In the Beginning (22 page)

“These doors work by concealed relays,” Archman said. “There ought to be a switch that trips the works and pulls back the door. That Plutonian knew where it was.”

“And so do I,” Hendrin exclaimed. He extended a clawed hand into one of the darkest corners of the cell block and said, “There are four controls here. I guess it’s one for each of these cells. I’m going to pull the third from the left, and you get ready in case that Martian makes trouble.”

“Right.”

Archman drew his zam-gun and stood guard. No sound came from within; he hoped Elissa was all right. She’d been left alone with that Martian for nearly twenty minutes now. Quite possibly the tusked creature had recovered consciousness by now. Archman hoped not.

“Here goes,” Hendrin said.

He yanked the switch. The relays clicked and the door slid open.

***

Archman half expected the Martian to come charging out as soon as the door opened. He expected to be fighting for his life. He expected almost anything but what he actually saw.

The Martian was lying where he had left him, sprawled in the middle of the cell. Elissa, clad only in her single filmy garment, was squatting by the Martian’s head.

As the door opened, the Martian stirred. Elissa coolly reached out, grabbed a handful of the alien’s wiry skull-hair, and cracked the Martian’s head soundly against the concrete floor of the cell. The Martian subsided.

Elissa looked up, saw Archman. “Oh—it’s you.”

“Yes. I came back to free you,” he said. “I see you’ve been having no trouble with your friend here.”

She laughed a little hysterically. “No. Every time he started to wake up, I banged his head against the floor. But I didn’t know how long I could keep on doing it.”

“You don’t need to any more,” said Hendrin, appearing suddenly. “Archman, you’d better tie the Martian up so he doesn’t give us any more trouble.”

At the sight of the hulking Mercurian, Elissa uttered a little gasp.
“You—!”

“What am I going to tie him in?” Archman asked.

“You might tear my robe up into strips,” Elissa suggested, bitter sarcasm in her voice. “I’ve been wearing clothing for almost an hour anyway.”

“That’s an idea,” said the Mercurian coolly. “Yes—use her robe, Archman.”

The Earthman chuckled. “I don’t think she intended you to take her seriously, Hendrin. I’ll use my shirt instead.”

“As you please,” the Mercurian said.

Elissa glared defiantly at both of them. “Who are you going to sell me to now?” she asked. “You, Hendrin—you’ve parlayed me into quite a fortune by now, haven’t you?”

Archman realized that he had told the girl his true identity. Cold sweat covered him at the recollection. If she should give him away—

To prevent that he said quickly, “Say, Hendrin, the girl’s had a raw deal. I suggest we tell her what part she plays in this enterprise right now.”

“Very well. I’m sorry for the mistreatment I’ve given you,” Hendrin told her. “Unfortunately you became part of a plan. I’m on Mars for the purpose of assassinating Darrien. I’m in the pay of Krodrang of Mercury.”

“And I’m assisting him,” Archman said hastily, nudging Elissa to warn her not to ask any questions. “We’re both working to assassinate Darrien. You can help us, Elissa.”

“How?”

“Hendrin will explain,” Archman said.

“I’ll help you only at one condition—that you free me once whatever plan you have is carried out.”

Hendrin glanced at Archman, who nodded. “Very well,” Hendrin lied. “You receive your freedom once the job is done.” He smiled surreptitiously at Archman as if to tell him,
The girl will be yours.

Archman rose. “There. He’s tied. All right, Hendrin: explain this plan of yours, and then let’s get out of here.”

He faced the Mercurian eagerly, wondering just what the blue man had devised. Archman was a shrewd opportunist; he
had
to be, to handle his job. Right now he was willing to pose as Hendrin’s stooge or as anything else, for the sake of killing Darrien. Afterward, he knew he could settle the score with Krodrang’s minion.

“Here’s what I have in mind,” Hendrin said. “Darrien and Meryola are at odds over this girl, right? Very well, then. I’ll take Elissa back to Darrien—”

“No!” This from the girl.

“Just for a few minutes, Elissa. To continue: I’ll take the girl to Darrien, and tell him that Meryola ordered her killed, and I’ll make up enough other stories so Darrien will send out an order to execute Meryola. I think he’s sufficiently smitten by Elissa to do that.

