20
Robert was taken to a large tent near by, where, without ceremony, he was securely fastened to the large center pole by means of chain and anklet like a criminal. Two armed guards were set to watch him, after having searched him and taken away the automatic with which he had been armed when he left the Sphere.
At noon a plate of coarse food was brought to him, and a cup of water. He found the food palatable and, being hungry despite the gloomy outlook, ate all of it. His guards stared at him intently all the while, evidently regarding the eating of an Earthbeing as a great curiosity.
The chain, a stout-linked affair which would have weighed heavily had he been on the Earth, allowed Robert little freedom of movement. The wooden stool which he had been furnished affording no rest for his back, soon grew dreadfully tiresome. He tried every position he could conceive for relief, each of which his guards regarded with fresh suspicion. Once he tried to engage them in conversation, but he succeeded only in drawing grunts and uneasy stares from them.
Sounds of activities without drifted to him. There seemed to be considerable movement of troops past the tent, all in one direction. Although he was not certain in which direction Svergad lay, Robert knew that they were in all probability moving back to the attack, now that the menace of the Sphere was removed. He wondered dully what had happened to Taggert.
He was just shifting his position for about the fifty-first time when the flap of the tent was raised and the pompous officer of the morning’s encounter stepped in, followed by two fellow officers. The guards came to attention stiffly.
The pompous officer scowled ominously. Plainly he intended dealing with Robert as severely as possible. He strode over to him.
“Well, how does it feel to be in chains, my vicious friend?” he rasped.
“Quite all right, you old toad,” Robert answered pleasantly in English.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Quite comfortable, old chap,’” said Robert, this time in the Martian tongue, interestedly surveying a discolored lump on his captor’s right jaw where he had landed his fist that morning.
The officer’s face went dark with passion. He raised his cane as if to strike Robert. Before he could do so, however, Robert jerked up his stool to protect himself. Simultaneously the two guards sprang forward to protect their superior. But the latter’s courage failed him at the menace of the stool and he let his hand with the cane fall to his side. He contented himself for the time with a murderous look at Robert, who put the chair down, but remained standing for greater freedom of action. The guards fell back, visibly relieved.
“You shall be handled later, sir,” barked the officer. “Meanwhile, do you know the fate in store for your friends?”
“The privilege of beating hell out of your rotten army,” Robert shot back at him. He could have sworn that he saw a brief flicker of amusement in one of the other officer’s eyes as he said this.
Once more the angry officer seemed on the verge of striking Robert, but his eyes fastened upon the stool and he changed his mind. He controlled himself with an effort.
“Another day and you will change your song,” he managed to sputter. “Until then you will have the ‘privilege’ of reflecting here in comfort, while a suitable punishment is devised to repay you for your destruction of our men!”
With that he turned and stamped out of the tent, followed by the other officers.
The two guards viewed Robert with evident awe after this interview. Clearly they were unused to hearing their high officers abused so roundly and carelessly. Perhaps they were saying to themselves something to the effect that this Earth-being must be some guy.
Their one-cylinder brains were further startled here by Robert’s tumbling the dreaded stool over, preparatory to reclining upon the sandy floor. They exchanged glances uneasily. One of them started as if to object, then seemed to think better of it, relapsing again into a stupid dumbness.
The afternoon sun was well down in the sky when the curious sound of distant firing of the Martians’ hilwai came to Robert’s ears—the first he had heard since his capture. His heart sank as he considered the probable result of the bitter struggle which it heralded. If only that confounded engine had not failed them at the critical moment!
The sounds of battle continued until after sunset, when his guards were relieved by two others whose intelligence and curiosity appeared to be about on a par with those of the first two. One of them possessed a rather remarkable, rudderlike nose which fascinated and diverted Robert for a time, to its owner’s evident discomfiture.
Somehow Robert managed to pass the night in troubled dozing on his hard bed of sand, tormented by anxious thoughts of Zola. He welcomed the first flush of dawn with thanksgiving, despite his weariness. The sound of firing was resumed about this time.
