Chapter 17

Behind the locked door of the conference room, one of the Masters passed out heatguns to Nuwell, Placer and the other four.

“If we use these on them at half intensity, I think we can calm them down without killing any of them,” said Placer. “We’ll probably have more trouble beating down the Toughs and keeping them from killing all the Jellies than we will subduing the Jellies in the first place.”

“I hope we warned the three at the other end of the hall in time,” said one of the others. “There hasn’t been any word from them.”

Placer flicked a switch on the intercom system.

“Touchstone, are you men safe?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied a voice on the other end. “We locked ourselves in, because there aren’t any heatguns we can get to from here. The Jellies haven’t gotten this far down yet. They seem to be cowed by the Toughs at the door to Miss Cara Nome’s room, and the Toughs are strutting around getting themselves in the mood for an attack. We’ve been watching them through the window.”

“Good,” said Placer. “Between the Toughs at that end and our heatguns at this end, we ought to be able to force them back below without much trouble. Are we ready to move out?”

A different voice came in over the intercom, the voice of the tenth Master, who was on duty in the farm’s control room.

“Placer, the screens show three groundcars moving up from the south,” he said. “I’ve tried to contact them by radio, but they don’t answer.”

“We haven’t been notified to expect any government visitors,” said Placer. “It may be a convoy of travelers off-course in the desert, or it could be a wandering party of escaped rebels. Warn them away.”

“Yes, sir.”

Touchstone’s voice came in from the other end of the hall.

“The Toughs are attacking, Placer. Space, it’s awful! Those poor Jellies can’t stand up to the Toughs.”

Suddenly his voice changed, and became shrill with excitement.

“Placer! One of those Jellies has a heatgun! Two of the Toughs were just burned down, and the others are falling back down the hall. The Jellies are coming on, and I can see the gun in the hand of one of them.”

“Great space!” muttered Placer. “All right, Touchstone. Hold tight and keep that door locked. We’ll get to you.”

He turned to the others.

“We’ve got to move out now,” he said. “Use full intensity and shoot to kill. We’ll have to burn our way through those Jellies and get to the other end of the hall.”

Leaving one of the Masters at the intercom in the control room, the other six went out into the corridor, heatguns ready. The foremost Jellies had advanced almost to the door, and now that they had spread out along the corridor, they were not packed so closely together.

The six men advanced steadily, leveling their guns. They fired, intense, almost invisible beams stabbing into the group of Jellies.

Jellies shrieked in pain, several of them collapsing to the floor with smoking flesh. The others turned in panic and began to crowd back down the corridor, the beams stabbing at them and picking them off one by one.

Then, from amid the Jellies, a beam struck forth, and one of the Masters went down, his face burned away. Placer burned down the Jelly holding the heatgun, and the five survivors moved grimly on.

On the ramp ahead, Dark and Old Beard approached the open gate to the corridor, Happy and Shadow following them.

“I wish I had been able to find more heatguns at Ultra Vires,” said Dark to Old Beard. “Only three, besides our four, are spreading them out pretty thin.”

“At least the Jellies made the break into the corridor, and we’ve managed to discourage the Toughs below from following them up for a while,” said Old Beard. The bodies of a dozen Toughs at the foot of the ramp behind them attested to the rear guard battle they had fought. That was what had held them up so long. “If we can hold the corridor and keep the Masters bottled up, your friends outside should be able to turn the tide.”

“It will take them a while to break in,” said Dark. “But I’ve already contacted Cheng telepathically and told him to move in.”

They emerged into the corridor, into a scene of tremendous confusion. All they could see in both directions were Jellies, milling about and chattering. The mass seemed to be drifting gradually toward the left, while from the right came shrieks of agony.

“This way,” said Dark, turning to the left. “We have to get Maya out of here before we can do anything else.”

Forcing their way through the Jellies, they came to a door. Dark tried it. It was locked. He burned the lock off and pushed it open.

Maya was standing back against the wall on the other side of the room, alarmed at the noise in the corridor, frightened at the opening of the door. As Dark and Old Beard came in, and she recognized Dark, she ran across the room to meet them, joy transforming her face.

She threw herself into Dark’s arms.

“Oh, Dark!” she cried. “I knew you’d come!”

He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. Then he turned back to Old Beard, his arm around Maya’s shoulders.

“Old Beard, this is Maya Cara Nome,” said Dark. “Maya, this is my father, the real Dark Kensington.”

“The older Dark Kensington,” corrected Old Beard. “I am very happy to meet you, Maya. My son, you have chosen a beautiful woman.”

Happy and Shadow had followed the other two into the room and were standing against the door, holding it closed.

“Maya, we’re going to have to try to hold the corridor until the Phoenix gets here,” said Dark. “I want you to go with Shadow and Happy down to the vats. You get into a marsuit, and they’ll take you to one of the entrance buildings. I’ll tell Cheng to pick you up in one of the groundcars, and then Happy and Shadow can come back here to help us.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Maya flatly. “You need them up here now, and I won’t leave you. I’m going to stay here and help you. After all, I can handle a heatgun better than any of these Jellies.”