The Space Opera Megapack: 20 Modern and Classic Science Fiction Tales

by John W. Campbell

  Other attendants. Natives of the city, in the flowing, bright-colored robes we had seen everywhere. A group of them—laughing young girls—descended upon us.

  “The Princess Maida bids you welcome.”

  They hurried us into the building. I was surprised. Tarrano had seemingly ignored us. It was quite as though we were honored guests, arriving in the Central State when Maida was its ruler.

  Led by the girls, we passed upward into the building past splashing fountains, cascades of perfumed water with tubes of silver light gleaming in its midst; and were thrust at last into a room.

  The girls withdrew. Across the floor-polished stone, with heavy woven rugs upon it—Georg and the Princess Maida advanced upon us.

  Our greetings were brief. I could have talked to them both for a day, questioning them; and they, no doubt, had as much to ask of us. But they were solemn, grave and anxious.

  “Not now, Jac,” Georg said to check me. “Elza dear—I have been so worried over you.”

  “But—” I demanded.

  “Jac—the situation here—our own cause—the safety of our Earth itself—this Tarrano—”

  But Maida stopped him. “The very air has ears. Not now.” Her glance turned to Wolfgar; her slim hands went out to greet him. “Wolfgar, my friend. It is good to see you here.”

  Wolfgar knelt before her, gazed for one instant into her eyes, and then with head bowed, brushed the hem of her robe to his face.

  She laughed gently. “Stand up, Wolfgar. I would not be the Princess Maida to you now. Only—your friend. Your grateful friend.”

  There was a sudden soundless flash. From across the room a beam of violet flame darted at us. It struck just between Maida and Wolfgar, as he rose from his knee. Both of them involuntarily stepped backward, apart from each other. And between them, breast high, the flame hung level across the room. Maida was on one side of it; all the rest of us, on the other.

  I turned. At the door, Argo had appeared. From a black object in his hand, the beam was streaming. He rested the black thing on a wall ledge so that the beam hung level.

  “Stand where you are, all of you.” He started toward Maida, behind the beam from the rest of us.

  Georg made as though to leap forward, but Wolfgar restrained him. “Wait! You don’t understand—that’s death!”

  I saw now that the violet light had encircled us. Only Maida and Argo were outside it. He was approaching her, with a cylinder in his hand. The ray from it struck her without power of movement or speech. Her eyes, terrified, turned to us. Again Georg would have leaped, but Wolfgar shouted, “Wait! That’s death! Don’t you understand?”

  Argo was leering. “Death? Yes! If you touch that violet light! Death, of course. But you won’t touch it! You will stand and watch—stand silently for you know that if you shout, the vibrations will bring the beam upon you. You won’t move—you’ll stand and watch me kill your Princess Maida—not quickly—she is too beautiful for that. You, Georg Brende—you, Wolfgar, traitor from Mars. You shall see your Princess Maida die—this would-be traitoress to my Master Tarrano!”

  With all the strength of his puny body Wolfgar flung Georg backward—safely away from the deadly violet beam. And then, without warning, without a cry which would endanger us, the little Mars man sprang headlong, into and through the violet beam of death.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Passing of a Friend

  Wolfgar was not dead; but when we picked him up it was obvious that he was dying. The violet beam vanished as his body struck it—vanished with a hiss and splutter, and a puff of sulphuric smoke that mingled with the smell of burning garments and flesh.

  Georg and I leaped forward. Argo was standing transfixed by surprise at what Wolfgar had done; and as the beam died, Georg was upon him.

  “One moment!”

  The quiet, commanding voice of Tarrano. He must have come quickly, when informed by the finders of Argo’s treachery. Yet he stood now at the arcade entrance, drawn to his full height, frowning with lowered brows, but wholly without appearance of haste.

  “One moment—stand aside, all of you.”

  Argo cowered. The rest of us moved aside. Elza came toward me, and I put my arm around her. Poor little Elza! She was shivering with fright.

  Tarrano seemed not to need information as to what had transpired. His eyes, roving over us, saw the lifeless, seared body of Wolfgar lying on the floor.

