by Various
Gray Denim
_By Harl Vincent_
The blood of the Van Dorn's ran in Karl's veins. He rode the skies like an avenging god.
_There came a stabbing pencil of light from over Karl'sshoulder._]
Beneath the huge central arch in Cooper Square a meeting was inprogress--a gathering of the gray-clad workers of the lower levels ofNew York. Less than two hundred of their number were in evidence, andthese huddled in dejected groups around the pedestal from which afiery-tongued orator was addressing them. Lounging negligently at theedge of the small crowd were a dozen of the red police.
"I tell you, comrades," the speaker was shouting, "the time has comewhen we must revolt. We must battle to the death with the wearers of thepurple. Why work out our lives down here so they can live in the lap ofluxury over our heads? Why labor day after day at the oxygen generatorsto give them the fresh air they breathe?"
The speaker paused uncertainly as a chorus of raucous laughter came tohis ears. He glared belligerently at a group of newcomers who stoodaloof from his own gathering. Seven or eight of them there were, andthey wore the gray with obvious discomfort. Slummers! Well, they'd hearsomething they could carry back with them when they returned to theirhomes!
"Why," he continued in rising tones, "do we sit at the controls of thepneumatic tubes which carry thousands of our fellows to tasks equallyirksome, while they of the purple ride their air yachts to the pleasurecities of the sky lanes? Never in the history of mankind have the poorbeen poorer and the rich richer!"
"Yah!" shouted a disrespectful voice from among the newcomers. "You'refull o' bunk! Nothing but bunk!"
An ominous murmur swelled from the crowd and the red police roused fromtheir lethargy. The mounting scream of a siren echoed in the vaultedrecesses above and re-echoed from the surrounding columns--the call forreserves.
* * * * *
All was confusion in the Square. The little group of newcomersimmediately became the center of a melee of dangerous proportions. Someof the more timid of the wearers of the gray struggled to get out of thecrowd and away. Others, not in sympathy with the speaker, rushed to thesupport of the besieged visitors. The police were, for the moment,overwhelmed.
The orator, mad with resentment and injured pride, hurled himself intothe group. A knife flashed in his hand; rose and fell. A scream of agonyshrilled piercingly above the din of the fighting.
Then came the reserves, and the wielder of the knife turned to escape.He broke away from the milling combatants and made speedily for theshadows that lay beyond the great pillars of the Square. But he neverreached them, for one of the red guards raised his riot pistol andfired. There was a dull _plop_, and a rubbery something struck thefleeing man and wrapped powerful tentacles around his body, binding himhand and foot in their swift embrace. He fell crashing to the pavement.
A lieutenant of the red police was shouting his orders and the din inthe Square was deafening. With their numbers greatly augmented, theguards were now in control of the situation and their maces struck leftand right. Groans and curses came from the gray-clad workers, who nowfought desperately to escape.
Then, with startling suddenness, the artificial sunlight of thecavernous Square was gone, leaving the battle to continue in utterdarkness.
* * * * *
Cooper Square, in the year 2108, was the one gathering place in New YorkCity where the wearers of the gray denim were permitted to assemble anddiscuss their grievances publicly. Deep in the maze of lower-level waysseldom visited by wearers of the purple, the grottolike enclosure borethe name of a philanthropist of the late nineteenth century and stillcarried a musty air of certain of the traditions of that period.
In Astor Way, on the lowest level of all, there was a tiny book shop.Nestled between two of the great columns that provided foundationsupport for the eighty levels above, it was safely hidden from the gazeof curious passersby in the Square. Slumming parties from afar, theirpurple temporarily discarded for the gray, occasionally passed within astone's throw of the little shop, never suspecting the existence of sucha retreat amidst the dark shadows of the pillars. But to the initiatedfew amongst the wearers of the gray, and to certain of the red police,it was well known.
Rudolph Krassin, proprietor of the establishment, was a bent andwithered ancient. His jacket of gray denim hung loosely from hisspare frame and his hollow cough bespoke a deep-seated ailment.Looking out from behind thick lenses set in his square-rimmedspectacles, the watery eyes seemed vacant; uncomprehending. But oldRudolph was a scholar--keen-witted--and a gentleman besides. To hismany friends of the gray-clad multitude he was an anomaly; theycould not understand his devotion to his well-thumbed volumes. But theylistened to his words of wisdom and, more frequently than they couldafford, parted with precious labor tickets in exchange for readingmatter that was usually of the lighter variety.
* * * * *
When the fighting started in the Square, Rudolph was watching andlistening from a point of vantage in the shadows near his shop. Thisfellow Leontardo, who was the speaker, was an agitator of the worstsort. His arguments always were calculated to arouse the passions of hishearers; to inflame them against the wearers of the purple. He hadnothing constructive to offer. Always he spoke of destruction; war;bloodshed. Rudolph marveled at the patience of the red police. To-day,these newcomers, obviously a slumming party of youngsters bent onwhatever mischief they could find, were interfering with the speaker.The old man chuckled at the first interruption. But at signs of realtrouble he scurried into the shadows and vanished in the blackness offirst-level passages known only to himself. He knew where to find theautomatic sub-station of the Power Syndicate.
Returning to the darkness he had created in the Square, he was relievedto find that the sounds of the fighting had subsided. Apparently most ofthe wearers of the gray had escaped. He skirted the avenue of pillarsalong Astor Way, feeling his way from one to another as he progressedtoward his little shop. Peering into the blackness of the square he sawthe feeble beams of several flash-lamps in the hands of the police. Theywere searching for survivors of the fracas, maces and riot pistols heldready for use. A sobbing gasp from close by set his pulses throbbing. Hecrept stealthily in the direction from which the sound had come.
"Steady now," came a whispered voice. "My uncle's shop is close by.He'll take you in. Here--let me lift you."
* * * * *
There was a shuffling on the opposite side of the pillar at whichRudolph had halted; another grunt of pain.
"Karl!" hissed the old man. It was his nephew.
"Uncle Rudolph?" came the guarded response.
