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Title: Secret of the Earth Star
Author: Henry Kuttner
Release date: January 26, 2025 [eBook #75218]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: Ziff-Davis Publishing Company, 1942
Credits: Alex White, Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECRET OF THE EARTH STAR ***
Secret of the EARTH STAR
By
HENRY KUTTNER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories August 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_The theft of the Earth Star blazed a trail of death to a weird
city under the Sahara._
[Illustration: The jewel glowed and death leaped from the gun]
CHAPTER I
Despite the blazing heat of the hot Indian night, this air-conditioned
room in the palace was cool and comfortable. It was a bit too luxurious
for a business office; otherwise, it might have been any New York suite.
Three men sat at a small glass-topped table, on which stood a Gladstone
bag.
They rose as two Indians entered, bowing respectfully to the Rajah. The
latter was a small, weak-faced man with a straggling moustache and lips
too large and red for his sallow face. He barely acknowledged the
greetings, his gaze riveted on the leather bag.
“You have the Earth Star?” he asked.
“Yes,” said one of the three Europeans. He opened the bag, unlocked a
metal case built into it, and withdrew a jewel-case. This he opened and
placed flat on the table.
The Rajah’s mouth went dry. He could not repress a little shiver. “The
Earth Star ...” he whispered.
On black velvet the great gem flamed. It was lens-shaped and supernally
lovely, with rays of living light flaming out from its heart. The colors
latent within it changed and shifted under the soft illumination. It was
like a diamond—yet no diamond had ever possessed the wonder of the
Earth Star.
The Rajah’s secretary breathed deeply. “Carbon,” he murmured. “A
tree-fern some million years ago—”
One of the Europeans interrupted, though he did not look away from the
jewel. “A little more than that, sir. It took unusual pressure to make
the Earth Star. It came from the new cavern mines under the Atlantic,
you know, when they were taking cores to test from immense depths. A
tree-fern made the Earth Star—but that fern was somehow buried deeper
than man has ever thought possible. It’s immensely harder than diamond,
though it’s carbon, of course. And the only one in existence—”
The Rajah said softly, “There is an Earth Star in the crown of your
ruler.”
A subdued smile went the rounds of the group. “So there is, and an
excellent imitation, too. I repeat: you will be the owner of the only
Earth Star in existence.”
The Rajah placed his slim hand, glittering with invaluable jeweled
rings, flat on the table-top. “Then it is a bargain. My secretary will
give you a check.”
Abruptly the moonlight was blotted out. The figure of a man seemed to
rush out of the night, leaping in through the open window to land
lightly on the deep carpet. And that window overlooked a sheer abyss,
reaching down to the river gorge far below.
The sudden movements of the Europeans, and the quick gesture of the
Rajah’s secretary, were arrested at sight of an oddly shaped pistol in a
gloved hand. The intruder stood motionless, one hand gripping a light
metal ladder that extended up through the window and out of sight. He
wore ordinary flying togs, but his face was hidden by a black silk mask.
“Don’t move,” he said, in a low voice that was obviously disguised.
“No—don’t do that!” The pistol jerked slightly; otherwise there was no
indication that the trigger had been pulled. But one of the Europeans
cursed softly as his arm dropped to his side, paralyzed.
“A neurogun,” the masked man observed pleasantly. “It _can_ kill, you
know.... I’ll thank you not to move. Now—” He hooked the flexible
ladder across a chair and moved warily to the table. “The Earth Star,
eh?”
“Don’t be a fool,” the secretary said. “You can’t hope to sell that.
It’s unique.”
The intruder did not answer, but his quizzical gaze was amused. The
tallest of the Europeans snarled, “Sell it? Jackass—haven’t you ever
heard of the Merlin?”
As he spoke, his foot moved slightly toward the chair to which the
ladder was attached. He froze as the Merlin turned toward him.
“You recognize me?”
“I’ve heard of you.”
“Good!” The Merlin’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Then listen! I have ways
of finding out what I want to know. I discovered that certain powers
ruling your country had decided to sell the Earth Star to our friend the
Rajah. The price I don’t know, but it must be fabulous. If that money
were to go to needed purposes, I’d not have come here tonight.”
The tall European kicked the chair gently. The metal ladder slipped off,
slid across the carpet, and vanished out the window. The Merlin
apparently did not notice, though his retreat was now cut off.
* * * * *
He went on: “But the money is to be used for armaments. And you
gentlemen, and those behind you, are trying to foment a new war. As for
you—” He glanced at the Rajah. “You are a degenerate moron. _Don’t
move!_ It’s probably the first time you’ve ever heard the truth, but
you’re going to hear it now. You’re the wealthiest man in the Orient,
and you inherited your fortune, as well as your powers. You won’t buy
the Earth Star out of your own treasury, though. It’ll mean taxes for
your people, who are starving already. Another reason why I’m here.”
The Merlin glanced down. “This bit of carbon is causing trouble, I
think. So I’ll take it along. The imitation that was made to replace it
won’t interest the Rajah. So—”
He slipped the jewel in his pocket and moved back toward the window. The
others watched him narrowly. The Merlin apparently did not notice the
absence of his metal ladder.
The gun was still steady in one hand, but in the other he now held an
object like a small flashlight. “You may be interested in knowing how I
evaded your guards and alarms. I came in a gyroship.”
“But—my motor-killing rays—” The Rajah’s eyes were wide.
“They extend up only 300 feet. I hovered well above that point and came
down a ladder. And here it is.”
The ladder swung in from the darkness. The Merlin’s voice was amused as
he slipped the “flashlight” into his flying suit.
“A clever trick—but I have a very powerful magnet. I’ll leave you,
gentlemen—”
For an instant his attention was distracted as he put one foot on the
window-sill. Simultaneously the tallest European acted. With a
deep-voiced oath he sprang forward, seized the Merlin, and clamped one
hand over the outlaw’s gun-wrist.
“Hold him!” the secretary shrilled. He dived for an alarm buzzer. The
other Europeans closed in.
The Merlin fought in silence. His opponent was trying to drag him back
into the room—and that would be fatal. The outlaw dropped his weapon
and gripped the ladder, with both hands now.
He pulled himself up, putting all his weight on his arms. Inevitably the
European was lifted too. Overbalanced, the two went arcing into the
night as clutching fingers missed their mark by a fraction.
“Shoot!” the Rajah screamed. “Shoot him!”
Guns blazed from the window. Dim in the moonlight two figures were
struggling on a frail metal ladder, suspended above nothingness. A scrap
of cloth went fluttering down.
“His mask—”
Out of the dark came a voice, sharp and clear.
“_Martell!_”
It rose in a scream. One of the figures went plunging down.
The secretary was at the window, a flashlight in his hand. He focused
the beam on the quarry, a man in flying togs who kept his face turned
from the light. Now other rays shot out from the roof, bathing the
Merlin in merciless brilliance. A shot cracked sharply.
“They’ll get him,” the Rajah said. “I’ve sub-machine guns on the roof.”
The Merlin’s hand lifted, fumbled over the ladder. And—suddenly—he was
gone! Ladder and outlaw vanished!
The Rajah stared in blank amazement. “How—”
“Automatic winding device in his plane. It just wound him up.” The
European who spoke looked at his empty gun. “Better get your planes
after him.”
At a nod from the Rajah the secretary hurried from the room. “We’ll get
him,” royalty remarked.
“No, you won’t. The Merlin’s got a fast plane. He’s pulled off these
things before. But this time—well, he lost his mask.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Stone did, before he fell. He screamed a name. Remember? Martell.”
“A common name,” the Rajah frowned.
“Stone and I worked closely together. He knew no Martells. He recognized
the name and the face from elsewhere. Newsreels—newspapers—everybody
knows Seth Martell and his sons. I’ll get in touch with my government
immediately. May I use your televisor?”
“Yes. Recover the Earth Star, and I’ll buy it.”
“That,” said the European grimly, “is a bargain.”
CHAPTER II
Escape
Seth Martell’s craggy, strong face was set in harsh lines as he sat
staring at a folded paper on his desk. Sunlight came warmly through the
windows of the penthouse apartment above New York, silvering Martell’s
iron-gray hair and clipped moustache. He looked hard as nails—till he
lifted his lids and gazed at the three young men before him.
Seth Martell was one of the biggest men in America. Connected with the
military, high up in the government, his honesty had never been
questioned, nor his devotion to his country. Always he had been
unswerving in serving his own ideals, no matter what self-sacrifice it
entailed. Now—
Now there was pain in his gray eyes.
He looked at his three sons and hesitated, tapping the folded document
with stubby, calloused fingers.
“Well?”
None of the three spoke.
Martell reached for a buzzer, and then drew back his hand. He looked at
the tallest of the three.
“Tony. Are you the Merlin?”
Tony—a dark, lean young man, with very keen black eyes and a thin eager
face—cocked up a quizzical eyebrow. “I, sir? The—”
Martell’s restraint failed for an instant as he snapped, “Answer me!”
Tony sobered. “No, sir,” he said quietly. “I’m not.”
“Phil.”
The second youth, blond and stocky, took a stubby pipe out of his mouth.
“No, sir.”
“Jimmy.”
The third of the trio looked somewhat like Tony, though a less matured
man. The eagerness in Tony’s face was enthusiasm in Jimmy’s, boyish and
pleasant. He shot a quick glance at the others, hesitated, and finally
said, with a little frown, “I’m not the Merlin, sir.”
Martell sighed. “All right. Go in the sun-room and wait, boys. The
investigators will be in presently.” He sat steadily regarding his nails
till his sons had departed.
Tony left them at the door. “Be with you directly,” he murmured, and
hurried off along the corridor. The others went into the room, and ten
minutes later the oldest of the three came in, his face blandly
impassive. He went to the window and stood staring out over the
skyscrapers of New York, waiting on the verge of the 21st century. He
began to whistle ruminatively.
“Seth insisted on interviewing us before the detecs. Good of him.”
Young Jimmy, nervously lighting a cigarette, nodded. “Damn good. But all
this.... I don’t understand it.”
Phil’s serious eyes were questioning. “Are you sure? There’s no doubt
the authorities think one of us is a crook. I wonder—”
There was a little silence. Finally Jimmy asked, “Who is this Merlin,
anyway?”
“Cleverest crook in the world,” said Tony, turning. “At least, he’s been
kicking around for two years. That means a lot these days. He’s pretty
much of a Robin Hood. Only kills in self-defense—and never for personal
profit.”
Phil broke in, “Plenty of criminals have evaded capture for years, but
they’re the small fry. Not important enough to attract attention. But
the Merlin—everyone thinks he’s had years of experience. Remember when
Janison died? The governor? The Merlin killed him, and nobody knew why
till they found out Janison was one of the biggest political racketeers
in the country. He’s a Robin Hood of sorts, but the law won’t stand for
Robin Hoods.”
“And,” said Tony sardonically, “one of us is the Merlin. So they say.”
Phil grinned. “Which one?”
“Oh, they’ll find out. They’ll chart our psychology—our character
patterns—and check it with the analysis of the Merlin’s activities.
Their lie-detectors will tell them which one of us is the Merlin. That’s
positive identification, you know.”
* * * * *
Jimmy crushed out his cigarette, lips working. He swung suddenly on the
others.
“You’re damn flippant about it! What if it’s true? What if one of us
_is_ this crook—d’you know what that’ll mean to Seth? His son shown to
the world as a thief and a murderer. Seth will stick by us; I know that.
But I know what his honor means to him. He got that silver plate in his
skull because he thought more of honor than his life. And now—”
“Shut up, Jimmy,” Phil said quietly. “We know all that. But what can we
do about it?”
Tony murmured, “Our youngest brother is about to suggest that the Merlin
confess. A touching sentiment. Headlines all over the world announcing
the news. Seth resigning all his offices immediately—he’d do that.
Everyone knowing that a son of Seth Martell was—the Merlin.”
Phil said, “The Merlin might ... disappear.”
“He’d have to disappear for good. Suppose I’m the lad, Philip, and
suppose I disappear. A signed confession would be just as effective. The
moment I disappear, it proves I’m the Merlin. No one has ever watched
us. As Seth’s sons, we’re above the routine character-checks. We
reported to Seth once a month. Otherwise we were free, all of us, with
plenty of time to do as we pleased. Including brigandage!”
Phil grunted. “Anyway, people can’t simply drop out of sight in this day
and age. Not with television, specialized wireless, telephotography, and
so forth. Where the devil could a man hide for years?”
“In the Foreign Legion,” Tony said, and waited. His gaze searched the
faces of the other two.
Surprise, astonishment, and incredulity showed. And vanished. Into
Phil’s eyes came a look of dogged grimness. And Jimmy’s face
showed—excitement.
“The Legion?” he asked.
“Yeah. No extradition. Since 1960, when the company started. No
government has a hand in the Legion. They rent its services from the
company, just as the Hessian dukes used to sell their soldiers to fight
for other countries. When there’s a job to be done too dirty for anyone
else, they ask the Legion—and waive extradition. The Polar fortresses.
The Sub-Sahara. The Canal Patrols on Mars. Dangerous space-lane patrols.
It isn’t like the ancient French Legion. This one’s privately owned,
and, once you get in, nothing on Earth or Mars can touch you. As long as
you’re in the Legion. Men don’t live long in it, as a rule.”
“Cheerful thought,” Phil grunted, puffing at his pipe. “By the way,
which of us _is_ the Merlin?”
