“Roger. I’ll try anything once.”
“Margaret?”
“Onward, men of Earth!”
Seaton opened the lock and the five stood in the chamber, looking at the throng outside. Seaton raised both arms above his head, in what he hoped was the universal sign of peaceful intent. In response a man of Herculean build, so splendidly decorated that his harness was one gleaming mass of jewels, waved one arm and shouted a command. The crowd promptly fell back, leaving a clear space of a hundred yards. The man unbuckled his harness, let everything drop, and advanced naked toward the Skylark, both arms aloft in Seaton’s own gesture.
Seaton started down.
“No, Dick, talk to him from here,” Crane advised.
“Nix.” Seaton said. “What he can do, I can. Except undress in mixed company. He won’t know that I’ve got a gun in my pocket, and it won’t take me more than half an hour to pull it if I have to.”
“Go on, then. DuQuesne and I will come along.”
“Double nix. He’s alone, so I’ve got to be. Some of his boys are covering the field, though, so you might draw your gats and hold them so they show.”
Seaton stepped down and went to meet the stranger. When they had approached to within a few feet of each other the stranger stopped, stood erect, flexed his left arm smartly, so that the finger-tips touched his left ear, and smiled broadly, exposing clean, shining, green teeth. He spoke—a meaningless jumble of sound. His voice, coming from so big a man, seemed light and thin.
Seaton smiled in return and saluted as the other had done.
“Hail and greetings, Oh High Panjandrum,” Seaton said, cordially, his deep voice fairly booming out in the dense, heavy air. “I get the drift, and I’m glad you’re peaceable; I wish I could tell you so.”
The native tapped himself upon the chest. “Nalboon,” he said, distinctly and impressively.
“Nalboon,” Seaton repeated; then said, in the other’s tone and manner, while pointing to himself, “Seaton.”
“See Tin,” Nalboon said, and smiled again. Again indicating himself, he said, “Domak gok Mardonale.”
That was evidently a title, so Seaton had to give himself one. “Boss of the Road,” he said, drawing himself up with pride.
Thus properly introduced to his visitor, Nalboon pointed to the crippled plane, inclined his royal head slightly in thanks or in acknowledgment of the service rendered—Seaton could not tell which—then turned to face his people with one arm upraised. He shouted an order in which Seaton could distinguish something that sounded like “See Tin Basz Uvvy Roagd.”
Instantly every right arm in the crowd was aloft, that of each man bearing a weapon, while the left arms snapped into that peculiar salute. A mighty cry arose as all repeated the name and title of the distinguished visitor.
Seaton turned. “Bring out one of those big four-color signal rockets, Mart!” he called. “We’ve got to acknowledge a reception like this!”
The party appeared, DuQuesne carrying the rocket with an exaggerated deference. Seaton shrugged one shoulder and a cigarette-case appeared in his hand. Nalboon started and, in spite of his self-control, glanced at it in surprise. The case flew open and Sexton, after taking a cigarette, pointed to another.
“Smoke?” he asked, affably. Nalboon took one, but had no idea whatever of what to do with it. This astonishment at simple sleight-of-hand and ignorance of tobacco emboldened Seaton. Reaching into his mouth, he pulled out a flaming match—at which Nalboon jumped straight backward at least a foot. Then, while Nalboon and his people watched in straining attention, Seaton lit the weed, half-consumed it in two long drags, swallowed the half, regurgitated it still alight, took another puff, and swallowed the butt.
“I’m good, I admit, but not that good,” Seaton said to Crane. “I never laid ’em in the aisles like that before. This rocket’ll tie ’em up like pretzels. Keep clear, everybody.”
He bowed deeply to Nalboon, pulling a lighted match from his ear as he did so, and lighted the fuse. There was a rear, a shower of sparks, a blaze of colored fire at the rocket flew upward; but, to Seaton’s surprise, Nalboon took it quite as a matter of course, merely saluting gravely in acknowledgment of the courtesy.
Seaton motioned his party to come up and turned to Crane.
