Idols of Pluto! Allison was flabbergasted, but, more than that, he was nauseated. For that blond young man who so disturbingly resembled him was subtly, somehow, himself. He, too, felt he had kissed that woman.
For a moment he could not look, and when he did he found the actors gone. The audience, however, remained, and most of them were smiling. What could it all mean?
The ethnologist let his wrist fall, brushed his forehead, tried to consider. Should he confront Jones with this new knowledge when he saw him? If he were slated to figure in such proceedings himself, it would surely be as scientist rather than subject. And just as surely, in spite of his subconscious feeling of oppression, the man he had been following could have no relation to him.
Speaking out to Jones would get the girl in trouble.
As he was thinking, the man himself entered in his quick and quiet way. Allison rose, with care keeping his left wrist to his side.
“Doctor Allison,” the outworlder said without preamble, “may I ask if you feel any—uh—sentimental inclination toward the young lady I introduced you to?”
“It happens I do not,” the ethnologist answered sharply. The question irritated him. “May I in turn ask when I’m to be allowed to leave this room?” he asked.
The other made an appealing gesture. “Please,” he said, “you’ve only just regained consciousness.” He made a promise. “I’ll see to it that you leave within fifteen minutes.”
“It would seem that my arrival is of not quite the importance you led me to anticipate,” Allison said with bitterness.
The outworlder smiled inscrutably. “On the contrary,” he objected, “it is. You’ve caused a tremendous excitement. Thousands are now busy with the preparations to receive you.”
Was he alluding to anything in connection with the scene in the auditorium? How could he sound him without betraying the girl? There seemed no way.
“Exactly what is the nature of this service you’ve asked me to render?” he asked at last.
The other was at the door. “I’ll tell you when I come back,” Jones promised. “But I might say, for the time being, that it is of vital importance to the fecundity of our race.”
And with these cryptic words, before Allison could recover, Jones was gone.
III
Sitting on the cot, Allison tried to bring to order his scattered thoughts. He felt his position grew moment by moment more dangerous, but why, it was difficult to discover. Jones had as yet made no overt act, nor had he done anything that might be construed as contrary to their agreement. The fellow was not very likable, but then he was an outworlder, of unpleasant face and figure, and Allison well knew how wrong superficial estimates of such characters were apt to be. He had always acted friendly, even if he was a trifle—to him—high-handed and abrupt. The girl could not be charged against him, for she was acting largely on her own. Allison rather liked her, anyway. She was a credit.
What else was there? Well, the scene he had witnessed by means of the searchbeam. But in itself that was only interesting and amusing, except, perhaps, to the blond chap concerned. It was just the confusion of the fellow’s resemblance to himself that summoned those nameless fears. He could conclude that somebody, very much like himself, had simply undergone some sort of scientific ceremony ending with a kiss.
But that was not a ceremonial kiss—it was shamelessly ardent. Could there be love—mating—between two such opposites? A wedding, perhaps, since it was public.
A wedding! Jones’ last words, anent his “service,” still rang in his ears. “It is of vital importance to the fecundity of our race.” No forced marriage of his to one of those top-heavy heads—even to Miss Brown —would have any effect on that.
Another remark of Jones. His “service” had to do with “applied and very, very practical ethnology.”
The worst was certainly those interminable rows of doll faces. He could never have actually seen them, surely; they would have to be symbols of the unconscious, standing for something else. But what else?
And why the resemblance of that young fellow to himself—and, therefore, to the doll faces? That could not be coincidence.
Allison gave it up. He knew only that a nameless oppression sat on his heart, and that he, who had seldom been afraid, was now afraid.
He was roused by a light knock on the door. He rose; Miss Brown entered; and some one in brown closed the door behind her. She was smiling radiantly and held in her hands a curious fruit something like a very large soft-skinned sapodilla.
“Eat it,” she said. “It is very nourishing and very good.”
