Chapter 14

Underwood swept up the gun that fell from the loosened fingers before it hit the floor. He jerked it into firing position and approached the open iris of the doorway cautiously. The corridor was clear for the moment.

“You and Dreyer remain here,” he said to Phyfe. “Terry and I will try to make it to the control room or wherever this so-called Commander is keeping headquarters. If we can capture him and gain control of the ship, you should hear from us within an hour. If not, you’ll know we have failed, and then it will be up to you to make a try.”

The older men nodded. Silently, he and Terry slipped through the doorway.

The rest of the iris doors on the corridor were all closed. Underwood pressed the release lock on the one adjacent to his own recent prison. The opening flared wide, revealing Roberts, one of the surgeons, and the three men who had formed his party.

“Underwood!” Roberts exclaimed. “What happened?”

Underwood cautioned him to quiet and explained briefly. “Locate some weapons if you can. There should be some in the corridor lockers. Make your way down, and release them. Try to hold the locks against the entry of any more of the Disciples until we can gain control inside the ship. We have no idea how many are here.”

The men nodded, exuberant at the opportunity for action against the enemy. There should be weapons in a corridor compartment only a short distance toward the rear, Underwood knew. Ahead, there was an additional compartment from which he and Terry could reinforce their own armament.

The next room they tried was empty. They thought at first that the one adjacent to it was also empty, but as they started to move away, Terry exclaimed, “Look! There on the floor!”

One of their men was lying sprawled, the back of his shirt covered with blood and burned tissue.

Underwood and Terry stepped in and shut the iris door. The man looked up and smiled feebly as they looked down at him.

“Hi, Doc,” he said.

It was Armstrong, one of the ship’s engineers.

“What happened?” asked Terry. “Did you try to buck them?”

The engineer answered painfully. “No. It was a sort of object lesson. I think. The Commander--Rennies, they call him--gave me his personal attention. But have you got the ship back?”

Underwood shook his head. “We’ve just broken out and managed to free a few of the others. Can you hang on a while until we can get help?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t worry about me.”

“Do you know how many of them there are aboard?”

“About twenty took us over in the beginning. We were puzzled when we thought so many of you were coming back at once. Sessions and Treadwell down in the engine room were killed outright and a couple more of the boys pretty badly shot up when they tried to resist. They’re the only ones I know of, besides me. Rennies and his gang took up headquarters in the control room the last I heard. That’s about all the dope I can give you.”

“It helps,” said Underwood. “We can take care of twenty of them, if we can get organized. Take it easy, old man, and we’ll be back with help.”

The engineer smiled and his eyes closed.

Underwood and Terry hurried out, closing the iris door behind them. They came to the storage closets and found to their relief that the invaders had not removed the weapons stored there. Underwood selected another gun; Terry took a pair.

“I wish we’d hear again from Jandro,” said Terry.

“He may be helping the group down at the locks. We’re on our own here, it appears.”

They came to the end of the corridor and the passage split, forming a U around the control room because the navigational machinery had to be located on the axis of the ship.

“Let’s separate,” Underwood said. “It’ll give us a chance to attack from two directions. They may not have a guard that’s too alert, since we couldn’t be expected to need much guarding.”

“Good idea,” said Terry. He checked his watch with Underwood’s. “Begin firing in exactly sixty seconds!”

They separated and went swiftly in opposite directions.

As Underwood came to the abrupt turn that would put him in a direct line with the door to the control room, he halted and listened for sounds from beyond. Footsteps were moving carelessly and hurriedly. Only one person, Underwood thought; therefore, it must be one of the Disciples. There was the unlikely possibility that one of his own men had escaped independently and had already been to the control room. He’d have to risk that.

He stepped around the corner and fired.

The shot caught the man--a Disciple, luckily--full in the chest. An instant’s surprised agony did not prevent a wild cry from issuing from his throat. Underwood leaped over the fallen body before the Disciple ceased struggling.

From inside the control room there were sudden confused shouts and orders. Underwood saw two figures running toward the iris. He fired twice, then dropped to the floor. The first man collapsed in the path of the second, but the latter was only slightly wounded. He raised his weapon toward Underwood even as he fell.

From his prone position, Underwood fired again. The blast missed and reddened the metal of the far wall of the room for a moment.

Underwood did not dare move. He could find little shelter in the small corner where the circled doorway did not fully meet the rectangular corridor, but there was no other to be had.

