In the Beginning: Tales From the Pulp Era

by Robert Silverberg

  There was a sound as of distant thunder coming from below. Someone running up the stairs, Hendrin wondered? He paused, listening.

  The noise grew louder. Yes. Someone was coming.

  Cautiously he stepped back into the shadows of the landing, and peered downward waiting to see who was coming.

  He could see, on the winding levels below, the figure—the figure of an Earthman. By Hargo, he thought. It’s the one who tried to buy the girl from me—Archman! What’s he doing here?

  Then the Mercurian thought: He’s shifty. Perhaps I can use him.

  He ducked back into the shadows and waited. A moment later Archman, breathless, came racing up the stairs. Hendrin let him round the bend, then stepped out of the darkness and seized the Earthman firmly.

  Lon Archman stiffened tensely as the unknown attacker’s arms tightened about his chest. He struggled to free his hands, to get at the zam-gun, but it was impossible. The assailant held his arms pinioned in an unbreakable hold.

  He squirmed and kicked backward; his foot encountered a hard surface.

  A deep voice said, “Hold still, Archman! I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Hendrin. The Mercurian. Where are you heading?”

  “None of your business,” Archman said. “Let go of me.”

  To his surprise, the blue alien said, “All right.” Archman found himself free. He stepped away and turned, one hand on his zam-gun.

  The Mercurian was making no attempt at an attack. “I want to talk to you,” Hendrin said.

  “Talk away,” Archman snapped.

  “Where are you coming from? What are you doing in the palace, anyway?”

  “I’m coming from the dungeons, where I was tossed by some of Darrien’s tunnel guards. I’m escaping. Understand that? And as soon as I’m through telling you this, I’m going to blast a hole in you so you don’t carry the word back to your master Darrien.”

  Surprise and shock were evident on the Mercurian’s face. “Escaping? From Darrien?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange. From our brief meeting I thought you were loyal. Who are you, Archman?”

  “That doesn’t much concern you.” He gestured impatiently with the zam-gun, but he was reluctant to blast the Mercurian down. It seemed that the blue man was concealing something that could be important.

  There was a curious expression on the Mercurian’s hard-shelled face, as well. Archman looked warily around; no one was in sight. He wondered just how loyal to Darrien the Mercurian was…and if Hendrin could be used to further his own ends.

  “I’ve just been talking to that girl you brought in here,” he said. “What’s she doing in the dungeons? I thought you were going to sell her to Darrien.”

  “I did. Darrien’s mistress Meryola had a fit of jealousy and ordered the girl killed, while Darrien’s back was turned.”

  “I see!” Archman now understood a number of things. “All’s not well between Darrien and his mistress, then?” He grinned. “And you’re the cause of the trouble, I’ll bet.”

  “Exactly,” said the Mercurian. “You say the girl’s still in the dungeons alive?”

  Archman nodded. “For the time being. She’s locked in, but the jailer’s dead. I killed him when I escaped.”

  “Hmm. I’m in a funny fix—Darrien wants me to get the girl back for him, or else he’ll kill me—but if I return the girl Meryola kills me. It’s a tight squeeze for me.”

  “I’ll say.” Plans were forming rapidly in Archman’s mind. If he could get the girl out of the dungeon, and somehow manipulate her and this Mercurian, who was undeniably in a bad situation—

  “Earthman, can I trust you to keep your tongue quiet?” Hendrin asked suddenly.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “I’ll have to take my chances then. But you’re a renegade; I’ll assume your highest loyalty isn’t to Darrien but to yourself. Am I right?”

  “You could be,” Archman admitted.

  “Okay. How would you like to have that girl for yourself, plus half a million credas? It can be arranged, if you’ll play along with me.”

  Archman allowed a crafty glint of greediness to shine in his eyes, and said, “You kidding?”

  “Mercurians generally play for keeps. I’m telling the truth. Are you interested? The girl, and half a million platinum credas.”

  “Who foots the bill?”

  There was a long pause. Then Hendrin said, “Krodrang. The Overlord of Mercury. I’m in his pay.”