“Better not, Dick. Let him keep on thinking that one Boss is all there is.”
“Not by a long shot. There’s only one of him—two of us bosses would be twice as good.”
He introduced Crane, with great ceremony, as “Boss of the Skylark,” whereupon the grand salute of the people was repeated.
Nalboon gave an order, and a squad of soldiers brought up a group of people, apparently prisoners. Seven men and seven women, they were of a much lighter color than the natives. They were naked, except for jeweled collars worn by all and a thick metal belt worn by one of the men. They all walked proudly, scorn for their captors in every step.
Nalboon barked an order. Thirteen of the prisoners stared back at him, motionlessly defiant. The man wearing the belt, who had been studying Seaton closely, said something, where upon they all prostrated themselves. Nalboon waved his hand giving the group to Seaton and Crane. They accepted the gift with due thanks and the slaves placed themselves behind their new masters.
Seaton and Crane then tried to make Nalboon understand that they wanted copper, but failed dismally. Finally Seaton led the native into the ship and showed him the remnant of the power bar, indicating its original size and giving information as to the number desired by counting to sixteen upon his fingers. Nalboon understood, and, going outside, pointed upward toward the largest of the eleven suns visible, and swung his arm four times in a rising-and-setting arc. He then invited the visitors to get into his plane, but Seaton refused. They would follow, he explained, in their own vessel.
As they entered the Skylark, the slaves followed.
“We don’t want them aboard, Dick,” Dorothy protested. “There are too many of them. Not that I’m exactly scared, but . . .”
“We’ve got to,” Seaton decided. “We’re stuck with ’em. And besides—when in Rome, you’ve got to be a Roman candle, you know.”
Nalboon’s newly-invested flagship led the way; the Skylark followed, a few hundred yards behind and above it.
“I don’t get these folks at all,” Seaton said, thoughtfully. “They’ve got next century’s machines, but never heard of sleight-of-hand. Class Nine rockets are old stuff but marches scare them. Funny.”
“It is surprising enough that their physical shape is the same as ours; Crane said. “It would be altogether too much to expect that all the details of development would he parallel.”
The fleet approached a large city and the visitors from Earth studied with interest this metropolis of an unknown world. The buildings were all of the same height, flat topped, arranged in random squares, rectangles. and triangles. There were no streets, the spaces between the buildings being park-like areas.
All traffic was in the air. Flying vehicles darted in all directions, but the confusion was only apparent, not real, each class and each direction having its own level.
The fleet descended toward an immense building just outside the city proper and all landed upon its roof except the flagship, which led the Skylark to a landing-dock nearby.
As they disembarked Seaton said. “Don’t be surprised at anything I pull off—I’m a walking storehouse of all kinds of small junk.”
Nalboon led the way into an elevator, which dropped to the ground floor. Gates opened, and through ranks of prostrate people the party went out into the palace grounds of the emperor of the great nation of Mardonale.
It was a scene of unearthly splendor. Every shade of their peculiar spectrum was there, in solid, liquid, and gas. Trees were of all colors, as were grasses and flowers along the walks. Fountains played streams of various and constantly-changing hues. The air was tinted and perfumed, swirling through metal arches in billows of ever-varying colors and scents. Colors and combinations of colors impossible to describe were upon every hand, fantastically beautiful in that strong, steady, peculiar light.
“Isn’t this gorgeous, Dick?” Dorothy whispered. “But I wish I had a mirror—you look simply awful—what kind of scarecrow am I?”
“You’ve been under a mercury arc? Like that, only worse. Your hair isn’t as black as I thought it would be, there’s some funny green in it. Your lips, though, are really black. Your teeth are green. . . .”
“Stop it ! Green teeth and black lips! That’s enough—and I don’t want a mirror!”
Nalboon led the way into the palace proper and into a dining hall, where a table was ready. This room had many windows, each of which was festooned with sparkling, scintillating gems. The walls were hung with a cloth resembling spun glass or nylon, which fell on the floor in shimmering waves of color.