As they neared the center of the city, the atmosphere of tension grew. Little bands of terrestial police patrolled the embankments, a squadron of rocket-planes droned above the towering metropolis, the light of their exhausts throwing weird shadows. Occasional shouts, the green flash of flame-guns, issued from the darkness and the crowds of reddies gathered before their radios in houses, shops, and public squares, were seething with excitement. The roar of the cab's motors drowned out the sound of the music and Elath Taen's exultant voice, but the driver moved uneasily.
"Looks like somethin's up," he muttered. "I'll see if we can get a bulletin."
Before Ranson could stop him, he had snapped on the radio within the cab. The wild, frenzied music filled the small cabin, tearing at both men's minds, while Taen's voice urged revolt. Then, under the influence of the supersonics, red flames of hatred leaped through their brains, banishing all thought, logic. The little Martian driver whirled about, only to have the butt of Ranson's gun crash down upon his head. Slumping forward, his body fell against the radio, shattering its fragile tubes. Ranson shook himself as the infernal music abruptly ceased.
The M.B.C. building lay just before them. Ranson swung the cab to the embankment, sprang out. The tall plastoid building towered white and spectral above the canal. Ranson burst through the door.
Several reddies on guard sprang forward, but a blast from the terrestial's gun cleared the great hall. He sprang into an elevator, jabbed at a button, and the car shot upward.
The elevator stopped at the top floor, where the broadcasting studios were located. Ranson hurtled along the corridor, plunged through the door. Before him lay a large room, blocked at one end by a thick, double-paned glass. And on the other side of the glass stood Elath Taen, crouched before a television set, his fingers running over the keys of the sonovox, his face exultant as he poured out the supersonics of his song of hate. Musical madness for the men of Mars, making them forget all that Terra had done for the red planet, driving them to insane mass murder! And as he played upon the sonovox, Taen spoke into the microphone, urging them to revolt! Already they were starting their reign of terror; when he reached his climax they would pour from their houses to kill all who had terrestial blood. Unless....
Ranson leaped forward. Even the supersonics were kept from the outer room by the vacuum-insulated double glass panes; Elath Taen was like a silent marionette in the broadcasting booth, his green eyes flickering with apprehension, his head encased by the shielding copper helmet.
"Drop your gun, Mr. Ranson!" Zeila's voice came from behind him.
Ranson whirled; the girl had been standing behind the door, unnoticed, as he burst into the room. Her exotic face was pale, but the flame-gun in her hand was steady. Ranson obeyed, smiling.