Chapter IV

Deisanocta walked to the visa-radio, clicked it on. This time she switched in the view screen also. Her white hands spun dials, and she began to speak in Martian, calmly, insistently.

The view screen took on depth and color. She adjusted condensing levers and it divided into a dozen smaller squares. Slowly each square filled, until the faces of a dozen Martian men looked out at her--silent, waiting faces, behind each of which the white mist formed a backdrop.

Deisanocta's red lips twitched, and her lovely eyes leaped into sudden flame. For a moment, she was silent. Barry could feel tension building up in the room, and see it in the faces of those who looked out of the screen.

Then the Princess spoke a single short sentence in her own tongue. Barry Williams did not need an interpretation. The meaning of the command was clear in its ringing syllables; "Strike for Mars!"

Twenty-four eyes blazed from the screen--the eyes of twelve field commanders flashing hatred of their oppressors and fierce exultation that the hour of revenge was here! From each throat rose the same word, spoken in awe, reverence, resolution. "Deisanocta!"

Thus they saluted their leader, the Mother of Mist, Queen-to-be of Mars! Then the screen was blank.

"In short minutes Mars will belong again to its people, Barry Williams," said the girl softly. "We wait here for the report of my commanders."

She sank to a sitting position on the red sand, arranging the silver mesh of her dress about her slim body. Barry did likewise, as did the Martian.

Minutes dragged by. The radio screen glowed softly, but remained blank. Barry felt the muscles gather in his arms and shoulders. This idle waiting was hard to bear. If he could only be in there fighting--

Deisanocta was finding it difficult to wait, too. The eager glow of anticipation had died away in her beautiful eyes. They were reflective, reminiscent.

"All my life I've been trained for this moment," she said, at last. "Deep in the Crypt, burial ground of our race, the Elders hid and taught me."

"In the Crypt!" exclaimed Barry. "Then the dying Martian knew of you when he threatened 'Justice from the Crypt'!"

"Hardly," she smiled. "That was twenty years before I was born--ten years after the first Earthmen came to Mars.

"He couldn't even have known that my parents were hidden there. They were still young, the last of Martian royalty, hidden away by a few faithful servants."

"What did he mean then?"

She shook her head, the black tresses gleaming faintly under the mist. "We never knew."

"Tell me about this Crypt," Barry asked. "And tell me more about your people."

"The Crypt is our ancient burial place. It is underground, dry, and our dead are safe there from animals that would find bodies the shifting sand would not protect.

"Always, we laid our dead to rest there, until Craig Grey placed guards at the doors and forbade the practice."

"He was afraid some weapon was hidden there," reasoned Barry Williams. "It's the only thing the dying Martian's threat could mean."

"What weapon could be there?" Deisanocta asked mournfully. "Our people were always peaceful. They lived beside the wells, growing the food they ate. It took Earthmen to teach them to hate and kill--to know that ore dust was worth blood!"

"Does your written history give no clue of a time when the Crypt was anything but a burial place?"

"Our people knew nothing of writing. That, too, we learned from Earthmen, my Elders learned it in secret and taught me."

"And they developed the white mist there in the Crypt, and brought the old Earthman who taught you hypnotism?" Barry asked. He pictured her frightened childhood among the dead, in the darkness so close to Craig's guards who would have killed her on sight.

* * * * *

The girl read his expression. "It was not so terrible," she said wistfully. "There was peace, we were not tortured for ore dust, or made to slave in mines. It is light there, even deep down; for the walls are radioactive.

"But my parents died of hearts broken by the suffering of their people. It was later that the white mist was developed, and I learned that my mission was to use it!"

A faint noise broke into their conversation--a clicking that was suddenly almost thunderous in their ears as every other sound died! It was the radio receptor signal.

In the screen, the twelve squares were filling again. The time for reports had come--and there had been no special report of victory.

Silence held, while the twelve faces grew into sharp focus. Barry noted that at least three of the men had not been among the twelve who last faced their Princess. The faces of the rest were dirty, tired, depressed. A couple were bandaged. Before a word was spoken, Barry Williams knew that the news would be bad, and premonition turned his stomach into a leaden ball.

In the screen, the twelve tired faces were silent, waiting. They were wooden, unmoving, until Deisanocta spoke, calmly, questioningly.

