CHAPTER XVII

Fortress in the Fen

Out of the depths of despair, Amarro's simple query came to Duane like the warm and welcome hand of a friend in blinding fog. Excitement hammered his pulse-beats to a rising fever. In vain he reminded himself that Amarro's choice of words might be purely coincidental, that the Daan prison guard might be, as he had claimed, merely curious. For Steve was thinking of Okuno's last instructions. He heard again the voice of the grave and gentle masquerader on Earth:

"Mark well this interchange, O Slumberer. Should one say to you, 'Have you kinsmen on distant Terra?', answer that questioner--"

And--for better or worse--Steve responded as he had been told.

"Aye," he said, his eyes searching Amarro's face, "I have many brothers."

And his breath caught in his throat as the guarded light in Amarro's eyes lifted, and his captor said firmly but clearly, "The brave never lack for brethren, O Dwain!"

A cry of gladness almost escaped Duane's lips. Okuno had spoken truly when he said that even in the most unexpected places might he find allies.

"Then you," cried Steve, "are one of us. You, too--"

"_Hush!_" Amarro warned him sharply. "Careful, O Dwain! Warn them not. We must move swiftly.

"When we reach the barricade, I will pause to remove your bonds, and motion you toward the prison camp with leveled ray-gun. You must seize the gun and strike me senseless with it. Stay not your strength, but strike hard and true that none may suspect me. It is important I should remain at this post I have held ever since the _former_ Amarro visited Earth."

"I get it," breathed Steve. "_Then_ what shall I do? Where shall I go?"

"Flee to the swamp-edge," Amarro's nod designated the direction. "There, beside a small dock, you will find a motor-skiff. Leap into this, press the red stud on the instrument panel, and its automatic controls will speed you to my private refuge hidden in the fens. There await me. I shall come to you as soon as possible."

"And the other prisoners?"

"Think not of them, O Dwain, but of yourself. Now, the moment approaches--"

"Wait," breathed Steve hastily. "There is one thing vitally important. You heard my request for distillation apparatus?"

"Yes."

"Then somehow see that this machinery is smuggled to those in the camp. Will you do this?"

"I will, O Dwain. And now, in the name of freedom, strike--and strike hard!"

And with the words, Amarro sheared the bonds from Duane's wrists, thrust a hand against Steve's shoulder coarsely, and cried that all might hear, "Into your wallow, pig of Earth! Join your fellow--_aaah_!"

His sentence died in a groan as Steve, obeying his instructions to the letter, tore the weapon from his grasp and slashed it violently across the Daan's head. Amarro sank to the ground, a limp and sodden mass. And Duane fled.

* * * * *

Hours later, when Stephen Duane and Amarro met again, it was under strangely new conditions. When, from the tiny island upon which his precipitant flight had ended, he heard throbbing in his ears the hum of an atomic motor similar to that propelling the boat which conveyed him hither, he rose and sought cover, emerged only when he was certain the arrival was none other than his newfound ally. Then he hurried to the beach and welcomed Amarro.

"Thank God," he breathed, "you're all right! I couldn't wait to see. But you fell so heavily I was afraid I struck too hard."

Amarro grinned ruefully.

"You struck," he assured Steve, "hard enough. But that was well. I was still unconscious when they found me. No one dreams I aided your escape.

"Should you wonder how I managed to get here so soon, I'm supposedly searching for you. And I am but one of scores, O Dwain. Grudo sent an emergency call to headquarters, and soon these fens will be combed by a hundred bloodthirsty Daans."

Steve said, "Then must I press on still farther?"

"No. This island is small, and it is but one of thousands in this wild, uncharted swampland. Through the eternal mists they might search for weeks without ever stumbling upon it. But even if they should--" Amarro grinned--"they won't find you. Because you will be completely out of sight."

"On this exposed beach?"

"Only surfaces," reminded Amarro, "are exposed, O Dwain. There is more here than meets the eye. Help me shift these motorcraft to concealment; then I will show you."

A few minutes later, their boats hidden beneath the small landing pier, Amarro led Steve to what appeared to be a small natural promontory near the center of the island. Before a huge granite boulder, taller by half than a man, he stopped, scrabbled briefly in the sand, and uncovered a small metal disc. This he fingered in a curious fashion. And as he did so, Stephen Duane gasped aloud. For the boulder, which had seemed firmly entrenched in its foundation, swung smoothly to one side, exposing a narrow, artificial passageway leading into the subterranean bowels of the island refuge.

* * * * *

Amarro turned, smiling.

"Here, O Slumberer, is my _real_ refuge, prepared against our hour of pressing need. Follow me to that which will be your home on Daan so long as you have need of one."

Full twenty feet the corridor drove into the heart of the jungle island, then opened into a series of underground chambers which were to be Stephen's hideout. And looking upon this place, hope blossomed within Duane more strongly than it had ever dared since his wakening from an age-old slumber.

For everything was here ... everything. Not only food and drink with which to sustain life, but the little luxuries--soft beds and warm clothing; a musical instrument, the Daan's equivalent of a phonograph; books to read--were stored here as well. And--most important--constructed within the refuge were those two things which Duane needed most. A compact but efficient chemical laboratory, and a powerful ultra-wave communicator over which he could converse with Okuno on far-away Earth.

Swiftly Amarro instructed him in the operation of those Daan inventions with which he was not familiar. The atomic cooking-range and incinerating unit, the ultra-wave transmitter. Then he gripped Steve's hand in farewell.

