After three years, new citizens may own unpaid servants.

  BE WISE—BE SAFE—BE FREE

  It was a document that had its weak points. But Clane spent most of one day arguing its merits to a group of doubtful officers. He pointed out that it would be impossible to keep secret a general order for mass execution. A majority of the slaves would escape, And then they would really be dangerous.

  He admitted the proclamation was full of lies. A million slaves in Linn alone had gone over to Czinczar. many of them highly trained soldiers. Czinczar could use them to garrison any city he might capture, and thus have his own army free for battle. It was Morkid, sardonic and scathing, who ended the argument late in the afternoon.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “you do not seem to be aware that our commander-in-chief, the acting Lord Leader of Linn, has at one stroke cut through £11 our illusions and false hopes, and penetrated straight to the roots of the situation in which we find ourselves. What is clear by the very nature of our discussion is that we have no choice.’*

  His voice went up: “In this period when disaster is so imminent, we are fortunate in having as our leader a genius of the first rank, who has already set us on the only military path that can lead to victory.

  “Gentlemen”—“his voice rang with the tribute—“I give you Lord Clane Linn, acting Lord Leader of Linn.”

  The clapping lasted for five minutes.

  Clane watched the battle for Goram from a patrol craft, that darted from strong point to strong point. Enemy squadrons tried again and again to close in on him, .but his own machine was faster and more maneuverable.

  The familiar trick of getting above him was tried, an old device in patrol craft and spaceship fighting. But the expected energy flow upward did not take place. His small vessel did not even sag, which was normally the minimum reaction when two sources of atomic energy operated in a gravity line.

  The efforts worried Clane. Czinczar was, of course, aware by this time that his enemy knew more about the metals of the gods than he or his technicians. But it would be unfortunate if they should conclude from the actions of this one craft that Clane himself was inside.

  He wanted to see this battle.

  In spite of everything, minute by minute, he saw it.

  The defense was tough, tougher than he had anticipated from the fact that four more cities had fallen in the past four weeks.

  The unfit were fighting grimly for their lives. Arrows took a toll of the attackers. Spears, awkwardly but desperately manipulated, inflicted wounds and sometimes death.

  The sword fighting stage was the worst. The muscular and powerful barbarians, once they penetrated the weapons that could attack them from a distance, made short work of their weaker adversaries.

  The first line was down, devastated, defeated. The second line battle began. Barbarian reserves came forward, and were met by waves of arrows that darkened the sky-—and took their toll when they struck the advancing groups of men.,

  Hoarse cries of pain, curses, the shrieks of the desperately wounded, the agonized horror of Linnans suddenly cut off, and doomed rose up to the ears of those in the darting small craft.

  The defenders strove to stay together. That was a part of their instructions. Retreat slowly to the central squares—which were strongly held against a surprise rear attack. Retreat, and at the last minute spaceships would land and rescue the hard pressed, but theoretically still intact army of what had once l)cen able-bodied civilians.

  After a month and a half of training, they were too valuable to sacrifice in a last ditch fight.

  As it was, their dogged resistance was shaping the pattern of the war. Surely. Ozinczar, counting his men after each battle, must already l>e having his own private doubts. 11 is army as a whole, augmented by the unrepentant among the slaves, was increasing daily. Rut the larger the army grew the smaller was his chance of controlling it.

  But there was no doubt about this battle, or this *city. As the dark tide of night slipped in from the east, victory fires began to burn in all the important streets. The smoke wreathed into the sky and blood-red flames licked up into the blackness.

  The Linnans below, at this very moment enduring the beginning of a barbarian occupation, would not be in a humor to appreciate that their grudgingly accepted defeat represented a possible turning point in the war.

  The time had come to decide when and where ami under what conditions the main Linnan force would be thrown into a decisive battle for the control of the planet.

  And there was another decision, too, involving/ an immensely risky attempt to get near a certain atomic machine. Clane shifted uneasily in his seat, and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders.

  He had no illusions about what one easily killable man could do even with phenomenal weapons. Resides, he had received a disturbing note from Czinczar, which contained only one entrance, a question:

  “Have you ever wondered, my Lord Clane, how the civilization of the golden age was so completely destroyed ?”

  It was a problem about which the mutation, Clane, had pondered many times.

  But it had never occurred to him that the answer might be known to a barbarian from a remote moon of Jupiter.

  The moment the news arrived, Czinczar headed for Linn. He was met on the roof on the central palace by Meewan. The big man had a smile on his plump, good-fellow face.

  “Your theory was right,” he said admiringly. “You thought he would take a chance at the critical period of the invasion. And he arrived this morning.”

  “Tell me exactly how you accepted his services.”

  The golden voice spoke softly. The strange face was thoughtful as the other man gave his detailed account. The e seemed no end to his interest. When the story was finished, he asked question after question. Each answer seemed merely to stimulate new questions. Meewan said finally, querulously: “Your excellency, what are you doubtful about:”

  That stopped him. for he had not realized how tense he was. After all, he told himself, the situation was simple enough. He had issued an open invitation for temple scientists to come and take care of “some god metal relics” which had fallen into possession of the conquerors. It was a cleverly worded request, designed to win general approval from the defeated even as it drew the temple scientist to his own undoing.