Shots from within the control room were coming close now. He could feel the heat they generated in the metal floor. While he tried to edge closer into the corner, somebody else came into his view. It was an impressive, militaristic figure, undoubtedly Commander Rennies, for his harsh, arrogant voice was ordering one of the men to call for assistance from the other end of the ship.

Then, suddenly, the Commander stiffened. Even Underwood could glimpse the stare that glazed his eyes like polished glass. Jandro?

The others in the room saw it also, and heard the crash as the heavy body fell to the floor.

The disaster to the Disciples disrupted their attack for an instant. It was long enough for Underwood to get his gun up and fire straight at his opponent. The man started and whirled with a look of surprise on his face for an instant before he died.

And then another shot came from the opposite side of the room and caught one of the remaining defenders unaware. Terry was there at last!

Underwood breathed heavily in relief. He had been afraid Terry had been caught. Apparently the archeologist had met opposition of his own and had eventually succeeded in overcoming it.

Terry and Underwood rushed the control room simultaneously. Only a single member of the Disciples was able to offer resistance. Beams from the two guns crossed the room and caught him in a lethal blaze.

Cautiously, Underwood advanced not quite inside the doorway.

“Terry, you there?” he called.

“Check. I ran into one of them in the corridor.”

“Keep out of the way. I’m going to come in blasting in your direction in case any more of these fanatics are hiding.”

“Right. If I don’t get your okay in five or so, I’ll come in the same way.”

Underwood set the beam to a low but deadly intensity and fanned it up and down, bringing the plane of motion ever nearer the wall that could be hiding an attacker. Without exposing himself, he extended his hand and brought the gun about until he knew the room was cleared or that any one hiding there had been hit.

He entered then and called to Terry. The redhead entered grinning, but a smear of blood covered his left arm from the shoulder down.

“Terry! You’re hurt!”

“I didn’t get him good enough with my first shot. I’ll be all right. What do we do now?”

“We can clear the ship by throwing some chloryl triptanate into the air system. But even after that, we can’t even go back to the moon to return Jandro to his own people--that would bring the whole fleet down on them.”

“We’ll figure something out,” said Terry optimistically. “We didn’t expect to get this far. I wonder what happened to that guy Jandro. Have you found out where he actually is yet?”

“No. He apparently killed Rennies, but I’ve heard nothing from him.”

“I’ll get the triptanate, and some mesarpin for antidote. If I’m not back in half an hour, it’ll be your baby.”

“You guard here,” said Underwood, “You’d better take it easy with that arm of yours.”

“You’re more important around here than I am. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Terry disappeared in the direction of surgery.

Underwood sat down wearily--and suddenly became aware of the fixed dead stare of the eyes of Commander Rennies, who lay on the floor.

His name had been vaguely familiar to Underwood and now he knew why. Rennies had attained considerable renown in the interstellar military field. He had been an able leader, highly trained, widely read, intelligent, and a clever tactician--yet his mind had been as vulnerable to Demarzule as the most illiterate of the Disciples.

Then Underwood became aware of a slow stirring upon the floor. The last Disciple he had shot was not dead. The lips twisted in a snarl of hate.

“Fools!” The Disciple spat out. Blood poured from between his lips. “Do you suppose you can block the Great One? The human race waited ten thousand years for this savior. Man shall become the greatest in all the Universe with him as leader. Pay homage to the Great One as all the Galaxies shall pay homage to us!”

Underwood said, “Why?”

“Because we are the greatest!”

He looked at the man curiously. It was as if the knowledge of semantics did not exist, yet for twelve hundred years semanticists had slowly been prying loose the ancient false extensions that cluttered men’s thinking and dwarfed their concepts.

Demarzule had wiped out all of that merely by his presence. Underwood found himself wondering why he should be at all concerned with the matter.

He knew, however, that as a member of the human race he had to keep on hoping that the course of evolution would lead it to something greater than constant strife and insecurity. He had been blind when he had tried to escape. There was no escape; he saw that very clearly now.

A sudden sound in the corridor alerted his senses. His gun moved slightly to cover the entrances.

Then Terry burst into view with the containers of chemicals from the surgical lab.

“Made it,” he said. “Any trouble here?”

“No, just one revived for a little while to gab. He’s dead now.” The man was quiet in a pool of his own blood. “How do things look out there?”