THERE was only the whipping, lashing cut of the wind to take some of the pleasure out of flying. Mark remembered how Omega had solved this problem, and decided to try it himself. All that was necessary was to include a portion of the surrounding atmosphere in the motion he was controlling. This would cushion the rush of the outer air so that it wouldn’t strike his body.
But simple as that seemed, Mark had left the walls of Detroit far behind by the time he mastered the technique.
In the short few hours since he had acquired his telekinetic power, Mark had only used the waves to move his own body. It required special mental gymnastics to impart motion to foreign bodies.
For quite a while the thing eluded him, but eventually he got it. A few minutes’ practice made him quite proficient. The sensation was something like concentrating on two subjects at the same time, but in a little while he was able to ignore the surrounding shell of air and think of nothing but his own motion. He knew, by the decreasing amount of mental effort required to fly, that it wouldn’t be long before he would be able to ignore that too.
It would become as natural as walking — an automatic mechanical action, requiring no conscious supervision.
Idly, as he changed direction to head back toward the city, he wondered if he would ever be able to do the things with telekinesis that Omega could. The quickness with which he mastered control of a body of moving air told him that he might go a long way in that direction, if not actually achieve virtual mastery. His new sense and its mechanical adaptations were becoming more a part of him as each minute went by.
The human brain, he knew, was a versatile entity. It could control innumerable mechanical activities without supervision. Dozens of involuntary bodily functions went on without any consciousness on the part of the individual.
The brain also was capable of controlling several independent voluntary actions simultaneously as well. A man, for instance, could walk down a street, read a book, listen for sounds of approaching vehicles, hum a tune, and perhaps scratch a mosquito bite — and at the same time be hazily conscious of an offending horn and the sounds, floating through a nearby window, of Mrs. Murphy’s timely remarks anent the current condition of Mr. Murphy.
Possibly then, a human brain would be capable, with sufficient practice, of emulating the feats of the redoubtable Omega. Mark might some day be able to direct these waves he could now feel so that they would be transformed into matter. That would be an accomplishment.
He could picture himself handing Nona a pair of platinum bracelets, beautifully wrought and studded with diamonds, and saying nonchalantly: “Just something I dreamed up while I was shooting a game of pool with the boys.”
On the other hand, Mark suddenly realized, even if he did learn to transform the energy of the waves into matter, it would still be necessary to construct matter in the forms that nature had constructed it. Anything less would be unstable and would certainly fly apart instantly. Atomic structure would have to be faithfully reproduced, and that necessitated a thorough knowledge of the exact nature of the matter to be formed.
If he could have looked into the future, back in those days in the twentieth century when he picked the profession he was to study, he would most certainly have majored in physics rather than radio engineering. Instead of allowing radio to become his ruling passion, he would have spent all his time getting a vivid mental picture of the atomic set-up of the various elements.
The platinum bracelets, beautifully wrought and studded with diamonds, would have to wait for a while. At the present state of Mark’s knowledge of atomic structure they might turn Nona’s arms green. She wouldn’t like that.
THE sight of the city once again speeding past beneath him brought Mark back to a realization of his present problems. The city, inhabited for the most part by happy, industrious people, was soon going to be a vast army intent upon conquering the rest of the world. And those very people would be decimated in the process. Yet they were all in favor of setting upon the mad project.
He doubted if any of them — with the possible exception of the caravan guards — knew what they were going to run into. He doubted if Vargo himself could envision the results of such a campaign; the slaughter it would involve; and the inevitable starvation and pestilence which would follow. No, Vargo couldn’t know.
There had been no large-scale war on the earth since the last one almost six thousand years ago. Vargo didn’t even know the elements which go to make up an efficient military organization. The Ancestors, however, were well aware of the horrors of war. But had they told Vargo? Did they want him to go blindly ahead, hoping that the attempt would end in failure, and that the people would depose or kill him? Or were they just waiting for old age to put an end to his activities?
But, Mark might be wrong in his impressions. The Ancestors might actually be aiding and abetting Vargo of their own free will. He hoped that wasn’t the answer.
The sun was still some distance from the horizon, and Mark decided that it wouldn’t do to descend to the street level by his present means of travel. The first time he had caused enough commotion to last him for a while. He landed on a tall building and found an entrance on the roof. It led him down a stairway to the top floor, and from there he took an elevator to the street.
He emerged from the building boldly counting upon being mistaken for one of the thousands of citizens who were being recruited for the army. His soft doeskin trunks were near enough to the regulation trunks of the soldiers; and his belt, though now weaponless, was similar to theirs. And many of the men he had seen were also without weapons.
He had taken about ten steps away from the doorway of the building when he was reminded that he had forgotten something.
A policeman was approaching, coming directly toward him. At first he didn’t seem to pay any particular attention to Mark, then his eyes lifted to the winged helmet. Mark saw his expression change, and instantly knew the answer.
Vargo had broadcast an alarm for him and with it, a description of the helmet!
