CHAPTER IX
Rebel--and Die!
"The Brotherhood, O Loala?" repeated Steve wonderingly. The silver princess of Venus smiled a faint half-smile.
"You have not heard of it, Steve?"
"But, no, my Lady--"
"Few common Earthlings have," said Loala. "Yet the Brotherhood numbers scores ... hundreds ... each member selected from the cream of the human clans. Only those are invited to join who, by their physical characteristics, are akin to the Daans--as you, Steve, approximate the coloration and bodily structure of our master race.
"The Brotherhood is an organization of Earthlings who have joined us in the creation of a Daan civilization here on Earth. Because they have allied themselves to us, they have been granted great rights and privileges; because they are human, they may come and go amongst their fellows and bring us reports of what transpires amongst the barbarians. Thus we keep informed as to human schemes and plottings, and can act swiftly to quell incipient rebellion wherever it may rear."
"A--a Fifth Column," gasped Steve, "of humans!"
"Fifth Column?"
"It is a phrase," explained Steve hurriedly, "of the clan whence I sprang. It means--er--those who work for the common good of all."
But her words had cleared up one tiny mystery which had baffled him. He understood, now, the sudden comradeship exhibited by Rodrik of Mish-kin. "_Forgive me, brother!_" the fellow had whispered. "_You and I shall discuss ... the Plans._" Rodrik was, like himself, a tall, fair-skinned blond, a human of the physiological type approved by the pallid Daans. Then Rodrik was a member of the Brotherhood; no true prisoner at all, but a spy masquerading as a captive to anticipate such attempts at escape as might be formulated by the Nedlunplaza malcontents!
"I see," said the Lady Loala, and studied him closely. "Well, Steve of Emmeity--what say you?"
Steve struggled to repress the grin of satisfaction which crept unbidden to his lips. There was only one possible answer. Where else could he work better for the liberation of his fellow humans than from the trusted ranks of those who conspired to hold them in subjection?
He said humbly, "I am overwhelmed, O Loala. Gladly will I join my cause to yours, to serve in what humble fashion I may."
Approval, mingled with relief, lifted the shadows of doubt from the Daan woman's eyes.
"That is good, Steve. After learning the secret, had you decided otherwise it would have been necessary to--seal your lips forever. Now is the way open to our future enjoyment of each other."
And she smiled at him languidly, caressingly. Steve felt the tips of his ears burning; he cleared his throat uneasily.
"Yes, Princess. But you spoke of a--a test, a task to be fulfilled?"
Loala nodded.
"And a most important one, Steve. With the morning, you shall return to the woodlands of Tucki whence you came, seeking a hidden refuge known to humans as 'Fautnox.' There you shall investigate for us the truth of a rumor which has reached our ears: that certain legendary figures known as the 'Slumberers' have awakened."
* * * * *
"But, how--" Steve caught himself just in time. A moment more and he would have asked how the Daans had already learned of something which had occurred but three days since, and in so doing would have revealed his own knowledge of the fact. Even so, he was stricken with a new and deeper respect for the espionage system of the Venusian conquerors. It must be a strong and far-reaching organization, this Brotherhood of traitors. "The--the Slumberers, O Princess? The Slumberers have awakened?"
Loala was eyeing him shrewdly, appraisingly.
"This means much to you, Steve of Emmeity?" she asked sharply. "The Slumberers are gods of your clan, too?"
"Not gods," denied Duane. "Just--legends. Stories in which none of us greatly believe. But there is danger in this rumor, Princess. If the hordes believe it, trouble may arise--"
"That," nodded Loala, her suspicions again allayed, "we know. Of course the fable is fantastic. We of a higher culture realize that gods, as such, do not exist, and that no mortals can sleep for hundreds of years, as it is credited the Slumberers have done.
"Nevertheless, the rumor must be tracked down, those who started it must be apprehended and punished, and--above all else--this hidden village of 'Fautnox' must be found and laid waste. Too long has it been a thorn in our side. Well, Steve, can you fulfill this task?"
"I can try, O my Princess," said Steve.
"Good. You shall receive the Treatment now, and in the morning you shall start."
"Alone, O Loala?"
