Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                        The Beast-Jewel of Mars

                           By V. E. THIESSEN

              The city was strange, fantastic, beautiful.
             He'd never been there before, yet already he
            was a fabulous legend--a dire, hateful legend.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Spring 1955.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


He lay on his stomach, a lean man in faded one piece dungarees, and an
odd metallic hat, peering over the side of the canal. Behind him the
little winds sifted red dust into his collar, but he could not move; he
could only sit there with his gaze riveted on the spires and minarets
that twinkled in the distance, far down the bottom of the canal.

One part of his mind said, _This is it, this is the fabled city of
Mars. This is the beauty and the fantasy and the music of the legends,
and I must go down there._ Yet somewhere deeper in his mind, deep in
the primal urges that kept him from death, the warning was taut and
urgent. _Get away. They have a part of your mind now. Get away from the
city before you lose it all. Get away before your body becomes a husk,
a soulless husk to walk the low canals with sightless eyes, like those
who came before you._

He strained to push back from the edge, trying to get that fantastic
beauty out of his sight. He fought the lids of his eyes, fought to
close them while he pushed himself back, but they remained open,
staring at the jeweled towers, and borne on the little winds the thin
wail of music reached him, saying, _Come into the city, come down into
the fabled city_.

He slid over the edge, sliding down the sloping sides of the canal.
The rough sandstone tore at his dungarees, tore at his elbow where it
touched but he did not feel the pain. His face was turned toward the
towers, and the sound of his breathing was less than human.

His feet caught a projecting bit of stone and were slowed for an
instant, so that he turned sideways and rolled on, down into the red
dust bottom of the canal, to lie face down in the dust, with the chin
strap of the odd metallic hat cutting cruelly into his chin.

He lay there an instant, knowing that now he had a chance. With his
face down like this, and the dust smarting his eyes the image was gone
for an instant. He had to get away, he knew that. He had to mount the
sides of the canal and never look back.

He told himself, "I am Eric North, from Earth, the Third Planet of Sol,
and this is not real."

He squirmed in the dust, feeling it bite his cheeks; he squirmed until
he could get up and see nothing but the red sand stone walls of the
canal. He ran at the walls and clawed his way up like an animal in his
haste. He wouldn't look again.

The wind freshened and the tune of the music began to talk to him. It
told of going barefoot over long streets of fur. It told of jewels, and
wine, and women as fair as springtime. These and more were in the city,
waiting for him to claim them.

He sobbed, and clawed forward. He stopped to rest, and slowly his head
began to turn. He turned, and the spires and minarets twinkled at him,
beautiful, soothing, stopping the tears that had welled down his cheeks.

When he reached the bottom of the canal he began to run toward the city.

When he came to the city there was a high wall around it, and a heavy
gate carved with lotus blossoms. He beat against the gate and cried,
"Oh! Let me in. Let me in to the city!" The music was richer now, as if
it were everywhere, and the gate swung open without the faintest sound.

A sentinel stood before the opened gate at the end of a long blue
street. He was dressed in red silk with his sleeves edged in blue
leopard skin, and he wore a belt with a jeweled short sword. He drew
the sword from its scabbard, and bowed forward until the point of the
sword touched the street of blue fur. He said, "I give you the welcome
of my sword, and the welcome of the city. Speak your name so that it
may be set in the records of the dreamers."

The music sang, and the spires twinkled, and Eric said, "I am Eric
North!"

The sword point jerked, and the sentinel straightened. His face was
white. He cried aloud, "It is Eric the Bronze. It is Eric of the
Legend." He whirled the sword aloft, and smashed it upon Eric's metal
hat, and the hatred was a blue flame in his eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Eric regained consciousness the people of the city were all about
him. They were very fair, and the women were more beautiful than music.
Yet now they stared at him with red hate in their eyes. An older man
came forward and struck at the copper hat with a stick. The clang
deafened Eric and the man cried, "You are right. It is Eric the Bronze.
Bring the ships and let him be scourged from the city."

