Chapter III

Through adventures on every far-flung world, every barren satellite, Ketrik's uncanny "time-awareness" had never failed him. It didn't now. He knew that it was precisely one hour and twenty minutes later when he saw the flickering lights, so he couldn't have come far. He saw the lights but once, quite a distance ahead and low against the ground. Then they were gone as the sand rose in renewed fury.

He moved cautiously now. He didn't see the lights again but knew he was going toward them. Ketrik was no stranger to this south desert. Now the old nameless awareness was with him. It may not have been anything he heard--but he suddenly knew that very close, just beyond the radius of his vision, unknown shapes moved through murky darkness. The very sands seemed to whisper the danger. But Ketrik heard other sounds now. The sounds he heard were sibilant footsteps and they were patient, very patient, as they kept pace with him.

He became suddenly motionless, held his ears attuned. The soft footsteps stopped, but not before Ketrik determined that they were on both sides of him now and probably behind him as well. He nodded grimly and went on, no longer trying to tread softly. He loosened the electro in his belt. These might be Rajecs or they might be the scavenger rats that trailed a man until he dropped. In either event....

He knew very soon. They came hurtling out of darkness at him, great black shapes, silent and swift. But they were man-size, which meant they were Rajecs. His electro was out, but he didn't get a chance to use it. A muscular hand seized his arm and bore it painfully backward. Other Rajecs crowded in. Even at this close range Ketrik could see little except their eyes, feral as flaming topaz.

Even Ketrik could not fight that which he could not see. But he tried, tried grimly until the weight of their bodies bore him down. He remembered that these people could see in darkness. They undoubtedly saw that he was "Martian," and his life would be forfeit unless....

He was trying to remember something else, something out of Rajec legendry. A single word. It came to him then, and he ceased fighting. He whispered the word fiercely.

"_S'Relah!_"

It was magic. The clutching hands loosened. He could feel the black muscular figures draw back, hesitant.

"You are Martian!" one of them hissed.

"But _S'Relah_, I tell you!" Ketrik spat the word. "I am one of you!"

They helped him to rise, but kept firm grip on his arms. "We will see. Come."

They went forward through darkness. Presently they were mounting a slight rise. From the top of it Ketrik looked down at the campfires of a Rajec caravan, a large one.

As they moved down the slope, Ketrik realized he'd have to stick to his word. His mind raced, building up a brief but, he hoped, suitable story. He was sufficiently versed in Martian history. He knew that aeons ago vast tribes of these black-skinned Rajecs had been dominant on the planet. But the "Upper Martians," so called, had progressed phenomenally. They were superior in the arts, social government, science, and the "culture" of warfare. They had swept down from the north, expanding, building their cities and developing their waterways, the now famous Canals. A bitter thousand-years' war had driven the Rajecs ever southward into the merciless deserts.

There they had stayed, waging periodic but futile warfare. Wild and tribal now, they still had never forgotten. The _S'Relah_ was a fanatic, inter-tribal society ... persisting through countless generations, dedicated to a relentless hate of those upper Martians. And Ketrik knew what few men knew--that among the _S'Relah_ were many renegade Martians, outlaws and embittered "politicals" usually, working through the Society for personal gain or revenge.

* * * * *

Ketrik had his story ready as they came into the camp. The Rajec leader was sent for. This man was large, well proportioned, the muscles beneath his ebon skin high-lighted in the glow of the central fire. He was armed merely with a razor-edged dagger in a jewelled belt. Ketrik, looking at him, felt respect and a certain foreboding--the latter occasioned by the slight enigmatic smile about the other's lips.

The man eyed Ketrik with equal interest. His keen gaze lingered overly long on his "Martian" features. He certainly noted the electro which Ketrik retained, but it didn't seem to bother him. He spoke at last, in Martian.

"You claim to be _S'Relah_. We will need proof of that. What is your name?"

"Khosan."

"Ah, yes. Khosan. And where do you come from?"

"L'Ottli." Ketrik named a small mining camp far to the south. "Been prospecting there for six months, trying to make stake enough to get up to Turibek."

"Yes. We, too, go to Turibek. You knew that?"

Ketrik allowed puzzlement to show in his eyes. The other went on. "You seem surprised, Khosan. Had you not heard, then, that your emperor, Dar Vaajo, has signed a treaty with the consolidated tribes of Rajec?"

"I had not heard. And I believe you lie! The Rajecs would never make treaty!" Ketrik hoped his disbelief sounded convincing.

"It is true," the black shrugged. "But that does not matter. Your going to Turibek matters. A foolhardy thing to attempt alone!" The enigmatic smile still lingered. "But, then, being at L'Ottli for so long, you were not aware of Dar Vaajo's scouts everywhere. This area has become thick with their 'copters--especially in the last few hours!" There was calculated meaning in the last words.