  “Too bad,” he said. Then his gaze swung to Argo.

  “Master—”

  “Silence!”

  There was on Tarrano’s face and in his voice an expression, a tone quite new to me. A quiet grimness. More than that. A quality of deadliness—of inexorable deadliness which could well have chilled the stoutest heart that fronted it.

  “Come here, Argo.” Tarrano stood quite motionless. “Argo!”

  “Master! Master, you—”

  “Come!”

  Argo was on the floor. Shaking with terror—for he, probably better than any of us, understood what was coming—dragged himself to Tarrano’s feet.

  “Stand up!”

  “Master, have mercy—”

  “Stand up! Are you a man?”

  Argo’s legs would barely support him, but he struggled to get himself erect. With a wrench, Tarrano tore the robe from Argo’s chest.

  “Master! Master! Have mercy!”

  In Tarrano’s hand I saw a needle-like piece of steel. A dagger, yet it was more like a needle.

  “Master—Oh—”

  Tarrano had stabbed it gently into the man’s chest. A mere prick into the flesh, and a tiny drop of blood oozed out.

  For a moment Argo stood swaying. Eyes white-rimmed with mortal terror as he stupidly looked down at the drop of blood. A moment, then the injected poison took effect. He tottered, flung his arms above his head and fell. Lay writhing an instant; then twitching; and then quite still.

  Tarrano turned away, his face impassive. “Unfortunate. He was a good man in many ways—I shall be sorry to lose his services.” He saw me with my arm around Elza, and he frowned.

  “So?”

  Instinctively, involuntarily—and I hated myself for it—I dropped my arm.

  Georg exclaimed: “Wolfgar—he—”

  Tarrano turned from me. “He is not dead—but he will die. There is nothing we can do. I’m very sorry—very sorry indeed.”

  A sincere regret was in his tone. We lifted Wolfgar up, carried him to a depression in the floor by the wall—a shallow, couch-like bowl half-filled with down.

  On the floor we gathered, seated on cushions; and presently Wolfgar regained consciousness. His face was not burned. It lighted with a dazed smile; and his eyes, searching us, picked out Maida.

  “You are safe—I’m—so glad.”

  His voice was low and labored; and at once his eyes closed again as though the effort of speaking were too great.

  Maida was sitting near me at Wolfgar’s head, bending over him. She had recovered from her terror of Argo; and as she leaned down, gazing at the dying Wolfgar, I think I have never seen so gentle, so compassionate an expression upon the face of any woman.

  Elza whispered: “There must be something we can do. The men of medicine—the lights—the healing lights! Georg! Cannot you use father’s—”

  They were only an overwrought girl’s excited ideas, of course. Wolfgar’s lungs were seared; even as Elza spoke, he coughed, and blood welled from his mouth—blood which Georg quickly wiped away.

  Tarrano was on his feet behind us, with folded arms; and as he looked down, I saw on his face also—the face which a few moments before had been grim with deadly menace—a look now of gentle compassion very much like Maida’s.

  “No use,” he said softly. “We can do nothing. He will die.”

  Again Wolfgar’s eyes opened. “Die—of course.” He tried to raise one of his burned hands, but dropped it back. “Die? Yes—of course. In just a moment.…” His eyes, already dulled, swung about. “Who is that—crying
? There’s no need—to cry.”

  It was little Elza beside me, struggling to suppress her sobs.

  Wolfgar’s slow, labored voice demanded: “That isn’t—my Princess Maida crying—is it? I don’t want—her to cry—”

  “No,” said Georg gently. “Maida is here—right here by you. She isn’t crying.”

  His gaze found Maida’s face. “Oh, yes—I can see you—Princess Maida. You’re not crying—that’s good. There’s nothing to—cry about.”

  He seemed for a moment to gather a little strength; he moved his head and saw Tarrano standing there behind us.

  “Master?” He used the old term with a whimsical smile. “I—called you that—for a long time, didn’t I? You have a right to consider me a traitor—”

  “A spy,” said Tarrano very gently. “Not a traitor. That you would have been had you served me—a traitor to your Princess.”