Shortly after his breakfast Robert was visited by Kharnov.
The ruler’s crafty features were disfigured with a scowl. He entered the tent alone, commanding his escort to remain outside.
“You have returned hostility for hospitality, and the penalty shall be death,” he said.
His tones fell with deadly precision, like the pronouncement of a sentence by a criminal judge. An involuntary chill swept over Robert in spite of his effort to appear unmoved.
“I was but protecting a helpless girl from your unwelcome attentions,” he replied, ashamed that he could control the nervousness in his voice only by a great effort. “That you have chosen to pursue her with an army to be resisted is your own folly.”
“I am not here to discuss fine points with you, sir,” returned the emperor sharply, “but to offer you a means of saving your life. You shifted your loyalty once; you can do it again. Aid my army with the Sphere and you may return to your planet in peace. Refuse and suffer the consequences!”
“My loyalty was and is only to the right,” retorted Robert. “Your proposition doesn’t interest me.”
He almost forgot his personal fear as he realized with a thrill that Kharnov’s latest attack must have been successfully repulsed or he would not have made this offer.
“Beware! I am offering you your life.”
“I don’t care to buy it at that price.”
The emperor was patently more perplexed than angered by Robert’s rejection of his terms. His code did not permit of an understanding of anyone’s refusal of life for principle. He was concerned merely in deciding just what concession it was necessary to hold out to Robert in order to secure his acquiescence. A crafty thought occurred to him.
“You will also be given as many of the diamonds, so highly valued on your planet, as you can take with you. Does that interest you? Of course, I should require that two or three of my men accompany you while you were operating against the government’s enemies.”
An inspiration came to Robert. Once he got the Sphere in midair again—three or a dozen Martians—he might frighten them into submission and land within the city. It was worth trying anyway, and, if it failed, they could but take his life, which it seemed certain he would lose anyway if he flatly refused the emperor’s demand.
“You have the advantage of me,” he said finally. “I accept your terms. But my friend must accompany me to assist in the operation of the Sphere.”
“One of my men will assist you after you have instructed him. Your friend must remain a hostage till you have carried out your part of the contract. No harm shall come to him unless you fail.”
This put the matter in a different light. Here was an obstacle that would require real diplomacy to hurdle.
“I fear your man can not learn quickly enough, but I’ll try to teach him,” said Robert, hoping to find some solution later. “However, the Sphere can not be operated until I have discovered and corrected some defect in its machinery.”
“Ah, so that explains your strange landing.”
“Exactly.”
Kharnov pondered a moment.
“Very well,” he resumed. “I shall select the men to accompany you and return later. Meanwhile I will see that you are made more comfortable here.”
A sinister smile played over his face as he turned to go, giving Robert a feeling of unknown, impending evil.
True to Kharnov’s promise, however, the tent promptly was equipped with various comforts, including a couch, table and chair, and other welcome additions. Good food and excellent wines also were brought him.
The soft couch and soothing wine, after his night of sleeplessness, produced a pleasant drowziness which Robert found difficult to resist. He slept, and it was dusk when he awoke.
The distant sounds of battle had ceased again. Dinner was brought to him and two hours passed without further word from Kharnov. Once more drowziness overtook Robert and he dozed. His two guards, who had so far watched him with eyes of hawks, relaxed their vigilance somewhat. They envied him his privilege of sleeping.
“Brother,” said Rudderbeak, finally, “it is not necessary that two of us watch over this sleeper. Let us decide by chance which of us may rest also.”
“Words of wisdom, indeed. Let us do so by all means.”
Fate decided against Rudderbeak. The pebble which he cast at the line drawn on the sand in the tent rolled a trifle too far. So, grumblingly, he took up the long night watch while his companion stretched out upon the floor with a sigh of contentment. He was to be warned in ample time at the approach of anyone.
