The Best of Argosy #6 - Minions of Mars

by William Grey Beyer

  “What is it?” asked Mark, his eyes on Murf who was apparently completely at ease. A little chill coursed its way down Mark’s spine. Murf seemed a little too much at ease considering he was being accused of the vilest treachery.

  “I want to know what the twenty-first dispatch rider is for.”

  “The twenty...” Smid interrupted himself to stare at Murf. “I thought there were only twenty needed.”

  Murf grinned. “There are,” he replied. “Suppose you call in the man that bothers you, Sandy.”

  Sandy left the room with a scowl. In a minute he was back with a man dressed in his underwear, who seemed a bit put, out about being awakened. He blinked his eyes and stared belligerently around the room.

  “There are twenty of us,” Sandy said. “And each man has his orders, covering every section of the duchy, three of them covering the other duchies. But there are twenty-one horses being kept in readiness down in the stable. I checked up and found that the odd horse had been assigned to this man. His name is Doog, another Mic! He won’t tell us what his orders are. Very mysterious about it.”

  Mark looked at the man, who at that moment recognized him and saluted belatedly. “Repeat your orders,” said Mark, returning the salute.

  The man looked bewildered. “I can’t,” he said.

  “Why can’t you?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Mark looked at Murf who was grinning maliciously toward Sandy.

  “What’s it all about?”

  “VERY simple,” Murf claimed. “I’ve got twenty men with orders who must mobilize all our forces when the word is given. It would be a shame to get anybody confused by changing the orders at the last minute. And that is what would happen if one of our men should get sick or be injured. His sector would have to be covered by some of the others. It would spoil the timing, too.”

  “And so this man is to be given the orders of the man who gets sick, if any,” finished Mark. “Commendable foresight. Satisfied, Sandy?”

  “No, and I never will be. How about the extra horse? Both a horse and a man won’t get sick at the same time.”

  “No, you lunkhead,” said Murf. “But if either one got sick it would cause a lot of trouble. So I have an extra one of each.”

  “Then why is this guy so mysterious? Pretending he has orders and won’t tell the rest of us what they are.”

  They all looked at the man, and he smirked self-consciously. “They all had their orders and I didn’t. So I let on I did.”

  Mark laughed explosively. The others joined him, with the exception of Sandy. He glared at Murf, his suspicion not allayed in the least.

  “You’ll all realize I’m right, after it’s too late,” he growled.

  With this dire prophecy he left the room, slamming the door after him. Mark chuckled and pretended not to see the glance which passed between Murf and the twenty-first rider.

  “I bet he’ll turn out to be a fighting fool when the time comes, suspicions or no suspicions,” he said.

  Murf nodded. “He’s a fighter, all right,” he admitted. “But he’s annoying at times.”

  “Then everything’s settled,” Mark said. “I’ll return to the prison and resume my work. The attack is postponed until we can install my machines. Understood?”

  Murf nodded again.

  Smid suddenly looked anxious. “But you’re not going back to the prison? You’ll have to perform in the arena again!”

  “Safe as home in bed,” said Mark, and they knew he wasn’t boasting. “And it wouldn’t serve any purpose to have all of Erlayok’s men looking for me. As it is he knows where I am without knowing what I’m doing. If I didn’t go back, the first place he would look is here. He already suspects Murf, and knows I’m connected with him. Besides, all my equipment is at the jail, and it’s too cumbersome to move without attracting attention.”

  Mark sensed the next question before it came. “This equipment,” queried Murf. “Where did you get it? And how can you work without the guards stopping you?”

  “I told you that I used hypnotism to get out of there tonight. They leave me alone for the same reason. They fully believe that I am working on some machine which I shall use to entertain the crowd in the arena. As for the equipment, it consists of ordinary tools and hardware. Once I described it, they brought it to me.”

  Murf regarded him keenly. “This hypnotism,” he said. “I’ve heard of it. Some kind of magic, isn’t it? A powerful weapon for one who can use it?”

