by Hal Annas
It was a long moment before she recovered sufficient breath to scream. On the floor sprawled two Egs, a Golgon and a Novakkan. Even at a glance she could tell they were dead.
In the moment her eyes took in the scene they also registered other details. The place was a shambles. The niches in which she had placed the treasure were empty. The bed in which Vardon had lain was covered with blood. Vardon himself was gone.
As the scream rose in her throat and she started to turn, something soft came down over her head. It was some kind of cloak or other silken wrap. It enveloped her in darkness. A powerful hand went over her mouth and a strong arm went about her body. In the next moment she seemed to be flying through the air.
She struggled very hard, but as her breathing was impeded, her strength waned. Her arms were pinned against her sides by the restraining arm and something else held her legs immobile.
Time fled. There was a sensation of rushing movement, but not as if she were being carried by a running person. She heard strange hollow sounds and later heard echoes of these sounds. It went on and on.
In what seemed to be some remote time and place the sensation of movement ceased. She was lowered to a comfortable couch, but something still restrained her from voluntary movement.
Sounds of voices in strange tongues reached her. The couch moved as though floating. It eventually came to rest and the cloak was withdrawn from about her.
At first she was blinded by the light. It seemed to reflect and sparkle in every direction. Then she realized she was in the center of a vast room, the walls and ceiling of which were crystal.
A man bent over her. He was young and dressed in something like back velvet. His features were such as she had never seen on an Eg. They were cherubic. The beard was lacking, but the square shape of the head and the black slant eyes left no doubt that he was a native of the planet.
She still couldn’t move, though nothing visible restrained her.
The man lowered a hand and touched the bracelet. He moved it gently and studied the markings. He nodded to someone behind him, then gently touched her cheek. His fingers moved on to her ear and through the waves of her hair. Then he straightened.
“Release her,” he said in her own language.
A bell sounded musically. It was as it something invisible withdrew its grip from her. She sat up, pulled down her skirt and glanced about.
The vast room was richly furnished and ornamented. The light was much brighter than the yellow daylight of outside. It occurred to her that this was the first time she had seen artificial lighting of any kind on this planet which had no night.
“You are the girl Aleta?” the young man asked.
She nodded. “And you?”
“Wilmo the Younger,” he said. “I have freed you from the Novakkans. In turn you must repay me. I anticipate many blissful hours in your company, but first you must tell me why the Novakkans kept you alive.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The young Eg moved closer. “Your stature and charm are such that would appeal to the Novakkans,” he went on, “but they do not keep captive women. They ransom them if their value is sufficient to be worth the trouble. This is rare indeed. More often, they use the captive as bait or to exchange for important secrets. I am led to believe that you are the key to something of vast consequence.”
Aleta could only shake her head in puzzlement. Norwich Wyatt would ransom her if it were within his power. But she couldn’t conceive of herself being considered worth enough to pay her passage back to earth. Not to anyone outside her family and Wyatt.
“I may be mistaken,” the young Eg went on. “The Novakkans make use of a few slaves. But with you, I understand, was an incapacitated man. They usually dispose of that kind quickly”
“Ernest Vardon,” she said. “Where is he?”
The Eg shrugged. “That is another question that interests me. I am also interested in the booty that was deposited in the apartment. I shall expect you to enlighten me on both subjects-”
“But I know nothing about them,” she said.
The man’s thin lips parted. “It might be wise to recall things about them.” He gestured round. “Life can be very pleasant here in the heart of a mountain.” He lifted thin shoulders and let them fall. “It can also be exquisitely painful.” He lifted a hand in signal to those behind him and again a bell sounded. Again she was unable to move.
As by levitation the couch lifted and moved through a broad archway into a winding corridor. Sitting erect, Aleta could see ahead and to either side. No one accompanied her, and no hand restrained her, but she couldn’t move. Some invisible force held her immobile.
The couch passed many vast chambers behind curtained archways. Some of them were occupied by Golgon women, Eg women, and another race of exceptionally delicate beauty. Their skin was lighter than hers, their hair almost as white as that of the Novakkans. They were taller than Golgons and very slender.
At last the couch paused before an archway. The transparent curtains parted. In the midst of the room several exceptionally light-skinned women waited. The couch paused before them and settled gently.
A bell rang and Aleta again was able to move.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALETA tried to escape through the archway. As she approached some increasing force effectively slowed her progress until she could go no farther. The white-skinned women gathered around her.
One said. “It is better to resign yourself.”
Aleta had no intention of resigning herself, but pretended to do so in order to learn. The palace, she was told, extended far inside the mountain. None of the women had seen the full extent of it. Wilmo the Younger got in and out by some secret passage. They could not believe that he went about the planet undisguised. And if the Novakkans knew of his wealth they would not rest until they discovered his hiding place. The woman said that he made use of strange science and magic from the far corners of the universe.
From time to time aged Egs, with their long beards, were seen in the palace. But most of the men were beardless.
Aleta’s clothes were removed and she was given a masculine costume.