Tony smiled. “I’m the guy, lads. And that’s what I’ve been building up
to. I’m going to drop out of sight. Head for the Legion. And—well, I
wanted you two to know about it. I can’t tell Seth, of course. But—”
“I’ll be damned,” Phil said in blank amazement. “You’ve got the Earth
Star?”
“That’s right.”
“Odd. I happen to have it myself. In a hollow tooth.”
“You’re both crazy,” said Jimmy. “I’ve got it.”
Tony shook his head. “It’s no use. There’s no point in the three of us
going into the Legion. One’s enough. So—”
Phil said, “Wait a minute. Suppose all three of us disappear? Nobody’d
press a charge against three men, when obviously two were innocent. I
happen to have the jewel myself—”
“Yeah,” Tony grunted. “But slow down. You’re both going off the
deep-end. I’m leaving now. Heading for the Legion, and you’re both
staying here.”
Jimmy said, “We’ll meet you there.”
The argument kept on—with no result. Jimmy and Phil were adamant. Each
one insisted he had the stolen gem. And, if they didn’t accompany Tony,
they’d simply go after him on their own hook. “So we’d better stick
together,” Phil said at last. “We’ll have a better chance that way.”
Tony’s lips were compressed. “You crazy fools! You’d do it, too ...
well, stay here. I’m going after an amphiplane.”
“What if the investigators get here first?” Phil asked.
“Stall ’em. And keep your eye on that window.”
Jimmy was chewing his lip. “How do you expect to get out? If there are
guards—”
* * * * *
Tony’s grin flashed. “You’ll find out.” He turned to the door—and was
gone, apparently unruffled. But as he hurried along the passage there
was a gnawing uneasiness in his mind. Guards would no doubt be watching
to prevent just such an attempt at escape as this. Only blind luck could
help now.
He went into the big, gleaming kitchen, a bare room with murals on its
walls. Every appliance had been built-in, so that stove, tables, and so
forth, could be swung out from their cubbyholes by the pressure of a
button. The room was empty.
Tony’s sharp eyes flickered about, resting at last on a panel near by.
He went to it, swung it open, and revealed a black hole beyond. The
dumbwaiter. A glance upward informed him that the little car was below,
though how far he did not know. Deftly Tony swung his legs through the
hole and seized the ropes in strong fingers.
He closed the panel behind him.
It wasn’t entirely dark. A diffused pale glow filtered down from above,
and gently, carefully, Tony let himself slip toward the shaft’s bottom.
It was a long chance. Unless he found footing on the dumbwaiter car
soon, his fingers would inevitably lose their cramped grip. For this was
a penthouse apartment in a skyscraper.
Down he went into the shaft. Skin scraped from his hands. It grew
darker, and below him was only unfathomable blackness. Tony hooked his
legs about the rope and rested for a few moments, though he dared not
delay long. Time was vitally important.
Then down he went again. He was in pitch darkness now, every muscle
strained and beginning to ache. His hands stung painfully. His shoulders
were throbbing.
Tony’s feet thumped softly upon the peaked top of the car.
Gasping with relief, he relaxed, keeping the ropes wound about his wrist
so that his weight would not carry the car to the bottom too suddenly.
But a moment later he was plummeting down, occasionally checking his
speed when caution grew stronger than the imperative need for haste. Up
in the penthouse Jimmy and Phil were waiting, perhaps being questioned
even now by the investigators. And Seth—unseen in the darkness, Tony’s
face grew grim. Seth was suffering. The old man’s devotion to his
ideals, to humanity was pitted against his genuine love for his three
step-sons. And one of those three was the Merlin.
Finally the car thumped against the bottom of the shaft. A little crack
of light indicated the panel opening into the porter’s cellar. Tony used
his knife-blade to open it, easing the door outward little by little
till he discovered that the room was vacant.
The rest was surprisingly easy. A pair of overalls and a cap in a closet
made a satisfactory disguise, and, carrying a can of rubbish, Tony
walked blandly past the service man posted on guard outside. He
deposited his burden on the sidewalk, and without a pause began to hurry
toward the corner. A hail stopped him.
“You, there! Wait a minute!”
Tony turned. The guard was following him, gaze probing. A thick finger
thrust out suspiciously.
“Where’re you going?”
The street was almost empty. Tony didn’t wait for the guard. He hastened
toward him, arms hanging loosely at his side—until the last moment.
Then, as recognition came into the man’s eyes and as his hand dived into
a pocket, Tony brought up his fist in a vicious uppercut. The blow was
delivered at such close quarters that it went unobserved by passers-by.
The dull thwack of bone against bone was the only sound. Tony caught the
guard as he fell, pulled him swiftly back into the cellar, and left him
there. The man was out for the count.
* * * * *
There were no other guards. Tony’s progress was not halted again. He
reached his destination, secured a small, swift amphiplane, equipped
with gyros, and lifted it through the port in the roof. Luckily, he had
plenty of money in his pocket—enough to buy the plane instead of
renting it, had he desired to do so. But, like most ships of this type,
the instrument board was fitted with a “homing pigeon” device, by which
the plane could be set to return to its garage along a radio beam
whenever desired.
Tony’s fingers flickered over the controls. The ship was a honey—small
and swift, built like a thick cigar, with retractable wings and props.
He swung up in a wide arc that presently brought him directly over the
penthouse that was his goal.
Briefly he wondered what had happened there, and whether Phil and Jimmy
were still waiting. Well—fast work was vital now. The investigators
were already on guard. Sight of an approaching plane would warn them of
trouble. Tony checked his controls, took a few deep breaths—and dropped
faster than was safe. The wind shrieked up into a high-pitched whine
past the ship, almost beyond the threshold of hearing.
The skyscraper leaped toward him like a driving lance. Its top seemed
about to impale him. But the controls had been expertly set, and the
craft fled down safely to one side, stopping with a bone-wrenching jolt
as the automatics took hold. Tony fought back giddiness and stared out
through swimming eyes. His blurred vision focused. Too far to the left—
He slid the ship forward. This was the window. Inside, he could see
Phil’s broad back, and one hand extended in a sign of warning. So the
investigators had already arrived. But where was Jimmy? Tony couldn’t be
sure.
A voice he didn’t recognize was talking. One of the investigators ...
“Well, we’ll find him. And the lie-detectors will give us the
information we want. Trying to frame Seth Martell is the dirtiest thing
the Merlin ever did.”
Jimmy said, “You’re nuts.”
“Yeah? One of our men saw it. The Merlin was opening Martell’s
safe—trying to put the Earth Star in it and throw the blame on Martell.
But he didn’t have time. Our man was too close, and the Merlin had to
scram in a hurry. Now—which one of you was it?”
Tony’s eyebrows lifted. A new element had entered into the affair.
Trying to throw the blame on Seth—yeah, that _was_ a hell of a lousy
trick. So—
Tony whistled softly, and saw Phil jerk aside, crying out something. A
slim form came hurtling toward the window. Tony got a glimpse of Jimmy’s
pale young face; then the boy was hurtling out into space, almost
overshooting the mark in his eagerness. Tony seized his arm and pulled
him back as he swayed on the ship’s edge. The craft dipped slightly
under the additional weight, and then lifted again as compensatory
stabilizers went into action.
* * * * *
From within the room came a crash, and a sharp cry of pain. Phil
appeared, his face stolid and expressionless. He jumped, landing
accurately, and immediately whirled. In his hand, Tony saw, was a bronze
figurine he had snatched up from a table.
“Run for it!” he snapped. There were faces in the window. A gun snarled
viciously. Phil hurled the figurine with deadly aim, shattering the
glass above the group, and the investigators dodged back as shards and
splinters showered them. Almost immediately they were back—but Tony’s
hands had found the controls.
The ship fled up. As it fled it curved southward, till far below could
be seen the shining waters of Long Island Sound.
Jimmy said tautly, “They’re coming after us. I can see planes—”
Phil touched a lever. The upper framework of the plane was instantly
sheathed with transparent walls, making it more than ever resemble a
fat, shining cigar.
Tony sent the craft rocketing down. Almost at the surface of the water,
he pulled out into a glide, swooping almost without a splash into the
Sound. The light was blotted out by green translucence that grew darker
as the ship slanted into the depths.
“Not too deep,” Phil suggested. “The hull won’t stand a crack-up.”
Tony didn’t answer. He was fingering the controls, trying to get every
possible bit of speed out of the ship before the pursuers located it
with their search-rays. If they could reach the outer Atlantic, they’d
be safe—barring accident. But they were not safe in the Sound.
Abruptly the water ahead sizzled and bubbled with heat. An aerial
torpedo had been launched. Tony shot up and then almost immediately
dived again, shifting sharply to the left. Before his companions could
get their breath, the ship was rushing back along the way it had came,
retracing its path. Jimmy said sharply, “What the hell—”
Phil’s fingers dug into the youngster’s arm. “Good idea, Tony.”
The latter nodded. “Maybe. We’ll dig in at the mouth of the Hudson.
They’ll never look for us there. Then tonight we can slip out, take the
air again—and head for the Company.”
Jimmy said, “Once we’re there, we’re safe. There’s no extradition from
the Legion, eh?”
“Only to Hell,” Tony remarked, grinning.
CHAPTER III
Legion of the Lost
“So,” said the fat little man with the shaved head, “so you want to join
the Legion. Eh?”
Tony looked him over. The dingy office in the outskirts of the North
African city was unimpressive. But, somehow, the little man was not. He
wore dirty white tropical linens, his face glistened with sweat, but to
the three brothers he represented fate. On his decision their destiny
would depend.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “We want to join. Well?”
The little man smiled, tapping pudgy fingers on the crowded desk. “Well.
Let’s see. You passed the physical examination. Your names are—Anthony.
Phillips. Jameson.” The pale blue eyes sparkled maliciously. “Better
remember ’em. Sometimes it’s hard at first, but you’ll get used to them.
I’m sure I don’t know why everyone who enters the Legion changes his
name. There’s no extradition. However ... You are joining for a term
of five years. If you wish to leave before then, you can buy your
freedom if you have the money. If you have not, you must serve your
term.
“You may try to escape. You may succeed. You may fail, and in that case
will be assigned to the guards in the uranium pits of Mars. No one has
ever escaped from there. It is not advisable—” The blue eyes were hard
as steel now. “It is scarcely wise to attempt escape. Aside from all
else, when you leave us, you are no longer under the Company’s
protection.”
He passed a plump hand over his shining head. “Anything more?”
Tony glanced at his brothers and shook his head. “Not a thing. What
happens next?”
“The Sub-Sahara post needs men. It’s an easy job for recruits, keeping
the Copts in check and seeing they don’t go outside raiding. Here!” A
buzzer rang, and soon a man entered, clad in the dull gray uniform of
the Legion. He saluted casually.
“Sir.”
“Captain Brady,” said the fat little man, “these three are assigned to
Sub-Sahara. Rookies. Anthony, Phillips, Jameson. Break ’em in.” He
immediately became engrossed in the papers piled high on his desk.
Tony looked at the officer with interest. He saw a spare figure, and a
worn, tired face, deeply lined, with sunken eyes and a clipped
moustache. An adventurer gone to seed, he thought—grown tired.
Brady said, “Come along,” and led the way out of the room. They emerged
in blazing white sunlight. A helicopter stood a few rods away, and the
captain gestured toward it.
“_’ntre._ We’ll fly, and talk as we go. Discipline needn’t begin till we
reach Sub-Sahara, so if you’ve any questions—I’m at your service.”
He pointed toward the plane, and followed the brothers into it. With
quick, familiar motions he lifted the craft into the air and sent it
winging southward.
“I’ll stop at Azouad. That’s an oasis on the way. You can get smokes and
equipment there—personal stuff you may want. That is—if you have any
money.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, but he merely said, “We’ve a little.” He shifted
on the worn leather seat, glancing aside at Captain Brady. The man’s
haggard face was immobile, the eyes mere slits as he squinted into the
flaming sunlight.
From the rear of the plane came Jimmy’s voice. “Just what is
Sub-Sahara?”
* * * * *
Brady’s voice went dull with routine. “Well—twenty years or more ago a
labyrinth of caverns was discovered under the Sahara. It was inhabited
by survivors of prehistoric Egyptians—Copts. They were trapped
underground in some ancient catastrophe, and got along there, gradually
growing accustomed to their environment. Matter of fact—there was a
sort of colony in the old pre-dynastic days down there. The Copts worked
mines, and there was a—well, a city of miners under the Sahara. When
the entrance was blocked, the miners couldn’t get out—so they stayed
there.”
“What about food?” Jimmy asked. “And oxygen?”
“There’s a lot about that Copt tribe we don’t know. Food—well, fish and
mushrooms are staples. The Midnight Sea lies under the Sahara. Ages ago
the water in it made the desert itself a sea, but it drained underground
at last. As for oxygen, there must have been outlets before we blasted
some, though they’ve never been discovered. Possibly through river caves
that drain into the sea.”
Captain Brady rubbed his eyes with the back of one mahogany hand. “A lot
we don’t know about the Copts. Savage, ferocious—but marvelous miners.
The Legion’s posted there to keep order. Prevent raids on the surface
tribes. The Copts worship Isis, or the Moon—I dunno which. Probably
they’re the same. Keep clear of them unless you’re armed; don’t monkey
with their religion; and don’t enter any passages engraved with the
emblems of the Moon and the sistrum.”
“Why not?”
“Religion, youngster. No white man has ever seen the Ka’aba—the Black
Stone—at Mecca. It’s sacred to the Moslem, just as the Alu—the group
of deepest caverns—are sacred to the Copts. They say Amon-Ra is down
there.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted. “Amon-Ra? The ancient Egyptian god?”
