Master of Mars

Author: Kirk Straughen

Synopsis: James Carson is a member of an expedition to Mars whose purpose is to discover the cause of the mysterious disappearance of the first explorers. The Mars he lands upon, however, is not the one we are familiar with, for the planet has been transformed to a living world by the impact of a comet. What strange things shall he discover? What dangers lurk within the amethyst jungle that now covers much of the red planet, and what weird fate has befallen the first expedition?

Chapter 1: A World Transformed

James Carson, medic of the Second Expedition, sat resting on a Martian beach. Above, the azure sky was streaked by cloud. A cool sea breeze caressed the land, stirring the strange jungle growths that flourished thereupon. The young man gazed meditatively across the planet’s blue seascape, which now covered much of its southern hemisphere, thinking of the astounding events that had transformed this alien world.

The scene before him was radically different to the one astronomers had seen through their telescopes twenty years ago. Gone was the barren planet of crimson deserts. Two decades had passed since the tremendous comet (a mighty aggregation of dust and gas and frozen water) had struck Mars’ North Pole and vaporized enormous volumes of frozen CO₂. For 18 months the planet was shrouded in a turgid pall of swirling vapors created by the vast explosion.

Beneath this veil of dust and gas amazing things were happening. With the release of huge volumes of greenhouse gases the planet began to warm, and thus even more of the frozen vapor was liberated. Water ice (far more than scientists had suspected of existing) trapped beneath the surface also began to melt.

When the dust finally settled and the vapors condensed scientists were astonished by what their startled eyes beheld. Mars now possessed an ocean, clearly shown by the orbiting satellites. In addition the comet’s impact had rekindled the planet’s magnetic field, which now protected its substantial atmosphere. This was only the beginning of the savants’ deep amazement.

Within another month an amethyst patch appeared on the surface of the planet’s single continent. The patch rapidly expanded. In a year most of the world’s landmass, except for its now diminished frozen poles, was covered in what could only be purple vegetation as indicated by the swift increase in atmospheric oxygen.

Scientists speculated on the growth’s origin. Perhaps the changed conditions had stimulated dormant life that various robotic missions had failed to detect. Then again the answer might be panspermia – that the seeds of life had been carried by the comet. What was clear, however, was the tremendous opportunity the transformed world now presented.

Earth was overcrowded, polluted. But here on the doorstep of Humanity was a virgin world that now appeared capable of sustaining terrestrial life. Thoughts of colonization resurrected a manned Mars mission that had been delayed for many decades due to funding issues.

Within five years the Venture had departed on its mission, carrying a crew of eight. All had gone well. The ship had touched down successfully in a clearing near the ocean. Exploration of the landing site commenced, the findings transmitted to an excited, expectant world. The bold adventure seemed a remarkable and unqualified success.

Then ominous silence had fallen like the plunging blade of a horrid guillotine. Within two days of landing no further transmissions were received. It was unexpected and inexplicable. The orbiting satellites could shed no light on the mystery. Whatever disaster had overtaken the explorers must have been swift and completely unforeseen. It was a tragedy and a crushing setback to future missions. Only now, after the passing of fifteen years had Humanity again ventured to undertake the risk, driven by the increased deterioration of Earth’s biosphere.

The voice of commander Steve Roberts sounded in Carson’s headphones, bringing him out of his thoughts and to the present:

“James, I’ve located the Venture. No wonder we couldn’t detect her from the air. She’s smothered in this damned vegetation, which is interfering with our sensors. I’m sending you the coordinates now. Get here as fast as you can. Paul will arrive soon.”

“Is there any sign of survivors?”

“No, but I’ve only just begun my search. Have you received the coordinates?”

“Yes. Your location signal is also strong. I’m on my way.”

Carson stood and stretched as best he could in his restrictive mars-suit. Although analysis showed the planet’s atmosphere was now breathable it was possible that alien pathogens were also present. Protective equipment had been deemed necessary until it could be established beyond all doubt that microbial threats were entirely absent.

Carson turned to face the purple jungle and inwardly groaned. He’d been fighting his way through it for the best part of four hours, vainly searching for signs of the missing expedition. His brief rest had refreshed him a little, but even so he knew he’d soon tire from the effort it took to force passage through the tangled vegetation confronting him.

Resolutely, he strode towards the alien growth, which towered over him like alien colossi. The vegetation was of one species only as far as the previous expedition could tell, and appeared to reproduce by vegetative propagation. A mat of roots spread out beneath the soil. From these arose ebony trunks, scaled in the manner of a serpent. The boles were star shape in cross section, and ramified into similarly formed branches two hundred feet above his head.

The branches let down prop roots to support the mighty expanse of their limbs. A dense canopy of fleshy amethyst leaves, yellow tipped and rod-like in form, blotted out much of the daylight. The overall appearance was of giant succulents. To call them plants though, was somewhat of a misnomer. They photosynthesized, true, but also possessed some of the characteristics of animal life. Scans performed by the first expedition indicated the growths had a complex nervous system, and their vascular system had long tube-like muscular structures that acted in the manner of a heart.

Carson entered the strange jungle. Shadowed silence reigned. The twitter of birds was absent as was the chirr of insects. The oppressive quiet was broken only by the sound of the man’s passage through the crowding trunks and prop roots – the scrape of his suit against the boles, the crunch of his boots upon the snaking roots.

An unseen presence tickled Carson’s nape. He’d felt it the moment he’d first entered the jungle, as had his companions. The feeling was of being watched by hidden eyes, and so strong was it that on a number of occasions he’d swiftly swung around in the hope of catching the thing. He had the distinct impression that it wasn’t remotely human.

If he’d been a superstitious man he’d have been tempted to believe the place was haunted. Carson tried to shake the unsettling thought. As his companions had said - it was just the strangeness of the place playing tricks on his mind. But try as he might he couldn’t quite convince himself the feeling was mere hallucination.

To a biologist the jungle would no doubt be a wonderland of marvels. But to Carson it was an enemy of unknown quality. The second expedition of which he was a part was not so much a scientific safari as an investigative endeavor. The fate of the first mission had to be discovered. If Mars was to be colonized successfully it was vital to determine what had befallen the crew of the Venture.

It was all quite disturbing, and the Earthman would have been even more perturbed if he’d been aware of the eye tipped tentacles that snaked forth from vulviform apertures on the upper branches and scrutinized his every movement.

Carson paused and consulted the map projected on his helmet’s display. He was about half an hour from his destination. Three emerald spots showed the location of himself and his companions. A forth blue dot indicated the site of their ship the Succor, which had landed on the ocean like a seaplane and was beached about a mile down the coast. Paul would arrive about ten minutes before him, and Carson wondered what their search would uncover, if anything.

Suddenly, without the slightest indication that anything was about to go amiss, the emerald dots showing the location of his companions winked out. For a moment Carson stared in utter disbelief. Then fear for his crewmates gripped him with its terrible talons. He stumbled in shock and fell against a tree, overcome for a moment with churning anxiety.

Carson managed to pull himself together. He’d be useless to his companions otherwise.

“Steve, Paul, come in. Do you read me?” His cry was almost frantic. Grim silence was the only answer.

Carson suppressed an oath. The same mysterious fate that had befallen the Venture now appeared to have overwhelmed his companions. He checked his modified Ruger Mark IV Tyger revolver. It was the latest in compact and powerful sidearms, and could take out a full grown grizzly. He hoped it would be enough to deal with whatever threat he had to face.

He moved on with caution, gun drawn. His companions had been similarly armed, but had obviously been taken by surprise and with incredible swiftness. Carson pushed the disturbing thought from his mind and continued his advance through the menacing alien jungle, determined to do everything within his power to aid his crewmates.

Regularly, he attempted to establish radio contact, but to no avail. A half hour later Carson reached the last known location of commander Roberts. Nothing greeted him except the forlorn sight of the Venture’s overgrown hull. The once proud ship was smothered in a web of prop roots, some of which had invaded her interior through an open airlock. The alien plants grew with incredibly rapidly. The ship looked like it had lain there for a hundred years rather than just fifteen.

Carson switched on his helmet’s speakers. “Steve, Paul; are you there?” he shouted worriedly, hoping that if their radios were out they’d hear his strident cries. Again, there was no answer, no bodies; no sign of a struggle. Ominous and unnerving silence prevailed in smothering stillness.

Carson advanced cautiously, gun at the ready as he stepped carefully over the tangle of roots at his feet. He was about half way towards the ship when something slammed into his back. An electric shock hit him with such force that he was flung violently to the ground.

Carson felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. His body convulsed. Warning lights flashed madly on his visor display. Alarms rang in his ears. He tried to rise, but found he had no control over his muscles. He lay there twitching and gasping as his suit’s electronics shorted out. Smoke began to fill his helmet, choking him.

Desperately, he managed through sheer willpower to get control of his shaking limbs. With trembling fingers he broke the seal of his helmet and wrenched it off, gasping air and coughing violently. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was half blind from the acrid vapors from shorted components.

Through blurred vision he glimpsed his revolver lying nearby. The strange presence was very strong. Carson fumbled desperately for the weapon. A foot slammed down on his groping hand. He yelped in pain as another kicked the gun away.

He looked up and was astonished. A woman, naked but for a rope-like weapons belt, stood on Carson’s gloved fingers. She was armed with a flat wooden club whose edges were spiked with thorn-like projections and also a small round shield for defense. Her skin and eyes were amethyst. Her scalp, unlike her skin was clad in stubby cylindrical leaves that projected upward like the spines of a porcupine. These yellow tipped growths were of an ebony hue as were the arches of small keratinous cones that formed the equivalent of her eyebrows. Her lips were full and black.

Her breasts were large with prominent black nipples, her figure curvaceous. As his vision cleared he saw she lacked a navel, but everything else that marked her as a woman was there in all its obviousness. Embarrassed, he focused on her face and again shock came upon him. Despite her alien appearance he recognized her features.

It was the first mission’s geologist – Margaret Rose. Carson, along with his other crewmates had been given photographs of each member of the vanished expedition as well as their biographical data. Margaret had been thirty when she’d left Earth fifteen years ago. Despite this she didn’t look a day older. What the hell had happened to her?

