Chapter III

Williams got his wrecked craft on an even keel somehow, and spun her with his side jets to keep her even. His trip down was an incredibly swift repetition of these movements, designed to land the ship on the red sands with a cushioning belly-smack.

They were following him down to make sure he did not escape the crash alive--to ray the smashed ship into an incandescent heap of metal! At the last moment, Barry stretched out a leg, and kicked hard at the emergency door-lock lever release.

Whipped open by the air-wash, the door was waiting as he leaped from the seat. With a last look at the viewscreen--showing the red terrain flashing into his face--he spun out into the air a second before the crash. Darkness swept over him as he landed!

It was not the darkness of unconsciousness. He'd landed on his back, pulled by steel muscles into an arc that rocked the impact from his hurtling body.

But, somehow, a covering was over his eyes, and two men lay beside him, one on either side. They spoke softly to each other over his head in a language Barry recognized but could not understand; Martian!

He'd found the Martians all right, the hard way! But Grey and his men would ray them all out of existence in a matter of seconds. Overhead the rockets of the ore-king's ships thundered closer. They'd seen his body hurtle from the wreck, and were searching! He wished the Martians hadn't blindfolded him.

An intolerable glare from many ray beams beat through the covering over his eyes. This was it! The heat of those beams brought sweat through every pore of his body, but that was all. The drumming of rocket jets receded. They were leaving!

Why hadn't they seen him? They'd rayed his ship into a heap of molten metal that warmed him where he lay, yards away. But he and his captors were unhurt. Apparently, Grey and his men had decided they'd been wrong about seeing the investigator jump. They'd decided he was still in the wreckage. But why hadn't they seen Grey and the Martians?

The question was quickly answered. As the thrumming of rockets died in the distance, the two Martians pulled Barry to his feet. He blinked as sunlight struck his eyes, and looked about. The three of them were standing in the open, but a large square of rough cloth at their feet explained why the ships above hadn't spotted them. It was colored to blend into the red sand so perfectly it was almost invisible to Barry.

His respect for Martians leaped! A peaceful race they had been, before they were attacked and conquered. But now they were showing how fast they could learn. They'd mastered one of the most effective stratagems of warfare, camouflage.

The clothing of his Martian captors was the same color as the cloth that had covered them, even to masks over the face. One of them tugged at Barry's arm and spoke softly in Martian. They wanted him to go with them. He went gladly. If they took him to their headquarters, he'd have the chance he wanted--to ask their help, and offer them his! His heart was beating wildly. Grey and his followers would learn that Earth Government had an answer for fraud and injustice!

His respect for the Martians increased again, when he was taken through a cleverly concealed passage into a sand-swell. Inside was a rough room, ingeniously hewn and held from collapsing inward.

Here were three more Martians, garbed as his captors were. One sat before a visa-radio. This group of Martians was well organized! They'd salvaged equipment from wrecked and abandoned ships.

* * * * *

One of Barry's companions went to the radio and spoke rapidly in Martian, apparently reporting. The view screen was blank, but Barry heard the Martian use the word, "Deisanocta," and something clicked in his mind! The chanting he'd heard last night in the mist, "Day-ess-a-nocta!" Was it the name of the lovely Martian girl, she who seemed to be the leader of these men? One of them had spoken of her respectfully as the Mother of Mist.

It was she he wanted to speak to, Barry Williams realized. And it was her voice that struck his ears a moment later, answering the report of the man! Her words were soft, gentle yet commanding. There was a timbre to her throaty voice that moved Barry, brought him a picture of her large, somber grey eyes against the clear white of her face.

"Deisanocta," he cried, starting suddenly forward. "I must speak to you!"

His captors seized him roughly. Their faces were horrified. Barry realized he had probably violated some form of Martian royal etiquette--for this girl was undoubtedly a Martian princess. There had been royalty on Mars when the Earthmen came, although the line had been believed destroyed during the conquest.

Again the soft voice came into the room through the radio, still speaking in Martian. A few words, and the instrument clicked dead.

"Wait!" cried Barry. But it was useless. The girl had ignored him, and cut the connection.

Two of the Martians held Barry Williams firmly, although no longer roughly. Another had gone to a little cabinet.