"How else?"
"If I am to appear as a human of my Clan," declared Steve, "it is needful that I be accompanied by those who came to Sinnaty with me. Amongst my people it is customary that a journeying male should always have a corps of female warriors to protect him and a neophyte to prepare for his needs. Were I to approach this 'Fautnox' otherwise, my motives might be suspect--"
Loala shrugged negligently.
"Very well. It shall be as you say. And now--the Treatment that makes you truly one of us, a full-fledged member of the Brotherhood!"
She clapped her hands, and from a room adjacent the council hall came armed guards. Into their care Loala placed Steve, issuing crisp commands in a strange, rhythmic, labial tongue Steve had not heard before, the tongue of her native Venus. When she finished, the guards motioned Steve to come with them--this time by nods, rather than rough elbowing--and he was led from the room.
What sort of ceremony comprised the "Treatment," he had no idea. A swearing-in of some sort ... perhaps even some highly involved and dramatic ritual was more or less what he expected. But Steve had failed to take into consideration the technology of the Daans. He was reminded, sharply, that they were, after all, a mechanically cultured race when he was led into a chamber which--save for the fact that most of the instruments and machines were constructed of that ubiquitous plastic material beloved by Daan engineers--was remarkably similar to a scientific laboratory of his own era.
Most prominent, as well as most curious, device in the entire room was a large, transparent cabinet placed centrally on a raised platform. Verniers and controls studded a panel on the outside of this cabinet, sheathed wires fed current to tubes ranged about its perimeter--and within it stood a large, metallic chair equipped with a headpiece.
* * * * *
For an instant, a tremor of indecision shook Stephen Duane. His experience dictated that this could be one thing only: an execution chamber! The thing inside looked exactly like the dreaded "electric chair" of his vanished era. In a moment of brief panic he glanced about him wildly but--
But his guards were smiling pleasantly--as pleasantly as their taut, colorless features would allow--and their nods motioning him into the cabinet were almost benign. With a shrug that cast his fate into the hands of whatever gods of earth might accept responsibility, Steve stepped into the cabinet, sat upon the chair, allowed the headpiece to be fastened down about his skull, watched curiously as a technician set stops and dials, pressed a switch.
Slowly the bulbs rimming the cabinet glowed into red life. The hum of current droned in Steve's ears, lifted to a scream, a howl, a raging torrent of sound that smashed upon his brain with the impact of a million surging seas!
Every fibre of his body tensed with the strain of an electric agony coursing through his veins. But he was not aware that his flesh had drawn taut with a myriad, tingling horripilations; he knew only that wave upon wave of torment was beating at his brain ... suns whirled, flared, burst into searing fragments before his bloodshot eyes ... sound lashed at his brain-cells like unleashed demons of devastation.
He tried to gain his feet--and was powerless! His lips opened--and no sound came forth. A pinpoint of darkness whirled from the maelstrom of flame before his eyes, began to close in upon him like an ominous, menacing shroud. Nearer it came and nearer; with it came a coldness and a horror. Again he tried to tear the headpiece from him ... to rise and flee ... to scream aloud....
He did none of these things. He slumped downward in the chair, limp in the thundering darkness which had engulfed him.
* * * * *
When he awakened, it was to find himself once again in the council hall, sprawled on the thick furs which lay beside and before the throne of the Overlord Loala. The first face he saw was that of the Venusian princess herself; she was staring down at him with pride and approbation.
He said, "What ... what...?" and tried to lift himself, but the slightest movement roused sharp needles of pain within his brain; the floor beneath him spun giddily.
Loala leaned forward, pressed something to his lips.
"Here! Drink this! It will rid you of the after-pains. You are a strong man, Steve of Emmeity. Few waken so swiftly after undergoing the Treatment."
As she had said, the amber liquid dulled the fire in his skull, Vigor returned to Steve slowly but surely; he was able to lift himself without reeling. He whispered, "Then it is over?"
"It is over, Steve. Now you are one of Us. Guards! You may retire now. The human will return to the prison by himself in due time."
Obediently the Daan warriors withdrew. Steve stared after them wonderingly.
"Then they speak the human tongue as well as yours? When first you addressed them, you spoke in the Daan language."
