Two of the previous arrivals were arguing heatedly: one a soldier, the other a shabby man wearing a cloth cap and a red brassard. The Aryans let them shout, enjoying the spectacle.
Nash heard the soldier say: "If you Communists hadn't—"
The other—an obvious Lenin—interrupted: "We had to do what we did because of Historical Necessity. If you degenerate bourgeois had co-operated—"
"Yeah? By 'co-operate' you guys mean let you be God almighty—"
"Of course! If you weren't blinded by slimy social-fascist prejudices, you'd see—ah!" The Lenin glared venomously at Nash."One of the decadent aristocracy! I thought we'd liquidated them all, but I guess the Aryan bloodsuckers will—"
"Silence!" The nearest Aryan kicked the Lenin, who folded up with a howl. A punch in the face brought him back upright, spitting out a tooth.
Nash and his two companions were lined up with the other victims; their handcuffs were changed around to one per man. After an excruciating wait, the boss Aryan addressed them: "According to da regulations, you must be executed in alphabetical order. So—"
"Ah, commander!" growled Arslan Bey."We have a favor to ask."
"Vot?"
"If you intend to slay us all, allow me the boon of killing this villainous unbeliever de Nêche!"
"De Nêche?" cried the soldier."That's the traitor who didn't deliver the message! Let me at him!"
A general wrangle broke out. The Lenin grinned brokenly through his little blond beard."So that's de Nêche? Seems to me he showed almost proletarian realism! He made our coup possible. Of course since gratitude is a mere bourgeois superstition, I'd kill him anyway—"
"Silence! Silence!" The usual kicks quieted the dispute. One Aryan said to the boss: "Since dey love each odder so, vy not give them knives and let dem fight it out?"
"Not according to da regulations! Now, sub-men, give me your names. You?" He addressed a mild-looking civilian.
"Zwuggle," answered the man promptly.
"Vot?"
"Zwuggle! Z-W-U-G—"
"Dere is no such name! You are trying to get a place at de end of da line! Answer truthfully or you vill be executed!"
"But you're going to execute me anyway!" said the astralite plaintively."And it really is Zwug-gle!"
"I don't believe it. Put him at da beginning of da line. Now ve know dis Asiatic is named Arslan Bey; he is an A. Put him next to Herr Zwuggle. De Nêche, dat is a D—"
"It's an N!" protested Nash."I'm listed under N in the phone book—"
"Vot is a phone book? I never heard of it, so dere can be no such thing. Get over dere, schwein, or—"
"I know," said Nash."I'll be executed."
"Your name?"
"Harris."
"Stand dere. Your name?"
"Wright."
"R goes dere."
"It's a W!"
"You said 'Wright, ' not 'Vright. ' Next?"
This was the Lenin."Darmer!" he cried."Nikolai Frunze Darmer!"
"Party name or real name?"
"Party name, of course. My real name begins with S, but a proletarian hero like me doesn't purchase a few lousy minutes of life by telling his real name to cowardly murderers like—"
A tattoo of punches and kicks ended the demonstration. The rest of the party was soon sorted out. Then there was another wait while the Aryans conferred among themselves; a messenger was dispatched somewhither, and returned twenty minutes later.
The boss Aryan grinned sardonically."I am so sorry ve cannot do you de honor of meeting da regular executioner, but he vas killed last night and has not been replaced. So—" Another Aryan stepped forward, swung up a light battle-ax, and brought it down, chunk, on the skull of the unfortunate Zwuggle.
The civilian went down, grinning by halves. The Aryan stepped in front of Arslan Bey. Chunk! Then the Lenin, who cried: "We shall be avenged! The masses will—" Chunk!
Nash knew that one could not run well with one's hands tied behind one's back, but he was determined to try. The only person between him and death was a certain Davis, a young man in a baseball-player's uniform. Mr. Davis tried to avert his fate by dodging the ax, which sliced off an ear and buried itself in his shoulder. The baseball player shrieked and jerked back; the next blow smashed his jaw. He fell supine, and the Aryan stepped forward and systematically chopped his face into red ruin. The other Aryans laughed.
"Ach, was ist—"
"Achtung!"
The laughter died; the Aryans stared horrified past their victims. Nash craned his neck.
A monstrous army was erupting out of the trees on the west side of the field. Strung out in open order from one end of the field to the other was a line of things somewhat resembling Kulu, the late ex-sultan's pet ape. But these were eight feet tall, wore steel helmets and breastplates, and each one had four arms full of lethal weapons.
And just behind the center of the line came a rider whose mount seemed to have been assembled out of spare parts from all the monsters of mythology. - Its head was like that of a huge turtle, except that it had ears and horns. Its body and limbs were shaped like those of a bear, but were covered with scales. Its massive tail ended in a ball of spikes.
A gun roared from the skirmish line, and the head of an Aryan vanished—or to be accurate, sprayed all over his fellows. The boss Aryan shouted: "Sieg heil!" and pushed through the line of executionees toward the apes.
The victims came to life and ran in all directions. The remaining Aryans rushed after their leader, echoing his war cry. The firing became hot; Nash, running awkwardly like the rest, sighted a hollow and dived into it.
He was still straining futilely at the handcuffs when the firing ceased and a voice said: "Excuse me, your honor, but are you the man with the soul of Prosper Nash?"
Nash looked up: one of the apes was bending over his depression.
"Uh-huh," said Nash."Now what do you want to execute me for?"
"Oh, sir, nothing of the sort!" The ape put a tin whistle to his huge mouth and blew. A slight tremor of the earth hinted that the composite beast was approaching.
Nash rolled over and tried to rise, but found that getting up from a prone position with one's hands manacled behind one takes special technique. As he thrashed among the weeds, the ape reached down, gathered the nape of his jacket into one hairy hand, and set Nash gently but firmly on his feet.
The first group of Aryans had disappeared. The skirmish line had crossed most of the field. Nash, looking at their backs, saw a group of Aryans emerge from the trees beyond them. There was a brief moment of thunderous gunfire, and those Aryans were gone too. Other apes streamed out of the woods following the skirmish line.
The turtle-headed monstrosity lumbered up, and a massive young man in riding breeches vaulted off. This individual combined the physique of a heavyweight champ with the face of—Montague Allen Stark.
"You're Nash?" he said crisply, extending a hand."Good. Looks as though we weren't any too quick. We were created primarily to rescue you, and secondarily to clean up the Aryans." He cocked his head as gunfire broke out."Those are my babies now." He looked surprised as Nash appeared to ignore his hand, until Nash showed him the handcuffs.
"That's easy," he said. He signaled to the ape, who snapped the chain.
"Thanks," said Nash."What's your name?"
"Let me see... haven't gotten used to it yet... I know! Flash Rogers Stark! Anything else we can do for you?"
"I... uh... don't know yet. I'm sort of at sea... hullo, look who's here!"
A tall angry figure was approaching, all but his bare feet and glabrous head wrapped in yards of gray wool."You!" roared Tukiphat."It took me two hours to get free of that anathematized rope! What have you done with the Shamir, O youth of little prudence?"
"Now see here, sir," said Flash Rogers Stark, "I've got orders to protect Mr. Nash, and—"