The voice paused. For a space there was no sound from behind that glowing, empty screen.
"Dictator!" Marshal Denton bellowed. His handsome face colored, and he took an involuntary half step toward the visa-phone. "Dictator! Of all the—the—" He choked off the rest, regaining his poise.
"Very nice, Jon," murmured Almira. "Your suggestion certainly played into their hands."
"One lie is as good as another," he answered. "You should know that propaganda works on lies." He grinned at them suddenly. "We can guess from that tirade, that we have the leaders—or some of them imprisoned with the Congress."
Almira flushed, and was silent. Denton nodded. "Yes, Jon, I think we have. But how did they communicate with the others."
The Captain shrugged. "Probably telegraph. An instrument could be hidden there, and wires laid well in advance. Listen—"
From the visa-phone, the hard voice spoke again: "We, the Terra Council for Freedom demand the immediate surrender of the Congress, and of Marshal Denton. When Denton has informed the Congress of his acceptance, our committee will communicate further instructions."
Another long pause, before the speaker concluded. The words were deadly with menace: "Citizens of Terra, revolt and overthrow your oppressors! Until they surrender, Terra will remain a dark, silent world. If they do not surrender, it will become a dead world soon!"
The screen brightened suddenly. A man's head and shoulders formed. The shoulders were broad, powerful. Above them, the face was strong, bronzed. There was a scar across one cheek that was known throughout the system. Black eyes blazed with reckless courage, out of deep sockets. Full, thick lips curved in a crafty smile.