by Earl
They felt themselves close to madness in their dark prison. It was a dank, stone-walled room, lighted dimly by what seemed to be cold phosphorescence in a ceiling globe. In its feeble rays Carver could see that there was no opening save the door—a solid block of metal. He pushed against it futilely. Barred outside.
“We might as well be at the bottom of a mountain,” shrugged Tyson hopelessly.
Hours passed, as they waited for death. As soon as the demon-people had made a successful Spot-penetration, they would come to kill them. Carver too, despite Sha-tahn’s mocking promise to Queen Elsha. Carver laughed hollowly at the thought. What a joke on her!
A sound came from the other side of the metal door. They were here now, to kill them! But strangely, the sound was a dull hiss, like the bite of a heat-beam. A spot in the metal door glowed cherry red and finally broke through. Lock mechanisms jangled apart.
Carver sprang forward and shoved at the ponderous door. It swung open and in it was framed—Queen Elsha! Back of her, in the corridor, lay two satyrs, guards whose gaping wounds still smoked.
With the opening of the door, a rush of sound had filled the sealed room.
Sounds from outside and above—dull boomings and the crackle of unleashed forces.
“Battle!” shouted Tyson. “Above the city—”
“Yes, battle!” cried the Queen of Mu, above the bedlam. “Shorraine has attacked. You can escape, in the excitement. Follow me—to my ship!”
Quickly, she handed them each a beam-pistol. Carver stared at her a moment, wonderingly, then took the lead. A black figure appeared at the end of the corridor. Carver fired. Though he had tried the pistols before, in practice, he was amazed at the powerful charge of infra-heat that blasted into the satyr, charring half his body.
Obviously, excitement reigned in Phoryx. Black figures darted down the corridors, not even noticing them. Those that did, and turned, met the harsh blast of heat from Carver’s ready gun.
“Up these stairs!” shrilled Queen Elsha. At the head, Carver felt the sinister hum of telekinetic forces past his ear. He rayed a demoniac black face, but another appeared, aiming straight at him with his tubular weapon. A soft hiss from Helene’s gun, at his side, charred the black hand that threatened Carver. Tyson’s gun spoke from the rear, as a satyr charged up from that direction.
They had gained the roof, then. Three satyrs, peering in the sky, had no chance as five beam-guns belched at once. Queen Elsha’s ship lay close by and they ran for it.
LOOKING up, Carver wondered how they would get free of the elemental furies being hurled about there. A hundred flat-decked ships of Shorraine, widely separated, were pouring down a hell of withering rays whose touch turned metal to water. Atomic-bombs, plummeted down, blasting buildings and filling the crooked streets with jagged debris.
Up from the city, in turn, stabbed equally powerful heat-beams and the humming, invisible telekinetic forces. The surprise of the attack was over. Ship after ship blossomed into flame, or ripped apart and dropped like a stone. It was vicious aerial warfare such as Carver had never seen on Earth.
“Hurry!” screeched Queen Elsha. She grabbed Helene’s hand and pulled her to the deck. Carver lifted Val Marmax bodily as the portly scientist stumbled.
Tyson was already at the controls. As the ship rose, three satyrs rushed from below, firing. A section of the deck-rail next to Carver splintered and whirled off. Carver, aiming deliberately, picked off two. The third crumpled as the gun in Queen Elsha’s hand spoke.
Tyson yelled a warning to hang on and the ship rocketed up in a wide, weaving arc. Guns roared below them. How many times a heat-beam or telekinetic blast slashed near them they did not know. But at last they were high out of range. Below, the few remaining Shorraine ships kept up their grim attack. Black, round ships now arose from another part of the city, to give chase, but Tyson grinned in derision as he set a straight, swift course for Shorraine. They had enough of a head start to be safe.
“Saved!” breathed Helene. Phoryx, city of demons, dwindled rapidly. They had all crowded together behind the wind-breaker at the prow.
“I guess that’s the word,” agreed Carver, looking at Queen Elsha. “And I think we have you to thank, Elsha!”