“Right. ‘The Hidden Light.’ We have a sort of armed truce with the
Copts, provided we don’t interfere too much. When they get out of line,
we whip them back. Figuratively, of course.” Brady’s hand touched the
buttoned holster at his thigh.
“What did you say the sacred caves were called?” Phil asked suddenly.
“Alu.”
“What does it mean?”
“The Land of Light.” Brady looked around. His face was alight with
interest. “Have you studied Egyptology?”
“No—afraid not.”
The captain’s eyes lost their glow. “Um. Bit of a hobby of mine. Land of
Light—Hidden Light—Isis, the Moon goddess—I’ve always wondered what
exists in Alu. Never found out. Never expect to. But I shouldn’t be
surprised if there’s the wreckage of a civilization down there.”
He chuckled. “Not that the commander agrees with me—Commander Desquer,
you’ll be under him. But he can’t tell me how the Pyramids were built,
or the explanation of so many mysteries of Egypt. In my opinion, space
travel was understood ages before Europeans achieved it. Yes ...” He
nodded thoughtfully. “A puzzle. A nomadic civilization on the Nile, and
then, without warning, a civilization full-blown and decadent. Where did
it come from? It was decadent when it reached Egypt. I wonder ...”
He turned to the controls. “Here’s Azouad. Half an hour. You’ll find
plenty of shops. Don’t buy any wines—they won’t keep in Sub-Sahara.
Brandy’s good. And pipes wear better than cigarettes in the Legion.”
Below the gyro was a patch of gray on the brownish, rolling Sahara
plain. Small dots of faded green were visible, trees struggling
desperately for moisture and life. In a clearing Captain Brady set down
the ship.
“All out,” he grunted. “_Parte!_ Half an hour, remember.”
* * * * *
The brothers watched the lean figure move briskly across the sun-baked
square, to disappear into the depths of a cantina. Then they looked at
one another.
“Well!” Jimmy murmured. “So we’re in the Legion!”
“Sub-Sahara. Um. Come on; we’ve only half an hour. Let’s look over
Azouad.” Tony hesitated, gripped Phil’s arm, and glanced up. “That a
plane?”
“Yeah.” Phil squinted aloft. “Wait ... not a government plane.
Private. Anyway, so what? There’s no extradition.”
“I know,” Tony said softly. “But the Earth Star’s plenty valuable.
Somebody might have ... ideas.”
“Maybe I’d better mail it back home,” Jimmy grinned.
Three glances crossed. And, curiously, at that moment a shadow drifted
across the brothers—the shadow of a plane, chilling them momentarily
after the blast of the African sun. It was like an omen.
Phil said, “I wonder which of us really has it?”
“I have,” Tony remarked. “Come along. I want a drink.”
He led the way, shouldering through a crowd of assorted riff-raff, the
usual scum of a bordertown. Odors of sesame, oils, and less familiar
stenches were sickeningly strong. Dozens of mongrels roved hungrily
about; the flies were countless.
They bought smokes and entered a cantina, dark and muggy. A fat native
served them squareface gin, waddling toward the dim corner where they
sat. Behind them, Tony noticed, was a door, half opened less to permit
fresh air to enter than to allow foul to emerge. He pushed it shut with
a casual foot.
The gin wasn’t good, but it was strong. Also, it was inordinately
expensive. Jimmy made a wry face.
“Hell of a lot of good money will do us now. We’ve ten minutes. Think
we’ll like Sub-Sahara?”
“It sounds—interesting,” Phil said slowly. “Captain Brady’s certainly
hipped on his Land of Light. I wonder what sort the Copts are?”
“Tough hombres,” Tony grunted. There was a brief silence. The waiter
appeared, refilled glasses, and departed. Then—
“_Merlin!_” a soft voice whispered.
Tony’s fingers tightened around his glass. Phil sat perfectly
motionless. Jimmy’s head jerked slightly; then he was immobile.
Tony looked around, and the others followed his lead.
Standing beside them was a small, round-faced man, his beady dark eyes
glinting beneath a sun-helmet, his tropical whites looking freshly
laundered. His gaze swiveled sharply from one to another of the trio. A
shadow of disappointment flickered over his features and was gone.
Tony said, “Who the devil are you?”
The stranger flashed white teeth. “The private secretary of a certain
Rajah. One of you has seen me before. I do not know which one.
However—”
“He’s crazy,” Phil grunted. “Batty as a bedbug. Drink up, boys.”
“My name is Zadah,” the man went on without heeding the interruption. “I
know that one of you is the Merlin and has the Earth Star. I want it.”
Tony looked at the man. “Do you think anybody’d who’d stolen a jewel
would be fool enough to keep it on him?”
“The Merlin would. Because he’d want to make certain that a
certain—deal—wouldn’t ever be completed. An imitation of the stone was
made, so perfect that the deception can be discovered only by comparison
with the original. Someone might try to sell the imitation as the
original jewel—and the Merlin could block such a transaction only by
producing the real Earth Star. He won’t get rid of it. Not unless—he’s
forced to.”
Tony drank gin reflectively. “There’s an offensive odor in this place,”
he remarked. “Notice it, anybody?”
Zadah said, “I do not want the police to find you or the Earth Star. If
I recover it myself, the Rajah will pay me any price to have the
jewel—and the original owners can prove nothing. My private operatives
have traced you this far. Now—” He took out a small gun. “You will
stand up and walk one by one through the door behind you. Stay in single
file. My plane is just near by. We will fly to my country, and there—”
Again the teeth flashed. “There I think it will not be too hard to learn
which of you is the Merlin.”
Tony hesitated, remembering the plane he had seen in the sky. Zadah held
the gun almost hidden under his coat, but of its deadliness there could
be no doubt. The brothers exchanged glances.
“Stand up!” Zadah whispered.
Tony obeyed. He turned toward the door, opened it, and stepped out into
sunlight. The others followed. Zadah said, “To the left.”
They moved slowly through an alley, littered with refuse and foul with
odors. Not a soul was visible—only a stray cur that ran past, tail
between its legs.
“Across the square. The gun is in my pocket, but I have my finger on the
trigger. Make no suspicious move.”
Tony’s lips were white. He guessed well enough what would happen once he
and his brothers were captives aboard the plane. Zadah would not stop at
torture to achieve his ends. If only—
But there was no sign of help. Across the square they went, toward a
small gyro in its center. Loungers in the shadows of the low buildings
eyed the group incuriously as they passed. They walked on, toward a
cantina, past its door—
* * * * *
Captain Brady came out. He hesitated, his sunken eyes intent on the
spectacle. Then he moved like an uncoiled spring.
Zadah sensed danger. He started to whirl, dragging his gun from his
pocket. But Brady’s hand chopped down viciously, the edge of the palm
smashing against the secretary’s spine, at the nape of the neck.
A little grunt came from Zadah. He went down like a wet sack of flour.
Casually Brady bent, picked up the gun, and pocketed it. His humorless
eyes were without any hint of emotion.
“Time to go,” he said. “Come along.”
Silently the brothers followed Brady to the latter’s plane. Without a
word they took off, speeding south until the desert-stain of Azouad was
lost beneath the horizon.
And not once, during the journey, did Captain Brady refer to the affair
in which he had played Saviour. Tony, grinning to himself, remarked in
an undertone, “There’s no extradition from the Legion.”
“Yeah,” Phil nodded. “The devil protects his own.”
Jimmy said nothing. He was too busy peering out at the rolling dunes and
endless plains of the Sahara.
Sub-Sahara! Underground labyrinth—an oasis under a burning, lifeless
expanse of wilderness! To the three Martells it was, at first, a relief,
after the flaming heat of the desert. Though even in the beginning there
was a feeling of oppression as the metal car sank down into its shaft
and the weight of earth overhead was felt almost tangibly.
It seemed hours later when the car stopped and a panel in its bare side
slid open. Pale radiance flickered in through the gap, lighting the
men’s faces eerily. The glow seemed to come from the walls itself.
“Phosphorescent paint,” Brady said, nodding. “Saves trouble. We spray
the walls and ceiling once a year, and it’s bright enough for our needs.
Come along.”
The four stepped out into a passageway. It wasn’t long. It ended before
a metallic door; Brady took a rod from his pocket and held it briefly
pointed at the lock. The panel opened.
Beyond the threshold lay a cavern.
Huge and dim and alien as a distant world it seemed, a gigantic hollow
hemisphere in the solid Earth. It was, as far as Tony could judge, about
two miles in diameter, with a jagged floor that had been cleared in a
few spots. The dim light filtered down from the ceiling, as sunlight
through heavy cloud. When Brady spoke, his voice was incongruous in this
place of silvery soft grayness.
“There’s the fort. Over there—” He pointed. “That’s the entrance to the
Coptic tunnels. We guard the entrance to the surface. Though the Copts
haven’t tried to make any surface raids for a long time.” He swung out
along a rough path, the others following. “They hate the Bedouins, just
as the ancient Egyptians did. They don’t especially dislike us, unless
we get in their way. If the mineral deposits the Copts work weren’t
valuable, though, they’d be left to themselves. But the Legion’s paid to
make sure the mines are kept active.”
Tony didn’t answer. His eyes were slowly accustoming themselves to this
strange light. He glanced up at a ceiling that was both visible and
invisible. No details could be seen. A veil of shining cloud seemed to
obscure the rock far above. The vault of a world, Tony thought. A world
created here, perhaps, when the Sahara was a sea instead of a desert.
What had Brady said a while ago? Something about a prehistoric, mighty
civilization in ante-dynastic Egypt ... and, far and far below, the
Copts still worshiped Isis, in the hidden caverns of Alu where no white
man had ever penetrated. “The wreckage of a civilization down there,”
Brady had said.
In this eery cavern-world it was easy to believe in almost anything. A
scrap of half-forgotten verse drifted through Tony’s mind:
“_But you have seen the hieroglyphs on the great sandstone obelisks,_
_And you have talked with Basilisks, and you have walked with
hippogriffs_ ...”
They were at the fort. Nothing could be seen beyond a palisade of
strong, dully-gleaming metal. But a bell rang sharply; a gate opened,
and a man in legionnaire uniform appeared.
Even in the odd light his face seemed strangely pallid—drained of all
color, like bleached papyrus. He was gaunt and fleshless almost to the
point of emaciation, so that his eyes and mouth were black hollows. It
seemed as though a skull wore the rakish Legion cap atop its dome.
He saluted, and Brady responded.
“Hello, Jacklyn. Tell Commander Desquer I’m here.”
* * * * *
Jacklyn stood aside to let the others enter. Tony discovered that within
the palisade were a dozen metal shacks, prefabricated, and without sign
of life. So this would be their home from now on!
Brady said, “Well? Didn’t you—”
Jacklyn’s voice was strained. “Glad you’re back, sir. The commander left
for the surface an hour ago. He got a message.... There’s trouble,
sir. The Copts—they’ve kidnapped Ruggiero.”
Captain Brady looked at his fingernails. “It’s full moon, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. I need four men. Completely armed. We’ll leave as soon as
they’re ready.”
Jacklyn hurried away. Tony asked, “Is this—the usual thing, down here?”
Brady shook his head. “No. At full moon the Copts choose a victim to
represent Osiris. The Husband of Isis. Usually it’s all done quietly,
and the sacrifice is a Copt, of course.”
Jimmy inquired rather weakly, “What sort of sacrifice is it?”
“Degenerate form of Egyptian religion. According to legend, Seth, the
evil god, was jealous of Osiris. He put him to death, tearing his body
into fourteen pieces. The Copts are ... literal-minded.”
Brady sucked in his breath. “I wish I knew more of their mythos. The
ceremony glorifies Isis of the Moon. A Copt has always served before.
But now ...” He pulled at the clipped gray moustache. “Ruggiero has
been taken to Alu to be sacrificed. This means trouble—plenty of it.”
But there was no fear in the sunken eyes; only excited anticipation.
“Alu! The Land of Light!”
And suddenly Tony understood. For years Brady had wondered about the
half-mythical cavern world below, a place forbidden to him by rigid
rules. Now, in the absence of the commander, it was Brady’s duty to
rescue the kidnapped legionnaire. His duty—and his chance.
Tony said, “Let us go with you, captain. Eh?”
Jimmy and Phil exchanged surprised glances. Then Phil nodded. “Yeah! How
about it?”
Brady hesitated. “You’re untrained. You don’t know the ropes—”
“We know how to handle guns.”
“Carbon-pistols?”
“We can learn easily enough.”
“Yes ... they’re simple. But—all right,” the captain said with sudden
decision. “You’re new, and that means you’re not scared stiff of Alu.
The three of you and Jacklyn. Right!”
He bawled for the skull-faced man. “Jacklyn! Get equipment! I’m taking
these three recruits. _Allons!_”
Tony grinned at his brothers. Their introduction to the Legion was to be
exciting, after all—if not fatal!
CHAPTER IV
Sub-Sahara
Jacklyn said, “Fifty years nearly I’ve been here. It never changes.
First time I’ve ever seen the Copts get out of hand. Sure, they’d try to
get out once in a while to butcher the Bedouins, but they never had
anything against us. Funny.”
The group was marching swiftly through a dim tunnel, Captain Brady in
the lead, the others trailing. They had been moving for an hour, in a
labyrinth of passages through which the captain unerringly found his
way. Now he looked back and remarked:
“That’s right. I know this maze pretty well, but Jacklyn knows it
blindfolded. He’s practically a Copt himself. Hasn’t been above ground
for fifty years.”
“You must like it here,” Jimmy remarked.
