On that evil planet, broken men who had once trod Earth
knew only two things for sure. One, they all were dying at
twenty-five. Two, lovely Mona Darlanan was a dirty traitor.
[Transcriber’s Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Rod Harrow pawed futilely at the whirling sands in the gryxon mines onTetrarch IV. Dimly, as through a dark mist, he could see the line ofbobbing lamps that etched the tunnel outlines. He raised his pick foranother weary stroke, when he noticed the slave next to him. The poordevil’s face was ghastly under its close-fitting helmet. It was deeplylined, worn—and old. Rod saw his twisted grin when the man crumpledagainst the rocky abutment. A despairing cackle pierced his audiphones:
“I was twenty-five yesterday. I’ll be glad to die!”
Rod eased him as he slid to the tunnel floor. He watched in bitterhelplessness while the stricken fingers worked their way toward glazingeyes. Dribbles of foam spattered the inside of the man’s helmet. Pityand a driving desire for vengeance struggled in Rod’s mind when theslave’s feeble shout died away. The doomed man’s feet beat a weaktattoo on the sandy floor. The beat quickened spasmodically—andstopped.
Smoke issued from the inert nostrils. It clouded the froth-filledhelmet. Hazily, the dead face took on a greenish glow. It glimmeredlike a crucified Satan for a moment, and then fell away to dry embers.
An eerie glow flashed. Rod knew, after only a day in the mines,that the tetrarchian guards were now on their way. Black-browed andhuge—with their curiously similar features—they came to drag away thecorpse.
A sniveling slave on Rod’s left stopped to watch them. A guard turnedand raised his weapon suggestively. The sniveler bent to his diggingwith renewed vigor.
When the tetrarchs had gone another slave slipped in to take the placeleft vacant by the dead man.
Rod winced in the act of lifting his pick. The gash he had taken inhis arm before he was captured on Earth was far from healed. He sawthen that the new slave was a woman. She was young and slender. Herhair was glowing gold in the dim lit tunnel. Under her broad foreheadher eyes were an unfathomable grey.
“Mona Darlanan!” he breathed in wonderment.
Even in the mines—in the serfdom of Tetrarch—her beauty caught him.This was the girl who would always make him uncomfortable ... as it hadback in the old days—when Earth was free. She had gone on the stage.He had buried himself in a science laboratory. They had lost touch.When the tetrarchs overran Earth he had lost all knowledge of her.Besides, he had been busy ... busy on the most important project ofEarth’s Thirtieth Century A.D.
“How long have you been here?” he asked. He felt awkward. This was notthe way he had pictured their meeting.
“I’ve been in the mines longer than you have.” Her face was quiet,almost submissive. “Don’t talk, or the guards will be back. Besides, Iwant to change places with you.”
“Why? Does it make any difference?”
“Yes.” She brushed him aside impatiently and turned to the snivelingyouth at his side.
“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.
“They almost killed me,” the whimpering slave was trembling.
“Oh, Jerry!”
“I hope we win them over.”
“I know now that’s the only way.” The girl looked about her furtively,“I’ve been talking to Latham Koler....”
Rod swung his pick with a vicious twist and unearthed a red cloud ofMercury oxide. His reaction boiled like the crimson dust as it mingledwith the s