"I place my hand in thine thus, O Dwain," he said, "for thus I am told men pledged their faith in the old days. I must go now, ere my absence awakens suspicion. But be of good cheer. That which you asked me to do for the prisoners will be taken care of. Hidden safely here, do what you can and must, and from time to time I will visit you. But be at all times cautious. Stay off the surface of the isle, and answer no calls unless they be from voices you recognize. Goodbye."

And he was gone.

* * * * *

So settled Stephen Duane for a period which on Earth would have been reckoned as three weeks. On slower-turning Venus, and especially here in these marshes which knew only the filtered light of cloud-drenched sunshine, it was hard to mark the passage of time. But days and nights meant nothing to Duane. When he hungered, he ate. When his brain and body wearied of the innumerable tasks to which he set himself, he slept.

Nor was his period of incarceration dreary. There was much to occupy his time. Twice Amarro came furtively and left with equal stealth, each time advising Steve as to the progress of those still captive in the prison camp.

Much, Amarro told him, had been accomplished. The administrative buildings of the camp were a beehive thronged with Daan warriors who each dusk returned disgruntled and petulant. Meanwhile, as the search for the fugitive Slumberer preoccupied the Daans, the back-breaking labor of the Earth prisoners had been suspended. Amarro, with no voice to say him nay, had requisitioned a "water distillation unit" for the convict barracks. And now night and day earthmen and women labored with rekindled vigor to turn out in vast quantities containers of that gaseous by-product Chuck Lafferty was distilling from Venusian _klaar_.

"It is my task," Amarro said proudly, "to smuggle these containers out of the camp and into those strategic points which we must strike when the Day of Freedom dawns. And you, O Dwain? You have spoken to our brethren on Earth?"

"Constantly," Steve told him grimly. "And there's good news from there, too. Okuno tells me word of the Slumberers' wakening has spread like wildfire throughout all of Tizathy. Converts flock to our rallying-points from every mount and valley, lake and plain.

"One strong and gallant ally has Okuno found. A golden warrior-priestess from the hills of Jinnia. It appears this priestess, Meg, and her consort, one known as Daiv, are of a superior wisdom and culture. For several years they have known the Great Secret: that the gods of old were no 'gods' at all, but men like us. And in their own small way they have transmitted the Revelation over vast areas. Now have they joined our cause, and those who follow them number in the hundreds of thousands. But you spoke of strategic points, Amarro? You mean the palace of the Supreme Council; such places as that?"

"That is the one place," confessed Amarro ruefully, "we have been unable to cache cylinders of our anesthetic weapon. But elsewhere in public buildings, and even on ships of the Great Armada--"

"Wait!" interrupted Steve sharply. "That reminds me. Here is something Chuck Lafferty will want to know--"

And before Amarro left, Duane sketched for him a series of diagrams which should prove of vital interest to Lafferty's laborers when, as Amarro had phrased it, the Day of Freedom dawned.

* * * * *

Thus three weeks sped more swiftly than waters churning a millrace. And at last came the hour when Duane felt the long-delayed blow might be struck.

He knew full well the dangers before him and his comrades. But he knew equally well that their preparations were as well laid as was humanly possible, and that with each succeeding day the danger of their conspiracy being detected loomed ever nearer.

Thus, speaking to Okuno over the now familiar ultra-wave circuit, he issued to that salient's commander the order Okuno had been awaiting.

"The hour has come, my friend," he said simply. "Strike when you will."

Across more than twenty-five million miles of yawning space Okuno's voice broke in a little gasp.

"You mean we can strike without fear of reprisal, O Slumberer? The Venusian fleet has been rendered impotent?"

"Not as yet," said Duane. "But it will be. You on Earth must strike before we do. We need the confusion and turmoil into which news of your uprising will throw the Daan militia to serve as a shield concealing our own final preparations. When excitement has blinded them to the small but important movements we must make, we too will strike."

"So be it," acknowledged Okuno with a blind confidence which warmed Duane's heart. "Then this shall be our last conversation, O Eternal One, until the fight is won. May the gods of Earth bless you!"

"And may they," said Duane, "fight at your side as you herald the dawning of a new day. Till we meet again, my friend!"

And the connection was severed.

There remained now but one thing. To inform Amarro when he visited that night--as he had promised to do--that already the Earth rebellion was under way, and to set into motion those wheels which his and Lafferty's efforts had greased.

So Stephen Duane, tense and impatient for the first time since he had sought refuge, paced the floor of his underground refuge like a caged tiger, awaiting the grate of stone upon sand which would bespeak Amarro's arrival.

But the sound which finally reached his waiting ears was one even more cheering. For it was as though Amarro, by some prescience, had guessed the significance of this night's meeting. The sound which reached Duane's ears from the island surface was not the guard's husky whisper--but the sound of his own name, loudly cried in a dear, familiar voice.

"Dwain! Steve! Where are you? Open to me swiftly!"

Duane's heart leaped. Beth! Amarro must have told her of this spot, and in the fogs above she was searching for him on a barren island.

He needed no second bidding. Eagerly he raced up the corridor, released the catch which opened the boulder door, stepped forth--and into sight of a company of armed Daans at whose head stood Grudo, and with whom was a silver woman who, even now, was lifting again her voice in perfect imitation of Beth's loved tones.

"Dwain! O Steve!"

Steve Duane choked, "Loala--you! It was a trick; a trap!"

Then he said nothing more. For at that moment something brutally hard smashed down upon his head with crushing force. The fog of Daan thickened to eddying darkness, and Stephen Duane pitched forward, senseless, into the waiting arms of his captors.