  Its only stipulation, very guardedly worded, was that in return for the privilege of sharing the “safeguarding of the relics’*, experiments should be continued as if no war was being waged.

  “The gods.” Czinczar had said sanctimoniously in the invitation, “are above the petty quarrels of mankind.”

  Apparently, at least one of its purposes was accomplished. The mutation himself had applied for the job. Czinczar meditated cautiously on tactics.

  “Bring him here,” he said finally. “We can’t take any risks of his having established control over anything at his house. We know too little and he too much/*

  While he waited, • he examined the rod of force—which was one of the few workable instruments that had been found in the house. He was not a man who accepted past truths as final. The fact that it had worked a week ago did not mean that it would work now.

  He tested it from a great window, pointing it at the upper foliage ot a nearby tree.

  No sound, no visible light spewed forth—but the upper section of the tree crashed down onto a pathway below.

  Czinczar experienced the satisfaction of a logical man whose logic had proved correct. It was not an uncommon satisfaction. From the early days when he had been a back country transcriber of messages to the days of bis rise to power, he had taken risks which seemed necessary, no more, no less.

  Even now he could not be sure that the atomic wizard. Lord Clane, would not defeat him by some decisive wile. For several minutes, he pondered that, and then ordered a box brought in from the ice room of the palace. The contents of the box had come all the way from Europa packed in ice.

  He was indicating” to the slaves where to “place the box when an officer burst breathlessly into the throne room.

  “Excellency.” he cried. “Hundreds of spaceships. It’s an attack.”

  Standing at the window a moment later, watching the ships settling down, Czinczar realized that his hazy suspicions had been correct.

  The appearance of Clane in the city was part of a planned maneuver, which would now run its deadly course.

  It was a pleasure to know that Lord Clane himself was caught in a trap.

  Czinczar wasted no time watching a battle which he could not hope to see from the palace in any important detail. Nor did he have the feeling Tews had had months earlier, that it was necessary for commanders to know where he was in the early stages of the engagement.

  It was nice for a general to get reports, and there was a thrill in giving a “Stand-fast” order to troops already fighting for their lives. But it was. quite unnecessary.

  Czinczar issued quick instructions about the box, and wrote a note for Meewan. Then he rode with a strong escort to the headquarters of the reserve army in the middle of the city.

  The reserve contained a barbarian core, but, like the main defense forces of the city, it was overwhelmingly made up of slaves. Czinczar’s arrival was greeted by a roar of excitement. The cheers did not die down until long after he had entered the building.

  He talked over the situation with some of the slave officers, and found them calm and confident. According to their estimates sixty thousand Linnan soldiers had landed in the first wave. The fact that that was exactly the number of barbarians who had originally invaded the city did not seem to occur to the slaves. Blit the comparison struck Czinczar sharply. He wondered if it was designed to have some symbolical meaning.

  The possibility made him sardonic. Not symbols hut swords spoke the language of victory.

  As the afternoon dragged on, the Linnan attack was being held everywhere. The box was delivered from the palace .about three. It was dripping badly, and since there was no longer any immediate danger, Czinczar sent a messenger to Meewan.

  At three-thirty Meewan came in grinning broadly. He was followed by slave Linnans carrying a sedan chair. In the chair, bound hand and foot, was the acting Lord Leader of Linn.

  There was complete silence as the chair was set down, and the slaves withdrew.

  Clane studied the barbarian leader with a genuine interest. His grandmother’s opinion of the man had impressed him more than he cared to admit. The question was, could this strong-looking, fine-looking military genius be panicked into thinking that the atom gods existed ? Panicked now, during the next half hour?

  Fortunately, for the first time in his career as an atomic scientist, he had behind him the greatest power ever developed by the wizards of the fabulous days of the legends. He saw that the impersonal expression on the other’s face was transforming into the beginning of contempt.

  “By the god pits.” said Czinczar in disgust, “you Linnans are all the same—weaklings every one.”

  Clane said nothing. He had looked often with regret into mirrors that showed him exactly what Czinczar was seeing: A slim, young man with a face that was white and womanish and … well, it couldn’t be helped.

  Czinczar’s face changed again. There was suddenly irony in it.

  “I am speaking.” he asked politely, “to Lord Clane Linn? We have not made a mistake.”

  Clane couldn’t let the opening pass.’ “No mistake,” he said quietly. “I came into Linn for the sole purpose of talking to you while the battle was on. And here I am.” It must have sounded ridiculous, coming from a man bound as he was. The near guards guffawed, and Meewan giggled. Only Czinczar showed no sign. And his marvelous voice was as steady as steel as he said:

  “I have not the time to flirt with words, nor the inclination. I can see that you are counting on something to save you, and I presume it has something to do with your knowledge of atomic energy/*

  He fingered the rod of force suggestively. “So far as I can see, we can kill you in less than a second whenever we desire.”

