by Don Wilcox
“Can’t Captain Keller do something?” an assistant asked.
“Keller has a plan. He wants to send a squadron of flying boats up to break into the ship. He thinks the Mogo has run into technical difficulty. A good idea, you think?” President Waterfield brushed his fingers through his gray hair thoughtfully. “If the ship doesn’t land soon, I may give Keller the green light. He’s had excellent success dealing with the Mogos, and there’s no one can match him speaking the Mogo language.”
One of President Waterfield’s listeners slipped away unnoticed and walked hurriedly from the building . . . Words spoken for inner circles in the New Earth embassy on Venus had more than once found their way out to an unsuspected grapevine.
Twenty minutes after Millrock’s pipeline into the embassy delivered
President Waterfield’s latest off-the-record remarks, Millrock stepped out of a bar into Madam Zukor’s limousine.
“You’re on time, for once.” Madam Zukor said as he sat down beside her.
“It gets to be a habit with us generals,” Millrock said.
Madam Zukor knew by his manner that he had some news. She called to the uniformed man at the wheel, “Drive to the Silver Garden, Poppendorf.”
CHAPTER XIV
At their favorite table Madam Zukor, Poppendorf and Millrock flung swift bits of gossip back and forth until their dinner was served; then they quieted their voices as Madam Zukor reviewed their progress.
“Poppendorf, what about Hurley? Has anything come to light?”
The heavy-jawed man shook his head. “The last anyone saw of him was when he leaped over this rail and bobbed up and grabbed a motor boat. We all three saw the end of that. I went with the police that night, you know. We found the boat floating around, two miles up the lake. There was plenty of Hurley’s blood on the side. Damn boat had run out of gas. Nobody ever found Hurley’s body.”
“We still can’t be sure he’s dead.” Madam Zukor said.
“He was in no shape to swim after that shooting. I figure he was so heavy with lead they’ll never find him.”
“There’s always a chance,” said Millrock, “that he got ashore and hid up in the mountains.”
“And died,” said Poppendorf.
“You’re a confirmed optimist, Poppendorf,” Madam Zukor said. But she readily saw the advantage of accepting his thesis. It eased the way in handling Millrock. “If he’s dead, then it will certainly simplify paying our esteemed general his half dollar.”
Millrock gazed at the engraving of Anna Hurley on a fifty-cent piece and raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Any day now.” Then he pocketed the coin and listened as Madam Zukor outlined her strategy.
“We have a clear field,” she said, “if we accomplish three things. One, two. three—it’s as simple as that.”
“One?”
“‘One, I have a date with the ambassador from Mercury in half an hour. The Solar world doesn’t know it, but our little visit is going to make history. I’ve already written up the resolution I want him to swing at the Conclave.”
“Read it.”
“It’s too long. But trust me, I know all the loopholes. It’s literally stitched with them—for us. For the New Earth, it’s air-tight. If they fail to come through with certain standards within a year—if they don’t show enough commercial progress—they lose their rights to the planet.”
“What happens to the rights?”
“They fall to us.” Madam Zukor smiled complacently. “And that’s what’ll happen. If we succeed with tasks number two and three. Two is your department, Millrock. Your bluff was that you could bring a Mogo giant to the Earth who would upset all the New Earth progress.”
“He’s already arrived,” Millrock said.
“Is he doing any damage?”
“Give him time.”
“The newspapers.” said Poppendorf, “refer to him as a friend of Gret-O-Gret. I don’t see how you’re going to accomplish anything with a friend of Gret-O-Gret.”
“All I say is, give him time.”
The general is still full of secrets,” Madam Zukor sniffed. “All right, number three. When the New Earth people fall down, we’ve got to have our own colony going full blast. Not large, but—well, don’t worry, I’ve written the specifications. Leave the rest to the Mercury ambassador. Our evening begins in thirty minutes.”
“This colony you speak of—” Millrock began.
“You and Poppendorf are to get busy at once organizing the Wingmen, like I told you before, Poppendorf.”