The man drew back the stick and struck again, and Eric's back took
fire with the blow. The crowd chanted, "Whips, bring the whips," and
fear forced Eric to his feet. He fled then, running on the heedless
feet of panic, outstripping those who were behind him until he passed
through the great gates into the red dust floor of the canal. The gates
closed behind him, and the dust beat upon him, and he paused, his heart
hammering inside his chest like a great bell clapper. He turned and
looked behind to be sure he was safe.

The towers twinkled at him, and the music whispered to him, "Come back,
Eric North. Come back to the city."

He turned and stumbled back to the great gate and hammered on it until
his fists were raw, pleading for it to open and let him back.

And deep inside him some part of his mind said, "This is a madness you
cannot escape. The city is evil, an evil like you have never known,"
and a fear as old as time coursed through his frame.

He seized the copper hat from his head, and beat on the lotus carvings
of the great door, crying, "Let me in! Please, take me back into the
city."

And as he beat the city changed. It became dull and sordid and evil, a
city of disgust, with every part offensive to the eye. The spires and
minarets were gargoyles of hatred, twisted and misshapen, and the sound
of the city was a macabre song of hate.

He stared, and his back was chill with superstitions as old as the
beginning of man. The city flickered, changing before his eyes until it
was beautiful again.

He stood, amazed, and put the metal hat back on his head. With the
motion the shift took place again, and beauty was ugliness. Amazed, he
stared at the illusion, and the thought came to him that the metal hat
had not entirely failed him after all.

He turned and began to walk away from the city, and when it began to
call he took the hat off his head and found peace for a time. Then when
it began again he replaced the hat, and revulsion sped his footsteps.
And so, hat on, hat off, he made his way down the dusty floor of the
canal, and up the rocky sides until he stood on the Martian desert, and
the canal was a thin line behind him. He breathed easily then, for he
was beyond the range of the illusions.

And now that his mind was his own again he began to study the problem,
and to understand something of the nature of the forces against which
he had been pitted.

The helmet contained an electrical circuit, designed as a shield
against electrical waves tuned to affect his brain. But the hat had
failed because the city, whatever it was, had adjusted to this revised
pattern as he had approached it. Hence, the helmet had been no defense
against illusion. However, when he had jerked the helmet off suddenly
to beat on the door, his mental pattern had changed, too suddenly, and
the machine caught up only after he had glimpsed another image. Then as
the illusion adjusted replacing the helmet threw it off again.

He grinned wryly. He would have liked to know more about the city,
whatever it was. He would have liked to know more about the people he
had seen, whether they were real or part of the illusion, and if they
were as ugly as the second city had been.

Yet the danger was too great. He would go back to his ship and make the
arrangements to destroy the city. The ship was armed, and to deliver
indirect fire over the edge of the canal would be simple enough. Garve
North, his brother, waited back at the ship. If he knew of the city he
would have to go there. Eric must not take a chance on that. After they
had blasted whatever it was that lay in the canal floor, then it would
be time enough to tell Garve, and go down to see what was left.

The ship rested easily on the flat sandstone area where he had
established base camp. Its familiar lines brought a smile to Eric's
face, a feeling of confidence now that tools and weapons were his again.

He opened the door and entered. The lock doors were left open so that
he could enter directly into the body of the ship. He came in in a
swift leap, calling, "Garve! Hey, Garve, where are you?"

The ship remained mute. He prowled through it, calling, "Garve,"
wondering where the young hothead had gone, and then he saw a note
clipped to the control board of the ship. He tore it loose impatiently
and began to read. Garve had scrawled:

    "Funny thing, Eric. A while ago I thought I heard music. I walked
    down to the canal, and it seemed like there were lights, and a town
    of some sort far down the canal. I wanted to investigate, but
    thought I'd better come back. But the thing has been in my mind for
    hours now, and I'm going down to see what it is. If you want to
    follow, come straight down the canal."

Eric stared at the note, and the line of his jaw was white. Apparently
Garve had seen the city from farther away, and its effect had not been
so strong. Even so, Garve's natural curiosity had done the rest.

Garve had gone down to the city, and Garve had no shielded hat. Eric
selected two high explosive grenades from the ship's arsenal. They
were small but they packed a lot of power. He had a pistol packed
with smaller pellets of the same explosive, and he had the hat. That
should be adequate. He thrust the bronze hat back on his head and began
walking back to the canal.