  Clane shook his head. “You are in error. It is quite impossible for you to kill me.”

  There was a sound from Meewan. The engineer came forward.

  “Czinczar,” he said darkly, “this man is intolerable. Give me permission to slap his face, and we shall sec if his atom gods protect him from indignity.’’

  Czinczar waved him aside. Rut he stared down at the prisoner with eyes that were uncommonly bright. The swiftness with which tension liad come into the room amazed him. And, incredibly, it was the prisoner who had seized the advantage—“Impossible to kill me!” In one sentence he dared them to make the attempt.

  As he stood hesitating, an officer came in with a report. Except for a tiny note, everything was favorable. The note was about prisoners: “All have been told that a great miracle will win the battle for the Linnans. I mention this for what it is worth—”

  Czinczar returned to his prisoner, and there was a crinkle of frown in his forehead. He had been careful in his handling of Clane as a matter of common sense, not because he anticipated disaster. But now, quite frankly, he admitted to himself that the man was not reacting normally.

  The words Clane had spoken had a ring in them, a conviction that could no longer be ignored. The purpose of his own invasion of the Linnan empire could be in danger. He said urgently:

  “I have something to show you. No attempt will be made to kill you until you have seen it. For your part, do nothing hasty, take no action, whatever power you have, until you have gazed with understanding.”

  He was aware of Meewan giving him an astounded glance. “Power I” exclaimed the designer, and it was like a curse. “The power he has!”

  Czinczar paid no attention. This was his own special secret, and there could be no delay.

  “Guards,” he said, “bring that box over here/’

  It was soaking wet when they brought it. It left a dirty trail of water on the priceless rug, and a pool began to accumulate immediately where it was set down,.

  There was a delay while sweating men pried off the top. Even the guards at far doors strained to sec the contents.

  A gasp of horror broke the tension of waiting.

  What was inside was about eight feet long. Its width was indeterminable,” for there seemed to be folds in its body that gave an impression of great size. It had obviously died only a short time before it was packed in the ice.

  It looked fresh, almost alive.

  It lay there in its case of ice. unhuman, staring with sightless, baleful eyes at the ornate ceiling.

  Clane looked up finally into Czinczar’s waiting eyes. He said slowly:

  “Why are you showing this to me ?”

  “It would be a grave error,” said Czinczar. “for either of us to destroy each other’s armies.”

  “You are asking for mercy?”

  That was too strong to take. The barbarian showed his teeth in a snarl. “I am asking for common sense,” he said.

  “It’s impossible.” said Clane. “The people must have their revenge. In. victory, they will accept nothing less than your death.”

  The words brought an obscene curse from Meewan. “Czinczar,” he shouted, “what is all this nonsense? I have never seen you like this. I follow no man who accepts defeat in advance. I’ll show you what well do with this … this—”

  He broke off: “Guards, put a spear into him.”

  Nobody moved. The soldiers looked uneasily at Czinczar, who nodded coolly.

  “Go right ahead,” he said. “If he can be killed, I’d like to know.”

  Still nobody moved. It was apparently too mild an order, or something of the leader’s tension had communicated to the men. They looked at each other, and they were standing there doubtfully when Meewan snatched a sword from one of them, and turned towards the bound man.

  That was as far as he got.

  Where he had been was a ball of light.

  “Try.” came the voice of Clane. “to use the rod of force against me.” A fateful pause. “Try. It won’t kill you.”

  Czinczar raised the rod of force, and pressed the activator.

  Nothing happened—Wait 1 The ball of light was growing brighter.

  Clane’s voice split the silence tantalizingly: “Do you still not believe in the gods?”

  “I am surprised.” said Czinczar. “that you do not fear the spread of superstition more than the spread of knowledge. We so-called barbarians,” he said proudly, “despise you for your attempt to fence in the human spirit. We are free thinkers, and all your atomic energy will fail in the end to imprison us.”

  He shrugged. “As for your control over that ball, I do not pretend to understand it.”

  At last, he had shocked the mutation out of his ice-cold manner. “You actually,” said Clane incredulously, “do not believe in the atom gods ?”

  “Guards,” shouted Czinczar piercingly, “attack him from even’ side.”

  The ball of light flickered but did not seem to move.

  There were no guards.

  “Now do you believe?” Clane asked.

  The barbarian looked haggard and old. But he shook his head.

  “I have lost the war,” he mumbled. “Only that I recognize. It is up to you to take up the mantle which has fallen from my shoulders.”

  The smaller man gazed at him wonderingly. And then, the bonds fell from him as if they did not exist. He stood up, and now that crown among all the jewels of the ages rode above his head in a matchlessly perfect rhythm with his movements.

  Czinczar said stubbornly, “It would be a mistake to kill any able bodied man, slave or otherwise.”

  Clane said, “The gods demand absolute surrender.”

  Czinczar said in fury. “You fool I am offering you the solar system. Has this monster in the box not changed your mind in the slightest degree ?”

 

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