I curled the fingers of my right hand into the palm, then pointed the
index finger forward, and lifted my thumb up; an antique Earth gesture
dating back to the times when hand guns had fanning hammers on them. I
spun the muzzle of this simulated weapon up, down, and every which way,
to indicate to Clatclit that Baxter might manage, through sheer blind
blasting, to polish us off before we got very far.
Clatclit slammed his right fist into his left palm in a furious symbol
of an exasperated "Damn!"
"What are you two plotting up there?" Baxter demanded suddenly.
"We were discussing the futility of a lights-out scurry for cover,
since that weapon of yours would slice right through these tunnels,"
I said, deciding the truth was the best way to avoid suspicious
repercussions. "If your bolt didn't get us, the falling ceiling might."
"I'm glad you're using your intelligence, Delvin," Baxter answered.
Then: "Why are we stopping?"
"Because," I said, halting where Clatclit had suddenly paused in his
forward motion, "that thunder you hear is the reason the Ancients never
find themselves neck-deep in the sugarfeet. An impassable river is up
ahead."
"Impassable?" Baxter scowled.
"Not for us, but for Clatclit, here," I said. "He can't even go around
this corner without risking deadly corrosion. And, in case you didn't
notice back in your office, he's had a pretty nasty exposure already."
"Nevertheless," said Baxter, "I must insist that he either accompany
us, or be destroyed right here."
"What!" I said, appalled. "You can't ask him to do that! He wouldn't
last any longer than you would in boiling oil!"
"I certainly do not intend to leave him here," Baxter snapped. "He
might alert others of his kind, and--"
"And what?" I growled. "You could fend off a million of them with that
weapon of yours."
"And risk the ceiling falling in on my head?" Baxter said. "No, Delvin,
I'm not about to take that chance."
"And just how," I said savagely, "did that peanut brain of yours plan
on your getting out of here without him?"
Baxter paused, his gun hand wavering.
"Because if he melts in the river, or is vaporized right here and now,
you will be stuck without a light. Stuck in a rock-hard maze that you
couldn't negotiate alone if you had a light."
Baxter just stared, thinking furiously.
"Of course," I went on, "you could simply aim that thing upward, and
disintegrate your way out. But that, too, might make the ceiling fall
in. And if it didn't, you'd have the small difficulty of climbing the
glass-sided well you'd created. Climbing, by the way, into the Martian
desert, where there is no air, no water, and very little heat. You'd be
dessicated, suffocated, and a popsicle to boot!"
"I--I could very easily slant the bolt into Marsport," Baxter
blustered. "I could climb the slope easily enough, and there'd be fresh
air waiting for me, too."
"Yeah," I mocked, folding my arms. "Fresh air and a city full of
insurgent Baxter-haters. Assuming, of course, that you didn't strike an
underground stream in the process, and get washed away into the depths
of the planet when your hold-off stance with the collapser tired you
out, when you'd completely dissipated the charge."
"I--" Baxter said, desperately nervous.
"And also assuming," I continued, "that you know in which direction
Marsport is, chum! Of course, you could swing that thing in a full
circle of slant-blasts toward the surface, but then that would make the
ceiling fall in, wouldn't it, once you'd cut away all supports."
Baxter trembled with impotent rage, but his gun's muzzle was finally
slumped all the way toward the floor of the tunnel. He was beaten, and
he knew it.
And that's when I jumped him.
My still-working right arm shot down and gripped his right wrist, a
very awkward stance to take, but my left arm was still weak and useless
from my fall. But Clatclit moved in, then, his rocky talons sinking
like so many fangs into Baxter's right arm, all three of us a writhing
tangle on the tunnel floor, each of us frantically aware that the gun
had better not emit any bolts while an arm, leg or tail flailed in
front of it.
Baxter shrieked with fear and rage as those steely fingers took hold. I
think he was too upset otherwise to feel the pain.
And then a bolt buzzed blindingly into the tunnel, and as we all three
flattened ourselves and waited for the ceiling to come crashing down,
it spattered into nothingness against the wall.
We sat up, staring at the spot where the so-called invincible bolt
had simply been dissipated, all of us looking pretty silly, flat on
our bottoms, leaning back on our hands on that curved stone surface,
momentarily losing sight of our belligerent behavior of a moment before.
"The wall!" I said, first to realize the significance. But I couldn't
go on. Baxter finished for me.
"It's parabolite!" he cried.
Then my eyes were dazzled by the blaze of light that suddenly
materialized all around us, and my stomach turned over sickeningly as I
realized that the converse was probably true: We had just materialized
inside the dazzling light!
We were, all three of us, within the metallic-shimmering chamber of the
ancient Martians.
"Well done, Jery Delvin," said a familiar voice, and then the light
before us trembled and warped, and I was looking into the disconcerting
triple face of the Ancient again.