Chapter 4: The Kidnapping of Joan

The Earthmen moved quickly and quietly into Joan’s room. Thin, crinkly draperies of heavy silk impregnated with lead in colloidal solution, covered all the walls, the door itself. But Hilary shot no more than a cursory glance around; he had left the slide slightly ajar; he was listening intently. The gun was in his hand. There were only two bullets in the chambers--all that were left of the thousands of rounds the expedition had started out with. He must not waste them.

The thick rough voice of a Mercutian floated up from below.

“Three Earth slaves came in here. Where did they go?”

“They did,” Joan admitted readily. “They frightened me out of my wits. I screamed and they ran through the house and out the back way.”

The Mercutian was suspicious.

“Hmm. Funny there’s no sign of a struggle here. Nothing is upset.”

“They ran out the back way,” the girl repeated tonelessly.

“We’ll see; but if you are lying...” He said no more, but the pause was significant in its implications.

“I would not lie to the Magnificents.”

“Not if you are wise.” He seemed to be the leader. He evidently turned to his companion, for there issued a flood of throaty consonants to which the other grunted once. Then the listeners heard his heavy stamping as he walked through the house to the rear. A door whirred; he had gone out.

The remaining Mercutian said suddenly: “He won’t find them.”

“Why not?” Joan asked, a bit tremulously.

The Mercutian laughed harshly. “Because you lied. You’ve hid them in the house.”

Hilary heard Joan’s sudden sharp intake of breath.

“No, no, Magnificent,” she cried.

The Mercutian laughed again--a hard cruel laugh. There was no mirth in it.

“All Earthwomen are liars. I know where you hid them. In your bed chamber. The trick is too old already. We may not be able to see through the lead curtains, but we can break down the door. I warned Artok not to permit the use of the lead curtains, but he has a soft streak. He listened to the women’s pleadings for privacy. Privacy, pah! A cloak for conspiracies, that’s all it comes to. When Gurda returns, we search upstairs and drag out your rats from their hole.”

He laughed smugly, pleased with his own cleverness.

“It is not so.” Strange how calm Joan sounded. “They are not in the house. Only my dying mother is here. She is bedded upstairs. The doctor ordered absolute quiet. The slightest noise would be fatal.”

The Mercutian sneered. “We’ll take a look at that dying mother of yours right now.”

“You mustn’t,” the girl panted. “She will die, I tell you.”

“And what does it matter to me?”

There was the sound of a struggle, a sharp cry, followed by a dull thud.

Hilary was out through the door like a flash, down the corridor to the head of the stairs with automatic extended. The monster Mercutian was coming heavily up the treads. They saw each other simultaneously.

The Mercutian’s pink eyes turned a vicious red; the tube dangling in his hand jerked sharply up. Hilary squeezed the trigger. The gun barked. The Mercutian spun half around with the force of the tearing bullet. The deadly beam from his weapon slithered over the wall, searing a great molten gash in the crystal. He was badly hurt, but he did not fall. Howling with pain and rage, he slewed himself around again, pointed his sun weapon unsteadily upward.

Hilary let him have the other slug. The big body jerked, and fell backward with a crash to the bottom of the stairs, there to lie oddly contorted and still.

There was a thundering rush from the rear of the lower floor, a hoarse throaty cry. Hilary tore down the steps three at a time, Grim and Wat slithering behind him.

The other Mercutian was bending over Joan’s semiconscious form, sweeping her into the crook of a huge arm. He shot a startled glance at the down-pouring Earthmen, swerved the girl around, and aimed his tube.

Hilary pulled the trigger as he swerved. There was a sharp click, but no explosion. Hilary cursed and threw himself down. He had forgotten that there were no more bullets. The speeding flash scorched overhead.

Grim and Wat crouched low. Wat’s tube, the one he had wrested from the dead guard on the conveyor, was being slowly raised. The Mercutian saw it, shifted the inanimate girl in front of himself, and backed stealthily toward the splintered door.

“Don’t shoot,” Hilary cried sharply. “You’ll kill Joan.”

Wat lowered the tube disgustedly. Hilary groaned aloud. If only he had had one more bullet. There was enough of the gigantic body exposed to offer an excellent target to a steel slug without harming Joan, but the sun weapon sent out its beam in a flat spray.

The Mercutian sensed their dilemma as they crouched on the stairs. He laughed unpleasantly as he backed through the doorway, Joan’s limp body held straight in front of him.

“Good-by, Earth slaves,” he taunted. “I take your pretty Earth maiden with me. In five minutes I return, with others. You cannot escape. Good-by.”

He jumped clumsily through the door. The crouching Earthmen heard a click. It had closed behind him.

Hilary and his companions cleared the stairs in almost a single bound. He had snatched the sun-tube out of Wat’s hand. Through the splintered slide he saw the Mercutian climbing into his flier, but a great crystal column of the portico intervened. Nevertheless, while Wat fumbled for the button that released the slide, he took a chance. Every split second was precious now. He aimed the weapon, pressed the spring. A white dazzling ray darted fanwise from the orifice. It touched the column, fused it into molten, running glass. But the Mercutian was already in his seat, Joan limp beside him. He was fumbling at the controls.

The door slid open at last. Hilary shot through like a bullet from a rifle. The flier had already taken off on a long slanting rise. A three-fingered hand waved mockingly down at him. Hilary raised his weapon, then lowered it with a groan. The flier was well within range yet, but if he aimed the terrible beam at it, there would be a crash of fused twisted material, and--Joan was in it. What a dilemma! If he didn’t shoot, she would be borne away--he dared not think to what horrible fate.