Chapter VIII

Immediately after the next sleeping period, Norman Saint Clair had Koal drive him into the shopping district where he purchased one of the surface cars. It had been agreed at the previous meeting of the new-born Sinn Fein Society that members should be introduced at small, apparently harmless parties. A list of possible recruits had been drawn up and Koal, after directing him to the library, left to set the machinery running.

The library was a large, well lit building with an imposing entrance hall. Norman searched the foyer, but could see no one. Apparently the library was deserted. He crossed the floor, peered over the counter.

There was a couch behind the counter and stretched at full length on the couch was a girl sound asleep. For a moment Norman continued to gaze at her in astonishment. Her blond hair spread out on the pillow like yellow gauze. She had on a rumpled green tunic, and her naked ankle bore the metal slave band. He coughed discreetly.

The girl sat up, stifled a yawn. "Hello," she said, regarding Norman with surprised interest. Her eyes were large and gray with black lashes.

"Excuse me, miss," he said doubtfully, "but are you the librarian?"

"My God," exclaimed the girl, "don't tell me you want a book!"

"Why, yes," he replied, uncertainty in his voice. "Isn't this the library?"

"It's the library, yes. But I've been in this vault for a month now, and you're the first person who's asked for a book. I'd rather be back at the factory."

"You used to work in a factory?"

The girl nodded. "Where they make the paralysis ray insulators."

"The green suits?" he ejaculated.

"Yes. They're green. Why?"

"No reason," he replied cautiously. "Do you have any volumes on botany, horticulture, plant growth, anything at all related to that subject?"

Her gray eyes opened wide. "How long have you been here?"

"Not very long."

"I thought not. Don't you know those subjects are on the index? They're forbidden. The Dohlmites destroy any such book no sooner than they get their hands on it. They even destroy anyone who has made a study of it."

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she replied, "but there isn't a paragraph on plant life in the library." Her gray eyes brightened. "What about me? You could take me out. I'm a hell of a sight more fun than those musty books."

He said with a grin, "Do you know anything about plant life?"

"No. But I could show you a thing or two about animal life."

He was tempted. She had worked in the factory where the green insulation suits were made. She might be able to give the Sinn Feiners valuable information.

"What time do you get off?"

"Now! Where are you going to take me?"

"But the library," he expostulated.

"Bother the library," she laughed. "No one's used it yet." She jumped to a sitting position on the counter, swung her legs across, slid off on his side.

"There. The library's closed for the day."

"What did you do before your capture?"

"I was on the triangle."

He frowned in perplexity. "On the triangle? It sounds uncomfortable."

"Sure. The triangle. Mars, Venus, Earth. Ninety gorgeous gals." She clasped her hands behind her head, rolled her hips.

"Oh," he said, comprehending at last. "You were on the stage."

"The stage?" she laughed. "It does sound more dignified that way. I was in the chorus. Man, what I wouldn't give for a glimpse of the Gay White Way or the Street of Sighs."

Impulsively, Norman decided to trust her. He said, "We're going to steal a green suit."

"A green suit?" She raised her eyebrows. "What do you want with a green suit? You look much nicer in the outfit you have on."

"A paralysis ray insulating suit," he explained.

"What!" She clapped her hands to her mouth.

"You said you'd worked in the factory. Do you know where they're stored?"

She bit her lip. "Yes, in the warehouse behind the plant. But why do you want one? Don't you know escape's impossible?"

"Improbable," he corrected.

"I knew it. I knew it when you wanted to see the books on botany. Take me along. I won't ask any questions. Take me along, please."

"We're not ready yet," he replied.

"But you'll take me?" Her gray eyes were pleading.

He nodded, said, "The green suit first, though."

She drew in her breath, "All right, handsome, I'm your woman."

* * * * *

At the door to his car Norman paused, said, "I don't even know your name."

"Call me the Duchess," she laughed.

"I'm Saint Clair, Norman Saint Clair."

Norman got behind the wheel. The Duchess stimulated him. She was a little earthy perhaps, but clever. He wondered uncomfortably just how he would explain her to Jennifer, decided not to cross that bridge until he got there.

At the Duchess's direction, he parked the car in an alley behind the warehouse where the protective green suits were stored.

"This is it," said the girl.

Norman got out, surveyed the massive stone structure. The windows were barred like a jail. On the roof he could make out the edges of shrubbery.

"It looks like there's a roof garden up there," he commented.

"There is," replied the Duchess. "The quarters of the men who work for the Venusian Export Lines are on the top floors of the warehouse."

Norman frowned. "There doesn't seem to be any way in here. What about the front?"

"It's guarded night and day."

"What's that building?" He pointed to the structure adjacent to the warehouse. The two roofs were almost on a level.

"It's a slave barracks. That's where the women who work in the surrounding factories live."

