CHAPTER XI

_Recaptured_

In Washington during those next few days, events of the Earth, Venus and

Mars swirled and raged around Georg as though he were engulfed in the

Iguazu or Niagara. Passive himself at first--a spectator merely; yet he

was the keystone of the Earth Council's strength. The Brende secret was

desired by the publics of all three worlds. Even greater than its real

value as a medical discovery, it swayed the popular mind.

Tarrano possessed the Brende secret. The only model, and Dr. Brende's

notes were in his hands. Washington had ordered him to give them up, and

he had refused. But now the status was changed. Georg held the secret

also--and Georg was in Washington. It left the Earth Council free to

deal with Tarrano.

During those days Georg was housed in official apartments, with Maida

very often near him. Inactive, they were much together, discussing their

respective worlds. The Princess Maida was hereditary ruler of the Venus

Central State--the only living heir to the throne. When Tarrano's forces

threatened revolution from the Cold Country she had been seized by

spies, brought to Earth, to Tarrano in Venia, and imprisoned in the

tower from which Georg had so lately rescued her. Wolfgar for years had

been her friend and loyal retainer, though he had pretended service to

Tarrano.

In the Central State, Maida, too young to rule, had been represented by

a Council. The public loved her--but a majority of it had gone astray

when she disappeared--lured by Tarrano's glowing promises.

Maida told Georg all this with a sweet, gentle sadness that was

pathetic. And with an earnest, patriotic fervor--the love of her country

and her people for whom she would give her life.

She added: "If only I could get back there, Georg--I could make them

realize the right course. I could win them again. Tarrano will play them

false--_you_ know it, and so do I."

Pathetic earnestness in this girl still no more than seventeen! And

Georg, sitting beside her, gazing into her solemn, beautiful face, felt

that indeed she could win them, with those limpid blue eyes and her

words which rang with sincerity and truth.

They sat generally in an unofficial instrument room adjoining the

government offices. A room high in a spire above the upper levels of the

city. And around them rolled the momentous events of which they were the

center.

The time limit of the Earth Council's ultimatum to Tarrano expired.

Already Tarrano had answered it with defiance. But on the stroke of its

expiration, came another note from him. Georg read it from the tape to

Maida:

_"To the Earth Council from Tarrano, its loyal subject----"_

A grimly ironical note, yet so worded that the ignorant masses would not

see its irony. It stated that Tarrano could not comply with the demand

that he deliver himself and the Brende model to Washington because he

did not have the model. It was on its way to Venus. He now proposed to

recall it. He had already recalled it, in fact. He assured the Council

that it was now on its way back, direct to Washington. He had done this

because he felt that the Earth leaders were making a mistake--a grave

mistake in the interests of their own people. Georg Brende was in

Washington--that was true. But Georg Brende was a silly, conceited young

man, flattered by his prominence in the public eye, his head turned by

his own importance. Dr. Brende had been a genius. The son was a mere

upstart, pretending to a scientific knowledge he did not have.

"Trickery!" exclaimed Georg. "But he knows the people may believe it.

Some of them undoubtedly will."

"And you cannot thwart your public," Maida said. "Even your Earth

Council, secure in its power, cannot do that."

"Exactly," Georg rejoined. He was indignant, as well he might have been.

"Tarrano is trying to avoid being attacked. Time--any delay--is what he

wants."

The note went on. Tarrano--seeking only the welfare of the people--could

not stand by and see the Earth Council wreck its public. Tarrano had

reconsidered his former note. The Brende model was vital, and since the

Earth Council demanded the model (for the benefit of its people) the

people should have it. In a few days it would be in Washington. Tarrano

himself would not come to Washington. His doing that could not help the

public welfare, and he was but human. The Earth Council had made itself

his enemy; he could not be expected to trust his life in enemy hands.

The note closed with the suggestion that the Council withdraw its patrol

from Venia. This talk of war was childish. Withdraw the patrol, and

Tarrano himself might go back to Venus. He would wait a day for answer

to this request; and if it were not granted--if the patrol were not

entirely removed--then the Brende model would be destroyed. And if the

publics of three worlds wished to depend upon a conceited, ignorant

young man like Georg Brende for the everlasting life, they were welcome

to do so.

A clever piece of trickery, and it was awkward to deal with. One had

only to watch its effect upon the public to realize how insidious it

was. Tarrano had told us--in the tower in Venia: "I shall have to

bargain with them." And chuckled as he said it.

A series of notes from the Earth Council and back again, followed during

the next few days. But the patrol was not withdrawn; nor was war

declared. The Earth Council knew that Tarrano had not ordered the model

back--nor would he destroy it. Yet if the Earth forces were to overwhelm

Tarrano, and the model were lost, a revolution upon Earth could easily

take place before Georg could convince the people that he was able to

build them another model.

