“RUN! Go! Scatter! Move!” shouted Zip frantically. He ran forward to the
closest aisle between the stacks of crates, wheeled right, and sped down
the narrow space. He heard the quiet, efficient “zzap” sound of the
airbot’s disabling beam, but apparently not directed toward him yet.
Desperation powered his legs and they pumped at peak speed. He didn’t
know where the others were or what they were doing. Someone else was
racing behind him but he didn’t stop to find out who it was.
It was not cowardice that inspired his flight, but the desire to
preserve the team. Scattering and flying gave a slight hope that some of
the men might escape the relentless search of the airbot--or at least
put off the inevitable. The rotation of the asteroid provided artificial
gravity, but it was low enough to enable the men to move quickly,
covering a lot of distance as they ran.
“Zzap. Zzap,” he heard again, more distant this time. He came to the end
of the aisle and had to slow to keep from slamming into the wall in
front of him. He reached out his left hand and grabbed the corner of a
crate to help him execute the turn. As he made the quick right angle
twist at the end of the row of crates, he glanced behind him with his
peripheral vision. Joe was close behind him and several yards farther
away were two of the miners. Even as he looked, he saw the airbot fly
over the crates into the aisle he had just cleared, missing the ceiling
by less than a foot. With the hated “zzap” sound, it fired one beam
toward the miner at the rear of the headlong retreat, and the man went
limp and collapsed. His momentum carried him forward several feet before
he stopped moving.
Zip saw it all in a split-second as his inertia carried him out of view.
He looked forward again and sped down the aisle; after passing a few
rows he turned again to the left. Far ahead of him he saw the elevator
door with the bulging rupture through which the airbot had burst into
the warehouse. Suddenly the airbot flew over the stack of crates to
Zip’s left and appeared about fifteen yards in front of him. A feeling
of panicky horror surged through Zip as he saw the airbot re-orient
itself in his direction.
All at once every point of light on the airbot went out and it hung
motionless in the air. Then it sped back to the elevator door as if
jerked by a cable. It smashed through the hole it had made and flew into
the shaft. Instantly there was a dull “whump,” more felt in one’s
tissues than heard aloud. A bright light came through the opening like a
spotlight, then faded.
“What happened to the airbot?” Joe’s amazed voice behind him asked the
question that was in Zip’s mind.
“Let’s go,” said Zip. “Let’s find out who’s down and carry them away.”
Both the Starmen were breathing hard, but quickly returned to normal as
they paced the aisles. In moments they had assembled those whom the
airbot had not found. Only four men had been disabled by the airbot’s
beams.
“Take us out of here, George,” ordered Zip. His voice was quiet but
carried the authority of leadership that people welcome when there is a
crisis. Using the fireman’s carry, eight men easily transported the four
who were unconscious.
George St. George turned without a word and led the way. Everyone
followed. St. George came to the end of the walkway and turned to the
left around the last row of storage units. On his right was a bank of
elevator doors, some large and some small. He came to the first one and
with his hand shaking pressed some numbers into a control panel. Nothing
happened.
He looked up to Zip with a countenance marked with anguish and pleaded,
“I can’t do it. My fingers won’t work. Mr. Foster, you press the
numbers, please.” Zip stepped up to the panel. As the asteroid miner
called out the directions, Zip pressed the buttons.
“Top center. Right center. Top right. Top right again. Bottom left.
Center. Sorry, I’m a little shaken up.”
“That’s okay, George. I think we’ll be fine now.” The elevator door
opened and all the men stepped into the conveyance. The door closed.
George reached out and pressed one button. The elevator began to
move--not down or up as the men expected, but _away_ from the chamber
where they had fought the airbot.
“What’s wrong with these men?” asked one of the miners. “They’re
completely unconscious and their arms and legs are swinging around like
they’re puppets or something.”
“They’re just out temporarily, not hurt,” answered Joe. “Airbots disrupt
certain neural connections to bring on sleep and complete relaxation of
all muscle functions. I’m not sure how high the airbot’s beam was set,
but I’d guess pretty high. They’ll probably sleep for several hours but
they’ll be fine when they wake up.”