Movement at the edge of vision made Carson turn his head and he went cold at the sight confronting him. A second Margaret Rose stepped into view. The two women stood side by side gazing silently at him. They were identical. But there had been just one Margaret Rose on the Venture, and from her biographical data he knew she was an only child.

Wild fear came upon Carson. He was in the presence of the inexplicable, the unfathomable. He wanted to scream, to flee in utter terror from the unknown. He closed his eyes and with a mighty act of will managed to rein in his bolting emotions.

Opening his eyes he stared at the women. Were they the source of the strange presence he felt? No, that was something quite separate. This was the only thing he was sure of. Carson cleared his throat and swallowed hard.

“Who are you? What are you? Where are my companions?” he asked hoarsely.

The second Margaret, whose shield was slung across her back, pointed something at him. It looked like a rifle. There was a very long barrel and a stock, but no trigger or magazine. The entire device had a woody organic look as if it had been grown rather than machined. Except for the black barrel it was the same amethyst color of the vegetation. In addition the stock was covered in stubby cylindrical leaves, which lent credence to this startling idea. The fact that it was being pointed at him also indicated the object, like the spiked club that hung from her belt, was a weapon.

“You will come with us,” she answered, ignoring his questions.

Carson got shakily to his feet. He was still feeling the aftereffects of whatever force had struck him down, and was in no condition to resist. If his companions were dead then it was up to him to carry on the mission, and at the moment he felt this was best served by cooperating with his captors. Indeed, it was probably the only way he could find out what had happened to the Venture’s crew.

One Margaret uttered a strange warbling cry, and within mere seconds ten other identical women, similarly armed, emerged from the surrounding jungle in response to her summons. In moments the shaken Earthman was encircled by hostile and unsettling beings.

His captors allowed Carson to remove his mars-suit, which was now useless. There was some kind of large dart lodged in the back of it. Was this the cause of the electric shock? The women prodded him ahead of them, ignoring his questions. They moved in the direction of the shoreline, and within about half an hour the group had gained the beach. Here, they headed up the coast away from the landing site of the Succor, his ship. Another forty minutes of trudging brought the party to six broad and flat bottomed pod-like vessels beached upon the sand.

Carson looked upon the amethyst craft with wonder. All had the same grown look as the rifle and there were large black flippers sprouting from their sides fore and aft, and a black strip encircling the gunwale. Both prow and stern rose up in a spiral column that sprouted terminal tufts of long fan-shaped leaves.

He was urged into one of the strange vessels and sat on a thwart hesitantly. Everything seemed to be molded of one piece like a seashell. The two women who had captured him took up positions front and rear while their companions boarded other craft. Both watched him intently as upon some silent command their weird conveyance, along with the other boats, began to scrape its way across the sand in the manner of a crawling turtle.

In moments it had entered the foaming waves and began swimming strongly out to sea with the rest following. Carson gazed across the water, hoping to divine their destination as no further information could be gained from his uncommunicative captors. In the distance he saw the faint outline of an island. It could only be the one they’d observed from space, its large expanse hidden beneath a veiling mysterious mist impenetrable to their sensors.

He wondered worriedly where his fellow shipmates were, if they were still alive, and what strange fate awaited him.

Chapter 2: Island of the Master

For two hours the weird flotilla cut through the sparkling swells. The island grew with closing distance, its shore rising to a line of rugged cliffs overhung by low lying cloud that swirled about the island’s central peak in a vast vaporous eddy that sparkled with argent glints.

Carson speculated on the nature of the odd phenomenon, but was no closer to understanding it when at last the strange convoy made landfall. They disembarked upon a rocky beach overlooked by the frowning cliffs that rose in intimidating height above them. The strange craft, now free of their passengers, crawled up beyond the high tide mark and extruded retractable roots from their keels that quickly penetrated the earth.

As the extraordinary vessels settled into the soil, the Earthman’s uncommunicative captors bade him walk ahead, and with curt directions guided Carson to an upward leading trail. It was an exhausting climb, but at last they surmounted the steep acclivity and paused to catch their breath on its dizzy height. Looking inland the Earthman saw that, apart from scattered coppices, the tabletop island was largely free of vegetation. The scene was uninspiring until he turned his head rightwards.

A strange fortress rose from the plain. It was an amethyst citadel of closely set fluted towers, each graceful structure swelling to a fluted onion dome at its soaring peak. The ridges of the fluting were ebony and the vulvae-like windows bordered in black. Every tower, fifteen in all, was perhaps two hundred feet in height and each was connected at multiple levels to its neighbor by arching bridges with black balustrades. The towers, two of which were distinguished from the rest by their different colored domes, were arranged in a triangular formation, with a wall linking the perimeter structures to form a lofty crenulated rampart with a broad band of ebony encircling it.

Even from a mile away the citadel had a distinctly organic look – as if it was a living thing that had sprung plant-like from the soil, a growth rather than an artifact of skilled stonemasons. Carson just accepted what he saw. The situation he was in, the things he was experiencing were so outside what was normal to an Earthman that he knew his reasoning was useless. Perhaps as he learned more everything would begin to make sense.

Carson turned to the nearest of his captors. “What city is that?” he asked, not overly hopeful of a reply.

“It is the city of Helios,” replied the Margaret he addressed. “It is our home and the nexus of the Master. You will meet the Master soon. Now we go.”

They marched towards the metropolis, Carson a little more hopeful of elucidation, but also understandably apprehensive. Further questioning had failed to elect who or what the Master was. Undoubtedly, whatever it was, it was the prime authority hereabouts. He hoped he could reason with it.

As they traversed the plain Carson noticed an increase in the alertness of his captors. His curious roving gaze glimpsed what seemed to be another city in the far distance. The focus of the women’s watchfulness, however, was neither him nor the other metropolis. Rather, they were concentrating on their immediate surroundings which seemed far more innocuous that the unnerving jungle they had painstakingly traversed. Their tenseness was infectious and soon the Earthman found that he, too, was gazing warily about.

They were passing near one of the larger coppices when the hidden danger manifested with alarming suddenness. A dozen warriors, both male and female, burst forth from the trees and charged at them with wild battle cries.

The Margaret with the rifle-like device raised her weapon. A jet of livid flame burst from the muzzle. It was igniting methane that propelled a speeding dart. The projectile struck the lead attacker. There was a crackling discharge of electricity from it. The man went down convulsing and then the remaining foe was upon them in a savage rush.

Carson wished for his revolver, but that was lost to him. He ducked a swinging club, slammed his fist into his attacker’s gut. The warrior doubled over. Carson got under his opponent. The Earthman rested his foe upon both shoulders, stood and flung him to the ground with such force that his enemy’s neck was broken by the fall.

Another attacker sprang at Carson as the wild melee swirled all about him. It was a woman wearing something like an ivory tiara. He leapt back. Her whirling weapon missed him by an inch. Before she could swing again he pounced. They grappled furiously. Carson was tripped by his opponent. The Earthman fell. He rolled aside and the viciously arcing club smashed hard against the earth.

He lashed out desperately. His heel slammed against her shin. She cried, tumbled to the ground. Carson leapt on her back, managed to pin her with a full Nelson. She struggled wildly. It took all his strength to subdue her, but at last she lay still in panting defeat.

Carson saw the battle was over. It had been short but brutal. Three quarters of the amethyst warriors were dead and the only survivor of their attackers was the woman he had subdued. He looked at the corpses and shuddered. They oozed white fluid that reminded him more of sap than blood.

He recognized the dead. They were members of the crew of the Venture, but strangely transformed in the manner of his amethyst captors. Again there were doubles as with Margaret, but with a difference. The attacker’s coloration was reversed. Their bodies were ebony, the leaves on their heads amethyst as were their lips and nipples. It was all very unsettling.

Carson turned his attention to his ebony prisoner. Again it was Margaret, and as he looked more carefully at her his eyes widened in shock. What he had thought was a tiara was no tiara at all although it closely resembled one. It was instead a spiky outgrowth of her skull, like the horns of an animal.

She twisted her head and gazed at him defiantly, and in her challenging stare he saw that she was more than just a carbon copy of her other selves.

“Let go of me,” she wrathfully spat.

“Do not let her go,” ordered an amethyst Margaret. “You have captured the Ebony Princess. That will earn many points for Helios, my city.”

“These points will do you little good,” replied the Ebony Princess, angrily. “My city, Takara, will prove victorious in the end. The game is ours to win.”

“You may dream,” calmly replied the amethyst Margaret. “Your failure to capture us, specifically this strange man who is now the Wild Card, will cost you points. But enough talk. Helios waits. On your feet and march.”

With a surge of strength the Princess broke free of Carson’s hold, which he had relaxed now that the danger had passed. She stood and haughtily regarded him with obvious distaste, tossed her head and walk off in the direction of the metropolis, contemptuously ignoring the amethyst warriors surrounding her.

Carson gazed after the alien woman. Nothing made sense. It all seemed like a bad dream. He turned to an amethyst Margaret.

“What about the dead?” he asked, thinking of a funerary service. “And why did you call me a Wild Card? What is this all about?”

“Nature will return the dead to the womb of the earth,” she unconcernedly replied. “Explanations will be given by the Master, if the Master deems it necessary. Now, move ahead.”

Carson didn’t bother to enquire further about the nature of the game or who the Master was. These people would tell him when they wanted to. But he had the unsettling feeling the game might be something akin to the Roman’s gladiatorial amusements. Living pawns on a chessboard? It was a disturbing thought indeed.

They moved on and in about thirty minutes the survivors of the battle walked through the open gate of the mighty citadel of Helios. The heavy portal was rather narrow, only wide enough for one person to enter at a time. The rampart’s walls were at least fifty feet in thickness. A multitude of guards lined the tunnel, which had widened considerably past the choke point, and again he saw the men and women of the citadel were all copies of Venture’s crew. He had a disturbing feeling that the entire habitation would thus be populated.

Carson switched his attention the fabric of the fortress. Up close its organic nature was evident beyond all doubt. All vertical surfaces were clad in bark-like scales. There was no evidence of block work, no sign mortared joins. The material was all of one piece. It was as if an outlandish tree had been transformed by strange science to architecture. What he walked on wasn’t flagstones. The flooring had the appearance of seamless cork tiles, and again he sensed it had been grown rather than manufactured by intelligent beings.

