The Space Opera Megapack

by John W. Campbell

  “I was not speaking to you.” He did not change the level intonation of his voice, nor even look my way. “You are to die tomorrow, Jac Hallen—”

  Elza gave a low cry; instantly his gaze swung to her. “So? That strikes at you, Lady Elza?”

  She flushed even deeper than before, and the flush, with her instinctive look to me that accompanied it, made my heart leap. Tarrano’s face had darkened. “You would not have me put him to death, Lady Elza?”

  She was struggling to guard from him her emotions; struggling to match her woman’s wit against him.

  “I—why no,” she stammered.

  “No? Because he is—your friend?”

  “Yes. I—I would not let you do that.”

  “Not let me?” Incredulous amusement swept over his face.

  “No. I would not—let you do that.” Her gaze now held level with his. A strength came to her voice. Georg and I watched her—and watched Tarrano—fascinated. She repeated once more: “No. I would not let you.”

  “How could you stop me?”

  “I would—tell you not to do it.”

  “So?” Admiration leaped into his eyes to mingle with the amusement there. “You would tell me not to do it?”

  “Yes.” She did not flinch before him.

  “And you think then—I would spare him?”

  “Yes. I know you would.”

  “And why?”

  “Because—if you did a thing like that—I should—hate you.”

  “Hate—”

  “Yes. Hate you—always.”

  He turned suddenly away from her, sitting up with a snap of alertness. “Enough of this.” Did he realize he was defeated in this passage with a girl? Was he trying to cover from us the knowledge of his defeat? And then again the bigness of him made itself manifest. He acknowledged soberly:

  “You have bested me, Lady Elza. And you’ve made me realize that I—Tarrano—have almost lowered myself to admit this Jac Hallen my rival.” He laughed harshly. “Not so! A rival? Pah! He shall live if you wish it—live close by you and me—as an insect might live on a twig by the rim of the eagle’s nest.… Enough!… I was asking you, Georg Brende, of this ultimatum. Should I yield to it?” He had suppressed his other emotions; he was amusing himself with us again.

  “Yes,” said Georg.

  “But I have already refused—today in the garden. Would you have me change? I am not one lightly to change a decision already reached.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Of one thing I am sure. I cannot let them declare war against me just now. I have no defense, here in Venia. Scarce the armament for my handful of men. Your vessels of war would sweep down here and overpower me in a breath—trap me here helpless—”

  “Of course,” said Georg.

  “And so I must not let them do that. They want me to come to Washington with the Brende model—deliver it over to them. Yet—that does not appeal to me. Tomorrow I shall have to bargain with them further. I could not deliver to them the Brende model.” He was chuckling at his own phrasing. “No—no, I could not do that.”

  “Why?” demanded Georg. “Isn’t the model here?”

  “It is—where it is,” said Tarrano. He became more serious. “You, Georg—you could build one of those models?”

  Georg did not answer.

  “You could, of course,” Tarrano insisted. “My spy, Ahla—you remember her, the Lady Elza’s maid for so long? She is here in Venia; she tells me of your knowledge and skill with your father’s apparatus. So you see, I realize I have two to guard—the model itself, and you, who know its secret.”

  He now became more openly alert and earnest than I had ever seen him. The light from the tube along the side wall edged his lean, serious face with its silver glow. “I’ve a proposition for you, Georg Brende. Between men, such things can be put bruskly. Your sister—her personal decision will take time. I would not force it. But meanwhile—I do not like to hold you and her as captives.”

  The shadow of a smile crossed Georg’s face. “We shall be glad to have you set us free.”

  Tarrano remained grave. “You are a humorist. And a clever young fellow, Georg Brende. You—as Elza’s brother—and as your father’s son with your medical knowledge—you can be of great use to me. Suppose I offer you a place by my side always? To share with me—and with the Lady Elza—these conquests.… Wait! It is not the part of wisdom to decide until you have all the facts. I shall confide in you one of my plans. The publics of Venus, Mars and the Earth—they think this everlasting life, as they call it, is to be shared with them.”