“What did you do to that machine that was chasing us?” asked another of
St. George’s companions.
“I didn’t do anything to it. I don’t know what happened to it,” answered
Zip. “I suppose it malfunctioned. Lucky for us.” Joe and Mark both
glanced sidelong at Zip, then looked away. The Starmen knew that
whatever had happened to the airbot, a malfunction was not one of the
possibilities.
Another of the miners spoke up. “I’ve never been on an elevator that
moved horizontally before. Where are we going, George? This transit is
taking longer than just moving between floors.”
“The elevators inside this rock can move in just about any direction
except slantindicular. If I remembered accurately, this one’ll take us
to a control and information center of some kind. I don’t know where it
is in relation to where we started, but we should be safe there and if I
don’t forget where we come out, I can always get us back to the
warehouse if we want to return.”
The elevator came to a stop and the door opened onto darkness. As
before, the elevator light illumined a small space, in which the men
could see a few counters. When the first passenger debarked, soft lights
went on. The illumination revealed a room of about 2,000 square feet,
filled with viewscreens, computer stations, cabinets and shelves, tables
and chairs, and a few sofas. At least a dozen doors led from the room.
The four unconscious men were laid carefully down onto the sofas.
“What is this place?” Zip asked St. George.
“Haven’t any idea, Starman. I don’t mind pushing buttons at random when
it comes to elevators, but you won’t find me playing with any machine I
don’t understand. I don’t want to find the ejection seat or rocket
launchers by accident.”
“What do you think, Mark, Joe? Let’s look around here.” The Starmen
began to examine the keyboards and control systems spread throughout the
room. There were symbols written beside most of the controls, but none
of the writing was recognizable.
“Alien writing,” observed Mark. “I’d sure like to know what it says.”
Joe was at the next console, thoughtfully pressing buttons, but there
was no response.
“We need to find food and water,” said one of the others.
“Right,” said Zip. “Everyone check through the shelves and cabinets.
Open the doors, too, and look through, but don’t go anywhere.” Zip
didn’t speak aloud what was on his mind. The workings of the asteroid,
no matter how technologically advanced, had been abandoned for probably
thousands of years. There could be no water or food anywhere except
where the pirates were. The Starmen and miners may have escaped
captivity, but their freedom would do them no good until they found
food, water, and a spaceship. Success in finding even one of those items
without being recaptured was highly unlikely. And even if they could
board a ship, escape from the asteroid was just about impossible. He
wondered how long it would take before someone else realized these
things and voiced them.
“There’s nothing, Mr. Foster,” said one of the men after everyone had
searched thoroughly.
“Mm hmm,” Zip nodded. “Well, let’s sleep and start again in the morning.
Maybe some of us can go back to the warehouse and open up a few of those
crates. There may be food and water in some of them. Others can
investigate some of the passages that lead away from here.”
The men arranged themselves around the room and lay down. “I think I
found the light switch, anyway,” said Joe and pressed a button next to
one of the doorways. The room became dark.
* * * * *
“I assure you, Mr. Zimbardo, there was nothing wrong with the airbot,”
asserted a large man, standing before the pirate leader with a half
dozen of his partners. “I don’t know what threw it back into the
elevator shaft and I don’t know what made it explode--but there was
nothing wrong with it. The prisoners must have done something to it.”
“These prisoners are more than asteroid miners! None of St. George’s men
has the capability of knocking out two armed men the way those two were
knocked out. None of them has the know-how to disable a airbot!”
Zimbardo turned to his chief control officer. “Gene! Get me Lather right
away. Tell him to bring up all information he has on the prisoners he
brought in from Z25. Tell him to bring especially the video-record of
the prisoners.” He turned back to the others. “You’re dismissed!”
Soon Lather appeared with a handful of records.
“Let’s see the video-record first,” said Zimbardo, and pushed his
computer a little closer to his lieutenant. The man inserted the disk.
In seconds, a view of the prisoners appeared on the screen, each one
shuffling by as they entered the _Silver Cloud_.
When all the prisoners had passed by, Zimbardo turned his head down in
disgust. Lather opened a file and brought out another disk. “I’ve got--”
he began.