Jacklyn said, very softly, “It’s hell. You been in New York lately?
Yeah? How does the old burg look now?”
“It’s changed in fifty years,” Phil said. “But you know that already.”
“Times Square, though—that’s there, eh? I remember I used to feel empty
whenever I got out of the old town. God, I’d like to see it again—but
not on a televisor. In fact,” he went on slowly, “I’d like to smell
fresh air again. Not this artificial ventilation. See starlight and
green growing things.”
“And the Sun,” Jimmy nodded understandingly. He glanced at Jacklyn—and
then caught his breath at sight of the expression on the legionnaire’s
pallid face. Horror—and hate!
It was gone immediately. Jacklyn ignored the remark. He said, “I was one
of the first spacemen. There’ve been plenty of improvements since my
time, what with liquid fuels instead of powder, and those new magnetic
induced-gravity screens they’re working on. But it’s like shipping, I
guess—steam or sail, it’ll never really change. There’ll be the sea
under you, or space around you. We—”
“_Sh-h!_” Brady held up a warning finger. “Hold it!”
They paused, but no sound came. The captain relaxed.
“Thought I heard an explosion. Guess not. Well—by the way, are you sure
you know how to use the carbon-pistols?”
“It’s not hard,” Tony said. He took out his weapon, resembling an
oversized revolver with a cup-shaped hollow where the hammer should have
been. From his pocket he withdrew a bit of coal, slipped it into the
cup, where prongs held it firmly in place, and hefted the gun. “Not so
easy to sight as a Colt, but the force-charge scatters, doesn’t it?”
Jacklyn said, “Right. Watch the recoil, though. Ease the trigger-button
down. And don’t run out of coal.”
“Funny,” Tony remarked. “Coal doesn’t seem much good in a pistol.”
Captain Brady laughed a little. “The thing’s based on atomic
force—liberation of quanta, though I don’t understand the scientific
principles of it myself. Works only on carbon. Coal’s carbon—and cheap.
So, if the Copts get out of hand, we fight ’em with the coal they dig
for us. Rather unfair, but it’s all in the Legion’s work.”
“Practically everything is,” Tony said dryly. “How much farther,
captain?”
“We’ve been going down steadily—wait! Here’s someone. Don’t touch your
guns unless I give the word.”
Tony stared ahead. For a second he saw nothing; then abruptly the tunnel
was filled with a dozen bizarre figures. Clad in skin-fitting garments
of unfamiliar texture, white-skinned, with blue veins showing plainly
through the flesh, the men’s faces were aquiline and strong, with beaked
noses and abnormally large eyes, in which the pupils nearly eclipsed the
irises. The Copts’ hair—they had none on their faces—was like bleached
straw, tightly curled. They seemed unarmed, yet Brady’s whole body
subtly tensed as he stood waiting.
The foremost of the Copts, taller than the rest, and wearing a tapering
headdress, came forward, hand lifted. He spoke in English.
“Captain Brady, why are you here?”
Brady said, “If any harm comes to a legionnaire, it will not be well
with the Copts, priest.”
* * * * *
The man nodded. “I understand. That was a mistake. Some of our younger
men—they have already been suitably punished for meddling in affairs
beyond them. Your legionnaire is back in the fort, Captain Brady. You
will find him there if you return.”
Tony detected a half-veiled glance the priest sent at his fellows. Brady
saw it also, and tugged at his moustache.
“You are speaking true words?”
“I speak true words.”
“Suppose we do not believe. Suppose we—go on.”
A stir shook the Copts; they looked at one another askance. The priest
said, “The Moon passages begin not far from here. Those you may not
enter.”
Brady seemed undecided. “We shall go back. But if our man is not safely
in the fort—”
The priest’s smile was apparently guileless. “He will be there.”
“All right. About face! _Allons!_”
Tony turned with the others. But before a foot was lifted there came an
interruption. The priest’s voice was raised in an urgent command in an
unfamiliar tongue. He, with the others, had seen the bloodstained,
tattered, huge figure that sprang out from concealment behind a rock.
“Kill those men!” a bull voice shouted. “Blast ’em down!”
“Commander Desquer!” Brady clipped—and then—
“Out guns!”
For from the ranks of the Copts a pale ray had lanced, striking full
upon Desquer’s bison chest, bared by a tattered tunic. Another ray
touched Tony; he felt a wave of intolerable heat as he snatched out the
carbon-gun at his belt.
_Cr-rack!_ Brady’s weapon snarled viciously, and the heat-ray left Tony.
He slipped a coal-cartridge into the cup and triggered almost without
aiming. The deadly little guns worked havoc. But there were almost a
dozen Copts, and for a few moments the tunnel was a chaotic Maelstrom of
battle, dominated by Desquer’s deep voice roaring commands.
“Get them! All of them! Aim at their bellies!”
Smoke drifted away. The Copts lay in helpless huddles amid red stains.
Tony lowered his gun and stared around anxiously. Jimmy was painfully
rubbing his arm where a heat-ray had cindered the cloth. Phil was
apparently untouched, and so was Jacklyn, but Captain Brady was rubbing
his thigh and cursing quietly. As for Commander Desquer, it was
impossible to judge whether he had been injured in the conflict. He was
already wounded in a dozen places.
Tony’s fascinated gaze clung to the man. The mighty body was thewed like
an auroch-bull, the matted, deep chest heaving convulsively with
exhaustion. The commander’s head was shaved, but nevertheless there was
something leonine about his face. Shaggy, tufted eyebrows overhung
glittering small eyes, and thick, sensual lips were pressed tightly
together. Desquer reminded Tony, somehow, of a Nero or a Caligula—a
degenerate Roman despot.
Now Desquer flung back his huge head in an arrogant gesture. “Jacklyn!
See if the priest’s got a healing-ray. We need it.” As the legionnaire
hurried forward the commander turned his eyes to the others. Tony felt a
curious shiver ripple down his spine as the cold gaze touched him.
Desquer looked long and intently at Tony, and not until he had stared
equally long at Phil and Jimmy did he turn his attention to Brady.
“The fort’s gone,” he said. “The Copts smashed it and massacred every
man. They blew up the shaft to the surface just after I reached
Sub-Sahara. I just managed to get away ... the cavern’s overrun with
’em.”
Jacklyn came back with a small flat box, in which a lens was set. He
touched a button and turned the lens to focus upon Brady’s thigh.
“Thanks ... up a bit ... You know they kidnapped Ruggiero?”
* * * * *
Desquer nodded “Yes. I found a Copt alone and induced him to give me a
little information.” He glanced at his hands, took out a small knife,
and began to clean his nails. “What this means I don’t know. A
_jehad_—a holy war, possibly. Though it’s without precedent.”
The captain lifted his hand. “Enough, Jacklyn. Tend to the commander.”
But Desquer shook his head impatiently. “No time.” He drew Brady aside,
as Jacklyn turned to the others. The two officers withdrew a few steps
and lowered their voices.
Tony stared at the lensed box as Jacklyn used it on Jimmy’s arm. “What
the devil’s that?”
“A gadget the Copts have. Nobody knows how it works. They don’t
themselves. It was handed down ... it’s a ray that increases cell
activity. Builds up cell tissue. Prevents infection ... how’s that?”
“Swell,” said Jimmy, touching his arm. “It still hurts a bit, though.”
“It won’t for long—”
Desquer said, “You three recruits—listen to me. We’re going down. Into
Alu. Jacklyn, you’ll go for help.”
The skull-faced legionnaire’s body jerked convulsively. He stared at the
commander.
“For—help?”
Desquer nodded. “Right. You know these caves. There are other openings
to the surface. Get help. We’ll hide out and wait for you. The Copts
won’t expect us to go right to their headquarters, so that’s just what
we’ll do.”
“But—” Jacklyn moistened dry lips. “I’ll have to go to the surface?”
There was a curious note of horror in his voice.
“Don’t argue. Move! You’ll have a better chance alone than with
companions, so—_allez!_”
Jacklyn moved a pace away, stopped, and turned back. He said woodenly,
“I can’t go to the surface, Commander.”
Desquer said very softly, “Why not?”
“Sunlight will kill me.”
There was a little silence.
“Why?”
“I was space-burned. That’s why I joined the Legion. It’s a kind of
allergy, you know—I was so badly burned in space by direct solar rays
that even filtered sunlight will kill me now in a few hours.”
Tony felt his stomach move sickeningly. So that was why Jacklyn had
remained in Sub-Sahara for fifty years. A prison with its mockery of
freedom—
“Let one of the others go, sir!”
“I’ll go,” Jimmy offered—but Desquer snarled at him.
“Silence! You know these caves, Jacklyn—”
“The captain knows them!”
“He’s badly burned. That heat-ray touched the bone. He couldn’t stand a
long trek. Here!” Desquer bent over the dead Copts and rapidly began to
strip them of their garments. “If sunlight will kill you, stay out of
it.”
“In the desert?”
“Bandages, you fool—bandages! Wrap yourself up in these. Travel by
night if you have to, after you reach the surface.”
Silently Jacklyn began to don the garments. He said without expression,
“It will kill me.”
Desquer threw him an armful of clothes and grinned. “You’ll live long
enough to get help. If the Copts break out of Sub-Sahara, it’ll be like
rounding up a thousand fleas. Besides, I don’t know what’s back of
this—but it’s nothing small, I can promise you. If—”
He leaped like a panther. His shod foot came down with a sickening
crunch on flesh and bone. Tony, startled by the sudden movement, saw
that Desquer had sprung upon the Coptic priest, from whose hand a
ray-projector had dropped. The priest’s blood-smeared face, twisted in
agony, lifted toward the ceiling as he cried out.
“Not dead, eh?” Desquer whispered, his voice taut with savage fury.
“Well—you soon will be.”
He drew back his foot. But the priest’s lifted arm somehow halted him.
The Copt dragged himself half erect. His thin voice shrilled, “Go down
to Alu, fools! But you will be too late. Isis has risen—and with her
the gods who dwell in Alu. Before the opening to the outer world can be
cleared again, we shall have triumphed—and the Earth will tremble
before the power of the Ancients! Aye—the Ancients who ruled over the
Four Rivers before their sons fled to Egypt!
“Go down to Alu, fools! _You shall find death!_”
The priest fell back—and died.
CHAPTER V
Five Against the Gods
Hours had passed. The legionnaires, headed by Commander Desquer, were
encamped by a small, rocky inlet on the Midnight Sea, a fathomless lake
of inky water that stretched beyond the limit of vision. A pallid glow
came from the cavern roof far above, rippling over the surface of the
tideless, sluggish sea. It was a scene fantastic almost beyond belief,
and Tony, on guard at the mouth of a crevasse where the others slept,
could scarcely realize that he was still on Earth, and not beneath the
surface of some alien world.
They had come far and fast, slipping stealthily past the guards the
Copts had posted, taking advantage of every unused tunnel, guided more
by instinct than by knowledge. The city of the Copts they had skirted,
descending ever deeper to the forbidden gates of Alu. And now, on the
shore of the Midnight Sea, they were ready for the plunge into the
unknown.
“We can’t stay here,” Desquer grunted. “They’d find us sooner or later.
But in Alu we have a chance. The element of surprise will be on our
side, at least.”
He was right. Tony knew. He shifted uneasily, glancing at the carbon
pistol and checking its load. His thoughts went back to New York, and
the civilization of a world that seemed a billion miles distant. A world
lost to him—and his brothers—forever. And in exchange they had
gained—this!
A hand fell on Tony’s shoulder. Desquer said, “All right. We’re
marching.” The commander’s heavy jaw jutted as he stared out over the
water.
The others appeared one by one, ragged, disheveled, and unshaved. Brady
was wincing with the pain in his stiffened leg as he walked. Jimmy’s
face was haggard; he had not the stamina of the others. But Phil seemed
as sturdy and untroubled as ever.
Desquer turned; his cold eyes took stock of his command. “All right.
March!”
He led the way. Brady behind him. The brothers followed. Tony caught a
wink from Phil, and lagged behind somewhat, till the officers were out
of earshot of a whisper.
“Yeah?”
Phil’s hand touched his tunic pocket. “Somebody searched me while I was
asleep. I thought I was dreaming, but when I woke up, this pocket was
unbuttoned.”
Tony’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh-oh!” He squinted ahead. “Who—”
“Dunno. But—somebody. Just thought I’d tell you. We’d better keep our
eyes peeled after this.”
Phil exchanged a meaningful glance with Tony and increased his pace. The
latter frowned, trying to figure out what this new development meant.
The Earth Star? It was scarcely probable that anyone in Sub-Sahara would
know the details of the theft and its aftermath. More likely the motive
was merely petty robbery—unless, indeed, Phil had actually dreamed it.
But in his heart, somehow, Tony sensed impending danger. The baleful
fires of the Earth Star still burned far below the surface of the
planet.
Desquer? He could scarcely know anything of the jewel. Brady? Perhaps
the encounter with Zadah, the Rajah’s secretary, had aroused the
captain’s suspicions. Or—Jimmy? Was he searching for the Earth Star,
trying to learn which of his brothers carried it? That might have been
more plausible had not Jimmy kept insisting, with his brothers, that he
himself had stolen the gem.
* * * * *
Tony’s face did not change, but his hand touched the butt of the
carbon-pistol. He felt safer with the weapon at his thigh. For a time he
plodded on, every sense alert for sign of danger. The immediate peril
was from the Copts, of course.
None of the underground race appeared as the group skirted the Midnight
Sea. They came at last to a tunnel mouth where Desquer paused,
hesitating, to confer with Brady. The latter pointed to a sign cut out
of the rock above the entrance—a full moon surmounted by a crescent.
