Assured that not a single Mardonalian remained upon the dock, Seaton waved emphatically to the others.
“Snap it up !” he yelled. “This is going to be hotter than the middle tail-race of Hades in exactly one minute.”
He led the way across the dock toward the Skylark, choosing the path with care between yawning holes. The ship was still in place, still held immovable by the attractor, but what a sight she was! Her quartz windows were shattered, her Norwegian armor skin was dented and warped and fissured, half her plating was gone.
Not a shot had struck her. All this damage had been done by flying fragments of the guns and of the dock itself; and Seaton and Crane, who had developed the new explosive, were aghast at its awful power.
They climbed hastily into the vessel and Seaton ran toward the controls.
“I hear battleships,” Dunark said. “Is it permitted that I operate one of your machine guns?”
“Go as far as you like!”
While Seaton was reaching for the speed-lever the first ranging shell from the first warship exploded against the side of the dock, just below them. His hand grasped the lever just as the second shell screamed through the air, scant yards above them; and as he shot the Skylark into the air under five notches of power a stream of the huge projectiles poured through the spot where she had just been.
Crane and DuQuesne aimed several shots at the battleships, but the range was so extreme that no damage was done. Dunark’s rifle, however, was making a continuous chatter and they turned toward him. He was shooting, not at the warships, but at the city growing so rapidly smaller beneath them. He was moving the gun’s muzzle in a small spiral, spraying the entire city with death and destruction. As they looked, the first of the shells reached the ground, just as Dunark ceased firing for lack of ammunition. The palace disappeared, blotted out in a cloud of dust; a cloud which spiraled outward until it obscured the area where the city had been.
High enough to be safe, Sexton stopped climbing and went out to confer with the others.
“It sure feels good to get a cool breath,” he said, inhaling deeply the thin, cold air of that altitude. Then he saw the Kondalians, who, besides having taken a beating from the—to them—atrocious acceleration, were gasping for breath and were shivering, pale with cold.
“If this is what you like,” Dunark said, trying manfully to grin, “I see at last why you wear clothes.”
Apologizing quickly, Seaton went back to the board and laid a course, on a downward slant, toward the ocean. Then he asked DuQuesne to take over and rejoined the group.
“There’s no accounting for tastes,” he said to Dunark, “but I can’t hand your climate a thing. It’s hotter and muggier than Washington in August; ‘and that,’ as the poet feelingly remarked, ‘is going some’ But there’s no sense to sitting here in the dark. Snap the switch, will you, Dottie?”
“Be glad to . . . now we’ll see what they really look like. . . . Why, they are beautiful . . . in spite of being sort of greenish like, they really are!”
But Sitar took one look at the woman by her side, shut both eyes, and screamed. “What a horrible light! Shut it off; please! I’d rather be in darkness all my . . .”
“Did you ever see any darkness?” Seaton interrupted.
“Yes, I shut myself into a dark closet once, when I was a girl . . . and it scared me half out of my senses. I’ll take back what I started to say; but that light”—Dorothy had already turned it off—”was the most terrible thing I ever saw!”
“Why, Sitar,” Dorothy said, “You looked perfectly stunning!”
“They see things differently from the way we do,” Sexton explained. “Their optic nerves respond differently, send a different message to the brain. The same stimulus produces two entirely different end sensations. Am I making myself clear?”
“Sort of. Not very.” Dorothy said, doubtfully.
“Take a concrete example, the Kondalian color ‘mlap’. Can you describe it?”
“It’s a kind of greenish orange . . . but it shouldn’t be. By what we learned from Dunark, it’s brilliant purple.”
“That’s what I mean. Well, get set, everybody, and we’ll tear off a few knots for Kondalek.”
As they neared the ocean several Mardonalian battleships tried to intercept them; but the Skylark hopped over them and her speed was such that pursuit was not attempted. The ocean was crossed at the same high speed.
