Nardon, the Correlator, had banded together the
greatest brains of the Solar System to battle the
menace spawned by Saturn—was leading them into
the stronghold of the Energasts themselves.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"We cannot fight," Antaran said. "Not now.... We must be patient awhile longer. Venus still holds the secret of Vulcan base and withoutallotropic metal our fleet would be so much papier mache!" He fellsilent.
In the soft, smoky-blue twilight of the great subterranean roombeneath the Universarium, Bill Nardon gazed expressionlessly at theangular austerity of the Council Leader's face, and remained silent.
"Three more spacers today!" Antaran sank slowly into the yieldingfirmness of a priceless crysto-plast chair. "Disappeared...." Hepaused. "Must you have this hellish blue fog, Bill?" He frowned indistaste. Bill Nardon smiled slowly from where he lay on a great couchof alabastrine, utterly relaxed. "Would you rather have a mountainnight, a summer twilight, or dawn?" His great shoulders shook a littlewith silent laughter until the mane of dark red hair that hung to hisshoulders seemed to twinkle with pinpoints of light. He pressed aseries of selectors on the back of the couch, and slowly a rosy lightlike a tardy dawn diffused through the room together with the smell ofthe sea. "Don't look so outraged, Antaran; that Spartan conditioning ofyours is a tragedy!" The aged Council leader shrugged his shoulders.
"Listen to me!" Antaran said brusquely. "Half a hundred thousand menand women from six planets cannot be hidden away like so much plunder.Sooner or later someone is bound to escape and give away the mystery.Yet months have passed and no trace of them has been found. Correlatethat!"
He sniffed at the marvelously fresh odor of the sea and blinked at therose-gold light of the static dawn as if it weren't a scientific andartistic miracle, but something not quite decent.
"The loss in terms of life and treasure is negligible. It's what itpurports in the long run that's serious. Already Venus has clamped downon shipments of radio-actives and Mars has declared limited martiallaw. No trade with Neptune is possible in the face of their embargo,and the European coalition of Terrans and Panadurs have closed theirworld! The logical development of this psychological state of nervesis...."
"War." Bill Nardon said softly, almost in a whisper that died in thefaint sea-breeze that eddied about the room. For a long time therewas silence, while the "Correlator" played with the selectors on thecouch unaware of doing so in his profound absorption, and the tardydawn faded into bright daylight which in turn gave way to the perfumedmystery of a starry night deep within the mountains and the odor ofpine stole about the room. A ripple of music almost as soft as a sighinvaded the chamber, gathering in volume and poesy of melody like anenchanted lullaby to a wonder child or, a woman utterly beloved.
When the "Correlator" came to, Antaran had gone.
The rain's silver curtain had lifted for some time—over an hournow—Bill Nardon mused. The blinding blueness of the skies wasreflected on the satiny sheen of the platino-plastic structures of thespaceport, now glorious in its display of opulence for the benefit ofthe arriving delegations of five worlds. The Terran display of grandeurhad been planned to increase with exquisite skill all the way to theUniversarium.
Which in itself was a piec