“Moon and sistrum,” the captain nodded. “This is one of the forbidden
gateways. A door to Alu.”
Desquer grunted. “Very well. Come along. Watch out for traps.”
They entered the tunnel. It was darker, though a vague illumination
filtered from the walls and roof, due, perhaps, to some sort of
radioactivity. The passage slanted down steeply. It was apparently
little used, and in spots almost blocked by debris, where the
legionnaires had to crawl through painfully. Desquer’s bull strength
came in useful there. The giant commandant was untiring, and there came
a time when he was almost carrying Brady along as the captain’s weak leg
grew weaker.
“Wonder if Jacklyn will make it,” Jimmy muttered to Tony.
“God knows. If he doesn’t, we’re in the soup.”
Phil grinned. “What if he does? We’re still in Alu!”
The tunnel grew steeper. Now half-obliterated carvings were visible on
the walls, symbols that bore the trace of immeasurable antiquity. One
sign puzzled Tony; it was a cross within a circle. It reminded him,
somehow, of the dying Coptic priest’s words—“... the Ancients who
ruled over the Four Rivers before their sons fled to Egypt.” The circled
cross struck a chord of memory in Tony’s mind, and he knew, somehow,
that the cross was supposed to represent four rivers. But—try as he
might—he could recall no more.
There were other carvings, most of them showing the sistrum and the
lunar disk. They had been cut out of the rock, Tony felt, long before
the Pharaohs had reigned in Egypt, before the uraeus crown had come to
represent a dynasty. A little chill touched Tony as he thought of the
endless centuries that had ravaged the world above and left the road to
Alu untouched.
Before Egypt—a civilization. And in Alu—_what_?
No premonition troubled Commander Desquer. His great frame marched on
untiringly, practically carrying the exhausted Brady. Down and down they
went. Tony’s legs began to ache, and Jimmy was drooping with fatigue.
Phil’s stolid face showed no emotion, but there were lines of strain
about his mouth.
Down—and down! Into Earth’s secret heart—into the forbidden land. And
what caused Tony the most uneasiness was the fact that they went on
unchallenged. Perhaps the Copts had not discovered the intruders. Or,
perhaps, the Copts knew that there was no need to guard the road to Alu.
Occasionally Tony would intercept a glance from Desquer, who would
impartially stare at the three brothers as though in puzzled curiosity.
But the commander said nothing, till at last they came out in a large
cavern from which three tunnel-mouths opened, besides the one on the
threshold of which they stood. Desquer paused, his gaze searching.
“We’ll camp here,” he said shortly. “In the middle. That way, our
retreat won’t be cut off if the Copts find us. That middle passage is
our road. Eh, Captain?”
Brady nodded. “Yes. The Moon and sistrum is over it.”
In silence the five moved wearily to the center of the cavern and
dropped rather than relaxed on the rock floor. They were tired out.
Desquer alone sat straddle-legged, his gun ready in his hand, icy eyes
flashing about.
“Sleep,” he said. “I’ll guard.”
Tony gratefully obeyed. Stillness closed over the cave. But—it was
broken.
* * * * *
Very faintly, as though from an infinite distance, came a rhythmic
chanting. Muffled and scarcely audible it whispered, almost below the
threshold of hearing.
Brady’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Hear that?”
Desquer said, “Well?”
“The Chant of Set. Somewhere they’re beginning the ceremony of Osiris,
where they’ll sacrifice Ruggiero.”
Tony said, “That’s where they tear the victim into pieces, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Commander—” Brady didn’t finish. One look at Desquer’s grim face
was enough.
“Don’t be a fool, captain. Get your rest—and the rest of you, too.
You’ll need it. You know well enough we can’t rescue Ruggiero.”
That, Tony thought as he relaxed, was true; but nevertheless he had a
curiously unpleasant feeling at the base of his spine. Somewhere amid
these caverns a white man was being horribly sacrificed, and it was not
a thought conducive to sound sleep. Yet Desquer was right. The
legionnaires’ only chance was to remain hidden ...
Once Tony roused sleepily to find the Commander lying down and Captain
Brady on guard. Brady was wandering about the cavern, staring up at the
carving of the Moon and sistrum. He was a gaunt, scarecrow figure in the
dim light. As Tony drifted off again to sleep he realized that the faint
chanting had grown louder—
That it was different now in tone—triumphant!
And then Desquer was shaking Tony’s shoulder, his hand pressed over the
legionnaire’s lips. The commander’s eyes were glittering brightly.
“_Sh-h!_ Not a sound! Rouse the others.”
Silently Tony obeyed. There was no sign of Captain Brady, he realized.
On cat feet Desquer led the three into the tunnel. Hidden by the first
turn, he whispered, “Brady’s gone. When I woke up—”
Jimmy asked, “What happened to him? The Copts?”
“Perhaps.”
“But wouldn’t they have killed us, then?”
Desquer passed a hand over his shaven head. “Not necessarily. They may
have other plans.” He smiled, not pleasantly. “So Brady’s gone. That
leaves the four of us.” There was an oddly secretive look in the cold
eyes. “Come on. We’re still heading for Alu.”
“What’s the use?” Tony asked. “If the Copts have discovered us—”
“They may not have. Brady may have gone off to try and save Ruggiero. I
doubt that, though—but we mustn’t overlook any chances. Alu is our
destination. So—_allons!_”
The three brothers exchanged glances. One by one their number was being
cut down. First the entire garrison of the fort; then Jacklyn; now
Captain Brady. Tony felt a twinge of sympathy for the weatherbeaten old
soldier. Whatever had happened to the man, Brady would have gone down
fighting.
“He didn’t try to warn us,” Jimmy muttered.
Desquer grunted. “We don’t know all the weapons of those Copts. Where
they get them God knows. Every once in a while they’ll pop up with some
super-scientific device far beyond their power to manufacture. It’s a
mystery. Maybe we’ll find the answer in Alu.”
That, to Tony, was a strange paradox. A search amid the ruins of a
forgotten past for the super-science of the future. And yet—whence had
come the mighty civilization of Egypt? What mystery lay behind the
cryptic powers of the Copts?
There could be no answer, as yet. The four men marched on, down into the
depths. They were beneath the Midnight Sea now, Tony decided, since the
tunnel had curved in a long loop. Not only beneath the Sahara Desert,
but under a sunken sea as well.
* * * * *
Endlessly the road stretched before them. But the end came unexpectedly.
So exhausted were the four that they scarcely realized that the silvery
radiance of the tunnel had given place to a reddish glow, brighter and
reminiscent of volcanic activity. Desquer lifted his hand in warning. He
went on to reconnoitre, and presently beckoned the others. His burly
figure was rigid, Tony saw.
And, as he went on, he saw something else. The tunnel ended. It opened
upon a cavern.
A cavern that was a world!
A world beneath a desert and a sea! Alu, the Land of Light, lay before
the adventurers, and human eyes had never gazed upon a stranger sight. A
metropolis of antiquity, with the wrecks of mighty buildings and fallen
pillars strewing the flat floor of the cave. It was like Pompeii, and
far older than Pompeii. It was grander than Karnak, more alien than
crumbling Ang-kor-Vat. In the distance a pyramid rose toward the roof of
the cave—touching it, supporting it as the fabled tree Yggdrasil is
supposed to support the Earth.
Red light flamed from beyond the pyramid.
Alu! Old beyond imagination, cradle of a race that had ruled long and
long ago! Alu, which the Egyptians had incorporated into their mythology
as their heaven.
The sheer, overwhelming majesty of the panorama struck the men dumb, as
a hand might strike an impious lip. Huge and desolate and dead the lost
world stretched before them, holding its secret fast, as it had held it
since before the Pharaohs reigned. No wonder the pyramids were a
mystery—built by some alien science. The same science that had reared
the colossal structures of Alu!
A hundred feet away a square white marble building towered, Doric
pillars on either side of its open gateway. Some indefinable urge drew
Tony’s eyes to it.
Desquer said, “Hear that?”
The others listened, but detected no sound. The commander grunted.
“It came from that temple. Get your guns ready. We’re going in. If
there’s trouble, shoot first.”
The four moved softly across the flat rock of the floor. Halfway to the
door of the building Jimmy clutched Tony’s arm. He pointed, his face
chalk-white.
“Look at that!”
Tony followed his brother’s gaze, as did the others. Far away were two
structures connected by an arched span. Across this span figures were
moving.
Figures with human bodies—but inhuman heads!
At the distance it was impossible to make out details, but it was plain
that there was something definitely abnormal about the beings who walked
across the span. They moved in stately file and were gone. Jimmy
whispered:
“Remember what the priest said? The gods live in Alu!”
Tony thought of the Egyptian gods, men with the heads of beasts and
birds and reptiles. Could some monstrous hybrids have survived in this
cavern? He shrugged off the thought.
“Masks, Jimmy! Don’t be an idiot. Come on.”
Desquer urged them toward the square building. “Quick! We can hide here,
until we know more about this place. Keep your guns ready.”
The commander’s icy eyes were searching the gloom of the temple as they
crossed the threshold. The symbol of Osiris, sign of the horned bull,
was carved everywhere. Crumbling, broken pillars made the interior of
the temple a labyrinth. The floor was littered with smashed blocks of
stone.
It was very dim here, but one ray of red light flamed like a sword-blade
through a gap in the wall and fell directly upon the throne that stood
on a dais at the farther end of the room. Tony and the others looked
down a long aisle toward the throne and the statue upon it—the statue
of a man, clad in stylized flowing robes, with the head of a bull upon
the human shoulders.
“Come on!” Desquer whispered. He gripped his gun. Tony felt the butt of
his own weapon cold against his palm as he walked on. The approach to
the dais seemed endless. Incredible journey amid the wreckage of a
forgotten civilization! So might a lost soul have journeyed to Osiris
... A scrap of verse came unbidden to Tony.
“_Ten hundred shaven priests did bow to Ammon’s altar day and night,_
_Ten hundred lamps did wave their light through Ammon’s carven
house—and now_
_Foul snake and speckled adder with their young ones crawl from stone
to stone_
_For ruined is the house and prone the great rose-marble monolith!_”
Desquer stopped. His figure stood rock-still for a moment. The gun swung
up, aimed at the statue on the throne.
And now Tony saw what the commander had already realized. It was no
statue that faced them. The being was alive!
CHAPTER VI
Before the Gods
Only one thing could have stopped Desquer’s finger on the trigger—and
that thing happened. The monster on the throne spoke. Thick and almost
unintelligible, its voice poured out from the inhuman muzzle, as the
hands twitched on the arms of the throne.
“Don’t!” the bull-headed creature moaned. “It’s Brady—Brady!”
Sheer amazement petrified Desquer. He lowered his gun at last, shaved
scalp shining with sweat. Tony swallowed a lump in his dry throat,
glaring at the hybrid on the dais.
Brady? Captain Brady?
“Those devils did this to me,” the thick voice went on. “Surgery,
commander—super-surgery. Remember their healing ray? They grafted the
flesh and skin of a bull on to my head and speeded up the cellular
activity tremendously with their ray. I—I don’t dare move. This head is
so heavy it would snap my spine if—if—”
Desquer said in a low voice, “Are we in danger now?” His eyes searched
the shadows.
“You’re doomed,” Brady mouthed. “Thotmes told me the hellish plan behind
all this. Thotmes is the high priest. He’s one of the very few that know
the secret of Alu. He told me—almost everything. It tickled his ego, I
think, to gloat over his triumph ...”
The bull head lolled forward and came back into place again abruptly.
Brady said, “Maybe there’s a chance. I don’t know. Your guns ...
Listen! If you can get to the pyramid and blast the machine out of
existence—”
“What machine?” Desquer asked.
“The machine that will destroy Europe! The same kind of machine that
created Earth’s Moon, ages ago! The machine that sank Atlantis!”
Tony’s breath caught in his throat. Atlantis? Now he remembered the
significance of the sign of the cross-and-circle. It was the symbol of
Atlantis, the four rivers on the island continent. Softly he whispered,
“The Ancients who ruled over the Four Rivers before their sons fled to
Egypt.”
Brady said, “Yes. That’s the secret of Egypt, and its civilization. Men
have guessed at that before now. Ages ago, when Europe was filled with
nomadic tribes, Atlantis was a continent of culture and science. It was
unstable—volcanic activity went on endlessly beneath it. And the land
began to sink. Thotmes told me how the scientists of Atlantis planned to
prevent their doom.
“They made a Moon. Out of the bed of the Pacific Ocean they tore part of
the Earth and sent it driving out into space. They thought that would
release the pressure under Atlantis and save their civilization.
“They failed. The forces they controlled were too mighty. Atlantis sank,
taking with it a science such as the world has never known and perhaps
may never know again. But before the deluge, a few Atlanteans fled
eastward, through the Pillars of Hercules, to Egypt.”
The bull head nodded. “They were the ancestors of the underground Copts.
They found Sub-Sahara centuries before the Pharaohs, and they found Alu.
There they built a city such as had existed in the Atlantean valleys.
They sent forth some of their number to civilize the Nile peoples, and
those Atlanteans became the high priests of the gods. They created the
gods!
“As they created me—they made gods with heads of bulls and crocodiles
and jackals, to terrify the superstitious tribes that needed tangible
gods to worship. And then the road to the surface was closed by some
ancient cataclysm, so that the Atlanteans were trapped here. Some few of
the priests kept their culture. The others degenerated. They became—the
Copts.