One after another, came the reports. Each was brief, and although Barry could not understand the Martian words, he knew that he had been right. The news was bad.

Deisanocta's face paled as she listened. Deep in her eyes raged a conflict of emotions, dismay, sorrow, anger. When the last report was heard, she spoke again.

There was no hesitation in the throaty accents. Words followed each other in a torrent that slowly swept away the numbness from the twelve faces before her! When she had finished, her commanders were again eager, their eyes flashing, exulting.

"Deisanocta! Deisanocta!" came their chant, a promise of victory. Again they faded from the screen to carry out her orders.

When the girl turned from the screen, some of the confidence had slipped from her. Her dark head was bowed, and her slim figure had lost some of its proud erectness.

"Grey's men were waiting for the attack," she told Barry. "They wore space suits!

"We waited too long--until he discovered how to protect his men from the mist. Many of my followers have died in battle. We have not won a single objective!"

"I am sincerely sorry," he said slowly. "Sorry that some of your people have died; sorry that you have failed."

Her head snapped up, color flooding the pale cheeks. "We have not lost! The mist that covers Mars will remain. My men have surrounded the enemy. They will harass his every move.

"Let Grey wait for another attack--wait until his oxygen tanks are empty, and his space suits useless! Then the mist will triumph!"

* * * * *

Barry Williams shook his head sadly. "Can the mist reach up to the end of atmosphere," he asked, "where their ships can go to compress clear air? And, if so, can the mist reach across space to Earth, from where Grey's freighters can bring compressed air?"

"I wonder if I read your mind rightly," Deisanocta said scornfully. "I wonder if you are the friend of Mars I thought you."

He crossed to her in two quick steps. His hands gripped her elbows, drawing her up to face the intensity of his eyes. "Yes, I am a friend of Mars! That's why I'm here--that's why Grey and his men hunt me as they do you!"

She shook herself free. The flush of anger in her cheeks had deepened into a flaming crimson. Her eyes avoided him. "Then do not try to discourage me, Barry Williams. The mist will remain."

He was silent, the plan he'd been about to suggest unspoken. If he was distrusted, this was no time to propose it.

Overhead, they heard the thrumming of rockets. Barry smiled mirthlessly. "Grey has his scouts out."

"They will see nothing in the mist," Deisanocta said confidently. But she turned to the radio and contacted her field captains. "It is the same everywhere," she told him. "The enemy's ships circle helplessly overhead."

"I don't like it," Barry said. "If I know Craig Grey, he's up to something. Those ships aren't up there without a reason."

Deisanocta ignored this, her eyes speaking plainly her disappointment in the Earthman she'd believed a friend. Instead of answering him, she turned to the Martian who had waited so patiently and silently for her orders.

"We will eat," she said haughtily to Barry, after a few swift words to the other. "Perhaps Earth food will revive your courage."

"Thank you." Barry ignored the slur, and sat down beside her where the Martian was spreading a cloth on the ground.

The thrumming of rockets died away as they began, and the Princess glanced significantly at Barry Williams. He turned to the food in silence, a frown of concentration on his forehead.

They had dried horse meat from Earth, the staple dish of the natives, a poor grade of canned corn that was like a thin mush, and hard, wafer-thin pieces of bread.

"My courageous followers won these provisions in battle," Deisanocta said softly.

Barry was finding even the unappetizing menu inviting. He ate rapidly, being careful not to work too deeply into what he knew was a slender store of food. The girl watched him as she nibbled at her food. The scorn in her face slowly faded into sad reproach.

It wasn't until the Princess poured a glass of liquid and set it before Barry, that the far-away look was swept from his eyes by sudden understanding. The liquid was Martian Wrin, a delicious, invigorating drink from native roots, much coveted and seldom obtained by Terrestrials. Even through the white mist that shrouded them, it sparkled from ruby depths. The color galvanized Barry Williams.

* * * * *

"Red!" he exclaimed. "_Infra-red!_ Grey's ships were sweeping the desert with infra-red rays, and taking photographs with film sensitive only to those rays. When those prints are developed, he'll have the location of every mist-producing unit that's on Mars, and of your followers!"

"I don't understand," stammered the bewildered Deisanocta. "I know nothing of these things."