Ketrik decided on a bold stroke. He said calmly, "Yes. I am aware of it now. They blasted my plane out of the sky scarcely an hour ago. Perhaps you saw that?"

"We all have observed a slight display in the sky to the west. You know--Khosan--word reaches us swiftly and in many ways. It is rumored that Vaajo's scouts are seeking to apprehend one who _may_ come here from Earth." The black paused, but Ketrik's eyes never flickered. "They may even search this area. They know our camp is here. There should be a reward of many Martian credits for capture of the one they seek!"

Ketrik shrugged. "That explains why they fired at me. I guess they mistook me for that one."

The Rajec's smile vanished abruptly. His next questions came fast. "You are _S'Relah_? Why are you _S'Relah_?"

"Political. Irreconcilable. My father was a 'political' before me."

"Where do you go in Turibek?"

"Where the Street of the Double Moon makes juncture with the Low Canal is a tiny shop dealing in curios from the far planets. The proprietor is one Jal Thurlo. I go there for a meeting with him."

"And the reason? The reason--quickly!"

Ketrik's gaze leveled and he said slowly, "You would not expect me to tell you that. He too is a 'political'."

"You can quote the oath of the _S'Relah_?"

Ketrik had been waiting for that one. Now, in a low voice, he quoted the oath which not all Rajecs, very few Martians, and probably no Earthman save himself had ever heard. It was a strange and terrible oath, an oath hallowed in blood, and its implications would have made some men blanch. But Ketrik spoke it feelingly. He finished the words and looked closely at the black's face.

The man was satisfied and strangely moved, albeit slightly puzzled. He drew a tremulous breath at last.

"You have proven! You may go on to Turibek with us. We travel afoot and the way is slow, but certain."

"That is agreeable."

* * * * *

The leader drew Ketrik aside, out of hearing of the others. "At the rear of our caravan is a small group of Martians, prospectors from the nearby mountains--a ragged, harmless lot, whom we tolerate. I think it advisable that you travel with them. Dar Vaajo's Specials are stationed along our route."

Ketrik nodded curtly, started to move away. The Rajec stopped him. "This mining camp you mention, this L'Ottli where you have been for six months. Is it not far, far to the south, at the extreme end of the K'Mari Range?"

"That's the place." Ketrik was on his guard.

"I thought you would like to know there is no L'Ottli. That entire town was wiped out in a great avalanche three years ago. Oh, yes, one more thing." The black was smiling now, looking at the place on Ketrik's arm where the hot chunk of metal had burned the sleeve away. "That is a bad burn, and a strange one--for a Martian."

Ketrik looked at his injured arm for the first time. Around the area of the burn was a tiny outline of white--the white skin of an Earthman showing through. Only the keen eyes of this Rajec would have noticed it.

"I'll give you other garments," the man said. "You had better burn these. Good night, and sleep well--Khosan."

But Ketrik didn't sleep well. He burned his garments and donned the others, then found the camp of the Martian prospectors. There were six of them, all asleep now. Ketrik found a place by the fire and lay awake, speculating.

The Rajec leader he trusted. The man was undoubtedly of the _S'Relah_. But these six Martians would be suspicious of him, a newcomer. If they hadn't yet heard of the search for a spy in the area, they would certainly hear of it on the morrow! And they'd report him to any of Dar Vaajo's "Specials" they met along the line of march.

That last thought gave Ketrik his answer, a temporary one at least.

At dawn the caravan moved. The six Martians were surprised at this newcomer, but not yet suspicious. Ketrik didn't give them time to be. From beneath his arm-pit he produced the thin disk which he'd taken from the slain Martian operative. He flashed it briefly, asked a few curt questions, and the men were properly cowed. Apparently they knew the power of Vaajo's Specials.

"Just routine," Ketrik told them. "I'll travel along with you for a while." Determined to play his role to the hilt, he added, "We can't be too careful in these times. There may be _S'Relah_ among these damned Rajecs, but we'll find them out before we get to Turibek. Dar Vaajo has gone too far in his plans to have them thwarted now."

By tactful conversation he sought to learn something of what was going on at Turibek. It soon became apparent that these bedraggled men didn't know, and cared less. One of them had heard of Dar Vaajo coming to Turibek with a complete staff of scientists, but that's as far as his knowledge went. Another of the men had heard of the treaty, and wasn't surprised.

"I've seen it coming," he said gruffly. "Many years I've lived in these deserts, and I tell you the Rajecs aren't the same. Especially the last few years. Something just seems to have gone out of them."