       *       *       *       *       *

The return back to the city would always live in his mind as a
phantasmagora, a montage of twisted hate and unseemly beauty. When he
came again to the gate he did not attempt to enter, but circled the
wall, hat on, hat off, stiff limbed like a puppet dancing to the same
tune over and over again. He found a place where he could scale the
wall, and thrust the helmet on his head, and clawed up the misshapen
wall. It was all he could do to make himself drop into the ugly city.

He heard a familiar voice as he dropped. "Eric," the voice said. "Eric,
you did come back." The voice was his brother's, and he whirled,
seeking the voice. A figure stood before him, a twisted caricature of
his brother. The figure cried, "The hat! You fool, get rid of that
hat!" The caricature that was his brother seized the hat, and jerked
so hard that the chin strap broke under Eric's chin. The hat was flung
away and sailed high and far over the fence and outside the city.

The phantasm flickered, the illusion moved. Garve was now more handsome
than ever, and the city was a dream of delight. Garve said, "Come," and
Eric followed down a street of blue fur. He had no will to resist.

Garve said, "Keep your head down and your face hidden. If we meet
someone you may not be recognized. They won't be expecting you from
this side of the city."

Eric asked, "You knew I'd come after you?"

"Yes. The Legend said you'd be back."

Eric stopped and whirled to face his brother. "The Legend? Eric the
Bronze? What is this wild fantasy?"

"Not so loud!" Garve's voice cautioned him. "Of course the crowd called
you that because of the copper hat and your heavy tan. But the Elders
believe so too. I don't know what it is, Eric, reincarnation, prophesy,
superstition, I only know that when I was with the Elders I believed
them. You are a part of a Legend. You are Eric the Bronze."

Eric looked down at his sun tanned hands and flexed them. He loosened
the explosive pistol in its holster. At least he was going to be a well
armed, well prepared Legend. And while one part of his mind marveled
at the city and relaxed into a pleasure as deep as a dream, another
struggled with the almost forgotten desire to rescue his brother and
escape. He asked, "Who are the Elders?"

"We are going to them, to the center of the city." Garve's voice
sharpened, "Keep your head down. I think the last two men we passed are
looking after us. Don't look back."

After a moment Garve said, "I think they are following us. Get ready
to run. If we are separated, keep going until you reach City Center.
The Elders will be expecting you." Garve glanced back, and his voice
sharpened, "Now! Run!"

They ran. But as they ran figures began to converge upon them. Farther
up the street others appeared, cutting off their flight.

Garve cried, "In here," and pulled Eric into a crevice between two
buildings. Eric drew his gun, and savagery began to dance in his eyes.
The soft fur muffled sounds of pursuit closed in upon them.

Garve put one hand on Eric's gun hand and said, "Wait here. And if you
value my life, don't use that gun." Then he was gone, running deerlike
down the street.

For an instant Eric thought the ruse had succeeded. He heard cries and
two men passed him running in pursuit. But then the cry came back. "Let
him go. Get the other one. The other one."

Eric was seen an instant later, and the people of the city began to
converge upon him. He could have destroyed them all with his charges in
the gun, but his brother's warning shrieked in his ears, "If you value
my life don't use the gun."

There was nothing he could do. Eric stood quietly until he was taken
prisoner. They moved him to the center of the wide fur street. Two men
held his arms, and twisted painfully. The crowd looked at him, coldly,
calculatingly. One of them said, "Get the whips. If we whip him he will
not come back." The city twinkled, and the music was so faint he could
hardly hear it.

There was only one weapon Eric could use. He had gathered from Garve's
words that these people were superstitious.

He laughed, a great chest-shattering laugh that gusted out into the
thin Martian air. He laughed and cried in a great voice, "And can you
so easily dispose of a Legend? If I am Eric of the Legend, can whips
defeat the prophesy?"

There was an instant when he could have twisted loose. They stood,
fear-bound at his words. But there was no place to hide, and without
the use of his weapons Eric could not have gone far. He had to bluff it
out.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then one of the men cried, "Fools! It is true. We must take no chance
with the whips. He would come back. But if he dies here before us now,
then we may forget the prophesy."