The Queen of Mu seemed suddenly drained of strength. She leaned weakly against the bulwark, her face pale and wan behind its rich olive tint. Carver put an arm around her shoulders, steadying her. Pie could feel her tremble at the touch.
“I have in part—atoned!” she said. Her dark, lidded eyes reflected a calm joy. “I fooled Sha-tahn. Back there in his chamber, when he offered me another chance, I took it. But only as a chance to save you, Barry, and Val Marmax!”
Carver knew now what her final glance to him had said—“Trust me!” He felt shame inside of him, for having doubted her.
The Queen of Mu went on. “Back in Shorraine, I went immediately to the Five, told them the story. They thought it another trick at first, but I convinced them. A fleet of a hundred armed ships, Shorraine’s standing force, was sent to the attack. But I went first, ahead of them.
“My plan worked. I landed and gave Sha-tahn the ‘warning’ that Shorraine was attacking, still playing the part of his ally. He did not think to use an astral-prober, in the excitement. Thus, as they set about hurriedly to prepare defenses against the surprise attack, they did not watch me. When the battle started, I made my way to your prison—the rest you know.”
SHE drew her breath in a half sob, betraying the strain she had been under when any false move would have meant failure, and death.
“Suicide squad!” murmured Carver, thinking of the brave men going to certain doom. He looked searchingly at the queen. “And you, Elsha—regardless of what you did before, you risked your life to save ours—”
“It wasn’t just your lives!” she cried, a little angrily. “I was thinking of Earth. With Val Marmax in their hands, the demon-people had the secret of Spot-penetration for themselves. They could invade Earth, with Shorraine helpless to interfere. That was the issue at stake, burning in my mind—” Then suddenly her voice changed. “Oh, Barry, I did it just for you—to save you!”
She looked up into his face, standing close. “Kiss me, Barry!” she demanded.
Carver stared, startled. Was she still playing a game, serving her own desires? Hoping to win him by what she had done? Confused, he glanced at Helene and was more perplexed to see her nodding slowly, almost commandingly. He had not seen the glances between the women, nor would he, a man, have understood the signal exchanged.
He bent to kiss the Queen of Mu. Her lips touched his burningly. For a moment they stood together, the man and woman of ages twelve thousand years apart. Then she broke away. “Our first kiss,” she murmured, “and last!”
She moved back. Carver did not realize what she was up to till she stood at the edge of the deck where the railing was torn out. Her raven hair blowing in the head wind, she looked at them all, smiling quietly. Then she leaned backward.
Carver sprang forward with a hoarse cry, but it was too late. Her white-robed body tumbled from the ship, turning over and over as it plunged to the ground, three thousand feet below. Carver turned away, sickened.
A gasp of horror had come from the others. “It was the only thing she could do,” said Val Marmax then. “Death with honor. Her sentence later, for her original crime of betrayal, would have been death anyway.”
Tyson grunted. “She had nerve, if nothing else.”
Helene was weeping softly. “Barry,” she whispered, “let’s think kindly of her. She loved—and lost!”
Carver nodded slowly. His memory of her would be kind. She seemed purified by her last act. For one hour she had been noble, sincere, self-sacrificing, so that he could forget what she had been for twelve thousand years. They were all silent for the rest of the journey, thinking of the Queen of ancient Mu.
The slim graceful spires of Shorraine brought a surge of joy to Carver’s pulses after the oppressive sojou
rn in dark, evil Phoryx. A hum of activity rose from the great city, as it prepared for the coming struggle with its age-old enemy. On factory roof-tops, men swarmed about rows of ships, outfitting them for wartime pursuits. Along the city wall’s broad lip, giant anti-aircraft guns were being wheeled into position, against the event of attack.
Carver went directly to the Five, with his party. They were in a large room outfitted with hundreds of flashing television screens, directing the citywide preparations. But they came forward with eager smiles of greeting.
“You have succeeded in bringing back Val Marmax,” said the spokesman. “Barry Carver, you have done Shorraine—and Earth—a great service!”
“But only with the help of Queen Elsha,” Carver went on to give the details, briefly.