  Wolfgar’s head tried to nod; relief was on his face. “I’m—glad you understand. I would not want to die—having you think harshly of me—”

  “You are a man—I honor you.” Abruptly Tarrano turned away and strode across the room. And always since I have wondered if he left that scene of death because of the emotion he could not hide.

  Georg said: “You should not talk, Wolfgar.”

  “But I—want to talk. I have—only a few minutes. Just these—last few minutes—I want to talk to my—Princess Maida. You’ll—excuse us—the Princess Maida and me—won’t you? Just for these last—few minutes?”

  We withdrew beyond his fading sight.

  “My—Princess Maida—”

  His voice still reached us. She leaned closer over him. Her tears were falling now, but as she spoke she strove for calmness.

  “Wolfgar—”

  His eyes were glazing, but they dung to her. “Princess—”

  “No,” she said. “Just Maida—your friend. The woman you have given your life for.” Her voice almost broke. “Oh, Wolfgar! Never shall I forget that. To give your life—”

  “It is—a great honor.” The gesture he made to check her words of thanks exhausted him. His eyes closed; for a moment he seemed not to breathe. As Maida leaned down in alarm, her beautiful white hair tumbled forward over her shoulders. A lock of it brushed Wolfgar. He could not lift his hands, but they groped for the tresses, found them and clung. Her white waves of hair, with his fingers, shriveled, burned black, entwined in them.

  Again his eyelids came up. “You won’t leave me—Princess Maida. Not for these—last few minutes?”

  “No,” she half whispered.

  “You—cannot—if you would.” His whimsical smile returned. “You see? I am—holding you.”

  For a moment he was silent. His eyes stayed open, staring dully at her. His face and lips were drained now of their blood.

  “You’re—still there?”

  “Yes, Wolfgar.”

  “Yes—of course I know you are. But I—cannot see you very well—now. You look—so far away.”

  She put her face down quite close to him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Oh—yes,” he said. “That’s better—much better. Now I can—see you—very plainly. I was thinking—I wanted to—tell you something. It—wouldn’t be right to tell you—except that I’ll soon—be gone where it won’t make any difference.”

  He gathered all his last remaining strength. “I—love you—Princess Maida.”

  She forced a gentle smile through her tears. “Yes, Wolfgar.”

  “I mean,” he persisted, “not as my Princess—just as—a woman. The—woman I’ve always loved. That’s been my secret. You see? It would—always have been—my secret—the little Mars man Wolfgar—in love with his Princess Maida. You—don’t think it too impertinent of me—do you? I mean—confessing it now—just at—the end?”

  “No,” she whispered. “No, Wolfgar.”

  “Thank you—very much.” His breath exhaled with a faint sigh. “Thank you—very much. I wanted to tell you that—before I—go. And—if you wouldn’t mind—I want to—call you—just Maida.”

  “Just Maida, Wolfgar. Yes, of course, I want you to call me that.” Her voice was broken. She brushed away her tears that he might not notice them.

  “Yes,” he agreed. His staring eyes were trying to see her. “My Maida. You’re—very beautiful—my Maida. I—wonder—you see, I’m taking advantage of you—I wonder if you’d say you—love me? I’d be so happy—just to hear you say it.”

  As I sat there behind them, I prayed then that she might say it.

  “I love you, Wolfgar.”

  “Oh,” he whispered. “You did say it! My Maida says that she loves me!” Happiness transfigured his livid face. But his smile was whimsical still. “You’re—very kind to me. Please—say it again.”

  “I love you, Wolfgar.”

  “Yes—that’s how I always dreamed it would sound. I—love—you—Wolfgar.”

  His voice trailed away; a film was settling over his staring eyes. Then again his lips moved. “Maida says—‘I love you, Wolfgar’… I’m—so happy.…”

  Quite suddenly she realized that he was gone. Her pent-up emotion came with a sob.

  “Wolfgar! My friend—my wonderful, loyal friend—don’t die, Wolfgar! Don’t die!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  Waters of Eternal Peace

  Little Wolfgar was gone. It seemed at first very strange, unreal. It lay a shadow of grief upon our spirits, for many hours a deeper shadow than all those grave events impending upon which hung the fate of three worlds.