"Yes. Can I help you?"
"Quick--yes--he's fainted."
The old man was around the huge base of the column in an instant. Hegroped in the darkness and his hands encountered human bodies.
"Who is it?" he breathed.
"One of the hecklers, Uncle. A young lad; and of the purple I think.He's been knifed."
Together they dragged the inert form into the shelter of the long lineof pillars. There was a trampling of many men in the square. That wouldbe a second detachment of reserves. A ray of light filtered through anddancing shadows of the giant columns made grotesque outlines against thewalls of the Way. A portable searchlight had been brought to the scene.They must hurry.
Impeded by the dead weight of their burden, they made sorry progress andseveral times found it necessary to halt in the shadow of a pillar whilethe red police passed by in their search of the Square. It was with asigh of relief that Rudolph opened the door of his shop and with stillgreater satisfaction closed and bolted it securely. His nephewshouldered the limp form of the unconscious youth and carried it to hisown bed in one of the rear rooms.
"Ugh!" exclaimed old Rudolph as he ripped open the young man's shirt,"it's a nasty cut. Warm water, Karl."
The gaping wound was washed and bound tight
ly. Rudolph's experiencedfingers told him the knife had not reached a vital spot. The youth wouldrecover.
"But Karl," he objected, "he wears the purple. Under the gray. See!It'll get us in trouble if we keep him."
He was stripping the young man of his clothing to prepare him for bed.Suddenly there was revealed on the white skin a triangular mark. Brightscarlet it was and just over the right hip. He made a hasty attempt tohide it from the watching eyes of Karl.
"Uncle!" snapped his nephew, "--the mark you call cursed! He has it,too!"
* * * * *
The tall young man in gray was on his knees, tearing the hands of theold man away. He saw the mark clearly now. There was no further use ofattempting to conceal it. Rudolph rose and faced his angered nephew, hiswatery eyes inscrutable.
"You told me, Rudolph, that it was a brand that cursed me. I have seenit on him, too. You have lied to me."
The old man's eyes wavered. He trembled violently.
"Why did you lie?" demanded Karl. "Am I not your nephew? Am I not reallycursed as you've maintained? Tell me--tell me!"
He had the old man by the shoulders, shaking him cruelly.
"Karl--Karl," begged the helpless ancient, "it was for your good. Iswear it. You were born to the purple. That's what that mark means--notthat you're degraded to the gray, as I said. But there's a reason. Letme explain."
"Bah! A reason! You've kept me in this misery and squalor for a reason!Who's my father?"
He flung Rudolph to the floor, where the old man crouched in apprehensivemisery.
"Please Karl--don't! I can explain. Just give me time. It's a longstory."
"Time! Time! For twenty-odd years you've lied to me; cheated me. Mybirthright--where is it?"
He menaced his supposed uncle; was about to strike him. Then suddenly hewas ashamed. He turned on his heel.
"I'm leaving," he said shortly.
"Karl--my boy," begged Rudolph Krassin, struggling to his feet. "Youcan't! That lad in there--he--"
But Karl was too angry to reason.
"To hell with him!" he raged, "and to hell with you! I'm through!"
He stamped from the room and out into the eery shadows of the Way. Karlwas done with his old life. He'd go to the upper levels and claim hisrights. Some day, too, he'd punish the man who'd stolen them away. God!Born to the purple! To think he'd missed it all! Probably was kidnapedby the old rascal he'd been calling uncle. But he'd find out. Rudolphdidn't have to explain. Fingerprint records would clear his name;establish his rightful station in life. He dived into a passage thatwould lead him to one of the express lifts. He'd soon be overhead.
* * * * *
A sergeant of the red police looked up startled from his desk as a tallyouth in the gray denim of forty levels below appeared before him.
"Well?" he growled. The stalwart young worker had stared belligerentlyand insolently, he thought.
"I want to check my fingerprint record, Sergeant."
"Hm. Pretty cocky, aren't you? The records for such as you are downbelow, where you belong."
"Not mine, I think."
"So? And who the devil are you?"
"That's what I'm here to find out. I've got a triangle branded on myright hip."
"A what?"
"Triangle. Here--look!"
The amazing youngster had raised his jacket and was pulling at hisshirt. The sergeant stared at what was revealed, his eyes bulging as helooked.
"Lord!" he gasped, "a Van Dorn--in the gray!"
Quickly he turned to the radiovision and made rapid connection withseveral persons in turn--important ones, by the appearance of thefeatures of each in the brilliant disc of the instrument.
Karl was confused by the sudden turn of things. The sergeant talked sorapidly he could not catch the sense of his words. And that name, VanDorn, eluded him. He knew he had heard it before, in the little shopdown there in Astor Way. But he could not place it. He wished ferventlythat he had paid more attention to the desires of old Rudolph; hadstudied more and read the books the old man had begged him to read. Hisnew surroundings confused him, too, and he knew that he was the centerof some great new excitement.
* * * * *
Then they were in the room; two individuals, one in the red uniform of acaptain of police, the other a pompous, whiskered man in purple. Othersfollowed and it seemed to Karl that the room was filled with them,strangers all, and they stared at him and chattered incessantly. Heexperienced an overwhelming impulse to run, but mastered it and facedthem boldly.
A square of plate glass was placed under his outstretched fingers. Itwas smeared with something sticky and he watched the whiskered man as heheld it up to the light and studied the impressions. Then there was moreconfusion. Everyone talked at once and the pompous one in purple madeuse of the radiovision, holding the square of glass near its disc forobservation by the person he had called. The identification number wasrepeated aloud, a string of figures and letters that were a meaninglessjumble to Karl. The room became quiet while the police captain thumbedthe pages of a huge book he had taken from among many similar ones thatfilled a rack behind the desk.
Karl's blood froze in his veins at the rumbling swish of a car speedingthrough the pneumatic tube beneath their feet. His nerves were on edge.Then the captain of police looked up from the book and there was apeculiar glint in his eyes as he spoke.
"Peter Van Dorn. Missing since 2085. Wanted by Continental Government.Ha!"
