The Amethyst City. John Russell Fearn
exploring matters far beyond the average ken of Earth science, but her heart was not in it. For increasingly long periods she would stand at the bench, her violet eyes fixed on distance, her whole body rigid. Relka was becoming alarmed, though he did his best not to show it.
It was on the morning when the Amazon collapsed suddenly that he felt he had to speak. One moment she was working with an electrical machine; the next, she sprawled helplessly on the floor, and remained there with her eyes wide open and every muscle rigid. With his gigantic strength the Jovian had no difficulty in lifting her. He carried her to a divan in the lounge. But it was four hours before she began to relax and return to normal.
“Amazon, just what is the matter?” his thoughts demanded. “A woman of your flawless physique should not be subject to this kind of thing. You have got to find out the cause!”
She was silent for a while, relaxed on the divan, her eyes half narrowed as she concentrated.
“Physically I was unconscious,” she said at length, “but mentally I was completely alive. I saw that amethyst city again. I also saw—Abna.” Her voice caught a little. “It was the most extraordinarily vivid dream I have ever known. Yet—just a dream.”
“Obviously, Amazon, you have got to rid yourself of these delusions—for that’s what they are. They are overriding you, clouding your judgment.”
She was silent, reflecting.
“I am your closest friend,” Relka continued earnestly. “I have watched you slowly sink into these queer mental wanderings for over a year now. It alarms me. If the Amazon loses her powers of scientific genius, her gift for lightning thinking, what is to happen to everybody? You know perfectly well the System cannot live comfortably without your influence and guiding hand.”
The Amazon hesitated over saying something, then glanced up as the bell attached to the front door’s photo-electric circuit operated. On a screen over the bell appeared the face of Chris Wilson, head of the Dodd Space Line, and husband of the Amazon’s foster sister.
“Come in, Chris,” the Amazon said, getting to her feet—and the impact of her voice waves released the front door’s complicated lock. Chris Wilson entered the lounge, then hesitated in some alarm, as he saw the mighty Jovian.
“Nothing to be afraid of, Chris,” the Amazon said, with a tired smile. “This is Relka of Jupiter—a trusted friend. Relka—Chris Wilson.”
“Greetings, Earthman,” responded Relka’s thoughts, and picking up courage, Chris Wilson came forward. He was a plump, grey-headed man of middle age, neatly dressed, carrying a bulging briefcase.
“I’ve tried three times to contact you, Vi,” he said, “and assumed you were away in space somewhere. I need your signature to one or two documents.”
“Concerning what?” The Amazon looked impatient.
“Well, you are still a director of the Dodd Space Line, or had you forgotten?”
“Sorry,” the Amazon apologized. “I’m not quite myself.”
“I’ll go back to the lab,” Relka said. “You will wish to talk in private.”
He departed and Chris gave the Amazon a puzzled glance as he put his briefcase on the table. She was pacing slowly up and down, pushing an amber-tinted hand through her thick mass of golden hair.
“What’s the matter, Vi? It would sound ridiculous if I asked if you are well. You’re never anything else.”
She glanced at him abstractedly, then without speaking, signed the documents he spread out for her. This done, she raised her unfathomable eyes to look at him.
“Chris, I think Sefner Quorne is at work,” she said, and his face clouded.
“There has always been that possibility, of course. You saw him disappear on Saturn, but never found out any more.”
“Things are happening to me,” the Amazon continued. “Things that could not happen in the ordinary way because my will and body are normally so strong. I think Quorne is at work with long-distance hypnosis. For a year I have not been complete mistress of myself. I am lazy, have little interest in science, and keep going off in long spells of meditation. Everything culminated this morning when I collapsed. For four hours I was mentally in chains.”
Chris Wilson’s eyes searched the Amazon’s perfect features.
“And what happened during that period? Can you remember?”
“I saw the amethyst city of Saturn, and Abna. I was with him in that city. I spent what I might call the most physically satisfying time of my life there.”
“But I thought you said Quorne was back of everything.”
“I believe he is. By long-range hypnosis he could suggest anything. He would naturally not give any hint of himself being present, so he used as bait the one person whom I would go to the ends of the universe to see again—Abna. Since Abna is dead, it can only be Quorne who produced that illusion. The reason is plain. He is on Saturn and is trying to lure me there. My reasoning is that for over a year he has been trying to pin me down mentally, and now he has succeeded. He is throwing out a bait, knowing he can never come to Earth and deal with me because I’d be too quick for him.”
Chris reflected for a while. “Well, you know more about these things than I do. I suppose it is possible—but I thought Saturn was a planet of hurricanes, gaseous mud, and death. And I also thought the amethyst city, from what you told me earlier, was an illusion.”
“Possibly so, but Quorne knows I saw it on my first trip to Saturn when I was chasing him, and he knows how anything unusual excites my curiosity. He might even have transported hypnotic projectors from Jupiter and be using them on Saturn. Whatever the answer, I am satisfied it is a bait.”
“I suppose you’re right. It—it couldn’t be Abna himself, could it?”
The Amazon shook her head. “I have accepted the unalterable fact that he is dead, Chris. No, it’s Quorne—and I feel I should accept this challenge, even though I am convinced it is a trick.”
“That sounds like taking needless risks, Vi, and I never knew you to do that.”
“I have to take it because Quorne has got to be destroyed. No world is safe as long as he lives. I don’t know where he is—so I fancy that if I go to Saturn he’ll make sure I find him because he’ll try to destroy me. It’s worth that risk to try to destroy him.”
Chris smiled a little and patted the Amazon’s steel-strong arm.
“I learned long ago not to waste time arguing with you, Vi, so it’s up to you,” he said. “All I can do is wish you good luck.”
With that he turned away and left the lounge. The front door opened automatically for him and closed again. The Amazon stood thinking for a while, her eyes bright at the thought of action again. Nothing was more calculated to bring her to virile life than a challenge.
A faint sound behind her made her turn suddenly. She frowned, not observing anything different in the lounge. Then she saw that something had been added to the big polished table in the room’s centre. It caught the incoming sunlight and reflected a myriad entrancing colours. Puzzled, she gazed down in wonder at a superbly wrought casket. But how it had got there was a mystery.
Picking it up, she turned it over and over in her hands, searching for the lock. She found it presently, a diamond stud inset into the basket’s metal. The stud clicked under pressure, the lid flew up—then from the casket’s interior there sprang something utterly incredible.
The Amazon jumped back as an object like a small snake fell to the carpet. She watched it in amazement. It was growing with tremendous rapidity, both in length and breadth. In perhaps a dozen seconds it was six feet long and six inches wide. There did not seem to be any distinct type of head, only a flattish extension of the main length with two vicious eyes, lidless and hypnotic.
The