The Martian Cabal Read online

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Astounding Stories May 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  The Table of Contents is not part of the original magazine. The pages have been renumbered.

  The Martian Cabal

  A Complete Novelette

  By R. F. Starzl

  * * * * *

  Contents

  Page I Strange Intruder 2 II Scar Balta 10 III The Price of Monarchy 18 IV Torture 23 V The Wrath of Tolto 30 VI The Fight in the Fort 37 VII The Flight of a Princess 49 VIII In the Desert 57 IX Plot and Counter-Plot 71 X One Thousand to One 79 XI Giant Against Giant 86 XII "He Must Be a Man of Earth" 96

  * * * * *

  [Sidenote: Sime Hemingway, of the I. F. P., strikes at the insidiousinterests that are lashing high the war feeling between Earth andMars.]

  CHAPTER I

  _Strange Intruder_

  Sime Hemingway did not sleep well his first night on Mars. There wasno tangible reason why he shouldn't. His bed was soft. He had dinedsumptuously, for this hotel's cuisine offered not only Martiandelicacies, but drew on Earth and Venus as well.

  Yet Sime did not sleep well. He tossed restlessly in the caressingsoftness of his bed. He turned a knob in the head panel of his bed,tried to yield to the soothing music that seemed to come from nowhere.He turned another knob, watched the marching, playing, whirling ofsomnolent colors on the domed ceiling of his room.

  At last he gave it up. Some sixth sense had him all jumpy. It was notusual for Sime Hemingway to be jumpy. He was one of the coolest headsin the I. F. P., the Interplanetary Flying Police who patrolled thelonely reaches of space and brought man's law to the outermost orbitof the far-flung solar system.

  Now he jumped out of bed and examined the fastening of his door, thedoor to the hotel corridor. There was only one, and it was secure.Windows there were none, and investigation showed that the small portswere all covered with their pivoted safety plates. He extinguished thelight, swung aside one of the plates, and peered out into the Martiannight. It was moonlight--both Deimos and Phobos were racing across theblue-black sky. The waters of Crystal Canal stretched out before him,seemingly illimitable. Sime knew that the distance to the other sidewas twenty miles or more. Clear-cut through the thin atmosphere ofMars, he could see the jeweled lights of South Tarog, on the otherside.

  * * * * *

  The hotel grounds, too, were well lighted. Long, luminous tubes, partof the architecture of the buildings, aided the moons, shedding theirserene glow on the gentle slope of the red lawns and terraces, thegeometrically trimmed shrubs and trees. They were reflected warmly inthe dancing waves of the canal, though Sime knew that even in this,the height of the summer season, the outside temperature was very nearfreezing.

  Now a hotel guard came along. He carried at his belt a neuro-pistol, adeadly weapon whose beam would destroy the nervous structure of anyliving creature. He went past the port with measured stride, and Simeslid back the safety plate with a puzzled frown.

  Why was he so nervous? This wasn't the first dangerous mission onwhich he had embarked in the course of his official duty. And dangerwas the element that gave zest to his life.

  Clinging like leeches to the wall, the two men resistedthe warped gravitational drag.]

  He began a methodical examination of his room, peering under the bed,into closets, a wardrobe. Yet there was no sign of danger. Carefullyhe inspected his bed for signs of the deadly black mold from Venusthat would, once it found lodgment in the pores of a man's skin,inexorably invade his body and in the space of a few hours reduce himto a black, repulsive parody of humanity. But the sheets wereunsullied.

  Then his gaze fell on the mist-bath. Travelers who have visited Marsare, of course, familiar with this simple device, used to overcome tosome extent the exceeding dryness of the red planet's atmosphere.Resembling the steam bath of the ancients, there was just enough roomin the cylindrical case for a man to sit inside while his skin wassprayed with vivifying moisture. But his head would project, and therewas no head visible.

  Nevertheless, so strong was Sime's intuition, he leveled hisneuro-pistol at the cabinet and approached. With a sweep of hismuscular arm he swung it open--and gasped!

  * * * * *

  The sight that greeted him was enough to make any man gasp, even oneless young and impressionable than Sime. In all of his twenty-fiveyears he had not seen a woman so lovely. Her complexion was thedelicate coral pink of the Martian colonials--descendants of theoriginal human settlers who had struggled with, and at last bent totheir will, this harsh and inhospitable planet. She was little overfive feet tall, although the average Martian is perhaps slightlybigger than his terrestrial cousin. Her hair was dark, like that ofmost Martians, drawn back from her forehead and fastened at the napeof her neck, from there to fall in an abundant, rippling cascade downher slim, straight back. Her figure was like those delicate andancient creations of Dresden china to be seen in museums, butelastic, and full of strength. She was dressed in the two-piecegarment universally worn by both sexes on Mars--a garment, sohistorians say, that was called "pyjamas" by our forebears.