“But the priests still kept the old religion alive, using their surgery
and their healing-rays to make new gods, and ruling the Copts through
fear. Now they plan to make a second Moon, and to raise Atlantis; they
wish to rule the Earth as they did once, long ago.”
Brady’s thin hands clenched into fists. “They caught me in the cavern
where I was standing guard—used some sort of paralyzing ray on me. They
brought me down here and told me what they intend. There’s a machine
that’s capable of ripping all Europe from the face of the Earth and
sending it out in space, to be another Moon.”
Tony said, “But that would wreck the world!”
“That is part of their plan. They have lost all their science,
possessing only a few machines and devices that have come down since the
days of the Atlantean exodus. And these are gradually losing their
power. In sunken Atlantis Thotmes and his followers can find weapons and
secrets that will enable them to rule the world. But first they plan to
make another moon—to destroy Europe—and to wreck most of the Earth
with quakes, tidal waves, and storms. They’ll be safe here in Alu.
They’ll emerge after the Atlantic has drained into the great abyss that
will be left by the destruction of Europe, and they’ll return to
Atlantis, west of the Canary Islands.”
“A machine to make a Moon!” Desquer’s voice was almost scornful.
“Unbelievable!”
“It was done once. The principle is that of vibration. A file of men
marching in unison can shake down a bridge—you know that. The right
vibration can wreck a building. Sonic waves can disrupt the molecular
framework of the Earth, and Thotmes has a machine that can be focused
_through_ the body of the planet. There will be little temblors in
Europe at first, then heavy quakes. They will grow stronger. And finally
the entire continent will be ripped away, and centrifugal force will
carry it out to its orbit. Thotmes explained it in detail ...”
* * * * *
The bull head jerked forward suddenly. There was a sharp, brittle snap.
And, slowly, the body of Captain Brady leaned and bent. It toppled.
Desquer sprang forward with a curse. He touched the monstrous muzzle,
jerked his hand away, and then felt for Brady’s heart-beat. After a
moment he shrugged.
“Well, he told us enough. Now ...” The commander stood up, his gaze
traveling slowly from face to face. “Now we must find that machine and
destroy it—eh?”
He seemed vaguely displeased when the three brothers nodded as one. But
his words were commonplace enough.
“We need information. _Bon._ First, we must find someone who can supply
it. Preferably this Thotmes—but we cannot pick and choose, I suppose.”
Jimmy said on impulse, “You believe Captain Brady’s story?”
For answer Desquer waved his hand around. “Look at this. No modern
civilization built it. I’ve lived in Sub-Sahara for a long time,
and—well, at least I’ll verify the story before I act. Let me remind
you that it is not your business to ask questions.” His cold gaze held
the youngster.
Tony said quickly, “I’ll get the information, commander.”
Desquer nodded. “Very well. I need tell you nothing you do not already
know. Most of the Copts know English; if not, bring your captive back
here. We shall wait.”
Tony looked once at the sprawled, terrible body that had been Captain
Brady, waved casually to Phil and Jimmy—and went out. Along the
shadowed aisle of pillars he hurried, pausing only when he emerged from
the temple. There, crouching in the dimness, he paused, looking about.
There was no sign of life. In the distance loomed the tunnel mouth by
which they had entered Alu. Tony slid along the side of the building and
peered gingerly around the corner. He could see the arched ramp along
which the “gods” had passed, but it was vacant now. What was the logical
course to pursue?
The lost city stretched about for miles, an apparently tenantless ruin.
Yet it was peopled, Tony knew, by Thotmes the high priest and his
servitors—perhaps by Copts, though probably not, since the latter were
confined to their own city above. At the thought Tony involuntarily
glanced up. Beyond the cavern roof was the Midnight Sea, above that the
Coptic city, and still further above, Sub-Sahara itself. The weight of
innumerable tons of Earth pressing down on him was almost suffocating.
However—
Tony shook off the feeling and set out at random, after taking careful
bearings. He had a compass, but it was useless in this environment, as
he found after brief experimentation. But he could gauge direction
fairly well from the great pyramid, which was visible from almost any
point in the city of Alu.
He kept in the shadows, which were concealingly dark where the
flickering red light did not shine. What caused that volcanic glow Tony
did not know, though he hazarded a few guesses. He went toward the
pyramid.
It was a metropolis of the dead. Eons ago it had been inhabited, by the
survivors of sunken Atlantis, but now only the dust of ages filled it.
Silence, and everywhere the symbol of Isis, Moon-goddess, carved upon
the stones. Silence ...
The pyramid drew nearer, and Tony was amazed anew at its hugeness. It
towered up and up to the very ceiling of the cavern, seeming to support
it like a pillar. Perhaps it did—he could not tell. But as he came
closer he saw that the pyramid was hollow, for there were lighted
embrasures here and there in the sloping expanse of its sides.
And still there was no sound, no movement, no trace of life.
Tony grew more cautious, though there seemed no need. An arched opening
loomed in the side of the pyramid near him, and he slunk toward it
watchfully. No guards were posted. He hesitated near the threshold.
Should he take the risk of entering what might be a stronghold of his
enemies? To search the deserted city was seemingly a vain task, and,
shrugging, Tony walked boldly toward the opening. But his gun was in his
hand, and a coal-cartridge in its cup, ready for instant use.
* * * * *
A passageway sloped upward within the pyramid. It was lighted dimly by
gleaming bars like neon-tubes that ran the length of the ceiling. In the
vague glow Tony went stealthily on.
The corridor was featureless and without doors—at first. But, suddenly,
he noticed what had at first evaded his attention, a series of panels
set in the walls. The secret of their locks was beyond him, until at
last one seemed simpler than the others. Tony pressed a spring that was
not too deftly hidden—and the panel opened.
He looked through metal bars into a great cage.
Briefly he thought of a menagerie, and then went sick and dizzy with
nausea. This was, indeed, a “zoo”—but it did not hold animals. It
held—gods!
The artificial monsters created by Thotmes and his servants roamed
within the cage, men with the heads of teratological mythos. Here,
indeed, were the gods of Egypt, jackal-headed, ibis-headed, bull-headed,
even some with the heads of crocodiles set hideously upon the human
shoulders. So brightly lit was the cage that the beings did not see
Tony, and he drew back swiftly, closing the panel. Obviously he could
get no information here. He suppressed a strong impulse to use his
carbon-gun to put these pitiful beings out of the unending nightmare of
their existence. If this was a sample of Thotmes’ power, it would not be
well for the Atlantean to rule over Earth!
Tony went on along the corridor. From his slight knowledge of
Egyptology, he knew that not all of the gods were malevolent, like Set.
Both Osiris and Amon-Ra were benevolent, and so, indeed, was Isis.
Perhaps in the beginning the whole religion had been a good one, and had
become decadent and degenerate with the passage of ages in this hidden
cavern-world. The obvious parallel was Satanism ...
Yet this wasn’t a question of superstition. It was one of logic and
science, of cold facts in which the mythology of a race had been rooted.
Behind the veil of so-called “magic” lay an alien and powerful culture,
born in Atlantis long before Ur and Akkad had risen in Sumeria, along
the Tigris and Euphrates.
On and on Tony went, a cold uneasiness rising within him. No one
appeared to bar his path. More than once he glanced at the
carbon-gun—but he was unprepared when the floor dropped beneath him,
and he fell, writhing and twisting, into darkness.
He landed heavily on a hard surface, and went down with a grunt and an
oath. Before he could rise, he felt the weight of muscular bodies upon
him. Handicapped by the darkness, he fought doggedly, but the gun was
torn from his grasp almost at the outset of the struggle. He was not in
complete blackness; there was a vague dim glow, but Tony’s eyes were not
conditioned to it, as those of his enemies were. At last he lay
prostrate, held motionless by iron hands that gripped him.
A deep voice murmured a command. The light grew brighter. Tony blinked,
staring up from his position spread-eagled on a stone floor. He
discovered that he was in a bare chamber, with a barred door of metal
grating set in one wall. Five strong-thewed Copts held him—but almost
immediately Tony saw that they were not Copts. Their faces lacked the
degeneracy of the underground mining race. They were cruel instead of
stupid. Cruel—and arrogant, proud! Proud with the knowledge of a
culture that stretched back into the mists of a lost antiquity.
One man stood against the wall—and he was a giant. He wore a short
spade beard, and soft, glossy black hair fell in curled, oily ringlets
about his face. He was handsome with the beauty of a sword-blade, strong
and powerful and deadly, and his beaked nose was hooked like a scimitar.
Pale blue eyes watched Tony unwinkingly.
* * * * *
In not-quite-perfect English, he said, “I am Thotmes.” Tony could not
repress a slight movement, and the blue eyes narrowed; but the priest
merely smiled. “You know me? That is strange. Perhaps you have spoke
to ... Osiris!”
He nodded to the priests, who relaxed their grip on Tony. The
legionnaire sprang up, but made no hostile movement. He stood silent,
watching Thotmes.
The Atlantean stroked his beard. “You are wise. This will be your
prison, and, if you cause no trouble, you can live for a time. We do not
murder unnecessarily.”
“Only nine-tenths of the world’s population,” Tony said gently.
“That,” Thotmes smiled, “is necessary. We are a handful, against
billions. Not even the powers we shall recover from Atlantis would
enable us to conquer Earth—unless Earth is already conquered, her
navies and aircraft and weapons smashed by cataclysms.”
“You actually expect to make a second Moon?” Tony’s voice held
skepticism. But the priest was not offended.
“Yes. Such a thing was done once before. The machine that made the Moon
was built in Atlantis, and we have built a duplicate here. It took
centuries, but at last it is finished. In the heart of the pyramid it
lies—and already it is in operation.”
“In operation?” Involuntarily Tony glanced around. “I don’t—”
“You feel nothing here and now, of course. Later you may, though we are
safe in Alu. The machine sets up vibration and molecular disruption in
certain strata under Europe, and gradually the intensity of the
vibration will be increased—until Europe shakes itself literally to
pieces. In a week or even less the final cataclysm will take place.
Europe will vanish, leaving an abyss into which the waters of the
Atlantic will pour. And Atlantis will rise again!”
“That,” said Tony, “will be Old Home Week, eh?”
Thotmes didn’t answer. He turned to the others and gestured. One of them
slid open the barred grating, and the group filed out. The door slammed.
Beyond it, Thotmes smiled at his captive. “Your companions will join you
soon. We shall not trouble to search for them. They will walk into our
midst soon enough, and then you will have company.”
“Look out you don’t get your head blown off by one of them,” Tony
remarked.
Thotmes lost his smile. He tugged at his spade beard and said, “Few men
jest in Alu. There is always a need for new gods—and you would look
well with a jackal’s head on your shoulders.”
“You’d look lovely with a rat’s,” Tony agreed, “only you already have
one.”
The high priest said something indistinguishable, glared and departed.
Tony was left alone. He shrugged and took stock of his possessions.
He had been searched completely. His pockets were empty. Carbon-gun and
coal-cartridges had been taken from him. He had no tool by which he
might leave the cell.
On the other hand, there might possibly be a concealed panel somewhere.
It took an hour for Tony to convince himself that none existed. Finally
he sat down and waited. There was nothing else to do. He had got the
information for which he had come. The machine of the Atlanteans was in
the heart of the pyramid. But he was unarmed, and had no way of
conveying a message to Desquer or his brothers. Briefly he wondered what
was happening to Phil and Jimmy, and how long they would wait. And when
they got tired of waiting—what would they do?
What could they do—trapped in Alu, city of science and fathomless
antiquity? Four men, Desquer and the brothers, against the mighty powers
of the greatest civilization Earth had ever known. Four against the
might that had made Egypt an invincible empire.
Four against the gods!
CHAPTER VII
The Might of Atlantis
A thump from above brought Tony from his crouching position to stand
rigidly erect, gaze riveted to the ceiling. He was in time to see a
section of it swing down on hinges, letting the body of a man, with arms
and legs flailing, drop into the prison. Tony sprang forward, breaking
the man’s fall. It was Phil.
Phil’s blond hair was disheveled, a stubble of yellow beard on his face;
but his stocky body was as steel-muscled as ever. He still gripped the
carbon-gun he had been holding, and his eyes met Tony’s with relief.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” There was no need for more, so deep was the understanding
between the brothers. Tony said swiftly, “Anybody after you?”
“Didn’t see anybody.”
“Took ’em by surprise, perhaps. But they’ll be along. We’ve got to work
fast while we’ve a chance of getting out of here.” He glanced at the
barred door. “We could blast out there with the carbon-gun, but I don’t
know the road. Hop on my shoulders, kid. We’re going out through the
ceiling.”
Phil handed his brother the gun and climbed deftly onto Tony’s shoulders
as the latter knelt. Slowly he rose, steadying Phil with one hand.
“Got—got worried about you when you didn’t show up. I went after you.”
“See if you can open the panel ... Jimmy all right?”
“He’s okay. The kid’s pretty tough ... Got it!”
The hinged panel slid down as Phil’s stubby fingers closed over the edge
of the opening. Tony heaved up strongly. For a second Phil hung there;
then his body wriggled up, and his weight was gone from Tony’s
shoulders.
Simultaneously a cry came from beyond the barred door.
A pale ray lanced out. Tony felt a twinge of agony in his side.
Involuntarily he flung up the carbon-gun and fired. The metal door
vanished in a blaze of white fires. Whoever had been beyond it had also
disappeared without trace.
But there were others coming. Tony traded shots with them. He heard
Phil’s voice and risked a glance up. Phil was lying flat, his arm
extended down.