“We’ll have to move our base of operations to the Earth before we get far,” Poppendorf said. “And the minute we do that we’re in danger.”
“We’ll go as far as we can right here first. Have you gone to the Wingmen Hospital like I told you?”
Poppendorf shrugged. “When have I had time? But I called and what I heard didn’t sound good. Those jailed-up Wingmen have been having visitors from Banrab.”
“I don’t believe it,” Madam Zukor said. “I’ve kept close watch on the Hospital news.”
“This didn’t reach the papers. It’s the kind of news the Hospital would shush. But our mutual friend Stoddard had his own grapevine.” Poppendorf paused, making the most of Madam Zukor’s curiosity.
“Out with it. Who?”
“Our two old winged enemies—Green Flash and Purple Wings.”
“Here—on Venus?”
“You find it hard to believe?”
“They were supposed to be leading the Wingmen on the Earth—at Banrab.”
“They’re back. They’re doing missionary work among the prisoners— the patients, I should say. They slip into the prison—the Hospital, that is—and give the inmates ideas about reforming and getting free to come to Earth.”
Madam Zukor looked from Poppendorf to Millrock and her face brightened. “Very well. Let them! What can we lose?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll take over where our enemies leave off. Let them go ahead and recruit the winged rebels. We’ll provide a space ship. They won’t know where it comes from. You and I will stay in the background. Poppendorf. But Millrock, you—”
“I get it,” Millrock said. “Shall we drink to the success of Green Flash?”
“To our old enemies, Green Flash and Purple Wings.” Poppendorf picked up his empty glass. “We need a re fill.”
“Waiter. Waiter!”
Madam Zukor called four times before the waiter turned, apologizing for having been momentarily distracted. When she accused him. of neglecting his work to star-gaze at the good-looking girls he retorted quickly in self defense.
“A celebrity—didn’t you notice? She’s the girl whose picture is on the New Earth half dollar. She was sitting right over—”
The waiter didn’t finish, for Millrock, bouncing to his feet, pushed the fellow aside, “Which way did she go?”
CHAPTER XV
Anna Hurley fairly flew from the Silver Garden terrace. She ran down the steps, she cut through a crowd of diners, she dodged into the arcade at the traffic level.
A line of jet taxis, their air-wings retracted, moved along the curb. She swung into the first door that opened for her.
“To the Downtown Transfer—and hurry!” She put a coin into the driver’s hand, simultaneously stepping out the opposite door into another cab.
“To the North Drive, quickly, please.”
She crouched down in the seat. The jet taxi sped out of the Silver Garden Plaza. When she dared to glance back, she saw what she hoped to see. The taxi she had first entered was hitting up the hill drive, wide open. Right on its heels was another vehicle—unquestionably one of Zukor’s party in hot pursuit. Okay, she had given them the slip.
“Bear down, driver. North to the Wingman’s Hospital.”
“That’s a long way out.”
“Take to the air, driver. The shortest wav.”
“The Hospital didn’t allow visitors this late in the day.”
“Yo
u let me worry about that. Get there fast, and circle over it three or four times . . . Into the air please.”
“I’m hurrying, Miss.”
The sleek taxi spread its stubby wedge-shaped wings and lifted from the surface of the highway into the air.
“Oh, George, George, George!”
The driver glanced back. “My name isn’t George, Miss.”
“I’m not talking to you. I’m praying. Oh, George!”
The taxi flew over the tops of the houses at the city’s outskirts and shot on into the open country toward the bank of dark blue mountains. The driver throttled for more elevation, and sped like a bullet into the twilight sky.
“Oh. George. I’ve got to find you!”
“Are you praying to him, Miss—or for him?”
“For him, if he’s alive. If he’s dead—sure, then I’m praying to him. He was always like a god to me.”
“I sure hope he’s alive. Miss—whoever you are. From the Earth, aren’t you?” The driver was glancing back again. “You look a lot like the girl on the Earth half dollar.”
