[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
toward the unlighted tunnel that would let it escape, somewhere miles beyond these buried chasms, into
the void. The rocket motors thundered.
Several men in slave uniforms waited, concealed in a deep shadowy crevice. The drawing of straws had
gone through according to Allison s original plan. Ted Tyndall, in fact, had taken Allison s place with an
almost sweating eagerness.
Silently the men counted off the seconds. Another one-striper came running to them a moment later from
the other end of the crevice and whispered his news breathlessly.
Allison couldn t get her to come! he gasped. She s determined to stay.
Hell! the carnival barker muttered. We should have guessed that she wouldn t go unless Allison did.
Wish to God I d given Allison my chance. If there was only time
Not a chance, said the news bearer. They ve just convicted him of murder. He s sunk.
The ship was about to stop to take on Kilhide s trusted slave. It was time to act. Since the girl hadn t
come, the barker s turn was automatically raised to first. Ted Tyndall s chance moved up from fifth to
fourth.
Why can t I have her place? Tyndall begged. After all
You re fourth! the barker snapped. Heads up All ready? Remember what Allison said. We jump
out of here at our own risk. Either we make it or we don t. Ready, number two?
Number two stood directly behind the barker, number three next, Ted Tyndall and the rest followed in
line.
The ship eased to a stop. On the opposite side of it Kilhide s minion would enter. There was a click; the
airlocks on this side automatically pushed open.
The carnival barker dashed out.
Number two failed to get started, for Ted Tyndall gave him a violent push and crowded out ahead of
him.
Then above the sound of the idling rocket motors an automatic gun rattled. The barker and Ted Tyndall
fell. The other men fled back through the crevice as hard as they could go. The robot ship roared away
exactly on schedule.
CHAPTER VII
War of the Sexes
LESTER ALLISON lay on his stomach a fortnight later, his chin resting in his hands, his eyes watching
the Dazzalox traffic come and go.
The heavy metal bars of his prison door afforded a comprehensive view of Dazzalox life, and in the many
hours he had been here an estimated twenty-five days, Earth time he had gained much insight on the
rising conflicts within this subterranean race.
A sharp, bitter conflict between the sexes!
At first, when he had been hailed into the absurd courts of native justice, he had been mildly surprised at
the pronounced difference of opinion between the males and the females regarding his degree of guilt. To
his astonishment, even old Jo-jo-kak s widow had made a stout appeal in his behalf.
This slave not kill, the unbereaved spouse had declared in her prided English words. Jo-jo-kak, his
time to die. He try to escape death. He die.
The other women had carried their superstitions even farther. It was the official duty of the Dazzalox
women to uphold and defend the great traditions. When they discovered that their males were yielding to
a strange urge to break traditions, they were sure that Jo-jo-kak s death should be interpreted as a
warning. Nothing less.
To Allison s grim amusement, many of the old men had cancelled their death dates, as if life had suddenly
taken on a new interest; and this, the women complained, was upsetting to their careful plans for the
distribution of food and properties. But back of it all, Allison knew, was a deep-rooted female distrust of
the ill-suppressed desires of their males for girl !
If this Allison slave be guilty of a murder, the women whispered among themselves, then he should still be
dealt with leniently; for he had put a timely end to the most undignified and ungracious exhibition of any
Challenge Parade in their memory.
But although the Dazzalox women considered that the murder had been well timed, if murder it was, the
male Dazzalox were exceedingly angered that the act had occurred just when it did.
They had been crying More! to old Jo-jo-kak, and he had been complying.
Indeed, the Challenge Parade had been on the point of making memorable history when Jo-jo-kak s
death brought the excitement to an end. The murderer deserved death. No, he deserved the worst kind
of death!
Between Ted Tyndall s eyewitness account and the telltale bottle of poison which Allison had dropped
and broken in his haste, there had been no difficulty proving guilt. The only question which Kilhide had
left open to the potentates was: what was the most appropriate sentence?
Allison closed his eyes as these thoughts flooded through his mind for the thousandth time. The
perspiration trickled over his half-naked body. He knew that before the manner of his death had been
decided upon, other things had happened to make his case a spectacular issue.
The most important thing was that the robot ship had returned on schedule seven days ago after its
week s trip to Earth to dump twenty-five nice-looking girls stolen from a factory in eastern United
States into Kilhide s lap.
There are now over a hundred male slaves; there are twenty-six female slaves in our society, Naf,
Smitt s owner, had reminded his fellow potentates, speaking in their native tongue during the last session
of Allison s hearings.
Unless we deal firmly with the murderer of Jo-jo-kak, we may expect more trouble from the male
slaves.
The potentates had applauded vigorously.
If the females are to be our slaves, we must have complete freedom in our management of them. Naf s
words had led to enthusiastic cheering. A severe execution seemed in order.
ANOTHER potentate had hit upon another need for such an execution, saying, in effect,
If these female slaves are treated to the bravest and most daring of our Dazzalox performances, in which
we put to shame the poor fighting skills of their males, they will be convinced that male slaves are
insignificant compared to us. The most daring and spectacular way for us to execute this murderer is by
the Ancient Rite of the Floating Chop.
So, in spite of demands for leniency from the female upholders of tradition, Allison had been condemned
to die by the Floating Chop.
And what had happened to the anger of the women aroused by these masculine strategies? At this very
moment Allison could look out into the streets and see groups of female Dazzalox talking in ominously
low tones. The conflict was gathering fury. It had been gathering all the past weeks. There were subtle
signs here and there that the lid would soon blow off.
Allison felt a poignant wish that he could live to see what form the conflict would take, and whether the
women would dare do violence. But he doubted whether he would live to find out; for he was to die by
the Floating Chop.
When? he wondered.
Perhaps not until this orgy of buying and selling the new females had subsided. Not until the arrogant old
potentates had had their turns at staging ostentatious Challenge Parades to impress these lovely female
slaves with their grandeur and power. Not until the speculation on the slave market had passed its first
frenzied wave.
Perhaps not until the boiling seas had swept periodically through these streets and river beds, to wash
away the filth and grime and half a Mercury year s accumulation of bodies from the death tunnels. The
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]