Chapter 3: The Death of Amos Peabody

Just how any inkling of what was happening penetrated the pain-swept consciousness of the blind and deaf President could never be determined. Possibly a thin repercussion of Grim’s cry, possibly an intuition that comes to sense-bereft men. But he had jerked spasmodically erect. There was a sharp tinkling as the weakened leg links broke. He threw himself in a queer, awkward movement forward, directly in the path of the tubed weapon. A blinding beam flashed out of the orifice, sheared through Peabody’s middle as though he were cut cleanly in half with a gigantic knife. He toppled in two sections to the floor of the conveyor--released from all humiliation, all suffering.

At the same time two other things happened. Grim Morgan hit the guard like a crashing thunderbolt and Hilary’s gun barked once. The monster tottered under the impact. A puzzled expression flitted over his pinkish eyes, a filmy sheath spread over them like a veil, and he fell heavily, a neat bullet hole square between his eyes.

Hilary shoved the gun back in his blouse, and stared alternately at the huddled form of the grotesque being and all that remained of Amos Peabody. The old President had saved his life at the cost of his own. Instinctively his hand went up in formal salute to the gallant old man.

Grim Morgan shook him by the shoulder.

“Man,” he said quietly, “we have killed a Mercutian guard. Within the hour we shall be dead men too.”

Hilary looked up at him sharply.

“A Mercutian,” he echoed. “You mean--”

“That for three years now the Earth has been a conquered province of these devils from Mercury,” Grim interposed swiftly. “We have committed the unforgivable offense and must pay for it.”

Hilary glanced swiftly around. The express conveyor was clear of passengers for over a hundred yards each way. All the people within range had cleared off when Hilary had attempted to release Peabody. The small figure of a man got up from his chair beyond the charmed circle, and was threading his way forward. The local conveyors seemed to be moving backward at graded speeds. Beyond was the open country, gradually thickening into scattered rows of crystal buildings. They were in the suburbs of Great New York. Within ten minutes the conveyor terminal would be reached.

Hilary’s eyes flicked speculatively to the tiny cigar-shaped boat in which the dead guard had flown down to them. Its smooth gray-gleaming surface was devoid of wings or other lifting devices. Only a fan-shaped fin projected from the stern like the tail of a fish. The cockpit, if such it could be called, was tiny, just ample enough to accommodate the Mercutian’s girth. The sunlight dazzled back from a bewildering jumble of tiny lenses inset in the instrument board. Arranged along the hull, on either side, were larger disks of the same quartz-like material.

“Let’s get away in the flier,” he said.

“Can’t,” Grim said. “Those lenses you see on the instrument board are the controls. No one knows how to operate them except the Mercutians. Our people managed to capture a few, but couldn’t do a thing with them.”

Hilary stared at the motionless flier with interest. “What are those round glass disks stretched along the hull in a double row?” he asked. “They look like burning glasses.”

“That’s just what they are,” said Grim sadly. “The top row are sun-lenses, that throw a terrible ray for a distance of two to three hundred feet. Melts everything in its path--men trees, rocks even. You saw one in action in the sun-tube with which poor old Peabody was cut in half. The lower row of lenses on the flier are search beams.”

“Search beams?” Hilary echoed inquiringly.

“Yes. They act like X-rays, more powerful though, and with the further property of rendering everything they touch transparently crystal for depths of ten to fifteen feet. Lead is the only element they can not penetrate. Another secret our scientists can not fathom, so they talk learnedly about the stream of rays polarizing the structure of matter along a uniaxis.”

“Can’t those lenses be duplicated, and turned as weapons against the Mercutians?”

“No. They are made of a peculiar vitreous material native to Mercury.”

“And no one has found out the principle on which they work?”

“Well, there have been theories. We haven’t many scientists left, you know. But the most popular one is that these lenses have the power of concentrating the rays of the sun to an almost infinite degree, and then spreading them out again, each individual beam with the concentrated energy of the whole. Some new way of rearranging quanta of energy.”

