by Earl
“We’ll swing Europe, at the best, by a narrow margin. But suppose we don’t, father? Suppose the World-State is voted down?”
The voice of Stirnye, Lord of Earth, came back calmly.
“Then we’ll try again, when the time is riper. Nothing is lost.”
“SOMETHING will be lost,” Stuart returned, with a savage undertone. “My faith in humanity! The tides of ignorance and stubbornness I’ve fought against! Each little hide-bound state clamoring for more rights than the next. Even if the World-State is formed, the battle goes on.”
“Of course!” Knight spared no punches. “A lifetime of work lies ahead of you, Stuart. I’ve warned you often, groomed you for it. From the tribal rule of the Stone Age to World-State democracy is a big jump. Bigger than history ever tried.”
“But there is a simpler way at first.” Stuart’s voice became tense. “A logical extension of your rule, as Lord of Earth. Instead of Lord of Earth, a premier or chancellor, with a handpicked cabinet. The best minds to guide and advise. And a parliament of delegates from the tribal-states.” Voice from the past, pouring poison into the ears of the future! Perry listened, stunned.
“Stuart!” snapped the voice from America. “Do you know what the name of that is—dictatorship!”
“Lar Tane calls it World Empire Socialism.”
A groan came from Knight.
“What has he been telling you? Lar Tane is from an age that destroyed itself.”
“Lar Tane—”
Stuart paused. Then his youthful but flint-hard voice went on.
“Lar Tane is a man I admire!”
A gasp came from the radio speaker, and then the bark of Knight’s voice.
“Stuart, you’re mad! I’m coming to Europe. I’ll meet you in eight hours.”
Stuart turned away from the microphone. He trembled a little. He was thinner, older looking. There was a brooding look about him, as of a mind that had suffered reversals of conception.
Perry grasped his shoulder.
“You can’t mean you’re throwing over all our plans, Stuart! The Magna Charta and all it means. Think of the future, not the present—”
“The future takes care of itself.” It was Elda’s voice. She stood beside Stuart, her green eyes narrowed. “Come with me, Stuart. We’ll meet your father at Vinna.”
“Stuart—”
But Perry’s call was lost. Stuart strode away with her, face set. She glanced once over her shoulder—triumphantly. And Perry knew now why she had come. To wield her spell and make sure of Stuart.
Aran Deen was staring at the radio, shaking his head.
“True irony. The first achievement of radio voice, after an age, and the first words it transmits are those of trouble.”
Perry nodded bleakly. What staggering twist of fate had come about?
Eight hours later a plane landed, and Knight stepped out. When he learned of Stuart returning to Vinna, he winced.
“Lar Tane is playing some game, with Stuart as a pawn,” he said grimly. “I didn’t realize his magnetic power.”
“Or the power of green eyes,” mumbled old Aran Deen. “Perry and I are going along, Stirnye. This is history!”
THEIR plane rocketed down a while later, over the ruins of ancient Vinna. And there, in the heart of it, reared a shining tower of new metal. Beside it, they recognized Stuart’s grounded plane.
“Look!” Aran Deen pointed.
The top of the tower was encircled by an open balcony. They made out the figure standing there—Lar Tane. He looked up, with arms folded, as though awaiting their arrival. Then he vanished within.
“Strange, that tower in the center of the ruins,” Aran Deen muttered. “Perhaps a ruling palace stood there in the 30th century!”
The subtle innuendo of it struck Knight’s mind. A breath out of the past, dark and sinister, seemed to envelop the scene. Among the surrounding ruins, gangs of Triber workmen were clearing away debris. There was a regimented air about them. Overseers stood at strategic spots, seeing that the work progressed. They carried clubs.
Rage and dread both welled in Knight. What had been going on here, all this time? What did it mean?
The plane landed before the gleaming tower. As they stepped out, a dozen men in dull blue shirts marched forward. In their belts hung bright new swords of metal. Knight’s face darkened.
One of the men saluted stiffly, his whole bearing a token of months of rigorous training and discipline. Breath of the past again—a police force with military training.