Something indeed had gone out of the Rajecs, if they made treaty! Ketrik wondered what kind of magic Dar Vaajo had used to bring that about. More particularly, _why_! There was some sort of link here, between the Rajecs and whatever was going on at Turibek. And that, in turn, was a pivot in Vaajo's larger plan, the plan that would deal with Earth. Ketrik just couldn't piece it together as yet; he'd have to get to Turibek. He thought fleetingly of those electronic walls....

The sun climbed higher, hot and dry, sapping the strength. Ketrik marvelled at the long line of marching Rajecs--there were perhaps two hundred. Long years in these deserts had inured them to discomfort. Again he wondered why they were going to Turibek. Almost he was tempted to go up and speak again with the Rajec leader--the man's name was Aarnto, he learned--but he thought better of it.

At high noon they stopped for rations, and a few hours later the Martian 'copters came over. They came from the direction of the city, circled once, and flew leisurely back. Ketrik wondered what that meant. He was soon to know.

* * * * *

Presently Aarnto dropped back, fell into step beside him and drew him away from the others. "You saw the 'copters?"

"Yes," Ketrik replied. "Trouble ahead?"

"For you, perhaps, O mysterious one from out of the desert! Those 'copters mean there is a surveying station ahead, and the Specials will be there. Apparently they are still searching for the spy."

"These surveying stations--what do they do there?"

"Oh, they are diabolic, these Specials of Vaajo's! They have machines which tear a man's mind apart, probe into his inner thoughts. No spy could ever get past them."

"Then how do _you_ propose to get by, O grinning one?"

The black continued to grin. "True," he said frankly, "I am _S'Relah_. And there are several others among us. We shall get by the Specials all right, and into Turibek by the main gate. For the past year we have prepared for this, through systematic thought-control. We can submerge our true thoughts so that all the machines will read will be obeisance and loyalty."

"Seems ticklish," Ketrik said. "But I guess I'll try that too." He had no intention of trying it. He was watching Aarnto's reaction.

"Listen to me." Aarnto was serious, gripping Ketrik's arm. "You could never manage it. It takes months to perfect such mind control, and you have only hours. I do not know why you wish to get to Turibek, but you quoted the oath to me. I know of another way into the city for you--it will be perilous but not so perilous as trying to run the gauntlet of Specials!"

"I am listening, O helpful one."

"We will reach this station before sundown. If you should leave the caravan now, and cut across desert to the foothills, you would be safe. Once over there...."

Now it was Ketrik who grinned. "I know. Once over there, I might find the entrance to the ancient South Canal."

Aarnto was amazed. "You know of that too?"

"I've heard of it, but don't know the exact location."

Aarnto pointed to the K'Mari Range, indicating twin peaks that curled up like devil's horns. "Guide your course directly between those. The Canal ends somewhere in the foothills below."

"Thanks, Aarnto." Ketrik placed his hand on the man's shoulder, in the Rajec custom. "May I repay you some day!"

"That day may come soon," the other said calmly. "I can almost promise it."

Ketrik wondered what he meant by that, but wasted no more time on words. Turning abruptly, he set out across the desert. The six Martians watched him go. One of them, who had been silent and surly, frowned thoughtfully now as he stared after Ketrik's retreating figure.

Ketrik judged the hills to be fifteen miles away at this point. He'd be lucky if he reached them before nightfall. After that, well, there were tales about those abandoned Canals....

He directed his course between the curving peaks. In a few hours the ground began to rise slightly, became firmer underfoot. Still later, deep little gullies began crossing the terrain. He followed these, changing from one to the other, searching for some sign of the Canal.

After an interminable search, he was rewarded. He began to notice peculiarities of the gully in which he trod. It seemed to level out, and the walls seemed smoother and higher. He scraped away layers of sand, saw ancient stone.

By this time the sun had dropped below his vision. He knew that any minute the Martian night would come with awful suddenness. And with it, would come ... other things.

But Ketrik was unprepared for what came in that moment. He heard a sudden sharp _whirr_ of blades, and a 'copter appeared above him! It swept so low he could almost see the pilot. There was no doubt the pilot had seen him, for a heat-beam sliced downward, swept along the Canal floor. Ketrik leaped aside, hugged the sandy wall.

Then the 'copter was gone, but Ketrik knew it would circle and return. That could only mean one thing. The caravan had reached the Station, and one of those Martians had spoken of him to the Specials.

Ahead, through the gloom, the Canal seemed to dip into a sort of culvert. He raced for it as he heard the whirring blades again, entered the dark tunnel just as the heat-beam sprayed downward, sending the sand into molten froth. Ketrik groped forward in darkness. The tunnel leveled and continued. Ketrik's heart leaped as he realized where he was. This was one of the abandoned Canals which had been filled with slag from the Martian mines. But years ago pirates had conceived the unique idea of burrowing through it, making a perfect retreat from Turibek to the mountains!