“Jump for it!”
“Can’t,” Tony said. “They’d wing me ...”
“You’ve got to. I can hear them coming up here, too.”
“Beat it. Get back to Desquer. Tell him the machine’s in the base of
this pyramid. I’m going out this way; there’ll be a better chance of one
of us getting through if we take different routes. Beat it!”
There was a pause, punctuated by the snarl of the carbon-gun. Then Phil
said, “Okay. Luck!”
His feet scraped on the stone above. The panel slammed shut. Tony made a
wry face, realizing that Phil was unarmed. But he had a better chance of
escape than Tony himself, for a dozen or more of priests was blocking
the passage that led—perhaps!—to freedom.
Tony fired again. The foremost of the priests went down, and the others
hesitated. The gun crackled savagely. One priest broke and fled—and the
others followed.
* * * * *
Tony hurried after them, every sense on the alert. The passage was
apparently bare, and silent save for the dying thump of flying feet; but
he guessed that there might be traps. Would this road lead to escape?
And—had Phil escaped safely? There was no way of knowing—yet.
The passage stretched empty before Tony. He gripped the gun, feeling in
its cold metal a reassurance against even the danger of Thotmes and his
powers. There was no limit to the weapon’s potentialities. The stronger
the charge, the more effective the results. With a powerful enough
charge, Tony thought sardonically, he could bring down the whole
pyramid. Unfortunately he had no ammunition, save for the clip in the
gun’s butt.
At a side passage he hesitated, realizing that the new tunnel led up.
The priests would not expect him to take this path—so he did so. And,
as it turned out, he was wise.
He came out on a little balcony overlooking the sloping ramp of the
pyramid. Beneath him the massive piles of masonry fled down like
gigantic steps, and Tony hesitated as he glanced down. A noise from
behind him, along the passage, helped him make his decision.
It was almost too late. A priest burst into view, mouth open in a
soundless scream, raising a short metal rod in one hand. Tony flung up
the carbon-gun and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
The ammunition was exhausted.
Tony’s reaction was involuntary and instinctive. He flung the gun
straight at the priest’s face and ducked, diving in at his opponent. A
beam of light lanced out over Tony’s head. Then he crashed into the
priest’s knees and brought the man down heavily.
There was no time for ethics. Tony struck low and hard. He left the
priest unconscious and vaulted the balcony’s rail. Down the slope of the
pyramid he sprang, leaping along the huge steps made by the giant
blocks, risking his neck at every jump. But—he made it.
Once at the base of the pyramid, he was comparatively safe. Out of the
red glow the shadows were heavy, and Tony took advantage of them to
slink away toward the wall of the cavern he could see far ahead of him.
But before he did so he made a brief scouting trip, hoping to find Phil.
It was useless. Either Phil had already made good his escape, or else he
had fallen victim to the priests of Thotmes.
There was no sign of excitement. Tony wondered why. Perhaps the escape
of prisoners was of little importance to the Atlanteans. They were too
self-confident—with good reason, it might be. Science that could rip
the Earth asunder was not easily to be conquered.
Near the door of the Temple of Osiris Tony quickened his pace. The sound
of hoarse breathing and shuffling footsteps came to his ears. On the
threshold he hesitated, staring, but saw nothing in the dimness of the
interior. Wait! Far down beneath the dais were two motionless bodies.
One was that of Captain Brady, of course. But the other—
Tony broke into a run. Yet he retained caution enough to move as
silently as possible, though he could hardly repress a shouted question.
Had the Atlanteans found the intruders in Alu? Was the body that of
Desquer, or—Jimmy?
It was neither! Tony stumbled over a carbon-gun, snatched it up in one
motion, and simultaneously saw that beside the figure of Brady lay Phil,
unconscious and bloodstained, red fluid seeping from a gaping hole in
his chest. But Tony could spare only one glance at his brother. Beside
him, between the pillars that towered to the roof, two men were locked
in conflict—Jimmy and Commander Desquer!
* * * * *
Jimmy was getting the worst of it. He was weaponless and trying to hold
on to the hand in which Desquer held his gun. The commander was slowly
breaking his opponent’s grip. No expression showed in the Legion
officer’s face, but his eyes were black and deadly as wet velvet. Jimmy
was gasping and bleeding from a cut over one eye, almost exhausted.
Tony said, his voice like a whiplash, “_Drop that gun, Desquer!_”
The commander’s reaction was unexpected. All in one swift motion he
released Jimmy and flung himself back. Hidden in the shadow of the
pillars, he fired at Tony.
The shot missed. Tony lifted his own weapon—the one Jimmy had
apparently dropped—but Desquer was fleeing, dodging in and out like a
phantom. Why the devil—! Then Tony knew why. Desquer was no coward.
But, on the other hand, he was no fool. He had run out of ammunition. A
cartridge belt on the floor, its buckle torn off, explained the reason.
In the fight Desquer had lost the belt.
He vanished through the door of the temple and was gone. Tony stared at
Jimmy. “What the hell?”
The boy was white and gasping. “Phil got back. He’d seen you in the
pyramid—told us where the machine was. But he’d been wounded—”
“Yeah. Keep talking, kid.” Tony was kneeling beside the unconscious form
of Phil, rendering such first aid as he could.
“Desquer sent me outside to keep guard. I heard Phil yell, and came
running in. I was just in time to see Desquer—” The boy swallowed. “He
killed Phil, Tony. Shot him through the chest. I tried to stop him—and
then you came in.”
Phil’s eyelashes flickered. Tony gave Jimmy the gun. “Okay. Run along
and keep guard again. Watch out for Desquer. If he shows up—”
“I’ll use the gun.” There was deadly grimness in the young voice.
Jimmy’s hand closed over the weapon; he hurried off down the dark aisle.
Phil was looking up at his brother, a wry grin twisting his lips. “So
you got out of the pyramid too, eh? Good.”
“What happened, boy?” Tony was futilely trying to stanch the flow of
blood.
“Nothing much. Desquer didn’t bandage me up after I got here. He
searched me, instead. Found nothing, of course. But—he asked me where
the Earth Star was.”
There was a little silence. Tony whispered, “How—”
“I don’t know. Desquer found out something. He’s after the gem. Thought
I had it, and when he couldn’t find it on me, he tried to make me talk.
His methods weren’t very—nice. That’s when I yelled, I guess. I jumped
at Desquer. Found out I wasn’t as badly wounded as I’d thought. He shot
me through the chest.”
Phil coughed. “Might as well stop trying, Tony. I’m the first of us to
go. I’ve a hunch there’ll be another. But one of us three ought to pull
through.”
“I’ll get Desquer,” Tony said very softly. His thin, dark face was a
grim mask of copper.
“Thanks. And keep an eye on the kid, will you? I—I—” A gush of blood
came from Phil’s mouth. He coughed rackingly. Tony hurriedly ripped off
his shirt to improvise an additional bandage.
But it was useless. Ten minutes later Tony stood silently beside the
body of his brother, looking down at the stolid features, relaxed
utterly now in death. The shadows of the temple of Osiris pressed in
heavily. It was, in a way, fitting that death should have come for Phil
in Alu, the asphodel land where Egyptians thought the souls went to roam
endlessly.
Tony turned and walked slowly along the aisle. At the threshold of the
temple he turned and looked back. Phil would rest there forever,
perhaps—and it was such a sarcophagus as few men have ever possessed.
“Don’t move,” a low voice commanded. “Not an inch! _Careful!_”
[Illustration: “Don’t move! Not if you value your lives!”]
But Tony’s reaction was involuntary as he whirled. Almost beside him,
but out of easy reach, was Commander Desquer. In his hand was a
carbon-gun, and another was in his holster. The man’s glittering eyes
watched Tony icily from under the shaggy penthouse brows.
“Careful!” Desquer repeated. “Your brother wasn’t.”
“Where is he?”
“There.... He isn’t hurt. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Just
stunned. My gun wasn’t loaded, but his was. So—”
Desquer grinned and passed his palm over his shaved scalp. “Revive him.
Quick!” he barked as Tony hesitated.
* * * * *
The latter silently went to where Jimmy lay huddled against the wall of
the temple. He knelt beside the boy and began to slap his cheeks. He
glanced up once to see the Commander watching him narrowly.
Desquer said, “Where’s the Earth Star? You got it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony grunted.
“No? Then let me explain. That televisor call that took me to the
surface—it was from a man named Zadah, the secretary of a certain
Rajah. He told me all about you. Offered me a fortune if I got the jewel
back for him. Well—I intend to. I’m sick of the Legion, and this is my
chance to buy my way out and live like a prince. So—where’s the stone?”
Tony told him, but his remark was unprintable. Desquer’s thick lips
twisted in a sneer.
“Very well. But I’ll get it, remember that.”
“A lot of good it’ll do you now.”
“I’ll get out of here. But first we’re going to destroy that machine of
Thotmes. Your brother’s waking up. Bring him along. We’re heading for
the pyramid.”
Grimly Tony hoisted the half-unconscious Jimmy to his feet and supported
him. “We’re unarmed. There are scores of priests—”
“You’re going to stay unarmed,” Desquer snapped. “I can handle a gun
better than any three men. _Allons!_”
Tony grunted and started out, carrying most of Jimmy’s weight on his
shoulders as the boy slowly recovered from the blow that had stunned
him. His lips were a tight, pale line. Both he and Jimmy were completely
in Desquer’s power, and the man was so completely an egotist that he had
not hesitated to carry out his own plans even in the face of a doom that
threatened the entire Earth. Ruthless Desquer was—but of his icy
courage there could be no doubt. Nor of his greed! Tony sensed something
of the driving power within the man, the desolate years of loneliness in
Sub-Sahara, a prison worse for Desquer, perhaps, than for any other man
there.
They moved toward the pyramid, keeping to the shadows. Tony and Jimmy
preceded their captor, conscious always of the gun leveled unerringly at
their backs. There was neither sign nor movement to indicate the
presence of the Atlanteans.
“How do you expect to get to the machine?” Tony asked finally. “It’s
guarded.”
“I can outshoot a dozen Copts,” Desquer said confidently. “We’re going
straight in. We’ll find a guide—make him guide us. If anyone gets in
our way, he’ll regret it. We’re going in, smash the machine, and come
out again. And then—I’ll find out which of you has the Earth Star.”
Tony didn’t reply. He went on, his mind desperately searching for a
plan. But it seemed hopeless. There was no way out.
Finally only a broad plaza separated them from the pyramid. At its edge
the trio paused. Desquer said, “We’ll skirt around to that building—see
it? It juts into the open space ... I don’t see any guards, but there
may be some.”
The three were standing in the shadow at the corner of a tall stone
obelisk. And without warning a score of figures dropped down upon them,
in utter silence—and with murderous fury.
Desquer’s guns were in his hands. The snarling crackle of the
carbon-pistols rapped out, awakening echoes in the dead city. Tony could
not see the commander; he was borne down under a press of bodies,
struggling furiously. Beside him he heard Jimmy cursing and striking out
weakly. The Atlantean priests were not using their ray-projectors,
perhaps because they depended on weight of numbers. That was their
mistake!
* * * * *
It was Desquer’s fearless savagery turned the tide of battle. His guns
bellowed without ceasing. Thrice he went down, rising at last a
gargoylish, hideous figure, dripping with blood from a dozen wounds, his
bare scalp shining blackly in the red light. One by one and two by two
he killed, mercilessly, viciously, finally clubbing his pistol to
dispose of the last of the priests, who was atop Tony.
“Can’t waste ammunition,” he growled. “Get up! Both of you! Hurry!”
Tony stood up, Jimmy beside him. A few of the priests _had_ escaped, he
saw, and were even now fleeing toward the temple. Desquer raised his
gun, hesitated, and lowered it.
“Come on!”
Tony stared. Scores—no, more than a hundred priests were pouring from
the pyramid, forming a phalanx massing itself to guard the threshold. In
the lead stood Thotmes, his spade beard making him easily recognizable.
The fleeing priests joined their companions, and the little army stood
in silence.
“Not using their ray-projectors,” Tony said. “Guess they’re good only at
short range.”
Desquer snarled, “Come on!” His guns snouted forward, urging his
captives on. Slowly they moved across the plaza.
The commander fired. A priest fell, screaming. The ranks closed in,
hiding him from view.
Again and again Desquer fired. His gun clicked on an empty chamber; he
emptied the other one. Then he reached for his belt—and Tony heard him
curse.
“_Dieu!_ Those damned Copts! The priests—they got my ammunition belt in
the fight!”
Tony stopped, turned. Desquer was standing straddle-legged, the
carbon-pistols, futile without coal, pointing at the priests. His face
was set into rock-hard lines.
Thotmes shouted something and lifted the missing ammunition belt in one
hand. He raised it tauntingly.
“Got any coal?” Desquer rasped. The other two men shook their heads.
The priests began to move forward.
Tony said, “You can’t destroy the machine now, Desquer. You’ve doomed
the world—and yourself.”
Desquer’s knuckles were white; he stood as though carven from granite.
His jet eyes squinted at the oncoming mob.
Jimmy started to laugh. “How do you like it, Desquer?” he mocked.
“You’re not the commander now. You’re just a guy with an empty gun.
And—you’re going to die, Desquer. _You’re going to die!_”
CHAPTER VIII
The New Atlantis
The tension grew unendurable. The priests were advancing slowly, as
though assured that their quarry could not escape. In the lead Thotmes
was smiling and stroking his beard with one hand.
“Surrender,” he called out. “No harm will come to you—for a while. Not
till we need new beast-gods!”
