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Black Friar of the Flame
Russell Tymball’s eyes were filled with gloomy satisfaction as they gazed at the blackened ruins of what had been a cruiser of the Lhasinuic Fleet a few hours before. The twisted girders, scattered in all directions, were ample witness of the terrific force of the crash.
The pudgy Earthman re-entered his own sleek Strato-rocket and waited. Fingers twisted a long cigar aimlessly for minutes before lighting it. Through the up-drifting smoke, his eyes narrowed and he remained lost in thought
He came to his feet at the sound of a cautious hail. Two men darted in with one last fugitive glance behind them. The door closed softly, and one stepped immediately to the controls. The desolate desert landscape was far beneath them almost at once, and the silver prow of the Strato-rocket pointed for the ancient metropolis of New York.
Minutes passed before Tymball spoke, “All clear?”
The man at the controls nodded. “Not a tyrant ship about. It’s quite evident the ‘Grahul’ had not been able to radio for help.”
“You have the dispatch?” the other asked eagerly.
“We found it easily enough. It is unharmed.”
“We also found,” said the second man bitterly, “one other thing-the last report of Sidi Peller.”
For a moment, Tymball’s round face softened and something almost like pain entered his expression. And then it hardened again, “He died! But it was for Earth, and so it was not death. It was martyrdom!”
Silence, and then sadly, “Let me see the report, Petri.”
He took the single, folded sheet handed him and held it before him. Slowly, he read aloud:
“On September 4, made successful entry into ‘Grahul’ cruiser of the tyrant fleet. Maintained self in hiding during passage from Pluto to Earth. On September 5, located dispatch in question and assumed possession. Have just shorted rocket jets. Am sealing this report in with dispatch. Long live Earth!”
Tymball’s voice was strangely moved as he read the last word. “The Lhasinuic tyrants have never martyrized a greater man than Sidi Peller. But we’ll be repaid, and with interest The Human Race is not quite decadent yet.”
Petri stared out the window. “How did Peller do it all? One man-to stow away successfully upon a cruiser of the fleet and in the face of the entire crew to steal the dispatch and wreck the fleet. How was it done? And we’ll never know; except for the bare facts in his report.”
“He had his orders,’“ said Willums, as he locked controls and turned about. “I carried them to him on Pluto myself. Get the dispatch! Wreck the ‘Grahul’ in the Gobi! He did it! That’s all!” He shrugged his shoulders wearily.
The atmosphere of depression deepened until Tymball himself broke it was a growl. “Forget it. Did you take care of everything at the wreck?”
The other two nodded in unison. Petri’s voice was businesslike, “All traces of Peller were removed and de-atomized. They will never detect the presence of a Human among the wreckage. The document itself was replaced by the prepared copy, and carefully burnt beyond recognition. It was even impregnated with silver salts to the exact amount contained in the official seal of the Tyrant Emperor. I’ll stake my head that no Lhasinu will suspect that the crash was no accident or that the dispatch was not destroyed by it.”
“Good! They won’t locate the wreck for twenty-four hours at least. It’s an airtight job. Let me have the dispatch now.”
He fondled the metalloid container almost with reverence. It was blackened and twisted, still faintly warm. And then with a savage twist of the wrist, he tore off the lid.
The document that he lifted out unrolled with a rustling sound. At the lower left hand corner was the huge silver seal of the Lhasinuic Emperor himself-the tyrant, who from Vega, ruled one third of the Galaxy. It was addressed to the Viceroy of Sol.
The three Earthmen regarded the fine print solemnly. The harshly angular Lhasinuic script glinted redly in the rays of the setting sun.
“Was I right?” whispered Tymball.
“As always,” assented Petri.
Night did not really fall. The sky’s black-purple deepened ever so slightly and the stars brightened imperceptibly, but aside from that the stratosphere did not differentiate between the absence and the presence of the sun.
“Have you decided upon the next step?” asked Willums, hesitantly.
“Yes-long ago. I’m going to visit Paul Kane tomorrow, with this,” and he indicated the dispatch.
“ Loara Paul Kane!” cried Petri.
“That-that Loarist !” came simultaneously from Willums. “The Loarist,” agreed Tymball. “He is our man!”
“Say rather that he is the lackey of the Lhasinu,” ground out Willums. “Kane-the head of Loarism-consequently the head of the traitor Humans who preach submission to the Lhasinu.”
