"They contacted me--I wasn't suspected by the police, you know--and we
organized a small group of the scientists we felt we could trust. We
told them all about Demarzule and our blunder in bringing him back. We
organized for the purpose of destroying him by any means possible, but
of course we had no means. The force shell prevented direct attack on
the Carlson, so we tried filtering in with the Disciples. Four of us
were caught and killed.
"We didn't try to communicate with you, because we felt it was too
dangerous, and knew that you would be doing anything possible. We
succeeded in getting enough of our number in for the end of the show
and passing weapons to some of the scientists on the project, but we
apparently lost all our men without doing damage to the Great One. Only
getting ourselves lost in that mob saved us three. I suspect that they
feel so secure in the protection of Demarzule now that that is their
only reason for not gassing the whole mob in order to get us."
"What's your next move?" asked Illia.
"The _Lavoisier_ came in two weeks ago for supplies. Most of the crew
are on our side, and the rest aren't there any more. Phyfe and Dreyer
are already aboard, as well as the rest of the scientists of our group.
All we can do is point the nose up and get going as fast as we can
travel. It may be only a matter of hours until Demarzule is aware of us
and sends a fleet in pursuit. After we get out into space, the rest is
up to the boss." He jerked a thumb in Underwood's direction.
"What do you mean?" asked Underwood.
"I mean that as top-dog physicist and the only one besides us somewhat
non-combatant archeologists and semanticists who understands the
Sirenian lingo, not to mention your familiarity with Demarzule, you got
yourself elected chairman of this delegation."
Underwood laughed shortly and bitterly. "I'm responsible for the mess,
so I should be the one responsible for finding a way out. Is that it?"
"We'll turn you over to the psychiatric department if you don't cut
that out," said Terry grimly.
"Sorry. I'm grateful, of course, that the rest of you think I could be
useful, but I'm afraid my brain is a complete blank on how to get out."
"Maybe you think the rest of us aren't the same way," said Terry. "But
you're the most qualified of us all to recognize a means of licking
Demarzule when you see it."
Underwood stared ahead of them toward the expanding view of the
buildings where the scientists had held out against the Disciples. He
tried to picture what the past months had been for them, but he could
never know the hundreds of desperate escapes and skirmishes with guards
and officers, and swift murders in the depths below the city.
Beside the clustered buildings the great laboratory spaceship,
_Lavoisier_, lay on the experimental grounds, shining in the early
dawn. Sudden bright spurts of light showed on the field. Illia saw it
first. "Gunfire!" she cried.
"They're being attacked!" Terry exclaimed. "We've got to get down
there or they may have to leave without us. Get out that pair of heavy
burners under your seat, Del. We'll have to go in shooting."
Underwood hauled out the weapons as the flier darted swiftly toward
the field. A concentrated knot of offense was being offered from the
building entrance nearest the ship, but other officers were surrounding
the ship behind the screen of the distant shrubbery.
* * * * *
"I'll fly over them," said Terry. "Give them a good blast with both
guns."
Underwood opened the port against the wind and pointed the noses of
the deadly weapons outward. He clicked the trigger and an unending
stream of fire hurled toward the earth, sweeping through the lines of
attackers as they crouched behind the shrubs and fences. Then, swiftly,
Terry spun the ship to avoid the building and they zoomed upward. At
that instant a crippling beam came from below.
"We're hit!" Terry exclaimed. "It killed the motor. Hang on for a crash
landing. I'll try to make the port of the ship."
Underwood returned his attention to the guns as if nothing had
occurred. As the nose dipped, he fired into the building from which the
disabling shot had come. He thought he heard a scream of pain, though
it might have been only the sound of the wind against the shell of the
little flier.
They were falling fast now, heading for the open port of the large
spaceship. They could see some of the crew members and scientists
emerging, weapons ready to protect their landing. They sped down below
the level of the top of the hull and the vast sheets of plate seemed to
flow past the port of the flier like a river of steel.
It stopped flowing. They hit hard, and Terry yanked open the door. They
tumbled out in the midst of their defenders, while spurts of flame
showed in the sunlight all about them.
"Get in!" one of the men shouted. "We almost had to leave without you.
They'll be bringing reinforcements." It was Mason, the physicist.