  A tremor of astonishment rocked Archman, nearly throwing him off guard. He mastered himself and said, “I thought you were one of Darrien’s men. What’s this about Krodrang?”

  Lowering his voice and peering cautiously around the stairs, the Mercurian said: “Krodrang is one who would usurp the power of Darrien. I’m on Mars for the purpose of killing Darrien and stealing his power. If you’ll play along with me, I’ll see to it that you get the girl—and Krodrang is not a poor man.”

  Archman was totally amazed. So there were two assassins out for Darrien’s neck! Well, he thought, between us we ought to get him.

  But as he stared at the Mercurian, he knew that killing Darrien would not end the job. Hendrin would have to go, too—or else he’d get back to Krodrang with the plans for the Clanton Mine, the orthysynthetic robots, and other of Darrien’s secrets, and Earth would face attack from Mercury.

  It would take delicate handling. But for the moment Archman had an ally working toward the same end he was.

  “Well?” Hendrin asked. “What do you say?”

  “Kill Darrien and collect from Krodrang, eh? It sounds good to me. Only—how are you going to get at Darrien? Those orthysynthetic robots—”

  “Meryola knows which of the Darriens is real and which a robot. And she’s scared stiff that the Earthgirl’s going to replace her in Darrien’s affections. I’ve got an idea,” Hendrin said. “We can play Darrien and Meryola off against each other and get everything we want from them. It’s tricky, but I think you’re a good man, Earthman—and I know I am.”

  He had the Mercurian’s characteristic lack of modesty, Archman thought. The Earthman wondered how far he could trust the blueskin.

  It looked good. As long as the Mercurian thought that Archman was simply a mercenary selling out to the highest bidder and not a dedicated Earthman with a stake of his own in killing Darrien, all would be well.

  “Where do we begin?” Archman asked.

  “We begin by shaking hands. From now on we’re in league to assassinate the tyrant Darrien, you and I.”

  “Done!” Archman gripped the Mercurian’s rough paw tightly.

  “All right,” Hendrin said. “Let’s get down to the dungeon and free Elissa. Then I’ll explain the plan I’ve got in mind.”

  In the musty, dank darkness of the dungeon level, Archman said, “She’s in that cell—the third one from the left. But I don’t know how to open it. There’s a Martian in there with her.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “They came to get me—Dorvis Graal wanted to question me on some silly matter, which is why I was being held here. I decided to make a break for it. The door was closing as I ran out. The girl and the Martian were trapped inside.”

  “And you couldn’t get them out?”

  “No,” Archman said. “I couldn’t figure out how to open the door again. I tried, but it was no go, so I started up the stairs. Then you caught me.”

  The Mercurian nodded. Suddenly he stumbled and grunted a sharp Mercurian curse.

  “What happened?”

  “Tripped on something.” He looked down and said, “By the fins I’d say it’s a Plutonian. His head’s been blown off with a zam-gun.”

  “That’s the jailer,” Archman said. “I killed him when I escaped.”

  “He would have known how to open this damned lock, too. Well, I guess it couldn’t be helped. Did you try blasting this door open with your gun?”

  “Wouldn�
��t work. The door heated up, but that was all.”

  Again the Mercurian grunted. He began to grope along the wall, feeling his way, looking for a switch. Archman joined him, even though in the murky darkness he could scarcely see. The Mercurian’s eyes were much sharper. A Mercurian needed extraordinary eyes: they had to filter out the fantastic glare of the sun in one hemisphere, and yet be able to see in the inky gloom of Mercury’s nightside.

  “These doors work by concealed relays,” Archman said. “There ought to be a switch that trips the works and pulls back the door. That Plutonian knew where it was.”

  “And so do I,” Hendrin exclaimed. He extended a clawed hand into one of the darkest corners of the cell block and said, “There are four controls here. I guess it’s one for each of these cells. I’m going to pull the third from the left, and you get ready in case that Martian makes trouble.”

  “Right.”

  Archman drew his zam-gun and stood guard. No sound came from within; he hoped Elissa was all right. She’d been left alone with that Martian for nearly twenty minutes now. Quite possibly the tusked creature had recovered consciousness by now. Archman hoped not.