Allison thanked her, broke it and gave her half. He found it good indeed. He had not realized he was so hungry. She watched him with an expression of joy that would not come off.
“Why do you smile so?” he asked. “You weren’t feeling so cheerful when you left.”
She laughed and shook her head, and would not tell him. “You’ll find out!” she promised.
Something occurred to Allison, and he sat on the cot and pulled the girl gently down by his side. The watchlike searchbeam was still adjusted to the auditorium, and he turned his wrist delicately in various directions till he found it again.
“What is that place?” he asked.
She gave him a look of fright. “Please don’t ask!” she begged. “I can’t tell you! I—I’ll get in awful trouble!”
“From Jones?”
She nodded. He debated whether to ask her the explanation of what he had witnessed and decided it was useless. He peered into the dial of the instrument. Her soft hand came to take it away, but he guarded it with his own and kept on looking.
He touched a stem, and the picture came clearer. The audience was there as before, and the space within the railing empty; but, as he watched, two familiar figures entered from a doorway on the left, and between them rolled a third on the wheeled table. Jones and his surgeonlike accessory were bringing in another victim.
The girl reached forth her hand again. “Please don’t!” she pleaded softly. “I shouldn’t have let you have it, only—only—”
“In a minute!” he cried irritably, keeping her hand away.
The figures had started for the cage. As before, the man was placed in one chair and a native woman, promptly entering, in the other. She was anesthetized, and both were fitted with the headbands. Then all left. Jones pulled the switch, and there was the expected burst of varicolored light.
Allison kept his eyes glued to the man, unable to make him out through the glass, fearful, deep down, of what he might see. Jones and the others reentered the cage. The man and woman were revived; freed, went out; and far away in his little room in the building Allison started with shock. The man who had emerged, the man who even then was kissing ardently that ugly woman—he, too, looked like himself.
Prickles of fear ran all over the Earthman’s body. “Who was that man?” he demanded of the girl. “Who was it?” he repeated, roughly grasping her arms.
She shook her head and sobbed out she dared not tell. He let her go; rose and paced about the room.
After a little she came to him. “Don’t be, mad with me,” she pleaded softly. “I’ll tell you some of it—a little.” She paused, gathering courage, then said: “That instrument’s the way we make people fall in love with each other here. It does something in their heads.”
Allison stood still, struck with amazement at her words. She pulled his sleeve; took his hands.
“Arthur,” she said tenderly. “Arthur.” He looked down at her. “Don’t be mad,” she went on, smiling a little, “but we will marry. You will love me. I just arranged it with Mr. Jones. He’s coming up for us next. Though I didn’t have to be made to fall in love with you. Arthur —aren’t you listening? We’ll be so happy, and then you won’t have to marry one of those ugly other women, and then you’ll never want to go back to your horrid Earth! Never!”
For some t
ime Allison looked at her; then he freed his hands and turned toward the door. “Sister, I’m checking out!”
She suspected what he meant. “What are you going to do?” she cried. “You can’t go away! Mr. Jones won’t let you!”
“Miss 891-X, you’ve no idea how good I am at handling guys like that. I’m a primitive, you know.”
He felt worlds better, already. It was the waiting, a helpless prisoner facing the unknown, that had got him so down before. Now he had made a decision, and the promise of action, even of conflict, tuned him to his old accustomed pitch.
But the girl would fight to keep him. She threw herself on his chest and begged and pleaded.
“But Arthur,” she said, “you’ll like it after you’re changed. You’ll never know any difference, except that you’ll love me. Don’t you see?” He held her off. “Miss Brown, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to like to be any other way than I am now. You go down to that damn machine; get ’em to make you fall in love with some nice local boy.”
A noise was heard at the door. At once he jumped and wedged his body behind it. “Hide! Here they are!” he whispered. “Quick! Under the bed! There may be trouble.”
Trembling, the girl obeyed. Allison stepped back: Jones entered, and his hooded assistant followed with the wheeled table and closed the door.