The crowd murmured and a second voice cried, "Get the sword, get the
guards, and kill him at once!"

Eric tensed to break away but now it was too late. His captors were
alert. They increased the twist on his arms until he almost screamed
with the pain.

The crowd parted, and the guard came through, his red silk clothing
gleaming in the sun, his sword bright and deadly. He stopped before
Eric, and the sword swirled up like a saber, ready for a slashing cut
downward across Eric's neck.

A woman's voice, soft and yet authoritative, called, "Hold!" And a
murmur of respect rippled through the crowd.

"Nolette! The Daughter of the City comes."

Eric turned his gaze to the side and saw the woman who had spoken. She
was mounted upon a black horse with a jeweled bridle. She was young and
her hair was long and free in the wind. She had ridden so softly across
the fur street that no one had been aware of her presence.

She said, "Let me touch this man. Let me feel the pulse of his heart so
that I may know if he is truly the Bronze one of the Legend. Give me
your hand, stranger." She leaned down and grasped his hand. Eric shook
his arms free, and reached up and clung to the offered hand, thinking,
"If I pull her down perhaps I can use her as a shield." He tensed his
muscles and began to pull.

She cried, "No! You fool. Come up on the horse," and pulled back with
an energy as fierce as his own. Then he had swung up on the horse, and
the animal leaped forward, its muffled gallop beating out a tattoo of
freedom.

Eric clung tightly to the girl's waist. He could feel the young
suppleness of her body, and the fine strands of her hair kept swirling
back into his face. It had a faint perfume, a clean and heady scent
that made him more aware of the touch of her waist. He breathed deeply,
oddly happy as they rode.

After five minutes ride they came to a building in the center of the
city. The building was cubical, severe in line and architecture, and it
contrasted oddly with the exquisite ornament of the rest of the city.
It was as if it were a monolith from another time, a stranger crouched
among enemies.

The girl halted before the structure and said, "Dismount here, Eric."

Eric swung down, his arms still tingling with pleasure where he had
held her. She said, "Knock three times on the door. I will see you
again inside. And thank your brother for sending me to bring you here."

Eric knocked on the door. The door was as plain as the building, made
of a luminous plastic. It had all the beauty of the great gate door,
but a more timeless, more functional beauty.

The door opened and an old man greeted Eric. "Come in. The Council
awaits you. Follow me, please."

Eric followed down a hallway and into a large room. The room was
obviously designed for a conference room. A great table stood in the
room, made of the same luminous plastic as the door of the building.
Six men sat at this conference table. Eric's guide placed him in a
chair at the base of the T-shaped table.

There was one vacant seat beside the head of the T, and as Eric
watched, the young woman who had rescued him entered and took her place
there. She smiled at Eric, and the room took on a warmth that it had
lacked with only the older men present. The man at her right, obviously
presiding here looked at Eric and spoke. "I am Kroon, the eldest of
the elders. We have brought you here to satisfy ourselves of your
identity. In view of your danger in the City you are entitled to some
sort of explanation." He glanced around the room and asked, "What is
the judgment of the elders?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Eric caught a faint nod here, a gesture there. Kroon nodded as if
in satisfaction. He turned to the girl, "And what is your opinion,
Daughter of the City?"

Nolette's expression held sorrow, as if she looked into the far future.
She said, "He is Eric the Bronze. I have no doubt."

Eric asked, "And what is this Legend of Eric the Bronze? Why am I so
despised in the city?"

Kroon answered, "According to the Ancient Legend you will destroy the
city. This, and other things."

Eric gaped. No wonder the crowd had shown such hatred. But why were
the elders so friendly? They were obviously the governing body, and if
there was strife between them and the people it had not shown in the
respect the crowd had accorded Nolette.

Kroon said, "I see you are puzzled. Let me tell you the story of the
City. The City is old. It dates from long ago when the canals of Mars
ran clear and green with water, and the deserts were vineyards and
gardens. The drouth came, and the changes in climate, and soon it
became plain that the people of Mars were doomed. They had ships, and
could build more, and gradually they left to colonize other planets.
Yet they could take little of their science. And fear and riots
destroyed much. Also there were those who were filled with love for
this homeland, and who thought that one day it might be habitable
again. All the skill of the ancient Martian fathers went into the
building of a giant machine, the machine that is the City, to protect a
small colony of those who were chosen to remain on Mars."

