CHAPTER XXIV

_Attack on the Palace_

I must take you back now to the Water Festival and the events in the

Great City which followed it. _Slaans_ in murderous frenzy were plunging

through the throng of erstwhile revelers. Maida could not quell them.

The revolt which she had started against Tarrano seemed now a

self-created monster to destroy us all.

But there were Earth men among us. A hundred of them, no more. They had

come from Washington that same day; had landed, I learned later,

secretly near the Great City, sent with our Earth Council's plans to

communicate with Maida. Beneath the water, coming individually, they had

entered the festival; and helping Maida's girls (the diving girls whom I

had encountered) they had made away with most of Tarrano's guards.

In those first moments of frenzy, I got to the balcony--joined Maida and

Georg. Elza was gone! My heart went cold, but in those hurried, frantic

moments, grave disaster as it was, I did not dwell upon it.

"We must get away--back to the palace!" Georg exclaimed as I joined

them.

The Earth men on the main floor were holding the _slaans_ partially in

check. Bodies were lying in a welter--I shall not describe it. Then

abruptly, upon a table a huge _slaan_ leaped--his garments blood-stained

from his victims, a blade of dripping steel in his hands. He shouted

above the tumult--words not in the universal language, but in the

dialect of the _slaans_. His command carried throughout the building.

Other _slaans_ took it up; we could hear it echoed outside as others

shouted it over the waters.

The bloodshed abruptly ceased. The _slaans_ leaped away from the Earth

men, who were glad enough to let them go--rushed for the archways of the

pavilion. Outside, we could hear the water splashing. Swimmers--and

boats scurrying off. Then comparative silence. The scream of a _slaan_

woman in the grove nearby, still desiring vengeance; the groans of the

dying at our feet; the hiss and splutter of weapons discarded, with

circuits still connected. And over it all, the great whine of a danger

whistle, which some distant official had plugged.... A lull. And around

us lay strewn stark tragedy where a few moments before had been festive

merry-making. A crimson scene, with the body of the Red Woman lying like

a symbol in its midst....

Within an hour we were back at the palace. The whole city was seething.

Boats and lights were everywhere. Control of everything seemed lost.

Warning signals shrilled in crazy fashion. Public mirrors were dark, or

turned to places and time wholly irrelevant.

In the palace itself we soon secured a semblance of order. Maida's girls

were here, with wet veils and long dank tresses clinging to their sleek

bodies. Lips painted alluring red. But eyes which now were solemn and

grim. Their demeanor alert and business-like. Unconscious of themselves

they moved about the palace, executing Maida's orders.

A dozen or so of Maida's personal retainers were here--and most of the

Earth men. Keen-eyed young men of the Washington Headquarters Staff. One

of them--Tomm Aften by name, a ruddy, blue-eyed fellow--was in command.

He stayed close by Georg and me.

The city was seething. But out of the chaos was coming a comparatively

orderly menace. We could sense it at first; and then in a few brief

minutes so swift that we had no time to prepare--the menace became

obvious and was at hand.

The _slaans_ had withdrawn from the festival for a greater, more

organized effort. Their revolt against Tarrano in which Maida had

joined, was bigger, more deep-rooted than a mere revolt. It was against

Maida herself. Trickery of the downtrodden _slaans_ against the ruling

class. Against the old order of government. Even against the _Rhaals_,

who in their distant city were all-powerful, but who obeyed the laws and

took no part in anything.

Revolution! From down the waterways of streets which converged into the

broad lagoon before the palace, boats began arriving. Boats crowded with

_slaans_. Disheveled, unkempt men and women with primitive weapons of

steel and wire brandished aloft. They surged into the lagoon. A

murderous, frenzied mob--thoughtless of itself, suicidal to attack us,

yet daring everything in its frenzy.

Soon the lagoon was crowded--a chaos of pushing, shoving boats. Then the

boats began landing, disgorging their occupants, wild-eyed _slaans_ each

a potential murderer. The gardens of the palace were presently jammed

with them. They did not at first come within our threshholds; they stood

milling about under the palms, trampling the tropic flowers, screaming

threats and epithets at us. But waiting--as a mob always does--for some

leader to advance, that they might follow him upon us.

We stood on the palace roof-top. I must confess that we were in a flurry

for the moment. There were undoubtedly weapons at hand, but I at least

did not have them, nor did I know where they were. Excusable flurry

possibly for the thing had come so quickly, and most of us were

strangers here of but a few hours.

The roof had a low railing waist-high, but broad. We stood clustered

behind it. In the garden beneath, the mob was shouting up at us. And,

before I could stop her, Maida had leaped to the top of the rail. Georg

and I clutched at her, then steadied her.

_"Slaans--"_

But they would not hear her. Shouts went up; a roar of threats. The

press of additions to the mob landing from other boats, forced the front

ranks forward. They were now on the palace steps, jammed there waving

their weapons yet still hesitating to advance.

"_Slaans_--my people--"

Maida's frail voice was lost in the uproar. Then a missle was thrown

upward--a portion of a broken generator--a heavy chunk of metal. It

barely missed Maida, and fell with a thump to the roof behind us. Then

came others--a rain of them about us. I tried to pull Maida back, but

she fought me, her voice still calling out its appeal.

With a bound, Georg was up on the rail beside her. Aften--the young

Earth man--had quietly handed him a cylinder. Georg waved it at the mob.

"_Slaans_--" His stronger voice caught their attention. A sudden hush

fell.

"_Slaans_--it is I, Georg Brende. Your Princess Maida rules you now only

under me. A new ruler, _slaans_--the man of Earth--Georg Brende who must

be obeyed--Georg Brende, soon to be husband of your Princess--"

But they would not hear him out. The din from them submerged his voice.

His lips snapped tight as abruptly he ceased talking; his brows lowered

grimly and I saw his finger press upon the cylinder.

Maida's voice screamed: "Georg! Have mercy! Do not kill them!"

She spoke barely in time. His cylinder swept upward. The rays from it

caught only the upper portions of the palms and the tree tops. The

foliage withered, shriveled before that soundless, invisible blast.

Not a blast of heat. The mob, surprised, then frightened, stared upward.

The soft tropical foliage in a great wide swath was dead, with naked

sticks of limbs. Black, then turning white. Not with heat--but cold. Ice

was forming from the moisture in the humid air. And then the sudden

condensation brought snow--a thick white fall of it sifting down into

the palm-laden garden; falling gently, then swirling in a sudden wind

which had begun.

As though itself stiffened by the cold just overhead, the mob stood

transfixed. Then a murmur of horror came. And I saw through the veil of

whirling snow, that into some of the trees _slaans_ had climbed. Their

bodies, frozen now, slid and fell--black plummets hurtling downward

through the swirling snow-flakes.