“What do you plan?” he asked. “Don’t forget that Vargo has been working at this for more than a decade. And that he’s resourceful, a genius.”
“I’m not forgetting,” Mark assured. “Where are the others?”
“In the next room is Carl Bach,” Thomas said. “The others are on the floor beneath. I’ll have to guide you to their rooms.”
Mark nodded. “Stay here. I’ll be back when I’ve taken care of Bach.”
The fastening on the window of the next room was out of reach of Mark’s fingers. The hinged panels were open a few inches but not quite enough for him to reach in and unfasten them. Mark went back into Thomas’ room. He had just reached it when there was a shout from the hall.
Jan Thomas turned white. “That was Bach. He must have seen you and raised an alarm. They’ll search all the rooms!”
“Then I’d better leave,” Mark grinned. “I’ll be back tomorrow, night and get the rest. You go about your work and pretend nothing’s happened. But see that the cultures are dead when you put them in the vials. See you tomorrow.”
Mark ascended straight up as soon as he was clear of the window. He attained a great height before he started out for the thieves’ headquarters. He didn’t speed as he had when he came to the palace. He floated along leisurely. A plan was stirring, fitting together in a way which promised to be workable. He was so busy putting the pieces together that he failed to notice that he wasn’t alone in the air. Nor was he aware that he had company until a huge bird flew directly in front of him. His eyes followed the creature and saw it circle him, eyeing him warily.
“Scram,” Mark muttered, and put on speed.
The bird seemed disinclined to take advice. It followed, beating the air powerfully.
Mark kept an eye on it, half expecting it would attack. Its beak, he observed, made a vicious weapon. Nor were its talons puny either. Mark wasn’t really afraid, but he watched it closely. If it made any attempt to attack, he would put on a burst of speed which no bird could equal. Experimentally he put on a few more knots. The bird kept pace, even gaining a little.
Judging from its size, Mark decided it must be an albatross, though he didn’t know much about ornithology; and it might be a roc or something.
Surprisingly, the bird kept up. It held that position for several seconds, still eyeing Mark as though trying to decide if he were edible.
“Do I know you?” the bird finally asked.
Mark slowed abruptly. The bird did likewise, only an arm’s length distant. “What species are you?” Mark asked.
“Condor,” snapped the bird. “Though I think it’s rude to ask. I didn’t inquire whether you were a gorilla or a chimpanzee.”
“I don’t know any condors,” Mark claimed. “Go away.”
“You’d look better with a beard,” remarked the condor.
MARK was chagrined to note that indeed he had a beard — a long flowing white one, which whipped merrily in the breeze. “I don’t want a beard!” he howled, and wrenched at it with both hands. This caused a surprising amount of pain, for the thing was real. It had actually grown there in the space of an instant.
“You ought to know better than that,” said the condor. “When I make anything, it’s real. And when I want to talk don’t tell me to go away. It makes me mad.”
“Okay, pal. Stick around and have a nice long chat. I was only fooling. How about removing this bush?”
The condor looked at the beard appraisingly. “I think you ought to keep it. It’s very distinguished looking. Long and silky, like the tassels on a bathrobe. I’ll bet you couldn’t raise one as good in twenty years.”
“Look, friend. I don’t want a beard,” Mark protested. “And if I did, I wouldn’t want a beard that looked like the tassels on a bathrobe. So be nice, will you?”
“Don’t bother me with trifles,” the condor said shortly. “Shave it off yourself. I just dropped in to see how you liked Detroit.”
“It’ll be all right when I get it straightened out,” Mark said, stroking the whiskers experimentally.
“You’d like to settle here, wouldn’t you?”
Mark ceased his stroking. “I intend to settle here,” he said. “This is going to be the center of a new America. I’m going to spend the rest of my life, if necessary, to make it happen. Civilization will spread out from here in waves, until all of America has reached the stage where it was when the wars broke out. But it will spread out naturally — not by force.”