Stepping out from beneath the keep Carson found himself within the citadel proper. Its scaly fluted towers rose up before him, their domes covered in tile-like leaves. The towers crowded together, each separated from the other by perhaps fifty feet. Bridges arched between them, forming complex aerial walkways that linked each structure to the other.

The thing that struck Carson most was the silence. There must have been at least a hundred guards at the gate, but the rest of the city seemed strangely deserted. There was no marketplace, no bustling crowds buying or selling things. The wondering Earthman could not doubt the solidity and permanence of the place, but even so it seemed more like an elaborate movie set than a living metropolis. He was to later learn that the organic city provided for all its inhabitance needs – both food and drink were secreted by the living building in its expansive dining hall, with other needful things grown in different structures.

They passed on to the central tower, the only one that possessed an emerald dome. Shortly, the group arrived at its entrance. Here, four guards were stationed. The war party dispersed with one Margaret remaining to take charge of Carson and the Black Princess. After passing the scrutiny of the entryway warriors, they stepped across the threshold and entered its spacious foyer.

Additional guards awaited them. Four took charge of the stony Princess and led her to a downward spiraling staircase while Margaret and three other warriors hustled Carson to an upward leading way.

“Where are they taking her?” he worriedly enquired as he turned his head to watch the Ebony Princess disappear below.

“To the dungeons,” replied Margaret. “The Master will see you now.”

They commenced their climb. It was an exhausting ordeal, and by the time they reached the apex of the tower Carson’s calves and thighs were burning and his legs on the verge of giving out. Weak kneed, he stumbled into another foyer at the head of the spiral way. It was much smaller than the vestibule below and at its far end was a closed doorway.

A naked man stood by the door. Carson recognized his features. It was Joshua Lance, commander of the Venture, or rather an amethyst copy of him. On his head was a spiky crown-like structure – an ivory outgrowth of his skull similar to the tiara of the Ebony Princess.

Carson’s guards urged him forward and the double doors swung silently outwards as he approached, revealing a curtain of crimson beadwork that had been drawn across the threshold.

“I am the Amethyst King,” announced the man standing near the open door. “The Master waits within. Go forward and enter,” he commanded.

Realizing there was no choice Carson parted the drapes and, with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, stepped into the room. Vulvae-like windows provided good illumination, which disclosed a bare and empty space. It was somewhat of an anticlimax until Carson turned his head and looked upon the right-hand wall. He gasped in shock and stepped back in alarm.

On the wall was a giant face, six feet tall and quite human in appearance. But this was no sculpture that confronted him. The enormous face was alive. Its eyes were open. It blinked. It looked upon him with awareness and intelligence.

“James Rutherford,” gasped Carson, recognizing the biologist of the Venture Expedition, “Is that you? Good Lord, what happened to you, to the others?”

The face laughed. Carson felt his nape hairs rise. It was an inhuman sound loaded with arrogance and contempt.

“The puny thing that called itself Rutherford is no more. I am the Master, lord of all, and you are now a Wild Card – a plaything in my game, which I observe through hidden eyes and concealed ears. You now exist solely for my amusement. Disobey my edicts and you die.”

Chapter 3: Dungeon Ordeal

For a moment Carson was speechless; then with an effort he got his thoughts together. The thing before him might have some trace of humanity left. If it did he hoped he could appeal to it. He had to try and find out what had happened to the Venture and his own crewmates.

“Rutherford,” he began, ignoring the creature’s threats, “your wife Ann is still alive. She misses you terribly as do your two children. I’m sure you love them. For their sake please tell me what happened. Everyone has been so worried.”

“Ann,” it sneered, “Ann who was having an affair with my younger brother.” Again it laughed, but this time with a trace of bitterness. “What do I care for Ann? What do I care for Humanity? Both abandoned me. Over a decade has passed and at last someone decides to send an expedition to find out what happened to us, and you expect me to be grateful? Well, to hell with the lot of you. I will, however, tell you what happened, not to help you bunch of pathetic fools, but because it pleases me to do so, so you know how far removed from pathetic Humanity I’ve become.

“Each Martian tree is not an individual entity,” the Master began, “but rather a part of a single planet spanning organism. It has a… a kind of intelligence. You must have felt its mental presence in the jungle, as if some unseen thing was watching you. I was experimenting, trying to communicate with the entity through a neural interface. I must have accidently hurt it. The thing reacted in self-defense. It killed me and my crewmates. Massive electrical discharges from the trees struck us down in an instant.

“My mind,” continued the once-man, “through the neural interface at the moment of my death somehow merged with the World Tree, as I call it. As time passed I found I could manipulate the entity. The World Tree, whose origin is outside our solar system, has the capacity for self-evolution. It can modify its genome and grow just about anything, as no doubt you have seen.

“It took me five Earth years to understand how to influence the organism. When I had gained this knowledge I began to experiment at creating life forms, both out of curiosity and to relieve debilitating boredom also. My first attempts produced monstrosities, but as time passed I got better and now you can see the results of my progress. These people, this building - all of them are my creations, designed for my amusement to escape the tedium of utter loneliness.

“Ah, I see by your horrified expression you are appalled by what I’ve done, that I am using living beings for my enjoyment. On Earth I was nothing, but here I am the Master of Mars,” it said defiantly. “The puny Rutherford, the weak human and his pathetic values are no more. I am lord of my domain and all within it are but gaming pieces for my enjoyment. Your crewmates are dead. I had no use for them. You are now the Wild Card I have introduced to make the game more interesting. Guards,” it yelled.

Warriors, led by the Amethyst King, rushed into the room.

“Seize the man,” it commanded, “and confine him in the dungeon with the Ebony Princess. Let the final game commence.”

The warriors grabbed Carson roughly and dragged him from the chamber. He was hustled down the tower stairs none too gently and then along the spiral way that led to the dungeon far below.

Carson was forced into a circular chamber with heavy grillwork doors spaced evenly about the room. A guard opened one of the cells by pressing his palm to a disc on the wall, and then the Earthman was shoved with such violence that he stumbled across the threshold and tumbled to the floor. The door was slammed behind him. The guards departed leaving him alone.

Slowly, Carson stood and looked through the bars of his prison. The dungeon was seemingly empty but for a torture rack in the middle of the room, beneath which was a shelf containing vile instruments crafted to inflict suffering. He shuddered at the sight of all of it.

His crewmates were dead! Grief and anger came upon Carson. He bowed his head and gripped the timber bars tightly, as if they were the necks of his enemies. The Earthman wondered if he’d ever find the bodies of his companions so they could be given decent burial. Sadly, it transpired that he never did.

Carson took a deep calming breath. There was no time for grieving at the moment. He was now part of a ruthless being’s deadly game. Rutherford’s mind, what was left of it, was certainly amoral by human standards. Carson had provided an opportunity to reconnect with Earth, with friends and family, and yet the man (if he could still be called that) had retreated back into a fantasy world of his own creation.

Whether the cause of his behavior was the loss of his humanity due to merging with the World Tree, the corrupting influence of god-like power or some other factor remained uncertain. And what were the rules of this mad game, if any? He looked around searchingly, and called out to the Ebony Princess with his question. She answered him from a cell several doors away.

“The rules are to win points and survive, you dolt,” she answered waspishly. “I thought that would be obvious. We must escape.”

Carson bit back an acidic retort. The situation was bad enough without getting into an argument with a potential ally. He thought carefully about what to say. But the tramp of feet coming down the stairs put an end to his troubled cogitations.

The Amethyst King, his accompaniment of bodyguards and a servant entered the dungeon. Upon the king’s command two warriors dragged the struggling Princess from her prison and bound her spread-eagled to the rack. Carson gripped the bars of his cell, his knuckles whitening with growing fear.

The Ebony Princess turned her face to him. “Do something, you fool,” she cried in desperate appeal. “The game is on and you must play your part.”

The King sneered. “Don’t expect help from that weakling. Ho, servant,” he called, “feed that man so he is strong enough for combat. It wouldn’t do for him to faint from hunger in the arena. That would ruin the Master’s amusement.”

The servant, bearing a large wooden bowel of steaming sustenance approached Carson’s cell, accompanied by two guards armed with spiked clubs and shields. The Earthman glanced towards the Princess. Her cry of pain and terror had drawn his horrified gaze.

The rack’s windlass had been tightened. Her limbs quivered under the strain of the cruel ropes. The King laughed. He pricked her body with a long thorn-like dagger, appearing to delight in her torment. The guards looked on, grinning in apparent sadistic amusement. Although horrific, the whole scene had the feel of studied melodrama.

A spiked club was thrust through the bars of Carson’s cell, forcing him back. The door was opened and the men stepped into the room. The servant presented the bowl of steaming soup-like food to the Earthman.

Carson swiftly acted. He snatched the bowl from the man, hurled its contents into the face of the right hand guard. Then, swinging the bowl in a backhand stroke, he slammed it against the servant’s skull. The hapless lackey collapsed. The left hand warrior leapt at him cursing, club swinging in a crushing arc.

Carson used the bowl as a shield. The warrior’s weapon crashed against it. The Earthman kicked him in the shin. He staggered back. Carson leapt, cracked his skull with the bowl and swiftly brained the right hand guard who was still blinded by the steaming liquid.

The Earthman snatched up a dropped club. He leapt from his cell as the two remaining warriors at the rack rushed him. He hurled the bowl into the face of one. The man went down as Carson blocked the swinging weapon of the other and dropped him with a head blow.

Carson glimpsed the King rushing for the stairs. The Earthman hurled his club. The flat of the whirling weapon crashed against the monarch’s skull. He tumbled senseless to the floor before he could utter any cry for help.

“Behind you,” warned the Ebony Princess.

Carson quickly turned. The man in whose face he’d flung the bowl was on his feet and coming at him. The Earthman leapt at his shield-less antagonist. He caught the warrior’s wrist. The swinging club jarred to a halt. They grappled madly. Carson threw his opponent across his hip. The man struck the floor head first. The crack of his breaking neck echoed in the room.

The Earthman stared at the carnage that he’d wrought, thanks to the greater strength of his earthly muscles in the weaker gravity of Mars. But he wasn’t proud of his prowess. On the contrary, he was sickened by what he’d had to do.