“Meanwhile, you, Archman—you go to Meryola and tell her what I’ve done. Tell her Darrien is going to have her killed, and suggest to her that if she wants to stay alive she’d better get to Darrien first. After that, it’s simple. She’ll tell you how to kill Darrien; you do it, we rescue Elissa, get Meryola out of the way somehow, and the job is done. Neat?”

“I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Archman said admiringly. It was so: this was exactly as he would have handled the situation. He felt a moment of regret that he and Hendrin were working for opposite masters; what a valuable man the Mercurian would be in Intelligence!

But Hendrin would have to die too, for Earth’s sake. He was a clever man. But so was Darrien, Archman thought. And Darrien would have to die.

“What about me?” Elissa asked. “Are you sure you’ll get me out of this all right?”

Archman took her hand in his, and was gratified that she didn’t pull away. “Elissa, we’re asking you to be a pawn one last time. One more sale—and then we’ll rid the universe of Darrien. Will you cooperate?”

She hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled wanly. “I’m with you,” she said.

***

Hendrin waited nervously outside the throneroom with the girl. “You say Darrien’s in there, but not Meryola?” he asked the unsmiling guard.

“Just Darrien,” the guard replied.

“The stars are with us,” Hendrin muttered. He took the girl’s arm and they went in.

Together they dropped on their knees. “Sire!”

Darrien rose from the throne, and an expression of joy lit his warped little face. “Well, Mercurian! You’ve brought the girl—and saved your life.”

“I did it not to save my life but my honor,” Hendrin said unctuously. “Your Majesty had accused me of acting in bad faith—but I’ve proved my loyalty by recovering the girl for you.”

Darrien came waddling toward them on his absurdly tiny legs and looked Elissa up and down. “You’ve been in the dungeons, my dear. I can tell by the soot clinging to your fair skin. But by whose order were you sent there?”

Hendrin glanced at the courtiers, who maintained a discreet distance but still were within hearing. “Sire, may I talk to you a moment privately?”

“About what?”

“About the girl…and Meryola.”

Darrien’s sharp eyes flashed. “Come with me, then. Your words may be of value to me.”

The dwarfish tyrant led Hendrin into a smaller but equally luxurious room that adjoined the throne room. Hendrin stared down at the tiny Darrien, nearly half his height. Within that swollen skull, the Mercurian thought, lay the galaxy’s keenest and most fiendish mind. Could Darrien be manipulated? That was yet to be seen.

One thing was certain: this was not the real Darrien before him. The tyrant would not be so foolish as to invite a massive Mercurian into a small closed room like this; it would amount to an invitation to assassinate him.

“Sire, the girl Elissa was in the dungeons at the direct order of the lady Meryola.”

“I suspected as much,” Darrien muttered.

“And when I arrived there, I found that the jailer was about to carry out an order of execution on Elissa, also at your lady’s behest.”

“What!”

Hendrin nodded. “So strong was the order that I was forced to kill the jailer, a worthless Plutonian, to prevent him from carrying out the execution.”

“This is very interesting,” Darrien mused. “Meryola rightly senses a rival—and has taken steps to eliminate her. Steps which you have circumvented, Hendrin.” Gratitude shone in Darrien’s crafty eyes.

“I have further news for you, Sire. When you came upon me in Meryola’s chambers earlier today—it was not an errand of perfumery that brought me there.”

“I hardly thought it might be.”

“On the contrary—your lady was pleading with me—to
assassinate
you!”

Darrien—or the Darrien-robot—turned several shades paler. Hendrin reflected that the robot, if this were one, was an extraordinarily sensitive device.

“She said this to you?” Darrien asked. “She threatened my life?”

“She offered me five thousand credas. Naturally, I refused. Then she offered me her body as well—and at this point you entered the room.”

Darrien scowled. “My life is worth only five thousand credas to her, eh? But tell me—had I not entered the room, Mercurian, would you have accepted her second offer?”

“I was sorely tempted,” Hendrin said, grinning. “But pretty women are easily come by—while
you
are unique.”

“Mere flattery. But you’re right; Meryola has outlived her worth to me, and I see now that I’ll have to dispose of her quickly.” Darrien reached for the speaking-tube at his elbow. “I’ll order her execution at once—and many thanks to you for this information, friend Hendrin.”

***

Archman paused for a moment outside the door of Meryola’s private chamber, preparing his plan of attack and reviewing the whole operation so far.

