Planet Stories Super Pack #2. Ray Bradbury, Nelson S. Bond, Leigh Brackett
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Garroway laughed. But now there was a touch of hysteria in his laughter, and his deeprooted fear struck new depths as he answered.
"His name is Dirk Morris…an underling."
"Dirk Morris," repeated the girl. "It is a pleasant name to the ears. Well…now that you know the identity of the Ghost, what are you going to do?"
Garroway said slowly, "I am going to do…nothing. Dirk Morris was put to death almost three weeks ago. The…the Galactic Ghost is a ghost indeed!"
The girl smiled. "Perhaps," she said thoughtfully. "But a ghost with very tangible body…and impulses. And, if I am not greatly mistaken, an Achilles’ heel. Listen, my father.... I will drive a bargain with you. For a certain price, I will deliver into your hands this threat to your power."
"Price?" The Overlord stared at her bleakly. "What price do you ask?"
"The life," said the girl, "of the Ghost."
Garroway’s brow darkened.
"Have you gone mad?" he demanded harshly. "His life is forfeit the moment my men seize him!"
"But," pointed out the Princess Lenore sagely, "they cannot lay hands on him…without my help. Come, father…I, too, can be ruthless in getting that which I desire. Will you give me the man, Dirk Morris, and put an end to these depredations? Or must your fortresses continue to fall because of all on earth, I alone know how this phantom may be caught?"
Garroway’s cheeks were mottled with rage; for a moment it seemed he might strike his own daughter.
"You…you ingrate!" he husked. "You dare bargain with the System’s Emperor?"
"I dare bargain," taunted the Princess, "with my own father. And with a badly frightened man."
Garroway fumed at the taunt…but capitulated, as the Princess had known he must do. He lowered his hands weakly.
"Very well," he said. "I give you your price. Now, what must be done?"
"This—" said the Princess. And for a long time two remarkably similar heads, both in physiognomy and mentality, bent close together in conference....
VI
"Tonight?" asked Dirk Morris. "You’re sure, Neil?"
"This very night," swore Neil Hardesty. "At the Palace Royal. I got it on the highest authority. From one of the Imperial Guard, recently converted to our Cause. A grand meeting of the Emperor’s strategy Council, summoned to discuss ways and means—" He grinned—"of apprehending the Galactic Ghost."
Dirk Morris smiled, too, though his features were invisible to his friend.
"The Ghost," he promised, "will attend the Council meeting. Neil, send out a hurried summons to all the Group. Tonight may be the night for which we have waited and planned. The situation has finally turned to our advantage. This is the setting we needed to strike our final, and heaviest, blow. A gathering of all Graed Garroway’s most trusted lieutenants! What better time to bring an abrupt end to his tyranny?"
"Destruction?" asked Brian Shaughnessey. "You plan to kill them all, Dirk?"
"That is not the best way. Killing would immortalize Garroway and—in the minds of many misguided people—forever brand the Galactic Ghost as an outlaw and murderer. No…I will not destroy the Overlord. I will make him appear ignominious in the eyes of his subjects…prove to all men that his vaunted powers are weak and futile. There is no weapon so strong as mirth, no blade so keen as scorn."
Vurrth grunted heavily. "Maybe better you kill, Dirk. No trust Overlord."
"My plans have been successful thus far," pointed out the Voice of Conscience. "Play along with me a little farther. I think the end is in sight. Neil…be ready to send your forces into the Palace the moment I give the signal."
"Right!"
"And you, Brian…see that the audiocast stations are controlled by us in time to speed word to the populace that the Emperor has been taken."
"Right, Dirk."
"And you, Vurrth—"
"Me be on hand," growled Vurrth, "to watch Overlord. No like this."
Dirk laughed. "As you will. Well…until tonight, comrades!"
Again, as oft before during these past weeks, the assembled brothers of the Group sensed the passage of a tingling vibrancy, and knew their leader had gone back to that strange, mysterious other universe which was now his home. Neil issued orders. The Group disbanded.
*
Back on Nadron, Dirk Morris sighed and unlimbered himself of the heavy harness which necessity forced his wearing when he made his peregrinations between the two worlds. To the Ptan Slador he said, "Well…that’s all I can do now. I shall try to rest until the hour comes."
"And then?" asked Slador.
"And then," repeated Dirk slowly, "success…at last. If everything goes well, tonight will mark the beginning of the end. Earth’s greatest citadel will fall, carrying with it into destruction not only the Emperor, but all those upon whom the burden of his military power rests.
"With the fall of Earth, half the battle is won. No other planet is so tightly under Garroway’s control as ours. With the Overlord imprisoned, the other worlds will burst free of their bondage…the System will know again the joys of liberty."
Rima said, "Dirk…you have laid careful plans for tonight? You have plotted every move you will make?"
"Under the circumstances, that is well-nigh impossible. I know only that the Emperor gathers with his staff. I shall have to make my entrance, then decide on the spur of the moment how best to accomplish my aims."
"You are sure—" hesitated the girl—"this is not a trap of some sort?"
"Trap?" Dirk laughed lightly. "How could it be?"
"I don’t know. But the Overlord is no fool. He is a ruthless man…but he is no fool."
"He also," reminded Dirk, "thinks I am dead. The identity of the Galactic Ghost is, to him, a complete mystery. Were he to discover my identity, then perhaps I might have occasion to fear a trap of some sort, for…as you say…Garroway is no fool. He would realize, then, that the teleport brought about not death, but some sort of sinister change. But I am sure there is no danger. Ptan Slador…let us drink to success, and to the final reunion of our freed worlds!"
So they toasted a new life opening to all mankind. And the maiden, Rima, drank the toast with them. But even as she drank, her eyes were grave and thoughtful....
*
Nevertheless, despite his claims of confidence, it was with some slight degree of trepidation that Dirk Morris prepared for his ultimate exploit later that night. This was, he knew, his boldest stroke to date. He had hurled his forces elsewhere with supreme confidence. But always he had avoided too-close contact with Graed Garroway. For in his heart of hearts he agreed with Rima. He knew the Emperor to be, in truth, no fool…but a cunning adversary of infinite daring and resource.
Still, the die was cast now. The Group’s preparations were made; he could not let them down. He must pave the way for the general uprising which would sweep Garroway from power…or his own scheming into disaster.
Slador and Rima accompanied him to the spot on Nadron where his translation was to take place. It was a tiny wooded glade, bathed in the cool moonlight of the alien planet. In the thickets small night-things chirruped, and from somewhere a sleepy bird sang a listless lullaby. Dirk, standing there breathing the sweet, fresh air of Nadron found it hard to believe that the mere pressure of a switch on his belt would place him on the musty, lower levels of that architectural monstrosity which was the Palace Royal…a towering structure of numberless stories…at the very topmost of which would be held the conference he pledged himself to end.
He held out a hand; first Slador, then Rima, gripped it warmly.
"Good