Edgar Burroughs - Lost on Venus

I did not sleep well that night. The weight of a great fear for the outcome of tomorrow’s trial oppressed me.

I was not permitted to accompany Duare to her examination. She was placed in charge of the same woman who had guarded Nalte at the time of her examination, Hara Es.

To pass the hours until the result should be made known, I went to the hangar to inspect my plane. It was in perfect condition. The motor hummed almost noiselessly. I could not, under ordinary circumstances, have withstood the urge to have the ship wheeled out onto the plain before the city for a trial flight; but my mind was so distraught with apprehension concerning the fate of Duare that I had no heart for anything.

I spent an hour alone in the hangar. None of my assistants were there, they having all returned to their ordinary duties after the completion of the plane. Then I returned to the house that I shared with Ero Shan.

He was not there. I tried to read, but I could not concentrate long enough to know what I was reading about. My eyes followed the strange Amtorian characters, but my thoughts were with Duare. At last I gave it up and walked in the garden. An unreasoning terror enveloped me like a shroud, numbing my faculties.

How long I walked I do not know, but at last my sad reveries were interrupted by the approach of footsteps through the house. I knew that Ero Shan must be coming to the garden. I stood waiting, looking toward the doorway through which he must come; and the instant that I saw him my heart turned cold. I read the confirmation of my worst fears in the expression on his face.

He came and laid a hand upon my shoulder. “I have bad news for you, my friend,” he said.

“I know,” I replied; “I read it in your eyes. They have ordered her destroyed?”

“It is a miscarriage of justice,” he said, “but there is no appeal. We must accept the decision as the board’s honest conviction that they are thus serving the best interests of the city.”

“Is there nothing I can do?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Won’t they let me take her away from Havatoo?”

“No; they are so afraid of the contaminating influence of Skor and his creatures that they will never permit one to live that falls into their hands.”

“But she is not one of Skor’s creatures!” I insisted.

“I am quite sure that they had their doubts, but the benefit of the doubt is given to the city and not to the accused. There is nothing more to be done.”

“Do you think they would let me see her?” I asked.

“It is possible,” he replied. “For some reason she is not to be destroyed until to-morrow.”

“Will you try to arrange it for me, Ero Shan?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Wait here, and I will see what I can do.”

I have never spent such long and bitter hours as those while I was awaiting the return of Ero Shan. Never before had I felt so helpless and hopeless in the face of an emergency. Had these been ordinary men with whom I had to deal, I might have seen somewhere a ray of hope, but there was none here. Their uprightness precluded the possibility that I might influence even a minor guard by bribery; they could not be moved by an appeal to sentiment; the cold, hard logic of their reasoning left their minds impregnable fortresses of conviction that it was useless to assail.

I have said that I was hopeless, but that was not entirely true. Upon what my hope fed I do not know, but it seemed so impossible to believe that Duare was to be destroyed that my mind must in some slight measure have been stunned.

It was dark before Ero Shan returned. I could read neither hope nor despair in his expression as he entered the room where I had finally gone to await him. He appeared very serious and very tired.

“Well?” I demanded. “What is the verdict?”

“I had a hard time of it,” he said. “I had to go all the way up to the Sanjong, but at last I got permission for you to visit her.”

“Where is she? When may I see her?”

“I will take you to her now,” he replied.

After we entered his car I asked him how he had accomplished it.

“I finally took Nalte with me,” he replied. “She knew more about you and all that you and Duare have passed through together than any one else in Havatoo. For a while I almost thought that she was going to persuade the Sanjong to reverse the verdict against Duare, and it was solely through her appeal that they at last gave their consent to this last meeting.

“I learned a great deal about you and Duare from Nalte, much more than you have ever told me; and I learned something else.”

“What was that?” I asked as he paused.

“I learned that I love Nalte,” he replied.

“And did you learn that she loves you?”

“Yes. Were it not for your unhappiness I should be quite the happiest man in Havatoo tonight. But what made you think that Nalte loved me?”

“She told me so.”

“And you did not tell me?” he asked reproachfully.

“I could not,” I replied, “until after I knew that you loved her.”

“I suppose not. She told me that you were planning on taking her back to Andoo; but now that won’t be necessary—she seems quite content to remain in Havatoo.”

We had been driving along the Korgan Lat. toward the stadium, and now Ero Shan turned into a side street and stopped before a small house.

“Here we are,” he said. “This is the house of Hara Es, in whose charge Duare has been placed. Hara Es is expecting you. I shall wait out here. You are to be allowed to remain with Duare for five vir.”

Five vir are a little over twenty minutes of earth time. It seemed all too short, but it was better than nothing. I went to the door of the house, and in answer to my summons Hara Es admitted me.

“I have been expecting you,” she said. “Come with me.”

She led me up to the second floor and unlocking a door, pushed it open. “Go in,” she directed. “In five vir I shall come for you.”

As I entered the room Duare rose from a couch and faced me. Hara Es closed the door and locked it. I heard her footsteps as she descended the stairs. We were alone, Duare and I, for the first time in what seemed an eternity to me.

“Why did you come here?” asked Duare in a tired voice.

“You ask me that!” I exclaimed. “You know why I came.”

She shook her head. “You cannot do anything for me; no one can. I supposed you would come if you could help me, but as you can’t I do not know why you came.”

“If for no other reason, because I love you. Is not that reason enough?”

“Do not speak to me of love,” she said, looking at me queerly.

I determined not to make her last moments more unhappy by pressing unwelcome attention upon her. I sought to cheer her, but she said that she was not unhappy.”

“I am not afraid to die, Carson Napier,” she said. “As it seems impossible that, living, I should ever return to Vepaja, I prefer to die. I am not happy. I can never be happy.

“Why could you never be happy?” I demanded.

“That is my secret; I shall take it to the grave with me. Let us not speak of it any more.”

“I don’t wish you to die, Duare. You must not die!” I exclaimed.

“I know that you feel that way, Carson , but what are we to do about it?”

“There must be something we can do. How many are there in this house besides Hara Es and yourself?”

“There is no one.”

Suddenly a mad hope possessed me. I searched the room with my eyes. It was bare of all except absolute necessities. I saw nothing with which I might carry out my plan. Time was flying. Hara Es would soon return. My eyes fell upon the saronglike scarf that Duare wore, the common outer garment of Amtorian women.