"Well, yes, in a general sort of way, I can remember my father and Orrin's father going over these same figures. Of course it's not quite as simple as that."
Darragh had taken the pencil from her. Quickly he did a couple of problems in division.
"Well, Selenium's weight goes one1' and six-tenths times into Tellurium's weight," he computed. "In other words, that diminishment procures a drop in boiling point of forty-two degrees. But sulphur is less than half of Selenium, as regards atomic weight, and that gives us a reduction in boiling point of only eighteen degrees."
"Which is why we have to be loose in our estimates. In any case, we can only guess, in the long run of the boiling point of true H20—simple water. We generally figure it to be minus 100."
"Whew!" whistled Darragh. "That would be minus 212 degrees Fahrenheit—colder than liquid air."
But Brenda smiled dissent and shook her blonde head. "Not quite that frigid. You forget that Zero degrees Centigrade equals plus thirty-two Fahrenheit. So the boiling point of simple water is about 148 degrees below zero, in Fahrenheit figures."
"Which is colder than would suit me," said Darragh, and shivered involuntarily. "So that's what the water is that flows just outside the valve entrance to this prison, or zoo, or whatever you call it." He turned and looked into her eyes. "Brenda, I'm going to get you out of here."
"Yes," she said, rapt and confident in the same breath. "We'll have to travel light. . ."
"Mighty fight indeed," he nodded. "Just these books of yours, to help us line up. more knowledge against the Cold People. Wait till they look at you and listen to you, down on the Orinoco."
"Wait till we get there, Mark. We were talking about the simple water flowing outside. It's boiling, you notice—so it flows somewhere above that 148 degrees below Zero. They keep supplying it by ray action on ice and frost in their tunnels and so on. There won't be any escape out that way."
"No. Listen, I wish we could take the explosive ray along." Darragh's eyes snapped with eagerness. "The way you tell me about it, the ray works by breaking normal water down into this stuff that boils at such a low temperature."
"Right," she said. "And that low-boiling simple water turns into steam at once—and explodes. A living body, a tree or animal, or any other object with lots of water in it. . ."
"Would just fly into a cloud of particles," finished Darragh for her. "That's what happened to most of the human race fifty years ago."
He rose to his feet. Folding the notes, he pushed them under his robe and into the pouch at his girdle.
"Thanks for the lecture, Brenda," he smiled. "This information is going to interest my chiefs and iit'11 help them." He chuckled as he remembered something. "I remember spying on that outpost colony, down on the shore of Haiti. I was trying to think of solutions, but a damned mosquito kept plugging its bill into me. I wished it would go bite a Cold Creature instead."
"It wouldn't get any blood from a Cold Creature," she said, quite soberly. "It ought to take a special breed of mosquito to work on one."
"Special breed of mosquito," he repeated after her. "Brenda, you know something? There's an idea there, somewhere . . ."
"I have another idea, Mark," she broke in suddenly,
"Yes?"
"That loafer out yonder on the other side of the porthole, watching us ..."
She rose and stood close to him, smiling. "What about it?"
"Nothing, except it isn't there watching any more."
He laughed happily, and his arms fairly flew out to seize her. And her own arms closed strongly around his neck, and the kiss they gave each other was strong and thorough and tender and loving.
"Very pretty."
Orrin Lyle stood in the open door. Darragh spun toward him so swiftly that Brenda almost staggered free.
"You don't seem to be much of a man for knocking at doors," said Darragh in slow, cold fury.
The chief of the captive community thrust his hands into his pockets. He looked from Brenda to Darragh in cold triumph, then back again to Brenda.
"I hope you'll learn to thrive without that sort of pastime, Brenda," he said. "We're not going to have the benefit of Mr. Darragh's company here much longer."
"What have you done?" she asked quickly.
"Oh," said Lyle, quite casually, "I did just about the only practical thing to be done with a dangerous and violent invader on the place. I turned him in."
"Turned me into what?" demanded Darragh. "Tell me that."
"You're a disturbing and dangerous element here," Lyle said to him, loftily calm. "These ideas of yours about a quick, desperate break—they'd ruin forever our long-range plan of getting away."