THE Atlantides bowed their heads silently for a moment, at news of her death. “It is not for us to judge her.” murmured one. He looked up. “But now, other problems confront us.”
“Yes,” said Carver grimly. “If the demon-people have the right Spot-penetration data, they’ll apply it as quickly as they can. Earth is menaced. How soon can we attack in full force?”
“Our facilities have been geared to full capacity,” responded the Atlantide. “Turning out guns and mounting them on all ships available. All of Shorraine works on the project, with a will. One-third of our forces will be ready tomorrow, one-third the next, and the next.”
“Then we’ll attack tomorrow,” declared Carver. He hesitated. “Who will lead Shorraine’s forces?”
“You, of course,” said the Atlantide matter-of-factly. “We had already decided that, if you returned, after we had looked over your plans for a fleet to enter the Earth warfare. You and Tyson are most versed in aerial battle. Tyson will be your second-in-command. Do you accept?”
The two young men looked at each other. “We do!” Tyson tried to say casually, but it was close to a shout.
Carver turned to Val Marmax. “In the meantime, you will work out the Spot-penetrator units and have the factories turn them out, as we originally planned.” Despite the coming war within Shorraine, Carver still thought of the outside war, and the Jap army he hoped yet to stop. The Earth war was larger in scope, more slow. The war in Shorraine promised to be swift, and deadly.
“I’ll have some of the units ready in a few days, and will equip all the ships within two weeks,” promised Val Marmax.
“One other thing,” said Carver. “Have a ship sent out to pick up Queen Elsha’s body. She ought to be given a decent burial.”
The Atlantide nodded. “It will be done. Her people of Mu will give her burial in their ancient ceremonial manner.”
The next morning, as dawn cast a crimson glow over the dark lands of Shorr, the first fleet of Shorraine hummed into the sky, bound on its grim mission.
The flagship rode at the van of 4,000 ships, in rows of ten. Carver looked back at the mighty armada. Concentrated destruction was at his command, more than any other leader in history had ever had. He thrilled at the thought. But the enemy was strong. How strong he had yet to find out.
But how queer to think of the men in back of him—men from all times and lands united in this venture. There were Egyptians who had fought wild barbarians before Europe was civilized; Indians and Chinese whose dynasties had once been supreme; Persians who had quailed before Alexander’s conquest; Romans who had stood in their solid phalanxes; knights who had once jousted and shivered lances; mercenaries who had marched in Napoleon’s Grande Armee. All alive here, by the queer timelessness of Shorr, to fight together now with the superweapons of Atlantean science.
Did he have a unified fighting force, so important in warfare? Carver was sure he had. He had addressed them all before the departure. They had cheered lustily. Regardless of origins and times, the demon-people were a common enemy. Satan, and all his dark astral forces, had plagued mankind from the beginning. And now, when they might soon ravage out into the world, they must be stopped. Carver knew this burning thought was in every man’s breast. They would fight as they had never fought before.
“FROM what I’ve heard,” said Tyson, also sweeping his eyes over the fleet enthusiastically, “this war to the finish, with Phoryx, has been building up for all the twelve thousand years of Shorraine’s existence. It just needed an event like the Spot-penetration to light the spark. Barry, this is history!”
Carver’s lips tightened as the dark outline of Phoryx climbed the horizon. The enemy did not send out a fleet, though they must know of the attack, through scouts. Strategy, perhaps letting the city’s defenses protect itself and saving the fleet for later, when Shorraine’s forces were weakened. All right, thought Carver, it would work both ways. The sooner the city was destroyed, the better.
Two miles in the air, just as the edge of the sprawling mass, Carver barked into his microphone. Radio carried his commands to all the ships. The fleet spread out in a long, curving formation, ten deep, and dived for the city. The anti-aircraft guns below suddenly awoke. Flame belched into the sky. One ship’s prow sagged and then the metal burned like paper. Another ship split in half as the ravening telekinetic force blew a hole through it.
The battle was on!
