COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Originally published in July, 1939 in Fantastic Adventures magazine.
No record of copyright renewal found for the original version.
This version has been edited for publicaiton by John Gregory Betancourt and is copyright © 2014 by Wildside Press LLC.
Published by Wildside Press, LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
PROLOGUE
2190 A.D.
A small pane in the leaded glass of the Pent House Palace atop the tallest building in Assuria tinkled to the study floor as the bullet embedded itself in the ebony paneling behind the Science Ruler.
“Guns!” he exclaimed. “They must have raided the museums. Even with ancient guns, they attack the Science Palace. How their hate has misled them!” He turned ruefully to survey the panel. “My great grandsire brought that from ancient Paris, over a hundred years ago, Sanders—‘so fleet the works of man, back to their earth again, ancient and holy things fade like a dream’.”
As the Science Ruler spoke, his companion crossed the room quickly. “Come, sir!” he cried, “we must leave this apartment. That shot was intended for you.”
The Science Ruler shook his head sadly. “But for my wife, I could have wished the fellow had been a better marksman.”
“And your son, Alexander,” Sanders reminded him.
“It might make it easier for him,” replied the Science Ruler. “It is I they hate. My people hate me, Sanders—my people, whom I love and to whom I have tried to be a father. But them I cannot blame. They have been deceived by lies. It is toward those who knew the truth, who lived closest to me, and for whom I did the most that I feel any bitterness. Every day they are deserting me, Sanders—the rats and the sinking ship. I am sure of only a few of you—I could count my friends tonight upon the fingers of one hand.”
Michael Sanders, Minister of War, bowed his head, for the Science Ruler had spoken the truth and there was no denial to be made.
It was the first of May preceding that historic second which wiped the science dynasty from the rule of Assuria. For a month the Science family had virtually been prisoners in the summer palace upon the outskirts of the Capitol, but they had been unmolested, and their personal safety had seemed reasonably assured until this morning.
For years the voice of the agitator and the malcontent had been heard with increasing emphasis throughout the length and breadth of the Country. “We are slaves to science” was the text from which they preached. During the early weeks of April, the Capitol had been a hotbed of revolution which had rapidly merged into the chaos of anarchy. The people had grievances, but no leader—they had only agitators, who could arouse, but not control.
And then had come this first of May, when the rabble from the low quarters of the city, drunk with liquor and with blood lust, had derided the weaklings at the head of the revolution, and screaming for blood and loot, had marched upon the Science palace with the avowed intention of assassinating the Science family.
All that day they had howled and hooted about the palace, held in check only by a single military unit which had remained loyal to the Scientists—the Foreign Corps, recruited among foreigners, and with few exceptions, similarly officered.
After a moment’s silence, the Science Ruler spoke again.
“What do you suppose started them today?” he asked. “What brought this mob to the palace?”
“They heard last night of the birth of your son,” replied Sanders. “They pretend to see in that fact a menace to what they are pleased to call The New Freedom—that is why they are here, sir.”
“You think they want the lives of my wife and son, as well as my life?”
Sanders bowed. “I am sure of it, sir.”
“That must be prevented at all cost,” said the Science Ruler.
“I had thought of removing them from the palace,” replied Sanders, “but that would be difficult, even were it possible to move your wife, which the physicians assure me must not be done. But there is just a faint possibility that we may be able to remove the baby boy. I have given the matter a great deal of thought, sir. I have a plan. It entails risk, but on the other hand, to permit the boy to remain in this building another twelve hours would, I am confident, prove fatal.”
“Your plan, Sanders, what is it?” demanded the Scientist.
“For the past month the officers of the Foreign Corps have been quartered within the building. Several of them are married men, and their wives are here with them. One of these women, the wife of a Lieut. Donovan, gave birth to a son two days since. She is a strong and healthy young woman and could be moved without materially endangering her health. For all the people know, she may have had twins.”
The Science Ruler elevated his brows. “I see,” he said, “but how could she pass out with the infants? No one may escape.”
“But they do daily, sir,” replied Sanders. “The building is filled with traitors. Not a day passes but that several desert to the enemy. We are close pressed. Only a miracle can save the Foreign Corps from absolute extermination. It would not seem strange, then, to the revolutionists, should Lt. Donovan desert to them for the sake of the safety of his wife and children.”
For several minutes the Science Ruler stood with bowed head, buried in thought. Then: “Call Danard,” he said, “and we will send for this Lt. Donovan.”
“Perhaps I had better go myself,” said Sanders. “The fewer who know of what we intend, the safer will be the secret.”
“I have implicit confidence in Danard,” replied the Science Chief. “He has served me faithfully for many years.”
“Pardon, sir,” said Sanders, “but the occasion is one of such tremendous moment that I would be untrue to the trust you repose in me were I to remain silent—sir, I fear Danard, I mistrust him, I have no confidence in him.”
“Why?”
“I could substantiate no charge against him,” replied Sanders, “or I should have preferred charges long ago, yet…”
“Poof!” exclaimed the Science Ruler. “Danard would die for me. Bring him, please.”
Sanders moved toward the radio call, but with his hand upon the switch he turned again.
“I beg of you, sir, to let me go instead.”
The elder man replied with an imperious gesture toward the radio call, and Sanders gave the signal.
A few moments later, Paul Danard, the Science Ruler’s valet, entered the chamber. He was a slender, dark man, apparently in his early thirties. His eyes were large and dreamy and set rather too far apart, while, in marked contrast to them, were his thin, aquiline nose and his straight and bloodness lips. He awaited in silence the will of his master, who stood scrutinizing him closely, as though for the first time he had seen the face of the man before him. Presently, however, the Science Ruler spoke.
“Danard,”