"I agree that it's a long-range plan," snapped Darragh. "You've not moved anywhere in fifty years."
Lyle's hand came out of a pocket to gesture at the interruption.
"You refused to be advised by ime," he went on. "You said you'd go out and harangue the people, that you'd try to influence the community to follow your notions."
"That's what I said," agreed Darragh, "and it so happens that I meant it"
"Oh, I was sure you did," said Lyle. "And so, while you were having tea here—having a pretty good time here, in fact—I went back to my own quarters. There's a window to the Owners there, too, you know."
"And one of them watching you there, I suppose?" suggested Brenda.
"It so happens that there was, my dear," Lyle told her.
"And I got him to bring several of his companions. I passed on some information to them."
"Orrinl" cried out Brenda. "You betrayed ..."
Smiling, he nodded his head. "I told them about Darragh, by sign language. They know that he's a spy and an enemy. They've gone to bring a ship down the shaft from above, and they're going to take Darragh away in it. What happens to him then I can't say. None of us will ever be able to say."
CHAPTER X
Darragh took a long, swift step forward. He felt his muscles bunch to fling a blow. Orrin Lyle did not retreat, did not even draw himself up as though for defence.
"Now you think you'll try violence," he mocked. "All right, Darragh, come on and hit me; you're bigger than I am. But I happen to be the chief here. My people are waiting outside. Lay your hand on me, and they'll tear you to pieces. The Owners will have a disassembled carcass to fly away with."
Darragh did not strike. At Lyle's threat, he relaxed and gazed. His face did not show fear, but a sudden dawning of inspiration.
"Orrin," Brenda was saying, in a voice that trembled, "this is cruel and cowardly."
"No, Brenda. Suppose we just call it practical."
"Orrin, I love Mark."
"You'll get over that," he assured her, quite without heat. "Out of sight, out of mind, you know. And hell be out of sight from now on."
"He came to us from outside, Orrin ..."
"You mean, he blundered in on us from outside. He's a savage who, by better luck than his audacity deserves, survived so far. A saner and more cautious individual might have died many times."
"That's what I mean," said Darragh.
"And I won't argue the point," continued Lyle. "Brenda, this man announces right off the reel that he want to overthrow a plan that has, in its formation, consumed years of our lives and the lives of our fathers. He's dangerous. He must be eliminated."
"But stop and think," pleaded the girl. "Aren't you losing sight of the chance that there might be another way than yours, Orrin? That there might even be a better way?"
"Since Mr. Darragh hasn't acquainted us with his alternative plan, I'm unable to answer that one."
"You didn't give him a chance to talk. But he and I have been talking . . ."
"Oh, yes indeed," Lyle agreed, smiling. "You've been talking most cozily and—shall I say cordially?"
"I love him," said Brenda again.
Lyle looked at her in silence for a long moment. Finally: "I honestly believe you do love him, Brenda. Well, now." He drew a long breath, cast his eyes up
ward as though in search of inspiration. "Suppose" he went on, "I said that I approved of that? That perhaps I had been wrong to argue with him, about the escape plan or about which of us was to have you? Suppose I were to give the two of you my blessing?"
"Oh!" cried Brenda, her face suddenly glowing. "If ..."
"Yes, if," he broke in to repeat. "If I took that attitude, Brenda, it would still be too late. Because, you see, I've already turned him in to the Owners. They're coming for him, and I couldn't stop them in any way whatever."
"Never mind, Brenda," spoke up Darragh suddenly. "Lyle, I'm going to disagree with you again."
"I've already found you disagreeable," said Lyle silkily.
"You said that your people would tear me to pieces at your word. That's a lie, and you know it."
Orrin Lyle's close-set eyes grew wide for just a trifle of time. That was his only change of expression. He did not move otherwise.
"And on what line of reasoning do you come to that interesting conclusion?"
"If you trusted the people of this community," went on Darragh, "why didn't you set them on me to tear me to pieces instead of running to the Cold People—to what you call Owners? It's plain to see that they own you, anyway." He moved a step nearer, his big fists set on his lean hips. "By God, that's the answer. You don't really want to escape from here. It might upset your snug, smug little career of subordinate, safe ruling."