The words came to Karl's ears through a growing sensation of unreality.It seemed that the speaker was miles away and that his voice andfeatures were those of a radiovision likeness. Wanted by the great poweracross the Atlantic! It was unthinkable. Why, he had been but an infantin 2085! What possible crime could he have committed? But the red policecaptain was speaking again, this time in a chill voice. And the room ofthe police, thick with the smoke of a dozen cigars, became suddenlystifling.
"Where have you been these twenty-three years, Peter Van Dorn?" askedthe captain. "Who have you lived with, I mean?"
* * * * *
Something warned him to protect old Rudolph. And somehow he wishedhe had not treated the old fellow as he did when he left. Hisself-possession returned. A wave of hot resentment swept over him.
"That's my affair," he said defiantly.
The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well," he said, "you needn'tanswer--now. We'll find out when it's necessary. In the meanwhile we'llhave to turn you over to the Continental Ambassador."
Two of the red police advanced toward him and the rest drew back.
"You mean I'm under arrest?" asked Karl incredulously.
"Certainly. Of course you're not to be harmed."
One of the guards had him by the arm and he saw the glint of handcuffs.They couldn't do this! If it had been for rioting in the Square itwould be different. But this! It meant he was a prisoner of a foreigngovernment, for what reason he could not guess. He lost his headcompletely.
The captain cried out in amazement as one of his huskiest guards wentsprawling under a well-planted punch. This youngster must be as crazy aswas his father before him. But he was a whirlwind. Before he could bestopped he had tackled the other guard and with a mighty heave flung himhalfway across the room where he fell with a thud that left him dazedand gasping. The pompous little man in the purple crawled under the deskas the sergeant leveled a slender tube at the young giant in gray.
Karl ducked instinctively at sight of the weapon, but the spitefulcrackle of its mechanism was too quick for him. A faintly luminous raystruck him full in the breast and stopped him in his tracks. A thrill ofintense cold chased up his spine and a thunderbolt crashed in his brain.The captain caught his stiffened body as he fell.
* * * * *
Karl--refusing to think of himself as Peter Van Dorn--came to his sensesas from a troubled sleep. His head ached miserably an
d he turned itslowly to view his surroundings. Then, in a flash, he remembered. Theparalyzing ray of the red police! They never used it in the lowerlevels; but overhead--why, the swine! He sat suddenly erect and glaredinto a pair of green eyes that regarded him curiously.
A quick glance showed him that he was in a small padded compartment likethat of the pneumatic tube cars. At one end there was an amazing arrayof machinery with glittering levers and handwheels--a control board onwhich numberless tiny lights blinked and flickered in rapid succession.At these controls squatted the twisted figure of a dwarf. A second ofthe creatures sat at his side and stared with those horrible greeneyes.
"Lord!" he muttered. "Am I still asleep?"
"No," smiled the dwarf, "you're awake, Peter Van Dorn." The misshapencreature did not seem unfriendly.
"Then where am I, and who are you?"
"You're in one of the Zar's rocket cars, speeding toward Dorn. We arebut two of the Zar's servants--Moon men."
"Rocket car? Moon men?" Karl was aghast. He wanted to pinch himself. Buta hollow roar to the rear told him he was in a rapidly moving vessel ofsome sort. Certainly, too, these dwarfs were not figments of hisimagination.
"You've been kept completely ignorant?" asked the dwarf.
"It--it seems so." Karl was bewildered. "You mean we are out in theopen--traveling in space--to the Moon perhaps?"
* * * * *
The dwarf laughed. "No, I wish we were," he replied. "But we are abouthalfway to the capital of the Continental Empire, greatest of worldpowers. We'll be there in an hour."
"But I don't understand."
"Stupid. Didn't you ever hear of the rocket ships that cross the oceanlike a projectile, mounting a thousand miles from the surface and makingthe trip in two hours?"
"No!" Karl was aghast. "Are we really in such a contraption?" hefaltered.
"Say! Are you kidding me?" The dwarf was incredulous. "Do you mean totell me you know so little of your world as that? Have you never readanything? The news broadcasts, the thought exchangers--don't you followthem at all?"
Karl shook his head in growing wonder. Truly Rudolph had kept him inignorance. Or was it his own fault? He had refused to dig into thevolumes old Krassin had begged him to read. The broadcasts and thethought machines--well, only those of the purple had access to those.
"Hey, Laro!" called the dwarf to his companion, "this mole is as dumb ascan be. Doesn't know he's alive hardly. And a Van Dorn!"
The two laughed uproariously and Karl raged inwardly. Mole! So that'swhat they called wearers of the gray! He clenched his fists and roseunsteadily to his feet.
"Sorry," apologized his tormentor. "Mustn't get sore now. It seems sofunny to us though. And listen, kid, you'll never have another chance tohear it all. So, if you'll sit down and calm yourself a bit I'll giveyou an earful."
* * * * *
Mollified, Karl listened. A marvelous tale it was, of a disgruntledscientist of the Eastern Hemisphere who had conquered that portion ofthe world with the aid of the inhabitants he had found on the outer sideof the Moon; of the scientist who still ruled the East--Zar of theContinental Empire. A horrible war--in 2085, the year of his ownbirth--depopulated the countries of Asia, Europe and Africa and reducedthem to subjection. There was no combatting the destructive rays andchemical warfare of the Moon men. The United Americas, still weakenedfrom a civil war of their own, remained aloof and, for some strangereason, the Zar left them in peace, contenting himself with his conquestof practically all of the rest of the world. Now, it seemed, the twomajor powers were as separate as if on different planets, there being notraffic between them save by governmental sanction; and that was rarelygiven.
It grew uncomfortably warm in the compartment as the rocket car enteredthe lower atmosphere but Karl listened spellbound to the astoundingrevelations of the Moon man. There came a pause in the discourse of thedwarf as a number of relays clicked furiously on the control board andthe vessel slackened its speed perceptibly.