“Don’t stand there like a halfwit,” cried the Ebony Princess. “Play your part. Hurry up and free me.”

“Grateful, aren’t we,” darkly muttered Carson as he moved to the rack and set about the task.

The Ebony Princess sat up and rubbed her wrists. “Bind the King with the guards’ weapon belts,” she ordered. “Then we’ll capture my amethyst counterpart.”

Carson didn’t like her arrogant attitude but, as he could see the advantage of having an important hostage he readily complied.

“Now we can get out of here,” he said as he tied the final knot.

“Not before we capture the Amethyst Princess,” informed his companion.

“What,” sharply exclaimed Carson as he stared at her, aghast. “We’ve got the King. Surely that’s enough to win our freedom. Let’s depart with him before our luck runs out.”

“The King can’t leave his fortress. It’s against the rules. Besides, the Amethyst Princess is worth more points. Listen,” she sharply said, forestalling further objections, “If you don’t like my plan then feel free to leave. But I don’t advise it as your ignorance of conditions here will be your swift undoing.”

It galled Carson, but he had to admit, at least to himself, that she was right about his lack of knowledge. Thoughts of the Master made him ever angrier. No doubt Rutherford was observing him, his fight for survival serving as the fiend’s debased entertainment.

“Lead on,” he said with suppressed fury.

“Then let’s away to the Princess Tower; follow me.”

Carson armed himself with a club as did the Ebony Princess. Then he slung the still unconscious King across his shoulder and followed his irascible companion. The climb up the stairs with his captive’s deadweight was murder. But at last the breathless Earthman gained its height. Here, they paused for a time so Carson could recover, then exited the building under the watchful angry eyes of the entryway guards who were kept at bay by the Princess as she menaced their senseless ruler with her weapon.

The Princess Tower, the only one with a yellow dome, was adjacent to the King’s and in a few minutes the desperate escapees were standing by its door. More wrathful guards confronted them, and by their bristling posture they seemed determined to resist.

The Ebony Princess threateningly raised her club above the prisoner’s head. “The King is our hostage. Stand aside,” she sharply commanded.

The King, who’d been feigning unconsciousness for several minutes, made his move. He jerked his body violently, so much so that Carson lost his grip upon the man. The King slid from the Earthman’s shoulder and tumbled to the ground. The sovereign lashed out with a brutal kick. His bound feet struck the Ebony Princess. Down she went. The two guards charged like unleashed hounds. Two more warriors rushed from the tower to join the fray.

There was no time to menace the King. The warriors were on Carson in a rush. The Earthman dodged the lead man, tripped him. The Ebony Princess rolled aside. Her assailant’s swinging weapon missed her by a fraction. She kicked her opponent in the knee with shattering force. Down he went, screaming shrilly. Carson ducked a whirling club, slammed his weapon against the foe. Ribs cracked. Blood spurted. The enemy fell with a groan. The man he’d tripped was rising so he kicked him in the head.

Carson turned to see the Ebony Princess kill the final man. The Earthman cursed – more warriors from the King’s tower were rushing at them. During the fray their captive had managed to slip his bonds and had fled to summon reinforcements.

“Into the tower,” cried the Ebony Princess.

They sprinted across the threshold, the yelling warriors racing at them in a fury. The Ebony Princess began to close the heavy double doors. Carson leapt to aid her. A hurled club crashed against the timber, another whipped through the narrowing gap, grazing the Earthman’s ear. The doors slammed shut. The bar was slid home. It vibrated as rushing bodies crashed against the portal. Muffled curses of anger and frustration could be heard coming from outside.

Carson leaned heavily against the door. He slid to the floor, panting, heart racing and shaken by the narrowness of their hectic escape.

“Come,” urged the Ebony Princess. “My amethyst counterpart will have been alerted by the fray. We must capture her before she can escape.”

Carson got painfully to his feet. He looked warily around the room. It was empty but for a dozen translucent pod-like structures, each as tall as a man, hanging from the ceiling by thick vines. He gasped as he gazed more closely at them. Shadowy human figures could be seen within the fluid filled objects.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing at the things, which could be found on each level of the tower.

“This is the Princess Tower. This is where people are grown to replace those killed in battle,” explained the Ebony Princess. “When fully formed the womb-pod opens and out they come.” Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Are your people not born this way?”

“I think that is a subject for another time,” replied Carson, shocked by the explanation. “Shall we proceed?”

They moved to the spiraling staircase in preparation to ascend. But before either could set foot upon the lowest tread a trapdoor dropped open beneath them. The couple plunged into darkness. The panel swung shut with a crash, its echoes died away to leave behind grim silence.

Chapter 4: Arena of the Brutes

Carson and the Ebony Princess landed heavily on the floor ten feet beneath the ceiling through which they’d fallen, and found themselves trapped in a small subterranean room. The Earthman slowly stood and looked around. The chamber was circular, about fifteen feet in diameter and dimly lit by bioluminescent hemispheres growing from the ceiling. A thickly barred door was the only exit from the room. Carson tried the gate. Unsurprisingly, it was securely locked.

“Well, what now?” he worriedly asked his companion.

“We await developments,” she fatalistically replied as she sat.

Carson felt like swearing at her, but he needed to befriend this woman. Why, he didn’t even know her name. Events had been so rapid and calamitous that they hadn’t been properly introduced and so he seized the moment.

The Ebony Princess looked perplexed when he asked her name after telling her his own.

“My name is what I am,” she said. “I am the Ebony Princess. What other name could I have?”

Carson could think of several, but he wisely bit his tongue. He gazed morosely about the cell. If they’d fled the citadel with the King as hostage they wouldn’t be here now. He told her this as politely as he could.

“The Master would punish us if we broke the statutes of the game. These citadels produce our food and drink, and all our other needs. But the Master can override their automatic functions. We dare not disobey him least he cut off these supplies. Now, as I said before each King cannot leave his fortress. Is your intelligence so dim that you cannot comprehend my words?”

Carson took a deep calming breath. Anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Please explain this game to me.”

“It’s simple,” replied the Ebony Princess as if she was speaking to a child. “There are two citadels: Helios, this fortress, and Takara of which I am Princess. We fight each other for the entertainment of the Master, our creator, and when not fighting wildly disport for his voyeuristic pleasure. That is our singular purpose in life.

“Points are awarded for the number of enemy killed. Points are deducted from your side for the number of your people killed by the enemy. To capture or kill an enemy Princess earns the most points. Additional points can be earned if the Master considers the Princess’s death imaginative. The King exists as intermediately between the Master and the people of the citadel.”

“And these points,” asked the troubled man,” what’s the use of them?”

“The more points a citadel earns the more sex its people can have.”

“I beg your pardon,” gasped Carson with incredulity.

The Ebony Princess looked at him as if he was a fool. “Sex is pleasant and therefore a reward. It encourages performance. Isn’t that obvious? Are things so different among your people?”

“Most definitely,” he replied, aghast.

“Interesting,” responded the Ebony Princess. “I’m curious. If we escape you must show me... Why are you standing there with your mouth open?” she asked in puzzlement.

The sound of the approaching guards saved Carson from having to reply.

Six warriors halted before the chamber’s door. All were armed with the strange Martian carbines. After Carson’s previous escape they weren’t taking any chances. Guns were pointed at the prisoners while two narrow wooden flasks (hollow gourds to be precise) were thrust through the bars and placed on the floor.

“Drink the sustenance,” tersely ordered the sergeant of the guards.

The captives complied and the Earthman found by its spicy aroma that the steaming greenish liquid was the same food he’d used to aid his escape. But now that it was bottled he couldn’t easily hurl it in anyone’s face. It proved savory in taste, instantly invigorating and quite unlike anything he’d ever tried before.

Meal over, the prisoners were forced from the cell at gunpoint and marched along the broad branching underground passageway. Shortly, they arrived at another grillwork door through which they were roughly thrust.

Carson and his companion stumbled out into sunlight. The gate was slammed behind them and both found that they were in a square pit about ten feet deep and approximately fifty feet wide. Carson looked up and saw that a crowd had gathered around its railed edge. The people were looking down at him and the Ebony Princess with an air of expectation.

The Earthman turned to his companion. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s the arena,” she replied. “My citadel, which is very similar, has one also. Here, captives fight to the death for the amusement of the Master and the fortress’s inhabitance.”

The opening of another grillwork door ended further explanations. Into the light, on the far side of the pit, shambled six hideous travesties of humanity that made Carson’s skin crawl with deep revulsion. Their integument was grey and warty. Some had extra arms, others had two heads. Their brutish features were all askew, with eyes, noses and mouths horribly misplaced.

“Good God,” gasped Carson, horrified. “What the hell are they?”

“The Master’s first attempts at creating us,” replied the Ebony Princess, worriedly. “It appears we’ll have to fight them bare handed.”

The ungainly brutes advanced in a lumbering run, moaning incoherently, eyes alive with savagery and lust. The lead horror lunged at the Ebony Princess. She dodged its clumsy rush and kicked it behind the knee. Its leg buckled. The thing crashed on its face like a felled tree.

Another monster tried to grab her in a bear hug. Carson slammed his fist into its misshaped head. It staggered drunkenly away and tumbled to the ground. The four remaining horrors closed in upon the Ebony Princess. They were all obviously male. Equally obvious was their foul intention.

Carson saw the two that had been felled beginning to rise. The brutes’ warty integument was as tough as boiled leather. Without weapons it was impossible to seriously injure them. The frantic Earthman looked wildly about, seeking some method of defeating his revolting and invulnerable attackers.

Up above he glimpsed the grinning King, the Amethyst Princess by his side. A desperate plan flashed into his mind. He rushed towards the pair and with his earthly strength made a mighty leap.

Up he shot. His hand closed about the railing and in one swift and fluid motion hauled himself across. The unexpected move took all his foes completely by surprise and in an instant his arms had wrapped about the Amethyst Princess.

The King yelled for his warriors. His guards rushed the Earthman, but it was too late. Carson had leapt back into the arena, carrying the kicking, screaming woman with him.

“Come to me,” he shouted at his companion.

The Ebony Princess nimbly evaded her dull witted assailants and in but seconds was by the Earthman’s side.