"This whole city is a machine!" Eric asked.

"Yes, or the product of one. The heart of it lies underneath our feet,
in caverns beneath this building. The nature of the machine is this,
that it translates thought into reality."

Eric stared. The idea was staggering.

"This is essentially simple, although the technology is complex. It is
necessary to have a recording device, to capture thought, a transmuting
device capable of transmuting the red dust of the desert into any
sort of material desired, and a construction device, to assemble this
material into the pattern already recorded from thought." Kroon paused.
"You still doubt, my friend. Perhaps you are thirsty after your escape.
Think strongly of a tall glass of cold water, visualize it in your
mind, the sight and the fluidity and the touch of it."

Eric did so. Without warning a glass of water stood on the table before
him. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and satisfying. He
drank it, convinced completely.

Eric asked, "And I am to destroy the City?"

"Yes. The time has come."

"But why?" Eric demanded. For an instant he could see the twinkling
beauty as clearly as if he had stood outside the walls of this building.

Kroon said, "There are difficulties. The machine builds according to
the mass will of the people, though it is sensitive to the individual
in areas where it does not conflict with the imagination of the mass.
We have had strangers, visitors, and even our own people, who grew
drunk with the power of the machine, who dreamed more and more lust and
greed into existence. These were banished from the city, and so strong
is the call of the city that many of them became victims of their own
evilness, and now walk mindlessly, with no thought but to seek for the
beauty they have lost here."

Kroon sighed. "The people have lost the will to learn. Many do not even
know of the machine. Our science is almost gone, and only a few of us,
the dreamers, the elders, have kept alive the old knowledge of the
machine and its history. By the collected powers of our imagination we
build and control the outward appearance of the city.

"We have passed this down from father to son. A part of the ancient
Legend is that the builders made provisions for the machine to be
destroyed when contact with outsiders had been made once again, so that
our people would again have to struggle forward to knowledge and power.
The instrument of destruction was to be a man termed Eric the Bronze.
It is not that you are reborn. It is just that sometime such a man
would come."

Eric said, "I can understand the Bronze part. They had thought that a
space man might well be sun tanned. They had thought that a science to
protect against this beautiful illusion would provide a metal shield
of some sort, probably copper in nature. That such a man should come
is inevitable. But why Eric. Why the name Eric?"

For the first time Nolette spoke. She said quietly, "The name Eric
was an honorable name of the ancient fathers. It must have been their
thought that the new beginning should wait for some of their own far
flung kind to return."

Eric nodded. He asked, "What happens now?"

"Nothing. Dwell here with us and you will be safe from our people. If
the prediction is not soon fulfilled and you are not the Eric of the
Legend, you may stay or go as you desire."

"My brother, Garve. What about him?"

"He loves the city. He will also stay, though he will be outside this
building." Kroon clasped his hands. "Nolette, will you show Eric his
quarters?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Eric followed Nolette through a hallway to a well furnished room.
Walking behind her the graceful sway of her walk reminded him of
the touch of her waist as he held it earlier when they rode, and he
felt the blood racing through his veins. He was tempted to seize her
shoulder, turn her, and take her in his arms.

She indicated the room with a gesture. "You will be comfortable here,
and you have only to wish strongly for food or drink. If your wishes do
not conflict with those of the elders they will come into being."

Eric asked, "And is this true of any wish? Suppose for instance I
wished for--You."

She looked at him steadily, "That would depend on the nature of your
wish. If you wished to take me as your wife the elders would approve."

Eric looked at her. He had hardly known her two hours. Yet the madness
of the moment made him rash, and he asked, "And what of your wishes,
Nolette?"

She said, "I am the Daughter of the City, and a virgin. If the Legend
is to be fulfilled I would be wed before I die."

He took a step forward and reached out to take her in his arms, but
she slipped away, saying quietly, "Not now. I will go away and let you
think. When you have decided call me in your mind, and the machine
will let me know." She smiled briefly, and left him alone in the room.