"But," said Karl, thinking aloud rather than meaning to interrupt,"what has all this to do with me? Why does the government of this Zarwant me?"
The dwarf bent close and eyed him cautiously. "Poor kid!" he whispered,"it doesn't seem right that you should suffer for something thathappened when you were born; something you know nothing about. But theZar knows best. You--"
There came a stabbing pencil of light from over Karl's shoulder and thegreen eyes of the dwarf went wide with horrified surprise. He clutchedat his breast where the flame had contacted, then slowly collapsed in apitiful, distorted heap. Karl recoiled from the odor of putrefactionthat immediately filled the compartment. He whirled to face the newdanger but saw nothing but the padded walls.
Then they were in darkness save for the blinking lights of the controlboard. He was thrown forward violently and the piercing screech ofcompressed air rushing past the vessel told him they had entered thereceiving tube at their destination and were being retarded in speed forthe landing. This much he had gathered from the explanations of the nowsilenced dwarf.
Laro, the other Moon man, remained mute at the controls. His companionevidently had talked too much.
* * * * *
The vessel had stopped and a section of the padded rear wall of thecompartment moved back to reveal a second chamber. There were threeother occupants of the ship and Karl knew now at whose hands thetalkative Moon man had met his death. One of the three--all wearers ofthe purple--still held the generator of the dazzling ray in his hands.He decided wisely that resistance was useless and followed meekly whenhe was led from the ship.
Endlessly they rode upward in a high-speed lift, dismounting finally ata pneumatic tube entrance. A special car whisked them roaring into theblackness. Then they were shot forth into the open and Karl saw thelight of the sun for the first time in many years. They were on theupper surface of a great city, Dorn, the capital of the ContinentalEmpire.
The air was filled with darting ships of all sorts and sizes, most ofthem being pleasure craft of the wearers of the purple. To Karl it wasthe sudden realization of his dreams. He was one of them. He, too,should be wearing the purple. Then his heart sank as one of his guardsprodded him into action. His dream already was shattered for they stoodat the entrance to a great crystal pyramid that rose from the flatexpanse of the roofs of Dorn. It was the palace of the Zar.
It seemed then that fairyland had opened its gates to the young man ingray denim. He immediately fell under its influence when they traverseda long lane between rows of brightly colored growing things which filledthe air with sweet odors. Feathered creatures fluttered about andtwittered and caroled in the sheer joy of being alive. It was sweetermusic than he had ever believed possible or even imagined as existing.Again he forgot the menace of the imperial edict which had brought himfrom the other side of the world.
* * * * *
Then rudely, he was brought back to earth. He was in the presence of themighty Zar and his three escorts were bowing themselves from the hugeroom in which the wizened monarch sat enthroned. They had finished theirduties.
A shriveled face; beady eyes; trembling hands with abnormally largeknuckles; a cruel and determined mouth--these were the features thatmost impressed Karl as he stared wordlessly at this Zar of the EasternHemisphere. The magnificence of the royal robe was lost on the youngwearer of the gray.
"Well, well, so this is Peter Van Dorn, my beloved nephew." The Zar wasspeaking and the chilly sarcasm in which the words were uttered beliedthe friendliness they otherwise might have implied.
"That's what I'm told," replied Karl, "though I didn't know I'm supposedto be the nephew of so great a figure as yourself."
Not bad that, for an humble wearer of the gray.
"Oh, yes, yes, indeed. Why else should I have sent for you?"
"I have wondered why--and still wonder."
"Oh, you wonder, eh?" The Zar insp
ected him carefully and then brokeinto a cackle of horrible laughter. "A Van Dorn in gray denim!" hechortled. "A mole of the Americas! And to think that even the Zar hasbeen unable to find him in all these years!"
"Stop!" bellowed Karl. "I'll not have your ridicule. Come to the pointnow and have it over with. Kill me if you will, but tell me the story!"He had seen the slender tube in the Zar's hand.
* * * * *
An expression of surprise, almost of admiration, flickered in the beadyeyes of the Zar and was gone. He spoke coldly.
"Very well, I shall explain. You, Peter, are actually my nephew. Yourfather, Derek Van Dorn, was my brother; he a king of Belravia and I apoor but experienced scientist. He scorned me and he paid, for I learnedof the ancient race of the other side of the Moon, the side we can notsee from the earth. I went to them and enlisted their aid in warringupon my brother. When we returned to carry on this war I learned that Ihad a son. So, too, did Derek. But my son was born in obscurity andDerek's son--you, Peter--in the lap of luxury. The war was short and, tome, sweet. Belravia was first to fall, and I had your father removedfrom this life by the vibrating death."
"You monster!" cried Karl. But the slender rod menaced him.
"A moment, my hot-headed nephew. I vowed I'd have your life, Peter, butyour father had a few friends and one of these spirited you away. Sotemporarily you escaped. But now I have you where I can keep that vow.You, too, shall die. By the vibration. But first--ha! ha!--I'll give youa taste of the purple. Just so the going will be harder."
Karl kept his temper as best he could. He thought, conscience-stricken,of old Rudolph, that good friend of his father. Then he thought of thatyouth he had taken from the Square.
"Your son?" he asked gently. "Has he the triangular brand?"
The Zar was taken aback. "He has, yes. Why?" he asked.
"I have seen him in the Americas. He now lies wounded and in peril ofhis life. What do you think of that?"
Karl was triumphant as the Zar paled.
"You lie, Peter Van Dorn!"
* * * * *
But the beady eyes saw that the young man was truthful. Sudden furyassailed the monarch of the East. A bell pealed its mellow summons andthree Moon men entered the Presence.
"Quick, Taru--the radiovision! Our ambassador in the Americas!" The Zarwas on his feet, his hard features terrible in fear and anger. "By God!"he vowed, "I'll lay waste the Americas if harm has come to my son. Andyou"--turning to Karl--"I'll reserve for you an even more terrible fatethan the vibrating death!"
The radiovision was wheeled in and in operation. A frightened faceappeared in its disc: the Zar's ambassador across the sea.
"Moreau--my son!" snapped the Zar. "Where is he?"