Dunark, who had already tuned the Skylark’s powerful transmitter to his father’s private frequency, reported to him everything that had happened; and emperor and crown prince worked out a modified version which was to be broadcast throughout the nation.
Crane drew Seaton aside.
“Do you think we can really trust these Kondalians, any more than we should have trusted the Mardonalians? It might he better for us to stay in the Skylark instead of going to the palace at all.”
“Yes to the first; no to the second,” Seaton replied. “I went off half-cocked last time, I admit; but I’ve got his whole mind inside my skull, so I know him a lot better than I know you. They’ve got some mighty funny ideas, and they’re bloodthirsty and hard as tungsten carbide; but, basically, they’re just as decent as we are.
“As for staying in here, what good would that do? Steel is as soft as mush to the stuff they’ve got. And we can’t go anywhere, anyway. No copper—we’re down to the plating in spots. And we couldn’t if we were full of copper. The old bus is a wreck; she’s got to be completely rebuilt. But you don’t have to worry this time, Mart. I know they’re friends of ours.”
“You don’t say that very often,” Crane conceded, “and when you do, I believe you. All objections are withdrawn.”
Flying over an immense city, the Skylark came to a halt directly above the palace, which, with its landing dock near by, was very similar to that of Nalboon, the Mardonalian potentate.
From the city beneath the Skylark hundreds of big guns roared in welcome. Banners and streamers hung from every point. The air became tinted and perfumed with a bewildering variety of colors and scents. Ether and air alike were full of messages of welcome and hymns of joy.
A fleet of giant warships came up, to escort the battered little globe with impressive ceremony down to the landing dock; while around them great numbers of smaller aircraft flitted. Tiny one-man machines darted here and there, apparently always in imminent danger of collision with each other or with their larger fellows, but always escaping as though by a miracle. Beautiful pleasure-planes soared and dipped and wheeled like great gulls; and, cleaving their stately way through the hordes o£ lesser craft, immense multi-plane passenger liners partially supported by helicopter screws turned aside from their scheduled courses to pay homage to the half of the Kondalian royal family so miraculously returned from the dead.
As the Skylark approached the roof of the dock, all the escorting vessels dropped away. On the roof, instead of the brilliant assemblage the Earthmen had expected to see, there was only a small group of persons, all of whom were as completely unadorned as were Dunark and the other erstwhile captives.
In answer to Seaton’s look of surprise, Dunark said, with feeling, “My father, mother, and the rest of the family. They knew we’d be stripped; they are meeting us that way.”
Seaton landed the ship. He and his four stayed inside while the family reunion, which was very similar to an Earthly one under similar circumstances, took place. Dunark then led his father up to the Skylark and the Tellurians disembarked.
“Friends, I have told you of my father; I present you to Roban, the Karfedix of Kondal. Father, it is an honor to present to you those who rescued us from Nalboon and from Mardonale. Seaton, Karfedix of Knowledge; Crane, Karfedix of Wealth; Miss Vaneman, and Miss Spencer. The Karfedelix DuQuesne”—waving his hand at him—”is a lesser authority of knowledge and is captive to the others.”
“The Karfedix Dunark exaggerates our services,” Seaton said, “and does not mention the fact that he saved all our lives.”
Disregarding Seaton’s remark, Roban thanked them in the name of Kondal and introduced them to the rest of his party. As they all walked toward the elevator the emperor turned to his son with a puzzled expression.
“I know that our guests are from a very distant world, and I understand your accident with the educator, but I cannot understand the titles of these men. Knowledge and wealth are not—cannot be—ruled over. Are you sure that you have translated their titles correctly?”
“No translation is possible. Crane has no title, and was not at all willing for me to apply any title to him. Seaton’s title, one of learnedness, had no equivalent in our language. What I did was to call them what each one would certainly become if he had been born one of us. Their government is not a government at all, but stark madness, the rulers being chosen by the people themselves, who change their minds and their rulers every year or two. And, everyone being equal before the law, does just about as he pleases. . . .”