“You _fool_!!” spat out Zimbardo through gritted teeth. “I don’t need to
see any more! I know who we’ve got now! How could you miss seeing that
the three Starmen who completely destroyed our plans on Mars were your
passengers for three days! _How could you miss it??_” He was shouting
now. “_They’ve been on the news for two weeks! How--_” Zimbardo paused
and tried hard to get control of himself. “They were our _prisoners_!
--and now they’ve escaped! They’re loose inside this asteroid, and we
don’t know where!”
“But sir,” inserted Lather when Zimbardo paused to take a breath and
clutch the air. “There aren’t many places they can hide. There’s not
much to the inside of the complex--only five floors.”
Zimbardo turned to the ship captain. With words that smoldered, he said,
“The complex of this asteroid is far larger than you think! I have
barely begun to explore, and St. George knows more than I do!”
Back in control now, Zimbardo punched his desk communicator. “Gene! Get
a search party together and have them scour every part of the asteroid
they can find.” He filled in the details about the Starmen. But he knew
that neither the miners nor the Starmen would be found. With George St.
George leading them, they could be anywhere--anywhere but where his men
would be able to search.
* * * * *
Mark came out of a deep sleep into a light doze. He knew he was
sleeping, but he was also mindful of his surroundings. It gradually
washed through him that he was hearing voices. Two voices were
conversing in very low tones, far away. He had a feeling that the air
was thick and the sound had to struggle to get to him. He became aware
of his eyelids, and they fluttered. Fully conscious but deeply relaxed
now, he slowly opened his eyes. He saw only darkness, but it was not
absolute.
He turned his head slowly to the left. Through an open door, about
twenty feet away along a corridor were two tall, vaguely humanoid beings
wrapped in shadows. Mark’s heart leaped and began to race, but outwardly
he showed no trace that he was alert. His eyes narrowed in an attempt to
see more clearly. He knew instinctively that the creatures were alien.
They walked in utter silence and stepped into the room. Mark lay frozen.
They looked around for a few seconds, then went back into the corridor
to the place where he had first seen them. They manifested no ill intent
toward the sleepers.
The figures began conversing in low voices. Mark sensed a deep sadness
in their tone. He strained to hear what they were saying, what their
words sounded like.
Suddenly he heard something that sounded familiar. “A coincidence,” he
thought to himself. They couldn’t have said “Zimbardo.” After several
more exchanges, one of the figures pressed a series of buttons on the
wall, next to a blank screen. It came alive with a dull silver glow.
Bright green lines appeared in the configuration of a map or blueprint.
Mark strove to see as well as to hear. Slender fingers pointed to one
part of the screen or another as the conversation continued.
Then he heard it again, this time clearly. “Zimbardo.” Mark lifted his
head a little and turned so he could observe the screen better. “A plan
of the surface control center,” he thought. He recognized the floor plan
by its telltale great doors through which the prisoners had been
marched.
The scene changed as one of the figures pressed a button. A series of
diagrams appeared, diagrams that indistinctly suggested a power plant to
Mark. One of the tall figures began talking animatedly, pointing to
various locations and repeating the word “Zimbardo” frequently.
Suddenly Mark understood what was going on: the aliens were talking
about shutting down the power plant! Mark strained to get a closer look
at the diagram they were examining. “The aliens!” His mind raced. “They
must be the builders of this base! Shutting down the power plant--why,
they must want to stop Zimbardo! They’re on our side!”
Then the other figure spoke up. He seemed to agree with the animated
one, but his voice had a sorrowful tone to it. He pressed a few buttons
on the screen and a picture of a warship appeared. As the alien pointed
to the ship and talked, all the life seemed to drain out of his
companion and he began looking hopeless and despondent. He turned the
screen off.
Mark didn’t understand--what was that ship? Why did it bring such
hopelessness?
As the panel went dark, Mark realized with a crushed heart that, for
some reason, the aliens were not going to deactivate the power plant
after all. He buried his face in his hands. Something was stopping them,
something having to do with the spaceship that had appeared on the
screen last.
Mark looked up and saw that the figures had vanished!