that father whom they had loved so dearly.
Soon we were back in the Brende car in which we had landed no more thanan hour before. It was a standard Byctin model--evidently Argo and hismen knew how to operate it perfectly. We were herded into the pit, andin a moment more were in the air.
Argo seemed now rather anxious to make friends with us. He was in a highgood humor. His eyes flashed at me sharply when I questioned him once ortwice; but he offered us no indignities. To Elza he spoke commandingly,but with that deference to which every woman of birth and breeding isentitled from a man.
We rose straight up and, at 18,000 feet, headed northward by a point ortwo west. We would pass the Pole on our right--too far to sight it withthe naked eye, I realized; but I knew, too, that the Director therewould see the distant image of us on his finder, even though we refusedconnection should he call us. And we had no right to be up here in the18,000-foot lane. They'd order us down--shut off our power, ifnecessary.
We could not escape observation on this daylight flight. Heading thisway, it would take us past the Pole and on southward, down the WesternHemisphere over the Americas. We could not refuse connection for long.We would be challenged, then brought down. Or, if Argo answered a call,some Director would examine our pit with his finder--would see Elza,Georg and me as prisoners. We could gesture surreptitiously to him....
My thoughts ran on. Argo's soft, ironic voice brought me out of them.
"We will answer the first call that comes," he said smilingly. "Youunderstand? We are the Inter-Allied News on Official Dispatch." He wasaddressing me, his glance going to the insignia on my cap. "_You_ are ofthe Inter-Allied?"
"Yes," I said.
"What's your name?"
I did not like his tone. "None of your--"
"Quiet, Jac," Georg warned.
"Jac Hallen," I amended.
"Yes. Division 8, Manhattan," he read from my cap. "Well, when the firstDirector calls--from the Pole perhaps--you will tell him we areInter-Allied Officials. He will see us here--I do not believe, the waywe are sitting, that he will think anything is wrong. He will see us ofVenus. There are Venus men employed by the Inter-Allied. Is it not so?"
I had to admit that it was. He nodded. "You will fool the Directors, JacHallen. You understand? You will get the reports on weather today downthe 67th Meridian West. And ask if we can have power to the Equator andbelow." His eyes flashed. "And if you attempt any trickery--you willdie. You understand?"
I did, indeed. And I knew that his plans were well laid--that I would behelpless to give us over without paying for it with my life--with thelives of Elza and Georg as well.
From up here in the 18th lane, the Polar ocean lay a glittering whiteand purple expanse beneath us. Then, again, a fog rolled out down therelike a blanket. We passed the Pole, a hundred miles or more to one side,and headed Southward. No challenge. Under us, occasional local carsswept by; but up here we were clear of traffic.
Elza prepared our lunch, in the little electric galley forward of theobservation pit. The Great London-East Indies Mail Flyer crossed us,coming along this same level. It was headed toward the Pole from theBritish Isles. Its pilot challenged us before it had come up over thehorizon. A crusty fellow. His face in the mirror glared at me as Iaccepted connection. He ordered me down, Inter-Allied or no.
Argo was at my elbow. His pencil-ray dug into my ribs. Had I made afalse move it would have drilled me clean with its tiny burning light. Itold the pilot we would desc
end. It placated him; but he saw Argo'sface, mumbled something about damned foreigners--general orders probablycoming tomorrow to clean out Venia--damned well rid of the traitors.Then he disconnected. Venia, Georg and I were sure, was where Argo wasnow taking us. But the rest of his comments I did not clearly understanduntil later.
We descended, and the flyer came up over the horizon and passed usoverhead. We were pointing southward now, had picked up the 67th WestMeridian and were following it down. The Hays station[8] challenged us;but they were satisfied with my explanation. Argo had us up in speedaround four hundred miles per hour. We went down Davis Strait, overNewfoundland, avoiding the congested cross-traffic of mid-afternoon inthe lowest lanes, and out over the main Atlantic. Night closed down uponus. It was safer for Argo now. We flew without lights. Outlawed. Hadthey caught us at it, we would have been brought down, captured by thepatrol and imprisoned. Yet Argo doubtless considered the chance of thatless dangerous than a reliance upon my ability to trick the succeedingdirectors.
[Footnote 8: Hayes Peninsula, Northwest Greenland, near the present siteof Etah.]
With darkness we ascended again to the upper mail lanes. Over the mainEastern Atlantic now, and out here this night, there was little localtraffic. The mail and passenger liners went by at intervals--thespreading beams of their lurid headlights giving us warning enough sothat we could dive down and avoid being caught in their light. I prayedthat one of their lights might pick us up, but none did.
North of Bermuda, a division of the North Atlantic patrol circled overus. The ocean was calm. Argo dropped us to the surface. We floated therelike a derelict--dark, silent, save for the lapping of the water againstour aluminite pontoons. The patrol's searching beams swept within ahundred feet of us--missed us by a miracle. And as the patrol passed on,we rose again to our course.
Argo gave us one of the small cabins to ourselves that night. He wasstill deferential to Elza, but in his manner and in the glitter of thoselittle black eyes, there was irony, and an open, though unexpressed,admiration for her beauty.
