* * * * *
The sound of firing from downstream was much clearer and louder now.
Gutridge looked over his shoulder with a trace of anxiety and nodded to
one of his men. "Callen," he ordered, "take my guests back to the tower
and entertain them until I return. You'll have to carry this one--but
it won't be for nothing. I have something special in store for them."
Pell and Gret were yanked roughly away from their ship, while four men
labored heavily with the vast bulk of the fat man. After winding along
an obscure path in the woods, they emerged to find a steep cliff facing
them. The tortuous path rose sharply up its side.
"Hell!" one of the mercenaries panted. "Callen, we ought to chuck this
elephant over the cliff."
"Keep luggin' him," Callen directed. "The chief said he had a treat for
'em." He laughed unpleasantly.
Pell shot a glance over his shoulder. Gret was trudging apathetically
behind him. A pall of black discouragement fell over Pell. Hopelessly
he berated the ironic twist of fate which had delivered them into the
hands of the DIC mercenaries. To think that they had gone through hell,
only to deliver the U-235 to the enemy after all--better to have died
out there than this!
It was completely dark when the tired group of prisoners and guards
arrived at the encampment. The dim light of Centaura's half-risen moon
allowed Pell to make out a few details of the place. He realized that
it was nothing more than an abandoned planet-mounted blaster tower.
But the warrens in its base provided quite effective dug-outs for its
defense.
Pell and Gret were escorted to one of the lower levels of the blaster
tower itself. There they were shoved into a hard, bare room and Heintz
was dumped on the floor. The door closed behind them.
Heintz began to groan. The coldness of the floor added to the stiffness
already present in his joints. Pell bent over him anxiously. The fat
man had gone through a terrific strain and his recovery was quite
vociferous. Pell wondered how he could explain to him their bad luck.
Black despair seized him again as the fat man looked about their bare
room uncomprehendingly. Haltingly Pell explained. Gret Helmuth didn't
even bother to look up.
"... but as long as we are still alive, we can fight them," Pell
finished, trying to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.
Finally Heintz looked up at him. "You _would_ have to land us right in
the middle of the DIC, wouldn't you?" he snarled.
Then almost immediately he was sorry. "Forget it, Pell. You couldn't
help it."
For a long time they remained silent. Pell grasped the girl's hand in
his own, but said nothing. She looked up at him. Her eyes were empty
and the tiny lines of strain about her mouth seemed to have been etched
more deeply than ever. Pell vowed to himself that he could erase those
lines in spite of everything that was arrayed against them. He kissed
her and she responded absently.
Suddenly she buried her head under his chin and embraced him tightly.
For a moment he thought she was sobbing, but she looked up at him,
clear eyed and determined.
"I love you, Pell," she said softly. "If ... if we--"
Pell knew what she was going to say and shushed her gently with his big
hand over her mouth. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by
the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. Gutridge entered,
his face flushed with triumph.
"You are indeed kind, Pell," he said mockingly. "Five kilos are more
than enough for our little task. You will be well rewarded." He laughed.
Pell guessed only too well what the reward would be. Death! Death for
all of them. He felt a surge of bitter hate for Gutridge's mocking
face. He wanted to batter it to a red pulp with his fists.
Raul Gutridge smiled infuriatingly and turned to Gret. "I believe you
know of Major Dallard, do you not?" he asked her. "That was his yokel
militia outfit we were scrapping with at the ship. I'm going to save
you for a while--I want to give you a lesson in military tactics. I
intend to show you the tactical hopelessness of attacking an enemy
armed with atomic weapons."
Like an angry cat she lashed out at him, striking him across the face.
Her nails left four bleeding welts. "You ... you sadist!" she burst out
helplessly.
Gutridge moved toward her angrily. At the same instant Pell sprang at
him like a coiled spring. Gutridge reeled back as Pell's flying body
staggered him. Two of the guards at his side, caught unawares for an
instant, jumped on Pell and threw him to the floor. They kicked him a
couple of times, then yanked him to his feet and dragged him through
the door after Heintz.
Dazed, Pell realized that he and Heintz were being separated from the
girl. He remembered that Gutridge had not left the room with them, but
had remained with Gret. A wave of hate for the DIC mercenary washed
over him, choking him.