He’d been in and out of trouble—but Darrien was going to die. The mission would be accomplished. And Lon Archman would sur-vive it.

He had a double motive for survival now. One was the simple one of wanting to stay alive; two was the fact that he now thought he had someone to stay alive
for.
Perhaps.

He knocked gently at the door.

“Who’s there?”

“You don’t know me, but I’m a friend. I’ve come to warn you.”

A panel in the door opened and Archman found himself staring at a dark-hued eye. “Who are you from, Earthman? What do you want?”

“Please let me in. Your life depends on my seeing you.”

A moment passed—then the door opened.

“Are you the lady Meryola?”

“I am.”

She was breathtakingly lovely. She wore but the merest of wraps, and firm breasts, white thighs, were partially visible. There was a soft, clinging sexuality about her, and yet also a streak of hardness, of coldness, that Archman was able to appreciate. He also saw she was no longer very young.

She was holding a zam-gun squarely before his navel. “Come in, Earthman, and tell me what you will.”

Archman stepped inside her chambers. She was nearly as tall as he, and her beauty temporarily stunned him.

“Well?”

“Do you know Hendrin the Mercurian, milady?”

“Indeed. Are you from him?”

“Not at all. But I know Hendrin well. He’s a cheating rogue willing to sell out to any bidder.”

“This is hardly news,” Meryola said. “What of Hendrin.”

He eyed her almost insultingly before answering. Meryola was indeed a desirable creature, he thought—but for one night only. Archman mentally compared her with Elissa Hall, who was nearly as beautiful, though not half so flashy. It wasn’t difficult to see why Darrien preferred Elissa’s innocence to this aging, shrewd beauty.

He smiled. “At this very moment,” he said, “Hendrin is with our master Darrien. He has brought him the girl Elissa, and they are together now.”

“It’s a lie! Elissa’s in the dungeons!”

“Would you care to call your jailers, milady?”

She stared suspiciously at him and picked up the speaking-tube. After nearly a minute had passed, she looked back at Archman. “The line is dead, Earthman.”

“As is your jailer. Hendrin freed the girl and took her to Darrien. And one other fact might interest you: Darrien has tired of you. He has made out the order for your death.”

“Lies!”

Archman shrugged. “Lies, then. But within the hour the knife will be at your throat. He vastly prefers the younger girl. Believe me or not, at your peril. But if you choose to believe me, I can save your life.”

“How, schemer?”

He moved closer to her, until he was almost dizzied by her subtle perfume. “You hold the secret of Darrien’s robots. Reveal it to me, and I’ll destroy Darrien. Then, perhaps, another Earthman will claim your favors. Surely you would not object to ruling with
me.”

She laughed, a harsh, indrawn laugh, and it seemed to Archman that the cat’s claws had left their furry sheath. “You? So that’s your motive—you ask me to yield Darrien’s secret in order to place yourself on the throne. Sorry, but I’m not that foolish. You’re an enterprising rascal, whoever you are, but—”

Suddenly the door burst open. Three Martians, their tusks gleaming, their thick lips drawn back in anticipation of murder, came running in.

“Darrien’s assassins!” Archman cried. He had his zam-gun drawn in an instant.

The first Martian died a second later, complete astonishment on his face. A bolt from Meryola’s gun did away with the second, while a third spurt finished the remaining one. Archman leaped nimbly over the bodies and fastened the bolt on the door.

Then he stooped and snatched a sheet of paper from the sash of one of the fallen Martians. He read it out loud: “To Grojrakh, Chief of the Guards: My displeasure has fallen upon the lady Meryola, and you are to despatch her at once by any means of execution that seems convenient. D.”

“Let me see that!”

He handed her the paper. She read it, then cursed and crumpled the sheet. “The pig! The pig!” To Archman she said, “You told the truth, then. Pardon me for mistrusting you—”

“It was only to be expected. But time grows short.”

“Right.” Her eyes flashed with the fury of vengeance. “Listen, then: none of the Darriens you have seen is the real one. There are three orthysynthetics which he uses in turn. Darrien himself spends nearly all his time in a secluded chamber on the Fifth Level.”

“Is the room guarded heavily?”

“It’s guarded not at all. Only I know how to reach it, and so he sees no reason to post a guard. Well, we’ll give him cause to regret that. Come!”