He came toward Barry, a hypodermic needle in his hand. Struggle was useless. Barry extended his arm with a smile, and saw admiration in the other's eyes.

There was a sharp, momentary pain in his arm as the needle was expertly inserted. Then a sensation of well-being, flooded the Earthman. A warmth flowed through his veins, and pounded a flush into his face. There was nothing else.

The Martian went back to the cabinet, came again toward Barry. This time he extended his hand, in the palm of which lay two white tablets. The look on the Martian's face was clear. Barry Williams must take them, of his free will or forcibly.

Again Barry accepted graciously, and saw the Martians smile in approval. He gulped down the tablets. It was only brief seconds later that he sagged toward the ground. There was no sensation save a weariness, a heaviness of his limbs and eyes. Darkness rolled over him, soft and deep and comfortable blackness.

* * * * *

Barry Williams' will tugged at his eyelids, as his consciousness returned. They responded sluggishly, reluctantly. His muscles, too, resisted, with a numbness that revealed he'd slept a long time. Beneath him, the red sand of the Martian desert was his couch.

When, finally, his blue eyes focused, he saw nothing; nothing save a white blanket that folded about him on every side--the mist! Struggling to his feet, he moved stiffly a few steps, to the right, the left, forward, back.

There was nothing anywhere except that blanket of mist. No stars, no bright moons! The sand at his feet was almost obscured by the silvery curtain.

Barry's mind was clearing, and he stopped short with a sudden realization. Yesterday--or had it been yesterday, there was no telling if it was night or day--the mist had oppressed his senses, brought him to his knees paralyzed and helpless! Yet, now, it had no effect.

He breathed deeply, remembering how his lungs had labored and his mind reeled the last time. But the mist was refreshing as the purest air, and his mind remained clear.

The hypodermic they'd given him! It must be an antidote to the drug that was in the mist--for Barry was now sure the mist was a depressive drug, meant to paralyze and terrify. The dead Earthmen had not died from the mist itself, but from some power that struck under cover of that terror!

But the Martians had immunized him! Barry shrugged. Perhaps he'd convinced them he was a friend, and they'd stamped him with this immunity that all their fellows might know him from the other Earthmen who were enemies--

The thought brought a sudden chill to Barry Williams' spine! He'd been walking, first slowly, then, as his legs lost their stiffness, more and more rapidly. Yet, still the mist was all about him. Never in its ghostlike appearances before had the mist covered more than a small patch of the desert!

These thoughts began to add together in his mind. Immunizing him--a fiend, putting him to sleep so that he would be unable to argue or resist until he could be safely disposed of, the extent of the mist. All this could mean--

"This is it," Barry groaned aloud. "This is the revolt!

"The first appearances of the mist were to terrorize, and to test! This is the real thing; the mist over the whole surface of Mars, organized Martians striking under its cover!"

His words came back to him from the hateful white blanket, muffled and run together into unintelligible echoes.

"You failed--failed!" the echoes seemed to mutter. "Earthmen will die--Earth troops will come against the 'savages.' No justice for Mars!"

Barry shook his head angrily against his imaginings. Suddenly, he stumbled and pitched forward over something at his feet.

His heart sank at sight of the gruesome thing in the sand. A dead Earthman--but not unmarked as had been the earlier victims of the white mist. This man had been killed by violence, killed as he lay unconscious, overcome by the mist drug!

"This is it," Barry groaned again. Another form of death was striking under the silver blanket. This man had been a murderer and exploiter, but to Earth Government he was a citizen killed by savages!

Barry Williams stumbled on dazedly. There was nothing he could do! He stumbled over another body and passed on. A third form appeared in the sand at his feet. He started to turn aside, then stopped.

* * * * *

Quickly he bent over the figure, his hand going to the pulse. There was a heartbeat, and the chest moved slightly with breathing! This body was alive, there were no wounds. Peering into the face, Barry realized it was a Martian!

A Martian overcome by the mist. After puzzling a moment, Barry laughed. Of course! All the natives couldn't have been in on the plans--not even most of them. Therefore, they'd be drugged and put to sleep like the Earthmen.

