Another man was struggling with two nurses, as if anxious to fight. Winchester strode on through and into a solarium where others sat, pale and wan, but awake and sane. They were distinguished-looking men, most of them, all highly intelligent.
"It is working," he said, with an air of profound relief. "It was the most daring part of my gamble."
Cynthia looked at him inquiringly.
"You see," he explained, "more than half of these men are of pronounced liberal views. Had there been a prolonged civil war, all of them would have been killed. It was not because I wanted to impress Lohan with my zeal, but to save these men, that I placed them in the quiet backwater of the Crater of Dreams.
"I had experimented on myself and had found there was an antidote for the Lotus habit. I was hopeful it would work on others, but I could not be sure, especially in cases of long standing.
"By blending the powerful stimulant ergogen with Lotusol and injecting it, we give an almost negative dose. Gradually, by reducing the drug and increasing the stimulant, the patient is brought out of the habit without shock.
"You have seen the three main stages. Most of the patients will come back. If they do not, my revolution was fought in vain.
"Cynthia, you spoke of kings. Civilization would lapse into barbaric chaos without men like these. They are the true kings of tomorrow — a Congress of Kings!"
"You are strong. You have saved civilization. Why don't you run it?" Cynthia asked heatedly, out of her blind loyalty.
"Because," he answered bluntly. "I don't know enough. No single man is good enough to play god. It is all very well to say that a benevolent despotism is the happiest form of government. But who is to succeed the despot when he dies?
"Who is to slap him down if he gets swell-headed and begins to believe what his yes-men tell him? It is too much of a load to throw on any one human being. History is full of men who started out well, but the sequel is invariably ugly. Too much power is not good for even the greatest man."
Winchester chose his words slowly.
"Civilization is an intricate mechanism today — a human mechanism. The despot, the dictator is a back number. Today we need scientists — chemists, physicists and the like.
"We need artists of every kind — not impractical dreamers, but men and women who can make the world a better place in which to live, because of the talent God has given them.
"We need economists and administrators to manage our industrial and agricultural system. We need architects to plan, engineers to build, physicians to keep our bodies healthy. We need a form of government which serves as an arbiter for all classes, so that no one group may have undue advantage over the other."
There was puzzlement in the girl's eyes.
"But — but it took a man of your stature, Allan, to overthrow the old regime, so that all these things may be possible!"
Winchester kissed her for that.
"Right you are, darling. But I was only the instrument of man's conscience, nothing more. I have done my job. Now I shall turn my power over to democratically constituted authority. Things do not always work smoothly in a democracy, I'll grant you that.
"But it does have one paramount advantage. It's flexible. No one man can ever seize dictatorial power. Mistakes may be made, and are. But in the long run, things work out for the best."
He took Cynthia in his arms then, held her for a long fervent embrace. He released her and walked back through the wards. He wanted to be alone now. He wanted to savor his great triumph in the privacy of his own soul.
He wanted to plan for the morrow when the Solar System would be once more the master of its destiny.
Allan Winchester was at peace with himself, at last.
In the days that followed, he disbanded his army. He had needed brute force to overcome brute force, since that was the only language the enemy understood. Hereafter there would be no need of it.
Heim took over the management of Lunar Tramways, and his other followers similarly fell into their proper places in the restored Utopia. Each went back to his former place, with head held high and confidence in the future. Hereafter they would be working for themselves and their fellows, not under the lash of slave-drivers.
The culminating moment came when Winchester addressed the assembled scientists and technicians at the new Constitutional Convention.
"It's all yours now," he told them. "Take care only that what you have endured will not have to be endured again."
The Earth ferry that day had two eager passengers, who pressed their noses against the forward lookout port, who exclaimed in wonder as the glories of the mother planet unfolded themselves before them.
"It's good to get back to Earth again," Cynthia said.
"Yes," agreed Winchester. "I was not born to be a leader of men. I like my own little job better."
"And what are you — we — going to do," she ventured, "now that you have resigned?"
"We are going to a warm, moist place. Louisiana, I think, will be best. And there I mean to establish an experimental farm. There are many of those exotic plants that interest me, and there are a number that can be adapted to Earthly use."
"Oh, those horrid things!" she exclaimed, remembering the blood-curdling story Princess Chen Chin had told her of the rock-throwing Martian pitcher-plants.
She had memories, too, of men and equipment blown apart by the ferocious floribombs, and the slimy creeping of the Martian migrant moss.
"They are not all horrid." Winchester smiled. "There is one I think you are going to like — and need."
"Need? I can't imagine."
"It comes from Venus. They call it the Marionettal."
"A nettle! Ugh!"
"No, no. Not nettle," he corrected, slipping an arm around her. "Marionettal. It is a fat little plant and smells good. But best of all, its fruit is peculiarly interesting. It resembles human puppets — comical, grotesque figures. When you dry them, they make perfect dolls."
"So," she said, "you save the human race. Then you get wacky over the idea of having a couple of doll-bearing trees in the yard — "
"You are beautiful, angel, but dumb," he said, taking up a couple of notches in his grip. "If I'm any judge of the future — and I've been around in it quite a lot — in a couple of years you're going to find those trees pretty darned handy."
"Oh, Allan," she said, when he let her breathe again, "you are so practical!"
Wreckers of the Star Patrol
Wreckers of the Star Patrol
CHAPTER I. Venus — World Of Slavery!
CHAPTER II. Promotion To — Sabotage!
CHAPTER III. Cold-World Conquest