Here fate again took a hand. Rudderbeak found standing too great an effort with two peacefully slumbering beings before him. He felt that he was at least entitled to the luxury of sitting down. So he availed himself of the comfortable chair so lately brought in for their captive.
The chair creaked as he settled his weight in it. Had it not been for this, another sound just outside the tent might have attracted his attention. Even as he stretched his long legs in extravagant comfort a shadow without flattened itself upon the ground.
A little while after that Robert woke abruptly to see a face within a few inches of his. The lantern suspended in the tent top cast weird shadows around the enclosure, giving the features of the countenance above his a horrible aspect. An involuntary cry arose in his throat, but was suddenly checked. For there was a strange familiarity about the glint of red in the intruder’s hair! The shadow-blurred features quickly lost their ferocity. It was Taggert.
Their hands met in a clasp of glad reunion. No word passed between them as Taggert proceeded to examine the length of chain with which Robert was fastened. He shook his head as he saw the heavy links.
Robert saw his mouth straighten into a firm, hard line as he stared at the sleeping guards. He removed the gun from the side of the sitting guard. Then, drawing an object from his pocket, he walked over to where Rudderbeak lay. He hesitated.
“Got to be done,” he muttered. Raising his arm he brought the object down upon the slumbering guard’s head forcibly. The Martian slumped deeper into his chair. His gun slipped to the sand. Stooping quickly, Taggert picked up the fallen gun, retaining it and handing Robert his automatic. The other guard, stretched upon the ground, had not stirred yet.
Deftly Taggert searched the stunned guard. But the key he was looking for was not in the Martian’s possession. He turned his attention to the other guard, who still slumbered. As Taggert meditated, the sleeping guard stirred uneasily. In spite of the reporter’s efforts to avoid noise the disturbance had evidently been sufficient to break into the sleeping guard’s subconscious mind. He opened his eyes suddenly, looking directly at Taggert.
Before the Martian could, gather his senses, however, Taggert pressed the lahan against his chest.
“Not a sound!” he commanded in the Martian tongue. “Now give me the key to this anklet—quick.”
The Martian was wide awake enough to realize his helplessness. He promptly pulled the desired key out of his pocket and handed it to Taggert.
Robert covered the Martian with the automatic while Taggert fitted the key to the anklet. A moment later he was free.
They were now faced by the problem of binding and gagging the conscious Martian. No rope was available within the tent.
“His shirt,” suggested Robert, following his inspiration by pulling the garment off the now completely cowed Martian.
Swiftly they bound, gagged and blindfolded him, the twisted arms of the shirt making fair substitutes for cord, though there was not enough to bind him as thoroughly as they wished. They locked the anklet upon him after shortening the chain by twisting and knotting it round the big center-pole. The unconscious Martian they left as he was.
Warning the bound Martian with dire threats, they slipped out of the tent into the night.
Had Phobus been shining then they would surely have been seen at once; but the little Martian moon had set an hour past. Creeping painfully past the clustered tents they came at last to the edge of the camp, which, fortunately, was not a great distance away.
Here it was necessary for them to pass the pickets. The brilliant starlight and level, open desert made their escape extremely difficult. How far apart the pickets were stationed they did not know, but one paced slowly across a stretch just ahead of where they lay partly concealed in a slight depression or wave in the desert’s floor.
Cautiously they wormed forward to another shallow depression while the near-by sentry’s back was turned. Here they waited anxiously as he paced back and again turned away. One thing in their favor for the present was that the sentry directed his attention chiefly in the opposite direction, toward the city. That would become their disadvantage, however, when once they succeeded in getting past the sentries and between them and the city.
No sooner had the sentry turned his back again than they were scrambling feverishly toward a distant, faint strip of shadow, which indicated their next scanty haven of temporary safety. Their arms and knees were weary to the point of exhaustion; but they pressed on desperately. Still the little line of shadow ahead seemed far away. Would they make it before the sentry turned and discovered them? Surely he would notice the track where they had pawed their way through the loose sand.