The condor abruptly ceased being a condor. It changed to the old man who had left Nona a few minutes before. “You don’t say,” said Omega. “Aren’t you going to a lot of unnecessary trouble? I mean, isn’t it enough to see that the peoples of the world don’t keep warring on each other, and let them advance of their own accord?”
“Why is it?” countered Mark. “I’ve brought innovations which improved living conditions in Norway. Here in America even more can be done, because so much of the population is still living in the ruins of the old cities and has saved some of the former culture. Everything which Detroit now has, can be spread to other cities. Some day I’ll have America back where it was in the twentieth century!”
“And that was no bargain.” Omega fell silent for a minute. “Suit yourself,” he finally said. “But my main interest here on the earth is to see that the new race thrives and develops. That’s why I brought you here in the first place.”
“I don’t get it,” said Mark. “I thought you wanted me to put the kibosh on this war.”
“Only incidentally, my boy,” said Omega. “I merely mentioned it because I knew you would start to work on it anyway. It really isn’t important. A few thousand slaughtered humans won’t affect the grand total very much. And if the humans don’t care, why should I? I brought you here primarily to show you a place which I knew you’d like. A place at least as civilized as Norway.”
MARK frowned. He could understand Omega’s viewpoint concerning slaughtered humans, though he didn’t subscribe to it. And it always jarred him when Omega expressed his contempt for humanity in general, though he could see the reason for that also.
“Why?” he asked.
“I told you, you dope. The new race has to multiply, and you have two kids, both of whom are now in Norway.”
Mark frowned again. “I think I see what you’re driving at,” he said. “You want me to bring one of the kids here and leave the other in Norway?”
“Good boy,” lauded Omega. “I even delved into your inhibitions and provided for them, though they’re silly — very silly.”
Omega beamed, very proud of himself, but that seemed to have no effect on Mark’s frown.
“I’ve been dodging that issue for a long time,” he confessed. “And I can’t say that I’m nuts about your solution.”
Omega’s beam faded. “What’s the matter with it?” he demanded. “I know that your conventions were decidedly against family marriages, but that has nothing to do with you. Those conventions were gradually imbedded into humans because of the disastrous things which so often happened. But they only happened because there were strains of mental and physical weakness present in the parents of the unfortunate off-spring. That doesn’t apply to you. Intelligent people should control inhibitions which have no logical reason for existence. Cast them off!”
Mark knew enough of human history to know that popular ideas on the subject of in-breeding were decidedly inaccurate. He remembered the long line of Northern European royalty which had produced a preponderance of genius in its ranks. And few of the marriages had been further removed than first-cousin unions. No weakness had resulted until a certain union with an outside family in which weakness was present. From that time on, the inbreeding had produced disastrous results. Physically disastrous, for the weakness hadn’t been mental. Genius had still cropped up, even in his own era, though faulty hearing, hemophilia and other physical disorders had run rampant.
Still further back in history were examples more in keepi
ng with his own problems. The Macedonian Dynasty of Egypt was the most notable. Rulers, all through history, considered it necessary to marry only those in their own exalted station of life.
With the Ptolemies this had assumed an exaggerated form, in that they considered none sufficiently exalted to qualify. The result had been a series of family unions not duplicated in history. Nor had there ever been such a phalanx of outstanding people to be found in one family. Soldiers, statesmen, inventors, scholars, builders; all of them had been centuries ahead of their contemporaries.
Mark remembered that they had also been somewhat addicted to murder but that was really the order of the day, and they would probably have been considered weaklings to abstain.
ONE thing was apparent, as Mark remembered his laws of heredity. That was that in-breeding accentuates characteristics. If physical weakness is present in the parents, progeny are likely to be cripples. If mental weakness is there, idiocy will result. There lies the danger.
On the other hand if no weakness is present, no weakness can be transmitted. Strength, both mental and physical, is perpetuated; even intensified. Examples of both states were to be found abundantly in the pages of human history.