Martians overcome by the means that was to free them! Barry's mind was racing. Free them! That was it! They'd be needed for the fighting. The other Martians, the organized ones under Deisanocta, would come to give immunizing injections to such of their fellows as this one Barry found on the sand!

With the realization, Barry Williams threw himself down on the ground. He couldn't be far from the place they'd captured him. That meant, the vicinity of the Martian Princess' headquarters. Perhaps she herself would come, searching for her followers.

She did. She came silently, short minutes later, moving like a wraith in her silver mesh costume, that somehow made her seem part of the mist. Mother of Mist. Barry remembered the title.

The silver accents of her voice came clearly to his ears. She spoke in Martian. Two of her men appeared beside her. One went toward the fallen Martian, something in his hand that Barry knew would be a hypodermic syringe. The other saw Barry, started toward him.

"Hold everything!" Barry leaped up. "I am no enemy."

The other paused, he knew there could be only one Earthman who walked through the mist unharmed. Barry's eyes went to Deisanocta.

"Princess, I must speak to you!"

She came closer, until her face was clear before him. Her grey eyes glowed softly. "I know of your mission here, Barry Williams," she said in her throaty voice. "Your mind was open to me when first we met in the mist."

It had been she who hypnotized him! Barry nodded slowly, he'd suspected as much. "Then you must know I want to help your people. This fighting must stop. I promise you that, if I can reach Earth--if you will help me get a ship and fuel--I can win justice and freedom for your people!"

The girl's eyes flashed. "A free Mars will make its own peace with Earth," she cried. Here was the spirit not of savages--but of a free race Earth could respect! Her voice softened. "But thank you, Barry Williams. You have been spared because your purpose here was friendly, and because I--I--trust you.

"Now." Her eyes glowed from deep within, "You will sleep, Barry Williams, sleep the walking sleep under my will."

* * * * *

Barry met her gaze, feeling the impact of her mind. For long moments, his eyes were locked with hers. A puzzled doubt appeared at last on her features.

"Sleep, Barry Williams," she murmured uncertainly.

"Sorry," he grinned. "There's no more power in the mist over my will--and you can't hypnotize me against my will. Hypnotism is a new art with your people, Princess. You forgot to condition me to your commands."

Deisanocta smiled. "An old Earthman implanted the science in my mind when I was but a child, being hidden from the oppressors. Much that is there, I do not know how to use."

"Won't you let me help you," asked Barry Williams. "If you ignore my advice, that's up to you."

She considered his words. Her eyes on his still glowed, but with a different light. "Very well," she said at last. "You may stay with me. After victory, you can be my emissary to Earth."

Barry walked beside her, the Martians of her party following respectfully behind.

"Why don't you take these men prisoners," Barry asked, "instead of killing them?"

Deisanocta answered sadly: "My people have been killed and beaten too long. I could not restrain them.

"Besides, these men could be dangerous. If some of my mist-producing units failed, those who sleep in that area would awaken after a few breaths of air. We would have enemies behind us." She smiled a little wistfully. "These Earthmen do not sleep as deeply as you did from those pills."

"You must capture Craig Grey alive," he said with sudden realization. "While he sleeps under the influence of the mist, you can hypnotize him. Then we can learn the details of his fraud, how he deceived Earth about your people! With names and facts, we can convict him--prove his guilt!"

"It shall be so," she promised. "Even now my followers are awakening those of our people who sleep. When all are gathered, we will move into the mine headquarters and the forts. We go slowly, for some of our enemies will be in spaceships, safe from the mist drug. But we will take enough weapons as we go to overcome them!"

"I hope," Barry muttered.

Deisanocta seemed not to hear him. Her grey eyes were alight, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"The hour is very near," she said. "Mars shall be free!

"Come, I must speak with my men."

She led the way toward a nearby sand-swell, moving with that marvelous sense of direction that seemed a characteristic of Martians. For generations, they had made their way unerringly over the trackless desert. Now, even in the mist blanket that made objects invisible short feet away, the Princess did not falter.

Straight to a cleverly concealed door she walked, through, and into the same type of room Barry Williams had seen before. At her entrance, a Martian lowered his ready heat ray and stood respectfully for her commands.