by Anthology
Placer speared a bite of steak, casually, with his fork.
"Any time you say the word," he said carelessly.
"I'll give her the rest of today," said Nuwell with decision. "I'll work her over again with the whip this afternoon, and if she doesn't break I'll tell her what she can expect. Then, if that doesn't do the trick, I'll turn her over to you the first thing tomorrow."
"Tonight would be better," suggested Placer. "The initial surgery takes only about thirty minutes, and she'd do better to rest a night after that. It alone will remove a great deal of her volitional power. The entire series of operations will require about three days."
"Tonight it is, then," said Nuwell, "if she doesn't break this afternoon."
Maya sat in her locked room, her tunic and trousers covering the red welts on her back and legs. The tasteless gelatin which had been her only food since their arrival almost gagged her with every spoonful, but she had eaten all her lunch. She needed all the strength she could get to maintain her defiance.
She was in the grip of dull, unrelenting pain, physically and emotionally. Her flesh ached from yesterday's beating, and she was sick at heart at the revelation of Nuwell's essential brutality and callousness. She had thought him a sensitive and intelligent man, and she had admired him for this even after some of his exhibitions of childish temper had disillusioned her as to the glowing nobility which she had at first attributed to him.
She had felt a warm attraction to him and, when she thought Dark was dead, she had been willing to marry him on the basis, not of the passionate love she now felt for Dark, but of a mellow tenderness which she conceived a sound basis for an understanding life together.
But now! She shuddered at the thought that she might have married him, and perhaps lived all her life with him, thinking him to be gentle and kind. Whatever happened to her, she felt fortunate that this crisis had brought to her view the hidden side of him, that heretofore had been seen only by his partners in political manipulation and by the unfortunate victims of his prosecution.
Her shoulders drooped wearily. She stared across the room. It was as bare as a prison cell, which intrinsically it was.
There was a glass on the washbasin. It was made of heavy metal, with no sharp edges. Did Nuwell think she would commit suicide? Not as long as she knew Dark was alive!
Her mind touched the glass. It quivered. It tilted and fell to the floor with a clang.
She looked at it with mild curiosity as it rolled into a corner. She hadn't done that for a long time, not since she suppressed it because of Nuwell's hatred of witchcraft.
It was telekinesis. She had had the power since she was a child. It seemed that she remembered using it often, and in rather startling ways, when she was a small child with the Martians. But when she went to Earth, she gradually stopped playing with it, except in small ways when she was alone, because it seemed to make her elders very uncomfortable.
Telekinesis was ESP. It did not mean that she had any other ESP powers. But there was her experience in the copter....
Her mind reached out. At once, like a shock, she was in contact with Dark. His mind turned to hers at once.
Dark: Maya! Where are you?
Maya: Come into my room, darling. I'm at the Canfell Hydroponic Farm. Are you still at Ultra Vires?
Dark: No, I'm in the vats below you. I knew you were here, but I didn't know where. I can see your room now, though, and its place in the building.
Maya: Can you free me?
Dark: Not now. There are four Toughs outside your door, guarding it. I can't attack them without arousing the Masters. Soon, though.
Maya: I don't know how I'm doing this. I didn't know I had telepathic powers.
Dark: A good many people have them, potentially. They don't have to have been "changed," as I was. But they usually require development.
Maya: I'm just glad I can, to know that you're here.
Dark: Maya, why are you in pain?
Maya: Nuwell has been whipping me, to try to get me to recant on my expressions of support for the rebel cause.
There was a white-hot explosion in her brain that almost literally seared her mind. Staggered at its impact, she recognized it as the explosion of Dark's sudden anger. Then she was no longer in contact with him.
A hundred feet away, in another room, Nuwell pulled on a pair of black gloves and picked up a short, thick-lashed whip. Coiling the whip, he stepped out into the corridor, and turned toward Maya's room.
He met Placer, walking in the opposite direction.
"You're going to make your last try, now?" asked Placer.
"Yes," replied Nuwell. "I hope it works. Actually, her spirit and quick wit are among the reasons I like the girl. But I don't intend to be defied in this."
He proceeded on down the hall.
As he started past the barred gate to one of the ramps leading down into the vats below, the buzzer beside it sounded. A Jelly was standing behind the gate, fat, pathetic face pressed against the bars.
Nuwell stopped. No one else was in sight in the corridor.
"What do you want?" he asked the Jelly.
"Master, I seek entry in answer to the summons," replied the Jelly in a voice that quavered with fright.
"What summons?"
"It was ordered that one of us come above and do a task for the Masters," replied the Jelly. "I am one of those who must work today, and I have come in answer to the summons."
Nuwell looked up and down the corridor. He saw no one.
"What sort of task?" he asked, reluctant to accept the responsibility of admitting the Jelly.
"I don't know, Master."
"Look," said Nuwell, "I'm not a Master. I don't know anything about the summons. Someone else will have to let you in."
"If I'm late, they'll let the Toughs whip me!" wailed the Jelly pathetically. "Please let me in, Master!"
Nuwell, the whip coiled in his hand, impatient to get to Maya's room, was moved to pity at the creature's plight. Besides, the Jellies were harmless, and this one certainly wouldn't be seeking admittance without having been called.