The ethnologist wasted no time. “Jones,” he said, “it’s all off. You will kindly arrange to send me back to Earth.”
The outworlder showed less surprise than Allison expected.
“But my dear Doctor Allison,” he objected, “you can’t mean to change your mind now. You are here; thousands of our scientists are assembled; we’ve come even now to conduct you to the place where your service is to begin.”
He drew close. Allison turned a little, and watched him like a hawk. Jones continued, soothingly:
“Your trepidations are natural, but in a few minutes you’ll be laughing at yourself for ever having entertained them. You just see.” He raised his right hand to clap Allison in good-fellow manner on the shoulder, but the pat never landed. Quick as a cat the Earthman wheeled and caught his wrist. The man, surprised, persisted, and he was strong; but Allison was stronger, and, clasping his left arm about the other’s body, putting all his power behind short, savage jabs, he forced the hand back in toward its owner’s chest.
“Take—some of—your own—medicine—doctor!”
The hand turned, and without a word Jones slumped to the floor, unconscious.
At once Allison was leaping toward the assistant, and before the fellow knew what had happened he lay sprawling on the floor beside the other. Harmless as he had seemed, the ethnologist took no chances. He reached for the relaxed right arm of Jones and pressed its palm into the prone man’s arm. He went limp immediately. Allison rose.
“Act two,” he said. “And two curtains.”
He looked under the cot and laughed to see the way the wide-eyed girl there was trembling.
“Come out, Miss 2 3—PDQ,” he said. “The war’s over.”
She pushed out and stood up. He went and knelt over Jones. “Ingenious little weapons you have hereabouts,” he commented. A thin, rubberish sack lay flat in the man’s palm, and from it led a tube to a short, hollow-tipped needle placed projecting from the lower end of the heel, just out of reach of the fingers. The instrument stuck there of itself. He pulled it off and placed it in his own right palm.
“They’ll kill you!” the girl said, tears in her eyes.
“I hope not,” he answered lightly. “I’ll be moving pretty fast.” He laughed. “You should know how I escaped from the Mutrantian Titans!”
“Is anybody outside that door?” he asked, pointing.
She nodded.
He went to it, took position on one side and knocked. The door opened slightly, and a hand, wrist, and sleeve showed. Allison touched the hand with the heel of his right palm—and pulled an unconscious, white-clad attendant into the room. He laid him neatly by the others and looked again at the needle.
“Aye, ingenious!” he said.
“How are you going to get away?” the girl asked.
For answer, he queried: “Where’s your space port?”
“Oh, it’s way over on the other side of the city. They’d catch you.” “Do you have air-cars?”
She nodded.
“Where can I get one? On the roof, maybe?”
“Yes,” she said reluctantly. “There are stairs down the hall,” she added, indicating.
This looked promising. Allison was sure he could work anything that could fly.
He searched the three men, finding no weapon; then, suggesting that Miss Brown turn her back, he exchanged clothes with the assistant in white. The helmet was much too large, but he remedied that by padding it with a strip torn off the hem of the attendant’s robe.
With this in hand he stood for a moment before the slender girl. He remembered the searchbeam; removed it and strapped it again on her wrist. She had remained surprisingly passive.
“You must get out of here!” he warned her. Her eyes were full of tears.
He took her in his arms and kissed her lips. “Good-by, little one,” he murmured. “Good, good luck to you!”
. He put on the helmet. Only his square shoulders might give him away outside. He would depress them as much as possible. He stepped to the partly opened door—and then at last she spoke.
“Oh, Arthur,” she cried, “be careful! Get safe away! But don’t forget me! Come back to me some day, if you can! I’ll be here always, waiting!”
Allison squeezed her hand, then turned and went out. Sweet girl, he thought. He liked her very much.
IV
Only one man was in sight, a man in brown like one Allison had overcome, and he was approaching along the way Allison himself had to go. Walking rapidly, eyes straight ahead, he passed him without attracting attention.