“Good work,” she cried, impressed.

A carbine exploded. A hissing dart streaked by Carson’s head.

“Shoot the brutes.” He yelled, “They won’t discriminate between us and your Princess.”

The King cursed him, shouted orders at his men. A volley of shots rang out. Four of the drooling horrors tumbled. The others came on, driven by wild passions, heedless of the danger. Carson swore, dragging his screaming kicking captive with him as he and the Ebony Princess retreated before the savage misshapen fiends.

“Shoot the rest,” he shouted at the King. “Unless you want a dead Princess.”

“They can’t,” explained his ebony companion. “The carbines have to generate more methane and grow another dart. They’ll be useless for several hours. Open the arena gate.” she shouted at the sergeant of the guards who stood behind it.

The gate swung wide. The brutes’ dull minds comprehended. They charged in a lumbering run, howling madly. The escapees stumbled through the open way and the heavy gate was slammed in the faces of the foe. An apish arm shot through the bars to twist and rend. Carson jerked the Amethyst Princess, hauling her clear and the grasping talons clutched empty air not flesh.

They were safe from the slavering monstrosities, but the danger wasn’t over. The hard faced warriors menacingly crowded around them, weapons aggressively poised.

“Release our Princess,” demanded the sergeant of the guards.

“Don’t let her go,” warned the Ebony Princess. “The rules forbid them to endanger their own Princess until we take her from the citadel. We are safe for the moment so long as we hold her.”

“But they shot at us,” objected Carson.

“Those darts were set to stun,” explained his amethyst captive. “But my foot isn’t,” she continued as she slammed her heel with vigor against the Earthman’s shin.

Carson howled. The Amethyst Princess broke his grip. She yelled for her guards as the Earthman stumbled. The warriors rushed forward ready to strike with the butts of their carbines. The Ebony Princess pounced upon her amethyst counterpart. They went down. The guards hesitated, fearful of injuring the wrong woman. The slight delay was enough. The Ebony Princess got her opponent in a stranglehold.

“Back! Get back,” she savagely shouted at the foe.

The guards retreated, scowling their anger and frustration. Carson limped to his companion’s side and helped her secure a better grip on their cursing captive.

“What now?” he asked worriedly as they hauled the defiant woman to her feet.

“To the Tower of the Flyers,” explained the Ebony Princess. “Follow me.”

The escapees threaded their way through the underground maze of passageways, their foes kept well clear by dire threats. Within five minutes, thanks to signage, they came to an upward leading flight of steps, and ascending them debouched within a large room that was the ground floor of the Tower of the Flyers.

Quickly, they ascended the spiral staircase to the second level, one of six, and emerged within another spacious circular room pierced by four very large and equally spaced apertures. Before each of these huge windows was parked a very strange conveyance. The amethyst device was long and narrow, and shaped much like a racing scull. The thing was supported by six insectile legs, the rearmost being similar to those of a gigantic grasshopper. Its two pairs of translucent photosynthetic wings – one pair forward and the other aft – were raised vertically like those of a butterfly at rest.

They clambered into the living machine, Carson having to manhandle his captive aboard. Ropy tentacles automatically encircled them when they sat – living safety belts. The flyer withdrew its proboscis from the floor’s feeding node. It crawled to the window. Its powerful hind legs, like immense springs, flung it through the aperture and into the air. Its wings beat furiously. The thing lifted, shot skyward like a speeding arrow.

Carson looked down. He saw warriors dashing for the tower they’d just departed. Pursuit was mere seconds away. He shouted a warning to the Ebony Princess who was controlling their living conveyance by applying pressure to a series of rods that projected from the floor.

“That’s the least of our worries,” she replied. “Look up.”

The Earthman gazed heavenward and beheld the low lying cloud that swirled above the island’s central peak. It was a vast vaporous eddy that sparkled with argent glints, but now a change had come upon it. Crimson lightning was erupting from the lucid crystalline formation at the mountain’s summit. It struck the cloud, caused ripples to spread through the mists, and as Carson watched the whirling expanse began to rapidly darken.

In mere seconds the world was plunged into gloom. Then light flared in the inky heavens. Starbursts of actinic fire exploded within the roiling vapors. The swirling mist, now energized by the peak’s crystalline formation, began to glow dull crimson. The entire cloud took on the appearance of a burning coal of black, smoldering scarlet and glowing yellow. Carson gasped in horror at the terrifying sight.

Emerald lightening speared from the turbulent sky. Vast jagged bolts struck the earth explosively, scarring the ground with their raging power. The heavens became a web of sizzling emerald through which their frail craft darted like a frightened dragonfly. A flaring bolt missed them by mere yards, adding to the terror of the vessel’s occupants. The thunderclap was like the explosion of a bomb. The shockwave struck them senseless. The flyer plunged in uncontrolled descent – a fatal fall to the rocky earth far below.

Chapter 5: The Superior Ones

As the flyer plunged earthward its brain took control. The living vehicle righted itself. Its whirling wings beat against the rising wind in a frantic effort to make headway. But by now the storm was a violent tempest against which the flimsy craft could not prevail. The flyer flew with the roaring gale, was swept along in its airy torrent. The isle’s central peak loomed ominously – a rugged slope of craggy rock against which the vessel would soon be hurled in utter ruination.

Carson groaned. The man opened his eyes, revived by the chill of the furious tempest. In an instant he saw the rushing danger leaping at them. Fear, like the howling wind, chilled him to the marrow. He grasped the slumped form of the Ebony Princess, shook her shoulder violently.

“Wake up,” he yelled in utter desperation.

The woman awoke. Her eyes went wide in fright. Smashing death was but moments away. Gripping the craft’s controls she tried to slow their vessel. It was useless. The driving force of the unyielding wind had them in its unbreakable grip. They were being driven relentlessly towards the jagged and unforgiving mountainside.

“Look,” shouted Carson above the howl of the storm. “I think that’s a cave mouth. Fly into it. It might be deep enough. It’s out only hope.”

A flare of lightening again lit up the rugged slope – a brief flash by which the black mouth of the cavern was fleetingly glimpsed. The vessel plunged under the guidance of its desperate pilot. A gust of vicious wind drove them towards the cliff, threatening to smash them against jagged rock. The Ebony Princess steered her craft from danger and the vessel dived towards the yawning cavern.

The flyer’s wings ceased their motion, they angled up to create drag as the pilot sought to slow their headlong rush. The craft swept within the cave, one wing nearly brushing against hard stone. The lengthy rocky tunnel flashed by on either side with alarming swiftness. Sheltered from the driving wind their speed began to slow, but not nearly fast enough.

The end of the tunnel loomed with shocking rapidity. Carson, eyes wide in horror, glimpsed it for a second before the flyer crashed. The violence of the impact blotted out all consciousness.

**********

Carson opened his eyes. He was battered and bruised, but very much alive. He was lying on a deflated bladder – a kind of airbag their craft had deployed a split second before the horrendous impact. The groans of his companions indicated they were also still among the living. He’d been unconscious for some time. It was about another minute before the Earthman had regained his breath and was able to unwind the tentacles that had restrained him like a safety belt.

Quickly, he examined both Princesses. Neither one seemed to have sustained serious injury. Their flyer, however, had been crumpled by the crash and was clearly dead. Carefully, he helped both women, still somewhat dazed, from the wrecked vehicle and eased them to the cavern’s stony floor.

As Carson held the Amethyst Princess in his arms (for she was more unsteady than her counterpart), the woman gazed at him in quiet speculation. The Master had informed her of the Earthman’s arrival on their world, but no details of his personage had been given beyond the most general of descriptions. As an enemy he shouldn’t be showing concern for her; that he obviously was she found intriguing. It wasn’t weakness, but something else she’d never experienced before.

Amethyst looked at Ebony and sensed that, beneath her affected façade of waspish haughtiness (as the role of Princess demanded) her counterpart was similarly and genuinely intrigued. That both princesses were interested in the Earthman was not surprising as the only real difference between them was superficial coloration. Carson was the Wild Card the Master had introduced to add more excitement to his entertainment, for the sameness of Amethyst’s people and that of her opponent had resulted in things becoming boringly predictable.

Amethyst’s speculations on how Carson’s presence would change things were interrupted by Ebony’s gasp of alarm.

“Look,” cried Ebony, pointing.

The Earthman turned. He tensed at the sight that met his startled gaze. Several figures had emerged from a side tunnel. The five men were human in form and clad in short sleeved, knee length coats of scale armor and helmets that hid their features. It was the first sign of metalwork the Earthman had so far seen. Each warrior was at least seven feet tall. Their hairless skins were astoundingly emerald in hue and their eyes golden in color. They advanced aggressively upon the trio, disdaining to draw their short swords to deal with these midgets.

Despite this Carson wasn’t reassured. He could clearly see that their huge size and heavy muscles were weapons in themselves.

“We mean you no harm,” he reassuringly said as he and his companions warily stood.

The lead figure ignored his remark. The man lunged at him, huge hands intent on cruelly grasping. Carson ducked beneath his foe’s reaching limbs. Seeing their intent was clearly hostile he slammed his fist into the man’s groin. The fellow’s armor rendered the heavy blow ineffectual. The Earthman’s opponent came on, grabbed him about the waist, and lifted him off the ground as if he was a three year old.

Carson rammed his elbow against the fellow’s helmet. The Earthman swore. The only injury he’d done was to himself. The cries of his companions drew his worried gaze. They, too, had been violently seized. Both woman rained wild blows upon their captors, but it was useless. The armored men were invulnerable to their frantic attack.

In contemptuous silence their weird captors carried them down the side passage from which they had emerged. Carson tried to converse with the beings, but stony silence was the only reply to his questions. Giving up the futile enterprise he addressed his companions.

“Do either of you know who these people are?”

“I have never seen or heard of them,” replied the Amethyst Princess. “I am as surprised and baffled by their existence as you are.”

The Ebony Princess confessed her ignorance also, and the trio fell silent as they were carried deeper into the mountain. It was impossible to break free of their captors’ massive strength. Struggling was useless. All that could be done was to conserve their vigor in readiness to escape should an opportunity for freedom arise.