“Lord Stirnye. You and the others will follow us, to the presence of Lord Tane.”
Lord Tane! It was that now.
The troop double-filed forward, with the visitors between. They were ushered down a curving hall, prim and unadorned, into a central chamber with a lofty arched ceiling.
Lar Tane sat in a raised chair at the head of a long table. Stuart stood at his right, Elda at his left. The escort left and the door closed. Knight sensed that they stood outside, on guard.
CHAPTER XI
Men Who Rule
LAR TANE was staring at them with a faint smile of greeting.
“My temporary home and headquarters, Stuart Knight,” he said. “The metal from the Rhine plant. Built by Triber labor. But mere patchwork, really. I had it built here, where a palace used to stand, out of sheer sentiment. This table is a replica of a council table. Two thousand years ago, this was the center of rule, not New York.”
Aran Deen was staring, wonderingly.
Knight conquered the violence that strove to burst from his throat. He spoke quietly.
“I appointed you administrator of the Rhine powerplant, Lar Tane. But with no other authority. From Stuart’s reports, you applied regimentary methods at the plant, and extended them here.”
“I’ve organized the Vinna tribe, and others, if that’s what you mean,” Lar Tane retorted easily. “Chief Hal Doth is convinced I’ve done good among his people. There is a more vigorous spirit.”
“You’ve regimented the young men,” accused Knight. “Trained them in military fashion.”
“As a nucleus policing force for the World-State, ja.”
“You’ve made metal weapons—swords. My edict against border warfare forbade that.”
“They are a symbol, mainly. There must be some show of force to the people.”
Knight realized this was a different Lar Tane from the one who had left him five months before. A Lar Tane who even in that short time had entrenched himself in the 50th century. But what, precisely, were his aims?
Knight continued the mental duel, drawing his adversary out. The atmosphere was charging with the electricity of tenseness.
“Stuart has seen much of you. You’ve made suggestions different from mine for the World-State.”
“Valuable suggestions, I believe. We both agree, you and I, that there should be a World-State. The question is—what kind?”
“My kind,” Knight asserted flatly. “The only enduring kind.”
“Democracy! The experiment that failed.” Lar Tane’s tone was biting. His mask of suavity vanished suddenly. “It won’t work, Knight. It’s clumsy, slow, ponderous. It will stumble over its own feet.”
“Yes, but it will never run blindly over a precipice.”
Lar Tane snorted.
“Pretty words. There must be a central ruling body, subject to no dragging ties. A parliament of tribal delegates, for voicing opinion, but no more. The actual law-making invested in a cabinet of acknowledged leaders, and their executive chancellor. That is the kind of government that will lead this backward world to greater things.”
“To chaos!” Knight snapped. “Doesn’t the lesson of the past warn you at all? A dictator, with a puppet cabinet and parliament of trained seals. At first progress, vigor, advancement. Then the dictator begins to play god. A brute heritage, older than man, crops out. Chaos, I tell you.”
“You belie your own words. You’ve been a dictator—a beneficent one.”
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“The illusion of a dictator,” Knight countered. “I built up no power-system. The past is buried. Force as a ruling method in human affairs must not be born again.”
Aran Deen had been straining forward, like a hound on a scent.
“Chancellor—” he said reflectively. He looked at Lar Tane and Elda, recognition at last in his eyes. “It has come to me. Your names are historical, in ancient records. Lar Tane, Elda! But you were known as Chancellor Lar Tane: You were the head of the government that ruled the short-lived World Empire, from 2902 to 2907. You were, in effect, the Emperor of Earth for five years!”
LAR TANE had arisen, his short figure stiff. His head was lifted, imperiously. For a moment, his eyes faraway and reminiscent, he stood before them as a king might before his subjects. His thoughts seemed to survey an empire that had been his. An empire stretching from pole to pole.
Abruptly, he unbent. A slow, ironic smile came to his lips as he faced Knight.
“The ruler of a world that once was pays homage to the ruler of Earth today!”
He went on, after a pause.
