Pied Piper of Mars

by Frederic Arnold Kummer

The girl's gold-flecked eyes turned to Ranson, studied him impassively. Elath Taen gave a mocking smile.

"My daughter Zeila, Mr. Ranson," he murmured. "The consolation of my declining years. She, too, has devoted her life to the great cause of Martian freedom, the overthrow of Terra!"

"To be expected from your daughter," Ranson grunted. "I might have known you were at the bottom of this, Taen! Killing off the officials of the Martian Broadcasting Company!"

"Killing?" Taen smiled, glanced at the queer box slung about the girl's neck. "We only serenaded them. Induce the necessary moods for murder, suicide, madness. You have played our tunes to the remaining two, Zeila?"

The girl nodded impassively. "Cartwright unfortunately ended his own life," she said. "Rankin heard the song of hate, went berserk and was killed. Yla-tu, one of our own people, is in charge of M.B.C. until more terrestial executives arrive from earth."

"By which time we will have played our melodies to all Mars," Taen murmured. "One swift, merciless uprising, and the red planet is free! An hour or so over M.B.C.'s network...."

"You're nuts!" Ranson laughed. "If you think...."

"I don't think," Elath Taen smiled. "I know, Mr. Ranson. Before the night is out, all terrestials on Mars will be imprisoned or dead. Our people need only something to awaken them, to arouse their hate! And I can do that! I am the master of moods!" He took a copper helmet similar to the one the girl wore, from a shelf, placed it on his head. "A shield against supersonics," he explained. "It produces vibrations which nullify those set up by the sonovox." He faced the langorous Zeila. "Play, child! Convince Mr. Ranson of our powers!"

Again the girl's fingers danced over the keys in a wild melody of hate. Red mists rose before Ranson's eyes and he fought against the bonds that held him. Then the song changed to a dirge-like melody and Ranson fell into the black abyss of despair. This was more than music, he knew; it was something deeper that played upon the soul. Again the notes changed and crawling fear enveloped Ranson until he felt sick with horror of the unknown. Emotion after emotion gripped him, and had he not been helpless, bound, he would have obeyed the moods that swept his brain. He was himself like an instrument upon which a thousand tunes were played ... and through it all Elath Taen smiled with a vague detached air, while the girl's eyes burned into his own.

Suddenly Elath Taen raised his hand. "Enough, Zeila," he said. "He is exhausted."