Chapter 10: Lady in Mid-Air
NONA was trying hard to keep so busy that she wouldn’t have time to miss Mark. She had just completed a curriculum for older children, and was planning to set out for the king’s castle to get his signature to authorize its use.
She would arrive just after he completed his afternoon meal. Then she’d convince him that her new curriculum was just the thing. That wouldn’t be hard, of course, for the king invariably authorized anything either Mark or she recommended.
He was just as superstitious as his subjects and was fully convinced of Mark’s relationship to the Norsemen’s galaxy of gods. Nona also was considered somewhat removed from common mortals, if for no other reason than the fact that she was Mark’s mate.
The king heartily approved of her school projects, though he would have sanctioned them even if he hadn’t. Nevertheless Nona combed and fussed and primped just as if she weren’t at all sure of her success. That, if anyone had given it a thought, would have been sufficient to indicate that Nona was all human — and all woman.
Not that any great amount of evidence was needed to prove it. For Nona possessed the same radioactive blood that made Mark impervious to Norwegian temperatures; and she refused to wear any more clothes than a decent minimum. Summer and winter her costumes were brief and designed for utility rather than warmth. And utility with Nona meant freedom of movement. Mark’s tendency to while away hours at the sport of sham axe-fighting, and his insistence upon using her for a sparring partner, required that she forego the frills which usually accompany feminine attire.
In spite of the utilitarian nature of her raiment, however, there was nothing institutional-looking about it. Nona smiled at herself in her full-length mirror, quite satisfied with the effect. Her reflection dutifully smiled back. It was a nice smile, one of the several items which usually kept Mark from cavorting all over the globe on epic errands.
Above the smile was a pert nose and a pair of lev
el, but impish eyes. Below the smile came a firm chin, and beneath that, the virtually invisible costume, consisting mainly of a gaily colored jacket which fell just short of reaching the top of a narrow, flared skirt, which in turn decidedly did not come even close to tripping her. A pair of soft, leather sandals completed the outfit, but they seldom, if ever, were noticed.
It was while thus occupied, and mentally going over the things she was going to say to the king, that she was startled to hear the outer door burst inward with a clatter. It banged back against the wall and was followed by the sound of light, quick footsteps.
Nona’s smile changed and she waited to see what would happen next. Mark was the only one who opened a door like that. It was the one thing that he never did quietly. His fist, popping open the door, always announced his approach. But Mark had sailed for America three days ago.
YET... her boudoir door banged open with the same explosive suddenness and there stood Mark, arms outstretched. Nona rushed to his arms with a cry of delight. “Darling — oh, Mark, you’re back.” She kissed him fervently, and then drew back questioningly.
“What are you doing here?” she cried. “You’re supposed to be on your way to Detroit.”
“Changed my mind,” he answered. “Told Omega off — and came back.” He kissed her again, and this time she responded with less vigor.
Nona disengaged herself from his arms and stood back a pace, looking at him absorbedly. “Kiss me again, please.” He obeyed. “I thought so.” She smiled very sweetly. “I want you to do something for me, sugar-pie,” she said in tones of honey. “I want you to turn around the other way. Face the door.”
Mark did, puzzled. Whereupon Nona planted an emphatic kick on the seat of his doeskin trunks. “Omega — you devil!” Nona said, furiously. He lifted a full foot off the floor, turning around to face her before again touching the floor. When he did, he was no longer Mark, but a weazened old gent with a reproachful look on his lined and wrinkled face. His eyes were slightly askew and he rubbed the spot where Nona’s sandal had contacted his spurious anatomy.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he complained.
“You deserve a good deal worse. No — really — of all the nasty tricks! You ought to be ashamed.”
“I just wanted to check up and see if I was missing anything,” Omega said. “How’s the kids?”
“You’re a lecherous old man, and I should be furious.”
Nona seemed to be slightly mollified at his inquiry. “They’re both at school. They’re wonderful. I’m really prouder of them than I can —”
Omega made a deprecating gesture. “No need to be proud,” he claimed. “After you’ve taught them all you know, they’ll still be a couple of nitwits.”
Nona glared angrily and reached for a heavy wrought-brass candlestick. Omega promptly disappeared and then reappeared in a somewhat disturbing form, resembling something between a spider and an octopus, with most of the uglier features of both. With a span of about four feet, his eight hairy legs supported a globular body from which sprouted six writhing tentacles. A black, chitinous armour protected the body. “Take that thing off and put on something human, you old goat. You know it makes me ill. I don’t care if you did say it was your original body, and considered quite beautiful in certain demented circles.”
Those circles had existed in the days when the Earth’s satellite was inhabited by similar creatures, and Omega, once he had discovered Nona’s distaste for it, invariably reassumed the form whenever he considered that she had outraged his peculiar idea of dignity.
“I don’t believe it, anyway. Nothing ever looked like that. It’s disgusting... Where is Mark? Have you seen him?”
“Sure, I saw him. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No. You were too busy trying to find out if you’d been missing anything. How is he?”