“Hmm!” Hilary’s brow was wrinkled. For a long moment he stared and thought.

At last he snapped back to their present situation: the dead guard at their feet, the dismembered body of Amos Peabody, the cowed groups of Earthmen on the speeding conveyors, keeping respectful distances.

“We’d better start moving if we want to get away,” he said.

“It’s no use.” Grim spread his hands resignedly. “We’ll have to take our medicine.”

Hilary flared angrily. “You’re talking nonsense. What’s to prevent us from hopping to another platform? There is no other Mercutian in sight.”

“No, but there were plenty of Earthmen who saw us.”

“They won’t tell.”

“Oh, won’t they?” Grim shook his head quietly. “You don’t realize what has happened. Their spirit has been crushed until they are actually slavish in soul as well as in body. They fought bravely enough on the first invasion. Even after the conquest there were plenty of men looking for an opportunity to fight them again. Amos Peabody headed the revolt. It was smothered in blood, so effectually that only slaves are left. Peabody was left as a horrible warning. He was sent from city to city to be exhibited to the populace, unattended on the way, so confident were the Mercutians of the terror they had inspired.”

“So you think those Earthmen who saw us will report to their masters,” Hilary said slowly.

Grim nodded.

“I know it--they’ll expect to curry favor in return.”

Hilary felt a web of circumstance tighten around him. His jaw tautened. Thank the Lord he had been away--on his own. He had not the soul of a slave--yet.

“Won’t you fight for your life?” he asked the big man curiously.

A spark lit in the mild blue eyes, died down.

“Yes if there were a chance,” he said dully. “But there is none. The whole Earth is honeycombed with their guards. They have fliers, sun weapons, invisible search beams. We’d never elude them.”

Hilary snorted impatiently. “We have good Earth brains, haven’t we? I’ve traveled all the outer planets and never met any intelligence equal to that of a man, and I won’t admit for a moment that the Mercutians are any exceptions.”

A man stepped casually onto the express, took one startled look at the dead guard, at them, and fled precipitately back.

“Another one to spread the alarm,” Morgan said grimly. “There’ll be a dozen guards dropping down on us in the next five minutes.”

“Let’s get going then.” Hilary was pulling the big man along by main force when he heard a movement in back of them. He stopped, whirled, automatic thrusting its blue nose forward.

The little man who had gotten up before on the express was pushing rapidly toward them.

“Stop.” Hilary’s voice was harsh with command.

But the little man did not heed. He literally stumbled in his haste, crying: “You’ve killed a Mercutian.”

“What of it, my bantam?” Hilary inquired softly, the muzzle of his gun boring into a lean flat stomach. The little man was actually pressing against the automatic in his excitement.

“What of it?” he shrilled excitedly. “God, all this time I’ve been waiting to find someone with guts enough to smash one of them. Sir, I’m proud to shake your hand.”

He reached over the wicked-looking muzzle, gripped Hilary’s fist, still tight on the gun butt, and pumped vigorously. He dropped the hand, swerved on Grim.

“And you too, sir.” His little fingers were engulfed in a mighty paw. “I saw it all, I tell you,” he babbled. “We’ve got them on the run. We’ll sweep the filthy devils clean off the Earth. We’ll annihilate them.”

“Whoa there, my little gamecock.” Morgan grinned down at the excited little man. “One Mercutian doesn’t make a Roman holiday. They’re plenty more where he came from. You’d better clear out before they come, or you’ll be included in the party.”

The little fellow--he was not much more than five feet no inches tall--drew himself up to his full height. “What,” he ejaculated, “me desert my friends? Wat Tyler’s never had that said of him yet. We stick together, to hell and back again.”

Hilary grinned as he slipped the weapon back into his blouse. He was beginning to like this little firebrand. In truth, Grim had rather fairly described him as a gamecock. His stature, the bristly red hair that flamed above a freckled face, the lightest of blue eyes that snapped with excitement, the peculiar strut of him.