This delay--while Tarrano was held virtually a prisoner in Venia--was

decided upon at the instigation of Georg himself. He--Georg--would

address the publics of the three worlds. With Maida beside him to

influence her own public in Venus, they would convince everyone that

Georg had the secret--and that he alone would use it for the public

good.

Youthful plans! Youthful enthusiasm! The belief that they could win

confidence to their cause by the very truthfulness in their hearts! The

belief that right makes might--which Tarrano would have told them was

untrue!

Yet it was a good plan, and the Earth Council approved it, since it

could do no harm to try. And it perhaps would have been successful but

for one thing, of which even at that moment I--in Venia--was aware.

Tarrano's trickery was not all on the surface. He had written into that

note--by a code of diabolically ingenious wording--a secret message to

his own spies in Washington. Commands for them to obey. A dozen of his

spies were in the Earth government's most trusted, highest service--and

some of them were there in Washington, close around Georg and Maida as

they made their altruistic plan.

The attempt was to be made from the high-power sending station in the

mountains of West North America.[13] Our observatory was there; and the

only one of its kind on the Earth. It was equipped to send a radio voice

audibly to every part of the Earth; and by helio, also to Mars and

Venus, there to be re-transformed from light to sound and heard

throughout those other worlds. And moving images of the speakers, seen

on the finders all over the Earth, Venus and Mars simultaneously. The

power, the generating equipment was at this station; and no matter where

in the sky Venus or Mars might be, from the Mountain Station the

vibrations of mingled light and sound were relayed elsewhere on Earth to

other stations from which the helios could be flashed direct.

[Footnote 13: The Rocky Mountains, in the United States or possibly

Alberta.]

To Skylan, as the Mountain Station was popularly called, Georg and Maida

were taken in official aero under heavy convoy. Yet, even then, at their

very elbows, spies of Tarrano must have been lurking.

The official flyer landed them on the broad stage amid deep, soft snow.

It was night--a brief trip from the late afternoon, through dinner and

they were there. A night of clear shining stars--brilliant gems in deep

purple. Clear, crisp, rarefied air; a tumbling expanse of white, with

the stars stretched over it like a close-hung canopy.

They were ushered into the low, rambling building. The attempt was to be

made at once. Mars was mounting the eastern sky; and to the west, Venus

was setting. Both visible from direct helios at that moment--Red Mars,

from this mountain top, glowing like the tip of an arrant-cylinder up

there.

In the brief time since the party had left Washington, the worlds had

been notified. The eyes and ears of the millions of three planets were

waiting to see and hear this Georg Brende and this Princess Maida.

The sending room was small, circular, and crowded with apparatus. And

above its dome, opened to the sky, wherein the intensified helios shaded

so that no ray of them might blind the operators, were sputtering as

though eager to be away with their messages.

With a dozen officials around him, Georg prepared to enter the sending

room. He had parted from Maida a few moments before, when she had left

him to be shown to her apartment by the women attendants.

As she moved away, on impulse he had stopped her. "We shall succeed,

Maida."

Her hand touched his arm. A brave smile, a nod, and she had passed on,

leaving him standing there gazing after her with pounding heart.

Pounding, not with excitement at the task before him in that sending

room; pounding with the sudden knowledge that the welfare of this frail

little woman meant more to him than the safety of all these worlds.

At last Georg stood in the sending room. The officials sat grouped

around him. Maida had not yet arrived from her apartment. There was a

small platform, upon which she and Georg were to stand together. He took

his place upon it, waiting for her.

Before him was the sending disc; it glowed red as they turned the

current into it. Then they illumined the mirrors; a circle of them, each

with its image of Georg upon the platform. The white lights above him

flashed on, beating down upon him with their hot, dazzling glare. The

reflected beams from the mirrors, struck upward into the dome overhead.

The helios up there were humming and sputtering loudly.

Beyond the circle of intense white light in which Georg was standing,

the spectators sat in gloom behind the mirrors. Maida had not come. The

Skylan Director, impatient ordered a woman to go for her.

Then, suddenly, Georg said to this Director:

"I--these lights--this heat. It makes me feel faint--standing here."

Georg had stumbled from the platform. Between two of the mirrors, shaded

from the glare, the perturbed Director met him. Moisture beaded Georg's

forehead.

"I'll--be quite all right in a moment. I'm going over there." He smiled

weakly. A dozen feet away there was an opened outer casement. It looked

down twenty feet, perhaps, to the deep snow that covered the station's

grounds. The Director started with Georg; but Georg pushed him violently

away.

"No! No! You let me alone!" His accents were those of a spoiled child.

The Director hesitated, and Georg, with a hand to his forehead, wavered

toward the casement. The Director saw him standing there; saw him sway,

then fall or jump forward, and disappear.

They rushed outside. The snow was trampled all about with heavy

footprints, but Georg had vanished. From the women's apartment, the

attendant came back. The Princess Maida could not be found!

And in those moments of confusion, from outside across the starlit snow,

an aero was rising. Silent, black--and no one saw it as it winged away

into the night.