"Majesty! Have mercy!" gasped Moreau. "Paul has eluded us. He wasskylarking--in the lower levels of New York. But our secret agents arecombing the passages. We'll have him in twenty-four hours. I promise!"
The rage of the Zar was terrible to see. Karl expected momentarily thatthe white flame would lay him low, for the anger of the mad ruler wasdirected first at Moreau, then at himself. But a quick, evil calmsucceeded the storm.
"You, Peter," he stated, in tones suddenly silky, "shall have thattwenty-four hours--no more. If Moreau has not produced my son in thattime you shall be dismembered slowly. A finger; an ear; your tongue; ahand--until you reveal the whereabouts of the heir to my throne!"
"Never! You scum!" Karl was on the dais in a single bound. He had theZar by the throat, his fingers twisting in the flabby flesh. Might aswell have it over at once. "Fratricide--murderer of my father, I'll takeyou with me!"
* * * * *
But it was not to be. The throne room was filled with retainers of themad emperor. Strong hands tore him away and he was borne, struggling andfighting, to the floor. A sharp pain in his forearm. A deadening of themuscles. He was powerless, save for the painful ability to crawl to hisknees, swaying drunkenly. A delicious languor overcame him. Nothingmattered now. He saw that a tall man in the purple had withdrawn theneedle of the hypodermic and was replacing the instrument in its case.Ever so slowly, it seemed.
The Zar was laughing. That horrible cackle. But Karl didn't care. They'dhave their sport with him. Let 'em! Then it'd be over. Lord! If only hehad been a little quicker. He'd have torn the old Zar's windpipe fromits place!
"My word," laughed the Zar. "The sacred word of a Van Dorn. I gave it.He'll wear the purple for a day. Take him from my sight!"
Karl was walking, quite willingly now. The effects of the drug werealtering. His muscular strength returned but his mental state underwenta complete change. Always he'd wanted a taste of the purple. For yearshe'd listened to the orators of the Square, to the conflictingstatements of old Krassin. But now he'd see. He'd know the joys of theupper levels; the pleasure cities, perhaps. For one day. But what did itmatter? He found himself laughing and joking with his companion, aheavy-set wearer of the purple. They were in a luxurious apartment.Servants! Moon men all of them, but so efficient. They stripped him ofhis gray denim; discarded it contemptuously. Karl kicked the heap into acorner and laughed delightedly. His bath was waiting.
* * * * *
Much can happen in a day. Clothed in the purple, Karl--Peter Van Dorn,he was, now--expanded. Turgid emotions surged through his new being. Hewas a new man. In his rightful place. He was delighted with thecompanionship of his new friend of the purple, Leon Lemaire. Aneuphonious name! A fine fellow! Fool that the Zar must be, to leave himin the care of so amiable a man. Why, Leon couldn't hold him! None ofthem could. He'd escape them all--if he wished. Twenty-four hours,indeed!
They were in the midst of a gay company. Wine flowed freely, and Leonhad attached to their party a pair of beautiful damsels, young, and easyto know. There was music and dancing. Lights of marvelous color playedover the assemblage in the huge hall, swaying their senses at the willof some expert manipulator. Peter was a different person now. He wasexhilarated to the point of intoxication, but not by the wine. Somehowhe couldn't bear the taste of the amber fluid the others were imbibingwith such gusto. The effects of the drug had left a coppery taste in hismouth. But no matter! Rhoda, his lovely companion at the table leanedclose. Her breath was hot at his throat. He swept her into his arms.Leon and the other girl laughed approvingly.
There were many such places in the upper levels of Dorn and theytraveled from one to another. Now their party was larger, it havingbeen augmented by the appearance of other of Leon's friends. Finecompanions, these men of the purple, and the women were incomparable.Especially Rhoda. They understood one another perfectly now. It was allas he had pictured it.
Someone proposed that they visit the intermediate levels. It would besuch a lark to watch the mechanicals. They made the drop in a lift. Alaughing, riotous party. And Peter was one of them! He felt that he hadknown them for years. Rhoda clung to his arm, and the languorous glancesfrom under her long lashes set the blood racing madly in his veins.
* * * * *
In the levels of the mechanicals they romped boisterously. To them thestrange robots--creatures of steel and glass and copper--were objects ofridicule. Poor, senseless mechanisms that performed the tasks that madethe wearers of the purple independent of labor. Here they saw thepreparation of their synthetic food, untouched by human hands. In onechamber a group of mechanicals, soulless and brainless, engaged in thedelicate chemical compounding of raw materials that went into the makingof their clothing. Here was a nursery, where tiny tots born to thepurple were reared to adolescence by unfeeling but efficient mechanicalnurses. The mothers of the purple could not be bothered with theiroffspring until they had reached the age of reason. The whirringmachinery of a huge power plant provided much amusement for the femininemembers of the party. It was all so massive; throbbing with energy. Butdirty! Ugh! Lucky the attendants could be mechanicals.
"We have visited
the lower levels," whispered Rhoda in his ear, "but notoften. It isn't pleasant. Ignorant fools in the gray denim--too many ofthem. I don't know why we permit their existence. Fools who will notlearn. Education made us as we are, and they won't take it. Sullenlooks and evil leers are all that they have for us. Hope nobody suggestsgoing down there now."
"Me, too," said Peter. He had forgotten that once he was Karl Krassin, awearer of the despised gray.
Someone in the party was becoming restless. They must move on.
"Where to?" asked Peter.
"Sans Dolor, sweet boy. A pleasure city within a hundred kilometers ofDorn. You'll love it, Peter."
A pleasure city! Fondest dream of the wearers of the gray! In the dimpast, when he was Karl, he had dreamed it often. Now he was to visitone!
* * * * *
They were atop the city now and the crystal palace of the Zar shimmeredin the sunlight off there across the flat upper surface of Dorn. But itseemed so far away that Peter did not give it a second thought. He wasliving in the present.