  “Here goes,” Hendrin said.

  He yanked the switch. The relays clicked and the door slid open.

  Archman half expected the Martian to come charging out as soon as the door opened. He expected to be fighting for his life. He expected almost anything but what he actually saw.

  The Martian was lying where he had left him, sprawled in the middle of the cell. Elissa, clad only in her single filmy garment, was squatting by the Martian’s head.

  As the door opened, the Martian stirred. Elissa coolly reached out, grabbed a handful of the alien’s wiry skull-hair, and cracked the Martian’s head soundly against the concrete floor of the cell. The Martian subsided.

  Elissa looked up, saw Archman. “Oh—it’s you.”

  “Yes. I came back to free you,” he said. “I see you’ve been having no trouble with your friend here.”

  She laughed a little hysterically. “No. Every time he started to wake up, I banged his head against the floor. But I didn’t know how long I could keep on doing it.”

  “You don’t need to any more,” said Hendrin, appearing suddenly. “Archman, you’d better tie the Martian up so he doesn’t give us any more trouble.”

  At the sight of the hulking Mercurian, Elissa uttered a little gasp. “You—!”

  “What am I going to tie him in?” Archman asked.

  “You might tear my robe up into strips,” Elissa suggested, bitter sarcasm in her voice. “I’ve been wearing clothing for almost an hour anyway.”

  “That’s an idea,” said the Mercurian coolly. “Yes—use her robe, Archman.”

  The Earthman chuckled. “I don’t think she intended you to take her seriously, Hendrin. I’ll use my shirt instead.”

  “As you please,” the Mercurian said.

  Elissa glared defiantly at both of them. “Who are you going to sell me to now?” she asked. “You, Hendrin—you’ve parlayed me into quite a fortune by now, haven’t you?”

  Archman realized that he had told the girl his true identity. Cold sweat covered him at the recollection. If she should give him away—

  To prevent that he said quickly, “Say, Hendrin, the girl’s had a raw deal. I suggest we tell her what part she plays in this enterprise right now.”

  “Very well. I’m sorry for the mistreatment I’ve given you,” Hendrin told her. “Unfortunately you became part of a plan. I’m on Mars for the purpose of assassinating Darrien. I’m in the pay of Krodrang of Mercury.”

  “And I’m assisting him,” Archman said hastily, nudging Elissa to warn her not to ask any questions. “We’re both working to assassinate Darrien. You can help us, Elissa.”

  “How?”

  “Hendrin will explain,” Archman said.

  “I’ll help you only at one condition—that you free me once whatever plan you have is carried out.”

  Hendrin glanced at Archman, who nodded. “Very well,” Hendrin lied. “You receive your freedom once the job is done.” He smiled surreptitiously at Archman as if to tell him, The girl will be yours.

  Archman rose. “There. He’s tied. All right, Hendrin: explain this plan of yours, and then let’s get out of here.”

  He faced the Mercurian eagerly, wondering just what the blue man had devised. Archman was a shrewd opportunist; he had to be, to handle his job. Right now he was willing to pose as Hendrin’s stooge or as anything else, for the sake of killing Darrien. Afterward, he knew he could settle the score with Krodrang’s minion.

  “Here’s what I have in mind,” Hendrin said. “Darrien and Meryola are at odds over this girl, right? Very well, then. I’ll take Elissa back to Darrien—”

  “No!” This from the girl.

  “Just for a few minutes, Elissa. To continue: I’ll take the girl to Darrien, and tell him that Meryola ordered her killed, and I’ll make up enough other stories so Darrien will send out an order to execute Meryola. I think he’s sufficiently smitten by Elissa to do that.

  “Meanwhile, you, Archman—you go to Meryola and tell her what I’ve done. Tell her Darrien is going to have her killed, and suggest to her that if she wants to stay alive she’d better get to Darrien first. After that, it’s simple. She’ll tell you how to kill Darrien; you do it, we rescue Elissa, get Meryola out of the way somehow, and the job is done. Neat?”

  “I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Archman said admiringly. It was so: this was exactly as he would have handled the situation. He felt a moment of regret that he and Hendrin were working for opposite masters; what a valuable man the Mercurian would be in Intelligence!