  His chuckle was the rasp of a file on a block of adamant. “Shared with them! That is the bait I dangle before their noses. In reality, I shall share it only with the Lady Elza. And with you—her brother, and the mate you some day will take for yourself. Indeed, I have a maiden already at hand, picked out for you.… But that can come later.… Everlasting life? Nonsense! Your father’s discovery cannot confer that. But we shall live two centuries or more. Four of us. To see the generations come and go—frail mortals, while we live on to conquer and to rule the worlds.… Come, what do you say?”

  “I say no.”

  Tarrano showed no emotion, save perhaps a flicker of admiration. “You are decisive. You have many good qualities, Georg Brende. I wonder if you have any good reasons?”

  “Because you are an enemy of my world,” Georg declared, with more heat than he had yet displayed.

  “Ah! Patriotism! A good lure for the ignorant masses, that thing they call patriotism. For rulers, a good mask with which to hide their unscrupulous schemes. That’s all it is, Georg Brende. Cannot you give me a better reason? You think perhaps I am not sincere? You think I would not share longevity with you—that I would play you false?”

  “No,” Georg declared. “But my father’s work was for the people. I’m not talking patriotism—only humanitarianism. The strife, suffering in our worlds—you would avoid it yourself—and gloat while others bore it. You—”

  “Youth!” Tarrano interrupted. “Altruism! It is very pretty in theory—but quite nonsensical. Man lifts himself—the individual must look out for himself—not for others. Each man to his destiny—and the weak go down and the strong go up. It is the way of all life—animal and human. It always has been—and it always will be. The way of the universe. You are very young, Georg Brende.”

  “Perhaps,” Georg said, and fell silent.

  Tarrano abruptly rose to his feet. “Calm thought is better than argument. You have imagination—you can picture what I offer. Think it over. And if youth is your trouble—” His eyes were twinkling. “I shall have to wait until you grow up. We have a long road to travel—empires cannot be built in a day.”

  He paused before Elza with a grave, dignified bow. “Goodnight, Lady Elza.”

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  He left us. We stood listening to his footsteps as he quietly descended the tower incline. At his summons, the barrage was lifted. He went out. From the balcony we saw him cross the spider bridge, with Argo at his heels. As they vanished into the yawning mouth of an arcade beyond the bridge, again came that rose-glow in the other tower. We saw again the girl with flowing white hair standing there. And now she was waving us back.

  “She wants us inside, where we can’t be seen,” Georg murmured. We drew back into the room, standing where we still could see the girl. I wondered then—and we had discussed it several times these last hours—if the interior of our tower were under observation by some distant guard. We felt that probably it was, visibly and audibly; and we had been very careful of what we said aloud.

  But now, if we were watched, we could not help it; we would have to take the chance. The figure of the girl showed plainly down there through the other casement. And again, with slow-moving white arms she began to semaphore. A queer application of the Secondary Code, which always is used officially with coral-light beams over considerable distances. But it suffice
d in this emergency. Slowly she spelled out the letters, words, phrases.

  “I am Princess Maida—”

  Georg whispered to us: “Hereditary ruler of the Central State—”

  I nodded. “Watch, Georg—”

  “Prisoner—” came next: “Like yourselves, and we must escape.”

  She paused a moment, letting her arms drop to her sides, shaking the glorious waves of her white hair with a toss of her head. Then, at a gesture from Georg that he understood, she began again:

  “Escape tonight—”

  I half expected that any moment Tarrano or one of his men would burst in to stop this. But the signals continued.

  “I am sending you a friend—tonight—soon—he will come to you. With plans for our escape. A good friend—”

  Her tower abruptly went dark. Cautiously I gazed down from our balcony. Argo had appeared on the spider bridge; he was pacing back and forth. Did he suspect anything? We could not tell, but it seemed not. It was the midnight hour; a brilliant white flash swept the city to mark it.

  In a low corner of the balcony, behind the glow of our barrage, we crouched together, whispering excitedly. But cautiously, for we knew that the microphonic ears of a jailor might be upon us. The Princess Maida—here in Tarrano’s hands! She was sending us a friend—tonight—soon; a friend who would help us all to escape.