  Tarrano ordered for Wolfgar a public burial of ceremony and honor in the waters of eternal peace—ordered it for that same evening. Once again Tarrano demonstrated the strangeness of his nature. His arrival to take possession of Venus had been made the occasion of a great festival. “The Water Festival,” they called it, which was held only at times of universal public rejoicing. It was planned now to do honor to Tarrano—planned for this same evening. But he postponed it a night; tonight was for Wolfgar.

  We were still captives in Tarrano’s hands, as we had been on Earth in Venia. Yet here in the Great City of Venus a curious situation arose. Tarrano himself explained it to us that afternoon. An embarrassing situation for him, he termed it.

  “Very embarrassing,” he said, with eyes that smiled at us quizzically. “Just for your ears alone, you understand, I am willing to admit that I must handle these Great City people very carefully. You, Princess Maida—you are greatly beloved of your people.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He nodded. “For that reason they would not like to know you are virtually a captive. And you, Georg Brende—really, they are beginning to look on you as a savior—to save them from disease and death. It is rather unflattering to me—”

  He broke off, then with sudden decision added:

  “Soon you two will realize that to join me will be your best course. And best for all the worlds, for it will bring to them all peace and health and happiness.… No, I ask no decision from you now. Nor from you, Lady Elza.” His gaze softened as he regarded her—softened almost to a quantity of wistfulness. “You know, Lady Elza, for what I am striving. I may—indeed I shall—conquer the worlds. But you hold in the palm of your little white hand, my real reward.… Enough!”

  And then he offered us a sort of pseudo-liberty. We might all come and go about the Great City at will. Apparently—to the public eye—allied to Tarrano. The Princess Maida—as before—hereditary honored ruler; with Tarrano guiding the business affairs of State, as on Earth our Presidents and their Councils rule the legendary Kings and Queens. The one ruling in fact; the other, an affair of pretty sentiment.

  It was this condition which Tarrano now desired to bring about. With Georg already beloved for his medical knowledge; and flying rumors (started no doubt by Tarrano) that the handsome Earth man would some day marry their Princess.

  Myself—the irony of it!—I was appointed a sort of bodyguard to the Lady Elza—the littl
e Earth girl whose presence in the Great City would help conciliate the Earth and bring about universal peace—with Venus in control.

  So ran the popular fancy, guided by Tarrano. We were given our pseudo-liberty, watched always by the unseen eyes of Tarrano’s guards. And there was nothing we could do but accept our status. Tarrano was guiding his destiny cleverly. Yet underneath it all, unseen forces were at work. We sensed them. The slaans—submissive at their menial tasks, but everywhere with sullen, resentful glances. Perhaps Tarrano realized his danger; but I do not think that he, any more than the rest of us, realized what the Water Festival was to bring forth.

  That night—our first night on Venus—midway between the darkness of sunset and the dawn—we buried Wolfgar. The air was soft and warm, with a gentle breeze that riffled the placid waters of the lake. Overhead, the sky gleamed with a myriad stars—reddish stars, all of them like Red Mars himself as seen through the heavy Venus atmosphere. Largest of them, the Earth. My birthplace! Save Elza here with me on Venus, that tiny red spot in the heavens, red like the tip of a lighted arrant-cylinder, held all that was dear to me!

  The funeral cortege—a solemn line of panoplied boats, started from the palace. Boats hung with purple fabric. In single file they wended their way through the city streets. From every landing, balcony, window and roof-top, the people stared down at us. The street corners were hung with shaded tubes of light, shining down with spots of color to the water.

  As we passed, the people bowed their heads, hands to their foreheads, palms outward. The gesture of grief. From one building came a low musical chant.

  “Honor to Wolfgar! The man who gave his life for our Princess. Honor to Wolfgar!”

  We came to the edge of the city. The lake here narrowed to a river—a length of winding river opening to the pond which was the burial place of Eternal Peace. On Tarrano’s barge, with Elza and Georg, we led the way. Maida was not with us. I asked Tarrano where she was, but solemnly he denied me.