A swift aero took them into the skies and they roared out above thewilderness that was everywhere between the great cities of earth. Funnynobody thought of leaving the cities and exploring the jungles of theoutside. But, of course, it wasn't necessary. They had everything theyneeded within the cities. All of their wants were supplied by themechanicals and by the few toilers in the gray who still persisted inignorance and in some perverse ideas that they must work in order tolive. Besides, the jungle was dangerous.
Sans Dolor loomed into view, a great island floating in the air athousand meters above the tossing waters of the ocean. Peter gave not athought to the forces that kept it suspended. Dimly he recalled certainwords of old Rudolph, words regarding the artificial emanations that hadbeen discovered as capable of counteracting the force of gravity. Buthis mind was intent on the pleasures to come.
They were over the city. Carefully tended foliage lined its streets anda smooth lagoon glistened in its center. Its towers and spires weredecorated with gay colors. The streets were filled with wearers of thepurple and the nude bodies of bathers in the lagoon gleamed white in thestrong sunlight.
He sensed anew the nearness of Rhoda. Her soft warm hand nestled in hisand she responded instantly to his sudden embrace.
There came a shock and the party was stilled in dismay. The aerocareened violently and the pilot struggled with controls that were dead.Sans Dolor dropped rapidly away beneath them. They were shootingskyward, drawn by some inexplicable and invisible energy from above.
* * * * *
Rhoda screamed and held him close, trembling violently. All of the womenscreamed and the men cursed. Leon arose to his feet and stared at Peter.The friendliness was gone from his features and he spat forth anaccusation. A glistening mechanism appeared in his hand as if by magic.A ray generator! He had been appointed by the Zar to guard this upstartand, whatever happened, he'd not let him escape with his life. The girlshuddered at sight of the weapon and extricated herself from his arms.Her affection too had been a pose.
Peter's mind was clearing from the effects of the drug. He had not theslightest idea of what might have caused the quick change in thesituation but he resolved he would die fighting, if die he must. Leonfumbled with the catch of the generator. It refused to operate. Theforce that was drawing them upward had paralyzed all mechanisms aboardthe little aero. Flinging it from him in disgust he sprang for Peter.
Their minds befuddled, the rest of the men watched dully. The womenhuddled together in a corner, whimpering. They were a sorry lot afterall, thought Karl. He was no longer Peter Van Dorn, and he thrilled tothe joy of battle.
* * * * *
Leon Lemaire was no mean antagonist. His flailing arms were everywhereand a huge fist caught Karl on the side of his head and sent himreeling. But this only served to clear his mind further and to fill himwith a cold rage. He bored in unmercifully and Lemaire soon was on thedefensive. A blow to his midsection had him puffing and Karl hammered inrights and lefts to the now sinister face that rocked his opponent tohis heels. But the minion of the Zar was crafty. He slid to the floor asif groggy, then with catlike agility, dove for Karl's knees, bringinghim down with a crash.
The air whistled by them as the ship was drawn upward with ever-increasingspeed. The other passengers cowered in fright as the two men rolled overand over on the floor, banging at each other indiscriminately. Bothwere hurt. Karl's lip was split, and bleeding profusely. One eye wasclosing. But now he was on top and he pummeled his opponent to a pulp.Long after he ceased resisting them, the blows continued until thefeatures of Leon Lemaire were unrecognizable. The infuriated Karl did notsee that one of the members of the party was creeping up on him frombehind. Neither was he aware that the upward motion of the aero hadceased and that they now hung motionless in space. A terrific blow atthe base of his skull sent him sprawling. Must have been struck by arocket, one of those funny ships that crossed the ocean so quickly. Amillion lights danced before his aching eyeballs.
Lying prone across the inert body of his foe, dimly conscious andfingers clutching weakly, he knew that the cabin was filled with people.Alien voices bellowed commands. There was the screaming of women; thesound of blows; curses ... then all was silence and darkness.
* * * * *
It was a far cry to the little book shop off Cooper Square, but Karl wascalling for Rudolph when he next awoke to the realization that he wasstill in the land of the living. His head was bandaged and his tonguefurry. A terrible hangover. Then he heard voices and they werediscussing Peter Van Dorn. He opened one eye as an experiment. The otherrefused to open. But it might have been worse. At least he was alive; hecould see well enough with the one good optic.
"Sh-h!" whispered one of the voices. "He's recovering!"
He looked solemnly into the eyes of an old man; a pair of wise andgentle eyes that reminded him somehow of Rudolph's.
"Quiet now, Peter," said the old man. "You'll be all right in a fewminutes. Banged up a bit, you are, but nothing serious."
"Don't call me Peter," objected Karl. He loathed the sound of the name;loathed himself for his recent thoughts and actions. "I am KarlKrassin," he continued, "and as such will remain until I die."
There were others in the room and he saw glances of satisfaction passbetween them. This was a strange situation. These men were not of thepurple. Neither were they of the gray. Their garments shone with thewhiteness of pure silver. And that's what they were; of finely wovenmetallic cloth. Was he in another world?
"Very well, Karl." The kind old man was speaking once more. "I merelywant you to know that you are among friends--your father's friends."
* * * * *
Surprised into complete wakefulness, Karl struggled to a seated positionand surveyed the group that faced him. They were a fine looking lot,mostly older men, but there was a refreshing wholesomeness about them.
"My father?" he faltered. "He's not alive."
"No, my poor boy. Derek Van Dorn left this life at the hands of youruncle, Zar Boris. But we, his friends, are here to avenge him and torestore to you his throne."
"But--but--I still do not understand."
"Of course not, because we've kept ourselves hidden from the world formore than twenty-two years, waiting for this very moment. There areforty-one of us, including Rudolph, my brother. We have lived in thejungle since Boris conquered the Eastern Hemisphere. But amongst ournumbers were several scientists, two greater than was Boris, even in hisheyday. They have done wonderful things and we are now prepared to takeback what was taken from Derek--and more. His life we can notrestore--Heaven rest him--but his kingdom we can. And to his son itshall be returned.