The corridor was of the kind he had seen with the searchbeam. Scores of doorways, identical with the one he had left, lined both its sides. Ahead might be the elevator, if he was headed in the right direction.
He was; and he came to it quickly—and had there a bad moment. On drawing abreast, the car came level with his floor, and off stepped two men clad like himself, trundling another wheeled table between them. One called after him a barbarous-sounding phrase, but he continued on, affecting not to hear. An open spiral staircase showed at his left, and with relief he turned in and started up. He would like to have run, but did not dare. He might meet some one.
As he climbed he wondered how many poor victims were being taken unconscious to that scientific hymeneal altar. Those fellows had enjoyed their marriage kiss! In his mind he could hear them at their love-making. “How brightly shine the stars on your incomparable scalp tonight!” “How lovely that line where your lips kiss your neck!” Ugh!
He shuddered and climbed faster, passed the landing next above, and continued up to where a closed door barred his way. He opened it, stepped through, and found himself on the roof.
It was daylight, and a small sun shone warmly. Blinking in its sudden glare, he made out that he was in the middle of a large flat open area floored with pink marble. In several scattered places were other roof doors like the one he had emerged from, and straight ahead stood a row of transparent objects that had to be the air-cars. One massive-headed man in purple was loitering near them, but he was the only person in sight. Allison strode casually over to the nearest car, studying it closely as he went.
It, like the others, was small, hardly five feet high, with open sides and streamlined shells of a stuff like glass, front and back. Within was one wide seat, in front of which were three control levers which led to a boxed space below. It rested on three splayed legs. And that was all there was. No motive device was apparent, and there were no wings or vanes whatever.
Allison was not pleased to have a witness to his first flight, but he stepped into the nearest car with
out hesitation and gingerly raised the lever he guessed would be the elevator. The car lifted. Slight pulls on another lever turned the nose of his craft, and the third gave forward velocity. It was extremely simple. A glance at the man below showed that he wasn’t even looking. Boldly, now, Allison ordered the controls, and within a minute he was climbing silently a hundred feet above the edge of the roof to where other air-cars like elongated soap bubbles were scattered through the sky above.
Below, and shrinking as he climbed, lay a beautiful city. Broad ribbons of white streets stretched away to all sides, and within them lay low, curved, and angled buildings, each its own delicate pastel tint. Greens, blues, yellows, and purples, octagons of pink, and open green plazas everywhere between. It was not large, but it was such a place as modern architects back on Earth were still dreaming of.
On the far side should be the space port, according to the poor little girl of the numbers. Allison anxiously searched, but could spot nothing that looked like one—no great open place sprinkled with silver ovaloids that would be the ships. There was one silver shape well off on the right, but it was far too big for a space ship, he told himself. Still, he’d have a look. He turned his car and speeded up.
As he drew closer he saw that it was a ship, and, to his astonishment, that he knew it. It was the one belonging to the Mutrantian Titans. Two years before, Earth, in making overtures for the friendship of Saturn’s somewhat backward Satellite Three, had caused to be made and presented as a gift to its government a space ship of tremendous size after the famous RV-3 model, so popular with her own private owners. The ship below was unmistakably that model, and, from its size, could only be the one presented to the Mutrantians.
What’ could its presence here mean? Were some of the Titans, like himself, here as instruments in the schemes of the ultrascientists?
Allison reached the ship and hovered high overhead. She lay alone in a large circular area, bare except for several scattered rows of long, buff-colored buildings with rounded tops. This was the space port after all; the buildings were hangars, and their local craft must all be housed inside. He lowered, circled; studied that bit of terrain. Everything depended on the raid he was about to make. How should he go about it? The scene was peaceful enough in appearance, and he could not at his altitude make out a single figure; but he had a great respect for the danger potential of a people so advanced in science.
Adventures in Time and Space Page 56
