Arthur Zagat - The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IX

“Then you followed him and we took you in for similar reasons, though our scientists found very quickly that your mental reactions were of entirely different type from Leland’s and that the secret would be safe in your keeping. Leland remains obdurate. He threatens us with physical violence, and his reactions to the thought-reading machines are of the most treacherous sort. We must keep him with us. He shall remain unharmed, but he must not be allowed to return. That is the story. You two are free to leave when you choose. I ask not that you give your word to keep the secret of ‘Silver Dome.’ I know it is not necessary.”

The lights had resumed their normal glow, and the marvelous sphere returned to its receptacle beneath the floor. Phaestra resumed her seat on the canopied divan. Frank dropped to a seat on the edge of the dais. Tommy and Orrin remained standing, Tommy lost in thought and Orrin stolidly mute. The empress avoided Frank’s gaze studiously. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes bright with emotion.

Frank was first to break the silence. “Leland is in solitary confinement?” he asked.

“For the present he is under guard,” replied Phaestra. “He was quite violent and it was necessary to disarm him after he had killed one of my attendants with a shot from his automatic pistol. When he agrees to submit peacefully, he shall be given the freedom of Theros for the remainder of his life.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Frank, “if I spoke to him….”

“The very thing.” Phaestra thanked him with her wondrous eyes.

A high pitched note rang out from behind the hangings, and, in rapid syllables of the language of Theros, a voice broke forth from the concealed amplifiers. Orrin, startled from his stoicism, sprang to the side of his empress. She rose from her seat as the voice completed its excited message.

“It is Leland,” she said calmly. “He has escaped and recovered his pistol. I have been told that he is now at large in the palace, terrorizing the household. We have no weapons here, you see.”

“Good God!” shouted Frank. “Suppose he should come here?”

He jumped to his feet just as a shot rang out in the antechamber. Orrin dashed to the portal when a second shot spat forth from the automatic which must certainly be in the hands of a madman. The doors swung wide and Leland, hair disarranged and bloodshot eyes staring, burst into the room. Orrin went down at the next shot and the hardly recognizable scientist advanced toward the dais.

When he saw Frank and Tommy he stopped in his tracks. “So you two have been following me!” he snarled. “Well, you won’t keep me from my purpose. I’m here to kill this queen of hell!”

Once more he raised his automatic, but Frank had been watching closely and he literally dove from the steps of the dais to the knees of the deranged Leland. As beautiful a tackle as he had ever made in his college football days laid the maniac low with a crashing thud that told of a fractured skull. The bullet intended for Phaestra went wide, striking Tommy in the shoulder.

Spun half way around by the impact of the heavy bullet, Tommy fought to retain his balance. But his knees went suddenly awry and gave way beneath him. He crumpled helplessly to the floor, staring foolishly at the prostrate figure of Leland and at Frank, who had risen to his feet and now faced the beautiful empress of Theros. Strange lights danced before Tommy’s eyes, and he found it difficult to keep the pair in focus. But he was sure of one thing—his pal was unharmed. Then the two figures seemed to merge into one and he blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his failing vision. By George, they were in each other’s arms! Funny world—above or below—it didn’t seem to make any difference. But it was a tough break for Frank—morganatic marriage and all that. No chance—well—

Tommy succumbed to his overpowering drowsiness.

The awakening was slow, but not painful. Rather there was a feeling of utter contentment, of joy at being alive. A delicious languor pervaded Tommy’s being as he turned his head on a snow white silken pillow and stared at the figure of the white-capped nurse who was fussing with the bottles and instruments that lay on an enameled table beside the bed. Memory came to him immediately. He felt remarkably well and refreshed. Experimentally he moved his left shoulder. There was absolutely no pain and it felt perfectly normal. He sat erect in his surprise and felt the shoulder with his right hand. There was no bandage, no wound. Had he dreamed of the hammer blow of that forty-five caliber bullet?

His nurse, observing that her patient had recovered consciousness, broke forth in a torrent of unintelligible Theronian, then rushed from the room.

He was still examining his unscarred shoulder in wonder, when the nurse returned, with Frank Rowley at her heels. Frank laughed at the expression of his friend’s face.

“What’s wrong, old-timer?” he asked.

“Why—I—thought that fool of a Leland had shot me in the shoulder,” stammered Tommy, “but I guess I dreamed it. Where are we? Still in Theros?”

“We are.” Frank sobered instantly, and Tommy noted with alarm that his usually cheerful features were haggard and drawn and his eyes hollow from loss of sleep. “And you didn’t dream that Leland shot you. That shoulder of yours was mangled and torn beyond belief. He was using soft nosed bullets, the hell-hound!”

“Then how—?”

“Tommy, these Theronians are marvelous. We rushed you to this hospital and a half-dozen doctors started working on you at once. They repaired the shattered bones by an instantaneous grafting process, tied the severed veins and arteries and closed the gaping wound by filling it with a plastic compound and drawing the edges together with clamps. You were anaesthetized and some ray machine was used to heal the shoulder. This required but ten hours and they now say that your arm is as good as ever. How does it feel?”

“Perfectly natural. In fact I feel better than I have in a month.” Tommy observed that the nurse had left the room and he jumped from his bed and capered like a school boy.

This drew no sign of merriment from Frank, and Tommy scrutinized him once more in consternation. “And you,” he said, “what is wrong with you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” replied Frank impatiently. Then, irrelevantly, he said “Leland’s dead.”

“Should be. I knew we shouldn’t have started out to help him. But, Frank, I’m concerned about you. You look badly.” Tommy was getting into his clothes as he spoke.

“Forget it, Tommy. You’ve been sleeping for two days, you know—part of the cure—and I haven’t had much rest during that time. That is all.”

“It’s that Phaestra woman,” Tommy accused him.

“Well, perhaps. But I’ll get over it, I suppose. Tommy, I love her. But there’s no chance for me. Haven’t seen her since the row in the palace. Her council surrounds her continually and I have been advised to-day that we are to be returned as quickly as you are up and around. That means immediately now.”

“Good. The sooner the better. And you just forget about this queen as soon as you are able. She’s a peach, of course, but not for you. There’s lots more back in little old New York.” But Frank had no reply to this sally.

There came a knock at the door and Tommy called, “Come in.”

“I see you have fully recovered,” said the smiling Theronian who entered at the bidding, “and we are overjoyed to know this. You have the gratitude of the entire realm for your part in the saving of our empress from the bullets of the madman.”