Loala smiled.
"And this time also, Steve."
"This time--?"
"I spoke to them," laughed Loala, "in the tongue of our mother planet, Daan, Yes."
"But--but I understood you!"
"Of course. It was for that you took the Treatment. Search your mind, Steve of Emmeity, and tell me--what month is it upon our native world?"
"Why--why, Kraama, of course--" replied Steve instantly--and stopped with his mouth an O of astonishment. "I--I _knew_!"
"That," smiled Loala, "and many other things. Where are the nearest Daan fortresses, Steve, in the event that you should ever need help quickly?"
"Kleevlun," responded Steve promptly, "Slooie, Yanaplis, Davun--Yes, Princess! That, too, I know! And a--host of other things! The number of our forces ... the legends of our people ... the history of our great race ... _your_ race...."
He stopped, corrected himself in confusion. It was a hopeless jumble in his mind. His thoughts, his knowledge, his instincts, were still those of Stephen Duane, Earthman--but superimposed upon these were the thoughts, the knowledge, the instincts of another, a second Stephen Duane--a Brother in the fellowship of Daan!
The old Steve Duane had looked upon the woman Loala and found her seductive, alluring. The new Duane, seeing her, was blinded by the radiance of her overwhelming beauty! Gone were any last, small, lingering doubts as to the attractiveness of her pallid skin, her bleached-silver hair, her grey-shadowed eyes. To him, these physical traits were now tokens of perfection. Her white flesh roused a crying hunger within him ... he felt an impulse to bury his hands in her silver hair and feel its fineness strain through his fingers like a web of molten glory ... the quickening beat of his pulse was like a metronome pacing the tempo of his heart's breath.
* * * * *
The Lady Loala, reading this in his eyes, smiled and stirred with languorous assurance. She whispered softly:
"You found me attractive before, Steve. And now--?"
But deep within Stephen Duane stirred a memory ... the haunting recollection of _another_ woman, one whose hair was a cascade of flowing gold, whose body was pearl and ivory. A girl whose lips had warmed beneath his own. And--Treatment be damned--_this_ Duane was still the dominant of Steve's new schizophrenic character.
And this, realized Duane suddenly, was to his advantage! Never, now, would the Daans dream that he was other than that which he pretended to be: a convert to their ideology. He was in possession of their lore, their secrets--and still free agent to do as he willed!
How this might be, he could not say. Perhaps because the machine which gave the Treatment was set to establish dominion over barbarians of lesser mind ... perhaps because his Twentieth Century brain was somehow differently formed than the evolved brains of men fifteen hundred years removed. But the Treatment, somehow, had failed its complete purpose.
With this realization came the second realization that never must he allow the Daans to suspect his freedom of mind. They considered him now one of Them; he must foster this belief. So--
He stirred forward as though impelled by a restless urgency almost beyond endurance. And, "Need I tell you, O Loala!" he murmured vibrantly. "Need my lips speak--?"
And Loala was, indeed, a true daughter of her sex. Pursuer herself but a short while ago, now she took delight in becoming the pursued, and her withdrawal was purely feminine.
"Not now, Steve," she warded him off, "but later--when you have completed your task. Yes, I am convinced. But be swift, my human, and return to me. And perform your task faithfully and well, remembering the fate which befalls those Brothers who fail."
"Fate?" repeated Steve.
"Yes. This must be told you that you will ever act for the greater glory of the Daans. While you were in the Treatment cabinet, your brain passages were impressed with the knowledge of our people--up to certain limits. Someday I may attempt to explain how the cabinet works; at present your human brain would not comprehend.
"But at the same time, another thing was done. Upon a metal cylinder was impressed a 'nerve image' of your brain, a pattern of waves and impulses which--like your fingerprints--is peculiar to you alone of all humans on Earth.
"This nerve image has been placed in our laboratory vaults. It is our protection against treason or disloyalty, against greed, cunning or too-great ambition. Beware lest you should be found guilty of any of these crimes, for the metal cylinder is electrically sympathetic to your own brain. If it becomes necessary, the brain pattern can be destroyed--and when it is destroyed, _you die instantly_!"