  But Hendrin would have to die too, for Earth’s sake. He was a clever man. But so was Darrien, Archman thought. And Darrien would have to die.

  “What about me?” Elissa asked. “Are you sure you’ll get me out of this all right?”

  Archman took her hand in his, and was gratified that she didn’t pull away. “Elissa, we’re asking you to be a pawn one last time. One more sale—and then we’ll rid the universe of Darrien. Will you cooperate?”

  She hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled wanly. “I’m with you,” she said.

  Hendrin waited nervously outside the throneroom with the girl. “You say Darrien’s in there, but not Meryola?” he asked the unsmiling guard.

  “Just Darrien,” the guard replied.

  “The stars are with us,” Hendrin muttered. He took the girl’s arm and they went in.

  Together they dropped on their knees. “Sire!”

  Darrien rose from the throne, and an expression of joy lit his warped little face. “Well, Mercurian! You’ve brought the girl—and saved your life.”

  “I did it not to save my life but my honor,” Hendrin said unctuously. “Your Majesty had accused me of acting in bad faith—but I’ve proved my loyalty by recovering the girl for you.”

  Darrien came waddling toward them on his absurdly tiny legs and looked Elissa up and down. “You’ve been in the dungeons, my dear. I can tell by the soot clinging to your fair skin. But by whose order were you sent there?”

  Hendrin glanced at the courtiers, who maintained a discreet distance but still were within hearing. “Sire, may I talk to you a moment privately?”

  “About what?”

  “About the girl…and Meryola.”

  Darrien’s sharp eyes flashed. “Come with me, then. Your words may be of value to me.”

  The dwarfish tyrant led Hendrin into a smaller but equally luxurious room that adjoined the throne room. Hendrin stared down at the tiny Darrien, nearly half his height. Within that swollen skull, the Mercurian thought, lay the galaxy’s keenest and most fiendish mind. Could Darrien be manipulated? That was yet to be seen.

  One thing was certain: this was not the real Darrien before him. The tyrant would not be so foolish as to invite a massive Mercurian into a small closed room like this; it would amount to an invitati
on to assassinate him.

  “Sire, the girl Elissa was in the dungeons at the direct order of the lady Meryola.”

  “I suspected as much,” Darrien muttered.

  “And when I arrived there, I found that the jailer was about to carry out an order of execution on Elissa, also at your lady’s behest.”

  “What!”

  Hendrin nodded. “So strong was the order that I was forced to kill the jailer, a worthless Plutonian, to prevent him from carrying out the execution.”

  “This is very interesting,” Darrien mused. “Meryola rightly senses a rival—and has taken steps to eliminate her. Steps which you have circumvented, Hendrin.” Gratitude shone in Darrien’s crafty eyes.

  “I have further news for you, Sire. When you came upon me in Meryola’s chambers earlier today—it was not an errand of perfumery that brought me there.”

  “I hardly thought it might be.”

  “On the contrary—your lady was pleading with me—to assassinate you!”

  Darrien—or the Darrien-robot—turned several shades paler. Hendrin reflected that the robot, if this were one, was an extraordinarily sensitive device.

  “She said this to you?” Darrien asked. “She threatened my life?”

  “She offered me five thousand credas. Naturally, I refused. Then she offered me her body as well—and at this point you entered the room.”

  Darrien scowled. “My life is worth only five thousand credas to her, eh? But tell me—had I not entered the room, Mercurian, would you have accepted her second offer?”

  “I was sorely tempted,” Hendrin said, grinning. “But pretty women are easily come by—while you are unique.”

  “Mere flattery. But you’re right; Meryola has outlived her worth to me, and I see now that I’ll have to dispose of her quickly.” Darrien reached for the speaking-tube at his elbow. “I’ll order her execution at once—and many thanks to you for this information, friend Hendrin.”

  Archman paused for a moment outside the door of Meryola’s private chamber, preparing his plan of attack and reviewing the whole operation so far.

  He’d been in and out of trouble—but Darrien was going to die. The mission would be accomplished. And Lon Archman would sur-vive it.