Desquer’s face went a mottled red. But still there was no fear in the
man. He faced the throng, still holding his guns—and suddenly sheathed
one and began to search his pockets. His low voice rapped out.
“Quick, you fools! See if there’s anything on you we can use for
ammunition. It doesn’t have to be coal—carbon will do.”
Tony shot one hurried glance at the mob of priests. Desquer gave a
little cry of triumph and brought out a single coal-cartridge from his
tunic pocket. “Good! Only one, but—” He slipped it into the gun’s
firing cup.
There was a queer look, almost of amusement, on Tony’s dark face. He
gripped Jimmy’s arm and whispered, “Wait!”
Desquer stepped forward. He raised his gun and called, “Halt!”
A flashing smile came from Thotmes. The high priest did not reply. He
kept on....
And Desquer fired.
Thotmes seemed surprised. He paused, lifting his hands to a chest that
was a gory mass of red ruin. He stared at his bloodstained fingers.
From the priests went up a whisper of terror—as Thotmes fell! The high
priest of Alu was dead!
Desquer did not pause. He took one step forward, and another, as though
expecting his enemies to give back. But they did not.
They massed together grimly—and advanced.
This time the commander paused, his thick lips twisting. His hand dived
into his tunic pocket in a futile gesture. But there was no more
ammunition.
Tony was smiling. He touched Desquer’s arm.
“I’ve a bullet for you, commander.”
“Eh?” The glittering eyes widened. “Where—”
Desquer’s gaze focused on what Tony held in his palm. Lens-shaped and
lovely the great gem lay there, flashing in the red light of Alu. Like a
diamond it was—but it was not a diamond.
Jimmy said breathlessly, “Tony! You—”
“_The Earth Star!_” There was sweat on Desquer’s face.
“Go on,” Tony whispered. “Take it, commander! It’s carbon. You can use
it as a bullet. A coal-cartridge will kill a man. This jewel’s much
harder than stone. There’s no limit to the power of a carbon gun. You
can bring down the pyramid with this—commander!”
Desquer still did not move, and Tony deftly slipped the jewel into the
gun’s cup. It rested there in its strange setting, beautiful beyond
imagination, holding within its fiery heart fortunes and grandeur and
death. A jewel—but it was carbon, too. And Desquer’s eyes did not move
from the great gem.
“Shoot,” Tony said. “If you do, you lose the Earth Star. If you
don’t—it means death.”
The commander’s face was shining with sweat. He glanced up once to the
mob of priests, very close now. His gross frame shook with the agony of
indecision. To possess the Earth Star—and to know that its possession
meant certain doom! He had only to squeeze the trigger, and his enemies
would be blasted out of existence. But if he did that—
He would lose the Earth Star!
He snarled at Tony, “So you were the one! The Merlin—”
“_Fire!_”
Almost involuntarily Desquer brought up the gun and aimed it. He was
whispering curses under his breath, putting off until the last moment
the decision that must be made sooner or later. And he dared not wait
too long. The priests came closer.
The flickering red glow made Desquer’s features scarlet and black; his
eyes burned balefully, tortured and terrible. He said, “Damn you!
I—I’ll—”
His finger tightened on the trigger. And—stopped.
For the priests had paused. They were staring at the Earth Star. They,
too, were frozen motionless.
One cried, “The jewel! The jewel!”
The tableau held. Abruptly the priests gave back, hesitating. Tony heard
Jimmy’s gasp. He, too, was wondering what this meant.
* * * * *
He was never to know. Perhaps, in long-forgotten ages, another Earth
Star had been dug out from beneath the Atlantic, to form part of the
religion of Atlantis. Tony could not know. But he realized that the
priests recognized the jewel, or thought they did. They bowed before it!
Instantly Desquer realized his opportunity. He said quietly, “Come on.
We’re going into the pyramid—and smash the machine.”
Tony said, “You’re crazy. The priests won’t stand for _that_!”
Desquer grinned unpleasantly. Without warning the other gun was in his
hand; he clubbed it and swung. Tony felt a crashing blow on his head as
he ducked. Gasping with pain, he reeled in and closed with the giant
commander.
Jimmy had hold of Desquer’s arm but with one sweeping motion the officer
sent the boy sprawling. Desquer and Tony went down with a crash on the
stones. Soft cries came from the priests. They began to move forward
again, their superstitious terror gone.
Desquer’s stubby fingers were sunk into Tony’s throat; he squeezed
viciously, his tiny eyes glinting. Though he lay undermost, he was
getting the better of the battle. Tony pumped blow after blow at the
commander’s face, but apparently without effect. He felt Jimmy at his
side, saw the boy try to tear the iron fingers from his brother’s neck.
And, too, Tony saw the carbon-pistol lying on the stones near by.
“Jimmy!” His voice was a cracked wheeze. “Gun—pyramid—”
Into Desquer’s eyes sprang murder-light. The fingers contracted, sending
agony down Tony’s spine. Jimmy understood, though, and dived for the
pistol. He snatched it up, leveled it at the pyramid and the oncoming
priests.
Desquer yelled like a beast. His fingers relaxed. Somehow he writhed
free, sprang up, plunged toward Jimmy.
“Don’t!” he bellowed. “Don’t—”
From the gun’s muzzle burst a raving blast of searing flame. The
incredible pressure that had made the Earth Star was released. Straight
through the ranks of the priests it bored an aisle, into the heart of
the pyramid, melting and wrecking solid stone with the terrific power of
its thrust. The volcanic fires of Earth itself seemed to be latent in
that—bullet!
Over the cries of the priests came a rumbling, crashing thunder. A block
fell, clattering down the pyramid’s side. The structure buckled. Its
whole side was torn out. The summit toppled and came thundering down,
amid clouds of smoking dust and ruin.
Tony staggered erect, staring up. Something was happening to the cavern
roof. The pyramid _had_ been a pillar, supporting it. And now the
support was gone—
Rocks fell from above. Cracks ran out like a great spider web. Something
silvery flashed down from above, glinting red in the crimson glow. Tony
remembered that above Alu was—the Midnight Sea!
And that sunless, tideless ocean was pouring into the cavern world
through the crevasse that had been torn in its floor!
The falling water became a column, a torrent, a bellowing Niagara. It
drowned the wreckage of the pyramid. Down the flood came thundering, and
icy tides lapped at Tony’s feet. He seized Jimmy’s arm, pushed him
along.
“We’ve got to get out of here!”
“How—how can we?”
“We can try—”
* * * * *
Their voices, raised to shouts, sounded like thin whispers above the
mighty rush of the ocean that was pouring into Alu. The priests ran
about aimlessly, and among them, Tony saw, was Commander Desquer. A knot
of the Atlanteans surrounded the officer. They were trying to pull him
down, like wolves surrounding a bison. Unarmed, Desquer yet was stronger
than his opponents.
Silently Jimmy pointed. Tony’s teeth showed in a mirthless grin.
“So what?” his lips formed. He was remembering Phil ...
The brothers plunged along the street, already knee deep in surging
black water. A louder thunder came from behind them. A new sound filled
the cavern—a deep hissing, like steam. Beyond the wreck of the pyramid,
Tony saw with a quick glance, crimson clouds were lifting. So the red
light of Alu was actually due to volcanic activity. And now the icy
waters of the Midnight Sea were finding the molten fires of lava—
More rocks fell thunderously. Looking back, Tony saw a single figure
charging after them—Desquer, a battered, bleeding giant who splashed on
through the water amid a hail of stone that dropped from the vaulted
heaven of Alu. All about him that deadly hail dropped. One glance Tony
had of Desquer rushing on, heavy shoulders hunched, teeth bared in a
mirthless grin—
Then he was gone! The avalanche from the cracking skies buried him. A
pile of rocks showed for an instant where he had been, and that, too,
vanished as the rising waters seethed past.
Tony said nothing, but as he fought past the temple of Osiris where
Phil’s body lay, he lifted his hand in a queer, quick salute. Perhaps
Phil would know, now, that his death had been avenged ...
Already the dark tides were seething at the tunnel-mouth that led to the
upper world. On the threshold Tony paused, to take one last look at
ruined Alu. The red light was darker now, and somber. The flaming clouds
boiled up endlessly; the rock shook and quaked underfoot. The Niagara
that poured from the roof of the cave looked like a solid obelisk, and
an odd thought came into Tony’s mind.
“A pillar of cloud by day ... and a pillar of smoke by night ...”
Alu, daughter of Atlantis, was dying as the mother continent had died.
Earth-fires and deluge were slaying her, wiping out all life, wrecking
the culture that had survived from the misty, unknown eons before Egypt
was. The huge temples, half submerged in seething tides, were falling in
ruin. All over the vast cavern darkness was falling.
The arched ramp they had seen on entering Alu was still visible, far
away. And now Tony saw that there were figures upon it, as there had
been at first. Figures with strange, misshapen heads—
The pitiable, terrible beast-gods of Alu, created by dead Thotmes’
science!
One glimpse Tony had of those far figures, outlined blackly against red
smoke. Then—the ramp fell.
Over Alu the roaring desolation of death and ruin held sway!
Tony turned to the white-faced Jimmy. Already the water was tearing at
their thighs.
“Come on,” he shouted. “We’re getting out of here. Fast!”
They fled up the tunnel ...
The rest was sheer nightmare. Somehow they found their way, following
always the passages that led up, hiding from terrified, frantic Copts,
fleeing through corridors whose walls shook with the grip of earthquake.
Up and up they went, finding at last a frightened Copt who agreed to
guide them to the surface. His own world was falling in pieces about
him, and he wished only to escape. A cave-in crushed him not long after,
but the passage stretched unbroken before the brothers. They toiled
on ...
Daylight filtered in yellow brilliance through a crack in the rock.
Exhausted, haggard, filthy scarecrows, the two squeezed through into
blazing sunlight. About them lay rolling dunes. They were in a rocky
little valley.
They dropped to the sand and lay there motionless for hours, scarcely
conscious of the burning sun.
The soft mutter of a gyro motor woke them. Tony sat up, blinking. He was
in time to see a plane land softly not far away, and a figure in flying
uniform step out.
* * * * *
Jimmy was still sleeping. Tony lurched forward to greet the new arrival.
His eyes were misty with sleep, and he did not at first recognize the
pilot—not till the latter took out an automatic and held it ready.
Then he saw it was Zadah, the Rajah’s secretary.
Tony stopped, swaying a little, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
Zadah’s round face was triumphant. The beady eyes shone with triumph.
“Luck,” he said. “I’ve been cruising about for hours just on an off
chance. I just happened to sight you—”
“The Copts.” Tony said thickly. “They—”
Zadah nodded. “I know. Your legionnaire got through—Jacklyn. There’s an
army of troopers at the mouth of Sub-Sahara. But—where’s the Earth
Star? If you escaped, that means Desquer didn’t get it.”
“It’s gone. Desquer got it—and used it. The Earth Star’s destroyed,
Zadah.”
The other hesitated. Something he saw in Tony’s eyes made him realize
that the latter spoke truth. Abruptly baffled rage sprang into Zadah’s
round face.
“Gone! Then—”
He lifted the gun, his lips white with fury at the wreckage of his
plans. “Maybe! If you’re lying, I’ll find the jewel on your bodies.”
Tony tensed himself for a spring that he knew in advance would be
futile. But, before he could move, another figure hurled itself forward.
Jimmy’s slight frame dived at the killer.
Zadah’s gun barked. Jimmy cried out; the Oriental swung his weapon back
to Tony. But he was too late. His wrist was held in a grip of iron.
Tony’s dark face was close to his own, and there was death in the somber
eyes.
Zadah screamed.
Tony said not a word. Very slowly, very carefully, he bent Zadah’s hand
back. The latter’s finger was still on the trigger. The gun pointed at
last at the killer’s heart.
Then Tony smiled—and the muscles of his hand contracted.
The report was shatteringly loud in the desert stillness.
Tony let the limp body slide down, and turned back to Jimmy. The boy was
dead. Zadah’s bullet had made a neat little hole in the brown shirt.
After a moment Tony carried the body of his brother to the plane and put
it aboard. He followed. He sent the gyro winging up over the desert.
Beneath him the Sahara stretched, a white wilderness under the flaming
heat of the Sun. To the north could be seen an encampment, the troopers
that had arrived, too late, at the mouth of Sub-Sahara. Tony set the
controls and fled beyond them.
The desert gave place to the Mediterranean, and that, in turn, to the
Pacific Ocean. The cool blueness of night folded down. Moonlight
silvered the waves.
Tony opened a trap-door in the floor and let the body of his brother
slide through. Phil rested in the temple of Osiris—and Jimmy would lie
beneath the waves that hid Atlantis.
He went back to the controls, staring ahead at an empty horizon.
Westward lay New York. He could go back there now; the motive for
keeping hidden had vanished. No one would know who the Merlin was. Some
men might guess, might be convinced that either Phil or Jimmy had stolen
the Earth Star—but they would never dare make an accusation, and Seth
Martell would need make no compromises with his honor and his ideals.
Only Tony would know that the Merlin had been his brother Phil.
For ten minutes he had been alone with Phil in the Temple of Osiris.
And, before the youth died, he had told Tony the truth—that he was the
Merlin. He had given his brother the Earth Star to keep. But no one
would ever know that now.
Tony’s throat was tight. He stared at the dim horizon of sky and sea,
knowing that beyond it lay New York, and a life he could take up again
where he had left it. A life he must live—alone.
A faint glow brightened to the west. The tallest towers of Manhattan
were pillars of light against the sky.
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