  “By the code!” Georg exclaimed. “If we could get to Washington—if I could be there now in this crisis—with my knowledge of the Brende light—”

  Far above our personal safety, our lives, lay the importance of Georg’s knowledge. With the Brende secret—through him—in the hands of the Earth Council, Tarrano’s greatest lever to power would be broken. Our Earth public would sway back to patriotic loyalty. The Little People of Mars unquestionably would remain friendly with us, with the Brende light to be developed on Earth and shared with them. They would see Tarrano perhaps, for what he was—a dangerous, unscrupulous enemy.… If only Georg could escape.…

  An hour went by with murmured thoughts like these. A friend coming to help us? How could he reach us? And how help us to escape?

  We crouched there, waiting. Argo—obviously on night guard—still paced the bridge. The city was comparatively dark and silent; yet even so, there seemed more activity than we felt was normal. Occasional beams flashed across the narrow segment of our sky. The crescent terraces, visible through a shallow canyon of buildings to the left, were a blaze of colored lights with the dark figures of people thronging them. The mingled hum of instruments was in the night air; sometimes the snap of an aerial; and the steady, clicking whir of the night escalators on the city street levels and inclines.

  It seemed hours that we waited. The green flash of the second hour past midnight bathed the city in its split-second lurid glare. Elza had fallen asleep, beside us on the feathered hassock of our balcony corner. But Georg and I were fully alert—waiting for this unknown friend. Georg had smoked innumerable arrant-leaf cylinders. Through the insulated tube, from a public cookery occasional hot dishes were passing our dining room for us to take if we wished. But we had touched none of them. From the food stock on hand, Elza had cooked our two simple meals. But now, with Elza asleep, Georg left me and returned in a moment with steaming cups of taro. We drank it silently, still waiting. Argo still paced the bridge on guard. Presently we saw the figure of Wolfgar join him. The two spoke together a moment; then Argo disappeared; Wolfgar paced back and forth on guard in his place.

  At 2:30 the Inter-Allied announcer—for half an hour past quite silent—brought us to our feet, his monotone droning from the disc in our instrument room:

  “Greater New York, Inter-Allied Unofficial 2:27 A. M. Tarrano replies to the Earth Council Ultimatum.…”

  Our start woke up Elza. Together we rushed into the instrument room.

  “With many hours yet before the Earth Council Ultimatum expires, it is unofficially reported that Tarrano has sent his note in answer. Its text, we are reliably informed, is now in the hands of our Governments at Great London, Greater New York, Tokyohama and Mombozo. Helios of it also have been sent to Tarrano’s own government of Venus and to the Little People of Mars. We have as yet no further details.…”

  A buzz came as he ended, with only the click of the tape continuing as it printed his words. A period of silence, then again his voice:

  “Official 2:32 A. M. Inter-Allied News: Tarrano rejects Ultimatum. His note to Earth Council complete defiance. Official text follows.…”

  We listened, dumb with amazement and awe. Tarrano’s note was indeed, complete defiance. He would not yield up the Brende light. Nor would he deliver himself in Washington for trial. In the suave, courteous language of diplomacy, he deplored the unreasonable attitude of the Earth leaders. Ironically, he suggested that they declare war. He would be overwhelmed in Venia, of course. He had no means of defending himself against their aggression. But at the first flash of hostile rays, the Brende model would be destroyed forever. And Georg Brende—the only living person who had the knowledge to replace the model—would die instantly. The Brende secret would be lost irrevocably. It was unfortunate that humanity on Earth, Venus and Mars, should be denied their chance for immortality. Unfortunate that the Earth leaders were so headstrong. They were enemies, in reality, of their own people—and enemies of the peoples of Venus and Mars. But if the Earth Council wished war with Tarrano—then war let it be.

  “A bluff,” I exclaimed. “He would lose everything himself. It’s suicide—”

  “Not suicide,” Georg said soberly. “Propaganda. Can’t you see it? He knows the Earth Council will make no move until the ultimatum time has expired. Hours yet. And in those hours, he is working upon the publics of the three worlds.”

