THE STAR-MASTER-4
495 Words
I TRIED TO SORT IT out as he breathlessly told me what he had learned. Some eight or ten years ago, among the captive people of mid-Europe under police domination of the Anglo-American Federation, a fellow named Karl Curtmann had built this hundred foot cylindrical space-flyer. The same old urge for world conquest. But this fellow Curtmann had known that on Earth he had no chance. This was not 1915, nor 1939. And so he had gathered others like himself; all English-speaking, since their racial language had been banned by the Federation before they were born, and with his ship and his men, they had adventured into Space.
“Seems they landed on Venus,” Jim was saying. “It was a fertile field for a world-conqueror, by what I hear! Peaceful, simple people, with these Earth cutthroats jumping on them. They used a bunch of our Shadow Squad weapons, which was enough and plenty.”
Once established there as a conqueror, Curtmann had gone back to Earth on several trips, for supplies and more weapons and men.
“I guess there are several hundred of ‘em on Venus now,” Jim went on. “Built themselves a little city, and made slaves out of the Venus-people. You can imagine what this style Earthman would do when he’s a conqueror with nothing to challenge him! And the Venus-people are on the down-grade. Dying out, except for the Midges.”
“Midges?”
“They’re the little people of Venus. They serve. They believe that all Earth men are gods, or something.” Jim shrugged. “Don’t ask me. We’ll find out soon enough.”
The Midge! I remembered that little bronze man-figure which had peered at us.
“And Venta?” I prompted.
“Her father—No, I guess it’s her grandfather—he’s a leader on Venus. Religious leader, or something. He and some others have escaped to a Forest City. Curtmann had Venta. Venta says he’s just trying to make her love him—make her see how wonderful he is. Curtmann, the Man of Destiny—I can’t wait to meet him!”
He had taken Venta on one of his forays to Earth, and she had escaped from him. “An’ they got us along with her,” Jim finished wryly. “Damned lucky we didn’t get killed. We will yet, most probably.”
A little rasp here in the darkness made us turn. A doorslide had opened; a man’s heavy-featured face scowled in at us.
“At last you have recovered,” he said to me. His voice was the heavy, guttural timber of a mid-European. He was a villainous-looking fellow, his slack-jowled face bluish with a week’s growth of beard.
“Yes,” I said. “Fortunately for me. Are you Curtmann?”
“He’s Frantz,” Jim put in. “He’s been feeding me.”
“Tell your master I want to see him,” I said. “And take me to the girl, Venta.”
The fellow leered. “You talk like you own the ship,” he commented.
The doorslide closed. His footsteps retreated, but presently they came back. He opened the door. “The Great-Master says, bring you,” he said with an ironic grin. “Come on. You can both come.”
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- Writer