V
As they reached the ground level of the tower and prepared to descend
into its unknown depths, Pell could hear firing in the distance. They
were using weapons that had been obsolete for three hundred years.
In spite of what Gret had said, Pell had not really comprehended the
significance of her statements in that respect. He was bitter at the
shrewdly ruthless policy of the Earth Government. Gutridge wasn't
joking when he said the colonials under Dallard wouldn't have a chance
when he got his atomics into action. If only Dallard could fight into
the fortress in time....
But even as the thought flitted through his mind, he crushed it out.
Dallard would need days, not hours, to penetrate this labyrinth.
For perhaps ten minutes they were escorted deeper and deeper into the
underground fortress. The twisting passage-ways threw Pell's sense of
direction for a loss immediately, but he did remember the long descent
in an auto-dropper before they reached the level of their prison.
Finally they turned off into a side corridor which was damp and
illuminated only faintly. The walls as he brushed against them were
cold to the touch. One of the guards opened a door in the seemingly
blank surface of a wall and grunted at Pell.
Shrugging, Pell followed Heintz inside and turned just in time to see
the heavy metal door slide back into place.
Sighing, Heintz lowered his vast bulk to the cement floor and surveyed
the cell gloomily. Then he looked up at Pell and said, "Boy, if this
ain't a mess! If I know anything about atomics, we got about two hours
to figure a way out of this clink. Gutridge has one technician who's a
genius when it comes to atomics--guy named Bede. That devil will have
those blasters ready in no time."
Pell swore to himself and nervously paced the cell looking for a
ventilator opening--anything that would allow him to gain egress from
the cell. His eyes roved restlessly along the walls seeking for a fault
or opening in its maddeningly smooth surface. At last he found the
vents--a small series of holes located high in the wall opposite the
door. Straining on tip-toes, he managed to insert his little finger in
one of them, only to meet with a steel mesh screen inside.
Cursing fluently, he flopped down beside Heintz on the floor and stared
moodily at his surroundings. The fat man beside him was morosely
searching his pockets for a cigarette. He found one at last and began
to tinker with his cranky lighter. Pell watched him curiously as he
fumbled with its primitive flint. Taking pity on him, Pell produced his
own lighter, flicked the stud and held it toward Heintz. The fat man
jumped and looked at him reproachfully.
"Say!" he protested, "Don't scare me like ... like...." He broke off,
his eyes wide with the dawn of an idea.
"Pell!" he blurted eagerly, "that thing will cut through these walls
like butter!"
"Huh?" Pell grunted, startled.
"Yeah," Heintz asserted excitedly. "That gadget of yours will carve out
the lock on that door in two shakes."
"Through _decyte_ alloy? Not in your life time!" Pell replied sadly.
"Hell, bright boy, you ain't in an Earth jail. Those walls are steel,
nothing more."
It was Pell's turn to be excited. Hastily he rose to his feet and
approached the door. He examined the metal surface and saw that the fat
man was correct.
* * * * *
Thoughtfully he looked at the lighter in his hand. On Earth it was
nothing more than a triviality--a novelty that could be acquired
anywhere. But here! Yes, here it might be a means to salvation. There
was just a chance, he reflected. The whole culture on Centaura seemed
to be geared on a pre-atomic level of technology except for the blaster
towers. And even the builders of those fabulous machines for defense
never considered the possibility that they might be attacked from
within. Such things as atomic lighters on Centaura were not dreamed
of; jail cells would not be constructed of _decyte_ alloys that could
resist their weak blasts. He looked at the black metal cylinder in his
hand; flicked it tentatively and smiled at its short blue flame.
Holding his breath, Pell felt along the lock edge of the door for
indentations that would indicate the critical bolt joints. But it was
completely smooth and he was able to find nothing.
"Whatcha think?" Heintz asked from behind him.
Pell shushed him frantically. "Pretty good, I think. But don't speak so
loudly--I don't know whether there's a guard out there."
He bent to the edge of the door and pressed the stud of the lighter.
Its small beam began to chew into the steel sheeting around the lock.
With agonizing slowness the beam cut into the steel until it reached a
depth beyond which it would not penetrate. Pell released the stud and
tinkered with the lighter with the thin edge of a coin.
