Promise me my life, and I’ll tell you—though I don’t think the information will give you any satisfaction.”
“Well?”
“I didn’t approve the thing, John.
I wanted her brought here, to the Purple Hall.
I think Eric is trusting his strange allies too far… She wasn’t disposed to talk, you see.
It was difficult to persuade her, without the danger that she would die, and her secret with her.
And we still have to deal with a few stubborn fools hi the Legion—men like you are, John—still loyal to the Green Hall.”
“But where is she?”
“They took her on the Medusae flier, John, back to the Runaway Star.”
“Not there!” he gasped.
“Even Eric wouldn’t———”
“Yes, John,” his famous kinsman told him soberly.
“I didn’t think you’d find much comfort in the fact.”
“We’ll go after her!”
“Yes, John, I believe you would do that.”
There was a note, al-most, of admiration in Adam Ulnar’s voice.
“I believe you would. But you couldn’t possibly hope to succeed.”
“No?”
“Our allies, John, are a pretty efficient race.
They’ve had a longer existence than the human race.
I don’t like them, myself—I’ve had contact enough with them.
I don’t approve the alliance.
And I didn’t approve taking the girl there.
I don’t trust them so far as Eric does.
“They aren’t human, at all, you understand—not like any form in the System, though Eric called them Medusae.
They have a queer psychology.
Unpleasant.
Frankly, I’m afraid of them.
“But they’re scientific, able, advanced.
They have the accumulated knowledge of ages I can’t estimate.
Weird as they are, they’ve splendid brains. Cold, emotionless intelligence.
They’re more like machines than men.
They get what they want, quite efficiently, with no human scruples.
“So I think, John, that they will be able to guard the girl, on their own planet—and make her tell the secret.
They have set up very effective defenses, to guard their own strange world.
That Belt of Peril, that the insane survivors of Eric’s expedition keep babbling about.
“And even if you keep me helpless, John, our plans will go ahead.
The Medusae will come back.
The Legion will go over to them—our Purple organization controls it now.
The Green Hall will be wiped out—the Medusas have amazing weapons, John.
And Eric will take the throne.
“The throne you might have had yourself, John.”
10 Farewell to the Sun
Giles Habibula made queer noises.
He gasped, strangled, sputtered.
Fragments of food flew out of his mouth.
His face—save for the ample purple protuberance of his nose—had faded to a greenish, sickly pallor.
His fat hands trembled as he tilted up the big flagon of wine, and cleared his vocal organs sufficiently to permit articulate speech.
“My dear life!” he sputtered, rolling a fishy eye about the little bridge-room.
“My mortal life!