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me, please. Please. My whole world may depend on it.”
The sky was darkening. The mountains rose as if defying anyone who might try to pass. There was the realm of the native Venus wingmen, Anna knew. In their caverns the primitive winged humans lived beyond the reach of the lengthening arm of civilization.
Anna knew the wingman’s fierce wild heart. He was a fighter—yes, and a thief, according to his own natural laws. Laws forbade him to fly over Venus cities, but he took his own chances. And if he lost, no court of justice came to his rescue. He might be trapped; he might be shot down; he might lose his feathers to the merchants (for there was always a brisk market in wingmen feathers, especially at the Venus capitol, where wealthy and influential women like Madam Zukor indulged in the sadistic luxury of parading in wingman plumery).
But the errant wingman knew one of the worst fates that might befall him, if captured, was to be confined to the Wingman “Hospital” for “observation”. There, if he proved hard to handle, he was classed as a dangerous rebel against law and order, and kept “under observation” for life.
Vet Anna knew, better than most human residents of Venus knew, that the wingman could be a loyal friend.
True, some wingmen (including the winged women) were so treacherous that their traits could never be changed. But the average wingman, like any average human being, followed the standards of his group. Superior leaders; like Green Flash, could do more to stop the tribe from stealing or destroying than all the laws in the books.
Ah, Green Flash! How wonderful he and his mate Purple Wings had been! In Anna’s mind the awful troubles of the past darted through in quick dark images. She and Dig Boy would have died, imprisoned in a cave, if it hadn’t been for the loyalty and courage of those winged friends. And now—was it true—what she had overheard back there in the Silver Garden, while spying on Madam Zukor and her party? Was it true that Green Flash and Purple Wings had come back?
If it were true, maybe they would know. Maybe they would be willing to help! Oh, George! George!
The mountains had risen high against the darkening sky. As the taxi sped along, Anna caught occasional glimpses of winged forms flitting down into the darkness, losing themselves in the wooded foothills.
Beyond a wall of trees, a clearing appeared dimly. Within it were several long low-roofed buildings. Anna’s eyes could barely make out the bars that guarded the darkened windows. The only light came from a corner office, doubtless the quarters of the night custodian.
The jet taxi circled over, and Anna stared down at the roof.
“It’s a well-known fact that they lock up tight before sundown, Miss,” the driver volunteered. “But maybe you know how to get in.”
“Can you land on that flat roof?”
“On the roof, Miss?”
“On the roof.”
Two minutes later the sympathetic taxi driver wished her luck, whatever her mission. “I sure hope you find George.” And he spun off toward the city reluctantly, at her request. Then she stood alone, on the crest of a tiled roof, looking at the stars, and wishing for all the world that Nature had given her wings.
CHAPTER XVI
She said the words aloud. Hoping some wingman might be within hearing. “Anna Harley is lure. Anna needs help. Anna is looking for George”
The hardest thing was not to cry as she said it. She repeated it in a stronger voice. Then again. It became a sort of chant. It took on a weird rhythm. It helped the words to flow out into the darkness if they came in a rhythm. It was the rhythm of a dirge, she thought, and then her voice was strange to her. There was a sobbing strangeness in it, and she refused to listen to herself. But she kept on repeating the words.
“This is Anna Hurley . . . a friend of Purple Wings . . . Anna is looking for George . . . a friend of Green Flash . . .”
A rustle of wings made her stop. She could see nothing—nothing but the deep purple of the night sky above the ridge of mountains. The lines of the tiled roof had merged with the blackness of night.
The rustle of wings!
“. . . This is Anna Hurley . . . a friend of Purple Wings . . .”
The soft fluttering of feathers came again, from only a few feet away. Anna’s heartbeat quickened. She crouched low, trying to distinguish a silhouette of a wingman somewhere near her. She was suddenly startled by the screech of voices from the farther end of the building. Wingman voices! They cried out in a weird alarm, from somewhere inside! The inmates, screeching in the middle of the night!