After about fifteen minutes of travel through the tunnel, which was illuminated by glowing quartz-like crystals imbedded in the ceiling, they emerged into a huge cavern similarly lit by a mighty mineral formation that looked like the organ pipes of a titan’s cathedral. Huge crystal columns, resembling those that formed the peak of the mountain, towered upwards to heights of two hundred feet and more. They formed serried ranks that shed their golden light, which crawled up their stupendous forms in slowly moving bands, upon a fantastic scene.

Around the walls of the expansive grotto were carved the elaborate facades of cave dwellings whose style was evocative of ancient Roman architecture. A small cataract tumbled from the high ceiling and formed a stream that disappeared down another tunnel. Irrigation channels carried some of its water to huge extensively spreading vines that wreathed the walls and fed the populace with their nuts and fruits.

One such vine had grown into the Master’s face – a type of communicator the Earthman had previously encountered in the citadel of the Amethyst Princess. Now he knew how these emerald people had been alerted so swiftly to their accidental arrival.

Laborers were harvesting the viands and as Carson and his companions were carried into the cavern he gazed at a nearby group of men and women. The Earthman was astonished. Each man was identical in appearance to James Rutherford, who now styled himself as the Master of Mars, and each woman was a feminine version of him. The harvesters returned his stare and the Earthman’s skin crawled as their gazes met.

There was something disturbingly inhuman about them, far more so than his ebony and amethyst companions. It was a cold and calculating intelligence that looked out from their staring golden eyes, and regarded him with the chilly contempt of those who thought themselves superior in every way.

The Earthman’s captors carried him and the women on towards the impressive façade of a dwelling on the far side of the mighty cavern. Shortly, the warriors stepped across its imposing threshold and took them down a wide colonnaded hall illuminated by crystals mounted in metal sconces set along the smoothly finished walls.

At the far end of the hall was a massive granite throne set on a high dais, and upon the throne was a gigantic figure that regarded them with cold and calculating eyes as they drew near. The three prisoners were cast like so much rubbish at the feet of the towering man. Carson looked up and met Rutherford’s disturbing inhuman gaze. From what he’d previously seen he wasn’t overly surprised.

“Are you the actual Master, or merely an image of him?” asked the Earthman.

“We are his true children,” proudly replied the Emerald King. “We are made in the image of the Master, unlike these toys, these practice pieces,” he continued, gesturing disdainfully at the women. “They are mere playthings that the Master is growing tired of; toys that in six months will be replaced by our superior kind.”

Carson felt sick. He had a good idea of how they’d be replaced – by extermination in a final bloodthirsty game – the final game the Master had alluded to during his interview. The Ebony and Amethyst people with their wooden clubs and limited firearms wouldn’t stand a chance against the steel weapons and metal amour of their Emerald murderers.

“Replaced?” gasped the Ebony Princess, shocked. “But we have served the Master loyally for many years.”

“As have my people,” added her amethyst counterpart, equally disturbed.

The Emerald King laughed derisively. “The Master’s first creations were the shambling brutes of the arena. Your kind is better, but we are best for we are made in his very image and are one with him. Why should we or the Master tolerate the existence of inferior beings?

“Through us the Master will have his revenge upon those who abandoned him. Our science slowly progresses. We have harnessed the power of the crystal formation that provides light and warmth for our cavern. With its energy we have smelted ores, produced alloys. Eventually, we would have built missiles capable of bombarding Earth with viral spores to wipe out humanity. But now the Master can bring his plans forward using this man’s spacecraft to deliver the plague. Then, unopposed, we can repopulate the Earth with our kind. It will be a new game in which the Master, ruler of two worlds, will be gloriously victorious.”

Carson had felt sick before; now he was truly ill. Clearly, the Master was a monstrous egomaniac who had created other egomaniacs in his own image. All the hallmarks of the personality disorder were present: Obsessive vengefulness, extreme aggression, overweening ambition, and a complete lack of empathy. There could be no reasoning with such beings. The Master and his dreadful clones had to be stopped, but how? If he kept the Emerald King talking the boasting fellow might reveal more.

“Why are you revealing the Master’s plans to us?” Carson asked. “What purpose does it serve?”

“It is all part of the game,” replied the Emerald King with supercilious self-assurance. “Your arrival here has proven a fortuitous accident. The Master will find it amusing, as will we, to watch the pathetic efforts of feckless fools as they hopelessly try and thwart his brilliant scheme. It will add spice to the coming entertainment.”

The Emerald King paused for a moment and cocked his head, as if listening to something only he could hear.

“The storm has passed,” he continued. “I will arrange for a flyer to convey you to the citadel of the Ebony Princess. There, you can continue the game by formulating your ineffectual plans,” he concluded sneeringly.

On this dismissive note the meeting was terminated. The King issued commands and again the trio was roughly seized. They were swiftly carried from the colonnaded hall and all the while Carson’s mind spun wild schemes to foil the Master and save the Earth from his genocidal plot.

But how could he accomplish this when the Master had hidden eyes and ears to spy upon him? The Master wasn’t a person who could be assassinated by conventional means. His mind was embedded in the World Tree and this super-organism encompassed nearly all of Mars. Where was his personality? Clearly, it couldn’t be dispersed. It must be localized. Ah, the landing site of the Venture, the first ship to arrive on this world! Rutherford had been attempting to communicate with the alien intelligence. He would have been using the ship’s equipment. His mind must be part of the World Tree’s neural system in that location.

A desperate plan sprang to Carson’s mind as he and his companions were carried down another tunnel. It was possibly a suicidal scheme, but the fate of Humanity was at stake and so he had to try. But he’d need the help of his companions. Carson hoped that now both Princesses realized the murderous Master had turned against them they would put aside their loyalty to him, their enmity for each other, and unite to face a common foe.

His thoughts were interrupted by their arrival in a smaller cavern that opened up to the outer world. Blue sky could be seen through the exit. The storm had indeed passed. The trio was hauled to a nearby flyer similar to their wrecked conveyance. It was one of a dozen vehicles parked in a row.

The captives were set down next to the flyer in preparation for boarding. It was the moment Carson had been waiting for. The Earthman moved swiftly.

“Do likewise,” he shouted to the women as he quickly stooped, grabbed one warrior by the ankle and promptly upended him. The man went down. Carson leapt. Both heels slammed against the fellow’s throat, crushing his larynx. The Earthman quickly grabbed his dying opponent’s sword. He spun around, cursed.

His companions hadn’t been swift enough. The two remaining warriors had drawn their blades and were coming at him in a maddened rush. Carson leapt back. Disaster struck. His heel caught upon a rocky protrusion. The Earthman fell, hit hard. His sword flew from his hand. He was defenseless as his foes closed swiftly and murderously upon him.

Chapter 6: Flight into Danger

As the two emerald men rushed him the Princesses acted. Each flung herself upon the charging foe in a crashing tackle worthy of a gridiron player. Carson rolled aside as both warriors were slammed against the ground.

The Earthman grabbed a sword, rammed the blade beneath one warrior’s helmet. The hapless guard died in a gush of sappy blood. Carson lunged at the other, but the fellow managed to roll aside despite the clinging amethyst woman, and the darting weapon struck stone not flesh.

Carson stepped close to strike again. The warrior’s hand shot out, clamped upon his ankle. The guard heaved and his mighty strength sent the Earthman crashing to the floor. The Ebony Princess leapt to aid her counterpart as she now wrestled wildly with her giant foeman who had struggled to his knees.

The guard flung off his amethyst opponent, was about to strike her when the Ebony Princess got him in a crushing stranglehold. The man, still kneeling, grabbed her arm and swiftly bent in such a way that flung the woman across his shoulder and violently to the ground.

The fellow lunged for his fallen blade. The Amethyst Princess leapt at him. Both collided, went down in a tangle of limbs. Carson, who had recovered, rushed to aid the woman and got her foeman in a headlock. The trio wrestled wildly, desperately against the tremendous strength of their fierce opponent. The fellow almost had the upper hand when the Ebony Princess stabbed him in the eye and pierced his brain with a captured blade.

“Why did you attack when they were going to let us go?” angrily gasped the Ebony Princess as all three got off the corpse. “You endangered our lives needlessly.”

“They were going to pilot this flyer, not give it to us and I need it. Trust me. I have a plan. But the Master’s hidden eyes and concealed ears might see and overhear us,” explained Carson. “Get us out of here and then show me how to fly the vehicle.”

The trio boarded the weird conveyance. The flyer detached itself from the feeding node of the cave’s vine, and in but moments the escapees were winging their way to freedom. Soon, Carson had mastered the flyer’s simple controls and took command of the craft, which he then steered in the direction of the Amethyst Citadel. Both women looked at him questioningly but, in the light of what he’d previously said concerning the Master’s surveillance, kept silent for the vehicle itself might be secretly monitoring them.

No more than ten minutes had elapsed when the Ebony Princess grabbed Carson’s shoulder violently.

“Look, she cried,” angrily pointing at six flyers rising from a grove beneath their speeding craft. “You’ve flown us into danger, you blundering fool.”

Carson ignored her sharp remarks and grinned instead. He’d suspected their amethyst pursuers had been grounded by the violent storm and would resume their hunt the moment it had cleared. The Earthman angled their flyer towards the mainland as the enemy swiftly rose to intercept them.

Shortly, they were above the ocean with dangerous foes in swift pursuit. The enemy gained upon them, slowly, inexorably. The worried Earthman began to sweat. Their craft was burdened with three occupants whereas the flyers of the enemy held but two. Being less laden the foe were slightly swifter and would inevitably overtake them. Would they do so before his goal was reached? Grimly, Carson pushed the disquieting thought aside and focused on wringing every bit of speed from his hurtling craft.

Time swiftly passed. The mainland loomed; the pursuing flyers drew ever nearer. The Ebony Princess looked worriedly at the closing foe. The only thing she could do was hope Carson’s secret plan was not as insane as it appeared. She looked sideways at her counterpart. The Amethyst Princess caught her gaze. Both women tensely eyed each other, each aware of the possibilities. Neither had completely put aside their hostilities.

Shortly, they were above the mainland’s coast. Carson steered the flyer along the beach in the direction of the Succor, his ship. By now the pursuing foe were mere yards away. The alarmed Earthman threw another glance behind him. An amethyst warrior stood in the bow of the lead vessel, carbine poised for firing.

