Chapter 7

I went to the phone.

“Kayle! I guess you’ve got a recorder on the line. I’ll give you the details of the transmitter circuits. It’s complicated, but fifteen minutes ought to--”

“No time,” Kayle cut in. “I’m sorry about everything, Granthan. If you’ve finished the machine, it’s a tragedy for humanity--if it works. I can only ask you to try--when the Gool command comes--not to give them what they want. I’ll tell you, now, Granthan. The bomb blows in--” there was a pause--”two minutes and twenty-one seconds. Try to hold them off. If you can stand against them for that long at least--”

I slammed the phone down, cold sweat popping out across my face. Two minutes ... too late for anything. The men in the War Room would never know how close I had come to beating the Gool--and them.

But I could still save the Master Tape. I wrestled the yellow plastic case that housed the tape onto the table, into the machine.

And the world vanished in a blaze of darkness, a clamor of silence.

NOW, MASTERS! NOW! LINK UP! LINK UP!

Like a bad dream coming back in daylight, I felt the obscene presence of massed Gool minds, attenuated by distance but terrible in their power, probing, thrusting. I fought back, struggling against paralysis, trying to gather my strength, use what I had learned...

SEE, MASTERS, HOW IT WOULD ELUDE US. BLANK IT OFF, TOGETHER NOW...

The paths closed before me. My mind writhed, twisted, darted here and there--and met only the impenetrable shield of the Gool defenses.

IT TIRES, MASTERS. WORK SWIFTLY NOW. LET US IMPRESS ON THE SUBJECT THE CO-ORDINATES OF THE BRAIN PIT. The conceptualization drifted into my mind. HERE, MAN. TRANSMIT THE TAPE HERE!

As from a distance, the monitor personality fraction watched the struggle. Kayle had been right. The Gool had waited--and now their moment had come. Even my last impulse of defiance--to place the tape in the machine--had been at the Gool command. They had looked into my mind. They understand psychology as no human analyst ever could; and they had led me in the most effective way possible, by letting me believe I was the master. They had made use of my human ingenuity to carry out their wishes--and Kayle had made it easy for them by evacuating a twenty-mile radius around me, leaving the field clear for the Gool.

HERE--The Gool voice rang like a bell in my mind: TRANSMIT THE TAPE HERE!

Even as I fought against the impulse to comply, I felt my arm twitch toward the machine.

THROW THE SWITCH! the voice thundered.

I struggled, willed my arm to stay at my side. Only a minute longer, I thought. Only a minute more, and the bomb would save me...

LINK UP, MASTERS!

I WILL NOT LINK. YOU PLOT TO FEED AT MY EXPENSE.

NO! BY THE MOTHER WORM, I PLEDGE MY GROOVE AT THE EATING TROUGH. FOR US THE MAN WILL GUT THE GREAT VAULT OF HIS NEST WORLD!

ALREADY YOU BLOAT AT OUR EXPENSE!

FOOL!! WOULD YOU BICKER NOW? LINK UP!

The Gool raged--and I grasped for an elusive thought and held it. The bomb, only a few feet away. The waiting machine. And the Gool had given me the co-ordinates of their cavern...

With infinite sluggishness, I moved.

LINK UP, MASTERS: THEN ALL WILL FEED...

IT IS A TRICK. I WILL NOT LINK.

I found the bomb, fumbled for a grip.

DISASTER, MASTERS! NOW IS THE PRIZE LOST TO US, UNLESS YOU JOIN WITH ME!

My breath choked off in my throat; a hideous pain coiled outward from my chest. But it was unimportant. Only the bomb mattered. I tottered, groping. There was the table; the transmitter...

I lifted the bomb, felt the half-healed skin of my burned arm crackle as I strained...

I thrust the case containing the Master Tape out of the field of the transmitter, then pushed, half-rolled the bomb into position. I groped for the switch, found it. I tried to draw breath, felt only a surge of agony. Blackness was closing in...

The co-ordinates...

From the whirling fog of pain and darkness, I brought the target concept of the Gool cavern into view, clarified it, held it...

MASTERS! HOLD THE MAN! DISASTER!

Then I felt the Gool, their suspicions yielding to the panic in the mind of the Prime Overlord, link their power against me. I stood paralyzed, felt my identity dissolving like water pouring from a smashed pot. I tried to remember--but it was too faint, too far away.

Then from somewhere a voice seemed to cut in, the calm voice of an emergency reserve personality fraction. “You are under attack. Activate the reserve plan. Level Five. Use Level Five. Act now. Use Level Five...”

Through the miasma of Gool pressure, I felt the hairs stiffen on the back of my neck. All around me the Gool voices raged, a swelling symphony of discord. But they were nothing. Level Five...

There was no turning back. The compulsions were there, acting even as I drew in a breath to howl my terror--

Level Five. Down past the shapes of dreams, the intense faces of hallucination; Level Three; Level Four and the silent ranked memories ... And deeper still--

Into a region of looming gibbering horror, of shadowy moving shapes of evil, of dreaded presences that lurked at the edge of vision...

Down amid the clamor of voiceless fears, the mounting hungers, the reaching claws of all that man had feared since the first tailless primate screamed out his terror in a tree-top: the fear of falling, the fear of heights.

Down to Level Five. Nightmare level.

I groped outward, found the plane of contact--and hurled the weight of man’s ancient fears at the waiting Gool--and in their black confining caves deep in the rock of a far world, they felt the roaring tide of fear--fear of the dark, and of living burial. The horrors in man’s secret mind confronted the horrors of the Gool Brain Pit. And I felt them break, retreat in blind panic from me--