"Still," said Slador thoughtfully, "you have really accomplished little. It would take a thousand men as many years to redistribute the tribute Garroway’s army has exacted from the people of your homeland—"
"That is true. But this is only a beginning; a few, minor incidents created to strike fear and awe into Garroway’s hirelings. Later, I will strike at more vital spots. And as for men…there will be not thousands, but millions, to rally when Garroway’s force begins to weaken."
Slador nodded.
"Yes, that I believe. It is the history of mankind. Ever there have been millions to arise when oppression grows unbearable."
A remembered question stirred in Dirk’s mind; something which had vaguely puzzled him in his previous conversations with the Nadronian. He asked, "How is it, Ptan Slador, you know so much about the history of Earthmen? And how, even more strangely, does it come about that you of Nadron and we of Earth are identical in physical structure? Man’s space-vessels have flamed to the farthermost planets of our sun, but nowhere else was ever found a life-form similar to that on our own Earth.
"The Venusians resemble us, but are taller by many feet, heavier, slower of wit. The Plutonians again look like us…save for the fact that their skins are green. Yet you, not only removed from our Solar Galaxy, but from our very ken of knowledge, might be a brother of my own."
The Ptan smiled slowly.
"And so, in fact, I am, Dirk Morris."
"What?"
"A brother many times and many centuries removed. Tell me…have you never heard of the land of Aztlan?"
"Azt—?" Dirk pondered, shook his head. "No. I’m afraid I have not, Slador. Where was it…or is it?"
"It was," answered the older man, "an island in the ocean you Earthmen now call the ‘Atlantic’ The very ocean takes its name from our once-great nation—"
"Aztlan!" ejaculated Morris. "Atlantis! Of course! Now I remember. It is a myth…a fable…of an island which sank beneath the waves countless centuries ago! But surely, sir, you don’t mean—?"
*
"I mean," Slador assured him gravely, "that legend is no fable, but veritable truth. Yes, my son, there was such an island…and we of Nadron were once the rulers of that island, and of your world.
"Its ancientness is not measured in centuries, but in millennia. How long we descendants of the Atlanteans have lived on Nadron, our archives do not tell. Those who fled hither from the holocaust that deluged our former home could not bring with them the impedimenta of a cultured civilization. We had to fight our way upward from semi-barbarism to our present state of living…and even yet we have not regained all the lost lore of Aztlan."
Dirk said humbly, "Great must have been the wisdom of your forebears to be able to transfer themselves from a sinking island to this place. I understand, now, your interest in Earth. It is more than just sympathy for us…it is a natural love for a land which once was yours."
"Yes," said the Ptan. "A land which once we ruled, and now have lost forever. But enough of this, my son. You were telling me of your adventures—?"
"Yes," said Dirk, remembering. "There was one thing happened which I do not understand. In the boudoir of the Princess Lenore, Ptan Slador, I was visible for a few seconds! Why was that?"
Slador stared at him in astonishment.
"Visible! Impossible!"
"That’s what I thought. But it is true, sir. I saw my own image in the Princess’ mirror—"
"Mirror! Ah!" exclaimed the Ptan. "Now I begin to understand. This mirror…it was not plain, silvered glass? It was, perhaps, quartz?"
"Possibly," admitted Dirk. "I would not know about such things, sir."
"Undoubtedly," mused his advisor, "it must have been a rock-quartz mirror. That is the only Earthly substance of dual isotopic form. Its converse refractions hold and trap not only the normal vibrations of your system, but harmonic vibrations as well. Surely your scientists know this. Many hundreds of years ago, I know they experimented with the use of quartz substances in both light and sound transmission.
"But we are not so interested now in causes as in results. Do you think the Princess saw you in this mirror?"
"I…I am afraid so," confessed Dirk. "It was her astonishment that attracted my gaze to the glass. Of course, I shattered the mirror instantly. But too late to keep her from seeing—"
"If, of course," interrupted a cool voice, "she was not as bemused as yourself."
"Eh?" Dirk spun, flushing in swift embarrassment as his eyes met those of Slador’s daughter. Rima’s lips were lifted in a light smile which, oddly, was not altogether of amusement. "Oh, you mean…then, you…you saw?"
"You do let business interfere with pleasure, do you, Dirk Morris?" laughed the girl. "Yes, I am sorry, but I must confess to having been an innocent witness to your…momentary digression. It was inexcusable of me, I know, but I was so interested in your endeavors that I turned on the visor to follow your adventures, and—"
"Rima," blurted Dirk, "you must believe me…it was nothing. I mean, the Princess means nothing to me. I—"
He stopped, his embarrassment heightening with his color as he realized how any attempt at explanation merely made an already awkward situation worse. It suddenly mattered to him terribly that Rima should have watched that impulsive episode between himself and the Emperor’s daughter. He had no right, he knew, to think of Rima as other than a girl who had befriended him on an alien world…but somehow he already did. At first sight of her, a new meaning had entered into his life.
It did not soothe him that Rima turned away his explanation with a laughing shrug.
"Oh, but do not misunderstand me, Dirk Morris. It does not concern me in the least how you amuse yourself in your lighter moments. And your other exploits were, I must acknowledge, thrilling to watch…in a somewhat different way."
Dirk said miserably, "Please! It was an impulse…one I regretted immediately. The Princess Lenore means nothing to me…nothing. I shall never lay eyes on her again in my life...."
V
In that one statement, Morris was mistaken. He made it in all good faith, but its truth was a matter over which he was not to have full control.
Two weeks passed. Two weeks filled with excitement and adventure. Two weeks during which Dirk Morris made good his pledge to the assembled brothers of the Group, now safely in hiding.
During that fortnight the Galactic Ghost…as soon he became known to the whispering citizenry of Earth…struck again, again, and yet again at the wide-flung forces of Black Garroway. Some of these blows were of a minor nature: the theft of hoarded gold, and the subsequent reappearance, as if by magic, of that gold where starving folk could lay eager hands on it; the mysterious disappearance of the Emperor’s armored unicar scant moments before Garroway was to make an impressive "personal appearance" before the populace of the capital city; the inexplicable vanishment of a secret formula wherewith the Overlord’s military experts hoped to subdue the gallant little guerrilla army which still held a salient against Garroway’s might on the planetoid Iris.
Other occurrences were more violent…the kind that not even a ruthlessly controlled press can keep from public knowledge. The shocking demolition of the Overlord’s strongest Asiatic fortress at Chuen-tzwan, keypoint from which his troops dominated all of what had once been Southern China. At six-fifteen in an evening, according to testimony given by the commanding officer at the subsequent investigation, from out of nowhere had appeared a placard, advising the entire garrison to withdraw immediately from the fortress, advising its component members, moreover, to rebel against Garroway. This ultimatum had teeth in it. Midnight