Phantom Out of Time. Nelson S. Bond
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I gave you a final chance to offer it of your own free will. But your cherished ‘secret’ has already been solved.”
“Solved!” That was Hardesty. “You mean—?”
“Quiet, Neil!” warned Dirk. “He’s faking!”
Garroway laughed.
* * * *
“Faking? You shall see in a few minutes, when I put you to death in the murderous device constructed by your one-time leader, Dr. Townsend!”
“Murderous—” began Hardesty.
“Please, Neil! Then you…you found Dr. Townsend’s chamber?” asked Dirk.
“Yes. And experimented with it, too. We know, now, its purpose. Too bad Robert Townsend did not live to receive our congratulations. So that was your secret, eh? Your late leader succeeded in perfecting a disintegration chamber?”
“Disint—” began Morris. Then he stopped abruptly. When he spoke again, his voice was defiant. “Well…now that you know, what are you going to do about it?”
Brian Shaughnessey stared at his friend miserably.
“Disintegrating machine!” he choked. “Nothing but a damned theoretical gadget! Is that the great invention we’ve been risking our lives for? Dirk—”
“Do about it?” laughed Garroway negligently. “Why, I’m going to turn it to my own usage, of course. And you, my unfortunate young conspirator, will attain the distinction of being the instrument’s first human victim. Come, guards! We have no more time to waste.”
“A moment!” interrupted Morris. “You will keep your promise? My companions go free when I die?”
The Overlord nodded with mock graciousness.
“Graed Garroway needs compromise with no man. But I have given my word. Yes, your companions go free.”
“Very well, then. I am ready.”
Morris turned and gripped warmly the hand of each of his companions in turn. Then he stepped forward. Two guards flanked him. The Captain of the Guard rasped a command. The little band marched down the avenue and out of sight; silence surged in to hush the stir of footsteps. Somewhere a barrier clanged metallically.
“A disintegrating machine!” moaned Shaughnessey. “A damned disintegrating machine! Suppose we did have it? What good would it do us? It wasn’t portable. We couldn’t use it to fight Garroway’s hordes. Dirk’s just thrown his life away for nothing—”
“Please, Brian!” begged Hardesty.
His hands were knotted at his sides, the knuckles as white as his lips. Meacher’s eyes were ghastly. Only Vurrth displayed no emotion, but the sinews of the Venusian’s throat were taut cords of strain as he, with the others, waited.
Slow seconds passed on sluggish feet. Then, after a million aeons, came the dreaded signal. From afar sounded the thin, persistent hum of pulsing current; the strong lights of the prison-block dimmed briefly…glowed…dimmed again…and glowed….
* * * *
Brian Shaughnessey, strong fighting man that he was, raised a hand to his eyes. Neil Hardesty’s breath broke in a shaken murmur. Meacher whimpered, and Vurrth’s massive fists tensed at his thighs.
Again a door opened…again footsteps approached the prisoners. There was a look of gloating malice on Garroway’s swarthy face. He said, “Open the cell, guards. Let them out now.”
Hardesty whispered, “It…it is over?”
“It is over. Your friend has vanished…disappeared into whatever hell awaits rebels.” The Overlord smiled. “It was a most interesting exhibition…most. Through the glazed pane we saw him standing, panic-stricken, frozen with terror. Then the current was turned on. Before our eyes, he vanished as a mist—”
“I don’t believe it!” growled Shaughnessey. “Morris was afraid of nothing; man, beast, nor devil—”
“And…and we?” broke in Fred Meacher fearfully.
“Go free,” said Black Garroway, “as I promised. But have a care! If ever I hear a word of complaint or suspicion raised against any of you again, you will share his fate. It is only through my graciousness you live.”
“We understand,” said Neil evenly. “Come, friends.”
He led the way from the cell as a guard unlocked the door. When the four had almost reached the end of the prison corridor, Garroway called after them.
“Oh…one thing more! I almost forgot to thank you, Meacher!”
Shaughnessey said, “Huh? What’s that? Why? What’s he got to thank you for, Fred?”
Meacher’s pale eyes rolled, suddenly panicked.
“Me? I…I don’t know what he’s talking about—”
Black Garroway’s heavy laughter filled the hall.
“What? Oh, come now, Meacher! Of course you do. I appreciate the information you gave me on Morris. The reward I promised you will be waiting at the State Hall tomorrow. A thousand credits, wasn’t it? Well, come and claim it—” He chuckled stridently—“if you can.”
Before the quick suspicion rising in the eyes of the comrades he had betrayed, Meacher quailed. He tugged free of Shaughnessey’s hand and scampered to the protection of Garroway’s guard. His voice bleated shrill remonstrance.
“Sire…you should not have told them! I served you faithfully and well…wormed my way into their inner council! Were it not for me you would never have known—”
Black Garroway avoided the informer’s frenzied clawing. His voice was hard, mocking, contemptuous.
“Fool! You brought me no information worth hearing! Through my own efforts I discovered Townsend’s instrument and solved its secret. You are a dolt, a stupid bungler! I need no such aides.”
“But I told you Morris held the Secret—”
“Bah! There is no longer a secret to be held.”
“But there is, Sire! Before he died, Morris told it to—”
Hardesty interrupted coldly, “Am I to understand, Garroway, that this man is no longer under your protection?”
Garroway shrugged.
“I have washed my hands of him,” he said carelessly. “Come, guards!”
He turned away as Meacher screamed, vainly struggled to escape the vengeful trio closing in on him.
“Take him, Vurrth!” ordered Hardesty succinctly.
The great Venusian’s hands closed briefly around the traitor’s throat, stifling his garbled cries. With revealing ease he lifted the Earthman, held him dangling like a sack of meal in midair, and looked at Hardesty for orders.
“Put him down,” commanded Neil. “We will settle our differences elsewhere.”
Vurrth grunted, and obediently loosed his grip. The body, of Fred Meacher slumped to the floor awkwardly…and lay still. Brian Shaughnessey bent over the crumpled figure. He glared up angrily at his comrade.
“Confound you, Vurrth! He’s dead!”
Vurrth grinned slowly.
“Sor-ree,” he said. “Maybe hold too tight?”
One of the guards, glancing back, muttered a word to his captain who, in turn, passed the message to the Overlord. A thin smile touched Garroway’s lips, but he did not turn his head. The incident was, his attitude intimated as he led his entourage from the hall, a matter in which he took no concern whatsoever….0
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