Karl accepted this philosophically. He had a far higher regard for Venusians than the great majority of Earthmen, but even he experienced a faint disdain for the ultra-emotional character of Antil and his kind. This brooding silence was but a manifestation of feelings that in Karl would perhaps have resulted in no more than a sigh or a frown. Realizing this, Antil’s mood scarcely affected him.
Yet the memory of the haunting fright in Antil’s eyes aroused a faint unease. It had come after the translation of that queer slab. What secret could have been revealed in that message by those scientific progenitors of the Venusians?
It was with some diffidence that Karl finally persuaded himself to ask, “What did the slab say, Antil? It must be interesting, I judge, considering that you’ve taken it with you.”
Antil’s reply was simply a sign to hurry, and the Venusian thereupon plunged into the gathering darkness with redoubled speed. Karl was puzzled and rather hurt. He made no further attempt at conversation for the duration of the trip.
When they reached Aphrodopolis , however, the Venusian broke his silence. His puckered face, drawn and haggard, turned to Karl with the expression of one who has come to a painful decision.
“Karl,” he said, “we have been friends, so I wish to give you a bit of friendly advice. You are going to leave for Earth next week. I know your father is high in the councils of the Planetary President. You yourself will probably be a personage of importance in the not-too-distant future. Since this is so, I beg you earnestly to use every atom of your influence to a moderation of Earth’s attitude toward Venus. I, in my turn, being a hereditary noble of the largest tribe on Venus, shall do my utmost to repress all attempts at violence.”
The other frowned. “There seems to be something behind all this. I don’t get it at all. What are you trying to say?”
“Just this. Unless conditions are bettered-and soon- Venus will rise in revolt. In that case, I will have no choice but to place my services at her feet, and then Venus will no longer be defenceless.”
These words served only to amuse the Earthman. “Come, Antil, your patriotism is admirable, and your grievances justified, but melodrama and chauvinism don’t go with me. I am, above all, a realist.”
There was a terrible earnestness in the Venusian’s voice. “Believe me, Karl, when I say nothing is more real than what I tell you now. In case of a Venusian revolt, I cannot vouch for Earth’s safety.”
“Earth’s safety!” The enormity of this stunned Karl.
“Yes,” continued Antil, “for I may be forced to destroy Earth. There you have it.” With this, he wheeled and plunged into the underbrush on the way back to the little Venusian village outside the great dome.
Five years passed-years of turbulent unrest, and Venus stirred in its sleep like an awakening volcano. The shortsighted Terrestrial masters of Aphrodopolis , Venusia , and other domed cities cheerfully disregarded all danger signals. When they thought of the little green Venusians at all, it was with a disdainful grimace as if to say, “Oh, THOSE things!”
But “those things” were finally pushed beyond endurance, and the nationalistic Green Bands became increasingly vociferous with every passing day. Then, on one grey day, not unlike the grey days preceding, crowds of natives swarmed upon the cities in organized rebellion.
The smaller domes, caught by surprise, succumbed. In rapid succession New Washington, Mount Vulcan , and St. Denis were taken, together with the entire eastern continent, Before the reeling Terrestrials realized what was happening, half of Venus was no longer theirs.
Earth, shocked and stunned by this sudden emergency-which, of course, should have been foreseen-sent arms and supplies to the inhabitants of the remaining beleaguered towns and began to equip a great space fleet for the recovery of the lost territory.
Earth was annoyed but not frightened, knowing that ground lost by surprise could easily be regained at leisure, and that ground not now lost would never be lost. Or such, at least, was the belief.
Imagine, then, the stupefaction of Earth’s leaders as no pause came in the Venusian advance. Venusia City had been amply stocked with weapons and food; her outer defences were up, the men at their posts. A tiny army of naked, unarmed natives approached and demanded unconditional surrender. Venusia refused haughtily, and the messages to Earth were mirthful in their references to the unarmed natives who had become so recklessly flushed with success.
Then, suddenly, no more messages were received, and the natives took over Venusia .
The events at Venusia were duplicated, over and over again, at what should have been impregnable fortresses. Even Aphrodopolis itself, with half a million population, fell to a pitiful five hundred Venusians. This, in spite of the fact that every weapon known to Earth was available to the defenders.
The Terrestrial Government suppressed the facts, and Earth itself remained unsuspecting of the strange events on Venus; but in the inner councils, statesmen frowned as they listened to the strange words of Karl Frantor, son of the Minister of Education.
Jan Heersen, Minister of War, rose in anger at the conclusion of the report.
“Do you wish us to take seriously the random statement of a half-mad Greenie and make our peace with Venus on its own terms? That is definitely and absolutely impossible. What those damned beasts need is the mailed fist. Our fleet will blast them out of the Universe, and it is time that it were done.”
“The blasting may not be so simple, Heersen,” said the gray-haired, elder Frantor, rushing to his son’s defence. “There are many of us who have all along claimed that the Government policy toward the Venusians was all wrong. Who knows what means of attack they have found and what, in revenge, they will do with it?”
“Fairy Tales!” exclaimed Heersen. “You treat the Greenies as if they were people. They’re animals and should be thankful for the benefits of civilization we brought them. Remember, we’re treating them much better than some of our own Earth races were treated in our early history, the Red Indians for example.”
Karl Frantor burst in once more in an agitated voice. “We must investigate, sirs! Antil’s threat is too serious to disregard, no matter how silly it sounds-and in the light of the Venusian conquests, it sounds anything but silly. I propose that you send me with Admiral von Blumdorff, as a sort of envoy. Let me get to the bottom of this before we attack them.”
The saturnine Earth President, Jules Debuc, spoke now for the first time. “Frantor’s proposal is reasonable, at least. It shall be done. Are there any objections?”
There were none, though Heersen scowled and snorted angrily. Thus, a week later, Karl Frantor accompanied the space armada of Earth when it set off for the inner planet.
It was a strange Venus that greeted Karl after his five years’ absence. It was still its old soaking self, its old dreary, monotony of white and grey, its scattering of domed cities-and yet how different.
Where before the haughty Terrestrials had moved in disdainful splendour among the cowering Venusians, now the natives maintained undisputed sway. Aphrodopolis was a native city entirely, and in the office of the former governor sat -Antil.
Karl eyed him doubtfully, scarcely knowing what to say. “I rather thought you might be king-pin,” he managed at length. “You-the pacifist.”
“The choice was not mine. It was that of circumstance,” Antil replied. “But you, I did not expect you to be your planet’s spokesman.”
“It was to me that you made your silly threat years ago, and so it is I who was most pessimistic concerning your rebellion. I come, you see, but not unaccompanied.” His hand motioned vaguely upward, where spaceships lazed motionless and threatening.