How they finally reached their goal neither could remember. It seemed that they had crawled and crawled for eternity—a sort of dreadful nightmare in which their limbs moved unwillingly while they remained in the same spot. Both were exhausted when they slid stiffly into the scanty haven of the little dip in the sand. For the moment they cared not whether they were captured or not. They longed only to lie panting till their parched throats had cooled.
When they dared peep at the picket he had started serenely back on his walk away from them again. He had noticed neither them nor their tracks! With revived courage and strength they resumed the grilling struggle toward safety. Once more they reached a welcoming shadow without discovery.
“Boy, howdy!” gasped Taggert. “When do we—quit this caterpillar glide?”
“If our luck—holds, we’ll—soon be beyond—the danger zone,” puffed Robert, resting on the flat of his back.
Taggert’s escape and the fate of the Sphere were still puzzling Robert, as they had not yet had an opportunity to mention these things. At Robert’s query now Taggert enlightened him briefly.
“When I saw them overpower you and lead you away,” he recounted, “I realized that I could help most by holding the Sphere, and coming to your assistance later if I succeeded. So I drew the manhole trap to and waited for developments. Peeping cautiously, I was fortunate in being able to spot the tent they took you to.
“Well, they howled round the outside for a while, but made no attempt to break in. I suppose they feared to tamper with the Sphere after its exhibition of its destructive powers. Finally they withdrew at a command from an officer. Still I was careful not to show myself. I tinkered with the engine some more, quietly, but without results.
“Finally darkness came on. The Martians were camped about the Sphere but all seemed anxious to give it a wide berth, for the nearest were a hundred paces or more away. They were scattered pretty well, so I took a long chance and slipped out into the darkness, snapping the trap-door shut. Luck was with me. You know the rest.”
“But man, you were banking on a chance in a thousand of getting through!”
“Oh, chances. Like kisses, they are to be taken.”
They both laughed a little at this, and it lightened their spirits. The situation did not seem so hopeless after all.
“Then the Sphere is still unharmed,” mused Robert.
“Not only unharmed but not far from us right now. Look over there.”
Robert looked off to their right as indicated by Taggert. A familiar dark shape reared itself above the level of the desert, probably a quarter of a mile distant. He breathed a sigh of relief. Though useless to them just then it relieved him to know that the Martians had not wrecked it.
The still glare of the stars piercing the narrow Martian belt of clear atmosphere shone coldly upon them.
Robert wondered which of them was the good old Earth. Ah, to be safely back there again!—the professor, Taggert—and Zola. Would they all see each other again? Could he expect Zola to give up her father and other kin, her friends—everything she had learned to love in her own world? She had said she would go with him. Would her decision withstand the final parting from pleading friends and kinsmen, even if her father would let her go? Would she be happy on his Earth, if he succeeded in rescuing her from her present peril? Could he honestly urge her to leave with him?
These questions raced through his mind as his strength surged back to him. There was but one answer: if they could get away he would take her with him if he could possibly get her to go willingly. That he could make her happy he felt certain, for he would devote his entire life to doing so.
He became aware of Taggert’s prodding him vigorously in the ribs.
“‘Can’ the star-gazing, old dear. It’s time we were wriggling merrily on our way,” he whispered.
They bestirred themselves reluctantly from the latent warmth of the sand. Waiting until the picket was once more on his way from them, they staggered to their feet and made a dash of it.
When they had traversed perhaps three quarters of a mile they slackened their pace to a walk. About two miles ahead of them lay the city’s outskirts.
Approaching the lines of the city’s defense they faced a danger similar to that from which they had just escaped. They might be mistaken for foes and fired upon when discovered.
Discovery came sooner than they expected. A Svergadian picket popped up suddenly from a pit dug in the sand and challenged them sharply, training his gun the while upon Robert, who was in the lead.
Robert explained who they were and asked permission to go to Hakon. The sentry seemed dubious but finally summoned an officer, who heard their story and promptly promised to have them escorted into Hakon’s presence.