“Cast them off, eh?” Mark echoed. “Just like turning off a spigot. Only it’s not so easy. They’re my kids, you know.”
“Rank sentimentality!” raved Omega. “Kids are kids, no matter whose they are. You’d admit the advisability of my plan if they were somebody else’s kids. Bring one here, and leave one in Norway. When they grow up they’ll have forgotten each other. They’re young yet. Simple, eh?”
“Foolish,” diagnosed Mark. “After you convince me, you’ll have to convince Nona.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” offered Omega. “You make up your alleged mind, and when you come to my way of thinking, which you will, I’ll take care of Nona.”
Mark looked absently at the ground, thinking fast.
He knew that Omega had certain scruples against using his powers to influence the minds of those he liked. It was even against his principles to read another’s mind, except where some strong reason presented itself. So far he had never, without permission, done anything of the sort to Mark.
On the other hand Omega was a very practical guy. And this business of founding a race, superior both mentally and physically, to normal humans, was a pet hobby of his. On the theory that the end, in this case, fully justified the means, he might scrap his scruples and take an unfair advantage. That he had the power to do so, Mark was well aware.
It would be a simple matter for him to make Mark believe that it was a noble thing for his son and daughter to marry. And Mark still nourished some inhibitions, reasonable or not.
“Suppose you give me time to think it over,” he temporized. “There’s no real hurry. These mental quirks are deep-seated, you know. It’ll take a while to reconcile the logic of the thing with the phobias I’ve held all my life.”
“I’ll gladly give you a little help,” offered Omega. “I can erase that inhibition in half a shake.”
“No, no. Let me battle it out myself. I’d rather my mental processes operate of their own accord. It’s an old democratic principle.”
“I’m a Republican myself,” claimed Omega. “But have it your own way. I’ll see you later.”
The aged body vanished to the accompaniment of a loud clap of thunder. Omega had a hankering for the dramatic, even if he was a Republican. Mark descended into the city, his mind chaotic.
Chapter 15: Trap
“WHO is he?” asked Gladys, when Nona returned to the room after making sure that Omega had really left.
“A distant relative, on my great-grandfather’s side,” said Nona, biting her lip.
“You obey his orders?” asked Gladys.
Nona looked startled for an instant. “It’s easier in the long run.”
“Then I had better take you to see some of the city,” Gladys decided. “That’s what he said. It’s still early, and we’re not far from the avenue.”
Nona regarded her quizzically. “I’m a married woman, you know.”
“You don’t look much like one in that outfit,” said Gladys, thoughtfully selecting a dress from her meager supply, and handing it to Nona. It fit perfectly, though a bit blatantly.
Nona decided that Gladys would make a good guide after all, and took a hasty look in a mirror. A few deft touches and she was ready to go. Gladys had already repaired the damage caused by her husband’s blow. She nodded approvingly when Nona turned from the mirror.
“You’ll do,” she said. “I wish I could take you to some of the places you’d really like. But they cost money, so we’ll walk past them and pretend we don’t want to be inside at all.”
The walk was an adventure for Nona. Gladys led her past the gaudy fronts of several cabarets, reveling in the sounds of music and gaiety which floated through the open doorways. Nona noticed her fascination and wanted to know why she didn’t stop in one of them.
“I told you they’re expensive,” Gladys said. “And besides ladies don’t go in them alone. They must be escorted. It’s the custom. If we went in without escorts, people would think we... well, it wouldn’t be nice.”
Nona got the point. It surprised her mildly, for she hadn’t quite made up her mind about Gladys. She had liked her from the moment she had seen her. Yet she wasn’t at all certain what to expect from her. There was a streak of primness in her that certainly didn’t go with her revealing dress or her painted face.
DEDUCTION concerning the character of Gladys was abruptly interrupted when an automobile, resplendent with polished brass trimmings, pulled up in front of the cafe they were passing. A door burst open and a young man, dressed in faun-colored trunks and an impressive Sam Browne belt, almost fell out.