Then he directed it again at the door. Its seemingly innocuous blue
flame was brighter and longer. It cut into the steel with renewed vigor.
Suddenly there was a small snap and the door slid slowly back into the
wall. Pell crouched, ready to spring upon the guard. But there was
none. The corridor was empty and silent as a tomb. Pell glanced at his
watch and the need for haste was pressed more firmly than ever upon
him. An hour gone by already!
He crept cautiously into the corridor with Heintz on his heels. It was
dim and damp; the moisture seemed to congeal on his brow like sweat.
With Heintz dogging his footsteps like some huge, bloated shadow, Pell
approached the main corridor. It, too, was deserted.
He turned to Heintz and asked in a low voice, "Where do you think they
keep the atomic weapons?"
Heintz shrugged and grunted, "Probably on some higher level--some place
they could reach in a hurry from the tower. Pell, if we could grab one
of those blasters...." He left the thought unfinished, but Pell knew
what he was thinking.
They reached the main corridor. Cautiously Pell looked up and down its
long, deserted length. The lines about his mouth were tense and hard.
If they should be caught--he motioned for Heintz to follow.
They had not gone more than fifty feet on the main corridor toward the
automatic elevators when one of them suddenly opened and out stepped a
uniformed DIC mercenary!
Pell sighed under his breath and muttered to Heintz, "Pay no attention
to him--just keep walking as casually as you can. When we reach him,
we'll jump him and take his guns."
There was a single affirmative grunt from his rear. Pell watched
the soldier tensely while the latter regarded them with a blank and
incurious stare as he approached them. Suddenly a flash of suspicion
crossed the mercenary's eyes and he slowed his pace uncertainly. Pell
was no more than twenty feet from him when he charged, Heintz lumbering
at his heels.
With an oath, the mercenary dragged at the heavy automatic pistol at
his side. The impact of Pell's body sent him sprawling to the hard
surface of the corridor. Like a cat, Pell scrambled on top of him and
proceeded to throttle out the cries of the soldier. Heintz pulled him
roughly aside and picked up the soldier with one hairy paw on the
collar of his jacket and the other over his face, completely eclipsing
it.
Swiftly Pell snatched the man's pistol from its holster and slipped
it into his pocket. Then he unslung the soldier's machine-gun and
handed it to Heintz. Motioning toward the auto-dropper from which the
mercenary had just stepped, Pell helped Heintz shove the struggling
soldier inside and let the door slide shut.
Heintz released the enemy soldier who immediately began to howl loudly.
The fat man shook him and he ceased his useless cries. Terrified, he
looked from Heintz to Pell and back again.
"Where's the atomic armory?" Pell asked.
The man remained silent.
Pell repeated the question more vigorously, but still the man remained
silent.
Heintz unslung the captured machine-gun and pointed it at the other. He
fumbled curiously at its levers and spoke softly, as if to no one in
particular. "I wonder how this thing works--now, if I pull this thing
here...."
The soldier looked pleadingly at Pell, but he merely yawned and watched
disinterestedly.
The man made a strangling noise and capitulated. "Okay, you win. The
sixth level--that's up." He looked again at Pell. "Tell that idiot to
put that thing away," he pleaded.
Pell didn't answer, but looked at the controls for a moment. Then he
pressed the appropriate stud and turned to Heintz.
"I'll cover this fellow while you keep that gun ready. Just to prevent
anything from going wrong, we'll let him walk in front of us with his
hands in his pockets and his mouth shut," he said, nodding meaningly at
the prisoner.
Heintz grunted and held the machine-gun at ready as the elevator
drew to a stop. The door whined open softly and Pell tensed. Before
his startled eyes a swarm of men hurried up and down the corridor,
apparently too intent upon their business to notice Heintz and Pell.
He was about to let the door close again when Heintz stopped him. He
pointed significantly at an instrument that flashed above the heads of
the hurrying men. Like lightning Pell realized that it was a Geiger
Counter and that it was registering the presence of Uranium!
"Come on, Pell. They won't notice us," Heintz called over his shoulder
as he stepped from the cage.