"Do you think that we could slip to the roof without attracting too much attention?"

All about them they could hear the hum of machinery, the pulsing life of the factory district.

The Duchess shrugged her shoulders. "They work in shifts. The factories never close down. This is as good a time as any."

He crossed to the slave barracks, tried the rear door. It was unlocked. Cautiously, he pulled it open. A long hall like a hotel corridor with a stair well at the far end stretched before him. The slave barracks were not equipped with lifts. The hall was empty.

"Come on," he said, and slipped inside.

They reached the stairs, crept up to the second floor. Again the corridor was empty and they continued their ascent. At the fourth stage, however, Norman halted, his eyes on a level with the floor. Two women were gossiping not a dozen feet away.

"Go on," hissed the Duchess desperately. "There's someone coming up the steps behind us!"

Norman heard the clatter of footsteps below them. He hadn't time to hesitate, but leaped up the steps three at a time.

"Eeeek!" a startled shriek escaped one of the women. "Wasn't that a man, Cheryl?"

"Yes! Yes, it was," replied the one addressed as Cheryl, "with a girl chasing him like mad, the hussy!"

"What would a man be doing in here?"

"Now what do you think a man would be doing in the female slave barracks?"

The excited chatter of feminine tongues all wagging at once overtook the pair as they raced upward. Norman's heart sank like a stone. The way was closed behind them. Unexpectedly, he popped out on the roof, paused to catch his breath.

"Go on!" panted the Duchess. "Go on, for heaven's sake! The party on the stairs below us. I caught a glimpse of them. They were plant men!"

"Plant men!"

"Yes! Yes! They must have been inspecting the barracks. Hurry!"

Norman cast a glance at the exquisitely landscaped roof gardens atop the warehouse next door. The gap appeared wider than it had from the street. Furthermore, the top of the warehouse was much lower, a wall surrounding the garden having given it the appearance of being the same height as the slave barracks.

An ominous mutter like the sound of a disturbed hornet's nest ascended the stair well. Norman cast caution to the wind, sprinted across the flat roof, launched himself into space.

He cleared the top of the wall by inches, glanced downward. A man lay sunning himself directly beneath. The man had on trunks. He lay on his back and his dark sun glasses gave him a goggle-eyed appearance. He started to yell and sit up.

* * * * *

Norman landed with both feet in the pit of the man's stomach. There was an explosive _ooof_ as Norman sprawled forward on the roof. Then the Duchess sailed over the wall, lit full on the sun-bather, tumbled head over heels, arms and legs flying.

Norman got to his hands and knees, surveyed their victim in consternation. The man was unconscious.

"I hope he's not dead."

"You better hope he is," said the Duchess, sitting up.

He felt the man's pulse. It throbbed feebly.

"What'll we do with him?"

"Toss him over the edge," suggested the girl.

"We can't do that!" protested Norman in horror. "We'll bring him along. Maybe we can find some place to lock him up." He took hold of the man, heaved, grunted, got him over his shoulder. "There's the elevator house, beyond that rock garden," he panted, staggering toward it.

They reached the elevator. It was an automatic lift, he saw. The indicator showed that the cage was on the floor below them. He was about to press the button when the Duchess's eyes widened. The needle on the indicator was slowly revolving around the dial.

"Someone's coming up," gasped Norman. Feverishly, he heaved the unconscious man behind a bush. The Duchess dived around the corner of the elevator house as Norman plucked a stone the size of his head from the rock garden, crouched behind a dwarf fir beside the doors.

The doors slid back. A man in civilian clothes stepped onto the roof.

"Bauer," he called. "Hey, Bauer."

Norman hit him over the head with the stone. The man crumpled.

The Duchess peered around the edge of the elevator house, stepped out. "You're getting quite a collection."

Norman looked worried. He hauled the sun-bather from behind the bush and stacked both of them inside the elevator. "Come on."

The Duchess shrugged her shoulders, stepped into the elevator.

"Where are the suits?" he asked.

"Basement."

He pressed the button. The car shot downward.

"Did you kill this one?" asked the Duchess hopefully.

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

The car stopped suddenly, the doors slid back. Norman stared out at a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged room which stretched off into shadows on either hand. It was full of bales, boxes and dust.

He dragged the bodies out, stretched them side by side on the floor.

"Where are the suits?"

"Any of those cases."

Feverishly, he broke one open, pulled out the familiar green suit with helmet, gloves, and boots attached.

"Now that you've got it," said the Duchess, "have you figured how you're going to get out with it? We've got as much chance of returning the way we came as of burrowing through the walls. That slave barracks won't quiet down for a week."

He appeared crestfallen, then his eyes lit on his latest victim. He brightened. "Aren't the only men in Behrl who wear civilian clothes agents of the Venusian Export Lines, and didn't you say they had their headquarters upstairs?"