  Smid was plainly awed. Mark, noticing his interest, coupled with Murf’s question, was struck with a bright idea.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Powerful in its way. Would you like to see it work?”

  Without waiting for an answer Mark fixed his eyes on the twenty-first rider, and exerted his will. The man’s face showed that he was instantly under control.

  “YOU are familiar,” said Mark, calmly, “with the type of faithful dog who worshipfully follows his master wherever he goes. Suppose you, as a man, had that same regard for me, your master. In fact you have such an affection, haven’t you?”

  As he said this Mark rose and walked across the room. The man got up and followed, docilely.

  “That’s a good boy,” said Mark, and then leaned over and whispered to Murf: “Try to stop him!”

  Murf looked startled and then did as he was asked. As Mark walked past him, followed by the hypnotized man, he suddenly stepped between them and spoke sharply to Doog. But Doog merely stepped around him and continued following Mark. Murf grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. Doog snarled and slapped the hand away. Murf stepped back, alarm showing in his eyes.

  Mark smiled and sat down. “Sit over there,” he directed Doog, and turned to the others. “The show’s over. Simple, isn’t it?”

  Doog was still in the hypnotic trance, though Murf and Smid didn’t know it. They supposed that Mark’s “show’s over” had released him. Mark meant them to think that way. Murf seemed to be shaken by the exhibition.

  He had never thought that one man could possibly exert such power over the will of another. The fact frightened him, hard-headed as he was. Smid was frankly admiring. In the course of their association Mark had astounded him time after time. His diversified talents had impressed Smid as much as his zeal as a patriot.

  “The night must be drawing to an end,” Mark hazarded. “I’d better be getting back to the prison. Suppose you two lead the way to the door. It’s not safe to show a light upstairs and you know the way better than I.”

  Smid obligingly led the way, followed by Murf. Neither saw Doog obediently rise and walk after Mark. At the front door Smid peered out and scanned the street.

  “Night watch is elsewhere,” he said.

  “Okay,” answered Mark. “I’ll see you gentlemen after the games are over. I’ll have the machines by then. Right now I’m going to run for a few blocks. If I’m seen on the streets, I don’t want it to happen around here.”

  Murf nodded and Smid stepped aside. Mark suddenly darted out the door and ran down the street. He heard a slight commotion behind him but didn’t turn his head. He knew that Doog in his haste to follow had bowled over the other two men. Mark didn’t stop until he was around a corner two blocks away. Doog panted to his side.

  A quick glance around the corner told him that Murf hadn’t started to follow as yet.

  “Doog!” he said. “What were Murf’s orders?”

  “Ride direct to Govern and inform him of rebellion.”

  “New orders,” Mark snapped. “Remember this when you ride through York — remember at York — that you are to turn back and lend a hand to the first revolutionists you see fighting.”

  When Murf arrived at the corner he found Mark gravely passing his hands across Doog’s face. He stopped and watched the mysterious process. Finally Mark gave a quick flourish and snapped his fingers. His lips were moving as he did this, no doubt mouthing some obscure incantations, Murf thought. With the snap, Doog’s expression chan
ged and he looked about him in bewilderment. Mark sighed in apparent relief.

  “He was a tough customer,” he breathed. “Thought he would never come out of it. Now you two get back under cover before somebody sees you.”

  Chapter 19: Brother Cat

  MARK didn’t immediately renew his attack on the problem when he returned to the prison. His mind was too filled with anger at Murf. Still he couldn’t quite believe that the redhead was really a traitor. Yet could he doubt it? Govern was the commander-in-chief of the Mic forces and there could be only one reason for notifying him of the rebellion among the Brish. And that was to give the Mics an opportunity to stage an attack.