We slept little. Georg and I--one or the other of us--was awake allnight. We talked occasionally--not much, for speculation was of noavail. We wondered what could be transpiring abroad through all thesehours. Hours of unprecedented turmoil on Earth, and on our neighboringworlds. We wondered how the Central State of Venus might be faring withthe revolution. Would they ask aid of the Earth? This Tarrano--merely aname to us as yet, but a name already full of dread. Where was he? Hadhe been responsible for all this? Dr. Brende's secret was in his handsnow, we were sure. What would he do next?
About three o'clock in the morning--a fair, calm night--our power diedabruptly. We were in the Caribbean Sea not far above the Northern coastof South America, at 15 deg. North latitude, 67 deg. West longitude. Our powerdied. Elza was fast asleep, but the sudden quiet brought Georg and me toalertness. We joined Argo in the pit. He was perturbed, and cursing. Wedropped, gliding down, for there was no need of picking a landing withthe emergency heliocopter batteries--glided down to the calm surface.For a moment we lay there, rocking--a dark blob on the water. I heard asudden sharp swish. An under-surface freight vessel, plowing fromVenezuelan ports to the West Indian Islands, came suddenly to thesurface. Its headlight flashed on, but missed us. It sped past. I couldsee the sleek black outline of its wet back, and the lines of foam as itsheered the water. We lay rocking in its wake as it disappearednorthward.
Then, without warning, our power came on again. An inadvertent breakperhaps; or maybe some local or general orders. We did not know. Argowas picking from the air occasional news, but he said nothing of it tous; and he was sending out nothing, of course.
Dawn found us over the mountains. The Director at Caracas challenged us.Argo kept me by his side constantly now. Dutifully we answered everycall. The local morning traffic was beginning to pick up; but we mingledwith it, at 8,000 feet and more, to clear the mountains comfortably.
Elza again cooked and, with Argo joining us, we had breakfast. Argo'sgood nature continued, as we successfully approached the end of ourflight. But still he volunteered nothing to us. We asked him noquestions. Elza was grave-faced, solemn. But she did not bother Georgand me with woman's fears. Bravely she kept her own counsel, anxiousonly to be of help to us.
We passed over the Venezuelan Province, over the mountains and intoAmazonia, headwaters of the great river--still on the 67th MeridianWest. The jungles here were sparsely settled; there were, I knew, nomore than a dozen standard cities of a million population, or over, inthe whole region of Western Brazilana. As we advanced, I noticed anunusual number of the armed government flyers above us. Many werehovering, almost motionless, as though waiting for orders. But none ofthem molested us.
Near the 10th parallel South latitude, we passed under a fleet of thewhite official vessels, with a division of the Brazilana patrol joinedwith them. A hundred vessels hovering up there in an east and westline--a line a hundred miles long it must have been.
Hovering there, for what? We did not know; but Argo, leering up at theminsolently, may have guessed. They challenged us, but let us through.
"You are the last one in," this sub-director of the patrol told us. Icould see him in our mirror as his gaze examined our pit--a dapper,jaunty fellow with the up-tilted mustache affected in Latina. "Last onein--you Inter-Allied are a nuisance."
He was more particular than those directors we had passed before. Mybadge and my verbal explanation were not enough. He made me show him theInter-Allied seal which I always carried, and I gave him the pass-codeof the current week.
"Last one in," he reiterated. "And you wouldn't get in now without thoserefugees with you. Venia's closed after noon of today. Didn't you knowit?"
"No," I said.
"Well, it is. They shut off the power early this morning for all lowvibrations--yours and under. Brought 'em all down for a general trafficinspection. Then changed their minds and threw it on again. But ifyou're coming out north again, you've got to get out by noon. And you goin at your own peril."
He assumed that Argo and his men were Venus refugees going with me intoVenia! I only vaguely understood what might be afoot, but I did not darequestion him. Argo's side glance at me was menacing. I agreed with thisdirector obediently and broke connection.
We seemed now to have passed within the patrol line. There were no moreofficial vessels to be seen. We clung low, and at 12 deg. South, 60 deg. 2O'West, at 10:16 that morning we descended in Venia, capital of theCentral Latina Province, largest immigrant colony of the WesternHemisphere.[9]
[Footnote 9: Now Matto Grosso State, Brazil.]
We landed on a stage of one of the upper crescent terraces. A crowd ofVenus people surrounded us. Even in the turmoil of our debarkation, Iwondered where the official landing director might be. None of thegoverning officials were in sight. The place was in confusion. Crowdswere on the spider bridges; the terraces and the sloping steps werejammed. Milling, excited people. The foreign police, pompous Venus menin gaudy uniforms, were herding the people about.
But none of our Earth officials! Where were they, who should have beenin charge of all this confusion?
My heart sank. Something drastic, sinister, had occurred. We had no timeto guess what it might be. Argo drove us forward, with scant courtesynow, down in a vertical car, through a tunnel on foot to what theycalled here in Venia the Lower Plaza. We crossed it, and entered one oftheir queerly flat buildings at the ground level; entered through anarchway, passed through several rooms and came at last into a roomwhirring with instruments.
Argo said triumphantly, yet humbly: "Tarrano, Master--we are here."
A man at a table of helio-sending instruments turned and faced us. Wewere in the presence of the dread Tarrano!