Eric was hardly aware of his actions as he seated himself in the
comfortable chair. He fumbled about for his pipe. He must not be a
fool. Perhaps if he thought quietly, and smoked, he could decide if
this was a dream, if he had gone quietly mad in his space ship, and had
been the victim of hallucinations. The chair was real to his touch, his
pipe was gone, and he remembered leaving it in the navigator's section
of the ship upon his earlier return. The memory seemed real enough. He
wished for his pipe again, and realized that now he held it in his hand.

This was no mirage. He tamped tobacco created by the machine from Red
Martian dust into the bowl of the pipe, and the smoke was as fragrant
as ever. He could see how such luxury would stagnate a race. As the
smoke curled around him he knew that two hours or two years were not
important, and he knew what he wanted. He wished for Nolette.

She came into the room, watching him quietly, suddenly shy. He said,
"It has come to me that I love you. Will you do me the honor to become
my wife?"

She said, "Yes, Eric. Oh! Yes!" and came running to him. Her kiss had
all the passion of his own.

An hour later she slipped from his arms, saying, "I must go and talk
with the elder dreamers. We must be married today, at once. We have so
little time. We must be husband and wife tonight." She slipped softly
from the room.

Eric watched her, marveling at his luck. He suddenly remembered that
he had not seen his brother since he had arrived at the house of the
elder dreamers. He wondered where Garve was, and wanted to talk to him.
Perhaps if he thought strongly enough the machine would get the message
thought to Garve. He concentrated.

Ten minutes later Garve walked into the room. He said, "I thought I
heard you calling. How'd you make out with the dreamers?"

"Well enough. Don't think me mad, Garve, but Nolette and I are to be
married, tonight."

Garve's face grew red, then as white as river sand. He said bitterly,
"I should have let them kill you in the street, but how could I? After
all we are brothers."

"You love her too."

"No! But I love this city. It is paradise, and now you will destroy it."

Eric said, "The Legend again! Everyone believes it. Yet it is but a
prediction. In time such a man as the Legend had to come, and some day
one more greedy than myself may destroy the city. Perhaps I will refuse
to carry out the destruction."

Garve laughed, a bitter cynical laugh. He cried, "You fool! How can you
help yourself? Everyone believes you are the Bronze one and the machine
will make that come true. How can you defeat the machine?"

Eric was staggered by a logic he had not even considered.

"Piece by piece," Garve said, "the prediction is coming to pass. Now
you are to wed Nolette, and that too is a part of the Legend."

"That was predicted?"

"Yes. And that is not the end." Garve's voice was as sharp as the bite
of a whip. "Do you know what else you will do?"

"No!" A thin horror seeped slowly into Eric's mind.

"You will destroy the Daughter of the City."

Eric's eyes were wide. He shuddered and cried, "NO! NO!"

Garve's face took on the glint of madness. He said, "But I will stop
you. I'll stop you if I have to kill you." He turned and strode
bitterly from the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

Horror was still fresh in Eric's mind when Nolette returned. "All is
ready," she said. "Come now, my husband-to-be."

Eric followed her into the chamber of the elder dreamers. Kroon stood
at the doorway and greeted him as he entered. He said, "One cannot
fight the truth, so we have consented to this marriage. Will you join
hands?"

The ceremony was simple, but beautiful, much like an Earth wedding,
with the city making music that was beautiful beyond belief. But all
the time Eric listened his mind was working, and by the time he had
kissed his bride at the end of the ceremony he knew what he had to do.
He walked back to their room with his arm around her waist, and his
resolve weakened with each step.

Yet when he reached the room he had the will to say, "I must leave you
for a time. When I return our life together will begin." He kissed her
again, and said, "It will not be long."

He broke away, and left her. When he reached the hallway he felt once
in his pocket to be sure the explosive grenades were still there. So
far the machine had controlled his destiny. So far the very belief of
the dreamers in his destiny had brought the predictions to pass. Very
well now, he would destroy the machine, but not at the request of the
dreamers. He would do it now, before there was time to consummate the
horrible part of the prediction. Then he would come back to Nolette and
his honeymoon.