"You were given into Rudolph's care when little more than a babe in armsand he has cared for you well. We've watched, you know, in thedetectoscopes--long range radiovision mechanisms th
at can penetratesolid walls, the earth itself, to bring to us the images and voices ofpersons who may be on the other side of the world. We've followed yourevery move, my boy, and the first time we feared for you was yesterdaywhen the drug of the Zar's physician stole away your sense of right andwrong. But we were in time to save you, and now we are ready to kneel atyour feet and proclaim you our king. First there is the Zar to be dealtwith and then we shall set up the new regime. Are you with us?"
* * * * *
Karl gazed at the speaker in wonder. He a king? Always to live amongstthe wearers of the purple? To be responsible for the welfare of half theworld? It was unthinkable! But Zar Boris, the murderer of his ownfather--he must be punished, and at the hands of the son!
"I'll do it," he said simply. "That is, I'll do whatever you haveplanned in the way of exterminating the Zar. Then we'll talk of the newempire. But how is the Zar to be overcome? I thought he was invincible,with his Moon men and terrible weapons."
"Ah! That, my boy, is where our scientists have triumphed. True, hisrays were terrible. They could not be combatted when he first returned.The strange chemicals and gases of the Moon men defied analysis orduplication. His citadel atop the city of Dorn is proof against themall; proof against explosives and rays of all kinds known to him. Thedisintegration and decomposition rays have no effect on the crystal ofits walls. It is hermetically sealed from the outer air so can not begassed. The vibration impulses have no effect upon its reinforcedstructure. But there is a ray, a powerful destructive agent, againstwhich it is not proof. And our scientists have developed this agency.You shall have the privilege of pressing the release of the energy thatdestroys the arch-fiend in his lair. His dominance over, the empire willfall. We shall take it--for you."
A strange exaltation shone from the faces of those in the room, and Karlfound that it was contagious. His bosom swelled and he itched to handlethe controls of this wonderful ray.
"This ray," continued the brother of old Rudolph, "carries the longestvibrations ever measured, the vibrations of infra-red, the heat-ray. Wehave succeeded in concentrating a terrific amount of power in itsproduction, and with it are able to produce temperatures in excess ofthat of the interior of the earth, where all substances are molten orgaseous. The Zar's crystal palace cannot withstand it for a second. Hecannot escape!"
"How'll you know he's there at the time?" Karl was greatly excited, buthe was curious too.
"Come with me, my boy. I'll show you." The old man led him from the roomand the others followed respectfully.
* * * * *
They stopped at a circular port and Karl saw that they were high abovethe earth in a vessel that hovered motionless, quivering with whatseemed like human eagerness to be off.
"This vessel?" he asked.
"It's a huge sphere; the base of our operations. To it we drew the aeroon which you were fighting. A magnetic force discovered by ourscientists and differing only slightly from that used in counteractinggravity. We let the rest of them go; foolishly I think. But it's donenow and we have no fear. From this larger vessel we shall send forthsmaller ones, armed with the heat-ray. The flagship of the fleet is tobe yours and you'll lead the attack on Dorn. Here--I'll show you theZar."
They had reached the room of the detectoscopes--a mass of mechanismsthat reminded Karl of nothing so much as the vitals of the intermediatelevels which he had visited with Leon--and Rhoda. He knew that heflushed when he thought of her. What a fool he had been!
A disc glowed as one of the silver-robed strangers manipulated thecontrols. The upper surface of Dorn swung into view. Rapidly the imagedrew nearer and they were looking at the crystal pyramid that was theZar's palace. Down, down to its very tip they passed. Karl recoiled fromthe image as it seemed they were falling to its glistening sides. Thesensation passed. They were through, penetrating solid crystal, masonry,steel and duralumin girders. Room after room was opened to their view.It was magic--the magic of the upper levels.
* * * * *
Now they were in the throne room. A group of purple-clad men and womenstood before the dais. Leon, Rhoda--all of his wild companions werethere, facing the dais. The Zar was raging and the words of his speechcame raucously to their ears through the sound-producing mechanism.
"You've failed miserably, all of you," he screamed. "He's gotten awayand you know the penalty. Taru--the vibrating ray!"
The Moon man already was fussing with a gleaming machine, a machine withbristling appendages having metallic spheres on their ends, a machine inwhich dozens of vacuum tubes glowed suddenly.
Rhoda screamed. It was a familiar sound to Karl. He noted withsatisfaction that Leon could hardly stand on his feet and that his facewas covered with plasters. Then, startled, he saw that Leon wasshivering as with the ague. His outline on the screen grew dim andindistinct as the rate of vibration increased. Then the body bloated andbecame misty. He could see through it. The vibrating death! His fatherhad gone the same way!
Karl groaned at the thought. The whine of the distant machine rose inpitch until it passed the limit of audibility. Tiny pin-points ofincandescence glowed here and there from the Zar's victims as periods ofvibration were reached that coincided with the natural periods ofcertain of the molecules of their structure. They were no longerrecognizable as human beings. Shimmering auras surrounded them. Suddenlythey were torches of cold fire, weaving, oscillating with inconceivablerapidity. Then they were gone; vanished utterly.
The Zar laughed--that horrible cackle again.
"Great God!" exclaimed Karl, "let's go! The fiend must not live a momentlonger than necessary. Are you ready?"
Rudolph's brother smiled. "We're ready Karl," he said.
* * * * *
The great vessel hummed with activity. The five torpedo-shaped aeros ofthe battle fleet were ready to take off from the cavities in the hull.In the flagship Karl was stationed at the control of the heat-ray. Hisinstructions in its operation had been simple. A telescopic sight withcrosshairs for the centering of the object to be attacked; a smalllever. That was all. He burned with impatience.
Then they were dropping; falling clear of the mother ship. The pilotpressed a button and the electronic motors started. A burst of roaringenergy streamed from the tapered stern of their vessel and the earthlurched violently to meet them. Down, down they dived until the rockingsurface of Dorn was just beneath them. Then they flattened out andcircled the vast upper surface. From the corner of his eye Karl saw thatthe other four vessels of his fleet were just behind. There was a flurryamong the wasplike clouds of pleasure craft over the city. They scurriedfor cover. Something was amiss!