* * * * *
Boldly he walked into the corridor and melted unnoticed into the crowd
of excited, hurrying soldiers. Pell followed him, his hand on the cool,
heavy pistol butt and the enemy prisoner preceding him with his hands
sunk in his pockets. As the crowd of men jostled and pushed about him,
Pell could hear breathless bits of conversation.
"... blasters--yeah, real atomics. Bede will have 'em in shape in a few
minutes."
"... hell, not a chance. Not when we turn those blasters loose."
Pell went slightly sick. He saw that the main stream of men were
pouring into a corridor with a dead end. Tightening his hold on the
pistol butt in his pocket, he shoved his prisoner after them.
Then he noticed that they were waiting at the heavily-guarded entrance
of a room and it dawned upon him that they were about to be issued
blasters.
Quickly he surveyed the situation, noticing the position of the guards
at the room's entrance, and made his decision. Drawing the pistol from
his pocket, he jammed it into the captured mercenary's back and began
to shoulder his way boldly through the uncomprehending crowd. As he
approached the door he saw a surging around it, then suddenly all hell
broke loose.
_Berada-da-da-da-da-da_.... Instantly Pell realized that Heintz had
already gone into action. The men melted away from the entrance in time
to allow Pell to see Heintz shoulder his way through the half-open
door. Forgetting his prisoner, Pell jumped past the bodies of three or
four guards and entered the room, slamming the heavily reinforced door
behind him. Then he whirled, pistol at ready.
There were only four technicians in the armory and they were frozen
into an astonished tableau at the sight of a huge, bullet-headed, fat
man crouching before them with a machine-gun in his arms. Pell crouched
behind him, letting his glance flicker about the room. On the floor
were the cadmium and graphite vaults which had been ripped bodily from
the ship. Over half of them had been opened and strewn about the tables
were an array of hand-blasters undergoing the delicate process of being
charged with pellets of U-235.
Pell broke the short silence. "Don't move, any of you! Heintz, pick up
a blaster that's charged!"
Heintz shuffled forward cautiously to relieve a swarthy technician of a
blaster which had frozen in his hands when they had burst into the room.
"Okay, Bede, gimme that!" Heintz growled, poking his machine-gun toward
the technician.
His action seemed to touch off the fuse of a bomb. Suddenly the
technician leaped away from Heintz and leveled the blaster in his
hands. The other technicians leaped in unison for the tables, snatching
up blasters. Heintz fired at Bede, then whirled and loosed a long,
sustained burst at the other three.
But he reckoned without Bede who had fallen to the floor wounded, but
not dead. With a look of venemous hate he swung the blaster in his
hands toward Heintz and pressed the stud. Pell fired at him, once,
twice, then again, but even as the heavy automatic crashed in his hand,
Bede fired at Heintz.
Heintz exploded. With cataclysmic violence his body had vaporized in a
blue-white sheen of impossibly hot atomic radiance.
Pell became violently sick. Recovering, he looked dazedly at the
slaughter about him and realized that he alone was left to deal with
the situation. For the first time he understood how great an ally the
fat man had been.
Blind, unreasoning hate for the forces of the DIC surged into his
mind. He saw Gutridge's mocking face and it added fuel to the rage
burning fiercely within him. He recalled vividly that Gret was in his
possession and the fires of bitter hate blasted away all remnants of
his former caution.
Outside he could hear the mutter of DIC soldiers who were obviously
confused by the shooting of the guards and the sound of further
shooting inside. Then the steel-reinforced door began to quiver on its
hinges.
Pell slowly looked down at the ancient pistol in his hand and laughed
to himself. There was no further need for that thing, he reflected. He
threw it way from him and walked purposefully over to the body of Bede,
the dead technician. Without the slightest hesitation, he rolled the
bloody thing over and took the blaster from its lifeless hands.
He looked back at the door. The pounding had stopped, but he saw a
little white flame dancing and flickering around the lock. Pell smiled
a bit, leveled the blaster in his arms, and depressed the stud.
[Illustration: _Pell smiled, leveled the blaster and depressed the
stud._]
In an instant the steel door turned a dazzling white and began to
run into slag. The vicious, expanding cone of blue flame played on
it an instant more and suddenly it exploded into vapor. The knot of
mercenaries around the door disintegrated into exploding cinders. Some
of them on the outer edges even had time to scream.