Chapter VIII: The Battle in Space

He lay back on the bunk and for several minutes stared fixedly up at nothing. The performance was reminiscent of the seance of an ancient spirit meeting. He sat up, and again his big eyes fastened themselves upon Shelby, and the uncanny voice spoke in the Earthman’s brain:

“I get father. He on scouting expedition--very close. He bring five thousand men to rescue you and me. They get here maybe three, four hours. My father--his army same weapons as Black Emperor’s. Flash, flash--all gone--everything gone.”

There was the sound of movement beyond the door. Shelby waved his hand in a quick downward gesture which Ankova interpreted correctly. He slumped limply upon the bedding in a very excellent counterfeit of unconsciousness. And then Hekalu Selba entered. His face was white as chalk, and yet there was nothing in it that hinted even of a trace of fear--only icy calm. Behind him was Sega.

“Mr. Shelby,” the Martian said with slow cool deliberation, “think well. Either you will reveal the secret of the Atomic Ray immediately or I shall have you immersed in the juice of the flame flowers.”

Austin Shelby met Hekalu’s chilly stare with a taunting smile. He sensed in the Martian’s manner that his plans had met with some serious danger.

“Though I am your prisoner,” he told him, “I believe that I can defy you. In the first place I do not fear the tortures that you might inflict upon me.” Here he took a tiny glass capsule from his sleeve pocket and placed it in his mouth. “I do not mean by that that I am super-human, that I can endure any pain. But should the torture become unbearable I would crunch the poison vial which I have carried since I joined the Sekor fraternity back on Mars, between my teeth and bring death. That, I am not afraid of. Besides, I could give you the formulas for almost any number of unknown compounds, any one of which might be the missing crystal for all you might know. It would be several hours before you would discover that I had not given you the right one.”

The Martian’s face grew even whiter and harder at these words. Thoughts and plans flashed through his mind. Should he tell the Earthman what had happened--that Alkebar, the Black Emperor, had secretly slipped through the air lock into space?--that he was certainly intent upon conquering the planets alone? It would not be hard to convince the Earthman that the savage Alkebar would be an infinitely more terrible and ruthless master than any human being ever could be. Perhaps he could win Shelby to his side for as long as he needed him. He was wavering, and then, with the sudden rush of inspiration a better idea came.

“I have told you many times that you are clever, my friend,” he said with some slight show of his old careless air. “Again I compliment you. But listen carefully: suppose I took the girl--put her in the gentle embrace of the juice of the flame flowers--told you to produce a formula that would work before I released her?”

The effect on the Earthman was electrical, but it was not quite what Hekalu Selba had expected. The blood red haze of murder rushed before Austin Shelby’s eyes, and with movements more suggestive of a wounded panther than a human being he leaped from the bunk and tore for the Martian with flailing fists. He gave no thought to the idea that what Hekki had said might be only a histrionic gesture.

“Oh, God!” he shrieked raspingly, “You Devil! You unutterable stinking, rotten fiend!” But it was a wild useless move. Hekalu was lightening quick and sure with the pistol. He inflicted death, or merely produced a disabling wound almost at will. And so it was that Shelby sprawled senseless on the floor with a nasty though not very dangerous bullet wound across the side of his head.

Sega and the Martian were bending over him, and then again the unexpected happened. An ebony form whose great hands and incredible muscles seemed quite equal to the task of tearing a gorilla limb from limb, arose from the other bunk and towered over the Prince of Selba and his Space Man companion.

The former, hearing a slight sound, turned, and realizing his peril fired two shots at the mountainous monster. Then he darted agilely for the door. He gave one quick backward look--saw the hand of Ankova descending with trip-hammer force upon the skull of Sega, and then slammed the stout portal behind him.

Sega had been unfortunate, but now all his troubles were over for his neck was broken. Ankova transferred to his own belt the weapons of the corpse--his heavy pistol--his case of atomic grenades--his bejeweled war club. Then he devoted his attention to Shelby.

Gently he carried him to the bunk and made awkward attempts to bandage his head with strips torn from the bedding. Satisfied at last with the crude but effective results of his efforts, he strode to the window.

For a long time he stood there, staring. But he saw nothing that interested him. The ether all about was crowded with Space Men coursing with the Selba. Except for a gentle swaying shifting movement they seemed to hang perfectly motionless in the void, and yet their speed was many miles a second.

The fantastic cavalcade aroused no wonder in the mind of Ankova, for to him they were as prosaic and commonplace as the grass under the feet of any Earthian. He cocked his head on one side as though listening. Perhaps at that moment something was coming to him from across the endless regions of the etheric desert--something which only his incredibly refined telepathic sense could detect.

His unshod feet sensed the faint vibration in the metal floor. Someone was approaching the room. First taking the precaution of tearing Shelby’s chain from the wall, he turned and waited before the door with ready war club. He did not wait long for it banged open almost immediately. A Space Man appeared. Behind him were others.

Ankova did not ask their mission for he saw that they wore the insignia that meant loyalty to the man from the Fourth World. Instead he leaped in to close quarters. His whirring war club, toothed with sharp spikes, ripped and tore at the head and shoulders of the unfortunate warrior. Falteringly, the creature tried to parry the blows with his own weapon; but it was useless. Before he was able to attain his fighting stride he was down, the purple radio-active liquid that flowed in his veins in lieu of blood, dyeing the threshold. His lips curled in a grimace of agony, but he made no sound--mute he had lived and he died in the same manner.

Ankova stepped over the prostrate form and engaged the one who had stood behind him. The second Space Man fared little better. He made but a brief and unsuccessful defense and then he too went down. And so Ankova, who before his capture had won fame among the tribes of the Star People as one of the mightiest fighters that their race had ever produced, battled on in the narrow passage until the seven Space Men whom Hekalu had sent to put him and Austin Shelby under restraint were either dying or dead.

The victor glanced down the corridor--saw at the farther end a small portion of the control room’s interior. Koo Faya, the Martian, was there, working with demoniac haste over switches and dials.