“Stop, he shouted. “Release our Princess and we’ll let you go unharmed.”

Carson ignored the remark. Not so his ebony companion. She lunged, tried to grasped her counterpart in a chokehold and use her as a shield.

But her hostage was no fool. She’d anticipated this maneuver. The amethyst woman grasped her opponent’s forearm as it slipped around her throat, jerked the limb down and sank her teeth savagely into the Ebony Princess’s flesh.

The bitten woman howled; she head-butted her opponent. Both went down wrestling furiously as the amethyst warrior swiftly fired his weapon. Carson ducked and the flying dart hissed above his head. He saw the Succor on the beach below. He dived for it and at the emerald warriors guarding the ship on the Master’s hours old command. The Earthman’s guess had been correct indeed.

The emerald warriors scattered as the craft plunged right on top of them. The flyer thumped against the beach’s sand and the pursuing craft swiftly landed in an ensnaring circle. Amethyst warriors leapt from their grounded vehicles as the emerald warriors, thinking them a threat, charged towards the invading men and women.

“Defend your Princess,” Carson yelled at his pursuers. “The emerald foe intends to slay her.”

The amethyst warriors vacillated for a moment. They turned, saw the racing strangers. Then the two sides came together in a violent clash of arms. Carson grabbed his wrestling companions, hauled the Amethyst Princess off her counterpart.

“Enough,” he cried. “The real danger is from the common enemy - our emerald opponents. Follow me.”

Carson leapt from the flyer. The women, seeing the truth of his words, swiftly followed. All three wove through the madly fighting men and women, now fully occupied in butchering each other. The Earthman dodged a blow. His ebony companion blocked a wild stroke. Then the trio was through the raging chaos and dashing for the ship’s airlock.

The Earthman raced up the ramp, bounded through the open port. Carson dashed along the gangway to the bridge with the women close behind. He burst into the control room, leapt towards the autopilot and began madly punching buttons. Time was short. The emerald warriors, with greater strength and better weapons, would quickly overcome their amethyst opponents.

“Someone is coming up the passage,” tensely warned the Amethyst Princess.

Carson swore as an emerald warrior sprang within the room. Both women swiftly engaged the foe. Steel rang on steel, sparks flew. The Earthman jabbed the final button. He turned, saw the giant kick the Ebony Princess and send her crashing to the deck.

Her amethyst companion sprang swiftly at the snarling enemy. The Earthman dashed to the arms locker as the two combatants exchanged quick and brutal strokes. He pushed his thumb to the scan-lock as the ship’s power plant whined to life. The locker’s door swung open. He grabbed a revolver; thrust a cartridge in the weapon’s chamber.

Quickly, he turned to see the giant warrior’s sweeping sword strike the weapon from his companion’s hand.

“Get down,” he shouted to the Amethyst Princess as the grinning foe was about to split her skull.

Amethyst flung herself to the deck. Carson’s gun roared. The slug slammed into the warrior’s chest. He dropped like a stone. The woman gasped as his falling sword grazed her arm and rang upon the floor.

Carson jammed more cartridges into the powerful revolver as the Succor’s engines reached their highest pitch. At any moment the ship would leap skyward in preparation to execute his plan. He dashed to his companions, helped them up.

“We have to get out of here,” he cried.

The trio raced along the passageway, Carson in the lead. Two enemy warriors blocked their path. He shot them down. Then they were out and racing toward their flyer, leaping the hacked corpses strewn upon the sand. Three more foes fell before gunfire. The trio scrambled into their craft. Carson hurled the empty revolver at the last pursuer. It struck the emerald man’s helmet.

The ringing blow slowed him. Their flyer lifted and sped away. Carson turned. He saw the Succor rise. The gleaming ship climbed swiftly skyward on its invisible pillar of electromagnetic force. With distance it became a child’s toy, then a dot which soon vanished in the blue of heaven. A lump rose within Carson’s throat. Gone was the ship, gone also was all hope of returning to Earth. There hadn’t been time to transmit a message explaining what had happened. After a second mysterious disappearance who knew when another vessel would come again to Mars.

**********

Several hours had passed. Carson now stood on the ramparts of Takara, black citadel of the Ebony Princess, gazing at the army of a thousand emerald warriors sinisterly advancing towards the fortress-city’s high walls. Events had moved swiftly thanks to the support of his companions and the cooperation of the black citadel’s King. Carson’s initial fear that the ebony people would be too cowed by the Master to rebel, or have too much hatred for each other to unite had proved unfounded. Being a warrior culture they placed a high value on loyalty, and were outraged by Rutherford’s ruthless betrayal and abandonment of them.

The Master of Mars was also furious beyond measure. Carson well remembered how Rutherford had raged at him through the communications face in the Ebony King’s Chamber shortly after his arrival at the fortress. He’d added to the Master’s fury by deliberately insulting him, wounding Rutherford’s pride with insolent accusations of incompetence and stupidity. The Earthman had gloated theatrically over how he’d foiled the Master’s plans by programming the autopilot to return his ship to Earth.

“As a Wild Card have I made this game sufficiently interesting for you?” he sarcastically concluded.

By the time he’d finished Rutherford was so wild with rage that his vile threats were almost incoherent with fury.

“I’ll kill you all,” was his final howling promise. Then the face relaxed into immobility as the Master withdrew his toxic presence from the chamber.

Carson hoped his desperate plan would work. Provoking the Master was extremely dangerous, but the Earthman knew that anger impedes clear thinking. A man blinded by rage is more likely to make mistakes that a cool opponent can take advantage of, at least in theory.

The Earthman shifted his focus to the ebony warriors lining the ramparts. Each fighter was armed with spiked timber club and shield. There were also carbines in evidence, but no more than a dozen as this was the limit the Master had set on projectile weapons. Close quarters combat was what Rutherford wanted for the sake of entertainment.

Carson’s face was grim. Although evenly matched in numbers their emerald opponents were clad in metal armor and armed with steel weapons which gave them a significant advantage. The Earthman’s eyes flicked to his secret weapon - the water bottles dangling from a rope belt about each warrior’s waist.

These gourds were standard equipment for every fighting man, but at the moment weren’t filled with water. The Master’s surveillance made secrecy difficult. All of the planning had been done aboard the flyer as it had winged its way towards Takara. The creature had then been killed on arrival to prevent it from conveying their plans to Rutherford.

Part of the Earthman’s scheme had consisted of teams of men and women performing complex but meaningless tasks designed to draw the Master’s attention. It was a version of an illusionist’s deception – the left hand distracts the audience while the right performs the trick. Carson’s scheme was based on the assumption that Rutherford couldn’t be aware of everything simultaneously. He hoped his plot had worked.

The shriek of a bullroar, the signal to attack, made him turn.

The Ebony Princess was by his side.

“They come, she said, pointing.

Carson looked, tensed in nervous anticipation. The first wave of attackers was charging towards the walls – five hundred snarling swarming giants, scaling ladders gripped in meaty hands. The assault was on and in but moments the awful conflict would commence.

Chapter 7: A Different Kind of Game

The charging emerald warriors reached the walls in a howling rush. The scaling ladders were swiftly raised. Steel hooks on the uppermost ends of their side-rails securely caught the battlements. Fierce giants began their hurried ascent. Carson waited tensely until the attackers were half way up the ladders.

Then he shouted: “Hurl away.”

The ebony warriors cast two hundred water bottles upon the escalading foe. The thin gourds shattered on steel clad bodies. The enemy was drenched in a high proof alcohol similar to vodka – a product of the living citadel. Shouts of surprise and alarm burst from the emerald assailants.

Carson yelled another command. Smoldering coals concealed in clay lined gourds were hurled. They burst in flying shards and leaping sparks. The splattered spirit instantly ignited in a roar of crimson flames. Warriors screamed in agony. Burning bodies fell in a charred rain from the ladders. The enemy was thrown into confusion by the unexpected attack. The ladders, now free of weight, were swiftly hauled up by the defenders. The foe, having no means of continuing the escalade and suffering heavy losses, was forced to retreat, a barrage of fiercely hurled stones speeding them on their way.

The Earthman surveyed the scene of carnage. Dead men and women, killed by flames and fall lay strewn in contorted heaps at the base of the high ramparts. Others, not so lucky, screamed out their agony in piercing cries. Carson was sickened by the terrible sight, but knew it was a horrid case of kill or be killed.

The Ebony Princess, seeing his distress, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It is horrible,” she agreed. “Even we, who have been created for battle, find it so. Look,” she continued, diverting his thoughts. “What are they doing now?”

Carson squinted, wishing for a pair of binoculars among many other things.

“They’re bringing up a battering ram. They’re going to attack the main gate,” he warned.

“I’ll reinforce it with a detachment of warriors,” advised his companion.

Carson nodded. “Take some ladders. They might be useful as bracing.”

The Ebony Princess agreed. She hurriedly departed with fifty of her men as the worried Earthman watched the ram’s approach. The device – a long tree trunk that had been felled by a past storm - had a pointed steel cap at its forward end. Sturdy metal crossbars projected from its sides enabling the twenty four burly men to carry its massy weight. Supporting warriors bearing large shields were also there to provide protection for the ram crew.

The Earthman was worried. The alcohol and rocks had been expended. There simply hadn’t been time to obtain more. He ordered his riflemen, which had been kept in reserve, to the section of parapet above the gate. If they could kill enough of the ram crew they might render the siege weapon ineffectual.

Men moved into position. Carson waited. The only good thing about the situation was that the Master was so enraged he wasn’t thinking clearly. A sensible strategy would have been to build cannon first, or at least catapults, then attack. But so eager was Rutherford to destroy those who had defied him that he was acting with rash prematurity.

The ram advanced slowly but surely, the bulk of the emerald army behind it. Carson readied his men, issued final instructions.

“Hold you fire,” he sternly ordered. “Be sure of your aim. Every shot must fell an enemy.”

The ram drew nearer, closer to the tensely waiting warriors. It came within range. Carson barked an order. Carbines fired consecutively. A man fell, then another and another. But the dead were swiftly replaced by shield bearers and the war machine continued its relentless advance.