“Wilmo is going to have you questioned,” she was told. “He doesn’t want your feminine charms to influence the questioners. That means that he has taken a fancy to you himself.”
But even in masculine costume, her blonde hair concealed under a turban, there was still no doubt about her sex. The feminine curves would never be mistaken.
The costume was altered to tone down the suggestion of femininity and at last she was escorted through a series of rooms that resembled nothing so much as Earth laboratories. In the larger of these rooms she was questioned closely about Ernest Vardon and the treasure.
She was then questioned for long hours under drugs. And finally a series of electrical instruments were attached to nerve terminals of her body and head and the questioning went on, this time about Earth.
It occurred to her that they were much too interested in the home planet, that somehow they were drawing from her mind a picture of everything she had ever seen or experienced there. The purpose behind it was not clear and it disturbed her.
The questioning was interrupted. A purple light flashed high up on the wall. The men stared at it briefly, looked at one another. “The snow mesa,” one said. Another buckled on a photon gun and stood a moment below the purple light. A panel slid back and he stepped through the opening.
The men seemed nervous, undecided. They moved about fingering weapons. Eventually a knocking sounded. Another stepped below the purple light and called, “Break the beam on your right and the three invisible beams on your left at the same time.”
The panel opened and the man who had gone out re-entered. His cheeks were pink. He rubbed his hands vigorously. Wherever he had been was cold. That much was evident. He conferred briefly with the others, then Aleta was escorted back to her chamber.
Observing closely, she memorized the course,
bearing in mind that the panel might offer a means of escape.
The masculine clothes were laid aside and she was ordered to array herself in the finest feminine garments. Jewelry was brought and she was allowed to make her own selections. Out of a preference for simplicity she chose only a diamond-studded comb and a single armlet of changing colors-
Eager to learn, what had happened to Ernest Vardon, she was cooperative, and was waiting when Wilmo the Younger entered.
Sitting on the couch side by side, they were carried to a rose-lighted chamber. Apprehension came as Wilmo the Younger’s intention became clear. Aleta fought; but how long she might have been able to resist was a doubtful matter until the sounds of loud voices and clamoring reached them.
Wilmo rose quickly, felt for weapons, and discovered that he was unarmed. He lunged toward the archway, recoiled, and staggered back toward her.
Rahn Buskner came on into the room, his vast body towering above the Eg. Clamorous sounds rose in volume.
Cries and shrieks reached Aleta’s ears.
“We have searched long for this place,” said Rahn Buskner, picking up Wilmo by the top of his jacket and flinging him through the archway. He looked at Aleta. “You made nice bait,” he said. “And your charms have increased.” He fingered the filmy white translucence that covered her body. “Move along,” he added. “You’ll bring a price on the slave block.”
She was marched along the corridor. Ahead of her were prodded a number of cringing Egs. Some twenty Novakkans were with Rahn Buskner. They went from chamber to chamber looting, and screams shrieked through the air when they discovered the quarters of the women.
The women were violated indiscriminately without regard to time and place. The corridor was a madhouse of shrieking females and brutal Novakkans. The sight was so horrifying that the captive Egs turned on their captors.
It occurred to Aleta that this was what the Novakkans wanted. They seemed to prefer fighting even to dalliance with the opposite sex. Their roaring voices were remindful of beasts in zoos. And instead of killing the Egs they crippled them. They broke arms and legs and other bones until their opponents could no longer struggle. Then they rounded up the women again and the orgy continued.
Aleta was spared all but a brief part of the nightmare. Rahn Buskner had taken her in charge.
“This woman,” Buskner announced in a thunderous voice, “is part of the booty of the last raid. She goes on the block unspoiled. Should any man touch her in my absence that man shall have his eyes put out, his ears and lips cut away, his skin removed by inches, and then he shall be kept alive in the special chamber aboard ship. If you want her, buy her. Then do what you will with her.”
The scenes gave Aleta an inkling of what her fate might be. The pleas of the helpless women brought nothing but jeering laughter. Some women succeeded in killing themselves. Others were less fortunate. Still others resigned themselves and submitted. And not a few entered into the orgy with what seemed abandon.
The scene was soon left behind. Rahn Buskner led Aleta out of the palace into dark corridors where floats were waiting. In less than an hour she was again out in the rays of the yellow star.
“Where,” she asked, “is Ernest Vardon?”
Her question was ignored. In the heart of the city she was escorted into a large building and into an audience chamber where waited an overdressed woman and a Novakkan who wore arm bands.
“The ruse succeeded,” Rahn Buskner reported. “Our instruments were attuned to the trinkets I gave her. She discarded most of them but continued to wear one bracelet until it was removed in the mountain place. We knew her location at every moment.”
“You are bringing out the wealth?” the other prodded.
“With the exception of minor looting.”
“Good.” The seated Novakkan eyed Aleta with interest. “She seems to have considerable appeal,” he said. “Perhaps—”
The woman sat up straighter. “No, Dral,” she said. “Keep to your original plan. The girl Aleta must go on the block. She is part of the loot from the raider.”
The Novakkan nodded, turned to Rahn Buskner. “Take prisoner the Eg of the house of Admo, and the other at the Vinth garden. Round up all who helped her.”