“Okay, I guess. Got himself tangled in another war, but don’t worry about that. He’ll come out all right.”
Nona placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t suppose you’d have any idea how he came to be involved in this war, would you?
Omega went back to being an old man again and his aged countenance took on a sheepish look, albeit the eyes were twinkling. “It’s his job, you know,” he said. “I just happened to notice a condition which needs correction, so I dropped in on him while he was out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. As soon as I told him what was what, he was all of a dither to get to work.”
“Where is he now?” Nona demanded.
“A place called Detroit. He’s having all kinds of fun.”
“All kinds... This needs looking into. Take me to Detroit!”
Omega smiled indulgently. “Are you sure you really want to go? How about the children?”
“You just want to argue,” she accused. “The children will be perfectly all right. Better than you’ll be if you don’t take me to Mark!”
“Well... All right. But don’t blame me if you don’t like it.”
NONA had no time to think about whys and wherefores before she found herself flying through the air; high above the vast Atlantic. She didn’t know it, but Omega had visited her for the very purpose of transporting her to America. Having some faint knowledge of the workings of the female mind, he had thought it best to have her make the suggestion. He congratulated himself on a masterful job of conniving.
“I want to teach you something,” remarked Omega. “I think you’re going to do quite a bit of traveling this way in the future, if you intend to keep up with Mark, and at the same time keep in touch with your kids.”
Nona took the cryptic statement at its face value, not suspecting that Omega was glancing into the future and solving some problems that hadn’t come up yet. Accordingly there was nothing to distract her mind as Omega excited that portion of her brain which enabled her to sense the liquid waves of energy which surrounded her.
Nona’s mind was fairly well conditioned by twelve years of intermittent contact with the disembodied intelligence, and quite prepared to take in her stride anything that he might do. Experience had taught her that he was totally unpredictable, and never to be surprised at anything.
By the time the shoreline of America’s Atlantic coast slid beneath them, Nona was traveling under her own power. She was doing more than that, for Nona’s temperament was such that she applied herself assiduously to anything which would make her a better companion to Mark.
In less than an hour she was controlling a body of air which traveled with her and shielded her from the blast of wind caused by her swift flight. Furthermore she was describing all sorts of maneuvers and aerial evolutions, which made Omega extend himself to keep pace. For Omega was not the only one who earned the name of being unpredictable. With no notice at all Nona would suddenly stop and speed off at right-angles to their course, then drop suddenly until she skimmed the tree-tops, and resume the proper direction.
Omega became a little weary of following her erratic course. “You seem to be pretty proficient,” he observed. “So I’ll go about my business. Cross this lake and then the next. Follow the river at the end of the second lake. On the left bank you will find Detroit. So long!”
“But how will I find Mark? Don’t go...”
Nona found herself conversing with thin air, and gave up. She suddenly felt all alone and slightly scared. At the moment she was soaring at a height of several thousand feet. Clouds were beneath her and all sight of the earth was cut off.
Panic momentarily claimed her. She suddenly felt a rush of wind. The enclosing body of air had vanished! Not realizing what had happened — that in her turbulent mental state she had forgotten to keep control over the moving atmosphere — she lost what vestige of calmness she still possessed.
For several seconds she tried to gain control of her emotions as the biting wind whipped and tore at her inky hair. Then she suddenly realized that she was falling! Clouds which had been below her were now surrounding her, damp foggy mist shutting out all vision.
Chapter 11: No Slaves are We
IN THE course of a split second, during which the policeman revealed by his expression that he recognized him as a wanted man, Mark’s mind raced through several thoughts and reached a conclusion. The helmet, of course, had caused the expression. Which meant that Vargo had broadcast an alarm, describing it as an outstanding means of identification.
Further, Vargo feared him, and knew him to be a master hypnotist. Then, he wouldn’t order him captured, for Vargo knew that he would be able to hypnotize anybody who tried it, and an attempt would only put Mark on his guard. Therefore, he would order Mark shot on sight.
But Vargo had reckoned without Mark’s quick mental processes. Before the cop’s mind was able to accept the evidence of his eyes and act upon it, Mark was ready for action. The officer’s hand streaked toward his pistol, then froze. For an instant it hovered above the butt of the gun. Then it descended and grasped the gun, pulling it from its holster — and handed it, butt foremost to Mark.
“Better unfasten that holster, too,” directed Mark, accepting the gun. “You won’t need it.”
The man obeyed while Mark took off his helmet and considered the advisability of swapping with the cop. But that would be a dirty trick. The first policeman who saw it would take a pot-shot at the man who wore it. He compared it with the helmet of the cop and noticed that if it weren’t for the wings, the two were almost identical. That solved the problem. He would wrench off the wings, put them in his belt pouch, and have them welded on again after this business was settled.
He gave one of them a twist and was surprised to have it turn in his hand, instead of breaking off. The things had been screwed on. Quite pleased with this discovery, he unscrewed both wings and placed them in his pouch.
The Best of Argosy #7 - Minions of Mercury Page 7