“Revolutionists captured Vinna in 2907. Sacked the city, destroyed my work. Shrecklich! The rabble were after our lives, Elda and I. A year before I’d had the vault built secretly—in case. We exiled ourselves from our time.”
He shrugged, and the bitterness of that past episode faded from his eyes. A burning fire leaped into them.
“I’m glad, now. My World Empire of the 30th century had no chance, with weapons a commonplace. But here in the 50th century—the world lies ready for empire.”
Knight was staring, thunderstruck. Slowly he turned to his eldest son.
“Did you know of this, Stuart?”
Stuart nodded, and spoke for the first time.
“I was told this morning. It gave me my final decision.” His voice was low but firm. “Lar Tane has plans that will launch an industrial program with a minimum of delay. With his 30th century experience, he can rebuild civilization rapidly, as First Chancellor. I will be his successor!”
Stuart paused, then flung up his head.
“One other thing. I’m sorry for Leela, but she must forget me.”
He had stepped to Elda’s side and taken her hand. She gazed up at him softly, her green eyes lustrous as emeralds. They were a striking couple—two young eagles ready to soar.
Knight’s universe staggered.
And suddenly, it was like a lightning flash in the dark. The full cheapness of Lar Tane’s plan lay exposed. Hopping from one age to the next, he was taking up where he had left off. His wolf’s soul was bare now, lusting for power. He had weakened Stuart with his verbal poison, and ensnared him completely with Elda.
“Green eyes,” Aran Deen hissed. “The green eyes of a witch! They have made fools of us all.”
“Stuart!” Knight half groaned, taking a step toward his son. “You can’t mean it, Stuart. Don’t you see how you’ve been betrayed? You’re lost—lost!”
Stuart shook a little. He took a step forward also, but Elda’s hand gently pulled him back. He stiffened. His voice was adamant.
“You’ve never let me think for myself, father. I do now. I’m sorry.”
Lar Tane spoke in cold triumph.
“You’d better capitulate, Stirnye, Lord of Earth. Without Stuart, your World-State falls.”
Knight gripped himself.
“Capitulate—to treason? I’ll have you arrested—”
Tane jerked a bell-cord. Instantly, the doors flung open and Chief Hal Doth marched in, at the head of a dozen blue-shirted men with swords.
“Tell Chief Hal Doth to arrest me,” Lar Tane drawled.
Knight stared. The chief stared back, at first guiltily, then drawing himself up.
“Stirnye, you are no longer my lord!”
“Go on,” prompted Tane. “Tell him why you accept me as your lord.”
Chief Hal Doth wetted his lips and went on.
“Lar Tane is my lord. I am his vassal, for he ruled these same lands and waters 2000 years ago. And in a few months he has done more than you, Stirnye, did in twenty-five years. My people have cleaner villages, and metal hunting weapons. There is a more vigorous spirit. My young men are trained. Lord Tane will lead the way to great things quickly. Heil!”
Quickly, like mushrooms. Civilization overnight. Stone Age society in 20th century surroundings. Square peg in a round hole.
Knight’s shoulders sagged. No use to argue. Chief Hal Doth was blinded in the light of Lar Tane.
Tane dismissed the chief.
KNIGHT drew himself up.
“I’m still Lord of Earth. I declare your activities outlaw. Your rebellion will be put down.”
“By force?” mocked Lar Tane. “But that is a thing you renounced.”
“It is necessary.”
Lar Tane’s face hardened. Suavity was gone.
“It’s more than rebellion, Knight. I control all the chiefs of northern and middle Europe. And I have a hundred thousand young men trained, ready for my bidding.”
“Then I declare you an enemy state!” Knight went on coldly. “I’m returning to New York. I give you twenty-four hours to renounce your opposition. Tell me of your decision by radio.”
The eyes of Stuart Knight and Lar Tane locked. Two men who had ruled separate worlds, and now battled for a third.
Knight’s glare dared the other to hold him. Tane shook his head.
“You’re free to go, Knight,” he said shrewdly. “I won’t make you a martyr and bring the world about my ears.”
Knight swept his eyes over the three of them, impersonally. For just a moment he met Stuart’s eyes. They stared at one another across a gulf of misunderstanding.