"Hurry!" shouted Karl. "The warning is out! There is no time to lose!"
He pressed his face to the eye-piece of his sight, his finger on therelease lever of the ray. The crystal pyramid crossed his view and wasgone. Again it crossed, more slowly this time. And now his sight wasdead on it, the gleaming wall rushing toward him. Pressure on the tinybutton. They'd crash into the palace in another second! But no, abrilliant flash obscured his vision, a blinding light that made the sunseem dark by comparison. They roared on and upward. He took his eye fromthe telescope and stared ahead, down. The city was dropping away, and,where the crystal palace had stood, there was a spreading blob of moltenmaterial from which searing vapors were drifting. The roofs of the citywere sagging all around and great streams of the sparkling, sputteringliquid dripped into the openings that suddenly appeared. Derek Van Dornwas avenged.
"Destroy! Destroy!" yelled Karl madly. A microphone hung before him andhis words rang through every vessel of his convoy.
* * * * *
The lust of battle was upon him. A fleet of the Zar's aeros had risenfrom below; twenty of them at least. These would be manned by Mooncreatures, he knew, and would carry all of the dreadful weapons whichhad originated on that strange body. But he did not know
that his ownships were insulated against most of the rays used by the Zar's forces.He knew only that he must fight; fight and kill; exterminate every lastone of the Zar's adherents or be exterminated in the attempt.
Kill! Kill! The madness was contagious. His pilot was a marvel and drovehis ship straight for the massed ships of the foe. The air was vividwith light-streamers. A ray from an enemy vessel struck the thick glassof the port through which he looked and the outer surface was shatteredand pock-marked. But a cloud of vapor and a dripping stream of fieryliquid told him his own ray had taken effect on a vessel of the enemy.One! They wheeled about and spiraled, coming up under another of theZar's aeros. It vanished in a puff of steam and they narrowly missedbeing covered by the falling remnants of incandescent liquid. Two!Karl's aim was good and he gloated in the fact. Three! They climbed andturned over, dropping again into the fray. Four!
The air grew stifling, for the expended energy of the enemies' rays mustneeds be absorbed. It could not disintegrate them nor decompose theirbodies, but the contacts were many and the liberation of heat enormous.They were suffocating! But Karl would not desist. They drove on, nowbeneath, now above an enemy ship. He lost count.
One of his own vessels was in trouble. The report came to him from thelittle speaker at his ear. He looked around in alarm. A glowing objectreeled uncertainly over there between two of the aeros of the Zar. Theconcentration of beams of vibrations was too much for the sturdy craft.It was red hot and its occupants burned alive where they sat. Suddenlyit slipped into a spin and went slithering down into the city, leaving agaping opening where it fell. This sobered him somewhat, but he wentinto the battle with renewed fury.
* * * * *
How many had they brought down? Fifteen? Sixteen? He tore his purplejacket from his body. The perspiration rolled from his pores. His ownship would be next. But what did it matter? Kill! Kill! He shouted oncemore into the microphone, then dived into battle. Another and another!In Heaven's name, how many were there? It was maddening. If only hecould breathe. His lungs were seared; his eyes smarting from the heat.And then it was over.
Three of the Zar's aeros remained, and these turned tail to run for it.No! They were falling, nose down, under full power; diving into the cityfrom which they had come. Suicide? Yes. They couldn't face therecriminations that must come to them. And anything was better thanfacing that burning death from the strange little fighters which hadcome from out the skies. Dorn was a mass of wreckage.
Karl tore at the fastenings of the ports, searing his fingers on theheated metal. His pilot had collapsed, the little aero heading madlyskyward with no guiding hand. Air! They must have air! He loosened thepilot's jacket; slapped frantically at his wrists in the effort to bringhim to consciousness. Then he was at the controls of the vessel, tuggingon first one, then the other. The aero circled and spun, executing themost dangerous of sideslips and dives. A little voice was speaking tohim--the voice of the radio--instructing him. In a daze he followedinstructions as best he could. The whirlings of the earth stabilizedafter a time and he found he was flying the vessel; climbing rapidly.
* * * * *
A sense of power came to him as the little voice of the radio continuedto instruct. Here were the controls of the electronic motor; there thegravity-energy. He was proceeding in the wrong direction. But what didit matter? He learned the meaning of the tiny figures of the altimeter;the difference between the points of the compass. Still he drove on.
"East! Turn East!" begged the little voice from the radio. "You'reheading west. Your speed--a thousand kilometers an hour--it's too fast.Turn back, Zar Peter!"
He tore the loud speaker of the radio from its fastenings. West! Hewanted to go west! On and on he sped, becoming more and more familiarwith the workings of the little vessel as he progressed. A coolingbreeze whistled from the opened ports, a breeze that smelled of the sea.His heart sang with the wonder of it all. He could fly. And fly he did.Zar Peter? Never! He knew now where he belonged; knew what he wanted.He'd find the coast of North America. Follow it until he located NewYork. A landing would be easy, for had not the voice instructed him inthe use of the gravity-energy? He'd make his way to the lower levels, tothe little book shop of Rudolph Krassin. A suit of gray denim awaitedhim there and he'd never discard it.
* * * * *
Onward he sped into the night, which was falling fast. He held to hiswestward course like a veteran of the air lanes. The pilot had ceased tobreathe and Karl was sorry. Game little devil, that pilot. Have to shovehis body overboard. Too bad.
Rudolph's brother would understand. He'd be watching in the detectoscope.And the others--those who had wished to seat him on a throne--they'dunderstand, too. They'd have to!
Rudolph would forgive him, he knew. Paul Van Dorn--his own cousin--thesecret agents of the Zar would never locate him! Too many friends ofRudolph's were of the red police.
He gave himself over to happy thoughts as the little aero sped on in thedarkness. Home! He was going home! Back to the gray denim, where hebelonged and where now he would remain content.