Carver’s fleet, at his orders, blasted out with their heat-beams at the bottom of a sweeping trajectory, raking over the nearest line of towers. The hellish force of atomic-energy toppled three of them. Molten metal dripped to the streets. The last line of ships, bombers, dropped their deadly loads. With terrific roars that seemed to shake the whole universe, the atomic-bombs converted their targets to twisted, smoking ruins. Titanic destruction!
Yet at the top of their swooping climb, when the fleet reorganized its formation. Carver looked below and saw that the damage was tiny compared to the city’s extent. And he had lost six ships. It would be a long, costly job . . .
The fleet of Shorraine dived, again—and again. Hours passed while holocaustic energies were hurled between the belligerents. At times, tired of just watching, Carver took the place of one of his ship’s gunners. He took satisfaction in running a heat-beam down the face of a building and splitting it open like a pod. Now and then he saw tiny satyr figures running about madly, though most of the buildings had probably been evacuated.
When night fell, Carver called a halt. He looked below. A charred wedge had been added to the darksome city, but how much remained to be done! And he had lost 500 ships.
“They won’t surrender, of course,” Tyson said. “We’ll just have to batter the whole city down—if we last!”
“Yes, I’m wondering myself,” Carver muttered. “But it’s all we can do. This is a war of extermination!”
On the second and third days, Barry Carver led out successively greater fleets. He smashed at Phoryx from five different points, working inward. The black cancer of their annihilation crept steadily forward.
“They haven’t sent one ship up against us,” Carver mused thoughtfully at the end of the third day. “That means they are confident of Spot-penetration and don’t care about the city. They are saving their ships for—Earth! I don’t think we can destroy the city fast enough to stop them. We’ve got to get control of their Spot!”
“And that’s just where they’ll have their main forces concentrated,” Tyson returned dubiously.
“We’ll have to try,” Carver ground out.
HE sought out Val Marmax. The scientist, with a staff of helpers, was busily adjusting a battery of robot machinery.
“How soon will you have the first units ready?” Carver demanded.
“In two days.”
“No sooner?” grunted Carver. “We must gain control of their Spot, on both sides. When our first ships go out, we can send them to the Earth-side of their Spot—bottle them up. In the meantime, we’ll try blocking them on this side.”
The attack the next day, concentrated at Phoryx’s city-gates, ran into full resistance from the enemy, true to Tyson’s prediction. Anti-aircraft guns sent up a terrific barrage that downed Shor
raine’s ships like falling leaves. And for the first time, the demon-people’s black, circular ships rose to battle.
Obviously, the enemy was determined to hold its Spot. Just as determinedly, Carver hurled his forces at them relentlessly, hoping to smash through. He didn’t.
And late in the day, when the aerial battle had been carried high, he saw a line of ships sail low and straight for the Spot.
“They’re going through!” gasped Tyson.
The first ship had faded suddenly, entering the area of the Spot enclosed by the great gates. It became a dim shadow and then winked out entirely, as though it had been swallowed up in thin air. One after another, the rest followed. Carver counted more than a hundred.
Tyson looked around soberly. “They beat us to it, Barry. They had a day’s start on Val Marmax, since he had to start all over devising the unit, on paper, when he got back to Shorraine. They have the same robot machinery. They beat us to it!”
Carver groaned. “And tomorrow—”
When they sent out their first test ship through the Spot, the next day, it came back hurriedly, with half its prow shattered. The enemy waited out there.
“They have us bottled up!” muttered Tyson. “We can send out only one ship at a time. Suicide!”
“The battle has to be finished here in Shorr!” Val Marmax stated solemnly. He went on croakingly. “And they will outlast us. They are stronger numerically. They can draw recruits from outlying settlements of theirs. We of Shorraine—are limited!”
Gloom settled over them at this inescapable fact. Carver’s mind strove for a way out. It was the old axiom of warfare, in a dragged out struggle—manpower was the deciding factor. Lacking that, what could Shorraine do to swing the tide? They had already lost two thousand ships and twenty thousand men. In another week, their drained manpower would leave Shorraine easy prey to attack. The shadow of doom lay over them like a blight.
Carver turned to Tyson and suddenly asked a queer question. “Have you still got your old flying togs?”