Voices answered from another building. Cries and mocking laughs came from all directions. Inmates were shouting to their brothers on the outside. Something had been planned. Something one guard or a few would be unable to cope with. Anna crouched low. Did this wild outburst concern her?
Once the voices subsided, and suddenly, to her astonishment, she heard a Wingman voice near her. “Anna our friend!”
“Purple Wings?” Anna whispered dubiously. “Could that be you, Purple Wings?”
The shrieking voices from the buildings drowned the answer and for several minutes Anna waited. When the lull came at last she whispered again, “Purple Wings, are you there?”
But the voice that replied was not the voice of Purple Wings.
“Purple will come when the fight is over.”
The wingman who had answered her flapped away.
In the darkness Anna listened as the sounds of the fight subsided. A siren had wailed. Dashing water had sounded through some of the buildings. Order was being restored.
Now lights flashed on around the hospital grounds. The voice of the night custodian sounded through the speakers, echoing back from the surrounding walls.
“Gray Boy! Come back, Gray Boy! Come back! I’ve spotted you, Gray Boy! I’ll shoot if von start to fly.”
Anna’s eyes swept the outlines of roofs, black against the floodlighted yard beyond. She couldn’t see a soul anywhere—winged or otherwise. Had the custodian actually spotted a runaway—or was he bluffing?
“I see you, Gray Boy,” he repeated. “Walk back to this door at once and give yourself up or I’ll shoot . . . Are you coming? . . . I’m not bluffing, Gray Boy. These mirrors show me every hiding place around every building and over the roofs as well.”
The roofs? Anna’s heart fairly stopped. He must be seeing her! There was surely no one else on the roof. She tried to rise.
“For the last time, start walking to this door,” the loud-speaker boomed. “If von haven’t started by the time I count three, I’ll shoot to kill. One . . . Two. . .” On the shout of “Three!” Anna sprang up and started walking.
“Don’t shoot! I’m coming!” she cried out. She took four quick strides along the rooftop. walking toward the brightest light. “Don’t shoot. I’m not a wingman!”
“Hussssh!”
A winged figure flashed down from somewhere overhead and snatche
d her up. She almost lost a shoe, struggling against the surprise rescue. Her captor flew almost straight up, then darted off toward the black mountainside at high speed.
Bullets whipped past. Anna had the dreadful vision of being shot through the heart, dying as she fell. Once the wingman gave a sharp twitch, as if his right wing had been nipped by a bullet. He swooped downward, he dodged to one side, then darted down again, swifter and swifter. The blackness of the mountainside came up at them. The lights from the Hospital grounds were closed away from view.
With a strong flutter of his two great wings, Anna’s deliverer came gracefully to his feet. He released her from his grasp and said, in precise accents, “There. There you are. Anna.”
“Thank you, Green Flash,” Anna breathed.
CHAPTER XVII
The four of them flew eastward on three pairs of wings. Green Flash and Gray Boy took turns carrying Anna. Purple Wings flew close by, and at times she reached across to squeeze Anna’s hand. It was a happy reunion between Anna and the winged couple she had loved so well: and it was soon to be happier still, for they were taking her to the cave where George Hurley was hiding.
In the light of a small electric lantern, George Hurley blinked sleepily at his visitors. He was not surprised to see Green Flash and Purple Wings, for they had been taking care of him for many days. He was not entirely surprised to see the new escapee, the slender, swift-winged Gray Boy, for the break had been carefully planned.
But to look up out of a sound sleep and see his own wife standing here in his secret cave in the Venus mountains—smiling down at him, running her fingers through his uncombed hair, saying “Hi, Big Boy, what’s news?”—he just gulped hard and shook his head and said, “It ain’t so. She looks real, but I know it ain’t so.”
Big Boy Hurley was feeling fine, almost! He paced the floor to prove it. He felt so well he had wanted to help Green Flash with the night’s rescue expedition, but his weight was against him. Green Flash had refused to add a two-hundred-and-forty-pound handicap to his flight.
