Tarrano the Conqueror | Page 3

the first. At 6:15 word came from Tokyohama,[2] that
the ruler of Allied Mongolia was dead--murdered under similar
circumstances. And ten minutes later from Mombozo, Africa, the
blacks reported their leader killed while asleep in his official residence.
[Footnote 2: Tokyo-Yokohama, Japan.]
The Earth momentarily was without leadership!
I was struggling to get accounts of these successive disasters out over
our audiophones. Above my desk, in a duplicating mirror from
Headquarters, I could see that at the palace of Mombozo a throng of
terrified blacks were gathered. It was night there--a blurred scene of
flashing lights and frightened, milling people.
Greys--next to me--had a mirror tuned to Tokyohama. The sun there
was shining upon almost a similar scene of panic. Black and yellow
men--on opposite sides of the Earth. And between them our white races
in turmoil. Outside my own window I could hear the shouts of the
crowd that jammed the Twentieth Level.
Greys leaned toward me. "Seven o'clock, Jac. You've got the arrival of
the Venus mail. Don't overlook it ... By the code, man, your hands are
shaking! You're white as a ghost!"
The Venus mail; I had forgotten it completely.
"Greys, I wonder if it'll get in."

He stared at me strangely. "You're thinking that, too. I told the British
National Announcer it was a Venus plot. He laughed at me. Those
Great Londoners can't see their fingers before them. He said, 'That's
your lurid sense of newscasting.'"
Venus plot! I remembered my impressions of the Venus man who was
beside me when our President fell.
Greys was back at his work. I swept the south shore of Eastern Island[3]
with my finder, and picked up the image of the inter-planetary landing
stage, at which the Venus mail was due to arrive. I could see the blaze
of lights plainly; and with another, closer focus I caught the huge
landing platform itself. It was empty.
[Footnote 3: Now Long Island.]
The station-master there answered my call. He had no word of the mail.
"Try the lookout at Table Mountain," he advised me. "They may be
coming down that way.... Sure I'll let you know.... What a night! They
say that in Mediterrania--"
But I cut off; it was no time to chat with him. Table Mountain,
Capetown, had no word of the mail. Then I caught the Yukon Station.
The mail flyer had come down on the North Polar side--was already
crossing Hudson Bay.
At 8:26 it landed on Eastern Island. A deluge of Venus despatches
overwhelmed me. But the mail news, before I could even begin to
handle my section of it, was far overshadowed. Venus, now at 8:44 was
calling us by helio. The message came in the inter-planetary code, was
decoded at National Headquarters, and from there flashed to us.
The ruler of the Venus Central State was murdered! An almost
incoherent message. The murder of the ruler, at a time co-incident with
6:30 in Greater New York. Then the words:
"City being attacked ... Tarrano, beware Tarrano ... You are in danger

of ..."
In danger of what? The message broke off. The observers, behind their
huge telescopes at the Potomac Headquarters, saw the helio-lights of
the Venus Central State go dark suddenly. Our own station flashed its
call, but there was no answer. Venus--evening star on that date--was
sinking to the horizon. But our Observatory in Texas could see the
planet clearly; and gave the same report.
Communication was broken. The authorities of the Venus Central
State--friendly to us in spite of the recent immigration controversy--had
tried to warn us.
Of what?
CHAPTER II
Warning
It must have been nearly nine o'clock when a personal message came
for me. Not through the ordinary open airways, but in the National
Length, and coded. It came to my desk by official messenger, decoded,
printed and sealed.
Jac Hallen, Inter-Allied News. Come to me, North-east Island at once,
if they can spare you. Important. Answer.
Dr. Brende.
Our Division Manager scanned the message curiously and told me I
could go. I got off my answer. I did not dare call Dr. Brende openly,
since he had used the code, but sent it the same way. I would be up at
once.
With a word of good-bye to Greys, I shoved aside my work, caught up
a heavy jacket and cap and left the office. The levels outside our
building were still jammed with an excited throng. I pushed my way
through it, up to the entrance to the Staten Bridge. The waters of the

harbor beneath me had a broad band of moonlight upon them, dim in
the glare of the city lights. I glanced upward with satisfaction. A good
night for air-traveling.
My small personal air-car was on the stage near the bridge entrance.
The attendant