"All right, then," said Nuwell, and flipped the switch.
The bars grated open and the Jelly came into the corridor. But as Nuwell reached out to activate the switch and close the gate, the Jelly, with surprising agility, slipped between him and the switch.
"What in space?" growled Nuwell. "Get out of the way!"
The Jelly did not move.
"I said get out of the way!" snapped Nuwell, shaking out the whip.
The Jelly cringed and its eyes were terrified, but it still stood against the switch, its huge, translucent body barring Nuwell.
"No, Master," it whimpered. "Don't shut the gate!"
Viciously, Nuwell slashed the whip across its naked shoulders, and the Jelly squealed with pain. Nuwell raised the whip again.
But then through the open gate there poured a solid mass of translucent flesh, a horde of naked Jellies. Silently, they tumbled into the corridor, filling it from wall to wall, and others behind them pushed to enter as they paused.
Wide-eyed, Nuwell stared at them for the briefest of moments. Then he dropped the whip and fled back up the hall, shouting at the top of his voice.
The door at the end of the corridor opened as Nuwell neared it, and Placer appeared in it. He held up a restraining hand.
"Don't make so much noise!" he snapped. "There's a conference going on in there. What's the--"
Voiceless now, Nuwell grasped Placer's arm and pointed, trembling, back down the corridor.
"What in space?" demanded Placer irritably, peering at the mass of Jellies pouring out of the gate and beginning to move hesitantly along the corridor in both directions.
"Jellies!" croaked Nuwell. "The Jellies are loose! They're attacking us!"
"Soft hunks of blubber!" said Placer contemptously. "They can't hurt anybody. I wonder what idiot left that gate open?"
"I did," admitted Nuwell. "I mean, one of them
wanted in and I let him in, and then he backed up against the switch so I couldn't close it, until the others came in."
"I don't know what sort of harebrained idea has gotten into their feeble minds," said Placer. "But I can take care of it in short order."
He stepped back into the room, and Nuwell heard him apologizing to the others for the disturbance. Then Placer reappeared, two whips in his hand, and closed the door behind him. He handed one of the whips to Nuwell.
"They're a lot more tractable than that woman of yours," said Placer. "Let's go."
Placer moved down the corridor toward the slowly advancing Jellies, and Nuwell followed reluctantly, at a respectable distance.
"Get back below!" shouted Placer at the Jellies as he neared them. "You know better than to come up here without permission!"
They stopped and milled as he approached them relentlessly, those in front trying to hold back and those behind them pushing them on. Placer moved straight up to them and began slashing right and left with his whip.
There was a sudden surge forward of the Jellies and Placer was engulfed. He vanished in a mass of seething, translucent flesh. Nuwell stopped, appalled, and began to edge backward.
There was a flurry of movement in the forefront of the Jellies, and Placer burst out of the group, his hair awry, his clothing torn, his whip gone. He staggered toward Nuwell at a half run.
"Get back to the room!" cried Placer. "I don't know what's stirred them up, but they can't be frightened back with whips!"
The two men ran back down the corridor and burst through the door, startling a conference group of five of the other Masters.
"Heatguns!" snapped Placer. "Something's stirred the Jellies up, and they're up here causing trouble! I'll turn the Toughs loose on them."
While two of the others hurried out another door for weapons and a third bolted the door through which the two men had just come, Placer picked up a microphone and switched on the amplifier system that covered every area of all levels of the Canfell Hydroponic Farm.
Into the microphone, he gave an animal call, a cry that started out on a low crooning note and rose in volume and intensity until it hurt the ears. He repeated this three times. Then he set the microphone down and turned back to his colleagues, an expression of satisfaction on his face.
"That releases the Toughs," he said. "Every Tough in the place is free to maim or kill any Jelly he sees, without fear of restraint or punishment. That should bring them to heel pretty quickly!"
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 dow
n 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."
"But, Maya, I want to know that you're safe."
"I don't want to be safe until you are. Please let me stay, Dark."
"All right," Dark surrendered. "Shadow, give her your heatgun."
The five of them left the room together.
They emerged into a scene of incredible carnage. The Jellies, with only three heatguns which they were inept at using, had been no match for the Masters. Almost all of the Jellies were lying dead on the floor of the corridor, and the remaining few were backed up at the end of the hall to their right.
Three of the men were advancing toward these last Jellies. The other two, returning to the conference room, already had passed Maya's door and were picking their way back among the scorched, twitching bodies of the Jellies. Dark and the others were between these two retreating forces of Masters.
"We'll have to try to save those Jellies," decided Dark at once. "Happy, you and Shadow move back up the corridor and hold the line in case those other two turn back to attack our rear. The rest of us will tackle the three to the right."
They split up and moved off. But they were too late. Dark, Maya and Old Beard had advanced hastily no more than ten feet when the last of the Jellies at the end of the corridor collapsed under the combined beams of three heatguns. Immediately, the door beyond the dead Jellies opened and three more Masters emerged. They joined the first three, and were given the heatguns taken from the vanquished Jellies.
Dark stopped and held up his hand, halting the advance of his little group.
"We're too badly outnumbered now," he said. "Let's collect Happy and Shadow and get back down to the vats, where we can hide until the Phoenix break in."