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Updated: May 31, 2025
Long streamlined Mercutian fliers darted through the air, but nowhere was there a sign of the familiar sphere. Hilary gripped his companion's arm. "They've been captured, Grim," he choked. "Nonsense," the giant said gruffly, to hide his own misgivings. "They just took alarm at something and winged off." "But where is the guard then?" Grim shook his head. He could not answer that.
It acted on Hilary like a cold shower, that cry of despair. "No," his voice resounded strong and vibrant. "We did not need the Vagabond. It never was part of my plans." A lie, of course, but most necessary. "That Mercutian saved me the trouble of finding a hiding place for it. Come, let us march. At dawn it rains, I know it will."
In theory I only vaguely understood it. In practice it was simple and, like most defenses, only partially effective. Bob Trevor, has already mentioned it the suits of black cloth he saw in the Mercutian camp in Wyoming. It was not, as he had afterward supposed, a dye for fabrics.
The Mercutian Cor was a particularly ugly specimen. The gray warts were gigantic, hiding whatever semblance of manlike features there might have been beneath. "I'll see you dogs burned to a cinder in the sun first," he growled. "Keep them covered, Grim," Hilary said sharply. "I'll take care of this fellow personally."
Fragments whizzed by him at a fearful clip; rays crisscrossed all about him. But somehow he was through. Grim's finger was on the slide button. It closed with a snap behind him, cutting off the pursuing howls of rage. Silently the two men darted up the ramp to the pent-apartment, dashed into the master bedroom. The Mercutian guard whom they had left securely bound, was gone.
As recruits poured in, we'd tell them off in hundreds, appoint officers, see that they had arms, or gave them directions where to find the old caches, and hustled them off. Had to shift our quarters continually, because Mercutian fliers would pick us up with their search-beams, and start raying. Had some close shaves.
Hilary had disappeared above the angled bend. Driven from Cover Far overhead, Hilary climbed swiftly. He realised the seriousness of their situation. Let that Mercutian flash his message to Headquarters and there would be a swarm of fliers upon them within an hour's time. They would be caught like rats in a trap, without a chance for their lives.
In the distance the green waters of the Atlantic dazzled in the sunshine. Hilary knew the layout well. It had been his second home before.... He put the bitter thoughts determinedly behind him. There was work ahead. The stooped, hollow-cheeked creature shambled aimlessly up to the entrance. It was filled with Mercutian guards. He edged his way along, hoping to pass through unnoticed.
Hilary shoved the gun back in his blouse, and stared alternately at the huddled form of the grotesque being and all that remained of Amos Peabody. The old President had saved his life at the cost of his own. Instinctively his hand went up in formal salute to the gallant old man. Grim Morgan shook him by the shoulder. "Man," he said quietly, "we have killed a Mercutian guard.
They picked themselves up, disappeared through the exits, giving way to new arrivals. Once Hilary caught a gleam of familiar steel in the unbuttoned recess of a man's blouse pocket. He smiled. There were untoward events impending. But first he must take care of his own private matter. Joan was a captive in the hands of the Mercutian Viceroy. What was his name? Wat had told him. That was it Artok.
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