All shots had been expended. The carbines were now useless for it would take at least two hours for the living weapons to grow more projectiles and generate fresh methane. The ram thudded against the citadel’s portal and Carson felt the trembling vibrations of its mighty impact. Then the emerald riflemen sent forth a lethal volley.

A man beside Carson fell, and then another tumbled after him in rapid succession. The defenders quickly ducked behind the rampart’s crenulations. Carson risked a look. A crack rang out, but it was the strike of the ram rather than a rifle shot. The Earthman looked down, swore. The door had splintered under the smashing blow. Another strike would bring it down.

“Hurl your weapons at the foe,” he cried.

A shower of clubs rained brutally upon the enemy. Most bounced harmlessly off raised shields, some got through and struck helmets with stunning force. The ram’s point dropped as emerald warriors fell. Curses sounded from below. The attackers rallied. Again, the ram smashed home. There was a mighty crash as the door came down. Dust billowed as it struck the earth. The foe cheered.

Carson realized that there was no point remaining on the wall.

“To the gate,” he shouted. “Reinforce the breach.”

Down the stairs they madly dashed. Carson reached ground level. The fallen gate lay in splinters. The bracing ladders were strewn about like broken children’s toys. The first giant was pushing through the open way.

The Ebony Princess yelled a command. Gourds of thick mud were hurled at the huge emerald invader as he struggled through the narrow opening. The projectiles smashed against the warrior’s visor. Mud splattered. The man cursed, blinded by the sticky filth.

Ebony warriors dashed forward, clubs swinging wildly. They rained smashing blows upon the hapless fellow’s legs. He went down. A defender wrenched the sword from his grasp. The emerald man died, stabbed through the neck with his own weapon.

As another attacker thrust through the breach Carson grabbed a broken ladder’s side-rail. More gourds were cast at the enemy, but this warrior managed to raise his shield in time. Mud splattered harmlessly against it. The Earthman leapt forward, caught the fellow’s shield with the side-rail’s hook. He jerked the shield down. A well aimed gourd crashed against the fellow’s head. Carson slipped the hook around his neck, jerked violently. The warrior stumbled, fell. Another defender grabbed his sword and slew the emerald man with the captured weapon.

The battle continued. The gourds ran out. Slowly but surely the emerald warriors forced their way through the breach, pushing back the desperate defenders with their greater strength, size and better weapons. It was an unequal battle that could only end in defeat for the ebony warriors and the slaughter of the citadel’s inhabitance.

Carson was on the verge of giving up hope when he heard the sound of another bullroar. The Amethyst Princess and her army had at last arrived. He had contrived to make it appear as if she had escaped in a stolen Takaran flyer. The Master, in his arrogance and contempt, had failed to consider that two rivals would unite to face a common threat.

Carson shouted the news. The ebony warriors cheered. With renewed hope and vigor they pressed forward against their giant foes. From outside the voices of the enemy were raised in surprise and consternation as they were assailed from the rear. Then agonized screams and cries of panic burst out as flaming gourds of alcohol were hurled upon them.

Emerald warriors died horribly. Their losses were already heavy from the initial assault. Their supposedly inferior and smaller foes offered no easy victory. Greater strength and better weapons count for little if the fighting spirit of the wielders isn’t there. The Emerald foe, unlike their opponents had no experience in battle. They broke. They fled in ignominious defeat. Shortly, the only sound to be heard was the ringing cheers of the triumphant conquerors.

**********

An hour had passed since the battle’s end, and again Carson stood in the Ebony King’s chamber gazing at the Master’s hate contorted face. Rutherford’s countenance glared malevolently at him, brimming with volcanic fury.

“Savor your victory while you can,” bellowed Rutherford. “You have gained but a temporary reprieve. My warriors will be back, armed with more advanced weaponry. I’ll crush you pestilent insects in the end.”

“You’re not going to be in a position to crush anyone,” replied the Earthman calmly. “My ship, the Succor, will see to that.”

The Master laughed harshly. “By the time a rescue party comes from Earth in several years or more you’ll all be dead, you pathetic fool.”

Carson smiled thinly. “I told you I’d programmed the ship to return to Earth. But I didn’t tell you that it wasn’t going all the way. By now I’d say it should be back and right on top of you.”

The Master, alarm rising in him, turned his senses skyward. He perceived a glowing dot in the dome of heaven. It was falling, growing rapidly larger, surrounded by a nimbus of fire like a blazing meteor. Terror came upon Rutherford. The plunging ship would strike the vicinity of the neural complex that housed his consciousness. The vessel swelled frighteningly, and with it the Master’s terror reached a horrifying crescendo. Too late he realized his overweening confidence had been his dark downfall.

The ship struck with terrific speed. There was a tremendous flash of light. Carson heard the vast mushrooming explosion in the distance – a dull rumbling roar like the death-cry of some mighty titan. The building trembled slightly; the noise faded, then there was stillness and silence.

**********

Thirty days had elapsed since the fiery end of the Succor and the death of the Master. Much had happened with the passing of that time. Several days after the battle a diplomatic mission, led by Carson, had made its way to the stronghold of the Emerald People with the hope of establishing a peace treaty that would end further conflict.

Upon arrival and to the Earthman’s horror he discovered a citadel of corpses. It was a mass suicide that left Carson sick and shaken. The only thing he could think of was that their defeat at the hands of supposedly lesser beings, and the death of the Master had combined to utterly destroy their reason for living. It seemed that they had chosen death rather than live with the loss of their falsely exalted status.

The Earthman was in a somber mood when he returned to Takara. Here, he found a delegation awaiting him that consisted of both princesses and their kings, who could now leave their citadels without fear of retribution. The Ebony Princess, the spokesperson, stepped forward and addressed him.

“We were created for the Master’s pleasure,” she began. “But now he is dead. We have nothing to do, no one to serve. The very reason for our existence has been destroyed. This cannot be. We must have a purpose to our lives. We must have a new Master. During your absence and by agreement among ourselves we have chosen you.”

Carson looked as shocked as he felt. The last thing he wanted was to be some god-like overlord. A stern rejection was upon his lips; then he thought of the corpse strewn citadel of the Emerald People and checked his hasty words. The last thing he wanted was further mass suicides.

“I agree to your proposal,” he replied after a moment’s thought. “But there will be changes to your way of life. Your energies must be channeled into pathways that do not involve killing each other for anyone’s amusement, and for this I have a different game in mind.”

**********

From the slope of a hill Carson, with other spectators, intently watched as the two teams of ebony and amethyst people dashed across the field in wild and exuberant play, each captained by its respective princess. The game was a modified version of gridiron, the ball being replaced by a baton as the bio-factories of the citadels weren’t programmed for the manufacture of pigskins. But this in no way dampened the spirit of the enterprise.

The Earthman was focused eagerly on the game, which was in its final moments. He saw that the Ebony Princess had possession of the baton. She hurled the rod with a mighty throw from the thirty yard line. The baton whirled high into the air, spinning up and up; its thrower in swift pursuit.

Her opponents dashed madly for the falling rod, converging on it like sprinting greyhounds upon a running hare. The Ebony Princess put on a burst of speed. She drew ahead of the racing pack of friend and foe alike. For a breathtaking moment it appeared that the falling rod was a hair’s breadth ahead of her. Her fingers darted for it, securely snared the whirling baton.

She madly dashed for the end zone as the final blare of the wooden trumpet sounded. A desperate safety man flung himself at the woman; hit her in a bruising tackle. They tore up white markings as they slammed against the ground. The Amethyst King, the referee, raced across the goal line behind them, both hands raised in the air.

The crowd was on its feet. Ebony fans erupted into wild cheering. This time the Ebony Team was the winner and had beaten their Amethyst opponents 38 to 21. Supporters raced onto the field and swamped the victors in congratulatory exuberance.

Carson hung back, keeping an anxious eye on the losing Amethyst fans. They looked glum, but this time the beginnings of a riot weren’t in evidence. Both sides were slowly learning to be gracious losers despite their rivalry. Football had fortunately proven a satisfactory outlet for their warlike tendencies.

The Earthman’s long term plan was to instill in these people a sense of agency; that they were masters of their destiny and that a meaningful existence didn’t depend on servitude to any master. The next thing he planned to introduce was art. He’d discovered clay in a nearby stream as well as ochre that could form the basis of paints. Painting and pottery would stimulate their creativity and help further steer them into non-violent activities. It would also enrich their culture; something that Rutherford, in his narrow selfish way, had neglected.

Then there was the more long term goal of scientific progress using the surviving machines of the Emerald People, and preparation for contact with Earth, which would come eventually with the next terrestrial expedition.

Carson’s musings on his plans were interrupted by the arrival of the two princesses, who had broken free from the crowding ebony fans. Ebony sat on his lap, placed her arms about his neck and grinned at him.

“Tonight we celebrate the victory,” she announced, “And I think you know what that involves.”

The Earthman looked worriedly at the other woman, anticipating signs of a rival’s jealously. Over the past several days both Princesses had been making sexual overtures whose frankness was brazen to say the least. Now that the constant dangers had passed their growing feelings, heretofore suppressed by constant threats, were now capable of free and vigorous expression.

Carson’s reticence wasn’t because he found the looks of either unsettling. By now he’d become accustomed to their strange appearance, and could see beyond it. Despite all differences they were essentially human. Nor was it prudish morality or personal dislike that made him hesitant. Initially, both had been quite waspish towards him. But with the death of the Master they could be themselves rather than play a serotype and now he found them warm and likeable.

Carson didn’t want to spend his life alone. What held him back was cultural misunderstanding on his part. By human standards these people were extremely promiscuous. The womb-pods effected reproduction. For them sex was a purely recreational activity as there was no connection between coition and pregnancy. Consequently, sexual jealously, which in humans results from the desire for reproductive exclusivity, did not exist. It was an alien state of affairs that Carson was still having trouble getting his head around.

Amethyst grinned, guessing something of his concern – that no matter what he said or did some kind of trouble spawned by jealousy lay ahead.

“Your bed is big enough for the three of us,” she boldly said as she too placed her arms around him. Then, turning to her royal counterpart: “Don’t you agree?”

Ebony enthusiastically seconded her opinion. Carson grinned with relief, and thus the matter was decisively and pleasantly resolved.

THE END