The Duchess nodded.

He began to strip the clothes from their second victim.

"We'll walk out the front door," he said grimly.

"You're a resourceful rogue," the Duchess admitted with admiration.

In a matter of minutes, he had changed clothes. Hastily, he bundled up the green suit, wrapped it in a piece of packing paper. "Let's get out of here."

"What about these?" The Duchess indicated the bodies on the floor.

"Leave them there. They don't know what hit them."

They re-entered the lift, got off on the street floor. Six guards were loafing in the foyer. One of them winked when he saw the slave girl demurely following the young man out of the elevator.

Norman swallowed, walked out into the blessed sunlight. No one tried to stop him.

He didn't draw an easy breath until they were back in his car, the insulation suit tucked under the seat.

"Well," he said triumphantly as they sped from the alley onto a broad thoroughfare, "that's one."

"One!" cried the Duchess. "You're not going to try to get any more?"

"We need hundreds," he assured her.

* * * * *

She stared at him in awe. "Hundreds!" Then she began to laugh. "Well, the Lord helps those who help themselves."

They drove along for a few minutes in silence.

"Listen," said the Duchess suddenly. "You need more insulation suits. I know how they can be obtained."

"How?"

"I know the people who work in the factory. There are a few I can trust. If anyone could slip out the green suits, they could."

Norman was jubilant. "Great," he ejaculated.

"But you'll have to buy me."

"Buy you?" he echoed.

"Yes," said the Duchess. "If I have to stay at that library another day, I'll die. Besides, I need more freedom to contact the workers."

She saw him wavering, put her hand over his on the wheel. "It gets so lonesome in that library."

"All right," he agreed.

The Duchess threw her arms about him. "You're a dear," she squealed.

Jennifer, he thought unhappily, wasn't going to like this at all.

The transaction proved as simple as the Duchess had forecast. For the ridiculous sum of fifty notes plus the girl's original purchase price, the agent transferred her to Norman Saint Clair. He turned the car into the basement of the apartment, his latest venture in livestock on the seat beside him. He had been rather silent since leaving the agent. Not only must he explain the Duchess to Jennifer, he had to explain Jennifer to the Duchess.

He brought the car to a stop, said uneasily, "I forgot to tell you. I have...." He paused, started over again. "There is another girl in my apartment, too. She.... Well.... There are three bedrooms. I don't think we'll be too crowded. Do you?" He mopped his brow with his handkerchief.

The Duchess was regarding him, a steel-like glint in her gray eyes.

"Of all the deceitful, lecherous rogues it's been my misfortune to meet," she said, her tone low, gentle, "in a profession where rogues abound, you are the lowest."

"Now I say ..." he protested, but the Duchess swept his words aside.

"You wolf, bleating like a lamb. Oh, you're clever. I haven't a thing to reproach you with. You fixed it so it was I who asked you to buy me. But mark this, handsome, our association is going to be strictly business. You supply me with food and shelter; I supply the Sinn Feiners with green suits."

"But isn't that why I bought you?" he asked in perplexity.

"What?" said the Duchess, hauling herself up short.

"I mean, you didn't like the library, and you needed more freedom any way to contact the factory workers. It looked to me like a sensible plan."

"Well, I'll be darned," said the Duchess.

"What?" he asked.

"I apologize." She held out her hand. He took it gratefully. "If you like," she said, "you can give me a good swift kick."

They went up in the lift. When they entered the apartment, they found Koal talking to Jennifer. He introduced the Duchess.

"I bought her from the Dohlmites," he blurted out. "She's to have the spare room."

Koal regarded the Duchess with admiration, made a clucking sound. Norman reddened.

"What are you doing?" asked Jennifer sweetly. "Starting a harem?"

"Won't it be cozy," interposed the Duchess coolly, "twenty-nine or thirty of us scampering about the apartment."

"What?" said Jennifer.

"Well, you know what the collecting instinct's like."

Norman hastily unwrapped the green suit, related their adventures. The Duchess, he explained, had promised to help procure more of them.

Although Jennifer still seemed skeptical, the Martian's expression changed. He looked at the Duchess thoughtfully. "You can supply us with more of these?"

"Yes. There's a girl who works in the factory. We played the triangle together. Her name's Marcia. We were booked for a run on Ganymede when we were captured. If anyone can slip out the green suits, she can."

The Martian nodded. "We'll have a car waiting behind the factory." He turned suddenly upon Norman. "I've got bad news," he said.

Norman felt his heart sink.

"What is it?"

"The Dohlmites are preparing to attack Ganymede."

"Ganymede!" ejaculated Norman. "When?"

The Martian gestured palm up with his hands, shrugged. "We haven't been told yet. I imagine they're waiting until all the ships are back. It's the beginning of the end of the Empire, unless we can do something quick."