He recovered his balance, smirked foolishly, and went into a low bow which very nearly caused him to fall on his face. Nona and Gladys stopped, thinking the slightly inebriated young man had mistaken them for someone else.
Nona saw another young man preparing to alight, while the first was still trying to maintain his precarious equilibrium. This one seemed to be of a different stamp altogether. While the first was obviously under the influence of strong drink and seemed to be the spoiled child of a rich family, the second was cold sober, had a rollicking glint in his eye, and looked like a man of the outdoors. The corners of his eyes were faintly marked with crow’s-foot wrinkles, and his skin wore a healthy tan.
He caught her eye and made a circular motion with one finger aimed at his forehead, then pointed it toward the other man.
The intoxicated man recovered from his bow with much effort, but still maintained his foolish grin. “You ladies will be my guests,” he pronounced. “And I won’t accept no for an answer.” The last sounded a bit arrogant. He backed up the tone by pointing at a little insignia in the middle of the cross piece of his fine belt. Gladys gasped.
“One of Vargo’s nobility,” she whispered to Nona. “For heaven’s sake — don’t argue!”
The second man winked at both girls and took the other man’s arm, half supporting him. “This is Dene Baron,” he said quietly. “He wants to play a little trick on his family. We’ll help him, eh? It’ll be lots of fun. My name’s Tolon.”
“Sure, sure,” said Baron. “Lots of fun. There won’t be any after the war starts. And I’m going to show that family of mine a few things.”
“Nothing to be afraid of,” assured Tolon, interpreting the fright in Gladys’ eyes. “He’s harmless. He’d better be!”
Baron lost his foolish grin. For an instant he seemed almost sober. “You oughtn’t to talk like that, Tolon,” he complained. “I’m your friend. Didn’t I give you everything in my pouch? Gold, too. Not silver.”
“You didn’t give it to me, brother,” grinned Tolon. “I took it. First payment for my services. Come on, girls. Your first payment will be an outfit better than you ever hoped to own. Hop in.”
Gladys put a hand to h
er mouth. “They think we’re —”
“Come on,” decided Nona. “We’ll see what it’s all about. You won’t get hurt. This Tolon looks dependable.”
TOLON flashed a smile and helped Gladys in. Nona followed and then Dene Baron. Tolon pulled down one of the folding seats and sat facing the others. To see them better, he turned on the dome light. His hand briefly caressed his automatic, as he turned his head to talk through the division glass to the chauffeur.
“Right over to Pretty Boy’s little shop,” he directed.
“You’ll rue them words,” said Dene, sleepily. “I oughtn’t to pay you for tonight’s work. You ought to be paying me. Imagine a common thief getting a chance to move in high society.”
Tolon gave him a pitying look. “I’m a very common thief,” he assured. “And whether your society’s high or low is just a matter of point of view. I don’t think you’re so sure yourself.”
Dene, who had allowed his eyelids to droop, suddenly snapped awake. “I’ll find out,” he said. “We’ll see how they act, especially that family of mine. Now let’s go and get a friend of yours for the other young lady.”
“Nothing doing,” said Tolon. “We’ll get those clothes out of your dad’s store, and we’ll crash this party you’ve been talking about. We don’t need anybody else.”
“All right, all right,” muttered Dene Baron, letting his eyelids droop once more. A soft snore followed.
“Would you mind explaining?” asked Nona. “Who is he, and who are you? What does he intend to do?”
Tolon grinned engagingly. “I told you who I am,” he said. “Tolon, a thief. This scum came wobbling down a dark street a while ago, and I relieved him of a pouch full of gold. He wept on my shoulder and told me I was just the guy he needed.
“It seems that his family is forcing him into a marriage with the daughter of an influential family a step or two nearer to Vargo than they are. He wanted me to round up some of my friends and he’d pay us all... well, to go to a certain party that’s in progress tonight. The idea is to queer himself with this other family, so they won’t let him marry the girl.”
The Best of Argosy #7 - Minions of Mercury Page 11