  Mark realized that he should have suspected something long ago. Murf’s frequent reference to the inhabitants of Scarbor, in which he labeled them a scary bunch, among other things, should have warned him weeks before. But the redhead’s obvious sympathy for the down-trodden people, and his plans to relieve them of oppression, had stilled any vagrant suspicions before they had taken form, Mark shook his head and almost wished he hadn’t discovered Murf’s perfidy.

  For Murf, whatever else he might be, he proved himself a friend.

  Mark couldn’t forget that. He was thinking of it, in fact, as he decided to defer any disposition he might make of Murf. There was nothing the man could do to harm the Brish, or interfere with his plans, now that Doog had been taken care of. And Doog wouldn’t even know that his orders had been tampered with until he passed through the city of York.

  And then the effect of Mark’s post-hypnotic suggestion would drive him to aid the rebels. But there was no use in thinking further about the matter, for he didn’t intend to give the word which would start the rebellion for some time.

  And in the meantime...

  Mark looked at his jumbled mass of apparatus, feeling suddenly disgusted with the whole setup. His efforts seemed to be frustrated at every turn. He continued to gaze at the diversified electrical equipment, and tried to concentrate on the problem of artificially creating the hypnosis wave. And at the same time trying to keep his mind from returning to the methods he knew were useless. It was while engaged in trying to think up a new approach that the sound of the morning gong beat in upon his consciousness.

  And with the sound came a return of the idea which had been driven from his mind on the day previous.

  Cursing softly at his own stupidity, his face revealed his glee as he viciously kicked all of the apparatus into a broken heap. The twinges of pain he experienced each time his sandaled toe came in contact with something heavy, seemed to stimulate his thought toward its logical conclusion.

  The equipment, he knew, would be of no further use to him. The civilization which had designed it originally had not been far enough advanced to uncover the knowledge needed to create the short waves of thought by machinery. The apparatus of that civilization was too primitive!

  On the face of it, this conclusion seemed more discouraging than otherwise. For it followed that Mark’s knowledge of shortwave phenomena was of necessity insufficient to accomplish his purpose. But instead of feeling depressed, Mark was elated. For he knew now how he could obtain the necessary machines!

  Omega had told him of a race of people on another planet that had managed to devise compact machines which controlled the sub-atomic energies which pervade all space. These machines manufactured the telekinetic wave, a second-cousin to the hypnosis wave. Omega had also said that when Mark had succeeded in making a machine to produce the hypnosis wave, he would be able to make adjustments on the same machine so that it would furnish its own power by means of the telekinesis wave. They were so near in frequency it was the same as producing two notes on a violin.

  Therefore it would work both ways! Omega could copy the design of the telekinesis machine and he would do the rest. He should have thought of it long ago.

  Perhaps the fact that Omega had said that this other race had no more intelligence than he, had made him go ahead with attempting to duplicate the feat without thinking that he might borrow the idea. But he realized, when he remembered that the device had been compact, that the knowledge of the race must have been superior to his own. Any apparatus of his that would come anywhere near the shortness of thought waves, would be decidedly bulky. Therefore, the methods of the other people were far more advanced.

  He had forgotten, at the time that Omega had told the story, that intelligence and knowledge were two different things. Intelligence is the ability to solve new problems. And after all, Omega had only said that it lay within the mechanical genius of man to produce the waves. He hadn’t said that Mark himself possessed sufficient knowledge.

  THE only thing necessary was to contact Omega. Mark groaned. He didn’t know how to! Always in the past, Omega had come and gone of his own accord. He had never told Mark how he might be summoned in an emergency, though frequently he had opportunely appeared at such moments.

  Casting back in his memory, he tried to think if he had at any time sent out an unconscious mental call for his benefactor? Thinking it over, he decided he hadn’t.

  But Mark was now in a state of mind where any straw was a redwood. He had to contact Omega and get the necessary information before it was too late. And if thinking about him might attract his attention, it wouldn’t hurt to try it. He set about the task, concentrating on his ubiquitous friend to the exclusion of all else.