* * * * *

Suddenly he started. Far behind he heard a scuffle of steps. That could only be the Martian Special! There was no doubt, now, that word had gone to Dar Vaajo; they really wanted to stop him! Ketrik grinned and went on, hurrying his steps a little. Rajecs could see in the dark, but Martians couldn't. If it came to a showdown....

His grin soon vanished. All about him now he heard vicious little animal squeals, the scuffing of tiny feet. Scavengers! There must be thousands of them. He saw their baleful red eyes. They gradually grew bolder, began nipping at him. Soon his trousers were in shreds from the knees down, and he felt the flow of blood.

There was one satisfaction. The Martian coming behind must be suffering the same treatment! But the man kept coming. The footsteps were dogged and Ketrik knew he had a real antagonist here.

Now the scavengers were becoming more than annoying. He knew that before he ever reached the city, he would weaken from loss of blood and they'd pull him down. He could use the electro to clear a path through the vicious beasts--but he knew the one coming behind was waiting for that, waiting for any sign of light that would give him a clear target. Ketrik gritted his teeth and went on, occasionally kicking out at the beasts in the dark. It didn't do much good.

Then, far ahead, he saw the faintest glow of light. It seemed to come from around a bend in the tunnel. If he could only get up there in time--and beyond that light, before his pursuer came into view....

He sprinted ahead now, noiselessly. The scavengers squealed in renewed fury, racing along beside him. Once he stumbled, felt a horrid mass of the things swarming. But he fought his way up. By the time he reached the light, he was sure he had gained a considerable distance on his pursuer.

He hurried around the bend, saw that the faint light came from a radium lamp in the ceiling. It had probably been there for years. But what held his attention, and brought him to a standstill, was the figure huddling against the wall.

It was an Earthman and he was still alive. His clothes were in shreds and the rats had been at him--before he reached this light where the rats did not come. He struggled up weakly, gazed at Ketrik out of idiotic eyes. Ketrik hurried forward, pulled the man erect.

One look into his gibbering face, and Ketrik felt his stomach turn over in a prodigious yawn.

_It had taken more than the rats and darkness to do this! The Earthman's mind had been literally and deliberately blasted!_

Ketrik suddenly remembered what Mark had said of Dr. Ransome, whom they'd found drifting near the moon ... his mind that of a week-old infant....

He hurriedly searched the man's clothes, but found nothing. He knew this must be one of the operatives whom Mark had sent a month before--E-39 or EV-5. The other must be dead, somewhere in this tunnel or back at their communications base in the mountains.

He spoke softly to the man, but the other only cringed in terror. Then, with unexpected strength, he tore himself from Ketrik's grasp and was scuttling away, back around the bend of the corridor. Ketrik followed, called a warning. He reached the bend too late. He heard the hiss of a heat-gun and saw the vivid blue streak of it from out of the darkness--a streak that touched the Earthman's chest and sent him crumpling.

Ketrik fired at the spot where the ray had appeared, fired instinctively but unerringly. He heard a soft moan that ended abruptly, then a clatter of sound.

He moved slowly forward, hugging the wall. He feared a trick. Past the little radius of light where the Earthman's body lay, he stumbled upon the Martian Special. He flashed his electro again and saw that the man was unmistakably dead. He went back to the Earthman, stared down for a moment. There was no doubt that he had unwittingly saved Ketrik's life.

"Guess you served your purpose here, after all," Ketrik murmured, but his thoughts at that moment were not as calloused as the words.

With a few strokes of his electro, he removed the crystyte globe of radium from the ceiling; and carrying this light, he was no longer bothered by the scavengers. For hours he proceeded along the tunnel. At last, infinitely weary and wracked with pain, he reached a blank wall.

Searching around it, he at last found a loose stone which he pulled away. A tiny metal lever was revealed. After tugging interminably at it and pounding the rust away, Ketrik managed to pull it slowly back.

The entire wall swung around on pivots. A blast of foul air struck him. Ketrik stepped into a small passage. He recognized it as one of the underground sewers of Turibek. He followed it and came to a short flight of stone stairs leading up to a hinged door. Slowly he shoved it open.

He was in Turibek! This was one of the narrow, winding streets in the warehouse district. He glanced at the sky. It was night. Deimos was gone below the horizon, but Phobos rode high on liquid sapphire.

Ketrik rested there for a few hours until Phobos descended. Then, in the utterly dark hour that precedes dawn on Mars, he crept forth and sought the shop of one Jal Thurlo in the Street of the Double Moon.