Chapter 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.

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.