“That’s right,” Petri was pale but more calm. “The Lhasinu are our known enemies and are to be met in fair fight-but the Loarists are vermin. Great Space! I would rather throw myself on the mercy of the tyrant Viceroy himself than have anything to do with those snuffling students of ancient history, who praise the ancient glory of Earth and encompass its present degradation.”
“You judge too harshly.” There was the trace of a smile about Tymball’s lips. “I have had dealings with this leader of Loarism before. Oh-” he checked the cries of startled dismay that rose, “I was quite discreet about it. Even you two didn’t know, and, as you see, Kane has not yet betrayed me. I failed in those dealings, but I learned a little bit. Listen to me!”
Petri and Willums edged nearer, and Tymball continued in crisp, matter-of-fact tones, “The first Galactic Drive of the Lhasinu ended two thousand years ago just after the capture of Earth. Since then, the aggression has not been resumed, and the independent Human Planets of the Galaxy are quite satisfied at the maintenance of the status quo. They are too divided among themselves to welcome a return of the struggle. Loarism itself is only interested in its own survival against the encroachments of newer ways of thought, and it is no great moment to them whether Lhasinu or Human rules Earth as long as Loarism itself prospers. As a matter of fact, we-the Nationalists-are perhaps a greater danger to them in that respect than the Lhasinu.”
Willums smiled grimly, “I’ll say we are.”
“Then, granting that, it is natural that Loarism assume the role of appeasement. Yet, if it were to their interests, they would join us at a second’s notice. And this,” he slapped the document before him, “is what will convince them where their interests lie.”
The other two were silent.
Tymball continued, “Our time is short. Not more than three years, perhaps not more than two. And yet you know what the chances of success for a rebellion today are.”
“We’d do it,” snarled Petri, and then in a muffled tone, “if the only Lhasinu we had to deal with were those of Earth.”
“Exactly. But they can call upon Vega for help, and we can call upon no one. No one of the Human Planets would stir in our defense, any more than they did five hundred years ago. And that’s why we must have Loarism on our side.”
“And what did Loarism do five hundred years ago during the Bloody Rebellion?” asked Willums, bitter hatred in his voice. “They abandoned us to save their own precious hides.”
“We are in no position to remember that,” said Tymball. “We will have their help now-and then, when all is over, our reckoning with them-”
Willums returned to the controls, “New York in fifteen minutes!” And then, “But I still don’t like it. What can those filthy Loarists do ? Dried out husks fit for nothing but treason and platitudes!”
“They are the last unifying force of Humanity,” answered Tymball. “Weak enough now and helpless enough, but Earth’s only chance.”
They were slanting downwards now into the thicker, lower atmosphere, and the whistling of the air as it streamed past them became shriller in pitch. Willums fired the braking rockets as they pierced a gray layer of clouds. There upon the horizon was the great diffuse glow of New York City.
“See that our passes are in perfect order for the Lhasinuic inspection and hide the document. They won’t search us, anyway.”
Loara Paul Kane leaned back in his ornate chair. The slender fingers of one hand played with the ivory paperweight upon his desk. His eyes avoided those of the smaller, rounder man before him, and his voice, as he spoke, took on solemn inflections.
“I ca
“But?” prompted Tymball.
Kane’s fingers turned his paperweight over and over. “The Lhasinu are growing harsher this past year. They are almost arrogant.” He looked up suddenly. “I am not quite a free agent, you know, and haven’t the influence and power you seem to think I have.”
His eyes dropped again, and a troubled note entered his voice, “The Lhasinu suspect. They are begi
“I know. If necessary, you are quite willing to sacrifice us as your predecessor sacrificed the patriots five centuries ago. Once again, Loarism shall play its noble part.”
“What good are your rebellions?” came the weary reply. “Are the Lhasinu so much more terrible than the oligarchy of Humans that rules Santa
And now Tymball smiled. There was no humor in it- rather mocking irony, and from his sleeve, he drew forth a small card.
“You think so, do you? Here, read this. It is a reduced photostat of-no, don’t touch it-read it as / hold it, and-”
His further remarks were drowned in the sudden hoarse cry from the other. Kane’s face twisted alarmingly into a mask of horror, as he snatched-desperately at the reproduction held out to him.
“Where did you get this?” He scarcely recognized his own voice.
“What odds? I have it, haven’t I? And yet it cost the life of a brave man, and a ship of His Reptilian Eminence’s navy. I believe you can see that there is no doubt as to the genuineness of this.”
“No-no!” Kane put a shaking hand to his forehead. “That is the Emperor’s signature and seal. It is impossible to forge them.”