"Just believe me," he pleaded. "Order your men and the mist units to move at once!"

Deisanocta moved to the radio and obeyed. Barry Williams' heart leaped. She believed in him, her recent doubt forgotten before the vigor of his arguments.

"And us?" she asked.

"We're all right, being underground. The infra-red rays won't betray us in the photographs. Listen!"

They heard the sound of rocket jets overhead, and it was magnified, built into thunder in their ears. The radio was still tuned to the field command radios, and they brought the sound of Grey's rocket ships from every corner of the planet.

Before their eyes, the white mist swirled, and on the view screen were twelve small squares of silver. Suddenly, almost simultaneously, lurid streaks cut across those squares--flaming heat rays, softened into orange by the seething vapor!

Deisanocta gasped. "You were right, Barry Williams! Had my forces not moved, they would have been destroyed.

"But it is Grey who has failed this time!"

Barry faced her slowly. His blue eyes rested on her lovely face, and the words he spoke caught in his throat.

"Grey will wait a short while for the mist to dissipate," he said. "When it does not, he'll go back to the pictures. About every spot where a unit or force was shown, he'll draw a circle. The radius of that circle will be the distance a man can travel on foot from the time the photograph was taken, until the time the ships return a second time.

"Then, one by one, he'll ray the entire area of those circles--concentrating as many ships as necessary for the job."

Deisanocta came very close to him. The pleading in the depths of her eyes shook Barry Williams. Without realizing it, he put out his hands and again grasped her elbows.

This time she did not draw away. She moved closer, until her lips almost brushed his as she spoke. He could feel her slim figure tremble, not with fear, but with struggling to repress the tears that were welling into her grey orbs, the sobs that were fighting her breath!

"Then this is defeat?" she whispered. "My loyal followers wiped out--the mist, our weapon, swept from the planet?"

"The only alternative," he said with sudden fierce tenderness, "is to order the units turned off and buried in the sand. Tell your men to split into small bands and hide in the desert. Their camouflage will protect them from Grey's scouts.

"That way, Grey will think he's won, and your forces will be intact for the future."

Deisanocta's small hand found his and held it as she issued the necessary orders.

* * * * *

When the screen was again blank, Barry Williams spun the dials.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Tuning in Earth on the regular broadcast channels."

"Earth! At this time, Barry Williams, you would listen to Earth broadcasts!"

He turned to her reproachfully. "Don't you trust me yet? I must know how my government is reacting to the situation here; for, if you follow my advice, you and I will be putting the case of the Martians before that government. I still think we have a chance of convincing them. But we'll need to find a spaceship, and take it."

"You are right, Barry Williams," Deisanocta admitted sadly. "You were right in the beginning, and my efforts have only brought failure.

"My heart trusted you--believed in you; and because it was my heart, I mistrusted. I followed my reason instead--and no woman should do that."

"I'm following my heart--have from the beginning," Barry murmured. "And it tells me we haven't lost yet." His hands left her elbows, went about her waist. Behind them, the Martian turned away.

"_Revolt of Martian savages_," broke in a voice from the radio. They froze, listening to the words that followed; "_Craig Grey, President of Grey Enterprises, Incorporated, is present in person at the scene of trouble, directing the heroic resistance of Terrestrial pioneers. He has been authorised by World Government to capture Barry Williams, investigator of the dastardly campaign, dead or alive._

"_Williams disappeared into the desert, and the abortive attack by the savages followed immediately. 'Justice in the Crypt', is said to be the wild battle shout of the Martians. Federal troops have embarked for Mars. It is--_"

Barry snapped off the radio. "Grey has pulled off another one!" Deisanocta clung to his hand mutely, her white face revealing the despair the news had brought.

Barry's mouth was a straight, hard line. His eyes flamed, and muscles bunched in his shoulders. After a moment's silence, he turned the radio back on.

"More orders for you, Deisanocta. Get in touch with your men. We want about half a dozen of the best, and tell them to bring along the oldest Martian they can find!"

"But what--why?"

"If it's 'Justice from the Crypt' they want, we'll give it to them. We're going to find out what's there, and use it!

"Have your men meet us near one entrance to the place. Tell them to bring a portable visa-radio, so we can call the rest if we need them. This is the only chance we've got left!"