Aleta’s breathing became difficult. “What,” she asked, “are you going to do with them?”
The Novakkan speculated briefly.
“Have them dismembered unless you can suggest a more pleasant way of disposing of them.”
“But they’re guilty of nothing except being friendly,” she went on. “There’s no justice in punishing them.”
“We have reason to believe that they kept Wilmo informed of our movements,” he pointed out. “It is possible that Wilmo has brought Earth warships here in the past to attack us.” He looked at Rahn Buskner. “Take her away,” he added.
Aleta raised her voice. “What happened to Ernest Vardon?” she demanded.
“Her lover!” the woman jeered. “Tell her what is to happen to him.”
“Take her away,” the Novakkan repeated. “To the block.”
Aleta moved as in darkness. It didn’t seem real that indirectly she had caused so much suffering and death. And there was more to come.
The part about it that pained her most was that she was helpless to fight back. All her life she had been moved at the whims of men or the needs of war. Something within her rebelled. The cunning part of her brain worked feverishly. Somehow she would avenge the deaths and the indignities.
The sense of helplessness rose. She tried to counter it with the thought that right must triumph over might, but the pages of history were covered with the denial. Might was the force that prevailed from the beginning. Sometimes it was allied with Right. Just as often it moved blindly.
There was order in the universe. The law of it was that the strong shall prevail.
Then, she told herself, she would become strong. She would become as ruthless as the men who held her prisoner. By every cunning born in her sex, by every wile and strategem she had ever learned, she would fight back. Somewhere in the course of events an opportunity would come.
She was taken to a large platform about which were gathered vast numbers of nearly every race she could name. Minutes passed before her eyes were clear enough to distinguish individual faces. Then she saw Ernest Vardon-
His artificial leg had been removed. The toll taken by his injuries still showed. During her capture by Wilmo he must have relapsed. Now he was little more than a grim shadow.
Her heart ached with pity. She started to move toward him, but was restrained. He, too, was on the platform, surrounded by Novakkans.
She was pushed to the center. All but two Novakkans fell back from about her. The one nearest spoke in a strange tongue and with gestures. He seemed amused about something.
The eyes of the audience, she noted, were on her. Not a few seemed unduly interested in her figure, gowned, as it was, in filmy transparence.
The second Novakkan spoke in her own language. “We are now open for offers. She is taller than most Earthwomen, of extraordinary beauty, a plaything worthy of a Novakkan.” He glanced at her. “Could be made useful, too. Very apt at attending wounds, and our calling keeps us abundantly supplied with such. Think how pleasant it would be to return from a raid with your throat cut, your guts spilling out through body wounds, and to have a creature like that stick you back together again.”
There was a chorus of laughter.
“But I need not extol her virtues,” the Novakkan went on. “A lusty female strong enough to be an interesting playmate even for i Novakkan, strong enough to endure for weeks, possibly months. Golgon women and the fragile light-skinned girls lose their spirit after a day or two, as do most Earthwomen. But here is value incomparable. Worth fighting over. What am I offered?”
The bidding began with enthusiasm, grew heated. Aleta was revolted.
“Strip her,” one huge Novakkan roared. “Let us see what we’re buying.”
&nb
sp; As the man beside her reached to tear the filmy wraps from her body, Aleta glimpsed Ernest Vardon out of the corner of an eye. As he had stood between her and the lustful men on the lifeship so now he attempted to come to her aid. His artificial leg unattached, he could only hop. And he hadn’t much strength even for that. Only his courage was still at flood tide-
His first effort brought only a mild cuffing. His second and third efforts caused him to be instantly surrounded by green-tinged giants, who hammered him to the floor of the platform.
Blindly Aleta fought. She couldn’t see what she was doing, but felt her nails sink into flesh, knew that she was kicking and screaming. Something smashed against her cheek again and again. They were, she discovered, blows from the open palm of a Novakkan hand, and they almost knocked her senseless.
Rahn Buskner leaped forward. His knife touched the throat of the man who had done the slapping.
“This girl is part of the booty,” he growled. “You damage her and you rob every man on the raider of part of his share of the spoils.”
“Cut his throat, Buskner,” shouted someone in the audience, and others soon took up the cry.
Other armed Novakkans leaped to the platform. Knives gleamed in a dozen hands. Order was restored.
“Go on with the sale,” an officer ordered. “And the next man that bruises that girl before he has bought her will be dismembered. She is property. Sell her and then let her owner bruise her as he will.”
The bidding resumed. The flat-nosed man who had approached Aleta in the shower aboard the raider pushed his way to the front. “I bid half my share of the spoils in the last raid,” he said.
From far back in the audience another voice sounded. “I bid a small pleasure cruiser capable of reaching Earth and return,” it said. Aleta’s eyes found the source, recognized Nyuk. Scores of Novakkan eyes turned and glared at him.
No Eg had thus far bid. In fact, none seemed willing to bid against a Novakkan.
“I offer three fourths of my share of the spoils,” Flat-nose added.