"That's what you say," jibed Lyle.
"You're damned right that's what I say, and I'm going to say it out there where everybody can hear me. Get out of my way."
He strode toward the door, ready to sweep Lyle aside with a push of his arm, but Lyle had drawn out of reach. Darragh stepped out upon the porch, the skirts of the robe slapping about his long legs.
In the central open court stood the men anA-women of the captive settlement. They looked at him questioningly, some of them expectandy.
"Ladies and gendemenl" cried out Darragh, loudly enough to seize every attention within earshot. "Fellow human beings, fellow prisoners of the Cold People, come close here and let me tell you a few things!"
They began to mutter together, but they did as he had commanded. They crowded upon the lawn-space in front of Brenda Thompson's cottage.
"Ladies and gendemenl" he yelled again, to quiet all other voices. "You know by now that I came here from outside. There are thousands of free men out there, planning to overthrow these frozen monsters that I hate to hear you call the Owners. They took our world away from us, but we aren't going to let them own it any more. We're going to take it back!"
Someone actually cheered.
"Any of you want to join us?" called out Darragh.
Another excited stir and muttering, and a woman's voice stammered: "How can we?"
"That's what I'm going to manage if you'll go along with me," Darragh replied, with a confidence that he really felt. "I got in here, and I'm going to get out again. I'm going to take anybody along who thinks he or she would enjoy the journey. And I'm going to get out right now—not in fifty years!"
"I'm going with him!" came Brenda's breathless voice, and she ran out of the cottage. Her hair and dress were rumpled—apparently Orrin Lyle had tried to hold her back. Her arms were full of books.
"We're traveling light!" she said, as Darragh had said a few moments before. "Just taking the books!"
"All right, Brenda Thompson isn't going to stay in prison," said Darragh. "Who's next?" His eye caught the gray-stubbled head of the man called Criddle. "I see you there, Criddle, and earlier today you seemed to think I had a few talking points. Want to take a chance with me?"
Criddle swallowed and bugged out his eyes. "I'm with you, young fellow!" he shouted. "I'm tired of being a peep show."
He moved forward out of the crowd. After him came a middle-aged woman, and he put his arm around her. "My wife's coming, too!" he cried happily.
This time a number of voices cheered. As Criddle came to the edge of the porch with his wife, fully a dozen more moved as though to follow.
Just then Orrin Lyle came out. He pushed himself between Brenda and Darragh. "Wait," he said, and his voice, without seeming to lift, yet made itself heard. Those who had started forward paused where they were.
"I must ask you all, my friends and neighbors and followers, to be sensible," he said. "Don't let this man stampede you. He's a stranger and an alien—just half an hour old in our midst—and he's trying to sweep all of you into a suicidal attempt at escape which cannot succeed."
"What sort of attempt?" demanded Criddle, his eyes on Darragh.
"He's a spy and an emeny," accused Lyle.
"Orrin Lyle is right!" rose Brenda's voice.
Then everyone turned toward her. Darragh felt dry-mouthed with utter amazement.
"He's right!" Brenda said again. "Mark Darragh certainly is a spy—but he's a spy on the Cold People, that's what he came here to be! He's an enemy but he's an enemy to our enemies!"
"Let me inform you ..." began Orrin Lyle.
"Keep your mouth shut, Orrin," Brenda broke him off fiercely. "You've already done your informing. Did you know about that, you others? Orrin did some of his sign-language talk to the Cold People, and gave Mark Darragh up to them! Told them to come here and take him away!"
Everybody gasped at that, and for the first time Lyle seemed worried and nervous.
"Is that the truth, Orrin?" demanded Criddle, boldly and quickly, from where he stood next to the porch.
"If it is the truth, it's a mighty dirty truth," said a younger man in the crowd.
"You're right," agreed the man standing next to him.
But Orrin Lyle had ruled for years. He did not recoil from the hint of menace. He had completely recovered his studied cold calm.
