In the building to which the two terrans had brought him, Gerson
crouched behind the ornate balustrade edging the mezzanine. He was near
the head of the stairway and hoped to get nearer.
A look down the hall behind him showed no unwary heads in view. He
studied the sections of the hall below, which he could see through the
openings in the railing. There had been a great scrambling about down
there a moment earlier, so he was uneasy about showing himself.
He had armed himself as chance provided: a rocket pistol of Yoleenite
manufacture--doubtless purchased as a souvenir--and a sharp knife from
a dinner tray he had come upon in one of the rooms he had searched.
Because of his injury, he had to grip the knife between his teeth.
Something bothered him about this arrangement. He had the papers thrust
in his shirt, he held the rocket pistol in one hand, one hand was
hurt--yet the only way left to hold the knife was in his teeth. It did
not seem exactly right, but he had had no time to ponder. The Terrans
were keeping him busy.
Since he had been brought to this building, he had seen four threes of
Terrans. One, the medical worker, he had rendered helpless. Then he had
gone to search for secrets, and that other one had seen him. By that
time, he had found the rocket pistol. He had left that Terran dead, but
others had come running.
Something had told him to shoot up the communications equipment,
although the Terran working it had escaped. He was somewhere behind
Gerson, behind one of the many doors leading off that high, bright
corridor.
He believed that he had seen one other duck into a doorway ahead of
him, along the hall on the other side of the mezzanine. There was yet
another hiding behind the opposite balustrade. Gerson wondered idly if
the last one was armed.
He tried to review the probable positions of those on the main floor.
One had definitely run out the front door, which faced the bottom
of the broad stairway, about thirty feet away. There was a shallow
anteroom there, but Gerson had seen him all the way across it.
Of the others, one had ducked into a chamber at the front of the main
hall, to Gerson's left as he would be descending the stairs. Another
had run back under cover of the stairway on the same side, and the
remaining four were lurking somewhere to the right, either behind the
stairs or in adjoining chambers.
He leaned closer to the balustrade in an effort to see more. In the
act, his injured limb came in contact with the barrier and made him
grimace in pain. The drug the Terran medical worker had shot into it
was wearing off.
Since he had made a slight noise already, Gerson crawled along about
ten feet until he was just beside the head of the stairs. He made
himself quiet to listen.
Somewhere below, two of the embassy staff were talking cautiously. It
might be a good time to catch them unawares. He rose and took a step
toward the stairs.
A voice that sounded artificially loud spoke in one or another of the
lower chambers. It had a slight echo, making it nearly impossible for
Gerson to determine the direction. The Terran who had ducked into the
room on the left appeared, raising a weapon of some kind.
Gerson blazed a rocket in his direction. The slim missile, the length
and thickness of the two top joints of his thumb, left a smoky trail
just above the stairway railing and blew a large hole in the wall
beside the doorway where the staff man had been standing. Somehow, the
fellow had leaped back in time to avoid the flying specks of metal and
plaster.
Gerson knelt behind the balustrade again, shaken by the sense of new
pain, and wondering at its source. He concentrated. After a moment, he
felt the wetness trickling dawn his left side. Some small object had
grazed the flesh; and he realized that it must have been a solid pellet
projected by the weapon of the Terran at whom he had shot.
He knew that the Terrans had more dangerous weapons than that, but
had been confident that they would dare nothing over-violent here
within their own building. The pistol used against him must be an
old-fashioned one or a keepsake. Possibly it was a mock weapon built
for practicing at a target. He seemed to remember vaguely having
handled such a thing in the past.
He strained after the fleeting memory, clenching his teeth with the
effort, but it was gone. So many memories seemed to be gone. All he was
sure of was that he must get out of here with those papers.
He checked the upper hall again, before and behind. He looked
across the open space for the Terran hiding like himself behind the
balustrade, but could not find him. It might or might not be worthwhile
to send a shot over there at random. If he missed, he might at least
scare the fellow.
The loud voice with the mechanical sound to it blared out from below.
"Gerson!" it called. "Gerson, throw down your weapon and stand up. We
can see where you are. We want to help you."
Gerson showed no reaction. Analyzing the statement, he reminded himself
that one Terran had shot him. Not very seriously, it was true, but
it was not in the nature of help. Either the voice lied or it had no
control over the individual who had fired at him.
He did not blame it for the presumable untruth, since he was not
deceived by it. It would be preferrable to kill the man who had shot
him, but he must bear in mind that his main task was to get out of the
building.
"Gerson!" called the voice again. "We know you are injured. You are a
sick man. We beg you to drop your weapon and let us help you!"