Knight’s voice was low, harsh.
“You know what this means, Lar Tane, if you go on—”
Knight said the appalling word, though it was like tearing his soul up by the roots.
“War!”
CHAPTER XII
Man of Two Ages
TWENTY-FOUR hours later, in the radio station at New York, the group huddled before the radio speaker waited silently, tensely.
Perry listened to the crackle of static, and told himself he would some day eliminate it. Old Aran Deen nodded to himself, mumbling the word “history” at times. Leela sat pale and wooden, like any girl of any age struck by the blow of lost love.
Knight’s blonde Nartican wife kept anxious eyes on him. He had returned from Europe in a state of near-collapse.
Knight was haggard. His heart pounded, measuring off time, his enemy.
It leaped, sickeningly, as a voice sounded through the howls of static.
“Lar Tane is here,” announced the head of the staff at the Gibraltar station.
“Can you hear me clearly, Knight?” came Tane’s rich-toned voice. “This apparatus seems crude.”
“Yes, clearly.” Knight drew a breath. “Well, Lar Tane. Have you thought better of it?”
Prosaic words. Yet hanging from every one were the hooks of destiny.
“Have you?” countered the voice from Europe. “I made my stand quite clear.”
“That’s your final word, Tane?”
“Final. This, to me, is Der Tag!” Pulses thundering, Knight spoke the words.
“Then, as Lord of Earth, I hereby declare war on you, Lar Tane!”
The radio-speaker was silent for a long moment.
“No!” The word came like a pistol-shot, in Stuart’s voice. “Father, you can’t go that far in your stubbornness!”
Knight gripped a table for support. Within him, it seemed his heart would burst. Hurriedly, he made a last appeal.
“I must, Stuart. But you—leave Lar Tane! Come back to us—”
He was panting.
Again silence. Then:
“No, father. I didn’t think it would come to this. But I believe in Lar Tane’s world. I’m on his side, since there must be sides now.”
“Or the side of a green-eyed witch,”
Aran Deen hissed.
Lar Tane’s voice burst from the speaker.
“War! All right, Knight.” His voice was deadly. “Attack me. I’m strong. And I’ll be stronger. I’ll sweep your armies back, conquer Europe, then the world. You can’t stop me.”
Knight made no answer. Drunkenly, he staggered from the radio, collapsed. When the Nartican doctor had injected, his eyes opened wearily. They all saw the shadow in them.
“NO, can’t stop him,” Knight whispered. “I’m going. There is no one left to lead.” He groaned from the bottom of his soul. “No one left to lead.”
“No one left?” Old Aran Deen’s voice was shrill. “Stirnye, there is your son Perry.”
“Perry? But he isn’t a leader.”
Aran Deen slowly shook his head.
“How blind you’ve been, Stirnye! Perry is the leader. Stuart never was. Leaders are born, not made. Look at Perry. Look at him, Stirnye. He is you!”
Knight looked, and was startled.
It was himself, of twenty-five years ago. The same rugged face, and level grey eyes that could dream or turn flint-hard. They reflected a mind both visionary and scientific. And something more. An indefinable quality lurked somewhere in him, a hidden strength that had not yet been put to test. But would now.
Knight’s dying spirit rallied. He clutched his son’s hand.
“Yes, I see it now. Listen to me, Perry. Gather an army. Smash Lar Tane flat, before he is too strong. If you must, smash Stuart with him. What they represent must be stamped out ruthlessly. You’re the hope of the future, Perry—of an age to come. Do you hear me, Perry?”
Perry nodded, silently.
Knight made a gesture.
“I proclaim you, Perry Knight, my second son—the Lord of Earth!”
His arm fell back, as though the effort had drained his ebbing strength. Once more his dry lips moved, almost soundlessly.
“Dearest—where are you—?”
His wife was holding his other hand. The dimming eyes saw her, and saw something else.
“Silva, you would have loved Central Park in the spring. . . .”
The voice trailed to nothingness. The features relaxed. He had known birth in the 20th century—and death there too.