  He became so absorbed in this pursuit that he only allowed a small portion of his mind to notice and respond when Spud appeared with the manacles. Without speaking he allowed him to fasten them, and followed him into the guard room. He was still concentrating mightily when Chumly and Erlayok’s man came to escort him to the arena for the third day’s games. Both noticed his preoccupation, but forebore to intrude upon it. Chumly, out of courtesy, and Erlayok’s man as a matter of policy.

  But once within the prisoners’ room under the stands, he was forced to give up his mental exercise. Several of the men who had survived the preceding days of performing, gathered around him as soon as he arrived. One of them, it seemed, had some news to impart. One of the guards was an obscure relative of his and had told him what he had learned of the program of today’s games. And Mark, he had learned, was to head the day’s bill by entering the arena to do battle with three lions!

  Mark didn’t feel any too optimistic about the prospect, even when told that he would be allowed to use his axe. Erlayok certainly was leaving no stone unturned to give him the works. The Earl had no doubt decided that it would be useless to try to force any information from him, and was therefore trying to get him killed. And if he should survive these games, Mark thought, Erlayok would probably do his utmost to have him assassinated. If he survived the games...

  There was a certain amount of comfort in the thought of the axe. It might give him a chance. Erlayok had very likely allowed its use only because to give him a lesser weapon would have been obvious murder. And Mark had become popular with the spectators in the past two days. Although they were anxious to see him perform, the Earl nevertheless was obliged to extend him a fighting chance, however slim. The crowd would not have stood for less. And Mark began to formulate a plan to use that fighting chance.

  It was likely that the beasts would be loosed one by one. Mark had learned that the lions were kept in individual cages, and that the system for releasing them was to roll the cage to the door opening on the pit, then to lift the cage door.

  When the lion came out of the cage it had to walk directly into the arena, and the iron doors were slammed behind it. And inasmuch as the door was only wide enough to permit one cage to be rolled against it at a time, Mark was becoming hopeful as to the outcome of the battle.

  His plan was simple. As each lion was released he would attack it and try to dispatch it before another could be loosed. If only they didn’t turn all three lions out, and then send him last!

  BUT nothing of the sort happened. Mark was given his axe and the barred door to the arena was held open. He steppe
d immediately to the door behind which the animals were all kept. Even if he hadn’t known which one it was, his nose would have told him. The booming sounds of the announcer’s voice mingled with the snarls of the beasts within.

  A cage was being wheeled toward the door. Mark felt an inward qualm as he faced the animal through the bars.

  This lion was massive, black-maned, and apparently not as well starved as the one he had battled before. But that fact gave him no satisfaction whatever.

  This beast looked far more formidable, and every bit as ferocious.

  The iron-barred door was swung inward, and the cage rolled against the opening. Mark gripped his axe tightly as a man climbed to the top of the cage. As the door rattled from his fumblings with the catch, the king of beasts crouched and fixed his eyes balefully on Mark. He appeared to know just what was going on. And the crouch indicated that he intended to spring as soon as the door was lifted.

  Mark, knowing that the weight of the animal would bowl him over, stepped aside and prepared to get in an axe-cut as he flashed past.

  The cage-door lifted, and Mark swung savagely. The axe bit deeply into the shoulder of the lion as he sprang forth with a tremendous leap. But surprisingly the lion paid no heed. Mark had expected, little though he knew of the habits of lions, that the beast would wheel and return the attack ferociously. But it didn’t. It simply let the rules go hang.

  When the leap ended the beast continued its progress toward the center of the pit, running proudly, its head carried high. Mark, frantic at the lost seconds, sprang in pursuit. If he didn’t catch and vanquish this animal instantly, he would have to face three of them.

  He caught it, all right, but as he aimed a crippling blow at the animal’s spine, it suddenly wheeled and crouched. But it didn’t crouch as the other lion had. This might be considered half a crouch. The fore-quarters went down, but the rear remained up, the tail waving on high.