The view screen took on depth and color. She adjusted condensing levers and it divided into a dozen smaller squares. Slowly each square filled, until the faces of a dozen Martian men looked out at her—silent, waiting faces, behind each of which the white mist formed a backdrop.
Deisanocta's red lips twitched, and her lovely eyes leaped into sudden flame. For a moment, she was silent. Barry could feel tension building up in the room, and see it in the faces of those who looked out of the screen.
Then the Princess spoke a single short sentence in her own tongue. Barry Williams did not need an interpretation. The meaning of the command was clear in its ringing syllables; "Strike for Mars!"
Twenty-four eyes blazed from the screen—the eyes of twelve field commanders flashing hatred of their oppressors and fierce exultation that the hour of revenge was here! From each throat rose the same word, spoken in awe, reverence, resolution. "Deisanocta!"
Thus they saluted their leader, the Mother of Mist, Queen-to-be of Mars! Then the screen was blank.
"In short minutes Mars will belong again to its people, Barry Williams," said the girl softly. "We wait here for the report of my commanders."
She sank to a sitting position on the red sand, arranging the silver mesh of her dress about her slim body. Barry did likewise, as did the Martian.
Minutes dragged by. The radio screen glowed softly, but remained blank. Barry felt the muscles gather in his arms and shoulders. This idle waiting was hard to bear. If he could only be in there fighting—
Deisanocta was finding it difficult to wait, too. The eager glow of anticipation had died away in her beautiful eyes. They were reflective, reminiscent.
"All my life I've been trained for this moment," she said, at last. "Deep in the Crypt, burial ground of our race, the Elders hid and taught me."