He ran along the hallways, always going down when he found a stairway,
always seeking the central area below that had been indicated by Kroon
in their first talk. And when at length he came out into a large room,
with a maze of delicate electronic apparatus below, he knew he had
arrived, and he pulled the grenade from his pocket.

Yet before he pulled the safety release he could not but marvel a
moment at the intricate science below him. Much was familiar, and much
was unintelligible.

As he stood he was seized from behind, and he twisted to find he was
caught in the hate-strengthened grip of his brother. Pain lanced
through his arm, and Garve gritted, "Drop it." Eric dropped the
grenade, and it fell between them. Eric was suddenly glad that the
safety had not been pulled, and then he was fighting savagely with his
brother.

He was older, and wiser in the dirty tricks of fighters from the
planets. After a time he was able to set himself, and bend forward.
Where Garve had been behind, now he was flung up, over Eric's back in a
sprawling arc. He fell, teetered for an instant, and then crashed into
the delicate heart of the machine below. Glass tinkled, and a flare lit
the room. Eric closed his eyes, afraid to look. Garve must have been
electrocuted.

       *       *       *       *       *

Eric opened his eyes to find the room subtly changed. It was roughly
the same, but the walls were a rough sandstone, and the glamour was
gone. He heard sounds, and saw Garve struggling up from the wreckage
below. Both of them knew it was ended. The machine was beyond repair.

Garve paused. He said, "It's over now. I suppose in a year or two I
shall forget this. I am going away. Until I can forgive you I shall
stay away. God grant you peace, for you have lost more than I." Garve's
steps echoed hollowly on the stone corridor and he disappeared in the
distance.

Eric stood quietly. There was no happiness in him, only a nameless
fear brought on by his brother's words, a fear that he had forgotten
something.

Then suddenly he knew what it was. He remembered the ugly city. When
he came out of the corridor, out of this building, the city would be a
foul sty again. And the people, he had not seen the people, but they
would no doubt be horrible. Nolette, his wife--he could not let himself
think of how she would look. It seemed Garve was right and the final
prediction had come true. All was finished, even the Daughter of the
City had been destroyed.

He began to move up out of the subterranean room and back to the city.
He reached the outer door, and did not even pause to look for Nolette,
but set his teeth, and stepped out into the city.

And there he was surprised. Here was no ugly city, only a very normal,
ordinary one, with ordinary persons going about the streets, blinking
at the changes. The lines of the city were still there, but the jeweled
panes were ordinary glass.

Eric tried to understand. Then suddenly he recalled his hatred of the
city when he had been cast out, his subconscious thoughts of it as
evil. He had taken off the helmet, and for an instant he had been out
of contact with the elders, disoriented. In that instant the city had
shown him his concept of ugliness. That ugly city was as unreal as the
fantastically beautiful one created by the elders.

Eric turned, and went back into the building, looking for Nolette.

He found her, standing with Kroon in the great room, before a table
which was only laminated wood. She was a slender girl, gray eyed,
pleasant to look at, but without the beauty and the music and the
witchery of her counterpart.

She said quietly, "It is finished, Eric, and we are not the two who
married. It is finished, and the dream is ended."

Eric said only, "Yes," watching her.

She said, "I release you from the marriage. It will be a memory for us
both, a wonderful dream that ended before it was consummated, a dream
cut short too soon."

Eric asked, "What will you do?" Her voice was hardly changed, and
watching her he felt an odd pleasure. There was no wild racing of his
blood, yet his interest was awakening.

She said, "Go away, I suppose, as far as I can from this place."

He liked the way she was taking this. No dramatics, no tears.

He said, "I could take you back to Earth as a passenger. You might like
Earth." He felt oddly eager as she considered.

And then suddenly, he could not wait, and the words came tumbling out.
"Nolette," he said, "you must come with me. I do not know how it will
be with us yet. But somehow I feel that if we stay together things will
be good."

He waited for her decision, half afraid, half eager, and then saw a
slow smile break the seriousness of her eyes.

She said gently, "If that is what you wish." The smile widened. "A girl
must follow her husband. Even I know that."

Eric reached out and took her hand. "The ship is waiting," he said.
"Let's go home."





End of Project Gutenberg's The Beast-Jewel Of Mars, by V. E. Thiessen