"Every one of you knows," he said, "that our dearest hope is some day to win free of this cage in which we live." "Right," agreed Criddle.
"You all know that we are looking for a chance, when the time is ripe," elaborated Lyle. "You all know that we must succeed then—or never. And you also know that I, building upon the lifelong labors of my father and his colleagues, have found a way to communicate with the Owners, so that I could gather information."
"What information?" Darragh flung at them. "Suppose you fill them in on that."
"That, Mr. Darragh, is precisely what I’ll do if you give me a chance to speak. My friends, I've been gathering information toward the building of an aircraft."
"That's the first I've heard of it, Orrin," spoke up Criddle.
"It wasn't time to tell you . .."
"Because your associates wouldn't believe a liel" cut in Darragh. "Lyle, you're a sort of genius; you'd rather climb a tree than stand on the ground to tell the truth." He towered above Lyle, laughing down into his face. "Even if you knew how to build an aircraft, you wouldn't have the materials and you couldn't fly it if you did build it."
"That makes sense," said Criddle's wife.
"My friends," said Orrin Lyle, "you owe me a chance to reply to these charges." He paused, and saw that he had regained the attention of his people. "Thank you. Now: I have denounced this stranger Mark Darragh for a two-fold advantage to all of us. First, his ill-planned escape attempt . .
"How do you know it's ill-planned?" Darragh challenged. "You never let me explain it."
Lyle looked up at him. "Ill amend my language. Ill say, your bluff about an escape attempt, because you don't really have one."
"Why . . ."
"Hold it, Mr. Darragh!" Sam Criddle was breaking in on his own part. "Let Orrin finish what he's saying, or we'll get nowhere."
Darragh fell silent. Again Lyle faced the gathering.
"First, he would fail in whatever scheme he tried," he went on, "and that would cause the Owners to be doubly strict at guarding us and fencing us in, doubly sure in making us doubly far off from liberty. Second, by giving this information against him as I have, I succeed in convincing the Owners that the rest of us are mild and content to be here in th
is community. They will come in and remove him. Then they will trust us as never before." He spread his hands in an eloquent gesture of appeal to reason. "I want to ask you, and each of you, to decide whether this isn't sufficient explanation, whether this isn't good logic and good method. That's all."
He stepped back, as though to put an end to the discussion. The group of people seemed almost on the point of breaking up and dispersing. But Darragh flung up his two long arms.
"Hold on, every single one of you," he shouted. "Orrin Lyle seems to have finished, and I let him finish. Now let me say my last word!"
Quick as thought, he shot out his big hand and closed it on the shoulder of Orrin Lyle. The smaller man started and tried to pull himself away, but Darragh's fingers dug into his flesh and drew him close. Darragh gave Lyle a vigorous shake, that jolted the struggle out of him for the moment. The onlookers had drawn back together, wide-eyed with amazement.
Darragh knew that he would have brief seconds of that attention he had so violently and melodramatically claimed. Again he shook Orrin, for emphasis.
"Let me tell you the facts about this sneak who calls himself the boss of your community!" he trumpeted. "He communicates with those jailers of yours; he admits that he's a snitch."
"I told why I did it," Lyle sputtered.
"He snitched on me," Darragh went on, "and hell snitch on any one of you who does something that may not suit his royal high mightiness!"
"I—I was acting for the best," Lyle tried to say as he struggled. His calm semity and disdain had left him. "Listenl" he cried out. "Unless we can gain time and knowledge to build ourselves a ship, leam to fly it, well never escape!"
"A ship to escape in!" Darragh took up the words. "I'm coming to that, my friends. We don't need to build one and learn about it. Our ship's going to be here before we know itl"
"M-Mark," Brenda stammered, "the only ship that's coming will take you away . . ."
"It will take us all away," cried Darragh. "I know it's coming for me—but we're going to capture it as it lands!"
"How .. ." began Criddle.
"How will we fly it?" Darragh finished the question for him. "I can fly their ships. I told you that, Criddle. I'm going to get you all out of here, every one of you, this very hour!"
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1959 Page 9