  And she was defiant. In her hand was a stiletto with long, slim blade.Sime made a darting grasp for her wrist and wrung the weapon from her.It fell to the metal floor with a tinkling clatter.

  "And now tell me, young lady, what's the meaning of this?"

  Suddenly she smiled.

  "I came to warn you, Sime Hemingway." She spoke softly and sweetly,and with effortless dignity.

  "You came to warn me?"

  "You are in grave danger. Your mission here is known, and powerfulenemies are preparing to destroy you."

  "You talk like you knew something, kid," Sime admitted. "What is mymission here?"

  "You have been sent to Mars by the I. F. P. in the guise of a miningengineer. You are to discover what you can about a suspected plot ofinterplanetary financiers to plunge the Earth and Mars into a war."

  "How so?" Sime asked enigmatically, concealing his dismay at thegirl's ready reply. Here was inside information with a vengeance!

  "Several shiploads of gray industrial diamonds from Venus have beenseized by war vessels carrying the insignia of the Martian atmosphericguard."

  Sime nodded. "Go on!"

  "Curiously enough, these raids were so timed that they were witnessedby the news telecasters. All of the people on Earth were thuseye-witnesses, and feeling ran high. Am I right?"

  "Go on!"

  "And of course you know about the raids on the Martian borium mines bypirates armed with modern weapons. In the fights, some of the pirates'weapons were captured. They bore the ordnance marks of the terrestrialgovernment."

  "I'm way ahead of you, girlie!" Sime conceded. "Certain financialinterests would like to see a war. They're cookin' up these overt actsto get the people all steamed up till they're ready to fight. I'll gofurther, since you seem to know all about it anyway, and admit thatI'm here to find out just who's back of all this. And how does allthat tie up with you hiding in my mist-bath with a long and meanlookin' knife?"

  The girl dropped her dark lashes in a sidelong glance at the stilettoon the floor. There was a little smile on her lips.

  "My usual weapon. Don't you know most of us Martians go armed all thetime?"

  "Yeh?" Sime grinned skeptically. "And is it a habit of yours to hidein the bedroom of visiting policemen? Come on, kid. I'm going to turnyou over to the guard."

  For a second it looked as if she would make a dash for the bladeglistening there on the floor. But she straightened up, and with alook of infinite scorn said:

  "So the mighty policeman of the Sun calls a hotel guard, does he?Please! Believe me, I am myself working for the same object asyourself--the prevention of a horrible war!"

  She was pleading now.

  "Believe me, you are against forces that you don't understand! I canhelp you, if you will listen. Let me tell you, the Martian governmentis itself corrupted. The planetary president, Wilcox, is in alliancewith the war party. You will have to fight the police. You will haveto fear poison. You will be set upon and killed in the first darkpassage. Yet if you help me you may accomplish your object. You musthelp me!"

  "What do you want of me?"

  "Help me change our government!"

  Sime laughed shortly. He began to suspect that this amazing girl wasdemented. He thought of the powerfully entrenched rulers of thistheoretically republican government. For more than two hundred years,if he remembered rightly, the Martians had been ruled by a small groupof rich politicians.

  "You propose a revolution?" he asked curiously.

  "I propose the return of Princess Sira to the throne!" she declaredvehemently. "But enough! Are you going to betray me--I, who haverisked much to warn you? Or are you going to let me go?"

  * * * * *

  Sime looked into her warm, earnest little face.
Her lips were partedsoftly, showing perfect little teeth, and she was breathing quickly,anxiously. Sime was woman hungry, as men of the service often are onthe long, lonely trail. He seized her quickly, pressed her littlefigure to him and kissed her.

  For a thrilling instant it seemed that she relaxed. But she tore away,furious, her eyes cold with anger.

  "For that," she panted, raging, "you must die!"

  She reached the door before he could stop her, and in a trice she wasout in the gallery. He raced after her, staring stupidly.Surprisingly, when her escape was assured, she turned back. Her lookwas still hurt, angry, as she called to him in low tones:

  "Look out for Scar Balta, you brute!"

  "Who is Scar Balta?" Sime asked himself after locking the door again.The name was not unusual and did not bring any familiar associationsto his mind. The given name, Scar, once a nickname, had been ingeneral use for centuries. As for Balta--oh, well--

  His mind reverted to the girl again. Her warm, palpitant presencedisturbed him.

  He composed himself to sleep, strapping his dispatch belt around hiswaist before crawling into bed. He did not believe that the girl hadhidden in his room with murderous intent; rather that she had hoped toinspect and perhaps to steal any papers that he carried. But his lastconscious thought of her had nothing to do with her connection withthis planet of intrigue, but the soft curve of her throat.