  The announcer was silent again. Below us, in our tower, we heard a footstep. The barrage had been lifted to admit someone, then thrown on again. Measured footsteps were coming up our incline. We stood motionless, breathless. A moment; then into the room came Wolfgar. He did not speak. Advancing close to us as we stood transfixed, he jerked an instrument from his belt. It whirred and hummed in his hand. The room around us went black—a barrage of blackness and silence, with ourselves and Wolfgar in a pale glow standing within it as in a cylinder. The isolation-barrage. I had never been within one before, though upon drastic occasion they were in official use.

  Wolfgar said swiftly: “We cannot be seen or heard. I have been in charge of the mirror observing you—I have thrown it out of use. The Princess Maida—”

  “You are—the friend?” Georg whispered tensely. Elza was trembling and I put my arm about her.

  Wolfgar’s face lightened with a brief smile; then went intensely serious. “Yes. A spy, trusted by Tarrano for years—but my heart is with the Princess Maida. We must escape—all of us—now, or it will be too late.”

  He stopped abruptly, and a look of consternation came to him. The black silence enveloping us had without warning begun to crackle. The metal cone in Wolfgar’s hand glowed red with interference-heat—but he clung to it, though it burned him. Sparks were snapping in the blackness around us. Our isolation was dissolving. Someone—something—was breaking it down, struggling to get at us!

  CHAPTER IX

  Paralyzed!

  The isolation barrage which Wolfgar had flung around us was dissolving. Someone—something—was in the room, breaking down the barrage, struggling to get at us. We stood huddled together; Elza clinging to me, Georg beside us, and Wolfgar, gripping the small cylinder which was glowing red in his hand from intense heat.

  Georg muttered something; the snapping sparks of the barrage blurred his words. But I heard Wolfgar say swiftly:

  “We’re trapped! You, of all of us—you Georg Brende, must escape.”

  The rest of his words to Georg I did not catch. He was thrusting a weapon into Georg’s hands; and giving hurried advice and explanations.

  “Princess Maida…she…in that other tower…you, so much more important than the rest of
us.…” Phrases I heard; but only phrases, for in those few seconds I stood dumbly confused, fascinated by watching the blackness in which we had enveloped ourselves now breaking into lurid, angry sparks.

  A distant corner of the room became visible; outlines of the wall-beams; the growing glare of a wall-light in a tube over there. And through the brightening gloom—the figure of a lone man standing. Tarrano!

  I heard Georg mutter: “Jac! Make a show of fight! Hold him! But careful—careful of Elza!”

  Behind me there came an electrical flash; the pungent smell of burning cloth. Georg was no longer beside us!

  Elza was still clinging to me in fright. I shook her off. Wolfgar flung his smoking, useless cylinder to the floor. The blackness at once sprang into light; the sparks died. Tarrano was standing in the room, quietly, before us. Standing with a grim, cynical smile, regarding us.

  But only for an instant did he stand quiet. Across the room, creeping for the balcony doorway, I was aware of the figure of Georg. Tarrano saw him also; and with a swift gesture snapped back to his belt the interference cylinder with which he had uncovered us; then plucked at another weapon, gripped it to turn it upon Georg.

  Everything was happening too swiftly for coherent thought. I leaped toward Tarrano, with Wolfgar rushing beside me. Elza screamed. Tarrano’s hand was leaving his belt. I reached him; flung out my fist for his face.

  But in that instant the weapon in Tarrano’s hand was brought upon me. My paralyzed muscles made my arm and fist go wide. My blow missed him; he stepped aside; and like a man drunk with baro-wine, I stumbled past him, halted, swayed and struggled to keep my footing.

  Wolfgar had felt it also; he was reeling near me, holding himself from falling with difficulty. I was unarmed; but there were weapons hanging from Wolfgar’s belt. His numbed fingers were groping for them. But the effort was too great. The blood, driven back from his arms, left them powerless; they fell dangling to his sides.

  A few seconds; but we had occupied Tarrano during them. Georg was through the balcony doorway and beyond our sight. Elza was standing motionless, too frightened to move. I felt myself growing numb, weighted to the floor as though my feet had taken root. My arms were hanging like wood; fingers tingling, then growing cold, dead to sensation. And a numbness creeping up my legs; and spreading inward from my arms and shoulders. In a few moments more, I knew the numbness would reach my heart.